He stepped out into the night but didn’t spot her right away. Then he saw her. She stood near a bench off the path, the moonlight giving her an ethereal look. A light breeze tugged at her skirts, sending a shiver through him that she could dissipate like the ghost she appeared. “Gabriella?”
She spun around, her eyes shimmering like polished gems. “Oh, Huntley,” she cried, launching herself in his arms.
Twenty-Five
The next morning, James heavily aware he would never get enough of his wife, rolled over in her bed—his new and permanent sleeping locale—to take her in his arms. Instead, he came up empty. No yips sounded from Lady Macbeth. No refreshing aroma of coffee or chocolate.
He shot straight up. “Blast it.” She was already gone. Despite her actions at Faulk’s the night before, she didn’t trust him completely. He rubbed his chest with the heel of his hand, surprised at the disappointment spilling through him. He hadn’t gotten a word out of her regarding her reaction to the Bentick incident.
He got out of bed and strode into his own chamber. “Potts!”
His dapper valet stepped from the wardrobe, brows disappearing under his fashionably curled hair.
“I must dress. Quickly, now.”
Potts clicked his tongue. Working for a man who spied for the Crown hadn’t been all the crack, as he’d so often bewailed. He also knew his complaints held no water as James ignored him on a regular basis.
Twenty minutes later, James dashed down the steps and reached Fitzroy Gardens in time to see a tow-headed boy rushing away. His eyes narrowed on his wife. She was adjusting her bodice. Ladies did not adjust their bodices in public. Which meant one thing—another missive had been dispatched and received, and she’d chosen the one place he couldn’t snatch it from her, at least in broad daylight. Lady Macbeth danced happily around her feet.
He strode over. “Where is your maid?” he demanded, more annoyed than angry.
“Good heavens, Huntley. I’m just across the street attending to my dog who was in desperate need of relief.”
“Hmm.” He set his hands at his lower back, forcing himself not to touch her, because kissing her only fogged his brain. “Tell me, Lady Huntley, where shall we start on our renovation of Huntley House?”
Her eyes widened. So, she’d forgotten that little conversation. But she recovered quickly. “I had planned a visit with my sister.” An ambiguous statement for sure. She had three sisters and wasn’t close to a one of them. “Mrs. Tatton, I take it? She will surely appreciate it.” That would delay his strategy of keeping her too busy for staying out of trouble. But visiting her sister shouldn’t hurt anything.
She frowned. “Antonia? No, I was thinking of Rose.”
Interesting. “You and Lady Stanford have patched up your differences then?”
Gabriella paused and Lady Macbeth tugged at her lead. His wife’s gaze was wary. “No,” she allowed slowly. “But I’ve since learned a few hard truths I wish to speak to her about.”
That didn’t bode well. “Might I enquire your meaning?”
Her expression blanked. “Stanford has apparently tired of her. It has cut her deeply, but she pretends it does not. I think it has made her bitter.” She stared long and hard at him. Her shoulders lowered slightly. “I also think Stanford may be violent.” She turned away and let Lady Macbeth lead her to a nearby shrub.
He tensed. “Has Stanford threatened you?”
“Of course not. What reason would he have to threaten me? I’m concerned about Rose.” Her voice held annoyed impatience and the tightness about him loosened.
“I suspect Ryleigh would step in if Stanford dared lift a finger against her, darling.”
“Ha! Much you know about my brother!” An instant of stillness froze her in place as if she hadn’t intended to say those particular words. Then her eyes glittered with tears and fury. “So, you believe that a woman must have a threat against her before action should be taken, even if there is a clear indication of violence? Who is supposed to protect a woman from a protector who has nefarious intentions?”
A sudden insight struck like a bolt of lightning. “Do you fear I’ll hurt you?” He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers, uncaring who might see. “Don’t you know you can trust me with your life?”
“Yes,” she said darkly. “I do trust you with my life. It’s my heart, I’m concerned with.”
Her tone sent ice slithering through James’s veins. “Your heart,” he echoed.
One shoulder lifted in a delicate shrug. “It’s no secret, marriages at our level of society are not love matches, is it?”
“No. But…” He was at a loss at how to explain the turmoil that flooded him when he kissed her. When she turned those emerald eyes on him, his usual common sense deserted him like a layer of dust after a thorough washing. A cloud passed overhead that was a sure sign the Almighty mocked him. He shook his head unable to come up with anything to bridge this chasm. He pulled her into his chest. “What had you so upset at Faulk’s, my lady? And, what is this sudden desire to speak to a sister you seem hardly able to tolerate?”
He heard a suspicious sniff as her head moved against his shoulder. “I-I can’t tell you… not yet.”
James did the only thing he could do in that moment. He pulled back and lifted her bonnet to drop a kiss on her forehead. “All right. Just know, I’m here if you need to talk.” Guilt pierced him, knowing she would hate him if she learned he was having her followed. Her safety was all that mattered to him. A shocking revelation for a man so used to a solitary life. “If it will set your mind at ease to visit with Lady Stanford, then by all means you should see her,” he assured her magnanimously. “We can start on the house project tomorrow. It’s waited this long, what is another day, eh?”
