And she appeared, stepping from the deep shadows about the church door. Mist clung to her skirts as she turned, slowly, regally, to face him. She was cloaked and veiled, as impenetrable, secret, and mysterious as the night.
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. Had she been there all along? Had he walked past her without seeing or sensing her presence? His stride unfaltering, he continued toward her. She lifted her head as he neared, but only slightly.
She was very tall. Halting with only a foot between them, Gabriel discovered he couldn't see over her head, which was amazing. He stood well over six feet tall; the countess had to be six feet tall herself. Despite the heavy cloak, one glance had been enough to assure him all her six feet were in perfect proportion.
"Good morning, Mr. Cynster. Thank you for coming."
He inclined his head, jettisoning any wild thought that this was some witless prank-a youth dressed as a woman. The few steps she'd taken, the way she'd turned-to his experienced senses, her movements denned her as female. And her tone was soft and low, the very essence of woman.
A mature woman-she was definitely not young.
"Your note said you needed my help."
"I do." After a moment, she added, "My family does."
"Your family?" In the gloom, her veil was impenetrable; he couldn't see even a hint of her chin or her lips.
"My stepfamily, I should say."
Her perfume reached him, exotic, alluring. "Perhaps we'd better define just what your problem is, and why you think I can help."
"You can help. I would never have asked to meet you-would never reveal what I'm about to tell you-if I didn't know you could help." She paused, then drew breath. "My problem concerns a promissory note signed by my late husband."
"Late husband?"
She inclined her head. "I'm a widow."
"How long ago did your husband die?"
"Over a year ago."
"So his estate has been probated."
"Yes. The title and entailed estate are now with my stepson, Charles."
"Stepson?"
"I was my husband's second wife. We were married some years ago-for him, it was a very late second marriage. He was ill for some time before his death. All his children were by his first wife."
He hesitated, then asked, "Am I to understand that you've taken your late husband's children under your wing?"
"Yes. I consider their welfare my responsibility. It's because of that-them-that I'm seeking your aid."
Gabriel studied her veiled countenance, knowing she was watching his. "You mentioned a promissory note."
"I should explain that my husband had a weakness for engaging in speculative ventures. Over his last years, the family's agent and I endeavored to keep his investments in such schemes to a minimum, in which endeavors we were largely successful. However, three weeks ago, a maid stumbled on a legal paper, tucked away and clearly forgotten. It was a promissory note."
"To which company?"
"The Central East Africa Gold Company. Have you heard of it?"
He shook his head. "Not a whisper."
"Neither has our agent, nor any of his colleagues."
"The company's address should be on the note."
"It's not-just the name of the firm of solicitors who drew up the document."