“Go to the carriage,” he told her brusquely. “It’s in front of the portico now.”
Pandora glanced at the row of vehicles. Their carriage had indeed drawn up to the curbstone, and she caught a glimpse of Dragon dressed in his livery. However, something in her rebelled at the idea of going to the carriage like a dog that had just been commanded to slink off to its kennel. Even worse, Mrs. Black was sending her a triumphant glance behind Gabriel’s back, having succeeded in gaining the attention she’d craved.
“Now see here—” Pandora began, “I don’t think—”
Another man joined the conversation. “Take your hand off my wife.” The saw-toothed voice belonged to the American ambassador. He regarded Gabriel with a sort of resigned hostility, as if they were a pair of reluctant roosters who’d just been thrown into a cockpit.
The situation was worsening rapidly. Pandora looked at Helen in alarm. “Help,” she whispered.
Helen, bless her, swept into action, moving between the two men. “Ambassador Black, I am Lady Helen Winterborne. Do forgive my forwardness, but I thought perhaps we might have met at Mr. Disraeli’s dinner last month?”
The older man blinked, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of a luminous young woman with silver-blonde hair and the eyes of an angel. He didn’t dare treat her discourteously. “I don’t recall having had the honor.”
To Pandora’s satisfaction, she saw Gabriel release Mrs. Black’s arm.
“And here is Mr. Winterborne,” Helen said, barely concealing her relief as her husband arrived to help defuse the situation.
Winterborne exchanged a swift glance with Gabriel, silent messages flying through the air like invisible arrows. Looking composed and capable, Winterborne began to make conversation with the ambassador, who replied stiffly. It would have been difficult to imagine a more awkward scene, with Helen and Winterborne behaving as if nothing were amiss, while Gabriel stood there in a silent fury. And Mrs. Black was reveling silently in the turmoil she’d created, having proved—at least, in her mind—that she was still a significant part of Gabriel’s life. She fairly glowed with excitement.
Any flicker of sympathy Pandora had felt for the woman had vanished. She was rather annoyed with Gabriel for falling right in with Mrs. Black’s plan, by reacting angrily when he should have simply ignored her. It had been atrociously easy for Gabriel’s former mistress to drag his male instincts down to the level of the farmyard.
Sighing shortly, Pandora reflected that she probably should go to the carriage. Her presence wasn’t helping at all, and she was feeling more exasperated by the minute. Even Dragon’s limited reserves of conversation would be better than this. Stepping back from the group, she looked for the clearest path to the curbstone.
“Milady,” someone said hesitantly. “Lady St. Vincent?”
Pandora’s gaze fell upon the lone figure of a woman standing beside a Corinthian column at the end of the portico. She was wearing a plain bonnet, a dark dress, and a blue shawl. As the woman smiled, Pandora recognized her.
“Mrs. O’Cairre,” she exclaimed in concern, going to her at once. “What are you doing here? How are you?”
“I’m well enough, milady. And you?”
“I’m well enough too,” Pandora said. “I’m sorry about the way my manservant barged into your shop yesterday. He’s very protective. There was no way I could stop him, other than crowning him with a heavy object. Which I considered doing, incidentally.”
“No harm done.” Mrs. O’Cairre’s smile dampened slightly, and her clear hazel eyes clouded with worry. “But a man came to the shop today, asking questions. He wouldn’t give his name, or say what business he was about. I beg your pardon for asking, milady, but have you talked to the police?”
“No.” Pandora regarded her with increasing concern, noticing a film of sweat on the woman’s face, and the dilated blackness of her pupils. “Mrs. O’Cairre, are you in some kind of trouble? Are you ill? Tell me how I can help you.”
The woman tilted her head, regarding Pandora with an almost affectionate regret. “You’re a sweet soul, milady. Forgive me.”
A hoarse male shout distracted Pandora’s attention. She glanced toward the crowd, startled to see Dragon violently pushing and shoving his way toward her. He looked absolutely berserk. What was the matter with him?
He was upon them before Pandora could take a breath. She was stunned to feel him slam his wrist and forearm hard against her collarbone as if he were trying to break it. A frightened breath escaped her at the impact, and she reeled backward. He caught her and pulled her against his massive chest.