Page 31 of Unmask Me My Love

“No, Halford has not put in an appearance, and I demand to know what this is about.” Rother banged his fist on the table, making Gabriella jump.

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked so slowly, she wished it would stop. Time crawled by, and any second, she expected another explosion from the duke. If something didn’t happen soon, she’d turn and run as fast as she could back to the carriage, assuming she could find her way out of the house. Anything to escape the duke’s ominous expression.

At last, he came from behind the table, his tall form seeming to tower over them as he stalked closer. “Ladies, I am a busy man. I do not know what Halford is playing at, but you must excuse me—”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” Hal’s voice boomed as he entered the library.

Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Neither could she take her eyes off the dashing figure he made, like a fashion plate come to life in a blue jacket, buff pantaloons, shiny Hessians, and, of course, his tall D’Orsay hat. And coming to her rescue at the most necessary moment.

“I apologize for my tardiness, but traffic was slower coming from the docks than I’d expected when I sent the notes.” Hal didn’t slow until he stood directly before the duke.

“The docks?” Rother gave him a puzzled frown.

“Yes, we arrived only this afternoon.” He glanced back at the open door.

Gabriella craned her neck and froze, a gasp trapped in her throat.

A small woman walked forward, dark hair piled under a stylish hat. Dressed in a gray silk gown and Spencer, she carried her head regally until she stood before the duke. Her gaze never wavered from his face.

“Veronique.” The duke’s face drained of color, his lips alone keeping a pink tinge.

“Maman,” Gabriella whispered.

“Your Grace.” Veronique d’Aventure curtsied and returned her gaze to him. “Lord Halford informs me you have a question to ask me.”

Gabriella caught her breath. Would her mother dare to provoke the duke? She started forward. Somehow, she must help.

Hal grabbed her arm. “Let them work this out between them, my dear.”

Very well, she would see this scene played out to the end. She nodded, and he released her.

“Veronique, my God.” The duke came toward her, stealing out his hand, as though afraid to try to touch her. “Is it really you? You are still so beautiful.” Finally, he caressed her cheek. “Just as I remember you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Her mother’s tone was gentle; her eyes were not. “The years have been kind to me.” She seemed to see him for the first time, and her face softened. “To us both.” She straightened and raised her chin. “You have a question for me concerning Gabriella?”

Color flooded back into his cheeks. “Because you did not contact me.” He glared at her, piercing her with his intense blue eyes. “You promised me, swore upon the cross, if you found yourself increasing, you would tell me.”

“You were betrothed.” She laughed mirthlessly, as cold as his eyes. “We both knew you could do nothing. Consequences of a broken betrothal are not light in English society. I did not wish to burden you with the knowledge of a child you would never know.”

“But I would have—”

“Would have what? Thrown away your reputation and married a French woman?” Her mother’s eyes flashed. “Our countries were at war. How could you have explained your marriage to the enemy?”

“I would have sent for you. I postponed the wedding for months, praying for word that you were carrying my child. I could have made the argument that I must do the honorable thing and marry you.” The sadness in Rother’s face sent a shiver of sympathy through Gabriella. “Especially when it was the thing I desired most.”

“And I would not have let you make such a sacrifice of yourself. The scandal would have ruined us both. One of us needed to be strong, Gabriel.” She cupped his cheek. “Even if you were the one I desired most as well.”

“Gabriel?” Gabriella stared hard at Hal and Celinda. “Why did you not tell me his Christian name? I was named for him?”

“I have only ever known him as Rother.” Hal shrugged apologetically. “I may have known it at some time growing up, but I certainly did not remember it.”

Celinda patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Can you swear to me that Gabriella is my daughter and not Monsieur d’Aventure’s?” The duke clutched her hands, squeezing them until they turned white.

Veronique eased his grip and gave a little laugh. “I do not need to swear, mon chéri.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Gabriella. Venez ici.”

Gabriella inched forward, as if she were young once more and found with the pastries in her hand. “Oui, maman.”