‘And what about all the things you—we—planned to do while we were in London? Do you want to sacrifice the theatre, the opera, the exhibitions and the shopping just because you cannot say no firmly enough to a suitor? And how will it appear if you arrive back home within weeks of leaving?’

  ‘You are quite right,’ Gaby said with a sigh. I must be fair to Jane even if I don’t care what the neighbours will think. ‘I will speak frankly to Gray this afternoon if he proposes. Refuse him without any ambiguity.’ Break my heart.

  * * *

  Gray was at the front door at three o’clock, quite the correct time for a morning call should anyone have observed him. He was turned out in the most elegant outfit of dark grey pantaloons, glossy black Hessians with silver tassels, a swallowtail coat of darkest blue superfine and every appropriate accessory in restrained good taste.

  If it were not for the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of strain between his nostrils and the corners of his mouth no one would think anything was wrong. Anyone seeing him, and the tasteful bouquet of roses and ferns he carried, would have deduced that this was a gentleman setting out to court a lady, Gaby thought.

  She made herself smile and greet him as though the night before had not happened. When Gray presented her with the flowers she exclaimed with pleasure, rang for the footman to take them and place them in water and bring them back directly. He shook hands with Jane, made polite conversation, accepted a cup of tea.

  The flowers were brought in arranged in a silver vase and Jane admired them. Gaby continued to smile and wondered if she was going to scream. She felt like it.

  And, finally, he turned to her. ‘Miss Frost. Gabrielle. I wonder if I might beg a word alone with you?’

  ‘Of course, Lord Leybourne. If you will excuse us, Jane?’ She rose, he rose, Jane sipped her tea without comment. ‘If you would like to come through to the—’

  ‘Lady Orford, Miss Frost.’

  ‘Gabrielle, my dear. And Gray.’ Her aunt looked rather less pleased to see him. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Moseley.’ She sat down, took a cup of tea with a vague word of thanks and plunged straight in. ‘Now, my dear, it is a positive age since I saw you and I know you have not attended a single one of the events for which I obtained invitations on your behalf after the first one, so what have you been about?’ She took a sharp bite out of a biscuit and fixed Gaby with a reproving stare.

  Gaby, with a despairing look at Jane, sat back down again. Gray was left with no option but to sit in the only free chair next to his godmother.

  ‘You are not shy of society, surely? Or has Leybourne been taking up all your time? It is too bad of you, dear boy, if that is the case.’ She leaned across and tapped Gray on the forearm with one beringed finger.

  Gaby was conscious of her gaze flicking between them and smiled with more determination, avoiding Gray’s eye.

  ‘Now, you must have advanced your plans, the two of you. You are very wicked to keep me in the dark, Gabrielle. You know I would dote on the chance to arrange a wedding, especially as I have no daughter. Sons are not the same.’

  ‘We hope to make some decisions soon,’ Gray said. ‘At the moment we are at that stage which my friends tell me is almost inevitable—we cannot agree on anything from the venue to the date, let alone the guest list or the organ music.’

  ‘Or even which country,’ Gaby added.

  Gray sighed, the very picture of the put-upon betrothed man, she thought as she suppressed an entirely inappropriate giggle. It was probably hysteria. ‘Portugal would mean a saving on the wine bill, I agree,’ he added and she had to bite the inside of her cheek.

  She must stop enjoying this mutual teasing of Aunt Henrietta. It made him seem like an ally, a friend. She must not find more things to like or her defences against him were going to crumble like a pile of sand in front of the incoming tide.

  ‘How is Cousin George?’ she asked before Gray could add any more embellishments.

  ‘He is not your cousin, dear.’ The firming of Aunt Henrietta’s lips were clear proof that she had not given up on her plans for Gaby. ‘He is very well and has taken to squiring Miss Henderson about. Such a charming unspoilt girl and her uncle is Viscount Worthington, of course.’

  Miss Henderson? Ah, yes, that pretty child Aunt was trying to pair up with Gray. Is she trying to make me jealous? Surely not, no one would think I would rather have George than Gray, even his besotted stepmother. Or perhaps she is dangling the girl in front of Gray in the hope of detaching him from me.

  ‘Very sensible of George,’ Gray said heartily. ‘Good for him. She’s an absolute infant, of course, but I expect she will grow up eventually and George has some maturing to do himself. They’ll suit.’

  Aunt Henrietta looked a trifle daunted at that. Surely, Gaby thought, she will give up now. Her aunt did indeed draw a deep breath and the smile she had fixed on her face seemed a trifle artificial now, but she showed no sign of departing.

  Gray rose. ‘Look at the time! Miss Moseley, good afternoon. Thank you for tea. Gabrielle, I will send a note to tell you how I fare with those theatre tickets. Godmama.’ The door closed behind him, leaving the three ladies gazing at the tea tray. The front door banged as the footman came in with fresh hot water. Aunt Henrietta refused a second cup of tea, informed them that their new cook needed to put more ground almonds into the orange biscuits and took herself off.

  ‘Surely she cannot want you to marry George now that he has attached Miss Henderson,’ Jane observed.

  ‘I believe she is trying to make us both jealous that the others are not pining for us. She really does not like to be thwarted and I am sure I will bring more money with me than Miss Henderson will.’

  ‘That is certainly a consideration,’ remarked Gray, right behind them. ‘At least, Godmama would think so. I wonder how she intends to separate us.’

  Both of them jumped. ‘I thought you had gone.’ Gaby righted her sliding teacup and tried to tell herself that her speeding pulse rate was a result of shock.

  ‘As far as the dining room. Your new footman is admiring the shiny guinea he has just earned. We were about to talk, Gabrielle.’

  ‘Yes. No, don’t disturb yourself, Jane. We will go to the dining room.’

  ‘I suppose I should warn you to leave the door open.’ Jane reached for her journal. ‘However, it is probably a case of shutting stable doors, not dining room ones.’

  Gaby knew she was blushing, but she left the room with as much composure as she could muster.

  ‘Miss Moseley is aware of what happened last night?’ Gray closed the dining room door.

  ‘Yes. In, er, outline.’

  Gray looked at her, then walked around the long table and hitched one hip on it. ‘Gabrielle, I realise that you have a rooted objection to marriage with anyone.’ He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to speak. ‘And I understand your reasons and can sympathise with them. But we should marry, you know we should.’

  ‘I know that when we spoke of becoming lovers before, there was no question of marriage. What has changed?’

  ‘I thought—if I thought clearly at all—that with a lover in your past and a refusal to marry you were like a widow, someone who could live an independent life provided you were discreet. I should have known better.’

  ‘Why? Nothing has changed and you have described my position exactly.’

  ‘We have become lovers and now I am thinking clearly. I have feelings for you, Gabrielle. Feelings that go far beyond the desire to lie with you and certainly beyond friendship.’

  Something inside her seemed to stutter, as though her heart had jumped at his words. ‘Are you saying that you are in love with me, Gray?’

  ‘I do not know. How does one know?’ He twisted round and looked her full in the face across the expanse of gleaming mahogany. ‘I have never been in love before.’

  ‘Your wife—’

  ‘I cannot discuss Portia. I made a mull of that marriage.’

  ‘No?’ Gaby realised that she was angry. Where had that come from? ‘You want me to marry you because you might be in love with me. Possibly. Because you have feelings. It has been clear from what you have let slip before that you did not have a happy marriage. Now you refuse to talk about it, yet you expect me to become your second wife without any idea what went wrong before? Do you expect to make a mull of it this time?’

  ‘Gabrielle, the story does not just involve me.’

  ‘You were unfaithful to her?’

  ‘No.’ Gray got to his feet, abruptly, without any of his usual grace. The question had obviously struck a raw nerve.

  ‘She was unfaithful to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It does not matter.’ Gaby threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘Why are we even discussing it? Nothing has changed. You have vast responsibilities and ties here. I will not surrender my control of Frost’s. It is hardly as though you seduced a virgin—I knew exactly what I was doing.’

  She understood why he had put the width of the table between them. If she touched him, if he touched her, her resolution would go up like smoke. But she could not talk to him like this. She came round the table until she was just out of reach and tried to make her tone more reasonable, less fraught with tension. ‘My idea of finding a father for a child is impossible—you were quite right about that. I intend staying in London for perhaps another month, six weeks. Jane has commitments, interests. I will shop and visit the theatre and galleries. Then I will return home and research my family connections. Perhaps somewhere I can find a suitable successor with Frost blood in their veins.’

  ‘And if this is not simply desire and liking? What if I am in love with you?’ he asked, a proud man driven to laying his feelings, his heart perhaps, at her mercy.

  As I am with you? He felt desire and liking, yes. Emotions a lover and a friend would feel. But it was not enough. Hearts did not break, it seemed. Not with a crack and a splintering noise, at least. They just ached with a bruise that would never heal. ‘Then I am sorry. I never tried to set lures or to attach you. I never intended for you to have feelings for me.’

  ‘I know. If there is fault in this, it is mine,’ Gray said with a rueful twist of his lips that Gaby did not mistake for humour.

  ‘It is no one’s fault. We played with fire and it seems we are both a trifle scorched.’

  ‘I should, in all honour, marry you.’

  Yes, that would prick his conscience as a gentleman. ‘You haven’t ruined me, I was not a virgin, some innocent you seduced. If I had been, then, yes, I agree, you are honour-bound to offer marriage. But I was not.’ He had nothing to say to that, it seemed. ‘We can manage some pretext to end our betrothal a week before I leave. I do not trust Aunt Henrietta not to promptly matchmake again, whatever she says about George’s attachment to Miss Henderson.’

  ‘Gabrielle—’ He broke off, reached for her hand and lifted it to her lips. ‘I cannot—we cannot—continue as lovers.’

  ‘I know.’ She intended to sound firm and definite. It was not as though she disagreed with him. ‘It would be too difficult to separate emotions and desire, would it not?’

  ‘Your emotions are engaged?’ Gray held on to her hand and pulled her closer. ‘Gabrielle?’ His hand was warm and when her fingers instinctively closed around his she could feel his pulse beating strongly. Last night, his heart had beaten over hers as they made love.

  ‘I desire you. I like you.’ You are breaking my heart. ‘I want to be your lover still and I know I should not. I would be an impossible wife for you and marriage is not for me. I cannot afford to allow my emotions free rein, to wonder What if?’

  Chapter Seventeen

  He might as well be battering his head against the wall for all the good this was doing, Gray thought. Whatever it was that Gabrielle felt for him, and perhaps it was only self-delusion that he thought she felt more than she was admitting, it was clearly insufficient to compensate for the legal penalties of marriage.

  Gray released her hand. Their fingers seemed to cling of their own accord for a second, then she was moving away from him, tension in every lovely line of her back, in the way she held her head. Yes, Gabrielle felt more than just desire and she was hurting, perhaps as much as he was.

  What did he want? Surely he could not wish to love when he could not have her? No more than he could not wish her to love him, because it would hurt her.

  What could he do? He could not change the law for her and even if she trusted him enough to believe that he would leave all the power over Frost’s in her hands, that still left the little matter of geography. He could not move his estates or hers closer together or drain the Bay of Biscay. If he had been a younger son he would not be tied to estates and responsibilities, to the House of Lords and thousands of acres, hundreds of lives. But he was not a younger son.

  ‘I cannot blame you,’ he said, as she reached the door. She stopped. She did not turn, but at least she was listening to him. ‘I wish I could. I wish I could call you unwomanly and foolishly independent and make this all your fault. But I cannot. I admire what you do, what you have. I understand why you cannot surrender it into a husband’s hands any more than I could hand unconditional control of my estates to a wife.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Gabrielle said. Her head was bent, baring the vulnerable pale nape of her neck. He wanted to touch it, to kiss it, somehow soothe himself with the taste of her. ‘I believe you.’ She reached for the door handle and he thought that was her last word. Then, as she went through, she said, ‘That makes it worse.’

  Gray stared at the closing door. How could his understanding make it worse for her? Unless...unless she felt more than just the desire and liking she admitted to and sensing that she could trust him only made refusing him harder. He gave her a few minutes, then went out to the hall, retrieved his hat and gloves from the expressionless footman he had tipped to hide him, and left.

  The choice in front of him was stark, he thought, as he walked up the slight slope towards Curzon Street. He could try and suppress his feelings, not examine them, not try and puzzle out if this was love. Then he could meet Gabrielle in social settings, act sufficiently well to keep his godmother at bay until it was time for them to stage their falling-out. Gabrielle would return to Portugal and he would do his best to forget her.

  And unicorns will dance in Grosvenor Square.

  Or he could admit that this was more than lust, more than liking, discover if he could love.

  And then I can drive myself to distraction trying to find a solution to an insoluble conundrum and end up with a broken heart.

  A broken heart? he sneered at himself, turning right into Curzon Street. Broken hearts were for romantic girls and long-haired poets, not adult male aristocrats. A high brick wall loomed on his right and he realised he was at Berkeley Square. Where was he going? What he felt like doing was beating the hell out of someone or something, and the civilised outlet for that desire was to continue along to Old Bond Street and Gentleman Jackson’s establishment. He could find someone to spar with or, if he was in luck, the Gentleman himself might take him on.

  On the other hand, Dover Street and Manton’s, the gunsmith, were closer. He could go to their shooting gallery, relieve his feelings with some target practice and possibly look at their latest guns.

  Which is probably the equivalent of a lady deciding to buy a new bonnet when she’s upset, he thought grimly. I should be at home harassing the staff about making up the rooms for Mama and the children or interviewing doctors.

  These feelings were the very devil, distracting him from what was reality, what he could—and should—be doing.

  He turned on his heel and found himself confronting a solid six-foot male obstructing the pavement. With a muttered apology he sidestepped and the man put out a hand to stop him. Giles.

  ‘Hey, it’s me, Gray. What the devil’s the matter with you? You look like a man who’s lost a sovereign and found a groat.’ The man in front of him frowned. ‘Oh, hell—they said when I called just now that Jamie was going to be all right. They aren’t just putting a brave face on it, are they?’

  ‘No, he’s fine. I was thinking about something else.’ He found he could smile. This was, after all, Giles, Marquess of Revesby, his oldest friend. ‘Good to see you. When did you get to town and how is Laurel?’ Laurel was Giles’s wife, another childhood friend, despite a residual tension between them ever since the events which had led to him marrying Portia.

  ‘She is flourishing, although she really ought to be back home in the country with her feet up, if you follow me.’

  ‘You are anticipating a happy event? Congratulations.’ Gray shook Giles’s hand with genuine feeling. ‘I’d say come down to the club and we’ll drink to it, but I’ve got to track down a doctor I’ve had recommended to check Jamie over.’

  ‘Couldn’t anyway, tempted though I am.’ Revesby cast a harried look at his pocket watch. ‘I’m supposed to be collecting Laurel from the dressmaker’s in five minutes. But come to dinner tonight if you’re free. Relax before the family descends upon you, which your Cousin Henry tells me is likely tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll do that, with pleasure.’ They shook hands, restrained by the location from anything more demonstrative, and Giles strode off northward while Gray took a moment to give himself a mental shake. This was not the time to be bloodying his knuckles or wasting ammunition on harmless targets. He should be calling on Dr Templeton and arranging for him to call and examine Jamie, then he should be reviewing the arrangements the staff had made for his mother and the children. Giles mentioning Henry had given him a telling insight into one of the reasons he was feeling so unsettled: he had a strong desire to hit his cousin, knock out a few teeth.

  Henry had acted in good faith in offering to help Gabrielle, he knew that with the rational, sensible part of his brain. His suggestions would have helped keep her safe from discovery, would have kept her from encountering men far less honest than Henry. And his cousin could have had no idea that Gray’s feelings for her were any more genuine than the pretence they were making for her aunt’s benefit. None of which reasonableness stopped the desire to pulverise the man. Henry had kissed her, he had put his hands on her, even if her torn gown was not his fault, as she insisted.