A Gentleman Never Tells

chapter Nine

What must be shall be; and that which is a necessity to him that struggles, is little more than a choice to him that is willing.

—Seneca

It was on the tip of Gabrielle’s tongue to say to Lord Brentwood that she never promised him anything, but she stopped herself before speaking. It was brash of the viscount to assume she would play along with what was so obviously not true, rather than call his hand.

“I, ah, yes, I believe I did,” she said, deciding she didn’t want her friends to know Lord Brentwood was being brazenly forward, because she hadn’t agreed to a dance.

He took her punch cup from her hand and placed it on a table behind him. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting these two lovely ladies. Perhaps you would like to present them before we leave.”

“Yes, please,” Babs said and curtseyed.

“Yes, of course,” she said, and then taking a deep breath, she presented Fern and Babs to Lord Brentwood.

A roguish grin made its way across Lord Brentwood’s lips, intriguing Gabrielle so much she couldn’t take her eyes off him. It was then she realized the scratch under his eye and cut on his lip had healed. In the deepest recesses of her abdomen, a quickening started and shuddered all the way up to her breasts and lingered there before moving on to her throat, tightening it. Would this man always make her feel this way every time she saw him? By the heavens, could he possibly know she had been completely enchanted by him since the moment she first saw him, and she was desperately trying to fight it?

Gabrielle had to find the strength to deny those wonderful feelings he always sparked inside her and plant her feet back on solid ground. If Staunton, who had been her fiancé for almost six months and had kissed her on more than one occasion, couldn’t make her feel these wonderful sensations, how in heaven’s name could the viscount?

After a few moments of chatting with Fern and Babs, Gabrielle and Lord Brentwood excused themselves and headed in the direction of the room that had been cleared of furniture and readied for dancing.

As soon as they were far enough away from her friends, Gabrielle looked over at the viscount and said, “I’m certain I didn’t promise you a dance, my lord.”

He glanced over at her and smiled. “No?”

She shook her head.

“Well, you should have. I’m a very good dancer. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before your father returns and our engagement will be formally announced. Perhaps it’s best I stake my claim on you now.”

His choice of words stung. Why couldn’t Lord Brentwood want to marry her because she made him feel all the wonderful things he had made her feel, and he wanted to feel them over and over again?

“The way you said that makes me sound like a piece of land, my lord.”

“You are far more valuable to me than land, Lady Gabrielle.”

It was clear he still thought that, as a duke’s daughter, she would make him a perfect wife. She was going to do her best to change his mind about that. And if he considered himself a very good dancer, she might as well begin her plan on the dance floor.

“Ah, that’s right,” she said. “How could I have forgotten that as a duke’s daughter, my dowry is considerable, and more important, I am the key to your brothers’ business success, right?”

“All that is true, but as we discussed in your back garden, there are certainly many things that will make you an excellent choice for my wife.”

Wanting to change the subject, she said, “I had hoped to receive word from you this week concerning Prissy’s safe return home.”

“I had no news to report. I would have sent you a note, as I promised, if I had.”

That wasn’t what Gabrielle wanted to hear. She knew how much he adored the little dog and, sadly, if she hadn’t been found in a week, she probably wasn’t going to be. It was best to change the subject again.

“I’m glad your face has completely healed since I last saw you.”

He chuckled ruefully and touched the side of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, I now recognize myself when I look in the mirror.”

She tried not to look at anyone as they walked side by side through the drawing room and into the music room where the dancing was to take place. But she couldn’t completely shield her eyes from everyone. Though she was well aware the whispers behind the fans and hands were about her, she hoped no one would be ill-mannered enough to say anything about her while she was with the viscount, as the ladies had when she was with Babs and Fern.

They stopped at the edge of the dance floor, as the call to assemble on it hadn’t been announced. Wanting to avoid the awkwardness of standing in silence, she said, “I don’t know much about you, Lord Brentwood. I looked in copies of old newsprint for some mention of you in the Society Column and found none. I find that odd.”

He smiled. “You admit you wanted to find out more about me?”

She eyed him curiously. “Yes, of course. Why shouldn’t I?”

“You could have just asked.”

“There has been precious little time for that when we’ve been together.”

His lashes lowered, and his gaze fell to her lips. “I agree. We’ve always had other pressing matters to discuss, haven’t we?”

Gabrielle’s abdomen tightened. She refused to let her attraction to him overtake her again. She inhaled deeply, focused on remaining calm, and asked, “Is this your first visit to London?”

His gaze lingered for a moment longer on her mouth and then swept back up to her eyes. “Not the first, but I don’t come often. There is much to keep me busy at my estate in Devonshire. On the whole, our lands are fertile, sheep and cattle are plentiful, and there are several surrounding villages. Certainly there are enough people, parties, and dinners to keep a much busier social life than I care to participate in.”

“On occasion, I have traveled throughout England, Wales, and Scotland with my father, but I don’t think I’ve ever been to your part of Devonshire.”

“In that case, I’ll look forward to showing it to you after we are married.”

Suddenly, she could hardly wait to watch that cocksure attitude of his crumble. “I love London, my lord, and doubt I would ever be happy living in the country. With my father such an important figure in Parliament and advisor to the prince, we’ve never spent much time at any of our country homes. I’m sure I would get dreadfully lonely away from the shops, the plays, the opera, even the street lamps. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t take a walk in one of London’s parks.”

Lord Brentwood regarded her thoughtfully for a moment with his golden-brown eyes. “Nonsense. The Brentwood estate is surrounded by nature that is much more impressive than Hyde Park, St. James, or any of London’s other parks. And believe me, Lady Gabrielle, you won’t have to wade through all the people, horses, and carriages for your strolls. You won’t see the street vendors, milk carts, or the traveling minstrel shows and carnivals that put up their tents around the parks. All you have is the beauty of nature, peace, and tranquility without the trappings of civilization.”

The picture he was painting for her sounded divine, but she didn’t want him to know that, so she gave him a queer look and offered, “But I want all that in my life, my lord. I enjoy civilization. I like seeing people and talking to them. I love to attend carnivals, circuses, and all the traveling shows that come to London.”

The assembly was called while she was still speaking, so Lord Brentwood took hold of her hand and led her out onto the dance floor. “You will get used to the quietness of country life.”

The old Gabrielle would have simply acquiesced to his statement and remained quiet, but she was no longer willing to be agreeable or dutiful simply for the sake of being the way others thought she should be. She said, “I don’t want to get used to it, my lord. I want to be free to make my own decisions about where I shall live as well as whom I should marry.”

“That decision was taken away from you when you were found in my arms, Lady Gabrielle.”

She scoffed at his comment. “No, my lord. That decision was taken from me the moment I was born the duke’s daughter.”

They fell silent as other dancers took the floor and surrounded them. A short introduction was played, and Gabrielle realized they would be dancing the waltz. She would have much preferred the quadrille or an even faster dance, where there wouldn’t have been the constant touching. But perhaps all was not lost. She would take this opportunity and use it to show him why she would not be a good wife for him.

He took her hand in his and then placed the other on her back, while she lifted hers and laid it on his broad, strong shoulder. The music started, and on the proper note, Lord Brentwood took a gliding step forward. Gabrielle purposefully didn’t move her foot in time, and he stepped on her toes. He tried not to put his weight down on her and almost tripped himself trying to keep from hurting her.

“Ouch,” she whispered, not realizing it would hurt so much to have him land on her foot.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said.

“No, no. It was my fault,” she said and quickly missed another step, causing the viscount to step on her toes again.

“Nonsense,” he said, trying to be polite. “I’ll take smaller steps.”

As soon as he said the words, she stepped on his foot. “I’m sorry,” she said and then took a huge step backward and deliberately bumped into the couple behind her.

Lord Brentwood quickly guided her away from the middle of the dance floor and to the outer edge of the dancers. “I just assumed you would know how to waltz,” he said.

She had to bite her bottom lip to keep from smiling when she saw the confused look on his face.

“I do,” she said honestly. “Perhaps I’m simply not as good at it as you are. I used to be a very good dancer, but tonight I seem to have two left feet.”

“Don’t give it another thought,” he mumbled. “We’ll muddle through.”

And so they did. Trying not to dance properly wasn’t as easy as Gabrielle thought it would be. She had been dancing since she was a young girl, and it was second nature to her. She could waltz as gracefully as anyone, so she had to pay close attention to the beat of the music so she could deliberately miss steps. At one point, she started forward rather than stepping back. She remembered how irritating it was once when she danced with a young man who counted the steps under his breath, so she whispered, “One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four,” in time to the beat of the music.

She knew her constant mumbling had gotten to him when he said, “Lady Gabrielle, if you will just concentrate on following me, there will be no need for you to count the steps.”

“Oh,” she said and gave him a sheepish smile. It made her feel positively wonderful to be in control of the dance and to cause him a few moments of frustration.

By the time the music stopped, her toes were hurting from being mashed by Lord Brentwood’s much larger feet, and she was certain her beige satin pumps would be beyond repair; still she smiled. All in all, it was a small price to pay if it helped the viscount see that she would be far from a perfect wife for him.

Lord Brentwood bowed, and she curtseyed before they left the dance floor.

When she looked into his eyes, a warm, tingling sensation washed over her, and that made her feel a bit guilty for having deceived him, even though it was necessary. “I’m sorry I didn’t waltz very well.”

He studied her face for a moment before he leaned forward just a fraction, lowered his voice, and said, “Not a problem, Lady Gabrielle, I’ll see to it you have a few more lessons after we marry, and soon you will be outdancing even the most accomplished dancer.”

That wasn’t what she expected to hear. Suddenly a charming light glinted in his eyes. There was something about the way he looked at her that led her to believe he might know she had only been pretending not to know how to waltz.

“I see my brothers have arrived at the party. Do you mind coming with me to meet them?”

Gabrielle looked in the direction of his gaze and saw the two tall and powerfully built men entering the drawing room. They were the epitome of identical twins, from their same height, coloring, and features, to every detail of their evening clothing being exact in color and style.

“Not at all,” she said. “Your brothers are very handsome.”

A queer expression settled on his face. “You think they are handsome?”

“Very much so, don’t you?”

He laughed. “I suppose I do.”

“They look so much alike, how do you tell them apart?”

“In appearance, even I have trouble telling them apart sometimes unless one is wearing his hair longer than the other, as they are now. If you’ll notice, Iverson’s hair is a little longer in back than Matson’s.”

“Thank you for telling me the difference,” she said, studying the two men. “But I do believe what others are saying to be true. From this distance, they look nothing like you.”

“Really? I always thought I was a handsome blade, too.”

Gabrielle gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. You are quite handsome, too. I meant they—”

His eyes sparkled with laughter, and he said, “I know what you meant. My brothers take after our mother’s side of the family instead of our father’s.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, grateful he hadn’t taken offense at her offhanded comment and seemed more than willing to laugh off her reference to the fact the twins looked nothing like their older brother.

He stopped and looked at her for a moment before they reached the gentlemen. “One thing I would ask of you. My brothers don’t know of your father’s threat to ruin their business. I want to keep it that way.”

“If you wish, but why is it so important to you?”

“Because if they knew, they would move heaven and earth to prove your father wrong and make their business prosper. I would rather not get a war going between your father and my brothers, and I don’t think you want that either.”

“Heavens, no.”

“Then we are in agreement that it won’t be mentioned.”

“Absolutely, and just so you know, I never planned to mention it.”

He grinned and said, “And I didn’t think you would, but I had to be certain.”

The viscount presented Mr. Iverson Brentwood and Mr. Matson Brentwood to her. It wasn’t just the longer length of Iverson’s hair that made him different from Matson. She sensed something about his air of nonchalance that immediately told her this man was a rogue of the highest order. Mr. Iverson Brentwood looked her directly in the eyes and lifted his chin slightly, as if to challenge her to try to figure him out, but she had no desire to do so. She greeted him pleasantly and then turned her attention to the more affable Mr. Matson Brentwood. The last thing Gabrielle wanted to do was to match wits with another roguish Brentwood.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Lady Gabrielle,” Mr. Matson Brentwood said with a much more engaging smile than his twin.

Gabrielle returned his smile. “Would that be from Lord Brentwood, the gossips, or from the scandal sheets?”

He chuckled. “All three.”

She smiled. “Judging by some of the gossip I’ve heard about myself tonight, I can only imagine the kind of wagers that must be going on at White’s and other clubs about me and Lord Brentwood.”

Matson gave a quick glance to Lord Brentwood, as if to ask if the subject was acceptable, before he answered. “It’s true there are quite a few, but Iverson and I are not strangers to scandal ourselves. Perhaps you’ve heard some of the gossip about us.”

“Yes, more than once, but I never put stock in gossip.” She looked over at Lord Brentwood and said, “Besides, now that I’ve gotten a closer look at the two of you, I can tell that both of you look just like Lord Brentwood.”

Matson lifted his eyebrows and quirked his head slightly to the side. “Really?”

Iverson added, “If true, you are the first to think that.” He looked over at Brentwood and asked, “Does she wear spectacles when she’s not at parties?”

Lord Brentwood grinned. “Perhaps that is why I have such a difficult time getting her to see things my way.”

While his brothers laughed at his remark, Gabrielle smiled and took the time to look each of them in the eyes before she answered Mr. Iverson Brentwood with, “How could you not favor? All three of you are tall, powerful-looking, and handsome.”

Lord Brentwood and his brothers laughed again, and Gabrielle was suddenly aware of how natural it seemed for her to be so at ease with these three gentlemen.

“There you are, Lord Brentwood, I’ve been looking for you. I simply must speak with you about a pressing matter.”

Gabrielle turned to see the Earl of Snellingly walking up to them, holding a lace handkerchief in one hand and a small leather-bound book in the other. The points of his collar were so stiff and high, his head was cocked back in an odd-looking position. His neckcloth looked to be tied in a fancy triple bow with wide ends that flared and covered a good portion of his dark pink waistcoat. The cuffs of his shirt had so many layers of lace, his fingertips were barely visible.

After proper introductions to the twins, who promptly excused themselves, Lord Snellingly turned to Gabrielle and, taking her hand in his, said, “Every time I see you, you remind me of a slice of warm sunshine on a cold and dreary day.”

He bent and kissed the back of her gloved hand. Gabrielle worried he might choke himself, because his collar looked so tight.

“Thank you, my lord,” Gabrielle said as she slowly pulled her hand from his grasp.

Lord Brentwood eyed the earl warily and moved closer to Gabrielle. “What was it you wanted to see me about, Snellingly?”

“Oh, yes,” Lord Snellingly said and then sniffed into his handkerchief as he took a step closer to the viscount. “Pardon me for interrupting your tête-à-tête with the most charming Lady Gabrielle, my lord, but her beauty made me forget my sorrow for a moment. I thought perhaps you could help me, as we have the same troubles.”

Lord Brentwood’s eyes drew together with curiosity. “What’s that?”

“My darling little spaniel, Josephine, ran away from me yesterday morning, and I haven’t been able to find her. I heard you have been walking the parks and streets for a week, annoying everyone, trying to find your dog. I thought perhaps you might have seen her.”

The viscount’s eyes darkened and narrowed. His shoulders shifted. “Did you say I’ve been annoying everyone?”

“Annoying? No, no.” The earl’s eyes widened, and he sniffed again. “Well, yes, I might have said that, but forgive me. I’m sure I meant to say asking everyone. You’ve been asking everyone, and no, surely not everyone, but some people. Again, forgive me, my lord, as I’m overwrought because Josephine hasn’t returned home yet. Please tell me you have seen her.”

Lord Brentwood took a step back. “Naturally I’ve seen several stray dogs in the park, but I don’t recall seeing a spaniel.”

Lord Snellingly rolled his eyes up and put his hand to his forehead. “Oh, it pains me to hear you say that. Are you quite sure? Her coat is an exquisite shade of cream with a smattering of golden-brown spots on her back and a large one that circles down the side of her face and over her left ear. She has a good disposition, seldom barks, and is sweet and loving to everyone she meets.”

“I’m sure she is. I haven’t seen Josephine, but if I do I’ll catch her and bring her to you.”

“Thank you. You don’t think it’s true what some people are saying about Lord Pinkwater’s ghost, do you? Do you think he has stolen our dogs and is keeping them for himself?”

Lord Brentwood shifted his stance restlessly and cleared his throat before saying, “I can assure you that is not the case with Prissy, Lord Snellingly.”

“Then what has happened to them?” he asked, a nervous twitch attacking one of his eyes. “It’s as if they’ve simply disappeared into thin air. I think it could be true. I’ve heard Lord Pinkwater was quite fond of dogs when he was alive. I don’t think I could bear it if I knew my sweet little Josephine was living with a ghost and couldn’t get back to me.”

Lord Brentwood glanced at Gabrielle with an expression that seemed to be asking, “Where did this fop come from?” Lord Brentwood was clearly not interested in having the ghost conversation with the earl. Gabrielle knew it was time to direct the conversation in a different direction.

“Perhaps there is a dog thief in town, Lord Snellingly,” Gabrielle said. “Perhaps someone is taking the dogs.”

The earl frowned and looked from Gabrielle to Lord Brentwood. “For what purpose would they? The only thing I can think of is if they wanted to use them for such dastardly deeds as experiments for some insane alchemist or depraved physician, or perhaps to be fed to other animals.”

Gabrielle’s eyes widened in shock at the earl’s inappropriate comments. She glanced over at Lord Brentwood, whose frown had deepened to anger.

She quickly said, “No, my lord, such things as that never entered my mind. I meant someone who wanted to love the dogs and care for them, of course. Dogs such as the quality of your Josephine and Lord Brentwood’s Prissy are highly sought after as pets. Surely you know that.”

“Yes, yes, of course, pardon me, my dear.” Lord Snellingly sniffed into his handkerchief and took the book he held in the other hand and placed it over his heart. “It’s just that no one could love Josephine as I do. No one. I’ve written a poem about her. Since you are both so fond of dogs, I’ll recite it for you.”

Without giving either Gabrielle or Lord Brentwood time to object or retreat, Lord Snellingly looked up toward the ceiling and said:

“With shining black eyes and fast dancing feet

My beloved Josephine is no longer mine to greet

Take my wife, take my wine

I shall never once repine

Take my breath and all sunshine

Take my health and my wealth

But not my darling Josephine’s yelp

My yearning is deep, intense, and fatal.”

Gabrielle gasped and interrupted him. “Surely you don’t mean fatal, Lord Snellingly?”

He looked down at her. “Oh, not as in death, of course not.” He sniffed in his handkerchief again. “But I don’t know how I shall live without my sweet little companion. I thought perhaps coming to this party tonight might cheer me, but the only thing that really helps is my poetry. Shall I recite another for you?”

“Excuse me, Lord Snellingly,” Lord Brentwood said. “I see someone I must speak to before they leave. But please do recite another poem for Lady Gabrielle. I have it on good authority she adores poetry almost as much as she loves dogs.” He turned to Gabrielle with a mischievous grin, and in a low-pitched voice that sounded far too intimate and much too cocky, he said, “Lady Gabrielle, thank you for the dance; now enjoy the poetry.”

There was no way in hell Brent was going to listen to another word from that sniveling fop. He wanted to get as far away from the man as he could, but Lady Gabrielle deserved to listen to more of the obnoxious man’s dreadful poetry. Brent loved the look of shock on her face when he turned away.

He chuckled when he heard:

“Happy bark, wagging tail…”

Brent smiled to himself as he made his way through the crowd in search of drink or his brothers, whichever came first. He couldn’t imagine what had made Lady Gabrielle pretend she couldn’t dance. Her feet must be killing her. He must have stepped on her toes at least five or six times.

Ah, but she was beautiful. The moment he saw her tonight, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. She was stunning in that pink velvet gown. When he’d brought her into his embrace for the waltz, it took all his willpower not to pull her up close and hug her to his chest. He watched her lips when she talked, and all he could think was that he wanted to kiss her until she surrendered to his will.

Someone tapped Brent on the shoulder, and he turned around just in time to see a fist heading straight for his face. He tried to duck, but the punch was so unexpected, he didn’t have time to react fast enough. The fist landed on the corner of his mouth that had just healed. Brent stumbled backward and bumped into someone, who gasped. Somehow, he managed to catch his footing and didn’t hit the floor. In his younger years, Brent had been in one or two fights at tavern brawls, and he’d matched his fists against others at notable boxing salons, but he couldn’t ever remember being caught off guard.

Brent’s right hand closed tightly, and his arm flew back, ready to take on his attacker. He stopped short when the irate man was quickly grabbed by a couple of other men. He was held back when he lunged forward at Brent again. Brent’s fist clenched nervously, tightening, itching to knock the man’s teeth down his throat, but Brent couldn’t hit a man whose arms were being held behind his back.

“Let go of me,” the stranger yelled. “I want to hit him again!”

“No, Staunton!” said one of the men holding him. “Stop this madness.”

The name Staunton reverberated in Brent’s ears as his breaths came fast and hard.

Lady Gabrielle’s former fiancé.

Now Brent knew why the man had attacked him. Brent’s fist relaxed a little, and he lowered his arm. He supposed he’d be fighting mad, too, if their situations were reversed, but Brent doubted he would have waited a week to punch any blade who dared to touch his fiancée. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have resorted to such a cowardly strike to an unsuspecting man.

With his thumb, Brent wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and fixed the man with a cold stare. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“You’re bloody right you did,” Staunton said, struggling to free himself from the men who held him. “You deserve to be run through with a sword for what you did.”

Brent looked at Staunton. He seemed to be close to Brent’s age but not nearly as tall or as big. To engage someone almost twice his size, the man had to be either courageous or have a whole jug of whiskey in his stomach. A crowd had gathered around them and was quickly growing larger by the second.

“Perhaps,” Brent said calmly, “that one makes us even, but if you want to try your hand at getting ahead, I’m ready. Let’s take this fight out of Lady Windham’s house and into the park.”

“No, he’s through,” said the oldest man who held Staunton.

“I’m not,” Staunton said bitterly. “I insist on meeting him in the park.”

“You can’t. Your father will disinherit you if you have another fight. You’ve had too much to drink, and you’re not thinking properly. Now come on, and let’s get out of here before you cause more trouble for yourself and everyone else.”

Staunton jerked free of the men and pulled on the tail of his coat before walking past Brent, deliberately knocking against Brent’s shoulder as he did. Brent started to grab the man and give him the fight he was looking for, but as his arm drew back, he saw Lady Gabrielle forcing her way through the crowd with Iverson right behind her. In that split second, he knew the last thing he, Lady Gabrielle, or his brothers needed or wanted was more scandal. And certainly Lady Windham didn’t deserve an all-out brawl in her drawing room.

“My lord, what happened?” Lady Gabrielle asked, stopping in front of him.

“Nothing worth talking about, Lady Gabrielle,” he said, knowing he needed to say as little as possible and leave with even less fanfare, as his brothers would say.

“Are you all right?” Iverson asked, scowling as he moved to stand beside him.

Brent nodded.

“You are not all right,” Lady Gabrielle said, her features marred with concern. “Your lip is bleeding. Tell me what happened to you.”

“I’ll tell you,” someone called from the crowd. “Mr. Alfred Staunton punched him in the mouth.”

Her eyes rounded with horror and concern. “Did he?” she said. She stepped closer to him and whispered, “Did you provoke him, my lord?”

A half laugh passed his aching lip. He wanted to say, Yes, Lady Gabrielle, I provoked him by taking you in my arms and kissing and touching you so thoroughly that still I cannot get the taste of you off my tongue, the scent of you from my nose, or wash the feel of you from my hands. But that wasn’t the kind of thing a gentleman said in front of a crowd that was getting larger by the second.

He couldn’t continue standing there, talking to Lady Gabrielle or his brother, and feeding the gossips.

“All is well, Lady Gabrielle,” he insisted firmly, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll pick you up for our afternoon ride in the park on Wednesday as planned.”

Her brow wrinkled. “We planned no—”

“As we planned,” he interrupted in a low voice. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to bid our hostess farewell.”