Page 59 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

She blinked. His eyes were almost hypnotic and any residual anger that might have been lingering dissipated. The fingers still holding her chin were warm. She didn’t want him to remove them. “You couldn’t be angry with me?” Her voice came out as a dry croak. “You…you couldn’t?” That was better. “You…you weren’t, I mean aren’t, offended by what I suggested?”

He shook his head. “I like you too much to ever be angry with you. And how could I not want to marry a girl as kind, and brave and lovely as you are?”

The rapid pounding in her ears must be her heartbeat. Her chest rose and fell as though she’d been running. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. A loose curl of sandy-brown hair had flopped forward onto his forehead. It would be easy to lift her own hand and push it back into place, but, despite her longing to do just that, she didn’t.

His fingers slid round to cup her cheek. “I find I like you very much. But…” He paused. “We both know I’m from the gutter, Phoebe. I just don’t know which gutter. I’m not your equal in any way. Your aunt, your family, your friends—they’d all say I was marrying you for your money. You might even come to think that yourself. And I’m not easy to live with. When I seize on an idea, I do only that until it’s done, to the exclusion of all else, possibly even you.” He paused. “So this, whatever it is, can go no further.”

Phoebe stopped breathing. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity. He liked her. He’d said the words. He liked her and he’d mentioned marriage. His words seemed to echo inside her head, over and over again. She quite ignored the bit where he’d said he wasn’t good enough for her and their relationship should go no further. That didn’t matter.

His tongue darted over his lips. Was he as dry-mouthed as she was? “Do you understand?” He no longer sounded the confident and somewhat cocky young man she thought she’d come to know. And yes, she felt she knew him, even if it was only a little. He sounded unsure, nervous even. Perhaps afraid.

She took a much-needed breath. “I do like you, Gabriel. Very much. Whoever you really are. And it doesn’t matter to me who your mother is.” She wanted to tell him she loved him and would marry him even if he lived in the St Giles rookery, but common sense prevented her. That word held too much gravity.

His brow furrowed. “You may not care who my mother is, or was, but your family most certainly will. Your aunt is your guardian. You’re not of age for over a year. Your father was an earl, your uncle is an earl, and you’re the heir to a vast fortune. They would cast me as a fortune hunter.” He grinned. “I might be one indeed, you know. I need a lot of money for my orphanage.”

She could feel her strength returning along with determination to persuade him he was wrong. “I don’t care, and it’s my decision to make, not anyone else’s. Don’t forget. My fortune is from trade. My great-grandfather started his life as the son of a blacksmith and built his fortune through his own efforts. You can’t get much more humble than that. My grandfather had no pretensions to gentility. He journeyed on his own ships to see to trade himself, he increased the fortune his father had left him and, thanks to his money, was able to make an advantageous marriage to the daughter of a baronet. I knew her well, and she didn’t complain about having married the grandson of a blacksmith.” She paused. “I see no difference in you and I marrying.”

He shook his head. “Your mother was the daughter of one earl and the wife of another. Scarcely any trace remains in you of trade. Your fortune renders you more than attractive to every unmarried man here tonight. And I am nothing. My parents are unknown and likely to remain so. It’s not the same.”

She glanced over her shoulder, but another dance was in progress, the participants whirling about the dance floor with enthusiasm and the music loud. No one was looking at them. “But I don’t care.” Suddenly overcome with daring, with one hand she drew one of the curtains across to hide most of the alcove. “I don’t care at all, and if I were to meet your mother, I would welcome her into my family.”

His eyes were troubled. “I don’t know, Phoebe. You’ve seen St Giles. I could have been one of those men lounging outside the gin shops or drunk in a corner in the Rat’s Castle. I could have been one of them. Or a criminal deported to Botany Bay.”

She shook her head. “But you’re not, despite your criminal tendencies.” And now she smiled. “Look at yourself. You’re not one of them, Gabriel. I refuse to believe you are.”

This was ridiculous. He seemed determined to talk himself down. On an impulse, she rose onto her toes, put a hand to the back of his neck to draw his face towards her, and planted her lips against his. It was an awkward kiss, as she’d never kissed anyone in passion of any sort before, only her parents and Aunt Fanny and Mattie on the cheek. She had no real idea what to do, so her lips were closed and it was over in a brief instant. She settled back onto her heels again, aware of yet another tell-tale blush, but very glad she’d obeyed her instinct. If she were going to be classed as a forward hoyden, then she might as well keep going.

For a long moment Gabriel stared down at her, his eyes unreadable, as she watched him for a reaction. When it came, it came swiftly. His left arm went around her waist, and he drew her back into the shadows, where the curtain completely hid them from view.

Her heart performed a wild leap of pure excitement at his touch, and she let herself go with him, acutely aware of his strong body pressed up against hers. The novelty was intoxicating to the point of making her head whirl with sudden, quite delectable dizziness. What was he doing? Was he about to kiss her back? What would it be like?

She soon found out.

He bent his head and his mouth came down on hers, strong yet soft, demanding yet wary. Did he think she wouldn’t like it?

Silly man. She closed her eyes in ecstasy and her arms reached up and around him.

His lips opened against hers, demanding she open her own, the heady sensation of such intimate closeness to another person kindling a fire within her she’d never imagined she could possess. A fire that streamed down every limb, up to the top of her head, down into her toes, and back into her burning core. This was a whole new and far better thing than her own dry kiss had been. The warmth of his mouth on hers and the tip of his tongue coming exploring sent delightful shivers cascading through her body. Her knees buckled but he had firm hold of her and she had to lean into him to stay upright. None of which she cared about. She would have melted into him if she could have.

Oh, how good this felt. She never wanted it to end.

But of course, it had to. He released her mouth but not her waist, his face still close to hers, his breath warm on her cheek, his eyes bright with emotion, but his face serious.

She swallowed. “Could you please do that again?”

He shook his head, but he still didn’t let her go. “I should never have done it in the first place.”

“But you did.”

“I couldn’t resist you.”

“And I can’t resist you.”

He shook his head again and now he did release her waist. Taking half a step back, he shook his head yet again. “You should, and so should I. This can go nowhere.”

He couldn’t kiss her like that and then say it could go nowhere. She wouldn’t let him. “Gabriel.” How she loved the music of his name on her lips. “I’ll be twenty-one in just over a year. You said it yourself.”

“And you said your aunt intends you to be married before the end of this Season.”