Two days had passed since they'd met in the gazebo, two days since she'd last been in his arms with his lips on hers. They'd met that evening at a ball; although he'd claimed two waltzes, he'd claimed nothing more. He'd appeared the next morning to stroll through the park by her side. She'd been ready to counter any possessive move he made, any maneuver to demonstrate his claim over her. He hadn't made one. Unfortunately, the understanding in his eyes warned her that he knew how she felt, how she would react; he was simply biding his time until the battlefield better suited his purpose.
Of that purpose there remained not a smidgen of doubt. Marriage. The notion-not of marriage but of marriage to him-deeply unnerved her. Just thinking of him now unnerved her in a way she'd never had to deal with before. Intimacy, and all the emotions wrapped up with it, had thoroughly disrupted her inner landscape. Yet if he'd allowed her to disappear as she'd planned, to fade out of his life, while she might regret the brevity of their association, she would, she felt sure, have remained inwardly steady.
Instead, she was whirling, her stomach often hollow, uncertainty and excitement an unsettling blend. What she felt for him now she couldn't put a name to-was afraid to put a name to, to even study it at all, not while she had to refuse him.
He'd decided to marry her because he desired her and because he wanted her as his wife. The reason behind that want he'd refused to clarify; she felt sure he was motivated by a compulsion to protect her.
The prospect of him marrying her with protection his true aim chilled her. He would be kind, considerate, generous-even a friend-but as time passed, he would cease to be hers alone. He would cease to be her lover. They would grow apart…
With a little jerk, she returned to the present, to her office and the ledger open before her, to the rumble of Gabriel's voice and Augusta's piping prattle. Sucking in a breath, she held it, and tidied her pile of receipts.
She was not going to marry Gabriel-she couldn't let him sacrifice himself, or her. Turning him from his goal might not be easy, but marrying him would not be right, not for him or for her.
Marking off the last of the receipts, she opened a drawer and placed them in a box, then shut the drawer and shut her ledger. The slap of the pages brought Gabriel's and Augusta's heads up. Alathea smiled. "I have to talk business with Mr. Cynster now, poppet."
Sliding from Gabriel's lap, Augusta gifted her with a confident smile. "He said I could call him Gabriel. It's his name."
"Indeed." Rising and rounding the desk, Alathea hugged Augusta, then set her on her feet. "Off you go now-Miss Helm should be nearly finished."
Ducking around Alathea's skirts, Augusta waved to Gabriel and sang "Good-bye," then happily skipped to the door.
As it shut behind her, Alathea felt long fingers tangle with hers. She turned to discover Gabriel studying her hand, now entwined with his.
"What 'business' do you wish to discuss?" He looked up, invitation in his eyes.
One part of her mind urged her to whisk her hand from his, to whisk herself out of his orbit. The rest of her reveled in the warmth that flooded her as his fingers caressed her palm. Alathea studied the sleepy, languid beckoning in his eyes, and was deceived not at all. She looked at the wall clock. "Wiggs will be another twenty minutes, but we can make a start on a draft without him."
Looking back at Gabriel, she raised a brow and gently detached her hand. He grimaced but let her go. "All right. But you can write." He rose as she resumed her seat behind the desk. "We can start by noting the false claims we've identified."
Unsurprised to find herself his amanuensis, Alathea set a sheet of paper on the blotter. They listed Montague's calculations derived from the figures Crowley had provided Gerrard, comparing them with those Crowley had claimed. Gabriel stated and she transcribed, adding and correcting as they went. He paced back and forth behind her, between the desk and the window, stopping now and then to read over her shoulder. When they reached the end of Montague's findings, Gabriel halted beside her, scanning the list. His hand closed on her shoulder, close by her neck, on skin left bare by her summer morning gown.
His hand nestled there, strong fingers gentle on her skin.
"What next, do you think?"
Her composure shattered, unable to breathe, Alathea heard the mild words and realized with a hot rush horribly akin to mortification that he hadn't meant to discompose her. He'd simply touched her as a close personal friend might, without any sexual intention.
She was the one thinking of sexual intentions.
Before she could gather her wits, he tipped up her face. He studied it; she scrambled wildly to find some expression to mask the truth. Then his gaze turned intent, and she knew it was too late. The fingers at her throat moved again, this time deliberately.
Sensual awareness flared in her eyes. Gabriel saw it. His lips curved. "Perhaps"-he bent over her-"we should try this."
Her lips parted under his; her hand rose to cradle the back of his as he held her face steady. She gave her mouth freely as she always did; he took and drank and claimed. She was a delight in her sweet helplessness, her total inability to conceal her response, the womanly yearning that lay beneath the confidence of her years. Her tongue tangled with his; her fingers gripped his shoulder. Sliding his hand from her face, he lowered it to her breast, cupping the firm mound, then searching for its peak. Her hand followed his, cradling it still, feeling him knead and pleasure her. In one swift movement, he slipped his hand from under hers and reversed their positions, his hand covering and surrounding hers, pressing her palm to the heated flesh of her breast, guiding her fingers to her ruched nipple and squeezing them tight.
She gasped, swayed-
They both heard the creak of a board outside the door an instant before it opened.
Charlie looked in. "Hello!" He nodded to Gabriel, lounging against the window frame, then transferred his gaze to Alathea. "I'm going to Bond Street-Mama suggested I ask whether there's anything more we need for tomorrow night?"
Her pulse pounding, Alathea shook her head, fervently praying that, with her back to the window, Charlie couldn't see the flush heating her skin. "No. Nothing." Their ball would be held tomorrow night, formally introducing Mary and Alice to the ton. "All seems in hand."
"Good-oh! I'll be off then." With a wave, Charlie departed, shutting the door behind him.
Drawing in a much-needed breath, Alathea turned her head and met Gabriel's gaze. She frowned balefully. "Stop thinking about it!" Swinging back to the desk, she picked up her pen. "Aside from anything else, there's no lock on that door."
She heard his smothered laugh but refused to look his way. "I think," she said, stabbing the nib into the inkwell, "that next we should note all we've learned about Fangak, Lodwar, and wherever else it was."