Page 15 of Tempting Fate
She snorted a little. “It’s rather worse than that; I haven’t even seen your face. But I believe you know what you’re about, and that you are not the sort of man who would look for a position he could not fill. Besides, I imagine that your mere presence would prove a discouragement to trouble. Should anyone come at you, they’d break like waves on the rocks.”
He grunted. That was true enough.
Wait…His brow furrowed. What did she mean she hadn’t seen his face?
Out of habit, he brought his fingers up to check to see if the mask that had been a part of his life since the age of sixteen had somehow magically appeared affixed to his brow.
Though he’d been a year without it, he often still felt quite naked.
Exposed.
No. His features were bare, so why—?
Felicity’s hip crashed into a delicately carved side table, sending an empty vase flying into the air.
Gabriel caught it and gingerly returned the delicate object to the table once she righted it again.
“Thank you.” She huffed out an anxious giggle, turning away without looking at him, to press her hands against flaming red cheeks. “I really need to find my spectacles, or I’ll be hopelessly blind for tomorrow night.”
“What’s tomorrow night?”
She heaved a soul-weary sigh. “Lady Brentwell is hosting a ball. It’s my first foray back into society since my parents’ deaths.” She paused as if plucking a thought out of the sky. “I’m hoping you have formal wear, Mr. Severand. If not, Mr. Bartholomew is a more than adequate tailor in a pinch—”
“I’ll send for some things,” he clipped, liking the idea of the sour-faced Mr. Bartholomew attending him only slightly more than the ball he now dreaded with his entire being.
“At my expense, of course,” she insisted.
Gabriel wanted to argue. He was without question the wealthier of the two of them, but could not say so if he intended to keep up this ruse. Instead, he examined their surroundings as they climbed to the third floor.
Cresthaven was a grand old place, the name as original as the dynasty that currently sat on the throne. It lacked some of the more modern amenities and popular Egyptian and East Asian influence in décor, hailing back to a more medieval aesthetic that evoked the gothic feel of Barcelona. Heavy tapestries did little to muffle the sounds of their footsteps on the marble floors, nor the creaks of the ancient grand staircase.
The opulence was undeniable, however, in the crystal tinkling beneath the gas lamps, and the expensive statuary lining the halls.
“These windows over the garden trellis should be locked, as the structure could be easily climbed,” he noted aloud. He’d watched his brother do that very thing, and sneak into Mercy Goode’s bedroom to have his way with her.
“The washroom skylights should be secured, as well.” He pointed at the doors, doing his best not to think of any sort of sex happening in this house, lest his body stir.
Never.Not. Ever.
“How did you know those were the washrooms?” she queried, moving to secure the window latches.
Shit. He couldn’t very well say that he noted the tenants of the house carried lamps in the night to visit this very spot, only to return to their rooms. “Erm, many of my employers have been in this borough; the layouts are often the same in these houses.”
“Oh, of course, I never thought of that.” She accepted his answer with blithe naiveté, and part of him hated that someday, learning the truth about him would teach her to be more cynical. To distrust and to suspect.
Innocence never lasted long in his world. He hated that it would dilute hers as well.
Her life, though, was a worthy trade.
“Here’s your room.” She opened a door and stepped aside, giving him a wide berth.
“My room?” He peered into what was, even to him, a palatial accommodation done in masculine shades of green and bronze. “Shouldn’t I bed down in the servants’ quarters?”
“The servants’ quarters are all occupied, I’m afraid, and they’re also very far away from my chamber, which is just there.” She motioned to the next door over. “Seeing as how the interloper made it into the house, I… I’d rather you were close by.”
Gabriel was not a man prone to panic, but it rose within him now. There would only be a wall between them.
This was a perilous fiction. He could— he should— confess everything right now.
