Devil in Spring (The Ravenels 3)

“I know who to talk to.”

“Who?”

“Doesn’t like his name to be mentioned. He says most London detectives are too well known by their appearance and habits to be of any use. Soon they’ll make a clean sweep of the department and create a special branch. That’s a secret, by the way.”

Gabriel’s brows lifted. “How do you know all this when I don’t?”

“You’ve gone missing of late,” Drago said. “Something about a wedding.”

A smile tugged at Gabriel’s lips. “Talk to your contact as soon as possible.”

“I’ll go tonight.”

“One more thing.” Gabriel hesitated, almost dreading the answer to what he was about to ask. “Did you have any difficulties with Lady St. Vincent? She didn’t argue or try to evade you?”

“No, milord,” Drago replied in a matter-of-fact manner. “She’s a brick.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said, bemused. “Good.” He headed upstairs to find his wife, puzzling over the statement. In London street cant, calling someone a brick was the highest possible praise, used only for a man who was exceptionally loyal and good-hearted. Gabriel had never heard Drago pay such a compliment to anyone. In fact, he’d never heard of a woman being called a brick until now.

Pandora’s voice drifted from the direction of her bedroom, where she changed her clothes and had her hair arranged. At his insistence, she slept in his bed each night. She’d offered a few half-hearted objections at first, pointing out that she was a restless sleeper, which was true. However, whenever she awakened him with her tossing and turning, he solved her problem—and his—by making love to her until she fell into an exhausted slumber.

Drawing closer to the room, Gabriel paused with a smile as he heard Ida delivering a lecture about ladylike delicacy, which appeared to have been inspired by an article in a recent periodical.

“. . . ladies aren’t supposed to rush from room to room trying to help people,” the lady’s maid was saying. “The article said you should recline on a chaise, all fragile and wan, and make people help you.”

“And be an inconvenience to everyone?” Pandora asked heatedly.

“Everyone admires delicate ladies,” the lady’s maid informed her. “The article quoted Lord Byron: ‘There’s a sweetness to woman’s decay.’”

“I’ve read plenty of Byron,” Pandora said indignantly, “and I’m sure he never wrote such twaddle. Decay, my foot. What periodical was that? It’s appalling enough to advise healthy women to act like invalids, but to misquote a fine poet in the bargain—”

Gabriel knocked at the door, and the voices fell silent. Making his face impassive, he pushed his way in, and was greeted with the charming sight of his wife dressed in nothing but her corset, chemise, and drawers.

Staring at him with wide eyes, Pandora blushed from head to toe. She cleared her throat and said breathlessly, “Good evening, my lord. I’m . . . changing for dinner.”

“So I see.” His gaze traveled slowly over her, lingering at the gentle weight of her breasts pushed upward and outward by the corset.

Ida snatched up the circle of a discarded dress on the floor, and said to Pandora, “Milady, I’ll fetch a robe—”

“No need,” Gabriel said. “I’ll take care of my wife.”

Looking flustered, Ida bobbed a curtsey and fled, closing the door behind her.

Pandora stood still, radiating nervous energy as Gabriel came farther into the room. “I . . . I suppose Dragon talked to you.”

He arched a brow at the nickname but didn’t comment. His gaze took in the worried pucker of her forehead, the twitching fingers and fidgeting toes, those eyes as round as a punished child’s, and a feeling of overwhelming tenderness poured through him. “Why are you uneasy with me, love?” he asked softly.

“I thought you might be angry, because I went alone into the warehouse.”

“I’m not angry. Just slightly tormented by the thought of anything happening to you.” Taking one of her hands, Gabriel drew her to a nearby chair and sat with her slight weight on his knee. She relaxed in relief, her arms linking around his neck. She was wearing perfume, a light touch of something flowery and crisp, but he preferred the silky, salty fragrance of her unadorned skin, more potent than any aphrodisiac. “Pandora, you can’t take risks by going into unfamiliar places without protection. You’re too important to me. Besides, if you deprive Drago of the chance to intimidate and oppress people, you’ll demoralize him.”

“I’ll remember next time.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “What’s going to happen now? Is Dragon going to tell the police about what he saw?”

“Yes, and until we find out whether or not it’s worth investigating, I’d rather you not venture far from home.”

“Gabriel . . . Mrs. O’Cairre is a nice woman. She was very kind and encouraging about my board game company, and I’m sure she would never hurt anyone knowingly. If she’s caught up in something dangerous, it can’t possibly be her fault.”

“Let me caution you, love: Sometimes people you want to believe in will disappoint you. The more you learn about the world, the fewer illusions you’ll have.”

“I don’t want to become cynical.”

Gabriel smiled against her hair. “Being just a little cynical will make you a much safer optimist.” He kissed the side of her neck. “Now, let’s decide how I should punish you.”