Thinking of how he would soothe his clamorous needs did nothing to ease them. Gritting his teeth, he wrenched his thoughts onto a different track. Struthers. He'd sent Chance to call on the old seadog at noon, offering his services in any helpful capacity. The captain had, not entirely unexpectedly, sent Chance off with a gruff but polite refusal. Chance had obeyed orders and kept watch on the run-down lodging house in the Clerkenwell Road. The captain had left late in the afternoon and headed for the City, then on toward the docks. Chance had faithfully tracked him, a talent learned in his previous existence, but the captain must have sensed he was being followed. He'd gone into a tavern and then disappeared. Chance had searched the three alleys the tavern gave access to, but hadn't been able to find the old man. Defeated, he'd returned to Brook Street to report.
If the captain was fly enough to lose Chance, then he could take care of himself. Presumably. The presentiment of danger that had struck Gabriel on first meeting the captain continued to nag at him.
Shifting, he glanced at Alathea. At least she was safe. From Crowley. She wasn't entirely safe-not in her terms- from him. They had nigh on a decade to make up for, and more than one event to celebrate. His gaze rose to her hair, to the gift he'd given her that had finally accomplished what he'd sought for so many years to achieve. He'd gotten rid of her damned caps. Never again would she wear one-he'd ensure she never even thought of it.
All of which added to his tension, to the impatience he could feel rising like a tide, a building pressure he could do nothing to release, not here, not now. He drew in an increasingly tight breath and refocused on her face, abruptly conscious that he was nearing the end of his severely strained tether. He glanced around at the gentlemen surrounding them; none posed as much of a threat to her as he.
Straightening, he shifted closer, all too aware of the countess's provocative perfume gently rising from her warm flesh. The thought of how much more strongly that scent would rise once her skin heated with passion had him clenching one fist.
Risking a scene at this point was senseless. He'd do better to take his clamoring instincts, possessive and otherwise, a short distance away.
A sudden gust of laughter from a nearby group had her court looking behind them. He seized the opportunity, touching the back of Alathea's arm, fingers light on the soft skin bare above her glove.
Vivid awareness streaked through him-and her. It was there in her wide eyes as she looked up. "What?"
The word was breathless; she was as giddy as he.
"I'd better circulate. I'll be back for the first waltz."
Her gaze dropped to his lips. They were so close, they could sense each other's breaths. She moistened her lips. "Perhaps," she whispered, "that might be… wise."
She lifted her gaze to his. Gabriel nodded.
He managed to turn away without touching his lips to hers.
Alathea watched him go, then, with an inward sigh, she returned her attention to her court as, the nearby ruckus abating, they turned back to her. She was relieved Gabriel had taken himself off; she'd sensed his suppressed tension. The fact that she now knew what caused it-what it truly was-did not make being its subject any less unsettling. Nevertheless, she would much rather have gotten rid of all her court, slipped away on his arm, and done all she could to ease him.
Keeping her social smile in place, she encouraged her court to entertain her. Her heart, however, wasn't in it. When a footman pushed through to her side, a folded note on a salver, that unruly organ leaped. Her first thought was that her warrior had found some bolt hole and was summoning her to his side.
The truth proved more disturbing.
Dear Lady Alathea,
I have secured all the information I sought and more. I have evidence enough to discredit Crowley's scheme but have been summoned back to my ship and must up anchor and depart on the morning tide. You must come at once-I must explain some of the details of the maps and documents in person, and it will be vital to your cause for me to make a signed deposition before witnesses, and leave the whole in your hands.
I implore you do not dally-I must weigh anchor the instant the tide turns. Take heart, dear lady-the end is nigh. All the necessary documents will shortly be in your hands and you will be able to send Crowley to the devil.
I have taken the liberty of sending a carriage and escort for you. You may trust the men implicitly-they know where to bring you. But you must come at once or all may be lost!
Your respectful servant,
Aloysius Struthers, Captn.
Alathea looked up. Her court were chatting among themselves, giving her a moment of privacy in which to read her note. She turned to the footman. "Is there a carriage waiting?"
"Aye, my lady. A carriage and a number of… men."
They'd probably be sailors. Alathea nodded. "Please tell the men I'll be with them directly."
The footman was too well-trained to show any reaction. He bowed and withdrew to do her bidding. Alathea touched Falworth's arm and smiled at Lord Montgomery, Lord Coleburn, and Mr. Simpkins. "I'm afraid, gentlemen, that I'll have to leave you. An urgent summons from a sick relative."
They murmured sympathetically; she doubted they believed her. Alathea inclined her head and left them. Stepping into the crowd, she lifted her head, scanning the throng. She couldn't see Gabriel.
"Damn!" Muttering under her breath, she started to quarter the room. He'd been tripping over her skirts for weeks. Now, when she needed h
im, he was nowhere to be found. The crowd was so dense, she couldn't be certain she wasn't crossing paths with him. She saw Celia, and Serena, and the twins, but their cousin was not to be found. Nor was Lucifer. Stepping onto the bottom of the ballroom stairs, Alathea cast an exasperated glance around, but could see no one-not even any of the other Cynsters-who might be of use.
"My lady?" The footman materialized at her elbow. "The men are very insistent that you leave right away."