Henry? He had forgotten his cousin. That was going to be an uncomfortable encounter. Unless—‘Do you want me to pretend I know nothing of your meeting with him?’
‘That would be best, don’t you think?’ she murmured as they reached the hall. ‘Oh, Fredericks, thank you.’ His butler appeared, carrying her cloak and gloves. ‘Look at the hour! I was just about to leave when Lord Leybourne came in and we quite lost track of time, hearing the good news.’
‘Good news indeed, Miss Frost. I will send round to the mews for your carriage, it will be here directly.’
Gray knew he should make polite conversation while they waited. Easy, confident meaningless chit-chat, instead of standing there, wanting to take her in his arms and carry her back upstairs to that all too empty bed that would hold her scent, perhaps her warmth. Gray racked his tired brain for something innocuous. ‘The house in Half Moon Street is proving comfortable, I trust?’
‘It is delightful.’ Gabrielle sounded perfectly awake and sensible, thank heavens. ‘I do appreciate your help finding it.’ She chatted on, holding up a one-sided conversation while he stood and looked at her and prayed silently that her tender, thoroughly inconvenient conscience was not going to give her—and him—hell tomorrow. Because he wanted her again. And again. He wanted—
‘Your carriage, Miss Frost.’ Fredericks was already at the door.
Gray pulled himself together, said all the right things to speed a guest on their way in the presence of the butler, then turned and made himself put one foot in front of the other towards the stairs.
‘I will send up your man and hot water for a bath, my lord.’
‘No. No, thank you. I can undress myself and I would only fall asleep in a bath. Tell Tompkins I don’t want to be disturbed until at least ten tomorrow. Go to bed, Fredericks. I am sorry to keep you up so late.’
He would make himself wake early to check for any trace of Gabrielle. When he reached it the room was scented by Gabrielle’s light perfume, by the musk of their loving. He threw open the window, shook out the bedcover thoroughly, then jammed it to the foot of the bed as though his restless sleep had trodden creases into it. A quick survey on, under and beside the bed revealed not so much as a hairpin. Even so, he must wake by nine to check in daylight.
Everything had changed and Gray had no idea how to feel about it, other than that his tired body had no trouble in luxuriating in the memory of their lovemaking, of the feel of Gabrielle filling every sense. Gray pulled off his clothes, tossed them on to a chair and fell into bed. He was vaguely aware that he had forgotten to snuff the candles, but he did not have the will to stir again. Let them gutter out.
* * *
‘I expect Lord Leybourne to call this afternoon,’ Gaby said casually, affecting an interest in the choice between marmalade and cherry jam for her breakfast toast.
Jane looked up sharply, then folded the learned journal she had been reading and set it down by her plate. Clearly Gaby was not as successful in feigning unconcern as she thought. ‘And why might that be? I thought that you and he had fallen out.’
‘Not exactly fallen out. And he has been away in Yorkshire. This cherry jam is very good.’
‘Gabrielle.’
‘Very well,’ She put down the toast. When Jane chose to be perceptive there was no point in trying to evade her. ‘I believe he may come to propose.’
‘Marriage?’
‘Yes.’
‘I understood that the appearance of attachment you were making was to quash your aunt’s matchmaking schemes for the pair of you and that it was simply a pretence.’ Now Jane was studying her over the wire rims of her pince-nez.
‘There is a degree of mutual attraction,’ Gaby admitted warily.
‘Is there a reason why Lord Leybourne should be making you an offer?’
She was blushing, she knew she was. ‘Yes,’ Gaby admitted.
‘I cannot say that I blame you,’ Jane remarked. ‘Really, my dear, the wind will change and fix you in position with your mouth open like that. I may be a spinster bluestocking, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with my eyesight. He is a very superior specimen, physically and mentally, and he has an admirable war record. If you did not succumb to him, I would be wondering about your state of health.’
‘Jane.’
‘I had always understood that my role was to give you the appearance of respectability, not to lecture you on your conduct,’ Jane said crisply. ‘However, as we are discussing the matter, I had believed that you did not intend to marry because of the loss of control of the business that such a state would entail. I confess I find myself puzzled that you are now contemplating matrimony.’
‘I am not. But Gray might well be.’ She was not going to contemplate what being married to Gray might be like because if she did she would probably put her head down amidst the toast crumbs and the butter, and have a good weep. And tears, she had finally fallen asleep telling herself at three in the morning, would be counterproductive. She was an impossible wife for an earl with vast responsibilities in England. He, or any man, was impossible as a husband. Impossibilities were not worth crying over.
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‘He is a gentleman with a code of honour. He is not going to be pleased to be refused.’
‘He might not ask. We had agreed to be lovers, he knows my feelings on the subject of marriage, and yet, somehow, last night I felt something had changed.’ It had for her. She was in love with the man and it was no good pretending that she was not. ‘He made a point of saying he would call, but as he was almost asleep on his feet and the butler was showing me out he could hardly elaborate.’