A Gentleman Never Tells (20 page)

He took hold of her hand. “Let’s go.”

The afternoon flew by for Brent. Even though the air was crisp and their hands must have been tight from cold, the acrobats managed to do amazing feats of tumbling, twirling, and swinging from ropes. They watched a man twist his body into odd and what looked like painful positions. A juggler kept five balls in the air at one time and never missed catching any of them.

With awe, they stared at a young woman dressed in what Brent could only classify as her unmentionables, which in itself was a spectacular thing to do because of the chilly air. She defied gravity by walking on a thick rope that was stretched about three-houses high, between two poles that had been erected and with nothing beneath her to catch her should she fall. They spent time watching a tiger, which Gabrielle didn’t think was very impressive at all. She said he didn’t look fierce, lying so calmly in his cage. Some youngsters walked up beside them and yelled to the big cat. They wanted him to lift his big head and growl at them, but the tiger was more interested in his nap.

Late in the afternoon, when Brent knew they must soon leave, he found a place for them to sit down near a booth that was serving hot tea and warm biscuits dusted with finely ground sugar and cinnamon. Brent could hardly eat his own biscuit for watching Gabrielle, who had removed her gloves and was daintily licking sugar from her fingertips. He was sure she had no idea how enticing she looked doing that. When his body could take no more of watching her, he knew it was time to head for the carriage and get her home. But first he intended to steal a few kisses from her tempting lips, and he had already seen the perfect place to do that on the way back to the carriage.

“There is one more thing we need to do before we go,” Gabrielle said, fitting her black gloves back on her hands.

Brent swallowed the last of his tea. “I thought we had seen and done it all,” he said.

“No, I saw the booth earlier and resisted its lure until now.”

“I’m intrigued. What haven’t we seen?”

“The fortune-teller booth.”

Brent folded his arms across his chest and eyed her warily. “You aren’t serious.”

“Of course I am.” She smiled. “Don’t you want to know what your future holds?”

“Not particularly,” he said. “I have no interest in such folly.”

“Oh, I do,” she said quickly. “I absolutely adore having my fortune told, and I believe everything they say will come true.”

He studied her and said, “Do you now?”

“Oh, yes. My father believes in what fortune-tellers say, and my sister, too. And we all consult them often.”

Brent smiled. He didn’t believe a word of what she was saying. The second she heard he had no interest in fortune-tellers, she was suddenly very intent about it.

“All right, Gabrielle, let’s go and see what your future holds.”

The cramped booth was painted black with small, shiny red stars. A woman sat behind a counter. She was dressed in all black with a sheer lace netting covering her face.

“Welcome, gentleman and lady,” she said in a heavy Italian accent. “I tell both fortunes for one shilling, no?”

Gabrielle looked at Brent. “You will do it, won’t you?”

“Only for you.”

Brent paid the woman, and she asked Gabrielle to take off her glove and hold out her hand, palm up.

“It’s all right I touch your hand?” the woman asked.

Gabrielle nodded. The fortune-teller lightly traced the lines in Gabrielle’s hand as she hummed. After what seemed like a dreadfully long time to Brent, she looked up and said, “I see that recently in your life there has been a major change, and that has troubled you.”

Gabrielle nodded and glanced at Brent. He shrugged.

“Ah, but I see great happiness in your future. But first”—the woman paused for another long time as she seemed to study Gabrielle’s hand—“first something more will trouble you and cause you pain. You have very strong men in your life, and they all want to choose for you.”

Gabrielle frowned. “Choose what?”

“That I cannot say, but when it comes, you will remember I was the one who told you it would happen.”

“Thank you,” Gabrielle said and pulled her hand back. She turned to Brent and said, “Now it’s your turn.”

Brent took off his glove and, as he extended his hand to the woman, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a man walking by. Something about him seemed very familiar. It took a moment or two for Brent to realize it was the black patch over his eye that jogged his memory. This was the man Brent had seen in the park a month or so ago, who had a rabbit under his coat. Brent turned and looked behind him. The man was carrying a lumpy, dirty canvas sack over his shoulders.

Brent’s senses went on alert, and he jerked back his hand from the fortune-teller. Brent remembered the talk going around Town that not only the remains of horses and cattle were fed to beasts at fairs, but strays, too.

He wanted to follow the man and find out what he had in that sack he carried, but what could Brent do with Gabrielle? He quickly glanced around him. There was no place safe where he could leave her unattended at the fair. There were too many disreputable people milling around. But he had to do something quickly. The man was getting farther away.

He grabbed Gabrielle’s and said, “Come with me.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, almost running to keep up with his long strides. “What about your fortune?”

“Later,” he said, searching the people in front them and trying to catch up with the man before he lost him in the crowd.

“Brent, what is wrong? Where are we going in such a hurry?”

“Look ahead of us to the left. You’ll see a man in a gray coat. He has a sack thrown over his shoulder.”

“Yes, I see him.”

“I want to follow him to see where he is going, and I don’t want him to know we are doing it.”

“Why? What has he done?”

Brent glanced over at her and wondered if he was doing the right thing by bringing her along with him. He could understand her curiosity, but he didn’t have time to explain to her what he was doing. He wished like hell he didn’t have Gabrielle with him. He couldn’t leave her alone, though he wasn’t sure she was any safer with him following this man. Brent had to know what was in that bag.

“I’ll tell you later. Just stay close beside me and do whatever I tell you to do.”

“All right.”

“And that means without questioning me, Gabrielle.”

“I understand, my lord,” she said, squeezing his hand to let him know she understood the gravity of what they were doing.

Gabrielle held tightly to his hand and stayed close to him as they weaved through the throng of people. Near the far end of the booths and tents, the crowd thinned and it was clear the man was heading to the back of the main attractions, to where there were several large tents and four large covered wagons. Off to one side, children played with a ball. Not far from there, several women sat around a large pot that had a fire going underneath it.

Brent tried to keep his mind from racing with possibilities, but why would a man who said he caught rabbits in the park to sell to the taverns and inns be so familiar with the back area of a traveling fair? Unless he also sold what he caught to the owners.

Brent slowed and looked around when the man turned a corner and headed to one of the tents behind a roped-off area. He needed to stop him before he entered the tent. He led Gabrielle over to a booth.

Brent put his finger to his lips and said, “Shh. Stay here. Do not follow me.”

Without further thought, Brent hurried past the rope barricade and called out to the man. He turned, saw Brent, and started to run. Brent rushed the man from behind, caught him, and pushed him up against the wagon, pinning him against it with his body. The man reached back with his fist and knocked Brent’s hat to the ground. Brent caught the man’s flailing arm and pulled it behind his back, stretching it up toward his shoulder.

“I don’t have any money, nothing of value,” the man managed to say as Brent pressed his face against the wagon.

“I have no need of your money or anything else. I simply want to know what you have in the sack.”

“Squirrels. You can have them. Take them if you want. They’re yours.”

Inhaling deeply, Bent relaxed and blew out a disappointed breath. He let go of the man and stepped away.

The man turned to face Brent. His wide eyes seemed frozen in shock as he held out the bag to Brent with a trembling hand.

Brent took the sack and looked inside. Dead squirrels. He closed it and handed it back to the man. “You told me you sold the animals you caught to tavern and inn keepers.”

The man nodded. “I do, my lord, but I also told you I sold to whoever is buying. And sometimes I sell to the people here. Their money spends just as good.”

“Have you ever picked up stray dogs and brought them here for the animals?”

The man’s eyes widened, and Brent could tell his throat constricted as he swallowed hard. “Not lately, sir.”

“But you have?”

He nodded. “Nobody’s ever cared.”

Brent’s stomach turned over. “Did you pick up a small, fluffy dog in the park a few weeks ago and bring it here?”

“I swear I didn’t, my lord.” His lips trembled, and his voice shook. “I’d never pick up a well-fed animal. Only pick them up if they are old, sickly, or starving. Sometimes it’s hard for the owners of places like this to get the leavings at the slaughterhouses. Strays are easy to catch, a lot easier to catch than a rabbit or squirrel. All you have to do to get a stray to come to you is offer him food or a bone, and he’ll come right to you. But believe me, sir, I like dogs. I wouldn’t ever sell a healthy dog to anyone.”

“Did you know that several small dogs have gone missing in London?”

The man shook his head. “Can’t read and don’t have time to listen to folks talking on the streets.”

Brent didn’t know why, but he believed the man. He pulled a coin out of his coat pocket and gave it to the man. “If you hear anything that might help me find out what is happening to the dogs, find me. I’ll reward you for it.”

The man attempted a nervous smile and nodded.

Brent picked up his hat and dusted it on his leg as he headed back toward Gabrielle.

“Brent,” Gabrielle said, rushing up to him. “What was all that about?”

He took hold of her hand and kissed it. It calmed him and settled him just to be able to touch her. As they headed back to the main part of the fair, in as little detail as possible in order to spare her sensibilities, Brent told her why he was questioning the man.

“It’s positively gruesome to even think about what you suspected the man of doing.”

“I know, but something is happening to the dogs, and I’m not going to rest until I find out what it is.”

“Wait,” she said, suddenly pulling on his arm. “The fortune-teller booth is right there. You paid for your fortune. Don’t you want to know what it will be?”

Her eyes sparkled, and her lips looked so moist he knew he could go no longer without kissing her. “I prefer to make my own fortune, Gabrie.”

He led her around to the back of the booth and pulled her into his arms. He leaned her against it, and his lips came down on hers with an urgency he didn’t know he was capable of. He didn’t want to think about anything—not dogs, not marriage, not where they were. He just wanted to kiss Gabrielle and touch her. He wanted to indulge himself and satisfy his thirst for her.

His desire was instant, intense, and eager. She opened her mouth and accepted the deep thrust of his tongue. In the coolness of the day, her mouth was warm and tasted of sweet sugar and cinnamon. His arms slid down to her hips, and he pulled her up against the hard bulge in his trousers. Her body was soft and inviting. He groaned into her mouth as his pelvis started a rhythmic motion against her.

As his lips passionately devoured hers, his hand moved up from her waist and slid beneath her cape to cup her breast. He felt her breath quicken, and it excited him all the more. His palm flattened against her breast and gently massaged it, enjoying the gratifying feeling of touching her, wishing he could remove the barrier of her clothing. His kisses moved to her cheek. She arched her head back, giving him freedom to kiss her neck and explore the soft skin behind her ear before he moved up to brush her lips once again.

A soft moan of pleasure wafted past his ear, and he smiled against her skin. It pleased him greatly to know she enjoyed his touch so much. His body ached, and he was desperate to possess her. His hands clutched at her skirts, gathering the bountiful fabric and pulling it up her legs.

He heard the snort of a horse behind them and quickly, breathlessly, hid Gabrielle’s face in his chest while an old man leading two horses walked past them, but thankfully never looked their way.

Trembling from unreleased desire, he lowered his head to the top of hers and tried to calm his breathing. He was angry at himself for wanting her so desperately he was willing to take her where anyone might happen upon them. It didn’t matter how much he needed her right now, how delicious she felt in his arms, or how willing she was to accept his loving; this wasn’t the place to touch her. And he had to gain better control of himself where she was concerned.

“That was close,” she whispered against his chest.

“Too close. We should go,” he whispered, pulling away from her.

She looked up at him with questioning eyes. “Brent, why is it that whenever you kiss me I seem to lose my good common sense?”

He snorted a half laugh. “I can’t answer that, Gabrie, because I find I lose mine as well. So come, let’s get you home right now while I still have a tenuous hold on my common sense.”

There are few wild beasts more to be dreaded than a communicative man having nothing to say.

—Christian Nestell Bovee

Gabrielle stood at the doorway to the music room of their Mayfair town house and smiled. It had taken her and her aunt two days to get the house ready for the recital and finally everything was in place. The pianoforte had been situated in the far corner, where the pianist could look up and appreciate his audience. Lighted candelabras, placed on tall Corinthian column pedestals, stood on both sides of the piano. All the furniture in the room had been removed, and small straight-back chairs were lined tightly together in rows for the thirty guests who had been invited.

With the help of Babs’s and Fern’s delicate handwriting skills, all the invitations had gone out the day after the Cuddlebury’s party. Rosabelle had been eager for the party when Gabrielle first told her about it, but her mind had changed quickly. She refused to help with anything concerning the recital and vowed not to come out of her room the entire evening because she couldn’t convince Gabrielle to invite Staunton.

The response to the event had been better than Gabrielle expected, considering the short notice and her less-than-spotless standing in Society. She had remained firm against her aunt’s insistence that she must at least add a flutist or violinist to the pianist or the guests would become quite bored. She didn’t want her aunt to know, but that was exactly what Gabrielle wanted.

This entire evening had been set up so she could impress upon Lord Brentwood that she didn’t know the first thing about the proper way to give a party. Surely he wouldn’t want a wife who didn’t know how to adequately entertain or maintain his household. Though, in truth, she was the complete opposite. She had helped her father plan and manage parties since she was sixteen. She was more than efficient with every social occasion and knew all the proper dos and don’ts. She was sure her knowledge of what was expected, and always doing it, was the reason she was having such a difficult time trying to prove to Lord Brentwood she wouldn’t make an acceptable wife. Trying to change one’s natural abilities wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be.

She had been very select in choosing the guests. She had invited Lord Snellingly and several other members of the Royal Society of Poets. Those gentlemen would probably send Brent running for the door the moment they opened their mouths about verse. Lord Waldo Rockcliffe had responded that he would be in attendance. That should make Brent very uncomfortable, since most everyone in London suspected that Lord Waldo and one of Brent’s brothers had been less than civil to each other.

She had also invited the extremely showy, pious, and well-decorated Count Vigone, who had recently returned from Italy with more stories about how great he was than anyone wanted to hear. That count had a propensity for irritating the most patient of gentlemen. She had invited Brent’s brothers and the youngest and silliest of the past Season’s debutantes who hadn’t already made a match. If all these misfits didn’t make Brent see she would have no idea how to pair guests and host a party for him if they married, she had added one more gentleman to the evening. Sir Randolph Gibson had to be Brent’s biggest nemesis. With almost everyone in London thinking the dapper old gentleman was his brothers’ real father, surely Brent would never forgive her for inviting that man to the recital.

This simply must work. Not only was Gabrielle finding it very difficult to resist Brent’s romantic attentions, she was running out of time. She knew any day now she would hear from her father that he was returning home. Once that happened, she knew he would be calling on his solicitor and checking with Brent about setting a wedding date.

“I’ve made the rounds one last time,” her aunt said, coming up behind her. “Everything seems to be in place.”

Gabrielle faced her aunt. “Oh, good.”

Auntie Bethie rubbed the back of her neck. “I have to say again, Gabby, I’m not happy about making the guests come inside and immediately sit down to an hour of music before we give them a sip of drink or bite of food.”

Gabrielle knew it was the epitome of bad taste to do so, but she was getting desperate. “I know what I’m doing, Auntie.”

“Then why in heaven’s name couldn’t we at least add a violinist, a cellist, or a flutist? Piano music can become tedious for those who are not trained in music.”

“I know you don’t understand, Auntie. But you must trust me that this is the way I want it.”

She knew desperation made people do strange things. She’d certainly done that the morning she’d met Brent in the park and she was still trying to make amends for her rash behavior.

“I’ve been trying to work out in my mind why you want tonight to be a disaster, but I’m puzzled.”

Gabrielle remained silent. She hated the thought of disappointing her aunt, and for a moment wondered if she had gone too far. But what other choice did she have? Her father was away. She couldn’t try to dissuade him. There was nothing left for her to do but discourage Brent.

“You know you don’t have to tell me what is going on in that busy mind of yours,” her aunt said. “I just hope it accomplishes what you want.”

Gabrielle hugged her aunt. “You don’t know how much I appreciate your saying that, Auntie.”

“Well, you certainly chose your dress well,” her aunt said, admitting defeat again and changing the subject. “You look stunning tonight, dearie.”

“Thank you,” Gabrielle said and looked down at her gown, a plain, cap-sleeved, high-waisted dress of pale yellow. Over the shift, she wore a long-sleeved, golden-colored tulle that flowed gracefully down her body. Around her neck hung three long strands of delicate pearls, and matching earrings that had belonged to her mother. Her hair had been swept up into a loose chignon with pearls woven throughout the bun.

“Oh, that was the doorknocker,” Auntie Bethie said. “Let’s go greet the first guest.”

More than two painful hours later, Gabrielle had finally had enough. As the guests had arrived, she had shown them straight into the music room and had them sit down. When Brent arrived, looking dapper in a black evening coat with an ivory-colored waistcoat, she asked him to sit on the front row and save her a seat beside him.

After it appeared that all the guests had arrived, she announced the pianist, Mr. Michael Murray. She had heard him before and knew him to be an uninspired pianist who played long, tiring scores. When she had asked him to do the recital, she had told him to feel free to play as long as he wanted. He reminded her that he sometimes played for hours without stopping. That gave her a moment’s pause, so she then told him to play until she rose from her seat and went to stand beside him.

Everyone had remained alert and attentive during the first hour, but when it stretched far into the second, she started hearing coughs, clearing of throats, and scooting of chairs. Still she didn’t rise. Beside her, Brent remained the perfect gentleman, seldom moving, and listening as if he was enjoying every moment. Occasionally, she would glance over at him to see if he were sleeping, because someone near her was snoring. When she couldn’t take the boredom any longer, she rose and went to stand by the pianoforte, waiting for Mr. Murray to finish the score.

She started clapping, and all her guests rose and started clapping joyously, too. After Mr. Murray took his bow, she asked her aunt to lead everyone into the dining room for the champagne and the buffet. Brent was the only one who didn’t exit the room quickly. He waited patiently until Mr. Murray had finished talking to her and left the room, leaving them completely alone.

Brent stood in front of her and looked as if he was holding back a smile. That didn’t bode well. She had hoped to see anger, or at the very least strong annoyance at having to sit through such a dreadful recital. Her father would have been steaming with rage.

She clasped her hands together under her chin, smiled, and said, “Did you think he was divine, a true master at the pianoforte?”

Brent walked a little closer to her. “Did you think so?”

Not wanting to add another fib to her long and growing list, she took a step back and answered, “Don’t you?”

“I’ve heard better pianists, Gabrie,” he said and advanced on her again.

Gabrielle took another step back and hit the side of the pianoforte. She was trapped. “There was much applause. I’m certain everyone loved Mr. Murray’s interpretation of so many of their favorite scores.”

“I’m certain the reason they clapped so long and loud was because it was finally over and they could stand up and get something to eat and drink.”

“I’m sure you are unjustly embellishing everyone’s reaction.”

He bent his head closer to hers and said, “No, Gabrie, I’m not.”

She looked at his lips and had the urge to moisten her own. Whenever he was close to her, she always wanted him to kiss her. “Perhaps we should join everyone else for the buffet.”

“Oh, yes,” he said with a knowing smile and moved his face even closer to hers. “I’m quite eager to go into the dining room and greet everyone. You’ve managed to invite some of my favorite people—the insipid Lord Waldo, the crafty Sir Randolph, and the braggart Count Vigone. I’m surprised you didn’t invite Lord Snellingly, too.”

“Oh, I did,” she said quickly. “But he didn’t come.”

“No doubt he was the only one who’d heard the pianist play before.”

“But I also invited your brothers and several young ladies for them to meet and have wonderful conversation with them.”

“The young ladies who are here are so charming, my brothers are probably already hoping they will never be on one of your guest lists again.”

He was so close, her breathing became choppy. She desperately wanted him to kiss her, knowing it would be madness for him to do it here in her home where anyone could walk in at any time. She searched his eyes and couldn’t read their depths, but she wondered why there was no real anger in them. Why couldn’t she seem to do anything that made him fiercely angry or even mildly upset with her?

“Are you chiding me or teasing me, my lord?” she asked.

“Neither. I’m thinking about kissing you. After what you just put me through, I believe I deserve a kiss or two, don’t you?”

She spread her arms out to her sides, grasped hold of the pianoforte, and leaned her weight against it. Oh, yes, that was what she wanted from him.

But she said, “You can’t do that. Someone might walk in and see you, and there would be more scandal.”

He placed his fingertips under her chin and tilted her head back, lifting her lips to his, and whispered, “I have no fear of that, Gabrie. Your guests’ throats are dry, their stomachs empty, and their rumps tired of sitting. I’m sure they are devouring the buffet, swilling the champagne, and praying they won’t see you so they don’t have to lie to you and tell you they enjoyed the evening.”

She swallowed hard. “Please don’t feel you have to spare my feelings, my lord.”

He smiled. “I don’t have to. You knew exactly what you were doing, just as I’m more than willing right now to take my chances on another scandal.”

Suddenly Gabrielle craved to feel his lips on hers. Brent must have felt the same, because his eyes darkened and his lips parted slightly. He bent his head so close to hers she felt his breath. Gabrielle’s breathing became short and rapid in anticipation.

Instead of kissing her, he gently placed the tips of his fingers on her forehead and let them trickle down the bridge of her nose, over her lips and chin, and then down the slender column of her throat, to stop where her bosom heaved beneath her dress. He watched the trail of his light touch. His lace cuff tickled her skin, and she smelled the clean scent of shaving soap on his hand. His intense gaze moved back up to her eyes. He then flattened his hand, pressing hard as his hand slid between her breasts, down her midriff, past her stomach to rest at that most intimate spot between her legs.

Gabrielle gasped at the thrill of desire that shot through her. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she might faint.

She knew she should slap his hand away, yet she didn’t want to. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to feel the delicious tingles she was feeling. His palm cupped her and pressed against her. She gasped again as she lifted her lower body to him, straining to get closer to his warmth. Their eyes searched. Their breath mingled. She didn’t know what he was doing to her, but it was making her knees weak, her breaths jerky, and her body moving in rhythm to the pressing of his hand. He moved his face even closer to hers. She parted her lips to accept his kiss.

Loud laughter sounded from the corridor, and Brent spun away from her, putting distance between them. Gabrielle straightened and tried to control her breathing.

They both stared at the doorway, but no one came into the room.

Finally Brent looked at her and said, “I won’t be staying for the buffet.”

She cleared her throat and huskily whispered, “Why?”

“Lord Waldo asked me and my brothers to go hunting with him and some other men later tonight. I need to go home and change for that.”

“Lord Waldo?” she questioned.

“Yes. We have one thing in common, remember? Our dogs are missing. We’ll search the parks.”

“Oh, I see.”

She wanted to ask when she would see him again, but knew that was the last thing she needed to say.

“I’ll walk out first,” he said. “You can follow me in a few minutes. You need to give the blush time to leave your cheeks.”

Brent turned and walked out. Gabrielle’s hands flew to her face. Her cheeks were hot, and no wonder! Whatever it was he was doing to her had her completely in his control. She was failing miserably at her vow to be an unacceptable bride and resisting his charm.

A few minutes later, Gabrielle walked into the drawing room and was surprised to see Brent still there and that Lord Snellingly had arrived. The earl was talking excitedly to the small group that surrounded him.

She walked up beside Brent and said, “What is going on?”

Without looking at her, he said, “Lord Snellingly found Josephine.”