The Historical Collection. Stephanie Laurens
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your brief question? This.”
“It’s four words on my part. Your answer only requires one. That’s the definition of brief.”
“Is it?”
He reached for her hands. “I know it’s not a romantic proposal, but I wanted to ask before your brother arrives. I need you to know that your answer is the only one that matters. The things I said to you were unforgivable. That contract was a horrid, thoughtless mistake. You were right to shred it to bits, and I’ve made certain my solicitor’s copy was torn to pieces, too. The thing of it is, I was afraid. I’m afraid no one will believe you married me for love, because I find it so difficult to believe it myself. It seems impossible that you could love me. But then it once seemed impossible that I could love anyone, and now I love you with a ferocity I can’t describe. Not because I need a poet, but because I don’t want to frighten you away. You’re the kindest soul I’ll ever meet, and we’re astounding together in bed. I don’t think I could live without you. Well, I don’t know. Perhaps I could. In the past, I learned to survive without a great many things. But I don’t want to live without you. I realize you might not forgive me yet for being a shameless, presumptuous prick, but—”
“Yes,” she interrupted. “The answer is yes. Adorable as it is to watch you nervously rattling on, if you want my answer before my brother arrives, we don’t have all evening. So yes.”
“Thank God.” He closed his eyes and exhaled gruffly. “Damn it. I left the ring in the safe.”
She laughed. “Best proposal in the world.”
“So what was your question?” he asked.
“I’d almost forgotten. I was going to ask if you’d care to dance. With me.”
“Penny.” His heart clenched like a fist. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to, so long as it’s with you. Everything is different with you.” She licked her lips, anxious. “They’re playing a waltz. The waltz wasn’t in England yet when I … when I first learned to dance. It would be entirely new for me.”
He brought both her hands to his lips and kissed them. “I’m so honored. And I wish like hell that I knew how. Neither of us would know what we’re doing, I’m afraid.”
“It couldn’t possibly be a more alarming scene than my last attempt at dancing in public.”
He supposed that was true.
“Even if it is a disaster, what’s the worst that could happen? No one will invite us to another ball for a decade. What a shame that would be.”
“In that case …” He waved his arm in the direction of the dancing. “After you.”
To Gabe, the waltz seemed to be nothing but a great deal of mincing, turning, and mincing while turning. He felt like a clumsy ass, but he did his best for Penny’s sake. For the remainder of his life, he’d do his best for Penny’s sake.
She stopped in the middle of a mincing turn. The music continued, and the dancing went on, but Penny was frozen in place, staring at something over his shoulder.
“Penny?”
Her gaze held emotions he’d never seen in her before. Emotions he wouldn’t have even believed to be in her character. Fear. Fury. Hatred.
And Gabe knew—he just knew, in his soul—there could be only one reason for it.
She pasted a false smile on her face and threaded her arm through his, turning him to face a pair of men. The younger of the two looked to be about the same age as Gabe, but he had Penny’s light hair and blue eyes.
This one must be Bradford.
The other man was older, though not old. He had brown hair gone gray at the temples, and an insidiously average-looking face.
This one must be the Devil.
“There you are, Penelope,” her brother said. “We’ve been looking for you.” He settled cold, suspicious eyes on Gabe. “Introduce us to your friend?”
“Bradford, this is Mr. Gabriel Duke. Gabriel, this is my brother Bradford. And this is Mr. Lambert. He’s Bradford’s father-in-law.”
Him.
Penny clung to Gabriel’s arm. She thought she might be sick. A cold sweat covered the back of her neck, trickling down between her shoulder blades.
This was the possibility she’d been dreading ever since she’d learned that Bradford was coming to Town. Perhaps, she’d told herself, he was traveling alone. Maybe Mr. Lambert wasn’t coming to Town for the Season this year.
Yet here he was. Smiling at her as though none of it had ever happened. Because, as far as her family knew, none of it ever had. Lambert knew that Penny would never tell.
When she’d gone away to finishing school, she thought she’d finally be free of him. And then she’d learned the news in a letter from her mother. Bradford was betrothed to Alice Lambert.
Once Bradford’s engagement was announced, she ought to have found the courage to speak. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell the truth. She’d have been driving a wedge into Bradford’s happiness with Alice. Ruining one of her father’s oldest friendships. Perhaps her mother would gently accuse her of seeking attention again.
In short, telling the truth would be asking her family to choose between her and Mr. Lambert. They couldn’t be loyal to both. And Penny knew which of the two stories they would prefer to believe.
So she said nothing.
On the day of her brother’s wedding, Penny had vowed that if Bradford and Alice ever had a baby girl, she would break her silence. No matter how painful. But they’d had only sons, thank heavens, and by now speaking the truth seemed pointless.
What good could it do? Penny would be tied to him forever. Lambert would always be, much as it repulsed her to think it, family.
“Come, poppet. Is this any way to greet me?” Lambert kissed her on the cheek. She would be scrubbing it for days. “How lovely to see you dancing. I do hope you’ll favor me with the next set?”
No. Everything in her screamed the word. Yet for some reason she couldn’t speak.
“Actually,” Gabriel said smoothly, “I have a request of my own. I had planned to ask for a private conversation with His Lordship. However, now that you’re here, Mr. Lambert, perhaps you’d care to join us? Since you are family, this matter concerns you, as well.” He looked to Penny. “You will excuse us, I hope?”
She managed to nod.
“Excellent.” He turned to Bradford and Lambert, making a welcoming gesture in the direction of the corridor. “Shall we? I have brandy in my study.”
She watched the men as they left the ballroom, paralyzed with indecision. The little girl inside her still trembled with fear. But she wasn’t a little girl any longer. The woman she’d become refused to stand by, silent and ashamed.
She ran after them, pushing open the door of the study—
Just in time to see Gabriel’s fist connect with Lambert’s jaw.
Penny shrieked.
Bradford launched himself at Gabriel, dragging him backward before he could land another blow.
“You miserable blackguard.” Gabriel struggled against Bradford’s restraint. “I can’t believe you would show your face in this house.”
“What the devil is this about?” Bradford asked.