Gabriel watched a yellow brimstone moth, besotted by the torchlight, fluttering past the summer house. “She doesn’t give a damn about society’s ways,” he said with certainty. The moth flew in ever-smaller circles, glancing repeatedly off the wavering heat in its fatal dance with the torch flame. “What kind of family are the Ravenels?”
“The name is an old and respected one, but their fortune dwindled years ago. Lady Pandora had an older brother, Theo, who inherited the earldom upon their father’s passing. Unfortunately he was killed in a riding accident soon afterward.”
“I met him,” Gabriel said with a pensive frown. “Two—no, three—years ago, at Jenner’s.”
Gabriel’s family owned a private gaming house, ostensibly a gentlemen’s club, patronized by royalty, aristocracy, and men of influence. Before inheriting the dukedom, his father, Sebastian, had personally run and managed the club, turning it into one of London’s most fashionable gaming establishments.
In the last few years, many of the family’s business interests had transferred to Gabriel’s shoulders, including Jenner’s. He had always kept a close eye on the place, knowing it was one of his father’s pet concerns. One night, Theo, Lord Trenear, had visited the club. Theo had been a robust, good-looking man, blond and blue-eyed. Charming on the surface, all explosive force beneath.
“He came to Jenner’s with some friends on a night when I happened to be there,” Gabriel continued, “and spent most of his time at the hazard table. He didn’t play well—he was the kind who chased his losses instead of knowing when to quit. Before leaving, he wanted to apply for membership. The manager came to me, somewhat agitated, and asked me to deal with him because of his privilege and rank.”
“You had to turn him down?” Westcliff asked, wincing visibly.
Gabriel nodded. “His credit was bad, and the family estate was drowning in debt. I declined him in private, in as civil a manner as possible. However . . .” He shook his head at the memory.
“He went into a rage,” Westcliff guessed.
“Foaming like a bull in clover,” Gabriel said ruefully, recalling how Theo had launched at him without warning. “He wouldn’t stop swinging until I dropped him to the floor. I’ve known more than a few men who couldn’t control their tempers, especially when they were in their cups. But I’ve never seen anyone explode quite like that.”
“The Ravenels have always been known for their volatile temperaments.”
“Thank you,” Gabriel said sourly. “Now I won’t be surprised when my future offspring emerge with horns and tails.”
Westcliff smiled. “In my experience, it’s all in how you handle them.” The earl was the calm, steady center of his own boisterous family, which included a high-spirited wife and a brood of rambunctious offspring.
And Lady Pandora made them all look like sloths.
Pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, Gabriel muttered, “I don’t have the damned patience, Westcliff.” After a moment, he noticed the brimstone moth had finally ventured too close to the beckoning flame. The delicate wings ignited, and the creature was reduced to a smoldering wisp. “Do you know anything about the new Lord Trenear?”
“His name is Devon Ravenel. From all accounts, he’s well-liked in Hampshire, and has been managing the estate quite competently.” Westcliff paused. “It seems he married the late earl’s young widow, which is certainly not unlawful, but it did raise a few brows.”
“She must have had a massive jointure,” Gabriel said cynically.
“Perhaps. In any event, I wouldn’t expect Trenear to object to a match between you and Lady Pandora.”
Gabriel’s mouth twisted. “Believe me, he’ll be overjoyed to have her taken off his hands.”
Most of the mansions on South Audley, a smart address in the heart of Mayfair, were of the standard multi-columned Georgian design. Ravenel House, however, was a Jacobean with triple-story balconies and a hipped roof bristling with slender chimneys.
The great hall was lined with richly carved oak paneling, and a white plasterwork ceiling adorned with mythological figures. The walls were softened with an abundance of rich tapestries and French chinoiserie vases filled with bursts of fresh cut flowers. Judging from the quiet atmosphere, Pandora hadn’t yet returned.
A butler showed him to a well-appointed parlor and announced him. As Gabriel stepped forward and bowed, Devon Ravenel stood to reciprocate.
The new Earl of Trenear was a lean, broad-shouldered fellow of no more than thirty, with dark hair and a shrewd gaze. There was an alert but friendly air about him, a relaxed confidence that Gabriel immediately liked.
His wife Kathleen, Lady Trenear, remained on the sofa. “Welcome, my lord.” One glance was all it took to refute Gabriel’s earlier speculation that Trenear had married her for financial gain. Or at least, that couldn’t have been the only reason. She was a lovely woman, delicately feline, with tip-tilted brown eyes. The way her ruddy curls tried to spring free of their pins reminded him of his mother and older sister.
“I apologize for intruding on your privacy,” Gabriel said.