The Unexpected Marriage of Gabriel Stone (Lords of Disgrace 4)

‘What is the solution, then?’ he asked. ‘I could shave off this confounded beard, reappear as myself and challenge Woodruffe to a duel.’

Was he being whimsical? ‘You will do no such thing! On what pretext? What if you kill him? And think of the scandal in any case.’

His fingers still circled her wrist, they were close enough to kiss, close enough for her to breathe in the now familiar scent of him. Gabriel’s lips parted, she caught her breath. ‘You do not worry that he might kill me?’

She gave an unladylike snort of disbelief, shattering the fragile moment, and saw the laughter lines crease at the corners of his dark eyes.

‘I am flattered by your confidence, Caroline. But to be serious, I agree that duels are a last resort because of your reputation. Is there no one you would wish to marry? No suitor ready to carry you off across the border?’

He had released her wrist and she concentrated on not closing the fingers of the other hand around it to trap the sensations that still teased the skin. ‘No. There are suitors, yes. But anyone I would wish to marry? No. Certainly no one ready to carry me off at the risk of scandal and my father disowning me.’

‘Then we will have to think of another solution.’ Without leaving her side Gabriel let his fingers stray over the keyboard, a ripple of notes, the beginning of a tune she did not know. ‘I have only just arrived and begun to think around the problem. There is time yet, do not despair.’

‘I am not desp

airing,’ she said stoutly. ‘If the worst comes to the worst I will simply run away—once I have thought of a way to support myself respectably until Anthony comes of age and I can live with him.’

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, his expression dubious. ‘He is what? Sixteen? Five years to hide and support yourself is a long time.’

‘I know. But I will think of something.’ She shrugged. ‘I must. Other women support themselves.’

His quizzical look was plain to read. Most of them do it on their backs. ‘I was considering blackmail.’ Gabriel completed his one-handed tune with a flourish. ‘Something that would suggest powerfully to Woodruffe that he would do better to leave you alone. Catching the man cheating at cards would be useful.’

‘It would. I cannot believe we are discussing blackmail, elopements and duels.’ She watched him as he stood so close, head bent, studying the black-and-white keys as though they were all that was important here.

Gabriel glanced up towards the door. ‘Someone is coming.’ He crossed the room to the rug in the centre. ‘I think it would be better if I recite rather than sing, my lady,’ he said clearly, the Welsh lilt back to colour his voice.

Blackstone looked round the door, then came in, nose almost twitching with curiosity. ‘May I bring your ladyship refreshments?’

‘Yes, please, Blackstone. Some lemonade and macaroons. Bring two glasses and plates.’

When he had gone, his face stiff with disapproval, Caroline stayed where she was. ‘Why not sing?’

‘Because I cannot remember sufficient songs,’ he confessed. ‘But I can recite Welsh poetry long enough to send an entire house party to sleep. It is a hot day and this evening will be warm. A stage set of sorts on the terrace will give maximum drama and keep your father happy.’

‘But why are you doing this? You hardly know me,’ she began. ‘Why are you helping me?’ It isn’t as though you desire me.

‘Hush, my lady. Mawredd gyminedd, a weli di hyn? Yd lysg fy nghalon fel etewyn—’ He broke off as a footman came in with a tray, placed it on a side table and left on well-trained, silent feet.

The man must have incredible hearing. ‘How did you—?’

Gabriel shook his head at her in silent warning. ‘That is from a warrior’s lament, my lady, many hundreds of years old.’

Blackstone entered, glanced at the lemonade jug as though checking on the footman and went out again.

‘“My heart is burning like a brand of flame”,’ Gabriel translated incongruously as she poured lemonade. ‘What time should I make my appearance this evening? “I praised their wealth...”’

‘Ten o’clock.’ Caroline made herself think of practicalities, not the rich, dark voice weaving ancient magic. ‘Have a biscuit.’ There were few things more prosaic than biscuits. ‘Tell me why.’

‘You know perfectly well I cannot just abandon you now I know you are being ill-treated and that your father is forcing Woodruffe on you,’ Gabriel said, waving away the macaroons. ‘And, if I am to help, this performance consolidates my position here and it gives me the opportunity to get something on Woodruffe that I can use to apply pressure.’

‘Blackmail?’ Gabriel spoke of it as though putting pressure on someone was a normal business practice.

‘You don’t handle men like him with kid gloves. Or at all, if you can help it,’ Gabriel added with a smile that made her think of sharp teeth and dangerous shadows. ‘You must set the scene. Flambeaux, a brazier, a pile of furs if you have them, a horseshoe of chairs with the open end to the steps to the terrace.’ Gabriel finally took a biscuit and bit into it. ‘We want drama and every possible cliché. You don’t have any mead on the premises, have you? Pity, it fits the whole Welsh mystical mood so well,’ he added softly as she shook her head, bemused. ‘Honeyed wine would do and some soporific if you have anything like that. I’d like to send Woodruffe to bed for a very sound sleep and be able to search his room. If we can solve this by simple pressure on his weak spots, then so much the better. A love letter from the wife of a senior cabinet minister, a handbook on cheating at whist with annotations in his hand or a diary entry on a wartime career as a French agent would be handy.’

‘There is laudanum,’ Caroline suggested, trying not to think of Lord Woodruffe in an illicit and amorous encounter. Or any amorous encounter, come to that. Of course it was normal to be discussing drugging guests with a Welsh bard over lemonade on a summer’s afternoon, contemplating blackmail. She was not going to give way to hysterics and the strong desire to run to her room and put her head under the pillow for the rest of the day.

‘I recall the exact dose Dr Latimor prescribed when my father had a broken ankle. He and Woodruffe are of a similar build, so it ought to knock him out safely, provided I can manage to serve it to him.’