“You know when we first talked about this, I didn’t understand your amusement when your aunt said it would be a small and meager affair,” Callie murmured to Gabriel. They’d been standing with Lady Gosforth at the foot of the staircase for nearly an hour, greeting the guests who flowed in a never-ending stream through the front door. Luckily Callie was used to it: Zindarian state receptions were not dissimilar.
“But it is, my dear, positivelyshabby,” Gabriel retorted imitating his aunt’s fruity tones.
She giggled. Lady Gosforth’s “few intimates for a bite beforehand” had turned out to be dinner for twenty couples. The “small private party, a positively meager affair” meant as many of thetonas could be squashed into the large house in Mount Street.
Callie was in a wonderful mood. Gabriel had flirted with her all through dinner and she was feeling light-headed and excited and breathless. She couldn’t wait for the night to be over, for the moment when they were finally alone. She kept planning it in her mind…
“Princess Caroline,” a fussily dressed elderly man bowed low over her hand, reminding Callie to concentrate on the matter in hand. With an effort she recalled his name. He’d come to her wedding—Sir Oswald Merri-something. “How do you do, Sir Oswald,” she said.
“I’m well, thank you, my dear.” The old gentleman beamed at her in a fatherly manner. “No need to ask the blushin’ bride how she does—you’re bloomin’, my dear, positively bloomin’! You’re a lucky devil, Renfrew!”
“Thank you, Sir Oswald, and thank you for coming,” Gabriel said and, after Callie had promised him a dance, the old gentleman moved on.
After another half hour, the press of guests had slowed to a trickle and Lady Gosforth sent them off. “Have some fun. Go and dance, my dears.”
A small string orchestra played in the ballroom and as if by some prearranged signal, as Callie and Gabriel entered the room, they struck up a waltz. “Shall we, my dear?” Gabriel asked her and without waiting for a reply, he swept her into the dance. The dance floor had cleared as people stood back to watch the bridal couple take the floor.
Callie circled and circled in Gabriel’s arms. The surroundings were nothing but a blur of color and movement, all she could see was Gabriel. With one hand on his shoulder and the other clasped in his big, warm hand, she twirled and twirled, gazing into his blue, blue eyes as her feet in their scarlet dancing slippers floated on air.
Their first waltz, she thought.
“But not our last,” he said, reading her mind.
She didn’t want to think about the future. Right now, she was happier than she’d ever thought possible.
“So, you’re the little foreign widow who managed to hurry Gabriel Renfrew to the altar,” a sultry voice behind Callie said.
Callie turned, not much liking being called a little foreign widow. Looking down at her was a statuesque blonde whose dress of gold satin seemed to have been molded to her body. She was very beautiful.
“I beg your pardon?” said Callie. “Have we met?”
The blonde held out three languid fingers. “Lady Anthea Soffington-Greene.” She scrutinized Callie with an air of faint, dismissive amusement. Callie bristled.
“Gabriel’s marriage has thrown the ladies of thetoninto mourning,” Lady Anthea drawled. “Not me, however.” She glanced at Callie’s gown, smirked, and smoothed her own gold satin over her hips. Her dress was cut extremely low; her large, full breasts were almost wholly visible, rather like two large blue-veined cheeses, Callie thought.
She reminded her of the Valkyrie.
Lady Anthea added, “A small thing like a hasty wedding won’t change what’s between Gabriel and me.” She smiled knowingly.
Callie’s fists curled in their lace gloves. She wanted to scratch the woman’s eyes out. “My husband is taken,” she said fiercely, looking the woman in the eye. “However, his brothers are free.” She glanced across the room to where Harry stood, tall and handsome, surrounded by women and flirting shamelessly. He didn’t dance, she noticed, perhaps because he was embarrassed by his limp.
Not one of the women was an unmarried girl, she realized with shock. They were all young, glamorous matrons. They could be hunting Harry for one reason only.
Lady Anthea tittered. “You mean Harry the Crippled Bastard?”
Callie stiffened. “If you are referring to my brother-in-law, Mr. Harry Morant, how dare you refer to him as a cripple in my presence! And I’ll have you know he was born in wedlock!”
Lady Anthea arched an eyebrow and said in a suggestive tone, “So the wind sits in that quarter, does it? Harry is a handsome devil, I grant you, but Gabriel is more my kind of meat. The thumbs say it all.”
Callie saw red. Gabriel’s thumbs were hers! “My husband is not on your menu, Lady Anthea! If you need servicing, I suggest you approach Mr. Morant. He’s kind to animals, I know. He may even take pity on an underdressed bitch in heat!”
Lady Anthea, her eyes glittering with rage, drew herself up with a hiss. Callie braced herself, ready for battle, but Gabriel came up behind her and slid his arm around her waist.
“Lady Anthea, is it not?” he said smoothly. “How do you do? You must excuse us, my wife is needed elsewhere.” And before Callie could say a word he steered her firmly away.
“Gabriel, do you know that woman?” Callie demanded.
“Yes, I know her, butnot, my love, in the biblical sense,” he said as he led her out onto the terrace. He turned her around to face him, his face alive with amusement. “And here I was elbowing my way through the crowd in the rudest way because I thought you might need defending from one of the most poisonous harpies in theton.”
