The Wife He Always Wanted (7 page)

“Please. Allow me.” Gabriel pushed away from the doorjamb and strolled over. He waved a hand at the dance master. Mister Robicheau took a quick side step to avoid being trod upon by him. “I would like to dance with my wife.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “I—I am not ready.”

“Nonsense.” He took her hand and his eye twinkled. “Even an ox can manage a few steps of the waltz.” He looked over at the violinist brought by Robicheau and the music began again.

Lud. He
had
seen her disgrace. His teasing did nothing to settle her nerves. Damaging his toes would not further her efforts to make him see her as an acceptable wife.

Unfortunately, she was trapped. “Watch your feet, Husband,” she said and let him lead her into the center of the floor. He took her into his strong arms. She shivered.

“How much have you learned about the waltz?” he asked.

“I understand the basic steps,” she said, defeated. “The execution fails me.”

Gabriel leaned down. His spicy scent warmed her. “Robicheau is an impatient toad,” he whispered. “Now that you have a real partner, let us see what we can accomplish.”

With that, Gabriel led her slowly through the steps while she clung to his shoulder for balance. There was toe trodding, though his suffering was not nearly as onerous as what she’d imposed on the instructor. After a half hour or so, Sarah realized she’d gone a full circle around the ballroom without faltering. She suspected it was his skill and the confident way he held her in his unyielding embrace that saved her from making a fool of herself.

“Excellent performance, Mrs. Harrington,” Gabriel said. He twirled her around. She wobbled but kept upright.

Sarah beamed and curtsied. “Thank you, Mister Harrington.” They took another turn around the room. This time she felt more relaxed and even managed to look into his smiling eyes while he led her and not at her clumsy feet.

Noelle and Lady Seymour clapped. Even Mister Robicheau appeared to concede that she’d done the impossible. It was difficult to read his thoughts when scowling was his expression of choice.

Just as her confidence welled, she stepped on his toe again, drawing laughter all around.

“You have done well, my dear,” Gabriel said. “By the time you debut at your first ball, you shall be a fine dancer.” He stopped her near his mother and bent into a sweeping bow. “Alas, I have a meeting that I’m already late for. I shall leave you to your lesson.”

Sarah forced herself not to watch him leave the room.

Noelle walked over. “Well done, Cousin. Your husband was transfixed. This is a win.”

“Of course he was transfixed. He was focused on saving his toes,” Sarah teased, then, “It
was
wonderful to be held in his arms. He cuts a fine figure, my husband.”

Mister Robicheau clapped his hands, ending further conversation, and Sarah spent the next hour despoiling the dance master’s toes and suffering ear pain under the abuse of his complaints.

* * *

G
abe left the town house shaking his head. His wife, despite the shyness and awkwardness she displayed in his presence, had spirit. She did not let insults from that puffed-up buffoon, Robicheau, keep her from learning the steps of the waltz.

Though she’d shown little talent for dancing, he had a feeling Sarah would eventually become quite competent, if not an expert, on the dance floor.

His wife was an interesting mix. While holding her in his arms, he’d noted the silky softness of her skin, her lovely violet eyes—the same eyes that often pointed toward the floor when he spoke to her—and the way the soft scent of orchids swirled around her.

He’d not gone to her bed since their wedding night, hoping to ease her fears with patience, giving them a chance for affection to grow between them. The next time he bedded her, she’d be as willing as he.

And this time, there would not be a frayed nightdress to come between him and her delightful breasts.

This thought surprised him. He’d spent years listening to Albert’s stories, thinking of her almost as his own little sister. So vivid were the images of her with braids and scuffed knees painted in his mind that it was difficult to see her any other way.

Even now, with the braids gone, he continued to battle those images. The grown-up Sarah was winning the fight. Her breasts stirred him in a way that no sisterly Sarah could.

Replacing Albert’s tales with new experiences was an effort he must make, if he was to treat her not as a child, but his wife.

With that thought in his mind, he whistled softly as he collected his horse and headed for White’s. In the male-only club, he looked forward to renewing old friendships and making new acquaintances.

And to finding a bit of raucous fun.

Chapter Six

G
abriel missed dinner, so Lord Seymour filled in his absence with stories of his son’s youth. Though amused by tales of the rambunctious lad, Sarah was miffed to be snubbed by her husband, without explanation, after Noelle had spent so much time getting her ready for the evening.

White lace lined the low bodice of the pale green gown, and sprigs of darker green flowers drew the eyes to where her bosom pressed precariously upward. It was a dress to entice Gabriel’s attention; a wasted effort for all of Noelle’s good work.

He was clearly not interested in spending time with her. Someplace, or someone else, held more appeal.

Was she wasting her time trying to improve her marriage? Maybe she
should
return to her original plan; a plan she’d all but forgotten while settling into her life here. She meant to discover the truth behind Father’s death and return to the cottage with a comfortable allowance, if she could get Gabriel to agree she was entitled to an income. With Gabriel funding the venture, she could make the house livable, and live out her remaining years, alone, with her books.

Maybe she’d get several cats for company. They were less trouble than an unacceptable husband.

Was Gabriel unacceptable? Could she make that judgment with such a short acquaintance?

Suddenly, a return to the cottage no longer appealed as it once did. She was becoming used to the title of Mrs. Gabriel Harrington. More so, she liked the earl and countess and being part of their family. She liked London. She liked Flora. She liked pretty dresses. And she adored Noelle.

She liked not having the ominous presence of Mister Campbell lurking around her.

It was Gabriel she wasn’t certain she liked.

Yanking her mind from her absent husband, she resisted the urge to tug up the fabric, trying to remain a picture of confidence in such a daring gown. Well, daring for her. Lady Seymour’s ice blue gown was a touch lower and kept Lord Seymour’s eyes occupied when he wasn’t charming Sarah.

“Miss Ann Cunningham was not pleased to discover that Gabriel had stolen a kiss from her housemaid when he was supposed to be sharing tea with her,” Lord Seymour was saying and drew Sarah’s attention back to him. “She chased him out of her house with a broom and told him to never return.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “Gabriel kissed a housemaid?” Her heart sank. Was he the sort of man who took advantage of his position to slake his needs with his female staff?

“It was not as it seems,” Lady Seymour rushed to explain. “He was only thirteen, the scamp. After his father took a switch to his backside, he never again crossed that line.”

Relief released the tightness in her chest. “Thank goodness,” she blurted out, then her cheeks heated.

Lady Seymour smiled indulgently. “My son was never a saint, but neither was he a libertine. Still, no young man can resist a pretty face and well-turned ankle. Gabriel was no exception. I suspect he has settled with age.”

Not even the countess’s assurance soothed Sarah’s concerns. Gabriel did not share her bed. Eventually, he’d want a bedmate. Where would he go? Whores? Widows? No matter which, he’d find a woman who’d overlook his marital status for a chance to take Sarah’s strong, handsome husband to her bed.

Did she care what he did with other women? She puzzled on it and came to no solid conclusion. Another minute of pondering turned her ambivalence to annoyance. The idea of Gabriel shaming her with his sexual antics made her realize quickly that she’d not be happy with that one whit.

She was his wife. He needed to act like a doting husband. The only skirts he should be chasing were hers.

The next morning, Sarah awoke with renewed determination to follow Noelle’s lessons to the letter. When the Lady arrived early in the afternoon, Sarah hurried to greet her.

“What is the matter, Sarah?” Noelle asked. “Did the dress and your fetching coiffure not attract Gabe’s attention?”

“Gabriel did not come home last evening. I stayed up until nearly midnight and still he did not appear.” She toyed with the fabric of her sunny yellow dress. “I fear he has found someone else.”

Noelle snorted. “Nonsense. I saw the way he looked at you while you danced. He may not be blinded by passion, yet, but he cares for you. He’ll not embarrass you by acting a cad when you are so newly wed.” She looked Sarah over. “We may need desperate measures. I need to make a list.”

The two women sought out paper and pen. “We have already covered dancing. I brought several recent newspapers so that you have current topics on which you and Gabe can converse. You can read them later. Today we will work on flirtatious fan waving and how to navigate your way through a formal dinner. The table settings alone can be daunting.” Noelle scribbled everything down. “We shall add curtsying and delve deeper into titles; how to address dukes and earls and such.”

Sarah peered at the notations. “I shall never remember it all.”

“Posh.” Noelle added a few more items. “I shall work each into your brain until you feel you were born to this. By the time you attend the Hollybrooks’ ball at the end of the month, you will be this Season’s incomparable.”

Incomparable?

At Sarah’s look, Noelle had to explain what an incomparable was. “Although this title is usually reserved for a young lady fresh from the schoolroom, I think you may, at the very least, be the belle of the Season.”

Sarah scrunched up her face. “You believe my abilities well above my skill set. I will never be the most admired woman of the Ton.”

Noelle shot her a scathing glare. “What did I say about belittling yourself? Do we have to cover the topic all over again?”

Sarah bit her lip to hide her smile and lifted her nose upward, to an extreme and snooty level. “I am to project confidence at all times, never speak—or think—badly about myself, ever, and always carry myself like a queen.”

“Excellent.” Noelle dropped the pen into the inkwell. “Now we must seek out the countess. First we will tackle the barons and move on from there.” She cast Sarah a sidelong look. “And I have an idea that should affirm to Gabriel that you deserve his attention.”

“What is this idea?” Her curiosity warred with trepidation. The smug expression on Noelle’s face gave her pause. There was no telling what the other woman had planned for her. She was certain not all of her friend’s ideas would be agreeable.

“Later. Now off we go.” Noelle stood and walked away, with Sarah close on her heels.

* * *

S
arah’s worries came back to haunt her a few hours later, when Noelle’s husband, Mister Blackwell, came to fetch his wife home. In his well-cut gray coat and trousers, he was almost as handsome as Gabriel. Almost. After a brief introduction and a few pleasantries, Noelle explained what she wanted from him. His surprise was only slightly lower than the level of mortification Sarah felt.

He darted a glance to Sarah, seated primly on the couch. “You cannot be serious, Noelle. It is entirely improper.”

“Nonsense. I am positive Sarah has seen two people kiss.” She glanced at Sarah, who shook her head. She frowned and tipped her head slightly to the side. “Never?”

“Not unless you count Gabriel’s lips on my cheek to seal our vows and a few brushes of his mouth that night.” Sarah entwined her fingers on her lap and twiddled her thumbs.

Noelle gaped. “That’s all the kissing you’ve shared?”

“That is all.”

Noelle shook her head.

“Did Gabriel steal her from a convent?” Mister Blackwell teased softly and was rewarded with a punch to the arm. “Ouch.” He rubbed the spot and turned back to Sarah. “I do apologize, Mrs. Harrington, for my impertinent comment.”

“Do not let him be rude, Sarah, or he will become insufferable,” Noelle scolded and took his arm in a tight grip.

Unable to resist his charm, and remembering her earlier lesson, Sarah cast him a sidelong glance and flicked her lashes. “No apology needed, Mister Blackwell. I was indeed sheltered.”

Mister Blackwell’s grin widened. “It’s Gavin. It would honor me if you called me by my given name.”

Noelle laughed at Sarah’s coquettish smile. “Brava, Sarah. You have just charmed my husband.”

“Women throwing themselves at me is the curse of having a pleasing face,” he said.

Noelle grunted. “See what you’ve done, my friend? It will take me weeks to deflate his puffed-up head.”

Sarah laughed. She enjoyed watching them spar, their love evident in the way they looked at each other. She wondered if she and Gabriel would ever tease and laugh in that way.

Love between them seemed like such an unattainable concept.

“Now, about kissing.” Noelle turned Gavin to her. “Since Gabriel has been lax in his duties, you need to get his attention. I think it time that you kissed him. With my husband’s cooperation, I shall show you a simple kiss.”

Mister Blackwell shrugged and dropped his hands on Noelle’s waist. “If I must,” he said warmly.

Heat crept up Sarah’s neck. She was about to watch an intimate act between husband and wife. However, Noelle’s rule about not staring down at the floor kept her from pressing her face into the pillow at her elbow.

Truthfully, she wanted to see the kiss, inasmuch as she wanted to look away. Drat her curiosity.

“Since Gavin is tall, I must stand on my tiptoes to kiss him.” She pushed up. Even then, she was still a bit shorter. “You can either tangle your fingers in his hair, like this.” She demonstrated. “Or you can cup the sides of his face, like this.” Another example followed. “Lastly, if you want to hold his attention, you must keep his eyes locked on yours.” Noelle looked into Mister Blackwell’s eyes. He smiled. “Now, the kiss.”

Noelle reached around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. What started as a simple press of lips changed as Mister Blackwell splayed his hands around his wife’s waist and tipped his head sideways to deepen the kiss.

Oh my!

Sarah gaped. Her entire body flamed with embarrassment as her eyes held fast, fascinated by the moment.

The room warmed considerably.

When Mister Blackwell finally lifted his head, Noelle’s face had a dreamy cast, her eyes soft. It took her a moment to bring herself upright and take a step back. She cleared her throat and smoothed the waistline of her dove gray gown.

Mister Blackwell chuckled and Noelle’s eyes sparkled when she turned to Sarah. “That was a kiss.”

The handsome Mister Blackwell winked at Sarah and her cheeks burned. “If you kiss Gabriel like that, he will follow you around like a lapdog.”

With that, he took his wife by the hand, made some hurried excuse about needing to get home for some reason or another, and pulled Noelle from the room.

Noelle turned her head just before they vanished from sight to grin at Sarah. “Class dismissed.”

Sarah groaned as she heard the door open and then close behind them. She slumped back on the cushioned settee.

“I cannot do that,” she mumbled. “Or can I?” She lifted a hand to her forehead. The passion between the married couple still crackled in the room.

Unsettled, she snatched up the pillow and fanned her face.

* * *

I
t was an hour later when Gabriel arrived home. Sarah heard his footsteps clomp down the hallway and peered out her open bedroom door to see his condition.

His clothes were disheveled, his hair askew, and his carriage, not the confident upright posture she knew well. Truthfully, he looked as if he’d had an accident with a coach and four. And the coach and horses were victorious.

As he fumbled for the door handle, she hurried into the hallway, miffed and seeking answers. Though she did not want to sound like a shrewish wife, neither did she want him to think she’d accept rudeness. He should have sent around a note.

“I see you’ve finally managed to find your way home.”

He turned and stared at her through red-streaked eyes. From the front, his appearance was worse. His coat was torn and his cravat, dirty.

“Did you roll about in the gutter last night?” She took in his dusty and crumpled clothing and the streak of what she assumed was blood on his shirt. After a quick perusal, it was clear that he’d suffered no injury. The blood belonged to someone else. Whose, she could only imagine.

“I am not in the mood to hear you prattle on, Wife.” He turned back to the door, twisted the handle, and pushed the panel open. Sarah followed him in, finding some humor in his misery.

Once inside, he looked a bit unsure of his next step. Out of courtesy, she moved forward and helped him out of his coat.

“Thank you,” he grumbled and reached for his cravat. The strong smell of port and unwashed body clung to him. Sarah lifted a finger to her nose as his valet, Benning, arrived.

“Please arrange for a bath for Mister Harrington,” she said. The valet nodded and did her bidding.

Gabriel managed the cravat, as it was already loose, and she helped pull his shirt over his head. While they worked on shedding his clothing, a tub was carried in and water began to arrive for the bath. He dropped onto his bum on the bed.

Oddly enough, the sight of his bare chest did not strike childish fear in her as it once would have. In fact, his sun-kissed and muscled chest was pleasant to look at. If not for her annoyance, and her imagination working over the possibility that he’d spent the evening with one, or more, other women, she might have thoroughly admired the view.