‘And he’s coming over.’ Gaby felt a strong urge to flee, although quite where to, she had no idea. Hiding behind the sofa was clearly impossible and they had trapped themselves in their alcove.
‘Lady Revesby. Miss Frost.’
‘Don’t be stuffy, Gray,’ Laurel said with a laugh that had an edge of nervousness.
‘And don’t play the airhead with me, Laurel. I’ve known you since you were six and I can tell when you are up to something at forty paces.’
‘Very well, Gray, if you must have it, we are talking about you, of course.’
Gaby almost bit her tongue.
‘That is hardly a surprise,’ he said, the treacherous false smile curving his lips. ‘You don’t know each other and I must be the only thing you have in common. Besides you, Laurel, have never been able to resist interfering.’
‘Then you admit there is something to interfere in?’
‘Hasn’t Miss Frost told you all her secrets? I would beware, Miss Frost, Laurel carries the equivalent of thumbscrews with her. You’ll be pouring your most intimate confidences into her ear before you know where you are.’
‘No, I have told her no secrets and no confidences, Lord Leybourne. I have been hearing all about Lady Revesby’s own romantic marriage.’
‘And what led up to it, no doubt.’ There was no hint of a smile, false or genuine, now.
‘That, too.’
He was angry, she realised suddenly, with a stab of alarm. She had seen Gray in many moods, but never furious. It was cold anger, controlled anger, that showed in his eyes, in the way he held himself, not in his voice.
‘You will do me the favour of walking with me for a while, Miss Frost.’ That was not a request.
What could he do if she refused? Drag her to her feet and haul her around the room? Throw her over his shoulder and march outside to the terrace? She searched for the least provocative way to refuse, but beside her Gaby could feel Laurel’s tension, and across the room she could see Aunt Henrietta watching them. The last thing she could afford at the moment was a display of antagonism towards Gray, or George would be on her doorstep, primed for courtship by his mother.
‘I must say that a breath of fresh air would be welcome, it is becoming very stuffy in here. If you will excuse me, Lady Revesby? It was a pleasure to meet you and I do hope you will call.’ She took one of the cards that had just arrived from the stationer and handed it to Laurel, ignoring the sensation that she was standing next to a man about to hiss with impatience like a boiling kettle.
Not that it showed on Gray’s face, Gaby thought as she placed her fingertips on his proffered arm and allowed herself to be led towards the terrace doors. It was a fine night, unseasonably warm for almost the end of October, and several couples and one small but noisy group were already out on the sheltered flagstoned area amidst lanterns and a scattering of small tables.
Gray selected a table in the far corner, pulled out the chair with its back to the house for her and sat facing outwards beside her. ‘I gather Laurel sought you out.’
‘She is concerned about you.’
He made a sound that might almost have been a snarl. ‘It seems to be my fate to be surrounded by women of exquisite sensibility.’
‘Tosh,’ Gaby said, startling a fleeting smile out of him. ‘I have a conscience that I pay attention to. That requires no great sensibility. Laurel is a friend of yours, so she is concerned about you and sensitive to your moods. That leaves the late Lady Leybourne. Was she the woman of exquisite sensibility who made you desperately uncomfortable with female emotion?’
‘My wife was a very beautiful woman who cultivated sensitivity to a fine art. I presume Laurel has told you all about that summer afternoon in the hayloft?’
‘And two young men exchanging fantasies? Yes. But why on earth did you feel you had to offer for her? Surely the fathers involved knew all too well how the youthful male brain functions and weren’t loading shotguns and sending for the parson?’
‘Portia was hysterical, Laurel was furious and neither of us could get a word in edgeways, even if we hadn’t been incoherent with embarrassment and humiliation. We took off for London before things calmed down and Portia’s father realised that she had not been ravished by a pa
ir of youthful libertines. But Portia, it seemed, did not get over it. I heard from my mother that she was unwed and was refusing to treat her numerous would-be suitors with anything but cold disdain.’
‘I see. She had concluded that “all men are beasts,” as my maiden aunt Clara used to pronounce, and you felt guilty.’
‘Exactly. And then my mother and Portia’s mother put their heads together. Her mama decided that marrying her was the least I could do and my mother was, not surprisingly, impressed by the size of her dowry. It was put to me that I had a duty to her and she was persuaded that marriage to a serving officer who was out of the country for months, if not years, at a time was better than dwindling into a spinster aunt.’
‘And she was very lovely,’ Gaby said drily.
‘Blonde, willowy, big blue eyes, curves...’ Gray shrugged. ‘I should have made an effort—instead I countered her imitation of an early Christian virgin martyr with cold politeness. I should have known better, tried harder to make her happy. I didn’t.’
‘And so should she. There were any number of people who she could have talked to, I would have thought.’ Gaby tried to feel sympathy, but it was difficult. If Portia had been assaulted, or threatened, then it would be all too easy to sympathise. Gaby thought with an inward shudder of Andrew Norwood’s determined attack. Of his mouth, hot and wet on hers, of his hands on her breasts, fumbling with her skirts. Of his strength, too much for hers.