In the circle of his arm Gabrielle stiffened, jerking his mind back to the woman here in the darkness with him.

  * * *

  Gaby froze, then relaxed. Gray’s hands were still as he held her, he was not groping or fumbling—not that she could ever imagine him doing either thing—and it seemed he was simply offering her comfort.

  It was not his fault that this was not at all comforting. What would he do if she kissed him? She could not quite believe that all he was feeling was a friendly wish to console her. Under her cheek she could hear his heart beating, could tell that his breathing was not quite steady, could smell the subtle musk of warm man beneath the traces of smoke and port and cologne. Warm, aroused man?

  It would not be fair. In fact, she told herself, it would be as dishonourable as a man taking advantage of a woman to try to seduce him. Gray was not here for dalliance, he was here because his misplaced sense of family responsibility and natural chivalry had forced him to do her aunt’s bidding. And, she suspected, he genuinely believed she would be better off marrying a suitable English gentleman. She could not blame him for the attempt at carrying out her aunt’s wishes.

  Now—finding himself with an armful of willing young woman, one who he knew was not a virgin—he was exhibiting a self-control that was positively saintly.

  Or perhaps not. She could feel his lips moving against her hair and the big body so firm against hers was tense... Gaby twisted within the circle of his arms and tipped back her head to look up at him. His face was a pale oval in the gloom, but his breath was warm on her cheek. ‘Kiss me, Gray?’

  ‘Why?’

  That was a very good question, damn him.

  Then she felt, more than heard, his breath hitch. ‘Because we both want to? Because we are both adult, single people?’

  He did not reply in words, simply bent his head and found her lips, teasing along the seam. She opened to him with a sigh, accepted his tongue into her mouth with the touch of her own, tasted him and hungered for more. Gray kissed like a dream: firm, gentle yet assertive, devastatingly thorough. And like a dream, the kiss ended all too soon, leaving her dazed and wondering.

  Her fingers were in his hair and it took her a moment to free them, to stroke down to the nape of his neck and away. She felt him shiver under the caress. ‘That was...good.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, settling her back against his chest. Somehow she had moved—or been moved?—from his side to sitting across his thighs. ‘It was. And unwise.’

  Ah. Sitting like this, there was no mistaking the fact that he was aroused. Gaby’s memory presented her with a perfect picture of what was under those elegant evening clothes, which did not help her own control in the slightest.

  ‘Probably very unwise,’ she agreed equably and shifted to the seat opposite him. It was hard to tell in such poor light, but he did not appear to be greatly relieved that she had moved. If she went back... No. ‘But thank you. I needed...something.’

  ‘I am happy to provide a distraction.’ There was a smile in his voice, which was a relief. Many men would have been offended at the suggestion that they were simply a comfort.

  ‘I did not require distracting.’ Mercifully her pulse rate was calming from thunderous to merely rapid. ‘But a human touch from someone I can trust, that has steadied the ground under my feet a little.’ Which was true. Whatever turmoil that kiss had thrown her into, it had also calmed something inside her, soothed a loss even as it had awoken desires and longings she did not want to examine.

  ‘It did not do a great deal for my equilibrium,’ Gray confessed. ‘Perhaps I should take a midnight swim.’

  ‘Not after a rich meal and wine, it would not be safe,’ Gaby said hastily, then laughed a little when she realised she was being teased. How strange, to laugh with someone at their gentle teasing, to be held with passion and yet without demand. What a long time it seemed since she had experienced either. Jane was a sensible, loyal companion, but she did not have a ready sense of humour and she most definitely was not given to spontaneous demonstrations of affection. If Gaby had hugged her she would probably have sent for the doctor.

  The carriage was descending now, and they were almost home. What would happen if she took Gray by the hand and led him inside, up the stairs to her bedchamber? Would he go with her? She wanted to make love with him, whatever the risks... And then she thought of another risk of lovemaking: if she wanted a father for her heir, she could not do better.

  And I must not. I cannot use this man like that and even if I did, I cannot bring up a child here with everyone knowing it was born out of wedlock. I must not.

  The temptation was awful. The carriage pulled up, one of the grooms let down the step and opened the door and Gray handed her out, but did not release her hand as the man swung back up behind the coach. It clattered off to the stables leaving them standing at the edge of the wash of light from the lanterns by the front steps.

  ‘I wish I could ask you in, but—’

  ‘I wish you would, but—’ Gray lifted her fingers to his lips. ‘But we should not, must not.’ The trace of laughter was back in his voice. ‘Will not.’

  ‘You are right, although I find it difficult to remind myself why not,’ Gaby confessed. Her pulse had kicked up again and a disturbing, long-ignored, intimate pulse was beating, hot, demanding.

  ‘You are upset, you feel betrayed and you seek comfort. But comfort is not what we would bring each other, I think,’ he said, serious once more, her hand still in his enveloping grasp. ‘And I remind myself that you are a lady and that I am not a marrying man, not any longer.’ Gray turned and walked towards the door, opened it for her. ‘Goodnight, Gabrielle.’

  ‘Goodnight, Gray.’ She reached up, touched his cheek with her gloved fingers and felt a little prickle of evening beard through the fine silk. A man who shaved twice a day, she imagined, recalling the dark curls on his chest, the line leading downward... ‘No swimming, now.’

  His chuckle was cut off as she closed the door. Gaby stood just inside, peeled off her gloves, twisted them in her hands, then, finding her legs singularly unwilling to walk towards the stairs, leaned back against the carved panels and closed her eyes with a sigh. Gray’s body had felt as solid, as invincible as these old chestnut planks, she thought.

  Against her back the door shifted, just a little, as though someone had leaned on the other side. Was he there, thinking about her, wanting her?

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Senhora Gabrielle?’

  ‘Oh, Baltasar, you made me jump.’

  ‘I am sorry, senhora, that I was not here to open the door. I was not expecting you home yet.’

  ‘That is quite all right.’ It was necessary to speak calmly, maintain her composure, pretend that she was somehow in control of the emotions tearing through her. ‘I have a headache so we came away early. Send Paula up to my room, would you, please?’

  She only wanted to be alone to think and she would have managed without her maid, but the gown was impossible to get out of alone. Even better would be to lie in Gray’s arms and not have to think at all.

  In her chamber Gaby smiled at her maid and submitted to being unbuttoned. She agreed that it was a stuffy evening with a storm brewing, perhaps, which would account for her headache. She managed not to snap when Paula made her usual slow examination of each piece of jewellery before she locked it away and dismissed her, saying her head was too sore to permit the usual lengthy business of hair brushing.

  In reality her head was not aching at all, but her insides felt decidedly peculiar. Part was unsatisfied arousal, she decided. The rest of the discomfort was anger over the MacFarlanes’ scheming, disappointment to have lost an old friendship and apprehension over how she was to go on now.

  The best thing would be to pretend nothing had happened, as she had told Gray she would. She should dismiss Angus’s pretensions and his parents’ ambitions and treat them as she did any of the other families along the river. If they were prepared to play the same, unspoken game, then in time the awkwardness would be smoothed over.

  But Angus was not a mature young man who would put aside his humiliation easily. Between them she and Gray had administered a serious snub and he might well be difficult to deal with the next time they met. Nor would his mother take her rejection well. Angus was the apple of her eye and she would find it impossible to comprehend Gaby’s unwillingness to marry him.

  She took pins from her hair and shook out the carefully arranged curls. A coolness between the neighbouring quintas would be noted and commented upon up and down the Douro and there was the making of some tricky social and business situations if that happened.

  The brush slid through her hair and she began to count under her breath. ‘One, two, three...’

  On the other hand, if she was away for a while, then a slight change in the relationship might well go unnoticed. It would certainly give Angus time to recover his wounded pride and his parents the opportunity to look around for another bride for him.

  And this was the best time of the year to be away. The harvest was in, the experienced workers were busy on familiar routine tasks. Her team was strong and reliable, perfectly capable of carrying on without her for a while, especially if she was somewhere that the post could reach within a week or so in case of any unexpected problems.

  ‘...ninety-nine, one hundred...’ She had talked herself into going to London, Gaby realised as she put down the brush.

  Which left the small matter of that kiss. If she announced that she was, after all she had said, planning to travel to London with him, then Gray—and any man with an ounce of self-preservation—would run a mile. Or assume he had been skilfully entrapped. As it was he had made the point of stating that he was not intending to marry again. Oh, dear. There was nothing for it but some very plain speaking. Thank heavens Jane was such a late riser...

  * * *

  ‘Baltasar, will you please go over to the Gentlemen’s House and ask Lord Leybourne if he would join me for breakfast?’

  Gaby poured coffee, spread apricot jam on one of Maria’s pastries, warm from the oven, and practised looking businesslike. She had dressed with great care, exactly as she did every morning, had her hair in a simple braid and did not think she could look any less like a woman attempting to exercise her seductive wiles on a man. What Gray would think was another matter.

  Baltasar opened the door to him, produced another place setting and went out.

  ‘Good morning, Gabrielle.’ Gray sat down, held out his cup for coffee and took two pastries. He looked faintly wary.

  ‘Good morning.’ This was beginning to feel awkward. Gaby cleared her throat. ‘You must be wondering why I asked you over for breakfast.’

  ‘I am a trifle curious, I confess.’

  ‘You must not think that what I am about to say means that I am asking you to—Oh, thank you, Baltasar. Cheese flan. Lovely. No, I do not think there is anything else just at the moment.’

  Gray waited until the door closed behind the major-domo. ‘Ask me? Or not ask me?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, no.’ The pastry chose that moment to disintegrate, showering her bodice in a shower of flakes. ‘Oh, blast.’ She stood up and brushed them off. Gray silently handed her the platter and she took another. ‘Thank you.’

  He helped himself to a slice of the flan and began to eat. Perfectly composed, the irritating man.

  ‘Yes. That is, I am not asking you to marry me.’

  Gray dropped his fork.

  Not so composed, after all, she thought with fleeting, short-lived satisfaction. ‘What I mean is—’

  ‘That I am not to assume you have expectations because of one kiss in a carriage?’ He sounded very dry indeed and not remotely amused.

  ‘If you will just allow me to finish?’ Don’t snap. It won’t help. ‘What I mean is that I have decided to return to London with you. With your escort, that is. Not with you.’ And stop twittering. ‘What I do not want is for you to assume that I have read far too much into a simple moment of...desire and have set my cap at you.’ Now he was looking amused, damn him. ‘I had thought that if I simply announced my change of mind, my intention to travel with you, you might feel uncertain of my motives and that would be awkward. I decided that frankness was the best option—and do not dare laugh at me!’

  ‘I am not. I am delighted to encounter such a very straightforward and frank approach. It is exceedingly refreshing after the hints and sighs and manoeuvrings of most of the unmarried ladies I encounter.’

  ‘You have a high opinion of your desirability on the Marriage Mart,’ she said coldly, still not too sure he was taking her seriously.

  ‘I am an earl, single, under forty, with all my own teeth. I am not in debt, not flaunting mistresses and not given to wearing corsets,’ Gray pointed out. ‘One learns to be very nimble on one’s feet.’

  ‘Do you not want to remarry?’ Gaby asked, startled into open curiosity.

  ‘No. Why should I? I have my heir.’

  ‘I would have thought there were other benefits to marriage.’ He raised one eyebrow. ‘Not that. Well, as well as that. A domestic life, a hostess, a mother to your children...’

  ‘My mother acts as my hostess, raises my children.’

  ‘And will not, if you will forgive me, be able to do that for ever.’

  ‘Wives do not live for ever, either.’ Gray was not smiling now.

  ‘I beg your pardon. Of course, that was thoughtless of me. You are still mourning your wife—’ Of all the insensitive, thoughtless things to have said.

  ‘I am not still mourning. Portia died five years ago.’

  Well, yes, but if you loved her, it would still hurt in fifty years. Gaby swallowed a gulp of coffee in the hope of drowning the queasy sense that she had blundered. I don’t know. I can’t guess and I shouldn’t try.

  ‘I was not so enamoured of the state of marriage to feel any desire to re-engage with it and besides, I am not good husband material,’ Gray said with the certainty of a man informing her that the sky was up and the earth was, most definitely, down.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he would not be a good husband. Gaby bit back the question.

  Stop it. You like him, you desire him and you have to travel with him without it becoming hideously embarrassing for both of you, she lectured herself silently.

  ‘We are straying from the point,’ she said severely. ‘I intend travelling with you to London, accompanied by Miss Moseley. I trust, as this was presumably your intention in coming here, that this is acceptable to you?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ Gray reached for the coffee pot and refilled his cup, contemplated the sugar and, with some deliberation, added one very small lump. ‘You are running away, then? I had not expected that of you.’

  ‘No, I am not and you are trying to provoke me again.’ And why that should be Gaby was not sure she wanted to investigate. ‘What happened last night with the MacFarlanes was awkward and it could make for a difficult situation. A coldness between the two houses could lead to gossip and all the businesses are too intertwined for that to be healthy. No one will think anything of it if I go to London for a month or two. This is the quiet season and I can leave things in the hands of a good manager. It is hardly as though I am off to Brazil, letters will arrive within a week or so.’

  She watched him drink his coffee, his good humour, it seemed, restored. That flash of darkness when he had spoken of his marriage had vanished behind what she was beginning to suspect was a carefully maintained mask. Perhaps an officer, someone who must lead men day after day through the most numbing routine and into the most terrible danger, needed such a mask.

  ‘A strategic retreat in order to regroup,’ she said and thought his smile was genuine.

  ‘You will stay with Lady Orford, of course.’

  ‘Stay in Aunt Henrietta’s London house and have George thrust at me morning, noon and night?’ Gaby rang for more coffee. ‘No, I will hire a house for the duration of my stay. What objection can there be to a lady setting up home with her chaperone in a respectable location? I am certain you can advise me on how to find a suitable agent and which areas are most eligible.’

  * * *

  Gray resisted the temptation to sink his head in his hands or ring for brandy and drink himself into oblivion. Probably drinking brandy was a capital crime in this part of the world...

  Gabrielle Frost was rapidly driving him to distraction. The pull he felt towards her, physically, was hardly a surprise. He was not a monk. He was perfectly capable of finding himself aroused by a wide variety of attractive women—and was equally capable of either acting on that if it was returned and appropriate, or not. Gabrielle had him tossing and turning in his bed like a randy youth.

  And it was not simply the sexual connection. He liked her, too, when she was not forcing him to confront memories and issues he had been quite effectively ignoring. How long would it take to get back to London? Less than two weeks. Three if they were unlucky. Then he would either have to deliver her—kicking and screaming, most likely—to his godmother or he must install her in an hotel, find her a house agent and reputable staff—and be berated by Lady Orford for doing what Gabrielle wanted, not what her ladyship ordained.

  Life would be very much simpler if he left Gabrielle here, returned to England, wrote to his godmother apologising for failing to persuade her niece to visit and then retreated to Winfell, a safe two hundred and fifty miles away.

  Coward, his conscience whispered. She is quite right. Leaving her neighbours to recover from the ruin of their dynastic plans is sensible. She is mature, intelligent and wealthy enough to cope with London, even demonstrating a degree of eccentricity. She needs you—and not in the way you need her. You’re a colonel of cavalry, a hardened veteran. Are you going to be routed by one young female?