“Would you mind terribly if they didn’t marry an aristocrat?”
“Of course not. I just want them to be happy and well cared for.”
They danced the cotillion without too much trouble, although Raphe did turn the wrong way at least once, but he quickly recovered, thanks to Gabriella’s swift guidance. He enjoyed the moment with a laugh, completely oblivious to anyone else’s opinion. Because really, what did it matter if these people thought he moved on wooden feet? The only thing Raphe cared about was Gabriella, and the joy he found in sharing the dance with her.
“Would you like to catch a bit of fresh air with me on the terrace?” he inquired as soon as it was over.
“Certainly.” She was breathing a little faster than usual after their recent exertion.
Making their way through the throng of people around them, Raphe responded to the compliments he received along the way. Gabriella was right. His ball was proving to be a smashing success. With his hand against her elbow, he guided her through the French doors and out into the cool night air. “Would you like my jacket?” he asked as they moved to a spot where jasmine clung to the balustrade, permeating the air with its sweet aroma.
She shook her head. “It would not be appropriate.”
“Are you seriously telling me that it would be more socially acceptable for you to get sick than it would be for you to put my jacket over your shoulders?”
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but—”
“It sounds terribly asinine.”
In spite of the dim lighting, there was no mistaking her smile. “I know.”
“Just promise me that you’ll let me know if you get too cold out here.” Oh, how he wished he could simply pull her into his arms and keep her there, warm in his embrace.
“I promise,” she said. “But until then, perhaps—”
“Seems pretty sound to me,” a gentleman said, his loud voice interrupting Gabriella’s as he pushed his way through the French doors and strode toward the opposite side of the terrace with two companions in tow. He was an older, portly fellow with a booming voice designed to carry above all others.
“Who’s that?” Raphe asked, unable to recall any of the men’s names or titles.
“The one who just spoke is Baron Fullton. The slimmer man on his right is the Earl of Carmel, and the other gentleman you see is the Earl of Prinhurst.”
“I’ve wagered a thousand pounds,” Fullton added. In the time it had taken Gabriella to tell Raphe who the men were, the baron had lit a cheroot which he now puffed happily away on.
“On which one?” Carmel asked, his much quieter voice forcing Raphe to strain his ears.
“On the Bull, of course. He’s the only fighter I’m familiar with—saw him once about a year ago. He practically obliterated his opponent.”
Raphe’s eyes slid toward Gabriella’s for a second to acknowledge her concern before looking discreetly back at the trio who now held his full attention.
“He’s got to be seven feet tall, I reckon,” Fullton was saying. “So unless Matthews is bigger or faster, I’d say he’s done for.”
“I’m starting to regret my wager,” Prinhurst said. “I’ve five hundred pounds on Matthews.”
Fullton snorted. “I’d hurry over to White’s and place a larger bet on the Bull. It’s your only option, at this point.”
“You’re sure Matthews stands to lose?” Carmel asked.
“Look, there are never any guarantees when it comes to gambling,” Fullton said. “But I know the man I’m betting on, and he’s a winner if ever I saw one.”
“Do you plan on attending this fight yourself?” Prinhurst asked.
“And trudge out into a muddy field?” Fullton sounded affronted. “I’m thinking of sending my secretary or valet.” Dropping his cheroot, he put it out with his foot. “Shall we return indoors, gentlemen? I’d like to have a go at cards in the game room, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll partner you for whist if you like,” Carmel said as he and Prinhurst followed Fullton, neither one of them so much as glancing in Raphe and Gabriella’s direction.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Gabriella said as soon as they were alone again. “What if you lose?”
“Then so be it,” he told her dimly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
