“Are they not aware that the servants’ entrance is at the back?” Fielding asked, his harsh tone startling Gabriella out of her own ponderings.
“Apparently not,” she said as she watched the girls, who appeared to be older than she’d initially thought—around her own age, it seemed. They certainly looked like servants, with their rumpled attire taken into account, but why on earth were they there? Pierson, the Huntley butler, did not have reason to hire more staff. Unless . . . The door to Huntley House swung open and a footman strode out, approaching the girls without pause. Gasping, Gabriella placed her hand on Fielding’s arm. “Do you suppose that an heir has been found?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps—”
His words were cut short by the thud of a bag being tossed from the carriage. A man’s head appeared next, his profile drawing attention to his unshaven jaw and the stray locks of dark hair falling against his brow. Gabriella stared as he leapt from the carriage, straightened himself to an astonishing height and stepped onto the pavement, where he extended his hand to the footman, who paused for an uncomfortable moment before awkwardly accepting the gesture.
Another figure began to descend from the carriage. “How odd,” Gabriella remarked as she recognized Pierson. “Don’t butlers usually conduct interviews at the house?”
“Mine does,” Fielding said. “Fetching the servants himself, by common hack, seems highly irregular.”
The scruffy-looking fellow suddenly turned toward the driver. “That’ll be all,” he called, his voice carrying the uncultured tone of someone who had no business standing on the pavement of St. James Street in the middle of Mayfair.
“Most irregular indeed,” Fielding murmured.
Gabriella had to agree. She watched with growing curiosity as the footman struggled to pick up the bag that had been dropped from the carriage earlier, while its owner seemed quite unwilling to part with it. A strange tug-of-war ensued with Pierson looking on in exasperation.
“Forgive me, my lady,” Fielding said as he tied the reins securely to the front rail of the curricle, “but this situation demands some clarification. Just give me a moment. I will be right back.” And then he was gone, leaving Gabriella to watch as he approached the group, his affected tone halting all action with impressive efficiency.
Ignoring the tableau was not an option. Not when she found her curiosity piqued for the first time in as long as she could remember. Annoyingly, she couldn’t hear the exchange that was now taking place several yards away, save for the occasional word.
But, at least she could see the expressions of the would-be servants and Pierson as they faced Fielding—a distraction that allowed the footman to take control of the bag and go back inside the house. As far as Gabriella could tell, none of the newcomers appeared to be the least bit bothered by Fielding’s arrival, though Pierson did seem uncharacteristically flustered. Curiously, it looked as though he didn’t know how to respond to the argument that was presently brewing between the scruffy-looking man and Fielding. And they were arguing. Or at least the man was. Indeed, he’d pushed the girls behind him and stepped toward Fielding, confronting him with his much larger size while Pierson stood to one side with a perplexed look on his face.
Which was when Gabriella decided that she simply had to interfere. Clearly, the servant lacked manners, while Fielding would likely get himself hurt.
So she hoisted herself down, smoothed her skirts so she looked presentable, pasted her practiced Society smile on her face and strolled forward, realizing belatedly that she’d made a tactical error as soon as she met the gaze of the man with whom Fielding was quarrelling. He must have sensed her approach, for his eyes flicked to hers with unashamed interest.
A second passed, but it was enough—enough for Gabriella’s footsteps to falter beneath the perusal of those dark, unyielding eyes. His appearance was rough and rugged, his hair a mass of stray locks just begging to be tamed, while his mouth . . . Gabriella swallowed, determined not to let her momentary slip in composure show. He was not of her social class, and yet, with one look, he’d sent heat rushing to her cheeks. It was a reaction unlike any she’d ever experienced before. And in that moment, she hated how weak and susceptible she was to the pleasure of this man’s forthright admiration. For it was surely this sort of feeling that had led her sister astray.
His mouth curved with the sort of confidence that could only be owned by those who cared very little about the opinion of others. And as he turned back to Fielding, Gabriella realized that the man had assessed her, found her wanting and promptly dismissed her. “Ye’re all the same,” he said to Fielding. “Makin’ assumptions.”
Pierson sputtered as if in protest. “You—”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Fielding said, “but are you telling me that you are not hired help?” He punctuated the question with a glare that made Gabriella cringe.
“My lord,” Pierson managed as though choking on bread crumbs. “This is—”
“Nobody of consequence,” the man finished.
Fielding held his ground. “Have some respect, man. Pierson is a butler, above you in every conceivable way and hardly deserving of being interrupted by the likes of you.”
“Is that so?” The scruffy man asked as he took a step closer.
“My apologies,” Gabriella said, deciding to act before the man, whoever he might be, decided that this piece of pavement was somehow worth fighting over. “My friend here merely wished to discover if the next Duke of Huntley has been found, since it does appear as though Pierson is hiring new servants. We could think of no other reason and were simply curious to know who he might be and when we might have a chance of making his acquaintance.”
She’d caught his attention again, and not without some degree of discomfort. She was a lady, after all, and Fielding was an earl. How could this man possibly find them wanting? And yet, the evidence that he did was plain to see in his critical expression.
For the longest moment, the man simply stood there staring at her while the two young girls—women, really—peeked out from behind him with narrowed eyes. Dressed in a plain white shirt, brown trousers and a jacket to match, he wore no hat, waistcoat, or cravat. Gabriella watched in fascination as he swallowed, the movement so subtle and yet so utterly perfect.
“Madam?”
Her eyes shot to his, the indignation of realizing that her perusal had been observed flipping her stomach inside out and setting her off balance. The feeling was swiftly followed by no small degree of irritation. “My lady, if you please,” she told him tartly. Tipping her nose up a little, she did her best to feign unaffected aloofness.
To her consternation, he reached out, snatched up her hand and bowed over it, brushing her glove with his lips. And yet, in spite of the barrier between them, she felt the heat of that kiss all the way to the depth of her soul. Ridiculous. She straightened her back and prepared to give the presumptuous man a piece of her mind just as Fielding jumped in, pushing the man away from her while Pierson made an odd sound of protest.
“How dare you take such liberties?” Fielding demanded.
The other man raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that I was doin’ any such thing.” And then he shrugged before turning about and addressing Pierson and his two companions, who stood wide-eyed and gaping. “Shall we go inside then?”
