Mine, something primitive and fierce snarled inside Gray as he changed direction yet again and made his way towards Brook Street and the doctor’s residence. He could have sent a note, but a personal call would give him time to get his thoughts into some sort of order. Mine. It was no comfort to realise that Gabrielle was never likely to be anyone’s, now or in the future. He didn’t want her lonely and celibate, even if that meant there was no one to be jealous of. He wanted the impossible.

  It must be love, he concluded grimly as he let the knocker drop on the imposing front door. So cope with it. Bite your lip and keep it to yourself. Learn to live with it and without her, and focus on what you can control, like finding the best man for Jamie.

  If Templeton could afford this house his practice was profitable and fashionable. It remained to be seen how effective he was, although the replies he had received from his hasty notes to fellow officers who had suffered head injuries in combat and who were now recovered and home in London had produced two direct recommendations and a mention of this man’s name.

  He handed his card to the butler who answered the door. ‘I have no appointment, but I would be grateful if Dr Templeton could spare me a few minutes.’

  ‘My lord.’ The man bowed him inside. It seemed a title gave immediate access here. That did not particularly impress Gray. He didn’t care whether Jamie was examined by the king’s doctor or a slum physician, provided the man knew his business, he thought as he took a seat in an elegant waiting room. The local doctor had been reassuring, had almost convinced him that nothing was wrong, but he would not be satisfied without a second opinion.

  * * *

  ‘You look charming, Gabrielle.’ Aunt Henrietta gave an approving nod towards the new evening gown revealed as Gaby handed her cloak to an attendant. ‘And Gray is not here to see you. I do not understand the man.’ She sounded a touch smug. ‘How long is it since you last saw him?’

  ‘Oh...three days, I think.’ Three days, six hours, twenty minutes... ‘He is sure to be anxious about his son and I doubt he wants to leave his mother just two days after she has made that long journey,’ Gaby said, following her aunt towards the receiving line for Lady Carsington’s reception.

  ‘You are sure and you doubt? Are you not talking to him?’ Aunt Henrietta gave her a searching look. ‘Do I detect a little rift between the pair of you, dear?’

  ‘Not at all, Aunt.’ Gaby produced a smile. ‘We try not to live in each other’s pockets. So unfashionable, don’t you think? And besides, we are not ready to make our understanding known—too obvious a degree of attention would betray it.’

  ‘And why are you not ready?’ her aunt demanded.

  ‘Because, as Gray said, we cannot agree on the venue, or our wedding trip or any of the practical details and until we do there is no point in advertising the matter. I suppose we are both strong-willed people who have been used to having our own way. I am sure we will manage to compromise in time.’ Gaby saw with relief that they had arrived at the end of the receiving line. That, at least, was sufficient to silence her aunt for a few minutes and once they were inside the reception she could surely escape her.

  ‘Henrietta! Cooee, Henrietta!’

  Even better, one of her aunt’s bosom friends, rushing across the room, all flying ribbons and bobbing plumes, to pass on the latest titbit of gossip. Gaby ducked neatly to one side behind a large gentleman and his larger wife and emerged on the other side of two potted palms.

  ‘Oh, excuse me.’ A lady came from her right-hand side suddenly and almost knocked into Gaby. ‘Did I tread on your toe? I do beg your pardon, but I was trying to avoid catching the eye of Mr Parsons, who is convinced I want to hear him recite his latest poetry. I made the mistake of admiring some out of sheer politeness last week and now he haunts me.’

  ‘No good deed goes unpunished,’ Gaby said and the other woman laughed. Her hair was dark and glossy, her eyes a deep brown, both like Gaby’s, but her skin was the roses and cream that English ladies seemed to specialise in.

  ‘I am Laurel, Lady Revesby. My husband is that improbably handsome blond creature over there looking politely interested while having his head talked off by Lady Jersey. I haven’t met you before, have I? Are you new in London?’

  ‘I live in Portugal.’

  Lady Revesby dropped her fan, fumbled a catch and stared. ‘Portugal?’

  ‘Yes, the Douro Valley. I am Gabrielle Frost.’

  ‘Frost’s port?’

  ‘You have heard of us? Ladies so rarely have—their menfolk guard the wine buying, and certainly the port drinking, so jealously.’

  ‘I have heard of you.’ Gaby could not interpret Lady Revesby’s tone. ‘Lord Leybourne was a neighbour when I was growing up. So was my husband. My godfather’s daughter was Gray’s first wife.’

  ‘So you are aware that I know Lord Leybourne?’ She knew and she sounded distinctly wary about the fact, Gaby realised. ‘I presume you also know that he is my aunt’s godson and was kind enough to escort me from Lisbon.’

  ‘Yes. He had dinner with us the other night.’ Lady Revesby looked directly at Gaby, her gaze frankly curious. ‘Something is wrong with Gray.’

  ‘His son had an accident, I am sure he told you.’

  ‘He did and apparently the London doctor has given him a most satisfactory report and little Jamie is not suffering as much as a headache now.’ The other woman was still studying her with those candid brown eyes. ‘Will you come and talk with me? I am supposed to be sitting down or my husband will fuss. I tell him that I am three months pregnant, not sickening from some dire disease, but he takes no notice.’ She stood on tiptoe and scanned the room. ‘Look, that alcove near the string quartet is empty. There is only the one sofa and we can spread out and not be interrupted and the music will mean we can talk in confidence.’

  ‘We need to talk in confidence?’ Gaby enquired rather tartly, but she followed Lady Revesby none the less. ‘And if you are worried about Lord Leybourne, then I suggest you speak to him about it,’ she added as they sat down. Lady Revesby shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, her eyes on her reticule. ‘That was not an accident just now when you bumped into me, was it? You knew who I was and you intended to speak to me.’

  ‘Oh, very well, I admit it. Gray said you were intelligent—which is one of the few pieces of actual information we managed to get out of him. That and the fact that he obviously likes you. Even Giles couldn’t get to the bottom of it and he and Gray always used to tell each other everything.’

  The bottom of what, exactly? ‘Then perhaps Gray does not want even his friends to interfere with his life.’

  ‘Ouch!’ Lady Revesby turned a reproachful face to Gaby. ‘It is not interference out of simply curiosity. I owe him something to make up for the fact that I misjudged him for years.’

  ‘Really? What could Gray possibly have done to earn such enmity? I thought he was generally considered above reproach.’ She knew she sounded sarcastic and brittle, but she could not seem to help herself.

  ‘Oh, don’t be angry and sharp about it.’

  Gaby started to rise and the other woman caught her hand. ‘Please, don’t go. Call me Laurel.’ After that sudden burst of confidence Lady Revesby went back to examining her reticule with painful intensity.

  ‘You can call me Gabrielle, Laurel. Listen, whatever it is in the past that worries you so, I have no desire to hurt Gray. If you confide in me I most certainly will not break your confidence and I have to admit to being curious about his wife, if that is what this concerns.’

  ‘I thought you might be interested. He is so silent on the subject that it is enough to arouse the curiosity of a stone! Well, as I said, we all grew up together. I did not know it then, but my father and Giles’s father always intended for us to marry. All I knew was that Giles was my friend—I was too young to have any other kind of feelings for him.

  ‘Then one summer, when I was just beginning to be aware of men as something...different, and particularly aware of Giles, I overheard him and Gray talking in the hayloft. I know now they were fantasising as young men will. But they were talking about Portia, my godfather’s daughter. She wasn’t much older than I was, but far more mature and very, very lovely. I did not realise that what I was overhearing was wishful thinking—I thought the two of them had been... That they had seduced Portia. I was so upset I ran back to the house looking for somewhere to hide and overheard our fathers—mine and Giles’s and Portia’s—discussing Giles and me becoming betrothed.’

  ‘Goodness...’ Gaby breathed. ‘You must have been confused and upset to put it mildly.’

  Laurel grimaced. ‘I stormed in, all righteous indignation about the pair of them and poor Portia. But she had been eavesdropping, too, I discovered when she promptly rushed into the room and had hysterics. It was dreadful. I refused to have anything to do with Giles. Godpapa was insisting that either Giles or Gray marry Portia. They were furious and humiliated and said they would do no such thing because they had done nothing to deserve it. That set Portia off again. Then the two of them took off to London—Giles joined his cousin who was off to Lisbon on a diplomatic mission and Gray joined the army.’

  ‘Good Lord. They must have been very young.’

  ‘Only just eighteen. Gray’s father supported him and bought him a commission, although Giles’s father was livid that his plans for the pair of us were thwarted. They were estranged for some time, although it is all right now. But Gray felt guilty about Portia because she almost refused to have her Season and was ice-cold to all her suitors when she did come out. So eventually he proposed and she accepted him which was a grave mistake by both of them because they really were not happy together.’

  ‘So he married her out of a sense of responsibility, even though he had done nothing beside indulge in some loose talk with his friend in private?’

  ‘She was lovely enough to turn a man’s brain to porridge,’ Laurel said ruefully. ‘Anyway, she died giving birth to the twins and, ridiculous as it might sound, I think he felt guilty because he did not love her.’

  ‘I can understand that, I think. All the time they were married he was probably wishing he had never proposed and that he wasn’t married and then, when she died, he would have felt awful because he somehow wished it on her. Poor woman.’

  Poor Gray, trapped by his own sense of honour.

  ‘Poor both of them. Giles and I were lucky. We found each other again, years later.’

  They sat in silence for a while as the string quartet worked its way through its repertoire of light music.

  ‘Is Gray unhappy now because of you?’ Laurel asked abruptly. ‘Have you turned him down?’

  ‘I—Oh, no, look. Gray is here.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gray emerged through the crowd by the doors looking starkly handsome, all in black and white except for a flash of ruby from his cravat pin and the gold of his watch chain across his admirably flat stomach. She knew how those muscles felt under her fingertips. She knew where the skin was unexpectedly soft, where the dark hair revealed and concealed, how Gray had twitched when her finger circled his navel and how he had laughed when she teased him for being ticklish.

  He was not laughing now. His face was the bland mask he adopted for social occasions. There was a deceptive half-smile on his lips and that tiny frown line between his brows as he surveyed the room. Then he saw them and it deepened into a furrow as his eyes narrowed.

  ‘Oh, blast,’ Laurel murmured. ‘He’s seen us. He looks furious.’

  ‘And he’s coming over.’ Gaby felt a strong urge to flee, although quite where to, she had no idea. Hiding behind the sofa was clearly impossible and they had trapped themselves in their alcove.

  ‘Lady Revesby. Miss Frost.’

  ‘Don’t be stuffy, Gray,’ Laurel said with a laugh that had an edge of nervousness.

  ‘And don’t play the airhead with me, Laurel. I’ve known you since you were six and I can tell when you are up to something at forty paces.’

  ‘Very well, Gray, if you must have it, we are talking about you, of course.’

  Gaby almost bit her tongue.

  ‘That is hardly a surprise,’ he said, the treacherous false smile curving his lips. ‘You don’t know each other and I must be the only thing you have in common. Besides you, Laurel, have never been able to resist interfering.’

  ‘Then you admit there is something to interfere in?’

  ‘Hasn’t Miss Frost told you all her secrets? I would beware, Miss Frost, Laurel carries the equivalent of thumbscrews with her. You’ll be pouring your most intimate confidences into her ear before you know where you are.’

  ‘No, I have told her no secrets and no confidences, Lord Leybourne. I have been hearing all about Lady Revesby’s own romantic marriage.’

  ‘And what led up to it, no doubt.’ There was no hint of a smile, false or genuine, now.

  ‘That, too.’

  He was angry, she realised suddenly, with a stab of alarm. She had seen Gray in many moods, but never furious. It was cold anger, controlled anger, that showed in his eyes, in the way he held himself, not in his voice.

  ‘You will do me the favour of walking with me for a while, Miss Frost.’ That was not a request.

  What could he do if she refused? Drag her to her feet and haul her around the room? Throw her over his shoulder and march outside to the terrace? She searched for the least provocative way to refuse, but beside her Gaby could feel Laurel’s tension, and across the room she could see Aunt Henrietta watching them. The last thing she could afford at the moment was a display of antagonism towards Gray, or George would be on her doorstep, primed for courtship by his mother.

  ‘I must say that a breath of fresh air would be welcome, it is becoming very stuffy in here. If you will excuse me, Lady Revesby? It was a pleasure to meet you and I do hope you will call.’ She took one of the cards that had just arrived from the stationer and handed it to Laurel, ignoring the sensation that she was standing next to a man about to hiss with impatience like a boiling kettle.

  Not that it showed on Gray’s face, Gaby thought as she placed her fingertips on his proffered arm and allowed herself to be led towards the terrace doors. It was a fine night, unseasonably warm for almost the end of October, and several couples and one small but noisy group were already out on the sheltered flagstoned area amidst lanterns and a scattering of small tables.

  Gray selected a table in the far corner, pulled out the chair with its back to the house for her and sat facing outwards beside her. ‘I gather Laurel sought you out.’

  ‘She is concerned about you.’

  He made a sound that might almost have been a snarl. ‘It seems to be my fate to be surrounded by women of exquisite sensibility.’

  ‘Tosh,’ Gaby said, startling a fleeting smile out of him. ‘I have a conscience that I pay attention to. That requires no great sensibility. Laurel is a friend of yours, so she is concerned about you and sensitive to your moods. That leaves the late Lady Leybourne. Was she the woman of exquisite sensibility who made you desperately uncomfortable with female emotion?’

  ‘My wife was a very beautiful woman who cultivated sensitivity to a fine art. I presume Laurel has told you all about that summer afternoon in the hayloft?’

  ‘And two young men exchanging fantasies? Yes. But why on earth did you feel you had to offer for her? Surely the fathers involved knew all too well how the youthful male brain functions and weren’t loading shotguns and sending for the parson?’

  ‘Portia was hysterical, Laurel was furious and neither of us could get a word in edgeways, even if we hadn’t been incoherent with embarrassment and humiliation. We took off for London before things calmed down and Portia’s father realised that she had not been ravished by a pair of youthful libertines. But Portia, it seemed, did not get over it. I heard from my mother that she was unwed and was refusing to treat her numerous would-be suitors with anything but cold disdain.’

  ‘I see. She had concluded that “all men are beasts,” as my maiden aunt Clara used to pronounce, and you felt guilty.’

  ‘Exactly. And then my mother and Portia’s mother put their heads together. Her mama decided that marrying her was the least I could do and my mother was, not surprisingly, impressed by the size of her dowry. It was put to me that I had a duty to her and she was persuaded that marriage to a serving officer who was out of the country for months, if not years, at a time was better than dwindling into a spinster aunt.’

  ‘And she was very lovely,’ Gaby said drily.

  ‘Blonde, willowy, big blue eyes, curves...’ Gray shrugged. ‘I should have made an effort—instead I countered her imitation of an early Christian virgin martyr with cold politeness. I should have known better, tried harder to make her happy. I didn’t.’

  ‘And so should she. There were any number of people who she could have talked to, I would have thought.’ Gaby tried to feel sympathy, but it was difficult. If Portia had been assaulted, or threatened, then it would be all too easy to sympathise. Gaby thought with an inward shudder of Andrew Norwood’s determined attack. Of his mouth, hot and wet on hers, of his hands on her breasts, fumbling with her skirts. Of his strength, too much for hers.

  But Portia had suffered shock and embarrassment after a second-hand report of some reprehensible, and entirely predictable, adolescent behaviour. Laurel, her shock fuelled by a jealousy she was probably unaware of, had stirred up an almighty row, the fathers had overreacted, Portia had responded with hysteria and the young men themselves had made matters infinitely worse by fleeing the scene, giving the entire episode an importance it did not merit.