To Love a Lord (11 page)

“I was admiring your paintings,” Jane continued. Did she know the effect she had on his senses? Where in blazes was his sister? He didn’t need to be alone with Jane Munroe. The unpredictable minx was dangerous to his senses, threatening calm, order, and logic. The folly of agreeing to this outing reared its head with a renewed vigor. “It is lovely.”

You’ll know the goddamn difference between a painting and a mural…
“Mural.” The black memory long buried slipped in as they occasionally did at the most random moments.

Jane looked to him perplexed. Some of the light dimmed in her eyes. He balled his hands. She thought he corrected her. Gabriel gestured to the ceiling. “My father,” he squared his jaw, those two words like vitriol upon his tongue. “Took great pleasure in instructing me as to the difference.”

She eyed him a moment. He wagered the lady’s curiosity warred with pride. In the end, her need to know won out. “What is the difference?”

No different than that moth lured by flame, he shifted closer, so close she was forced to tip her head back to meet his stare. Honey and lavender filled his senses until he was nearly drunk on the fragrance of summer and innocence. Ah, God help him. What hold did she have over him? Why, he didn’t even like her. She was mouthy and insolent and defied his orders. And… Gabriel pointed up at the emerald green pastures captured by the artist. “You see, the architectural elements are harmoniously incorporated into the work.” Jane craned her neck once more and followed his point, skyward. By the parting of her lips and the softening of her eyes, it was as though she were seeing the angelic tableau painted upon the ceiling for the first time.

In the honesty of her reaction, there was an innocence, a softness, he’d not imagined her capable of. A golden strand pulled free of her tight chignon and involuntarily he reached to brush it back, when her words froze him.

“It reminds me of my childhood.” It also harkened him back to the days of his own youth.

He let his hand fall to his side. There was a wistful, far-off quality to her words that gave him pause. A hint of sadness, nostalgia, but also the faintest trace of happiness. What was Jane’s story? “Does it?” His quiet question called her attention from the mural.

Color bloomed on her cheeks. Was it her body’s awareness of him? Embarrassment to be caught not once, but now twice awestruck over the pastel oils upon the ceiling? Unable to resist the lure, he captured the single blonde strand between his thumb and forefinger. He intended to tuck it back behind her ear in an entirely bold move he’d no right to. Not as a gentleman. Not as her employer. He intended to release the lock immediately. But then he registered the smooth feel of spun silk and was loath to release the satiny soft strand. She wet her lips and he followed that subtle movement, hungering for her kiss. “Wh-what do you see?”

His throat worked. The sun’s rays collected. Beauty. Perfection—

“When you see the painting. Th-the mural.” That breathlessly stammered whisper yanked him from the moment and he released her with alacrity. He blankly followed her stare.

Hell. Torture. Agony
. “I also see my childhood.”

“There you are.”

They both started. Gabriel stepped away as his sister strode forward. “Forgive my delay, I was distracted by…” At the stilted silence, Chloe looked back and forth between them.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “We should be going.” Several servants rushed forward with their cloaks. As Gabriel shrugged into his cloak, he studiously avoided looking at the tempting Jane Munroe. He held out his arm to his sister.

Joseph stepped forward and opened the door. Where in blazes had the old servant been a moment ago? The other man possessed an eerie ability to dissolve into the shadows and appear when needed. Heat burned his neck in thinking of the other man observing Gabriel fawning over his sister’s companion’s loose curl.

“Would you please slow down,” his sister chided and pinched his arm. “I’d say you are trying to leave Jane behind with this ridiculous pace you’ve set.”

He slowed his steps and kept his gaze trained forward on the waiting carriage. A servant pulled open the carriage door and held a hand out. The liveried footman handed Chloe into the carriage. Jane came to a stop. She smiled at the young servant and then the smile died as she looked to Gabriel.

And once more, the defensive walls put up between them were firmly in place. He was her employer. She was his sister’s companion. The servant helped her inside and Gabriel followed in, claiming the bench alongside Chloe.

Jane sat tucked in the corner, her hands folded primly on her lap. Had he merely imagined the smiling, innocent for a moment woman who’d spoken too briefly of her childhood, a childhood he’d wager both his arms had been a good deal more pleasant than his own? The carriage rocked forward, and he continued to study her, suddenly wanting to know about her formative years.

Which was, of course, neither here nor there. It mattered not to him. Gabriel yanked back the red velvet curtain—the shade of blood and evil—and directed his attention at the passing London streets.

*

For a moment, she’d believed Gabriel intended to kiss her.

And for an even longer moment, she’d wanted him to. Jane sat in the corner of the carriage, focusing on the rattle of the carriage wheels as they rumbled through the busy London streets. All the while, Chloe prattled on and on, a cheerful smile on her face, unknowing that in her absence, Gabriel had revealed with his solemn looks and serious eyes a glimpse of more than a harsh, unfeeling nobleman. No, having known pain and heartache, Jane easily glimpsed those sad sentiments within him.

And she hated it. For with each passing moment spent with Gabriel, he ceased to be a stranger, which was dangerous to her plans for security and her hope of a school for women such as her. Her intentions were good, honorable. Then, hadn’t Brutus said the same? Were her intentions
truly
honorable? Were they, when there was Chloe lauding her as a good, worthy companion, and Gabriel, a brother who fiercely loved his sister enough to entrust the final decision of a companion?

Brother and sister said something, and their laughter filled the carriage, driving deeper the knife of guilt until she wanted to clamp her hands over her ears and blot out the sound. But she could not. This was to be her punishment; to bear witness to their sibling bond—a closeness Jane would have traded her left, lonely, index finger for, growing up the bastard child of the Duke of Ravenscourt. Emotion clogged her throat as from the crystal pane she viewed brother and sister. They chatted amicably. Occasionally, Chloe would point her eyes skyward and Gabriel’s chest would rise and fall with laughter. Such a loved sibling would never be cast out, scuttled from household to household, a lost soul. For Gabriel’s high-handed words at breakfast yesterday morn, the man that he was, would not, even if his sister believed it, ever dare select the man Chloe would wed.

Jane knocked her head against the windowpane as with each moment this family threw her into tumult over the deception she practiced.

“Mrs. Munroe?”

Gabriel’s concerned tone cut into her tortured musings, twisting that blade once more. The emerald greens of his eyes moved a path over her face.

“We’re here!” Chloe called out as the carriage rocked to a blessed halt.

The door opened and Chloe hurried past her brother and, with the help of the driver, stepped down. Gabriel lingered a moment and she swallowed, not wanting any probing questions because she feared in her weakness this moment she’d confess all—and then be promptly dismissed. He exited the carriage and reached back inside.

Dropping her gaze to his long, outstretched fingers, she recalled the manner in which he’d caressed one of her strands of hair. Cheeks afire, Jane hurriedly took his hand and let him hand her down.

“I must confess, Jane,” he confided so quietly those words were nearly lost to London’s street sounds. “I have a desire,” her breath caught, “to know what has you go silent one moment and prickly and feisty the next.”

For the span of a heartbeat, she thought to pretend she did not hear that question. But then she detected the challenge in his eyes. “Bold employers,” she tossed back and started forward to where Chloe stood in wait at the shop front. The young lady smiled and then sailed through the entrance.

Jane hurried after her, desperate for much needed distance from the marquess.

He called out. “And are you accustomed to bold employers?” His words brought her to a slow halt. There was a lethal edge to his question, as though he’d do battle should she utter an affirmative.

No one had cared about her or for her in so very long. Even to her mother, Jane had merely come second to the Duke of Ravenscourt’s scandalous use of her. “N-no,” she stammered and made to enter the shop, but Gabriel blocked her path.

“You’re lying.”

He couldn’t know that. Not truly. She shook her head once more. “I’m—” Her breath caught as he dipped his head lower. Jane’s heart thumped erratically and she should be horrified by the curious stares being shot their way by passersby, but instead only knew the intoxicating scent of sandalwood threatening to drown her senses.

“Do you know how I know you’re lying, Jane?” He didn’t allow her a reply. “Because a woman of your spirit would not accept the charge of liar being ascribed to you, unless there was, in fact, merit to my claims.”

“I worked at Mrs. Belden’s Finishing School. There was hardly a worry where gentlemen were concerned.” She forced a droll humor to her tone, praying it would distract him from the intimate understanding he’d show of both her temperament and circumstances. “I assure you, Mrs. Belden would not countenance a gentleman within her proper walls.” She flicked her stare over his person. “Even if he was a marquess.” A duke, however, would be granted certain freedoms. Jane slipped past him and entered the shop. Such as taking on that powerful nobleman’s by-blow.

Gabriel fell into step beside her. “And were you long at Mrs. Belden’s?”

“Yes.” A year was a long time for some.

“What of before that?”

She gritted her teeth, as all the tender awe of his early concern was replaced with annoyance. Questions were dangerous. Particularly when all the answers brought them back to the truth of her lies. “Before that I was employed as a governess.”

“A governess?” he asked with some surprise.

“Yes, a governess.” To a spoiled, nasty, and not at all pleasant sixteen-year-old lady who’d quite enjoyed the day Jane had been sacked without a reference.

“Jane?”

They looked to the long table at the back of the shop littered with bolts of fabric. Chloe stood beside a plump, graying woman of indiscriminate years. Grateful for the young lady’s timely intervention, Jane all but sprinted in that direction. Her skin burned with the feel of Gabriel’s gaze on her person.

“Ah, there you are, Jane,” Chloe said. She motioned to her. “Madame Clairemont, this is my companion.”

“A pleasure.” The woman peered down her very un-French nose at Jane, indicating her opinion on the acquaintance.

Jane stole a backward glance at Gabriel. He stood off to the side, leaning against the wall. With his arms folded against his broad chest and his hooded gaze upon her, he was elegant in his repose. She quickly snapped her gaze forward.

“…An entire new wardrobe…something vibrant…pink… Jane?”

She blinked, suddenly aware by the questioning stares trained on her that something was required of her. Pink. Pink. “Pink is a splendid selection, my lady.” Had there ever been a time in Jane’s life where she’d spent her days on frivolous pursuits, permitted luxuries?

Madame Clairemont hurried around the side of the table with a piece of shimmering pink fabric. Jane stiffened and looked questioningly at her, but the woman’s lips moved silently as though she recorded her thoughts. Jane swung her attention back to Chloe. “What—?”

“Well, I do not need new gowns, Jane.” A familiar sparkle lit her blue eyes. “You, however, are in dire need of something more than your dragon skirts.”

Jane jumped and knocked into a table of fabric. She hurried to right the items. “Oh, no.” She held her palms up and glanced about for help. “I’m merely a companion.” Who wished to blend as much as possible with the other companions and hired help. Long ago she’d learned the perils in being noticed. “There is no need for a gown.”

A determined glint replaced Chloe’s earlier enjoyment. “There is every need for a gown.” She shot a look over Jane’s shoulder. “Isn’t that true, Gabriel?”

Jane’s heart thumped wildly and she turned and cast a hopeful look at him. He stood several feet away. How did a man of his impressive height and strength move with such a stealthy grace?

“I daresay it would be impolite of me to agree,” he drawled.

A panicked giggle worked its way up her throat. Where the other gentlemen whose employ she’d found herself in had showered her with words of praise and other nauseating compliments, Gabriel was hopelessly honest. She preferred that honesty, and yet it also proved dangerous for its appeal.

He flicked his gaze over her; this was a coolly impersonal search of her person. “It is decided.”