The door opened. A servant stood there. Then again, maybe he wasn’t a servant. With a scraggly gray beard, cutoff pants, and bare feet, he looked like he belonged in the islands more than they did.
“Wot’s it to be then and be quick about it,” he said quite rudely.
Ohr, without expression, said, “A letter for your master, to be hand delivered. We’ll wait inside.”
He wasn’t giving the man a chance to disagree. He took Gabrielle’s arm and pushed past the fellow.
“Now just a bleedin’ minute,” the man protested. “Where’s yer calling card, eh?”
“The letter is our—”
“Is there a problem, Artie?”
All eyes turned to the woman who appeared in one of the open doorways off the long entry hall where they now stood. She was no bigger than Gabrielle, maybe an inch or so shorter, with dark brown hair and eyes. She looked to be somewhere around thirty years of age, with a face that would be exceptionally lovely at any age.
The three visitors were so taken by her beauty that they were speechless, giving the servant called Artie a chance to say, “They barged in, George, but I’ll be giving them the boot now.”
The woman—George—tsked and said, “There’s no need for that.” And then she smiled at Gabrielle and added graciously, “I’m Georgina Malory. May I help you?”
Gabrielle’s embarrassment prevented her from answering. She felt like a bloody beggar. She didn’t care what her father had done to help Lord Malory, it couldn’t be enough of a favor to expect these people to take her in and sponsor her for the Season. And it might even take her two Seasons to find a husband!
The launching of a debutante was a major undertaking. It required attending party after party, planning, acquiring a new wardrobe, arranging suitable escorts and chaperones. She and her mother had talked about it often—before Carla had met Albert. And Carla had known the right people. She’d been looking forward to her daughter’s Season in London. Gabrielle had, too, back then, and even on the trip here. But now that it was time to call in favors, she just wanted to go back to the Caribbean.
Richard spoke up with a charming smile, even doffed his jaunty hat for the lady. “We have a letter for Lord Malory, madam. Dare I hope he isn’t your husband?”
“Yes, I am,” came a deep voice in a distinctly unfriendly tone from the top of the stairs. “So get your eyes off of my wife or I will have to tear you apart limb by limb.”
Gabrielle glanced up the stairs and actually took a step back toward the door. Good grief, she’d never seen a man quite so solidly built, or so menacing. It wasn’t his unfriendly tone. Not at all. It wasn’t even the lack of expression on his face. There was simply an aura about the man that warned he was dangerous, even deadly…that they should be looking for the nearest exit.
With no telling expression, the man didn’t appear to be jealous, yet his tone smacked of jealousy. It was regrettable that Richard had posed his question in such a way that implied an interest in the lady, and even more regrettable that her husband had heard him.
Gabrielle shook her head. No, this couldn’t be the man she was to ask this favor of. There had to be some kind of mistake on her father’s part. Of course! There must be more than one Lord Malory in London. They’d come to the wrong house.
That thought gave her such relief; she was about to say so when Ohr said, “We meet again, Captain Hawke. It has been so many years, you may not remember—”
“I never forget a face.”
Gabrielle turned to give Ohr a surprised look. Blast it, so they did have the right house. But Ohr could have told her what the man was like instead of mentioning fops to mislead her. And she didn’t doubt Malory had been just like this when Ohr had met him all those years ago. Dangerous just didn’t go away.
“We don’t use that name anymore,” Malory continued coldly. “So strike it from your memory, or I will.”
That was clearly a threat, the second one in as many minutes. If the first hadn’t produced a reaction in her two escorts, this second one certainly did. The tension was now palpable in all three men.
Of all the ways Gabrielle had envisioned this meeting going, this wasn’t one of them. But then she’d had a completely different view of English aristocrats. She’d met many over the years growing up, and not one of them had been the least bit intimidating. This man was more than intimidating. Big, blond, and so muscular it wouldn’t take much for him to tear someone limb by limb.
Malory continued down the stairs. Gabrielle was ready to leave before any more threats were uttered. Ohr wasn’t. He didn’t mention the letter, but he shoved it at the man when he was within reach.
She groaned inwardly. She knew she should have kept that letter herself, instead of letting Ohr carry it. It was sealed. None of them had opened it. She didn’t even know how her father had phrased his request—as a favor, or a demand? Good grief, he wouldn’t have dared make a demand of a man like this, would he?
She held her breath while Lord Malory opened the letter and scanned it quickly. “Bloody hell,” he muttered when he was done. Gabrielle was mortified.
“What is it, James?” his wife asked, frowning curiously.
He said nothing, merely handed the letter to her so she could see for herself. She didn’t utter any oaths. In fact, she amazed Gabrielle by smiling.
“Why, this sounds like fun,” Georgina declared, and it looked like she actually meant it. She then glanced at her husband. “Didn’t you read it all?”
“Yes, but I see you haven’t grasped the implications yet,” he replied.
