They entered the hall, and she almost lost her footing. She didn’t know where to look: at the gleaming marble floor, a mosaic of cream, black and gold, at the Roman statues standing in silent judgement in their grand alcoves. It was magnificent, yet left her cold. Beneath the splendour, she felt only sadness for the man who called this place home.
“Thank goodness you’re back, my lord.” A slender, dignified woman of middle years hurried forward, a lace cap set neatly over dark hair. “I’ve been pacing the hall for half an hour.”
The marquess arched a brow. “I’m not a boy in shorts, Mrs Boswell, though I am glad you’re not abed.” He glanced at Olivia. “Miss Woolf will need a room prepared, and we’llrequire a light supper in my private drawing room. A simple collation will do.”
Mrs Boswell paled. She cast a glance at the door to her left, as though the Beast of Blackwall were locked inside. “My lord. There’s something you should know. You must prepare yourself.”
“From your grave expression, I take it disaster has struck. Speak, Mrs Boswell.”
The woman pressed her hand to her chest. “You have a visitor, my lord, waiting in the antechamber.”
The marquess frowned. “A visitor? At his hour? Is it Daventry?”
Mrs Boswell’s gaze flicked to Olivia, softening in silent apology. “No, my lord. It’s … It’s?—”
“Spit it out, Mrs Boswell.”
The poor woman never had the chance. The antechamber door opened, and a vision of golden hair stepped gracefully into the hall. Her beauty struck like a blow. When she smiled, the world seemed to hold its breath. She dropped into a deep curtsy and said, with devastating familiarity, “Hello, Gabriel.”
Chapter Three
Gabriel froze. He had faced ambushes, fought alongside friends in their darkest hours, endured the deepest betrayal, but nothing unsettled him like the sound of his name on this vixen’s lips.
While he’d spoken of cutting ties to his past, she had walked into his house and announced herself proudly. Were it not for his need for answers, he would have instructed Mrs Boswell to march her out and bolt the door.
“Miss Bourne.” He would be damned before he called her Kate. “What an unpleasant surprise. If you’re here to explain your absence, you’re a decade too late.”
She smiled, the coquettish smile that had once fooled him into believing her lies, back when he was young, blind, and far too trusting. “I see you’ve not lost your talent for bluntness.”
“Do not profess to know me, madam. You have no idea what manner of man I have become.” And God willing, she never would.
Her gaze slid to Miss Woolf’s nightclothes, and her smilesharpened. “It seems the gossip is true. The mad marquess steals women from their beds in the dead of night and?—”
“I came of my own volition,” Miss Woolf countered.
The devil’s own wrath surged in Gabriel’s veins, but his temper abated the moment he set a hand to Miss Woolf’s back. “Mrs Boswell will escort you to my private drawing room and wait with you there. I shall be but a moment.”
Miss Woolf hesitated. She had defended him to a stranger, so why did he sense she would run at the first opportunity? The contradiction both frustrated and intrigued him. Could she not see their burdens would be lighter if shared?
He cast his housekeeper a knowing look, and she gestured for Miss Woolf to follow. “I’m sure you’d welcome a seat by the fire, ma’am.”
Of all his rotten luck. Tonight was about solving her problems, not mastering his own. Any doubts she had about a marriage of friendship were probably gathering now, dark as a coming storm.
He watched Miss Woolf disappear through the door, his plans for the future likely vanishing with her.
“What do you want, Miss Bourne? More money?”
“Of course not.”
Her hair caught the light, a halo of gold framing cherubic features. But she was no angel, only the devil who had betrayed him.
“How much did my father pay you to leave London?” How much had it cost to buy her loyalty, her integrity, to turn every loving word into a lie?
She moved towards the antechamber as if she owned the damned house. “May we sit and talk like civilised adults?”
“About what?”
“I’ve moved back to the manor. My aunt is ill?—”
