Devil in Spring (The Ravenels 3)

The striking woman was seated next to a stocky older gentleman with prodigious whiskers and a curiously two-toned beard, dark gray on the cheeks and jaw and white on the chin. His posture was military-straight, as if his back had been tied to a cart axle. The woman touched his arm and murmured to him, but he seemed not to notice, his attention fixed on the theater stage as if he were watching some invisible play.

Pandora felt an unpleasant shock as the brunette woman’s gaze met hers directly. No one had ever stared at her with such cold hatred before. She couldn’t think of anyone who would have a reason to look at her that way, except . . .

“I think I might know who she is,” she whispered.

Before Helen could respond, Gabriel came to occupy the empty seat next to Pandora. He turned so that his shoulder partially blocked her from the woman’s lethal stare. “That is Mrs. Black and her husband, the American ambassador,” he said quietly, his features hard. “I had no idea they would be here.”

Comprehending that it was a private matter, Helen hastily turned away to talk with her husband.

“Of course you didn’t,” Pandora murmured, surprised as she saw a tiny muscle jumping in Gabriel’s clenched jaw. Her husband, always so calm and sure of himself, was on the verge of losing his temper right there in the Royal Theatre.

“Would you like to leave?” he asked grimly.

“Not at all, I want to see the play.” Pandora would have rather died before giving his former mistress the satisfaction of making her leave the theater. She peeked around Gabriel’s shoulder and saw that Mrs. Black was still glaring at her as if she’d been wronged. For heaven’s sake, the woman’s husband was sitting beside her. Why didn’t he tell her to stop making a public display? The minor drama had now started to attract the attention of others who were seated in the dress circle, as well as some in the mezzanine boxes.

It must have seemed like a nightmare to Gabriel, whose every accomplishment and mistake had been scrutinized for his entire life. He had always been careful to protect his privacy and maintain an invulnerable façade. But apparently Mrs. Black was determined to make it clear to most of London society . . . and his wife . . . that they had been lovers. Knowing what a source of shame it was for Gabriel to have slept with another man’s wife . . . and to have it made public in this fashion . . . Pandora’s heart ached for him.

“She can’t hurt us,” she said softly. “She can glare until her eyeballs fall out, and it won’t bother me in the least.”

“This won’t happen again, by God. I’ll go to her tomorrow, and tell her—”

“No, you mustn’t. I’m sure Mrs. Black would love nothing better than for you to visit her. But I forbid it.”

There was a dangerous cold flicker in Gabriel’s eyes. “You forbid?”

It was quite possible no one had ever said such a thing to him before. He certainly didn’t seem to like it.

Pandora touched his face with her gloved hand, gently stroking his cheek. She knew that demonstrations of affection in public, even between husband and wife, were highly inappropriate, but at the moment, all that mattered was comforting him. “Yes. Because you’re mine now.” She smiled faintly, holding his gaze. “All mine, and I won’t share you. She’s not allowed to have even five minutes of your time.”

To her relief, Gabriel took a slow breath and seemed to relax. “You’re my wife,” he said quietly, catching her hand as she began to lower it. “No other woman has claim on me.” He held it in midair and deliberately unfastened the three pearl buttons at the wrist of her elbow-length kid glove. Pandora gave him a questioning glance. Staring steadily into her eyes, Gabriel tugged at the fingertips of the glove, one by one. Her breath caught as she felt the glove loosen.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

Gabriel didn’t reply, only pulled the glove slowly until it slid away from her arm. Hectic color spread over every inch of Pandora’s skin. The sensuous way he’d removed it, in front of so many curious gazes, sent a wash of hectic color over every inch of her skin.

Lifting her bare hand, Gabriel turned it over and pressed his mouth against her sensitive inner wrist, before nuzzling a kiss into the vulnerable cup of her palm. A few happily scandalized gasps and murmurs came from the crowd. It was a gesture of ownership, of intimacy, intended not only to demonstrate his passion for his new bride, but also to rebuke his former mistress. By tomorrow, every fashionable parlor in London would be buzzing with the gossip that Lord St. Vincent had been seen openly fondling his wife at the Haymarket, in view of his former mistress.

Pandora didn’t want to be used to hurt anyone, not even Mrs. Black. However, as Gabriel gave her a warning glance, daring her to protest, she kept her mouth shut and decided to take issue with him later.

Mercifully the lights were soon lowered, and the play began. It was a testament to the quality of the production and the skill of the actors that Pandora was able to relax and laugh at the quicksilver dialogue. However, she was aware that Gabriel was enduring the comedy rather than enjoying it.

At intermission, while Gabriel and Winterborne met with acquaintances in the hallway just outside the box, Pandora and Helen talked privately.

“Dear,” Helen murmured, covering Pandora’s gloved hand with hers, “I can say from personal experience that it’s not pleasant to learn about the women a husband may have known in his past. But very few men lead a chaste life before marrying. I hope you won’t—”