Clara arched a brow, but her lips quirked. “I believe you sampled the pig’s ears before the dog got to them.”
“Only in the interest of science.” Alice grinned, then turned to Gabriel. “And how does wedded bliss suit you, my lord?”
Gabriel bowed his head, though his eyes were warm with amusement. “Far better than I deserve. The household is run with a rod of iron, and I am permitted to dust the library only on Mondays.”
“Is that so?” Alice looked at Eden, feigning shock. “You have him trained.”
“He is very clever,” Eden replied with a wicked grin. “And he does tricks.”
Clara let out a peal of laughter. “Be careful, or you will start a fashion. I hear Lord Blackstone’s reputation has made him the object of much marital ambition among the Manchester set. They all wish to have a Lord Blackstone of their own, I fear.”
“Be that as it may, they shall have to find another gentleman.” Eden raised her chin, feigning haughtiness. “This one is mine, and I intend to keep him quite occupied. No time for ambitious widows or hopeful debutantes.”
Gabriel’s eyes softened as he glanced at her. “I should hope not. I am a man easily led astray by the promise of sugared buns.” He flipped open the bakery box, offering a treat to the ladies as he gave Eden a roguish grin.
Alice reached into the box, but Clara’s attention had drifted.
Across the square, a figure strolled at a lazy pace. He was tall and lean, his features sharp with an almost mocking handsomeness. His coat was cut from the darkest green, and his cravat was tied with a flair that bordered on insolence.
“Look who slithered into Harrowsgate,” Clara muttered, her gaze fixed on the man as he lingered near the milliner’s shop, hands in his pockets and lips curved in an idle smirk. “Is there no corner of England immune to the stench of that man’s ego?”
Gabriel followed her gaze, his own expression shuttering. “Hallworth.”
Alice, already halfway through an apple tart, looked from Clara to Eden and back again. “Who is he?”
“Crispin Hallworth, Earl of Oakford,” Gabriel said quietly. “Known by some as the Devil of Oakford.”
“He has rather a lot of names,” Eden remarked, studying the man with idle curiosity. She had heard of him, of course—the ballrooms of London had been full of his escapades, whispered and sung alike—but she had never seen him in person. There was a certain predatory grace to the way he moved, a sense of effortless entitlement, as though the world owed him its best amusements and he had only to select which ones would please him.
“His reputation is deserved,” Gabriel added. “Every rumor, every scandal, they do not exaggerate.”
Clara’s jaw tightened, her lips thinning with a disdain that bordered on contempt. “He is here to cause trouble. He always does.”
Eden watched her friend for a moment, noting the way Clara’s fingers dug into the fabric of her reticule, the stiff set of her shoulders. There was something deeper than distaste in her reaction, but Eden said nothing.
Hallworth’s gaze swept the square, lingering just a fraction too long on their small group. His eyes, unreadable, met Eden’s with a flicker of interest, then moved on to Clara. For an instant, his lips curved in a half-smile, slow and deliberate. Clara’s cheeks colored, but her stare did not waver.
“He is staring at you,” Alice said in a low voice.
Clara sniffed, narrowing her gaze.
Gabriel shifted closer to Eden, his hand closing firmly over hers as he looked to Clara. “Best not to encourage him. Hallworth does not require much.”
Hallworth turned away, striding up the street with the languor of a man who owned every inch of ground beneath his boots. Clara exhaled, the tension in her jaw easing as she watched him go. For a moment, none of them spoke.
Gabriel turned, tucking a stray curl behind Eden’s ear with a possessive tenderness that made her knees weak. “We should be getting back, my love.”
She nodded, linking her arm through his. “Home, then.”
Clara and Alice nodded, and the four exchanged promises to meet again soon.
Gabriel helped Eden into their carriage, his touch lingering on her hand. The carriage shuddered as the wheels found their rhythm on the rutted road, the market’s clamor falling away with each passing furlong. Eden let her head rest against the velvet seat, the excitement of the afternoon unspooling itself in slow, delicious waves. She glanced across at Gabriel, who sat with a studied nonchalance, legs stretched out, one arm draped along the seat-back. The sunlight sliced through the window, gilding the dark sweep of his hair and limning his profile.
She watched him for a moment, letting silence settle, then said, “You did not care for seeing Hallworth today.”
Gabriel’s lip curled, the corners twitching upward. “I rarely care for seeing Hallworth on any day. He reminds me too much of who I might have become if I had never returned. Never fallen in love with you.”
She let the words settle, then asked, “Do you think he and Clara quarreled once? Clara is not the sort to despise without reason. And yet, the way she looked at him…” She shook her head.
