Dear Impostor (17 page)

          “No, my dear.” He turned her,
pulling her a little closer. “I asked you to dance because I have been praying
for a waltz since before we set out for the party.”

          “Really,” Psyche demurred, “you’re
too–”

          ”Because I have ached to hold you
in my arms,” Gabriel finished, his tone caressing, “and if I must play the part
of your lover, you must allow me the indulgence of a little loverly
solicitude.”

          She could not speak. He was
teasing her again, of course, but still, his eyes were so warm, his expression
so intense, and the music swirled around them like soft waves in a southern
sea, carrying them away from the crowded room, away from the hum of
conversation that competed with the tune’s thin strains. Perhaps some far part
of her mind tried to warn her: the man is an actor; you cannot believe a word
he says.

          But for this one moment, this
lyrical moment as they swayed together, so close that she could catch the smell
of clean linen, blended with a masculine hint of musk and warm skin, Psyche’s
usual self control deserted her. Even more strangely, she did not attempt to
regain her customary armor. She gave herself up to the sure guidance of his
hand on her waist, felt the pressure of his grip on her other hand, and she
allowed herself to forget everything except this momentary enchantment. Yes, he
must be a magician after all.

          When the music stopped, it was
hard to come back to reality. They stood still for a moment as the tune died,
and she felt strangely loath to step out of his arms. Gabriel gazed down at
her, his expression hard to read. Psyche only hoped her own bemusement was not
evident to the curious eyes that surely watched them.

          “Thank you for the waltz,” she
said at last, her voice husky. “You are–you are a fine dancer. ” And a better
actor than she had ever suspected, she thought.

          “You inspire me,” he said, his
voice quiet.

          Her heart tripped once, twice in
her chest. She knew it was nothing but empty words. He had danced gracefully
with Matilda, too, but still, he moved her. She suddenly wanted so much to
believe him, to wish that the attention he gave her was sincere. If only–

          If she had needed a reminder of
harsh reality, it came too soon.

          “This man is a fraud!” someone
said loudly.

          She felt Gabriel stiffen. Psyche
jerked, turning to see who would dare to make such an accusation in front of
the whole party.

          It was Percy, of course.

          “You must rethink this foolish
entanglement, dear cousin,” he said, lowering his voice only slightly. But
everyone was watching them, and a buzz of curious conversation floated around
the room.

          “Percy, how could you!” Horrified
at Percy’s display and worse, what he might reveal, Psyche clutched Gabriel’s
steady arm. She kept her composure only with the greatest effort. She could feel
her stomach clench and her throat go dry as more and more of the guests turned
to regard them. The chatter in the rest of the room was fading as people
strained to hear, and even the musicians seemed to play more softly.

          His goggle eyes bright with single-minded
zeal, Percy regarded her sternly. “I cannot allow you be taken in by this
impostor,” he repeated, raising his voice so that the curious matrons and
portly gentlemen standing at the corners of the room would not miss a juicy
morsel of this brewing scandal. “I have spoken to all my friends–”

          ”That must not have taken long,”
Gabriel said mildly.

          Percy blinked in surprise, but
plunged ahead “–and no one has heard of this man, or his so-called title. It is
all a hum, and I must save my dear cousin from this lecherous parasite.“

          Psyche swallowed hard against the
angry bile that rose in her throat. She thought she might be physically ill
right here, and it only needed that to become a complete disaster.

          “You doubt my credentials, sir?”
Gabriel demanded, facing Percy squarely. His tone was as icy as any that Psyche
could manage. She had to admire his steel.

          Percy paled a little, but he held
his ground. “I do.”

          “Perhaps you and I should step
outside and discuss this privately,” Gabriel suggested. He smiled, and Psyche
thought of a wolf baring his fangs. Despite the desperate situation, for an
instant she almost–almost–felt sorry for her cousin. Then common sense
reasserted itself, and she thought, no, she wasn’t sorry at all. She wanted to
see him torn into little pieces.

          But Percy was shaking his head. “No,
no,” he said. “Have no intentions of being manhandled by a would-be fancy man
like you.”

          The murmurs in the crowd around
them grew louder. Gabriel’s smile faded, and he looked even more alarming.

          “I had other alternatives in
mind,” he said quietly.

          Percy shook his head again. “No,
no, can’t call me out if you’re not a gentleman, no obligation for me to answer
to someone not of my own class. And–”

          ”Is it necessary for me to take
you by the neck and shake the life out of you, like the pathetic little coward
you are?” Gabriel demanded, his tone clear and penetrating, even though he did
not raise his voice. He took one step forward, and Percy backed away.

          Percy had flushed, his composure
at least cracked. “I am only stating the obvious, sir–or whoever you are. I
refuse to say ‘my lord’ when –”

          ”My name is Gabriel Sinclair,
lately Marquis of Tarrington,” Gabriel said, in ringing tones. “And if anyone
disputes my name, my reputation, my honor, they should be prepared to face me
and present proof of their accusations.”

          “But-but no one had heard of you,”
Percy stuttered. “And–and–”

          ”Gabriel, ol’chap, what’s this?” a
new voice said. “What’s this little beetle accusing you of, anyhow?”

          A new figure appeared in the
doorway; he must have just arrived, though Psyche had missed the announcement
of his name, if the stunned footman had even remembered to declaim it,
considering the rising tension in the ballroom. He was a young man with natty
evening clothes, pale hair and a round face; he was also the very embodiment of
correctness.

          “This idiot thinks I am not whom I
say I am,” Gabriel said. His tone was noncommital, but she saw that the tension
had left his shoulders.

          “Why in blazes would he think that?”
the newcomer demanded. He turned to peer at Percy as if he were some inferior
form of animal life. “We were up at university together, don’t y’know? Knew him
at Eton before that–we were grubby little school boys together.”

          This elegant young dandy had never
been grubby in his life, Psyche would have taken a vow on it. But just now, she
felt both intense relief and almost equal confusion. Eton? No actor could have
attended . . . who was he? Had the actor hired another actor to–no, no, that
didn’t make sense. How would Gabriel know just when he would have need of a
character reference. And anyhow, Psyche thought this young man’s face was
familiar. Surely she had seen him before. Frederick something, was that it?

          “Freddy, you are a brick,” Gabriel
said with affection. He put one arm around his friend and turned him away from
Percy, as if her cousin were not worthy of further argument. “Come and meet my
dearest wife-to-be.”

          In greeting Freddy, Psyche barely
heard Percy say desperately, “No, no. He–he must be an impostor, too–”

          ”Oh, Percy,” Sally had come up to
scowl at him. “I’ve known Freddy Wyrick since I was an infant. His family’s
estate and mine have stood side by side for two hundred years. Now will you
kindly disappear into the punchbowl and stop trying to ruin my party!”

          How had Gabriel managed to summon
up a friend from a nonexistent earlier life? Psyche greeted Freddy Wyrick with
a charming smile, but her mind still raced. There was some simple explanation
of this, she was sure. In the meantime, she smiled at the newcomer with such
warmth that the young man blushed.

          “Gabriel, you always were a lucky
dog.”

          Then Freddy paused, and a look
passed between the two men as if he had said too much. What had caused the
flash of pain that crossed Gabriel’s face, brief but unmistakable? Psyche felt
as if she were trying to solve a puzzle missing half its pieces; she had no
hope of deciphering all this.

          Around them, the hum of
conversation had resumed, and another dance was being played. Psyche found she had
no more appetite for gaiety. She still felt sick from the stress of Percy’s
accusations. When she saw Aunt Sophie signaling to her from the side of the
room, she excused herself to the two men and hurried to her aunt’s side.

          “Percy is even more of a fool than
his father,” Aunt Sophie said, her tone cross. “He will make us all the
laughing stock of the Ton. I wish to go home. I’ve had enough of this nonsense
for one night.”

          Psyche could hardly agree more. “I
will tell the servant to fetch our cloaks.” She did so and made her farewells
to their hostess.

          “I’m sorry you’re leaving so
early,” Sally said. “And phooey on Percy for being such a poor loser–for your
hand, I mean. We all have nuts on the family tree somewhere, even if the tree
is supposed to grow apples. He’ll get it over in time, you know. Don’t let him
spoil all your fun. Lord Tarrington is–”

          ”I know, scrumptious,” Psyche
said, giving her friend a kiss on the cheek. “But right now, I’m still
suffering from indigestion a la Percy.”

          To her annoyance, Gabriel had
vanished. She found him at last in the card room with Freddy, talking to a
group of gentlemen and apparently quite at his ease.

          “Aunt Sophie is fatigued. We’re
about to take our leave,” she said, smiling at them all, then she retreated to
the hall and waited for him to join her. He took his time shaking hands and
saying goodbye, she saw from the doorway. Finally, he clapped Freddy on the
shoulder and made his way to her.

          Aunt Sophie was waiting for them
in the anteroom as a maid adjusted her cloak about her shoulders. “About time,”
the older woman said, her tone shrill. She clutched her cane and allowed
Gabriel, for once, to give her his arm.

          When they climbed into their
carriage, Psyche saw that the older woman looked drawn and her face more
heavily lined than usual. The scene with Percy had taken its toll on her
nerves, too, though she would never admit it. Psyche felt a wave of guilt. It
was inexcusable that she had not realized what she would be letting her family
in for, when she dreamed up her impossible scheme. She had been selfish and
short-sighted to ever start on this perilous course. And now she was committed,
at least, until she could persuade the fake lord to quietly disappear.

          “I’m sorry, Aunt,” she said
quietly as the carriage jerked a little over the rough stones of the street.

          “Whatever for?” her aunt demanded,
sounding more like herself. “You didn’t make Percy an idiot, did you?”

          Psyche’s lips tightened to contain
the bubble of laughter.

          “We must blame his father and his
mother, poor timid thing, for that. His tantrums are bound to cause talk, of
course. Next time you start up a secret engagement, Missy, you might consider
that fact.”                                                                                       

          But beneath the tart tone, Psyche
saw that the old lady looked at them both with something suspiciously close to
approval. “Still, the two of you made a fine pair on the dance floor, quite a
picture.”

          The man sitting opposite them
nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment, and Psyche knew she was blushing. But
her relative wasn’t through.

          “They’re saying it’s probably some
obscure Irish title, you know,” Sophie said to Gabriel. “Since no one knows it.
Poor coin, but if that’s the worst they say of you–the rational people, I mean,
not Percy with his bee-infested bonnet–you’ll survive.”

          “Thank you, ma’am,” Gabriel said. “I
hope I do.”

          Not half as much as Psyche did. She
drew a deep breath and tried to relax as her aunt repeated several scandalous
tales she had gleamed from her contemporaries, remembering to laugh in the appropriate
places and gasp in others.

          Only after they were home and Aunt
Sophie had ascended the staircase, did Psyche pause to speak quietly to
Gabriel.

          “I must commend you, too.”

          “For making a fine picture on the
dance floor?” Something in his tone suggested that he did not care to be
reminded of his masculine beauty.