Gabriel suppressed a groan.
“So you truly don’t intend to tell me what that swooning episode was all about?” Westwood continued.
“I didn’tswoon,” Gabriel growled. “Ladiesswoon.”
Westwood gave a nonchalant shrug, as if this distinction were irrelevant. “Looked enough like a swoon to me,” he said. “And as you’ve already refused to tender an explanation, I think I’ll assume that’s precisely what it was. Unless you’d care to enlighten me.”
“I would not.”
“You swooned, then,” Westwood declared. “My sisters-in-law will be agog.”
Gabriel let loose a vicious stream of profanity that had Westwood roaring with laughter.
“Good lord,” Westwood said, wiping his eyes and still chuckling. “You kiss your mistresses with that mouth?”
Well, Westwood’s parliamentary career had served him well—the man’s mind turned subjects so quickly that Gabriel was left with a startling sense of disorientation. “Mistresses? I haven’t got a mistress.”
“Of course you do,” Westwood said, as if he were some great authority on the subject. “Two of them, as I recall—or soTongossip claims.”
“What? Of course I don’t. What would a man do withtwomistresses?” At Westwood’s pointed glance, Gabriel added, rather sheepishly, “Beyond the obvious.”
“Hmm,” Westwood said, speculatively. “I suppose I ought to know better by now than to heedTonrumors. But then, Iwaseminently willing to believe the worst of you, given that bit of unpleasantness with Elaine. Still,twomistresses at once does strain credulity, I admit.”
For that, Gabriel could not fault him. Hehadbeen an arse in that regard, and deliberately so—although Westwood had been the victor in that skirmish when all had been said and done. By snatching up Elaine, Gabriel had unwittingly left Westwood available for Poppy Fairchild, who had swiftly become Lady Westwood. Not too far in the past, Westwood had actually come tothankGabriel for his interference, against all reason.
There was movement in the hallway, a soft voice carrying down the corridor, and Gabriel found himself turning in his seat, his eyes straying to the clock on the mantel. Just as expected, it had gone half three, which meant that at any moment—
And there she was. She existed in his vision for just a moment, striding past the library door, clad in a dove-grey gown and pulling on a pair of gloves. Mrs. Hotchkiss had flittered by just as she did every Saturday at half three, bound for God alone knew where. It had become something of a routine to watch for her, and though he knew that the terms of her employment guaranteed her a half day to herself each week, he felt her absence when she left.
Perhaps it was because she alone, out of all of his staff, had elected to sit at his bedside half the night, watching over him like a guardian angel. Perhaps it was because she was young and lovely and he’d always had a healthy appreciation for beautiful women. Perhaps it was because, when he’d kissed her in his sleep-addled state, for a moment he would have sworn she had considered kissing him back.
Perhaps it was even because when he’d held her for those few, precious moments, he’d felt the memory ofherin his arms, the daydream-girl who might be his wife. Mrs. Hotchkiss had, somehow, made herrealfor a space of seconds, and for that he was very nearly grateful to the woman.
“Ah,” said Westwood, a sly sort of understanding in his voice. “Sothat’sthe way the wind blows.”
Gabriel scowled and downed the last of his whisky. “Shutup, you miserable sod,” he ground out.
Westwood laughed. “I don’t suppose I can blame you,” he said. “She’s quite fetching. Bit young for a housekeeper.”
“I don’t prey on my staff,” Gabriel snapped peevishly, annoyed with Westwood’s insight. And, historically, he hadn’t. London suffered no dearth of beautiful women. There was always a discreet widow or two available for a liaison, had he the inclination. Which he had not.
“I never suggested you did,” said Westwood, around a mouthful of gingerbread. “But now that you’re free of Elaine, it occurs to me that you might look elsewhere.”
“To myhousekeeper, you mean?” Gabriel asked. “For what purpose, precisely? To disturb the relative tranquility of my household by bedding one of my servants? It’s not as if I could take the woman to wife, especially—”Damnitall.
But Westwood latched onto the slip, as Gabriel had known he would. “Especiallywhat?” he inquired. “Have you contracted another bride already?”
Yes. And no. Not that Gabriel was inclined to share his predicament with Westwood. But Mr. Bascomb had yet to identify Gabriel’s mystery potential-marchioness. Although Gabriel had sent a note to the man inviting him to investigate the tree on the bank of the small pond on the grounds of the Newsom estate in the hopes that his strange dream had been more memory than fantasy, he’d yet to receive a response. He didn’t know whether it was a good omen or an ill one—whether the man was overwhelmed with leads, or whether he was moving from village to village searching in vain for any trace of the woman Gabriel had sent him to seek.
Gabriel didn’t even know what he intended to do with the woman once she’d been located. He supposed they’d have to cross that bridge when they came to it,ifthey came to it.
Something of his disquiet must have shown on his face, for Westwood muttered, “Come now. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.”
But, of course, it was. And speaking of it wouldn’t lessen the severity of the situation. It would only make it morereal.
∞∞∞
Claire returned to the Marquess of Leighton’s residence well after dusk. Dinner had likely already been served, but even if Mrs. Cartwright had not involved herself in the preparations, the staff had acclimated to Claire’s presence and authority enough by now that there was rarely any discord—despite Monsieur Bissonet’s hair-trigger temper.
