Considering how Bentick was flailing and all, Huntley calling Bentick out would pound the nails in Bentick’s coffin, not Huntley’s. Gabby reached over and took her sister’s arm, but her back stiffened, forcing Gabby to release her.
“If you’ll excuse me, Gabriella. There’s an issue with my hem that needs tending to.” She hurried away, disappearing up a grand staircase to the retiring room, and shockingly, dashed straight by Stanford as if he weren’t even there. Gabby watched the stunned expression on her brother-in-law’s face. His brows beetled and his body turn slowly, watching her stride from sight.
Gabby suppressed an urge to march up to him and wallop him on the side of his stylish hair. Wouldn’t that set the ton on its head? The thought made her smile as she turned her attention back to Bentick. The musicians ended the set and he teetered away, his partner appearing to have deserted him.
“Now, what mischievous deeds have you smiling like the cat with the cream, Lady Huntley?”
Startled, Gabby’s gaze was yanked to the sardonic twist curling her husband’s lip. “I was… Rose just…” her hand fluttered out almost hitting the man standing next to Huntley. She dropped it, heat crawling up her neck. “My apologies, Lord Liverpool. I fear I get carried away.”
“The prime minister wished to pay his respects, my dear.” Clearly, Huntley struggled in hiding his grin.
Liverpool clicked his heels in a staunchly military fashion, took her gloved hand and bowed over it. “How lovely to see you, my lady.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She reclaimed her hand and glanced about. “Did Lady Liverpool accompany you tonight?” The prime minister’s wife was somewhat sickly and didn’t appear in Society often.
“She did not, Lady Huntley. Thank you for enquiring. We must have dinner soon. Just the four of us, eh, an intimate setting as it were.”
Gabby’s jaw locked. “Of course. Perhaps you’ll convey our invitation to your wife as our first official dinner guests. Have her send over a note and we women shall work out the details.” She managed an overly sweet smile and prepared to make her escape. The music cued up a waltz. The world was conspiring against her.
“I do believe this set belongs to me,” Huntley said. His calmness—arrogance rather—while appreciated, was also aggravating. He took her hand, placed it on his arm and led her out on the parquet.
Gabby’s mind whirled with fury at Stanford’s treatment of Rose. True, her sister and she were not, nor ever had been, close, but that was no excuse for her husband to treat her so cavalierly. She was a duke’s sister! A baron marrying into such a family should count himself lucky.
“What has you so upset, wife?”
Huntley’s words startled Gabby back. She willed the tension sweeping through her to relax. Her husband was far too observant. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said on a derisive sniff.
He didn’t respond, but his gaze remained watchful.
Still, the thoughts careened through her with the force of cliff winds off Dorchester. Action was not beyond her; one could just ask Rebecca.
The question was what action to take?
Fifteen
The instinct for survival was as innate in James as his air to breathe, as he guided his wife in an energetic waltz across the floor. She was quiet which was most suspicious. If she was quiet, she was thinking. And after hearing of her school escapades with the duchess, well, animals were creatures of habit and, in his experience, that went doubly so for people. He’d learned much in his years of covert operations.
Gabriella was a passionate woman. Something that thrilled and terrified him. His best offense was in keeping her too busy to get into mischief. He spun her into a slow spin off the dancefloor and snagged two flutes of champagne off a tray from a passing servant. “For you.”
Her brilliant emerald eyes, reflecting the myriad candles lighting the ballroom, narrowed on him. “Thank you. I thought you were for the card room, my lord.”
James let out a sigh. “Hmm, Gabriella. You act as if giving attention to my wife were a sin.”
“Or dubious?”
“And here I thought all that settled,” he leaned in and whispered against the softness of her neck. He breathed in the soft exotic jasmine she wore, sending his lower body stirring.
He knocked back the contents of his flute and led her out the terrace doors where he could breathe. It occurred to him how habitual the locale was for the two of them. Creatures of habit. The temptation to rip off his cravat strangled him more than the actual strip of material.
The cool night air was instantly calming. The nippy light breeze kept everyone else inside. He took Gabriella’s wineglass and set it on the wall ledge, then caged her with both arms.
“I will not have my wedding night thrown in my face the rest of my life.” It appeared his frustration had not abated after all, and his fingers shook. James inhaled the sharp air again and let it out slowly, rested his hands on her bared shoulders. They were cool to his touch. He tugged her into his chest, wrapping her within his embrace. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “You deserved so much better than I handled the matter.”
She nodded, her hair tickling his nose. The flowery scent reminded him of spring.
“We shall deal well together,” he said. “I promise. Now, tell me the truth. What is truly bothering you, darling?”
She shook her head then rested it against his shoulder. “Just something Rose said. I’m sorry, Huntley. You don’t deserve the brunt of my irritation.”
