Seven to be exact. Gabby refused to be drawn into whatever drama Rose was attempting to embroil her.
“Lady Gabriella, would you honor me with this set?”
Stifling her groan, Gabby turned away from her annoying sister to face Baron Welton. For once, he sounded somewhat sober. “It would be my pleasure, sir.” She set her gloved hand on his arm, allowing him to lead her away with Rose’s disapproving sniff wringing in her ears.
~~~
James wandered the ballroom until Liverpool cornered him, holding out a brandy. Ah, blackmail then. His third of the evening. “Huntley.”
“Sir.”
“I have a task for you.”
“Not interested.”
“’Tis your obligation.”
“I’ve fulfilled my obligation in the ten years I’ve already donated.”
“Then what, pray tell, is another week or two?” The prime minister spoke mildly, yet the sound of his voice grated over James’s skin.
He was able to quell the growl rumbling up his chest. Barely. And, only by compressing his lips and suppressing all sound. He glanced out over the dancers and let out a low epithet. Lady Gabriella didn’t appear to have an ounce of sense. First, Shufflebottom, now Welton? Welton did not hold his liquor well.
God, she was lovely. His dreams hadn’t altered his memories one iota. Yet gone was the child he’d kissed that night. In her place was all woman. Every lush part of her, stirring every male part of him. There was nothing of her light that fit the murkiness that had become all too much a part of him. Something that would swallow and extinguish the exquisiteness that was her.
Why hadn’t she married? His suspicions leaned toward disobedience and forthrightness. But then, she was the sister of one of the most powerful men in Europe. Definitely not the woman for him. The petite, green-eyed beauty still haunted his dreams, night after night, even after all this time. Seven years.
He tore his gaze from the obscenity of Welton touching her. Liverpool was right. What matter was another week or two? “Against my better judgement, I shall hear you out,” he said on a resigned sigh.
“You know as well as I” —Liverpool’s eyes glittered with intensity— “that just because the war is over and Napoleon is dead, England is still quite vulnerable.”
A given in any situation as far as James could tell. But then he was a cynic after witnessing the worst humanity had to offer for years on end. Still, this conversation should have been moot. “Why me? We’d already come to terms regarding my… involvement.”
Liverpool’s lips tightened but he ignored James’s comment. “A young woman has disappeared from Drury Lane.”
“Young women disappear in London every day, sir. ’Tis a sad state of fact.” James spoke mildly, but a tendril of ice slithered down the back of his neck.
“Someone one higher in the hierarchy than you feels differently. It’s imperative we find her. Look, Huntley, you are the best we have. Besides that, you are unattached. It’s the best solution for all concerned.”
Which meant he was expendable and that infuriated James. “Perhaps you should find someone else. I shall offer my assistance at that time.”
Liverpool’s mouth flapped as if to refute James, but James steeled himself. If he didn’t, he’d never get out from the Prime Minister’s thumb. But, damnit, his mother’s death the year before had left him with a hoard of work. If he was to save, not only his entailment, but the people he was responsible for, he must leave the safety of the Crown to others more mentally equipped. He no longer had the fire required to survive the hazards involved.
Out of habit, he surveyed the ballroom. No Lady Gabriella nor Lord Shufflebottom. Dread filtered through him. He downed the contents of his glass. “Send word with your protégé’s name. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must be off.” He hurried away.
Liverpool sputtered his frustration. “Perhaps, I’ll assign Welton…”
The idea of Welton working for the Crown was so ludicrous, James didn’t bother responding.
From what James recalled of Lady Gabriella, she seemed to prefer the night air, but just as he reached the far side of the ballroom, he caught the remnants of a conversation that had him freezing in his tracks.
“He’s had his eye on you all evening. I say, it’s quite romantic.”
James didn’t recognize her voice, so he failed to understand why his skin prickled with trepidation.
“Time is against you, Gabriella. All I’m saying is that there are many paths to the altar. And, of those, many practically guarantee the outcome. If handled strategically.”
“Honestly, Claire.” Gabriella’s exasperation was an aura that seemed to darken her already dark hair. She tossed her head. “I believe I’m offended by yours and Rose’s absolute certainty of my utter incompetence.”
