Page 19 of My Darling Rogue
Gabriel scowled at his friend. “Is Lady Celia well?”
Alan grinned. “As well as can be expected. Her injury seems to be a minor one. Ivy insists she remains abed at least until tomorrow. I suppose I should inquire as to your own health?”
Gabriel’s gaze narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
Cocking his head, Alan considered him for a long moment. “Yes. I see precisely what Ravenswood is talking about,” he remarked almost as to himself. Then he brightened, his next comment delivered most cheerfully. “Do not despair, my friend. These things do get a bit easier.”
“What things?” Gabriel demanded impatiently. “Speak plainly as I find the mysterious nature of this conversation most annoying.” He forced his hands to relax, suddenly realizing he was crushing Celia’s hat in his irritation.
Alan shrugged. “Let us have this discussion in a more private setting than the foyer.” With a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, Alan steered him into the drawing room. He then poured two drams of whiskey from a decanter on the sidebar.
Gabriel watched silently then, with a raised eyebrow, reminded his friend to continue the conversation. “As you were saying, Bentley?”
Alan chuckled and waved a hand. “The chase. The hunt. The pursuit. Oh, however you wish to name it, we men both enjoy and despise it. I must say, the two of you make quite the striking couple.”
Gabriel tossed the bonnet into a chair and jerked off his gloves. He then snatched up the glass of whiskey Alan held out.
“Let me understand this. You and Ravenswood believe some manner of alliance exists between myself and Lady Celia?” Gabriel could not conceal his astonishment. Had he been that transparent in coming to Celia’s aid after her tumble on the roadside? Had his attraction for the woman become so glaringly obvious that his friends now considered themselves to be matchmakers? Was it possible others could see this ill-advised weakness?
A faint sense of panic beat in Gabriel’s chest. He had made the most dreadful of mistakes.
“Doesn’t it?” Alan shrugged. “She’s certainly a worthy prospect for a bride. And her family is well thought of. The Earl of Darby is a fine man. One who certainly would appreciate someone like yourself marrying his only daughter.”
“Someone like me…” Gabriel’s words trailed off in disbelief. “Have you forgotten exactlywhatI am? I’ve no family name. No estate. No real place in society other than the connection Sebastian graciously provides. Even if I owe him my life, his generosity is not without bounds.” Sighing with frustration, he scrubbed his face with his hand. “While I am grateful for my friends’ lack of discrimination in regards to my station, I know others hardly feel the same. I won’t even begin to entertain the preposterous notion that I’ve become involved with Lady Celia, but rest assured her family would not welcome a bastard as a son-in-law.”
Alan calmly sipped his whiskey. So calmly that Gabriel was reminded just how tightly he gripped his own glass.
“Granted, I do not know her very well, but Lady Celia hardly seems the sort to put stock in such things,” Alan said. “Perhaps she wishes to marry for love instead of title? I mean, why hasn’t she wed already? Any number of eligible men are constantly flitting in and out of her orbit. She could have her choice of husband many times over.”
“Not every woman wishes to marry,” Gabriel said tightly, fighting back an unfamiliar surge of jealousy. The thought of Celia marrying some stuffy, self-important lord was disturbing.
Besides the very real problem of his inappropriateness as a husband, there was the issue of his predilection when it came to sex. He preferred a darker manner of lovemaking—acts of wickedness no well-brought-up, innocent young lady would ever understand or welcome between her bedsheets. Regardless of whom he married, or more precisely,ifhe ever married, his bride must understand and accept that side of him. She must be a willing participant because he would never seek his pleasures outside of their vows. It was that sort of faithfulness which required a certain type of woman.
Lady Celia Buchanan was not that type of woman.
“Perhaps you are right.” Alan grinned and downed his whiskey. “Being a happily married gent myself, I’ve an irrational need to see my friends attain the same sort of marital bliss. And if you require further proof of how perfect life can be with the right wife, you need look no further than Ravenswood and Richeforte. Hell, even Longleigh finally found his treasure and she was sitting right beneath his nose.”
“I appreciate the advice. However, I’m not in the market for a wife.” Gabriel set his half-empty glass down and retrieved Celia’s bonnet and his gloves from the chair where he’d tossed them. “If you will excuse me, Bentley, I shall return this to its owner.”
Alan waved a hand in dismissal, then, remembering something of vital importance, his eyebrow rose in question. “Before you go, tell me how Lady Celia came to return to the manor alone and on your horse, no less. What actually happened?”
“I reached the conclusion it was inappropriate for the two of us to ride alone. My intent was to avoid any hint of scandal, so I dismounted and instructed Lady Celia to ride on alone. I would follow on foot.” The lie stuck in Gabriel’s throat but he choked past it. He would not sully the girl’s reputation, and this seemed the most logical explanation for an illogical situation.
Alan threw back his bright blond head and laughed with such hearty enthusiasm that Gabriel knew a pang of unease.
“Ah, Rose, you are in the thick of things now. Indeed, you are in far deeper than you realize.”
Gabriel’s gaze remained stony as he regarded his friend. “Why is that? What did Lady Celia say was the reason?”
“That you lost your seat and she could not control your horse as it raced back to the stables without you. Knowing the lady’s skill when it comes to horseflesh, I knew her explanation could not possibly be true. But it’s best you repeat the tale as she relates it.”
At least she did not say you accosted her in the forest, and she fled for fear of her safety and reputation.
Gabriel grit his teeth. He should have gone directly to her so they might correlate their stories.
“I’ll thank you to disregard what I just said. Celia’s version is the correct one,” Gabriel muttered.
Alan was still grinning, pleased with the developments. Damn the man.
