Page 19 of Lady of Providence
“In fact,” Henry continued conspiratorially, “I would be interested to learn more about what happened with the lovely Lady Julia — Elizabeth’s good friend, of course. You pursued her in Newmarket, did you not? It was quite the scandal when she chose a groom over the Duke of Clarence.”
“I believe Eddie Francis is actually a jockey, Clarke,” was all Gabriel said, but Elizabeth noted that his entire body had turned rather stiff, as though he were holding himself back. Henry was goading him on purpose, of course, and while Elizabeth wanted to shove Henry’s words aside, she had to admit that some of them were getting through to her. For as much as Henry was being an idiot, he had reminded her of all Gabriel had done to attempt to court Julia, one of her closest of friends, but a few months ago with Elizabeth looking on. Elizabeth had thought it was all some game to him, but why he might care any longer about what she may think or feel, she had no idea.
“Julia is very happy,” Elizabeth said simply. “And that is all that matters. Now, Henry, it is time for you to leave, or I will have some of the footmen come and escort you out.”
“No need, I have another engagement,” he said, making his way to the door. “But rest assured, Cousin, this is not the last time you will see me within the walls of this bank.”
With one last sly smile and an exaggerated bow, he was out the door, pulling it closed behind him.
Elizabeth all but collapsed in a chair, exhaustion filtering out of her, when suddenly she remembered Gabriel was still there.
“Enjoy the show?” she asked.
“It was no show,” he said, and she looked up to see that his eyes were bright and clear, with no hint of any game on his face. “I was serious in what I said. You did well today.”
“Thank you for your approval,” she said, unable to help the sarcasm in her tone. She was annoyed by the reminder of Newmarket, and she couldn’t rid the thought from her mind.
“You’re upset about Lady Julia,” Gabriel said, as perceptive as ever.
“Not at all,” she said, attempting nonchalance. “There is nothing to be upset about, is there?”
“I am happy to explain the situation,” he offered, but she shook her head, not wanting to hear any more.
“There is nothing to explain,” she said. “In all honesty I am simply tired and have been longing to go home since halfway through that meeting — or shall I say, interrogation.”
“You responded well,” he complimented her once more, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering what his current angle was — for Gabriel always had an angle, in everything he did. “What?” he asked at her look. “You did. I am only telling the truth.”
He looked so handsome, standing there in the late afternoon sunlight that filtered in through the window, his typically immaculate hair ever so slightly mussed, by she herself when she had attempted to stem the flow of blood from his nose, that she nearly forgot everything in the past and approached him as a woman would a man she had a deep connection with.
His cravat was slightly crooked now, and hesitantly, she couldn’t help herself from stepping up and ever so slightly straightening it. He caught her fingers in his warm, strong hands, clutching them to his chest as he looked down at her and her breath caught in her throat.
His lips were a breath away from her forehead as he tilted his head down toward her, and she could practically feel his pulse where his hands touched hers. Not wanting to stain them with ink, she had removed her gloves in order to take notes during the meeting, and now she was, at this moment, glad she had done so, for the feel of his bare skin upon hers was exquisite.
She closed her eyes as a flood of feeling coursed through her — the attraction that had instantly bound her to him, that she’d had to fight even when she hated him so; and the way he made her feel, as though she were the only woman in the world that mattered, that he would always be there to make everything right.
His prominent, patrician nose brushed against hers, and then under a will of its own, her head tilted up and her lips met his. The first taste was soft, hesitant, a reminder of who they were and all that had been before, and then once they found one another again, their lips fused together, locked on one another as though it was where they were always supposed to be.
Elizabeth hated him for weakening her like this, for making her forget all resolve and submit to him once more, but in the same breath, this was all she had been longing for since they had parted ways five years ago, despite her denial even to herself. He was the one man who had matched her perfectly, was the reason that no one else she had met since him had ever seemed to suffice.
Gabriel’s right hand left hers, coming around to the back of her head, cupping it as he held her against him in such a possessive manner.
Which caused another image to suddenly fill her head. One of Gabriel and another woman — a widow his elder by ten years, if Elizabeth recalled correctly. She had happened upon them at a ball one evening, when he was holding Lady Pomfret in the very same way he held her now.
It was more than enough to cause her to bring her hands up against his chest and push away from him as she stepped back out of his arms’ reach, listening to the sound of her own harsh breath coming hard and fast.
“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice just over a whisper, and it seemed as though the kiss had affected him nearly as much as it had she. Or perhaps it was an act, some game he was playing. He had always liked to manipulate, hadn’t he? Was this all to do with the bank, some sort of play for power?
“That was a mistake,” she said, willing her voice to be firm, to not betray the turmoil of emotion within her chest.
“I don’t think so,” he said, his smoky voice swirling about her, tempting her to come deeper into its depths.
“I know so,” she said resolutely, straightening as she willed her mind to take control of her emotions once more. “I see no reason why you and I cannot be friendly acquaintances, colleagues in this bank. Anything more than that will never be — not again.”
His stoic countenance faltered for but a moment, and Elizabeth wondered at what she saw there within his eyes as he stared at her — was it regret? Disappointment? But no. The Duke of Clarence never regretted a thing.
“Elizabeth, I am sorry you were hurt—”
“Hurt?” Elizabeth choked out. “Gabriel, we were to bemarried. And you— you betrayed me.”
