* * *

  Gabrielle eyed Gray ruefully across the width of the carriage. By unspoken consent they had taken opposite corners, sitting with the utmost decorum in almost laughable contrast to the way they had arrived, flushed and tumbled and aching to strip the clothing from each other.

  ‘Your cousin is a very interesting gentleman.’

  ‘He is definitely a good one, I believe. I admire his moral certainty and his energy in righting his father’s wrongs. He has set himself a hard path, but I think, with luck, he will flourish in the New World.’

  ‘Are you sorry he had taken you up on your invitation?’ she asked. She had resolved not to mention it, not until they had both spent a night considering the matter.

  ‘I could have wished the poor devil almost anywhere else in the universe,’ Gray said, with an intensity at odds with the stillness of his body.

  ‘Then why are you over there?’

  ‘Because I am not going to tumble you in a carriage like some member of the muslin company.’ His hand clenched on his thigh. ‘And besides, there is a strong possibility you have thought better of it.’

  ‘You must think me very fickle, or indecisive.’ She wanted to reach out, touch that betraying fist, but that would be like cutting a cord under high tension—the recoil would send them into each other’s arms and Gray was right, the first time should not be hasty and furtive in a carriage. Even so... ‘I agree about not making love in a carriage—the first time.’

  Gray looked at her directly at last. Even in the uncertain light of the carriage she could see the intensity of that regard and her body responded, softening, warming, aching. ‘The first time?’

  ‘It might be rather stimulating on some other occasion, don’t you think?’

  ‘I am trying very hard not to think about it at all,’ he said, the growl in his voice reverberating down her spine. ‘Now I doubt I will get any sleep tonight doing just that.’

  Thank goodness. He still feels the same way.

  She was not at all sure what she would have done if Gray had changed his mind. Dissolved into a puddle of lust on the carriage floor, probably. ‘I had never thought that misbehaving in London would be quite so difficult.’

  Gray laughed and the tension became less charged, less dangerous. ‘It is if one party is encumbered with a chaperone and the other is attempting not to compromise her. If it were not for Miss Moseley we could lock ourselves away in your hotel room. If it were not for the risk of you being seen we could take a room for the day at any one of a number of obliging accommodation addresses.’

  ‘You seem to have considerable experience in arranging this kind of thing.’ It came out sounding sharper than she had intended. Jealous, even.

  ‘I have not been a monk since my wife died, if that is what you are asking.’ Gray kept his tone even and that deceptive smile was back. ‘But, no, I have never attempted to make a rendezvous in London.’

  Gaby did not make the mistake of asking if he was keeping a mistress. No, surely not. Gray was not a man to make love to one woman while keeping another. ‘I beg your pardon, that was inquisitive.’

  The smile disappeared, but he laughed again. She found she trusted his laughter more than his smiles. ‘And I parted company amiably with the lady who had been in my keeping two months before I left for Portugal, just in case you were biting your tongue over that question.’

  ‘I was curious,’ Gaby admitted. ‘Is she a beauty?’

  ‘Oh, ravishing. A green-eyed redhead.’ His hands moved, sketched curves in the air.

  She suspected he was teasing her. And she more than suspected that she was becoming green-eyed herself. ‘Was she too expensive for you? Or had she a fiery temper?’

  ‘Neither. She was ambitious and had her eye set on a marquess. She lamented that he was balding and stout and that she had the poorest of expectations of his performance in the bedchamber, but what was a girl to do if she is determined on a duke one day?’

  ‘Goodness, that was a very frank conversation to have with a lover!’

  ‘Neither of us deceived ourselves that what we had was a meeting of hearts,’ Gray said.

  Did he love his wife? Has he known what it is to lie with a lover whom one loves? Gaby wondered.

  She had not loved Laurent, she knew now, somehow. But her feelings had been close to love. The loss of him had been an agony, but then the thought of not having known that attachment, that feeling of closeness, that was unbearable. And now she was becoming melancholy.

  ‘Will I enjoy Lady Altringworth’s soirée?’ she asked, giving herself a mental shake. ‘I have no experience of fashionable London entertainments.’

  ‘She is a good hostess.’ Gray seemed willing to accept the change of subject. ‘There will be music, intelligent conversation, cards if that is what you want—and excellent food. She is very much of the ton—expect to see only the most fashionable in society, although London is thin of company at this time of year, of course.’

  ‘Then I must indeed aim to be eccentric, for I have nothing that will pass muster as fashionable. Not yet. Is there a taste for that in London or will I simply succeed in embarrassing myself?’

  ‘Eccentricity with style and wit is always acceptable. I find myself looking forward to seeing what you create.’

  The carriage halted. They were at the hotel, she realised.

  Gray handed her out, escorted her to her door and kissed her fingertips before he opened it for her. ‘Pleasure postponed can be the greater for it,’ he murmured. The pressure of his fingers on hers pulled her in towards him until his breath was warm on her cheek.

  Gaby lifted the hand he held and brushed her own lips over the ungloved back of his. ‘There will be two of us unable to sleep tonight.’

  Beside them the door began to open. ‘Is that you, Gabrielle? Ah, yes, it is.’ Jane stood on the threshold, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, notebook in hand. ‘Good afternoon, my lord.’

  ‘Miss Moseley. I will collect you at nine, if that is convenient, Miss Frost?’

  ‘Very, thank you.’ And then he was gone and Gaby was inside and trying to think of how to report a most unsettling day to Jane. ‘Have you been out?’ she asked, playing for time while she sorted out her thoughts, got her breathing under control and tried, very hard, not to dwell on the sensation of Gray’s breath on her cheek.

  ‘British Museum, Lackington’s Circulating Library, three bookshops and the British Institution,’ Jane said briskly. ‘And how was your aunt?’

  So much for distraction. ‘I have convinced her that Lord Leybourne and I have an understanding.’

  ‘Indeed?’ For once she had succeeded in surprising her companion.

  ‘Simply a ruse, of course. But she was planning on matchmaking for him, too, so I killed two birds with one stone, as it were.’

  ‘And what does Lord Leybourne have to say about that, pray?’ Jane removed her spectacles, the better to subject Gaby to a beady inspection.

  ‘He is suitably grateful for being rescued, of course.’ She ignored Jane’s snort and went through to the bedchamber. ‘And Aunt has secured invitations for you and me to a soirée this evening, from which I deduce that she entertains hopes of separating me from Gray. Or did not believe a word of it in the first place.’

  ‘I doubt that.’ Jane followed her and stood in the doorway while Gaby shed bonnet and gloves.

  ‘Really?’ Surprised, she turned, one glove half-off. ‘I had not thought her very perceptive.’

  ‘She can see what is in front of her nose, I suspect.’ Jane came right into the room and perched on the side of the bed. ‘The pair of you clearly have a strong attachment.’

  ‘We have?’ Surely, surely, they had done nothing that might make Jane suspect? Until that day nothing had been agreed between them, they had behaved with restraint, hadn’t they?

  ‘I may be a spinster,’ Jane said primly, looking every inch the model of one. ‘But I also know a great deal about the mating habits of mammals.’

  ‘Mammals?’

  ‘Humans are mammals.’ The tip of her companion’s nose was pink now.

  ‘And we are not mating.’ Not yet, anyway. ‘Gray is a very attractive man. I may flatter myself that I am not exactly repulsive to the opposite sex. Obviously there is a mutual...awareness.’ Now her own face was reddening, she could feel it.

  ‘Yes, dear. As you say. I do not think I will accept your aunt’s kind invitation. Will you require any assistance dressing for this evening?’

  ‘Are you not going to give me a little lecture on proper behaviour?’ Gaby enquired, halfway between being horrified by Jane’s perception, when she had thought her companion would hardly notice if Gaby was entertaining half the men in the valley, and embarrassed that she was being obvious in her feelings about Gray.

  ‘I hardly think that this is the time to start behaving like a conventional chaperone, is it?’ Jane stood up and turned to the door. ‘And especially after your Frenchman, poor young man.’

  ‘You knew about Laurent? You never said anything.’

  ‘It is none of my business. But I can interpret the memorial stone. If he had been an English officer, I believe you would have said something about him. As it is...’ She put on her spectacles again and drifted out of the door, closing it behind her with a little click.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gray paced slowly up and down the entrance hall of Grillon’s Hotel. He had arrived at nine, sent up a footman to announce his arrival and, from previous experience of escorting ladies to balls, was expecting to spend a good half hour before Gabrielle appeared.

  ‘You look like a caged beast in a menagerie,’ Gabrielle remarked from immediately behind him.

  ‘I was settling down to wait,’ he confessed. It was ridiculous the way his pulse leapt at the sound of her voice. ‘You are admirably punctual, Miss Frost.’

  ‘I dislike being kept waiting myself.’ She tipped her head to one side and studied him gravely. ‘I thought you most elegant in Portugal, but clearly you had tossed some old rags into your valise for travelling, because now you look magnificent, my lord.’

  ‘I thank you.’ Her serious, lingering study was both flattering and arousing. ‘It is not the custom for ladies to compliment gentlemen on their attire, I should warn you—just in case you encounter Prinny and are swept away in admiration of his appearance.’

  ‘From what I have read of the Prince Regent, I beg leave to doubt it,’ she said with a chuckle.

  Gabrielle was enveloped in a long black evening cloak with a large hood which covered her hair. All Gray could see beside her face was a flash of deep crimson at the front edges of the cloak when she moved and a subdued hint of the same colour in the depths of the hood.

  ‘You look enchanting,’ he said and meant it.

  ‘You cannot see more than my face,’ Gabrielle protested as she took his arm.

  ‘Just what I said—enchanting.’

  She nipped his arm in reproof at what he supposed she thought was teasing and he glanced down to see that instead of conventional long evening gloves she was wearing black lace fingerless gloves through which her skin glowed creamily.

  There were no rings on her fingers, not on either hand, he saw when she gathered up her skirts to mount the step into the carriage. Of course, she would hardly bring jewellery on a voyage to England, even if she had very much. He should have thought of that, offered to lend her some. Buying jewellery at this stage in their not-quite affaire might be a sensitive issue, but he could certainly hire something suitable on her behalf. He made a mental note to suggest it.

  The Altringworths’ house was not far, in a street to the west of Berkeley Square. Torchères were blazing on either side of the door, a red carpet was down from the steps to the kerb and two burly footmen were on the pavement to assist arriving guests and deter the crowd of onlookers from pressing too close.

  Gray delivered Gabrielle to the ladies’ cloakroom, shed his own hat, cloak and cane and joined the group of other men waiting for their partners in the front hall. He was listening his old friend Freddie Stansfield’s account buying a team of matched Welsh bays for his mother’s carriage when Freddie’s voice trailed off and his jaw dropped as he stared over Gray’s shoulder. Gray turned and felt his own mouth open. He snapped it shut and moved, fast, before any of the transfixed men beat him to Gabrielle’s side.

  ‘You look ravishing,’ he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear. ‘I want to take you home, kick Henry out on to the street and make love to you all night.’

  Gabrielle kept her composure, although her cheeks turned a warm, flattering pink. ‘I was aiming for mildly exotic and eccentric,’ she murmured back.

  ‘Unique and elegant.’ He took her hand and led her towards the foot of the staircase where a receiving line snaked down. When they were brought to a halt two steps up he turned again and studied her from head to toe.

  Gabrielle was wearing a sophisticated version of her everyday working costume. Over a tightly fitted shirt of white lace with long sleeves, a slit at the neck and a stand-up collar framing her neck, was a black brocade waistcoat. A perfectly plain skirt of deep crimson silk whispered down to her toes. Her hair was caught up in an elaborate plaited coronet held in place by silver combs studded with rubies and diamonds and long ruby drops crusted with more tiny diamonds fell from her earlobes. At her throat glowed a single tear-shaped ruby surrounded by yet more glittering white stones and held on a silver chain to lie where a shadowy hint of cleavage showed at the neckline.

  ‘Those gems—you brought them with you? How?’ He wouldn’t have had a moment’s sleep on the ship if he’d known she was carrying a fortune with her. ‘They must be part of the Frost Fire parure—I had heard of it, but I thought it was a legend.’

  ‘How I carried them is my secret. But, yes, these are Frost Fire pieces. The rest are safely locked away at the quinta. My great-grandmother was Portuguese nobility and it is said that the stones were originally a gift from King John the Fifth, the Magnanimous, when he came to the throne in 1706. Family legend says that she was his mistress when he was the crown prince and this was his farewell gift when he became king.

  ‘They were reset like this about seventy years ago. That’s when they became known as the Frost Fire jewels, because of the contrast between the rubies and the glitter of the diamonds,’ she explained, lifting her skirts a little as she climbed, revealing a hint of lacy petticoats.

  They climbed a few steps and Gray became aware that they were being eyed with varying degrees of discretion by the guests around them. Gabrielle was looking stunning, but he suspected that her jewels were what were riveting the attention of most of the onlookers. The entire parure, which would include a tiara and bracelets, rings and necklaces, must be worth more than the entire quinta. No wonder his godmother wanted to secure Gabrielle for her stepson: any prudent mother would want her as a daughter-in-law.

  Gray had a sinking feeling that not only was he going to have to guard her against predatory mamas, covetous jewel thieves and fortune hunters, but that Gabrielle was set on thoroughly enjoying herself with as much verve as the most dashing young matron.

  ‘I imagine you are going to be a great success,’ he said drily as they reached the top and turned to their hostess.

  ‘I know. I could have a face like a carthorse and the disposition of a scorpion and still be a catch,’ she agreed. She said it lightly, almost flippantly, but there was something in her tone that did not ring quite true.

  Someone has hurt her, he thought. Some fortune hunter. No wonder she resents her aunt so much. And no wonder that her trusted neighbours’ matrimonial scheming had angered her so.

  Lady Altringworth was gracious, warm even. Her eyes had widened at the approach of a young lady in such an unconventional gown, then her smile had widened, too, at the sight of the great ruby on Gabrielle’s breast.

  ‘Welcome to London, my dear Miss Frost. You will soon find yourself quite at home, I am certain.’ She favoured Gray with a coy look that managed to imply that he was a cunning dog to have attached himself to the heiress so promptly and then they were past and into the main reception room.

  Gray took a deep breath and surveyed the throng. The room was already crowded and warm, the scent of expensive perfumes, hothouse flowers and hot beeswax mingling with the smell of food and wine and, far less pleasantly, hot humanity.

  It was his duty as escort to present Gabrielle to the hostesses who would invite her to the most select parties and, he supposed, to anyone she might find useful for her wine business. That would have to be more discreet, avoiding any hint of trade, but he could probably rely on Gabrielle to manage the situation once he had pointed her in the right direction.

  Her gown attracted attention, and some compliments, from the various matrons they met. Gabrielle was charming, poised, and, he was certain, would be a success. Lady Parslow introduced her to a small group of younger people, including her own recently married daughter and Gray decided he could leave her to her own devices for a while. Besides any other consideration he did not want to appear as anything but the escort her aunt had happened to select for her that evening.

  ‘Abandoning the heiress, old chap? Not good tactics, not until you’ve got her firmly attached. Too many interested hounds sniffing around.’ It was Freddie Stansfield again, this time with two mutual friends, Lord Peter de Clare and Malcolm Fitzwalter.

  ‘I am not fortune hunting,’ Gray said mildly, cursing mentally. That was precisely what he did not want to appear to be doing. ‘Simply doing my godmother a favour by squiring Miss Frost about until she finds her feet.’

  ‘She is certainly an original, and a beauty,’ de Clare said and they turned to watch Gabrielle as she stood laughing at something one of the young men clustered around her was saying.