itself useful and indulge us with a waltz." Straightening, he smiled, both charming and challenging. "Can I tempt you to brave the floor with me?"
Alathea returned the smile, perfectly ready to take up his challenge, equally ready to give Gabriel a chance to slope off. They'd been in each other's company without descending into cutting sarcasm for nearly half an hour; there was no sense in stretching their luck.
She held out her hand. "Indeed, my lord-I'd be delighted."
Gabriel gritted his teeth, held his breath, and willed himself to stillness. God knew, he didn't want to waltz with Alathea-the mere thought sent itching heat washing over his skin like a rash. But… he didn't want her waltzing with Chillingworth. Or anyone else, but Chillingworth was, typically, the worst choice she could have made of all the gentlemen in the room. Not that she hadn't chosen quite deliberately; she might be twenty-nine but she still possessed a healthy vein of minxlike tendencies, victim to a strain of considered recklessness.
He watched as Chillingworth led her to the floor, then took her lightly in his arms. She laughed at some quip and they began to revolve; as they whirled down the room, Gabriel inwardly snorted. There she went, tempting fate with her eyes wide open.
Shifting his gaze, he saw Lucifer, still on guard but chatting with two friends while the twins danced. Gabriel located them, each in the arms of a suitably innocuous gentleman.
Alathea's words rang in his head; he inwardly humphed. He'd think about it. His gaze drifted over the dancers, and settled again.
The waltz was nearly over before Alathea identified the peculiar sensation afflicting her. It had started not when Chillingworth first took her into his arms but later, as they'd commenced their second revolution around the room.
She'd enjoyed the waltz. Despite his predilections, Chillingworth was charming, witty, and a gentleman to his toes. He was very like Lucifer and his Cynster cousins; she'd treated him as she would them-he'd responded in like vein, with a bantering air. She'd relaxed.
That was when the other sensation had made itself felt, like an intent gaze fixed directly between her shoulder blades. Its very intensity was what finally identified its source.
When Chillingworth gallantly returned her to the spot beside Wellington's bust, she was smiling and quietly simmering.
One look at Gabriel's face, into his hard hazel eyes, and her temper surged. She'd successfully reached through his armor to prick him about the twins; he was paying her back by watching her instead, simply to discompose her. Sliding into the space beside him, she muttered, "Don't you have anything better to do?"
He looked at her blankly. "No."
It was impossible to shift him, so there he stayed; by the end of the evening, she was ready to commit murder. But in the carriage home, she had to bottle up her spleen and listen encouragingly to Mary and Alice prattle happily of their doings. To her considerable satisfaction, both had found their feet and were attracting the right sort of attention. As they left the carriage and climbed the steps to the front door, Alathea exchanged a speculative glance with Serena. Their campaign was progressing well.
She was doing less well. By the time she gained her room and Nellie had shut the door behind her, she felt like a human volcano.
"One of these days," she informed Nellie through clenched teeth, "he's going to come up to me when I have a dangerous weapon in my hands, and then I'll end in the Tower, and it'll all be his fault!"
"The Tower?" Nellie was totally confused.
"Imprisoned for murdering him!" Alathea let the reins of her temper fly free. "You should have seen him! You can't imagine!" She fell to pacing before the hearth. "He was more impossible than even I would have believed, even for him. Just because I told him-and convinced him, too-that he was wrong to so suffocate the twins, he left off suffocating them, and suffocated me, instead!"
"Suffocated…?"
"Watched over me as if I was his sister! Tried to menace and chase away any entertaining gentleman." She swung about, her skirts shushing furiously. "At least he didn't succeed with Chillingworth, thank God! But all through supper-!" Words failed her; she threw a rapier-edged glance at the door. "I have never felt so much like a bone with a large dog, teeth-bared, standing over me. And you should have seen his performance over the second waltz! I'd already danced the first with Chillingworth, and saw no reason why I shouldn't indulge him with the second as well-he is nicely tall, which is such a blessing in a waltz-but Gabriel behaved like a… a bloody archbishop! You'd have thought he'd never waltzed with a lady himself in his life!"
Arms folded, she paced on. "It wasn't as if he wanted to waltz with me himself-oh, no! He's never waltzed with me in his life! He just wanted to be difficult! And he's so hard to counter! I sincerely commisserate with the twins, and can only be glad if I've shaken him to his senses over them."
She scowled. "Except that he now seems focused on me." She pondered that, then shrugged. "Presumably he was only doing it for tonight, just to pay me back. Whatever, I've had quite enough of the arrogant ways of Mr. Gabriel Cynster."
"Who?"
Alathea plonked herself down on the stool before her dressing table. "Rupert. Gabriel's his nickname."
Nellie let down her hair and started brushing it. Alathea let the familiar, rhythmic tug-and-release soothe her. Her mind reverted to the problem that had earlier consumed her, the problem she'd largely forgotten in the heat engendered by Gabriel's behavior in the ballroom.
When she'd been Alathea Morwellan.
That had been bad enough. His behavior when she was the countess seemed even further beyond her control.
"This has gone on long enough-I need to take charge."
"You do?"
"Hmm. All very well for him to take the reins, but that's clearly too dangerous. It's my problem-he's my knight-I summoned him. He's going to have to learn to do my bidding, not the other way about. I'm going to have to make that point plain."