She positioned herself on one of the chalk marks on her wooden floor. She bent into a half crouch and set one foot behind the other for leverage. She summoned all her strength, then jumped high and long.
* * *
“Who are you looking for?”
Brentworth posed the question while Gabriel and he rode through Hyde Park during the fashionable hour.
“I am not looking for anyone.”
“Are you not? You pressed me to enter this crush when I know you normally avoid it. Ever since we arrived, you have been peering furtively left and right. I must conclude that you intend to meet someone here. Accidentally, of course.”
Gabriel steadied his gaze straight ahead. Peering furtively, hell.
“It wouldn’t be the shepherdess, would it?”
Damnation. Hehadfound himself scrutinizing feminine chins and mouths the last two days, to see if any looked familiar. If he saw berry-red lips, he peered even harder, to see if they appeared painted. That was not the reason for this ride, however. Rather, he sought to distract himself from the delicious anticipation of tonight. The mere thought of it had had him half-cocked the whole day.
His fascination with this mystery woman was unusual enough to make him reflect on it. He supposed her lack of experience to be part of the appeal. His lovers were normally far past any need for initiations. To play the role of guide and teacher in the many ways of pleasure—the notion tantalized him.
He forced a laugh. “The shepherdess? What makes you even suggest such a ridiculous thing?”
“You disappeared with her for a goodly amount of time at that ball.”
“You noticed.”
“I did. So did others. I daresay the entire northwest quarter of the garden was avoided, lest you be discovered with your bare bum aglow in the moonlight and your trousers down at your ankles.”
“Since I am not looking for anyone, you can be assured it is not a shepherdess. Nor would I know her if I stumbled right onto her, so I can hardly be looking for her.”
Brentworth just smiled.
“Although,” Gabriel added in his bestnot that I give a damnvoice. “Normally I recognize who is at a ball, even in a mask. I did not recognize her. Did you?”
“I tried to place her, but could not. As I said, she is probably a Cyprian, perhaps one recently arrived in London.”
“I don’t think so. I think it more likely she was a married woman hoping to find some adventure and relief from her brute of a husband.”
Brentworth turned a long gaze in his direction. “You have written quite a story for her based on a brief, chance encounter. But then, I would never dare to question your expertise on the subject.”
“Perhaps not a husband. A strict father or overbearing brother might explain it. She was afraid, you see. Terrified of discovery. If she were a prostitute, that would not matter much at all.”
“It seems your absence in the garden was mostly for conversation. How good of you.”
Gabriel knew that sardonic tone. “I believe I possess a special intuition regarding ladies and their essential characters.”
“You concluded she was a lady, did you?”
The question took Gabriel aback. “I suppose I did conclude that without ever really contemplating the question. Rather I did not conclude anything else.” He thought on the matter now. “Her language, her manner—she seemed a lady, or a woman schooled to be one.”
“Damned good thing you will never see her again, if that is the case. She sounds dangerous. When a lady has a husband, father, or brother who rules with a fist, her lover often finds himself in a duel.”
Brentworth did not offer it as advice, but Gabriel heard the undertone of warning. Not that he would heed it. Dangerous or not, he fully intended to provide as much adventure as the shepherdess would allow.
* * *
That night, Gabriel entered his brother’s house with his valet, Miles, in tow. The servant carried the epicurean delights with which he planned to entice his mystery woman.
A lone groundskeeper slept near the door, ostensibly guarding the house. Gabriel woke him, slipped him some money, and told him to leave the premises until morning.
