Regency Surrender: Sinful Conquests: The Many Sins of Cris de Feaux / The Unexpected Marriage of Gabriel Stone. Louise Allen
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‘Bodyguards? You cannot pay for them as well as give us the chair.’
‘It is for my own peace of mind,’ Cris said. He offered his arm to her and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. Mr Stone fell in on the other side and offered his arm as well.
‘I feel very well protected between two gentlemen,’ she remarked lightly as they strolled across the grass. The switch from reckless passion to a sensible discussion was disorientating, and the presence of Gabriel Stone with his rakish understanding at finding them in a compromising position in the summer house only added to the feeling.
Gabriel Stone chuckled.
‘What is so amusing?’ she asked.
He turned thick-lashed dark brown eyes to study her. ‘In London you will find many who would say we are a disgraceful pair and that you are not safe with us at all. Certainly we would not add to your respectability.’
‘You would not? Mr Defoe seems entirely respectable to me.’ Except when he kisses me. You, on the other hand...
‘We are two of four close friends, referred to bitterly by the dean of our university as the Four Disgraces. We worked hard at proving him right and did not lose the habit when we went out into the world. Two of us have married this year, so are probably removed from any further temptation to be disgraceful, but Cris and I have a reputation to uphold.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Cris said. ‘I am, as Mrs Perowne says, entirely respectable.’
‘You cultivate the appearance of it, but underneath you are as much of a rakehell as the rest of us.’ Mr Stone tucked Tamsyn’s hand more firmly into his elbow. ‘If you saw Cris at court, doing the pretty amongst the ambassadors and the courtiers and the politicians, to say nothing of their wives, you would not recognise this man in his shirtsleeves facing off with Riding Officers.’
Beside her Cris seemed to go still, although he continued to walk, his steady pace unchecked.
‘You are often at Court? I thought you said you were a landowner.’
‘I am. I just happen to be well connected enough to attend St James’s, which is nothing very unusual. It is hardly as exclusive as its habitués would like to make out.’ He shrugged. ‘I find politics and diplomacy interesting. Unlike Gabriel who is as close-lipped as a clam most of the time and as indiscreet as a village gossip when he does open his mouth.’ There was an undertone of threat in the teasing words.
There was something he was not telling her, although she could guess what it was. Crispin Defoe was not the country landowner he pretended to be, he was someone who mingled in society, someone used to London. Someone used to authority and privilege. So what was he hiding? And, more to the point, why was he hiding it?
Try as she might, she could not think of any reason that Cris might be a danger to her, or to those at Barbary Combe House. He had come into their world by accident and the fact that he was being less than open about his own life was probably simply reticence and not in any way sinister. And I want him. Was her desire for him blinding her to concerns she should be feeling? No, she decided. Franklin made her uneasy, unsettled, suspicious. Cris made her feel safe, even when she knew her feelings were definitely unsafe.
Aunt Izzy came to the front door, saw them and waved. ‘Dinner in thirty minutes,’ she called. ‘We have quite lost track of time with all this excitement and Cook is threatening a disaster with the fish if we are late.’
‘I must go and tidy myself up,’ Cris said. ‘Return to my entirely respectable self.’
‘And I will show you to your room, Mr Stone. Hot water will have been taken up for you.’
* * *
‘I’m confused.’ Gabe lounged into the dining room, where Cris, decently washed, dressed and combed, was waiting for the rest of the household.
‘You’re confused? I can’t imagine what you are doing here—and don’t give me that line about curiosity. You are never so curious as to put yourself out with a journey of over two hundred miles to one of the most inaccessible parts of England.’
‘I told you, I’m removing myself from temptation and telling myself I am not quite such a rogue as to ruin a respectable young lady.’ He shrugged when Cris lifted an eyebrow. ‘And Kate is worried about you. She thinks you are in love and moping. But the timing is awry, unless you met Mrs Perowne earlier this year.’
‘Kate said...’ Hell’s teeth. Had he been that obvious when he and Gabriel had visited their old friend Grant Rivers, Lord Allundale, and his new wife, Kate? He had thought he had concealed his heartache over Katerina very effectively behind his usual cynical exterior. Apparently not.
Thinking about Katerina did not bring the jab of pain he had become used to. The shock of that realisation almost took his breath away. Was he so shallow, so hard-hearted, that he could shrug off the heartbreak of true love, simply because he was distracted by a lovely woman and a mystery?
Unless, of course, he had not been in love in the first place. Cris moved down the length of the room, away from the door and into the deep window embrasure to absorb that thought.
‘Kate was mistaken,’ he said quietly. ‘There was a woman I could not have. It preoccupied me for a while, that is all.’ It occurred to him that there had never before been something that the Marquess of Avenmore wanted badly, yet could not have. Was that all that had been wrong with him? An attack of pique, added to sexual frustration and a heady dose of forbidden romance and he had thought himself in love? If that was the case, he was not at all sure how that made him feel.
The doubt made him almost dizzy. Ridiculous. He was never doubtful, certainly not to the extent of rocking on his heels as though he had drunk too much. Cris steadied himself with one hand on the window frame. He was always in command of his emotions, clear about his motivation. But now... Had he almost drowned himself out of sheer inattention because of the delusion he was in love?
Gabe, card-player extraordinaire, was watching his face, his own expressionless. He did not have to say anything. It was obvious he thought that Cris had ricocheted from one unsatisfactory amour to another.
‘I was not in love.’ I think. Perhaps. Damn it, I should know, surely? ‘I am not in love,’ he repeated more firmly. ‘And I do not intend to find myself in love. I intend to leave here when I am confident that the ladies are no longer in any danger and I am then going to find myself a suitable, sensible wife. Kate hardly knows me. What she calls moping was merely the gloom brought on by contemplating matrimony.’
Gabriel’s mouth twisted into a wry smile, but he did not respond to the attempt at levity. ‘So what, pray, was going on in the summer house just now? And what is this I hear about you almost drowning yourself?’
‘If I have to explain to you that Tamsyn and I are verging on the edge of an affair, then it is you we need to worry about, not me. As for the near drowning, I underestimated the power of the currents off this coast. I was not paying attention, that is all.’
‘You always pay attention, Cris,’ Gabriel murmured. ‘And you are never transparent. Now I can read you like a book and you lose focus almost fatally. I think—’
Whatever he thought was, mercifully, interrupted by Aunt Rosie being helped into the dining room by the footman, Isobel and Tamsyn behind her. Cris let out the breath he had not been aware of holding and set his face into the blandest and most neutral of all his diplomatic expressions.
Cris ate and smiled and kept up his share of the conversation, which was not difficult when the two older ladies could talk of little else but the wonder of the sedan chair and all the expeditions they could take with Isobel riding her hack and Rosie being carried, safe and comfortable at her side. He had taught himself to carry on a dinner-party conversation in three languages while puzzling over