To Love a Lord (19 page)

Her revelation was met with a long stretch of silence, made more powerful by the tick-tock of the ormolu clock atop the fireplace mantel. At last, Chloe spoke. “If you are determined to establish a school for young ladies,” Not necessarily ladies by Society’s standards. “And that is what has brought us together, then,” she collected Jane’s hands. “Then that is why we’re together. Your secret is yours, Jane.” She frowned. “Is your name in fact, Jane Mun—?”

“Oh yes. Though I was referred to as Mrs. Munroe at Mrs. Belden’s.” She lowered her gaze. “I am not married, nor have I ever been.”

Except, this understanding between Jane and Chloe could not be so very simple. The secret was a deception she’d practiced not only on Chloe, a woman who after just several days considered her a friend, but also Gabriel. “Your brother deserves the truth.”

Chloe’s eyes went wide and she gave her head several sharp shakes. “No. No. No. No.” She slashed the air with a hand. “Gabriel sees the world in absolutes.” Her heart spasmed. “He sees only the white and black but never the gray between.”

Yes, the coolly aloof lord who’d so kissed her and who, even for just several stolen moments had felt connected to would never understand. And yet—“Perhaps, but he is deserving of the truth.” All of it. With absent movements, she retrieved her spectacles and then toyed with the useless pair. Regardless of how a nobleman would view a young woman turned out for having struck the son of an earl who’d put his hands upon her person. Even as the thought entered, she thrust it aside. Gabriel was a good, honorable man. He’d not hold her guilty for crimes of another. She drew in a shuddery breath. He’d only hold her guilty of the crimes that were hers.

Chloe gave her a gentle smile. “Now come,” she took her free hand. “Gabriel is waiting below.”

Her heart tripped a beat. “The marquess.” She flinched. Was there another?

A mischievous twinkle set the young woman’s blue eyes aglow. “I do concur. It would be a good deal preferable if my charming, affable brother, Alex, were to accompany us. Alas, we are to be with Gabriel’s miserable self.”

“He is not miserable.” Those words escaped her and she curled her toes into the soles of her slippers at that revealing defense.

Chloe, however, gave no outward reaction she’d noticed anything awry. “That is good of you.” She slipped her arm into Jane’s. “You are loyal,” she said as she steered her from the room. They fell into step down the quiet corridors. “But he really is quite miserable, you know.” Chloe waved a hand. “Very high-handed.”

Yes, he’d proven himself to be that on numerous occasions since she’d entered into his employ. Annoyance stirred in her belly. Still—“You are fortunate to have his support.” Life was a good deal harder with no support.

Chloe snorted. “I’d appreciate him a good deal more if he accepted my resolve to remain unwed and ceased treating me as a woman in need of his guidance. Ah, here we are,” she said as they came to a stop at the top of the stairwell.

Gabriel paced the white, Italian marble foyer. His elegant black cloak whipped about his long legs and Jane stood frozen, stilled by his masculine perfection. With his midnight black, unfashionably long hair and broad, powerful shoulders, he was that first man—virile and strong. “Where in blazes are they?” That impatient question carried up the marble stairs.

Her lips twitched at that reminder of how very real and human he was. He was no marble God. He was just a man. Who happened to curse.

The butler glanced up the stairwell and caught her eye. His eyes glittered with amusement. “They are above stairs, my lord.”

“Yes, I know as much,” he said, his tone heavy with impatience. “I’m wondering—”

“He means we are here, Gabriel,” his sister called down.

Her words startled him into a stop and his cloak snapped noisily. “At last,” he complained.

*

Gabriel’s words ended on a soft hiss of shock.

His sister stood at the top of the stairwell, and yet it was the stranger alongside her who commanded his attention, captured his notice and he was ensnared all over. He blinked. Jane Munroe? Surely not? Where were the spectacles and the severe chignon and…

Then she wet her lips, a nervous gesture on her part.

By God, Jane Munroe. There was nothing plain or bitter or ugly about this woman, gossiped about by Society. She was the goddess Aphrodite, rose from the sea foam, to torment with her beauty. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but could not manage one single utterance. At his notice, color blossomed on her cheeks and God if he did not want to go back on every honorable pledge he’d vowed where she was concerned and make her his.

Chloe urged the young lady forward. They stopped before him and waited. His sister stared pointedly at him. His mind raced. There was something expected of him? Words? Actions? Unscrambled thoughts? With a deliberate cough, Chloe tipped her head in Jane’s direction.

“Where are your spectacles?” he blurted.

A becoming blush stained Jane’s cheeks as she hastily placed the wire rims in their proper place. By God, they did nothing to detract from her beauty. She was still more striking than Aphrodite, Goddess of Beauty. How had he failed to see it from the moment he’d first met her?

His sister coughed into her hand.

Gabriel remembered himself. He sketched a jerky bow. “Mrs. Munroe.”
Jane
. She could only be Jane, in this moment.

She dipped a curtsy, holding his gaze with a boldness he admired. “My lord.”

It was a sin the name belonging on her lips went unuttered.
Gabriel. My name is Gabriel.

Several liveried servants came over and saved him from making a cake of himself any further with his gaping mouth and lack of words. The footmen helped the young women into their cloaks and then Joseph rushed forward and pulled the door open. Arm-in-arm, Chloe and Jane filed out before him. He drew in a deep breath and lingered at the doorway, taking a moment to appreciate the gentle, seductive sway of Jane’s hips.

“My lord?” Joseph drawled with such dry amusement, Gabriel flushed.

“Er, yes. Very well.” He tugged at the lapels of his cloak and set out after Jane. And his sister. Jane Munroe was a companion and nothing more.

What a bloody liar. As he walked to the carriage, he remained with his gaze fixed on Jane. She was a blasted beautiful woman. Just then, she placed her fingertips in the servant’s hand and with a murmur of thanks that made the young man’s cheeks flush, allowed him to hand her into the coach.

At the momentary flash of masculine appreciation in the man’s eyes, Gabriel balled his hands into fists. With a growl, he stomped the remainder of the way. As though feeling Gabriel’s burning gaze trained on him, the servant glanced at his employer. His throat bobbed and he backed quickly away. Gabriel pulled himself up into the carriage and paused.

The two young women, seated side by side gave him no choice but to claim the opposite bench. He slid onto the seat and, a moment later, the coachman closed the door. The carriage rocked into motion.

In a bid to not openly stare at Jane, Gabriel tugged the red velvet curtains open and peered out at the passing London streets. Jane’s visage, however, reflected back in the crystal pane and he used the opportunity to study her in ways he shouldn’t notice her. Yet, how had he failed to appreciate the heart-shaped contour of her face or the long, thick, golden lashes that shielded her crystalline blue eyes? In the windowpane, their stares collided and she hastily averted her gaze. He frowned. How could she remain so indifferent to him when she’d so upended his righted world?

His sister, ever the consummate talker, filled the quiet. “Have you ever attended the opera, Jane?”

Over the years, his sister’s inquisitiveness had proven the bane of his existence as she’d asked improper and impolite questions she had no place knowing an answer to. In this moment, however, he found himself grateful for his sister’s bold questioning.

Jane shook her head. “I have not.”

What a travesty. A woman of her grace and beauty should be performing the intricate steps of the waltz at some ball or soiree, with her golden hair awash in candlelight. Except, on the heel of that came the image of her in the arms of some nameless, faceless stranger. A growl climbed up his throat and stuck there.

Two stares swung in his direction; one concerned, one curious. “I am fine,” he gritted out.

Chloe returned her attention to Jane. “The opera is a good deal better than attending some ball or another.” Her lips pulled into a grimace. “At those events one is expected to dance.” She gave Jane a wide smile.

An awkward pall of silence descended over the carriage and Gabriel settled into his seat. For the first time, he truly wondered about the young lady in his employ. Before, it hadn’t mattered being the context of her references or the role she would fulfill, but this evening he was filled with a desire to know who, exactly, was Mrs. Jane Munroe? She spoke with the elegant, refined tones of a young lady, which indicated a woman who’d received a proper education. Yet, how had she come to this moment where she served in the role of companions and governesses to other English ladies? Up until this moment, she’d been quite tight-lipped with details about her past, neatly stepping around his inquiries.

It was just an evening at the opera. He’d faced far greater trials and tribulations, most of them right in this very household, than attending one performance by Rossini with a woman who’d wreaked havoc upon his senses. He closed his eyes a moment and drew in a deep breath.

How bloody difficult could that be? His gaze met Jane’s. Bloody impossible.

An interminable carriage ride later, they drew to a stop before the crowded theatre. As the ladies shuffled ahead, he trailed at a safe distance. “You’ve never been to the theatre, then.” His sister’s words reached back to him.

Jane had said as much at breakfast. Could his sister not remember the excited sparkle in her companion’s usually guarded blue eyes? They entered through the theatre doors and he kept his gaze on Jane’s proudly held shoulders. The hall resonated with the booming laughs and loud whispers and conversations being had about the space. Jane paused and his sister continued on several feet.

Jane, the blonde temptress, remained frozen with her head tipped back at an impossibly awkward arch as she stared up, just as she’d done in the foyer of his home, with her lips parted in a silent awe at the ceiling. He froze mid-step, his gaze trained upon her, For the remainder of his days, when he was old and at the end of his life, alone for a decision that had been his, he would remember her in this moment—innocently wide-eyed and awed by a mural of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden with an apple between them.

Much like Jane, a veritable Eve, tempting, enticing, taunting Gabriel with his desire for her.

“Jane?” his sister called, and then she made to take a step forward.

He should let her go and maintain the careful distance. He should pretend he’d not noted her gawking at the ceiling.

Then, he’d spent the whole of his life doing exactly what was expected of him. He quickened his stride and fell into step beside her. She startled at his appearance and cast a desperate look at his sister. Chloe, however, marched ahead, moving at an unladylike clip that would have scandalized their mother. “You were admiring the painting,” he said with a gentle teasing.

She stole a glance at him. “The mural,” she corrected with a smile.

About them, leading members of Society stared openly at him conversing with his sister’s companion. And he would have had to be blind to not see the manner those condescending matrons peered down their noses at her.

He fisted his hands. Had he ever been so self-absorbed that he’d failed to note the disdain shown to people the
ton
took as interlopers?
You don’t care. Isn’t that the person you’ve perfected through the years? One who tends his familial obligations and nothing more?
Shame turned in his belly. Yet Jane, with her strength and courage in making a life for herself, without the assistance of anyone, was far stronger than he or any other member of the whole damned peerage.

They reached his private box.

“Imogen and Alex will be in attendance,” Chloe prattled. She claimed the seat at the right of the box as she was wont to do. “I do so wish they’d share our box.” A beleaguered sigh escaped her. “Alas, they are wedded.” She wrinkled her nose.

Jane hesitated and then slid into the far left seat. As Gabriel sat, Chloe’s chattering filled the tense quiet. “Does your excitement for the evening’s festivities meet your expectations?” She gave a cynical tilt of her chin, motioning to the theatre below where lords and ladies craned their necks about, shamelessly taking in the other peers about them.

“I daresay, the real reason for my excitement would be for the performance itself.” As Jane spoke, she cast an eager look about the expansive hall.

Chloe leaned past Gabriel and held Jane’s gaze. “No one attends for the performance.”

“How very sad,” Jane lamented as the orchestra thrummed their haunting strands of Rossini’s work. “One should not cease to find joy in something just because…” She paused. Her brow wrinkled.