“He doesn’t talkback, for starters. Nor does he smile, at least not at me,” she explained. “Worst of all, he’s overlylarge.”
A strange sound escaped Mr. Garrity.
“Are you all right, sir?” She peered at him anxiously.
“You don’t like, er, large men?”
“I prefer my companion to be a more manageable height. Being vertically disadvantaged, I’d rather not get a crick in my neck every time we dance or stand together.” She gave him an admiring look. He was a shade under six feet, every inch of him fit and well-proportioned. “You, for example, are the perfect height. Not too tall, not short, just right.”
“I’m glad I meet with your approval,” he murmured.
Something in his tone made her skin tingle. She realized how brazen she was being, commenting on his personal attributes. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her?
“I meant no offense—”
“And I took none. Now about Carlisle,” he said smoothly. “Are you upset that he hasn’t come up to scratch?”
“Oh no,” she said honestly. “I’d be ever so relieved if hedidn’t. We don’t suit at all.”
“Then why did you call yourself a failure?”
She swallowed, not knowing if she could share this latest humiliation aloud.
“You can trust me.”
Compelled by Mr. Garrity’s quiet command, she confided the awful events in a rush.
“At supper, one of the guests said that a lady…she must guard her secrets as closely as her jewels. And I asked, what if a lady doesn’t have any secrets? Because I’m ever so boring, you see, and not mysterious at all.”
“There’s nothing boring about you, Miss Billings. Your candor is both rare and charming.”
Her heart thumped giddily. “That’s ever so kind of you to say, sir.”
“I’m the soul of kindness, it seems. Go on.”
Entranced by his unwavering attention, she’d lost her train of thought. “Um…where was I?”
“You’d made the comment about a lady not having secrets.”
“Oh. Right.” She drew a breath, deciding that discretion was the best policy; she need not name names. “To my comment, one of the guests replied, ‘Then she has no choice but to rely on her jewels.’ Then he complimented me…on my necklace.”
The guest had been Lord Parnell, a young rake known for his rapier wit. His cut had been clear, slicing deep into the heart of her woes: because Gabby lacked any alluring charms or mystique, she had to rely on her money to attract a husband.
Gabby lowered her head in embarrassment. The necklace in question felt as heavy as an albatross around her throat. It wasn’t as if she didn’tknowher own shortcomings; she didn’t need to have them pointed out in a public fashion. During the dancing after supper, Parnell and his cronies had watched her with smirks on their faces, sniggering to one another, and she’d known they were making fun of her.
“Who said this to you?”
The lethal edge in Mr. Garrity’s voice made her look up. To her surprise, his jaw was taut, and his eyes weresmoldering, embers heating up the cold black.
“Who said this?” he repeated.
“It doesn’t matter—”
“I beg to differ. No one insults you without consequences.”
“I’m all right, truly.” His chivalry suffused her with wonder. “But thank you…for caring.”
He stopped. Curled a finger beneath her chin. His touch rendered her incapable of motion or speech; even her worries about propriety and her reputation faded. He was like the sun and she a planet drawn into his powerful orbit. For a wild moment, she lost herself in his magnetic heat.
