Gabriella grinned and spoke under her breath as they made their way through the receiving line. “You sound like Rebecca. Don’t worry, we should be in soon enough and you may take your leave to the card room.”
“It’s words like that, Lady Huntley, that give me great hope for our future,” he returned.
Once inside, he spotted his brother-in-law skirting the crowd and disappearing through a door that could only be the card room.
“Oh, there’s Rebecca. You may escort me to her then make good on your escape. Bloody hell,” she said on a husky groan.
“What is it, my dear?” James glanced up and saw Gabriella’s eldest sister, Rose, talking her head off to the duchess who smiled politely, her lips never once moving. He grinned. “It looks as if the duchess could use your assistance.”
“I suppose she would do the same for me,” she said on a resigned sigh.
“I believe you did mention something about her saving your life.”
“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?”
He strolled up to Lady Stanford and the duchess. “Greetings, ladies.”
Rebecca looked down her nose at him, something she was learning to perfect quite well. “Huntley.” She turned to his wife and grinned. “Gabs.”
The duchess, referring to the shortened version of Gabriella’s name, had Lady Stanford’s lips pinching into a tight line.
James leaned in, getting a strong whiff of his wife’s herbal scented hair. “Save a waltz for me, Lady Huntley. I leave you in… good company,” he whispered in her ear.
He took the path he’d seen Ryleigh beat down earlier and crossed into a large crowded, smoke-filled room with tables scattered about. The card play was in full sail. Men stood about, visiting, imbibing, posturing. It was everything James hated about his title. Only the prime minister stood to one side, near the windows, not speaking with anyone, his watchful eyes missing nothing, stopping on James the instant he caught sight.
James took up a glass of whiskey and made his way in the P.M.’s direction.
“Huntley.”
“Liverpool.”
“I was beginning to believe you were not in attendance tonight.” Liverpool sipped at his drink, then spoke behind his glass. “And your lovely wife. Did she accompany you, my lord?”
“She did.” James, keeping his own voice low, spoke through gritted teeth. “She is saving me a waltz.”
“I would dearly love to give her my regards.”
“Now, see here, Liverpool—”
“Calm yourself, Huntley. ’Twill just be me paying my respects.”
Respect, his arse. There was nothing “just” regarding the man’s statement. But if James was to learn what the prime minister was up to, it was in his own interest to comply.
“Perhaps we could take some air.” Liverpool downed the contents of his glass and set it on the windowsill.
James followed suit, deciding it was best to make certain Gabriella was exactly where she was supposed to be.
Another little tidbit he was learning about his highly independent wife. She was wont to do whatever she pleased, despite society’s expectations to the contrary.
Fourteen
“Goodness, it’s suffocating in here,” Gabby said.
Rebecca smirked. “Dancing a Scottish Reel will do that to you.” She shuddered.
A small giggle escaped Gabby. Rose’s eyes lifted skyward, and Gabby’s giggle turned into laughter. “Really, Rose, you should loosen up. Life is much too short.”
“Must I always be the one to remind you that you are not only the sister of the most powerful duke in London, but a countess as well, and that you should act accordingly?”
