“You are an evil man, my lord,” she huffed out as he played her body like a virtuoso harpist, plucking string by string in a haunting melody.
“That’s it, love. Come for me.”
Her body surged in a crescendo of brilliant shards of blinding light.
His soft laugh skittered along the column of her neck. “We shall have to stay at Hope House until we come up with a solution to explain your presence at Drury Lane.”
She lay in the warm water, her body a mass of nothing sustainable with her eyes closed. “We have an explanation. I received a note telling me that Florence Groves needed assistance.”
“And where is this mysterious Miss Groves?”
“An excellent question.” Gabby soaked in the water’s warmth. It was so difficult to think.
“Wake up, darling. You’ve an audience awaiting you in the drawing room.”
Gabby started at her husband’s voice, her eyes flicking open. He loomed over her with linen towel in hand. She sat forward and snatched it away. “What? An audience?”
“You must dress. Your Miss Clark is especially concerned.”
“Oh, yes. Mabel. Will you send for someone to help me?”
He shot her a quick smile that heated her blood as well as annoyed her in light of his revelations of the drawing room. “I’m thrilled to be at your service.”
She turned her back to him. “I’m sure you are. What am I to wear?”
He let out a sigh and she wisely kept her head averted, hiding her own smile. It was shocking, the surge of lightness stealing through her after the morning she’d had. Poor Rose— “Oh, dear.” The lightness quickly morphed to a weight that had her stumbling but for Huntley’s swift reaction in holding her steady. “We must let Rose know about Stan—” She gasped, unable to finish her brother-in-law’s name. Her vision mingled with the blood and tingling spots.
Huntley yanked her to his body. “Don’t worry, Ryleigh will handle whatever’s necessary.”
She absorbed his heat and, slowly, the tingling sensation ebbed. She nodded.
Her chemise hung over his arm.
Again, he steadied her, then set her away. “You need to dress.” He snatched the linen from her hold and rubbed her down then dropped the sheer lawn over her head. He proceeded to outfit her as if she were an incapable toddler. The corset followed and he fitted it to her form as if he’d taken precise instruction from Vella. He spun her around and tied her in. Her best blue day dress soon blinded her, and was buttoned into place. His lips touched the side of her neck. “I have no skills in hair artistry,” he said, drawing another smile from her.
“I suspect that is not true.” She glanced down at Lady Macbeth to see her sitting and watching with unrenowned patience. “Do you think Mrs. Keir will mind if the queen accompanies us to the drawing room?”
“It doesn’t matter if she does, you and the duchess own the house. But, no, I doubt she would care.” To emphasize his point, he swooped the lady up and tucked her into his elbow.
Gabby followed him into the hall, shaking her head, love overflowing her.
Thirty-Five
James took Gabriella’s arm and led her into the drawing room. The entire household appeared to have gathered and leapt to their feet to surround her. Vella, the modiste’s ex-assistant, stayed back, pouring out tea and setting treats on a small plate.
He forged their way through the throng, depositing Gabriella in a chair. She needed air, not hovering over. Regardless, the women rallying around her was gratifying. Her sassy attitude was almost back in full force. That, alone, allowed him to breathe.
He found a bottle of brandy on a sideboard, thank you, Ryleigh, and poured himself a measure, then stood back to observe his wife field the women’s questions, comments, and concerns. Exhaustion was etched in her face, but she was the epitome of patience and decorum. He’d chosen well, rather, he’d benefitted greatly being her choice. Once he had her tucked snugly into bed, he had some city-prowling to do.
He settled in, leaning against the windowsill as it appeared the inquisition for his wife looked to be a lengthy process, but the drawing room door swung back, and the duke and duchess of Ryleigh entered. Ah, this was more like it—real entertainment.
Silence descended as Her Grace swept forward and hugged Gabriella. “We must talk, dearest.”
The duke caught James’s eye. James held up his glass in a mock salute, and the duke sauntered over. James poured out a brandy and handed it off. “Any word on the fallout?” he said softly.
“The rumors are spreading like wildfire. The most prominent being your wife is increasing.”
James swallowed a groan. “The ton does relish its on dits,” he said lightly.
