Page 13 of Gabriela and His Grace

Still, her feet remained rooted in place long after Lucia had returned to their room, and even as she watched Whitfield walk up the stairs toward her. When she’d overheard a snippet of his conversation with the older man accompanying him, Gabby couldn’t help but interject.

The duke stared down at her, his mouth lifting into a hint of a smirk. “Games of chance are about probabilities. But even if they were about luck, someone told me, just this morning, that I would have a lucky day. It seems they were right.”

“Of course they were. I offer you my congratulations,” she said, swallowing around her suddenly dry throat. Forcing her gaze away from his, she turned to survey the man standing just behind the duke. The older gentleman’s attention swung between her and Whitfield, as if unsure whether they would bicker or not.

“Did you watch the game, miss?” the man said, stepping from behind the duke to offer her a bow.

His Scottish brogue drew a smile to her lips. “I did. I would have joined the action if I could.”

“You’ve played before?” Whitfield asked, his brows stitching together.

“This is not my first sea voyage, Your Grace.” Gabby shrugged. “I played dice many times during my trip to England.”

“I imagine your older sisters had an opinion or two about that,” the duke quipped.

Gabby clutched her hand to her chest. “A Luna with an opinion? Surely you jest.”

Whitfield snorted, but the Scots gentleman took a step closer to her. “What’s this you said, miss, about His Grace not believing in luck?”

“Just that the duke declared he doesn’t believe in luck. Things happen the way they’re supposed to,” Gabby said, mimicking Whitfield’s imperious tone as best she could.

“Said as if good luck didn’t smack him on his bare bottom when he was born the son of a duke.” The Scotsman snickered, and Gabby found herself laughing along with him. She looked up to better gauge Whitfield’s expression.

To her surprise, the duke merely shook his head at the Scotsman, amusement etched into the lines of his face. Gabby had never heard anyone tease Whitfield in such a personal manner, although Gideon had mentioned that he and Sirius Dawson worked hard to keep the duke’s ego in check. Still, the older man did not appear to be some illustrious figure…so who was he?

“Your Grace, would you be so kind as to introduce us?” Gabby asked in her sweetest voice.

Whitfield sighed. Gesturing with his hand to the man at his side, he murmured, “This is Mr. Charlie Brodie, my valet. Brodie, this is Miss Gabriela Luna. She is Mrs. Fox’s youngest sister and the bane of my existence.”

“Your Grace,” Gabby cried, beaming up at him, “I had no notion you held me in such high regard. To be the bane of your existence is a compliment I had not dreamed possible.”

“One person’s dream is another person’s nightmare,” Whitfield volleyed, although there was no bite in his tone.

“Tell me truthfully, sir,” she said, dropping her voice as she leaned toward him. “Did you think you were in a nightmare when you saw me on the docks yesterday?”

The duke angled his large body closer, and Gabby tried not to inhale too deeply of his crisp, woodsy scent. “I almost threw myself into the harbor.” A pleased sort of smile flitted across his face as she chuckled. “I was aware you would be there. Fox knew better than to surprise me.”

Gabby huffed. “But Gideon was perfectly happy to surprise me.”

“Probably because he knew you would never board the ship if you were aware I would be on it, too.”

“That’s not true.” Gabby tapped her fan against his arm. “I would have thrown you into the harbor.”

That damn smirk flashed again. “You are ruthless, Miss Luna.”

“Dios mío, Whitfield, you really must cease with the compliments lest my head grow too big for this hat.” Exaggerating modesty, Gabby patted her simple straw hat with a gloved hand.

“Oh, I like you, miss.”

Laughing, Gabby turned to Mr. Brodie. “You just like me because I’m not afraid to tease His Grace.”

Mr. Brodie stroked his chin, his assessing gaze on the duke. “No doubt that’s part of the reason.”

“You two are incorrigible,” Whitfield grumbled, rolling his eyes. Looking to the Scotsman, he cocked a brow. “Don’t you have to prepare for dinner?”

“Oh, very well.” Mr. Brodie executed a quick bow. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Luna. Have a lovely evening.”

“Igualmente,” she murmured. Inhaling a deep, satisfying breath, Gabby turned toward her chamber, when the duke’s voice drew her up short.