Page 10 of Miss Kimble Bites Back

Curiosity got the better of him. “What does your mother say about Miss Kimble?”

Triscot grinned. “Mama claimed I could not do better.”

High praise indeed, but Sebastian frowned at the comment. Gabby and Triscot would make a poor match. “She could do better than both of us combined.”

Triscot readily agreed. Relieved, he took Triscot to the library to toast their reunion. As he poured some of Windermere’s finest whiskey into tumblers, his thoughts returned to Gabby Kimble. She was a mere kitten, but with claws that could be coached out to scratch a man’s back if circumstances were right. Too inexperienced to perhaps understand when she was being led astray, too, so she could wind up ruined or married to someone truly unworthy.

Better not to be married at all than badly, in his opinion.

He winced. However, he’d no intention of being cast into the role of matchmaker for anyone, let alone Gabby Kimble—but even as he tried to dismiss her he also knew he would keep an eye on the young woman.

CHAPTER THREE

Gabby looked up as her cousin hurried into their drawing room at last, adjusting his cravat. “About time!”

Bennett met her gaze levelly. “You know, I much preferred you before this season turned you into a fanatic about punctuality.”

“Well, it’s your own fault. I could kiss you for making my dream of a London season come true,” she said sweetly.

“No need for threats or violence,” he warned, waving her off and then dropping into his favorite chair across the room. “I always knew you couldn’t stay a little girl forever, certainly not under my roof.”

Gabby had known Bennett all her life. He had been her guardian since she was eleven and they were like brother and sister after so many years of knowing each other—including squabbling when no one was listening in.

He was the reason she was in London for her first season. Her family had possessed little money, and her dowry was small. But Bennett had made his fortune young and liberally spoiled her. He’d made all her dreams possible last night, too, by accepting his cousin’s invitation to a ball, though she shuddered to think what this was costing him. She wanted to marry quickly and well, so he could have his life back. So much depended on her making a good impression in the coming weeks.

Gabby set her hands to her face and let out a shaky breath to calm herself. It was almost time for morning calls, and she expected to have more than one gentleman in their parlor today, not just the rather distracting Duke of Mamble.

Mamble would never choose her to be his bride, and for too many reasons to list, but others might consider her because of his presumed interest.

After all, she had been the only woman chosen by the duke to dance with, and many other gentlemen had paid gratifying attention to her after that. Asking her to dance, others seeking an introduction. There had been plenty of others looking her way after the duke had promised to call on her today, too, and not just men. She’d noticed the envy directed her way by other women. “Do I look all right?”

“You look perfectly fine to me,” Bennett promised, barely glancing her way.

Gabby was unusually nervous today. The Duke of Mamble had announced his intention to call on her this morning so loud and clear that if he didn’t come, she’d be utterly humiliated. “What if he forgets? What if no one else comes?”

“Then they can hardly consider themselves gentlemen. Don’t worry. You made quite the impression last night,” Bennett promised. “But I’m really all the company you should ever require in the parlor on any morning.”

She poked her tongue out at him and then laughed at his exaggerated shock.

“Much better,” he announced with an approving nod for her childishness. “Try not to be so serious over all this and do try to have fun.”

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “If a lady does not make her match by her second season, you know she will be considered on the shelf. A first season marriage would be best.”

“That is not strictly true, and you know it. I’m not worried about you making a match this season. You’re being courted by a duke, after all.”

“I’m not being courted by the Duke of Mamble,” Gabby swore. “He could have no real interest in me.”

That man was a study in contradictions, though. She could not quite decide what he was about. Calling her kitten, touching her lips, and then warning her away in the next breath.

Then asking her to dance when no one else had bothered.

He’d saved her evening from being a complete disappointment and made the other gentlemen notice her. She was very grateful, but she suspected now that he was merely amusing himself by pretending to be interested.

She hadn’t spotted him again after their dance was over. It was all she could do not to watch for him by the window now, too.

It was foolish to hope, but there was something about him that set him apart from the other gentlemen she’d spoken with in London. It must be the suit he wore so well. He was a cut above all others, and especially her.

Gabby smoothed her gloved hands over her prettiest muslin gown and took a deep breath as she heard the door knocker sound through the house. She knew what to expect from the morning—a brief interlude with a handful of gentlemen who had danced with her last night. She had no faith that Lord Brookes would be among them. He hadn’t asked her to dance and had taken the floor with Justine instead, much to her consternation.