She glanced out at the heavily clouded night, the shivers taking hold of her body. “I’m not sure.”
“That is an unacceptable answer. Stanford had a reason for his words.”
Raindrops plopped against the panes. Gabby blinked then plucked at the threads of her cloak. “I learned that Stanford has fathered a child.”
Huntley appeared unmoved by her statement. “What of it? He’s married.”
“The mother is an employee of Drury Lane. Another actress. I think Stanford and Bentick were cohorts,” she bit out with outrage and bitterness. "She is a child and I confronted him with my findings.”
“Well, that explains Bentick’s fury when he stormed from his own house.”
“How did you—ah, yes. Your little surveillance escapade.” She crossed her arms over her body as if to ward him off. “I demand you quit interrogating me as if I’m on trial for murder!”
He took a deep visible breath, held it for a few seconds before expelling it. It did nothing to soften his angled features in the dim glow of the carriage lantern. “I’m waiting.”
“When I visited Rose,” she said on a huff.
“Go on.”
She went on the defense. “Look Huntley, I saw him and an opportunity, and I took it. I-I would do it again, too,” she added in a spurt of rebellion.
“Gabriella…” Her name came out as a warning.
“Fine. I congratulated him for his growing family.”
“While that sounds like a perfectly reasonable remark, I doubt it would have elicited such a strong reaction from him.”
“He was confused and believed I was referring to Rose—”
“Of which you quickly dispelled him of?”
“What else was I to do, Huntley? She is my sister. And she is very unhappy.”
“I have all night, madam. Continue.”
Belligerence flooded her. “I told him I knew he was stepping out on Rose. And that he must take responsibility for his actions. When I mentioned Florence’s name, he turned pale. I told him I knew he’d impregnated her.” She rubbed her arms beneath her cloak, shuddering. “I’ve never seen such malice.”
“Dammit, Gabriella. Stanford was threatening you.”
“Yes. Yes, he was. So, why are you angry at me?” she demanded.
He struck like a coiled viper, grabbing her upper arms and shaking her. “Because he threatened you, you little fool.” His fury fogged the windows.
She recoiled from the savagery of his furor. He was shaking from the violence of his reaction, and it softened her own. He truly worried for her. In an instant, as if he’d dipped his hands in molten lava, they dropped away. Her skin burned.
A long, few moments passed before a stream of air dispelled from him, some of his anger along with it. His hand swept out again and she was deposited on his lap, held tightly within the confines of an unyielding hold. “Darling, ’tis the way of some men. Coming between a man and his wife is… dangerous.”
Exactly the words Stanford had used. “Are you saying that if someone came between us, you would…”
His lips curled in a grim twist. “They would rue the day they were born.” It was a solemn vow.
Still, stubborn resolve and, yes, instinct, refused to dissipate. “Stanford does not care for my sister. Why would he go so far as to threaten me?”
“Because his wife is a duke’s sister.” Impatience emanated from him in waves. “With her brother’s assistance, couldn’t she cut him off?” His very reasonable question pricked like spikes beneath her skin. “At the least, Lady Beaumont and the Duke and Duchess of Ryleigh could wreak havoc on his societal connections.”
Ah, but Huntley didn’t know her brother like she did. Sebastian was not likely to intervene. He hadn’t in Gabby’s case a couple of months before when Gabby had decided she didn’t wish to be a countess, however wisely Sebastian’s inaction had proved. “You know as well as I that is not something that affects men as it does women. He is her—” She lifted her fingers in a curling motion “—lord and master. Blast it, Huntley, the man is a horrid husband. Rose deserves better. I suspect she wouldn’t be so bitter, otherwise.”
Huntley’s arms tightened around her waist, and his lips touched her neck.
