“I cannot marry you,” she clarified. Seeing his lips thin as he clenched his jaw, she hastily added, “You deserve a wife who shares your interests. A woman you can grow to love and who—”
“Love?” He stared at her. Incredulous. “Marrying has nothing to do with love, my lady. It is a business transaction that I have every intention of following through to the end.”
“But—”
“What’s happened? What’s changed?” He studied her as she drew back a bit, not liking his tone in the least. “It’s him, isn’t it? You’ve gone and lost your head over that rotten scoundrel who lives next door to you.”
She shook her head, frightened now by his anger. “He’s a duke,” she tried.
“He’s not fit to clean your shoes, and you want to cast me aside for him?” He scoffed at her as if he thought her a pathetic imbecile. “If you imagine that I’m just walking away without a fight—that I will allow him to encroach on what is mine—then you don’t know me at all.”
“But . . .” Her heart was beating frantically against her chest while she fought to find the right words—a solution to this mess she’d created. “You cannot force me to marry you.”
He rose then, standing over her like a threatening shadow. “We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”
And then, without the slightest warning, he swooped down and kissed her, hard and angrily, and with no consideration for her feelings.
Stepping back, he glared at her a moment, then executed a swift bow and left. Gabriella remained where she was for a long while after, unable to move. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, the violation of Fielding’s advance and the cruelty with which he’d executed it tightening her throat and making her tremble.
His message was clear. He was not a man who liked to lose, and he did not take kindly to sharing what he believed to be his. Raphe had intruded on Fielding’s “property.”
Gabriella winced. She knew now that this was how Fielding saw her. Which meant that he would do everything in his power to keep her. She considered her options and immediately decided to tell her parents. If they discovered how calculating Fielding actually was, then they might just change their minds about him.
But when they eventually returned home that afternoon it was already late in the day and with little time left to prepare for the Coventry ball. Both of her parents were in a rush to bathe and dress, insisting she tell them whatever was on her mind later. Agreeing, Gabriella succumbed herself to waiting for a more appropriate time, even if that meant having to dance with a man whom she now detested.
Lord help her, she was in trouble!
Chapter 19
Standing to one side of the Coventry ballroom, Raphe snatched a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman and took a sip. He was not oblivious to the whispers or the inconspicuous glances being sent his way, but as tempting as it was to do something shocking for the sake of provoking all these pompous nobs, he refrained, staying on his best behavior just as Gabriella had advised.
While she’d been preparing his sisters for their presentation at court, which was due to take place in only one week, according to the invitation that had arrived two days earlier, he’d shut himself away with Richardson, Pierson and Humphreys. The three trusty servants had applied themselves to teaching Raphe everything he needed to know in order to make the right impression at the ball. Hell, he’d even allowed that silly little Italian man who called himself a dance instructor to teach him the quadrille and minuet just as Gabriella had suggested. The memory made him shudder. But, nothing was going to deter him from the chance he had of winning her for himself.
So, when he saw her arrive with her parents and aunt, he set his glass aside with purpose, straightened his back, squared his shoulders and began making his way through the crowd. “Lord Warwick,” he said, drawing the man’s attention. “What a pleasure it is to see you again. And Lady Warwick.” Executing an impeccable bow that had taken no small amount of exasperation to perfect, he reached for the woman’s hand and raised it to his lips. Straightening, he then said softly, “I can see where your daughter has gotten her beauty from.” Addressing Gabriella, who was quietly gaping at him as though he’d just fallen off the back of a carriage and hit his head, and her aunt, who was eyeing him with a smirk, he simply said, “Ladies. The evening is saved with your arrival.”
A solid moment of silence passed between them, during which Raphe congratulated himself for not gagging on his overly affected words. And then Warwick finally spoke up. “I thought I made my opinion of you quite clear when last we met. You are not—”
“I may not have attended Eton, my lord, but will you honestly judge me on that alone?” Raphe leaned toward him. “I am a duke, you know. My influence might serve you well one day.”
Warwick stared. Lady Warwick’s eyes bulged. Lady Gabriella’s mouth dropped open and her aunt . . . well, that lady surprised Raphe the most by actually laughing out loud.
“Your influence?” Warwick said as though Raphe were suggesting they fly to the moon.
“Precisely,” Raphe said without blinking, “Let’s put our differences behind us, my lord. I’d much rather hear your opinion on the Rubens that’s hanging in my library.”
Raphe knew the second the words were out that he’d hit his mark, just as Gabriella had predicted. He’d never seen a man go quite so still, his eyes hungry and his mouth set with the eagerness of a thief who’d just discovered an unlocked jewelry shop.
“I, err—” Lord Warwick began. Turning toward his wife, he spoke with a joviality that Raphe had not presumed him capable of. “Why don’t you go and mingle with the other ladies, my dear. Take my sister and Gabriella with you. Apparently, His Grace and I have something to discuss.”
Lady Warwick looked uncertain. She stared at her husband, then at Raphe, then back at her husband once more. “But—”
“Let us adjourn to one of the salons,” Warwick told Raphe. “If you’ll excuse us, ladies.”
Lady Warwick appeared as though she might start sputtering in response to her husband’s dismissal. Raphe’s gaze drifted across to Gabriella, whose cheeks immediately darkened the moment their eyes met. A smile captured his lips, which seemed to make her blush even more. He loved it when she blushed. He loved knowing how easily he affected her. It was mutual, of course. He’d never met a woman who made his fingers itch with such desperate need to touch her, the way Gabriella did.
Regretting that he would have to forego her company for a while, Raphe hastily whispered in her ear as he passed her, “Save a dance for me.” Without pausing to check her reaction, he followed Lord Warwick to the salon he’d mentioned. It was a cozy room swathed in red hues and with two seating arrangements at each end. “Care for a drink?” Warwick asked as he crossed to the side table.
“No, thank you,” Raphe said, uncomfortable with the idea of helping himself to Coventry’s private selection of liquor without asking permission first. So he took a seat in one of the armchairs instead and waited for Warwick to join him.
