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‘Angus is being a trifle previous, that’s all, lass.’ MacFarlane moved forward, giving his son a none-too-gentle shove to the side. ‘Of course your father and I had planned this for years, but I wanted Angus to finish at Oxford and then come back here, get a grip on things.’
‘Then let me assure you both, Quinta do Falcão is not something Angus will be getting a grip on. Not by marriage, not by purchase. I had no idea you were labouring under this misapprehension, Uncle Hector, but I hope I have cleared it up. Now, I find I have a headache. Perhaps you would be so kind as to call for my carriage? Gray, will you give me your escort?’
‘Of course, Miss Frost.’ Well, that was more effective than a fist in the gut. More like a knee in the groin, if he was any judge.
‘Thank you so much for a delightful and informative evening, Uncle Hector,’ Gabrielle said sweetly. ‘Will you be very kind and make my excuses to Aunt Lucy, Angus? Gray, if you are ready?’
‘Goodnight, gentlemen. Excellent port and cigarillos, by the way.’ He followed Gabrielle along the terrace. ‘Ouch,’ he remarked once they were out of earshot. ‘Do give me a moment while I check my clothing for blood splatters.’
‘I apologise,’ she retorted. ‘That was insufferable of them. You are my guest—how dare they attempt to intimidate you like that?’ When Gray did not reply she glanced up, the candlelight making her eyes glint. ‘They didn’t do a very good job of it, did they?’
‘Young Angus needs to realise that he cannot rely on his size and a pair of broad shoulders to win his fights for him,’ Gray said, amused. ‘He’ll find himself laid low by smaller, faster, opponents a few times. Then, if he’s got any sense, he’ll find himself whatever is the Lisbon equivalent of Gentleman Jackson’s salon and learn some self-defence.’
They arrived at the front door as the butler came out, Gabrielle’s shawl over one arm, Gray’s hat and gloves in his hand. ‘Miss Frost, I understand you require your carriage. The word has gone out to the
stables. It should not be long.’ He bowed himself back inside.
‘Did Uncle Hector ever find out about your French...er...friend?’ Gray asked as he helped her arrange the shawl more closely around her shoulders.
‘No. We were very discreet.’
The carriage drew up before Gray could reply. The hood had been raised and the interior was dark as he handed Gabrielle in. ‘That was an embarrassingly frank revelation of their intentions. What will you do now?’ he asked as they started off. He wished he could see her face. How upset was she to have fallen out with such old friends?
‘Nothing, I suppose.’ From the rustling of silks and the sudden waft of jasmine scent he supposed she had shrugged. ‘It would be foolish in the extreme to fall out with a neighbour, one of the community. We all rely on each other. If they have any sense they will pretend nothing happened and so will I, unless Angus is foolish enough to try to push the issue next time we are alone.’
‘Is it wise to be so relaxed about it? A forced marriage is not outside the bounds of probability.’ He wouldn’t put it past the MacFarlanes, they had ample motive.
‘Let them try. Being compromised would never force me to agree.’ Gabrielle made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a growl. ‘I hate this. All I want to do is to run the business, make good wine, employ skilled local people and carry on the family tradition. Yet, simply because I am a woman, it is a problem. I am a problem. An object to be traded. I cannot trust anyone, it seems.’
‘You can trust me.’ Gray reached for the shadowy form next to him and pulled her gently against his shoulder. It was disconcerting, finding the prickly, confident woman so affected by that betrayal. ‘I do not lie to you, Gabrielle, and I do not try to trick you. But I cannot change the marriage and property laws for you here, nor in England.’ He was not at all sure he would if he could because it went right against all his learning, all his protective instincts. Surely few women had the capacity to manage their own finances as Gabrielle did? Or perhaps they could, if they only had the training. It made him wonder about the education of his own daughter...
In the circle of his arm Gabrielle stiffened, jerking his mind back to the woman here in the darkness with him.
* * *
Gaby froze, then relaxed. Gray’s hands were still as he held her, he was not groping or fumbling—not that she could ever imagine him doing either thing—and it seemed he was simply offering her comfort.
It was not his fault that this was not at all comforting. What would he do if she kissed him? She could not quite believe that all he was feeling was a friendly wish to console her. Under her cheek she could hear his heart beating, could tell that his breathing was not quite steady, could smell the subtle musk of warm man beneath the traces of smoke and port and cologne. Warm, aroused man?
It would not be fair. In fact, she told herself, it would be as dishonourable as a man taking advantage of a woman to try to seduce him. Gray was not here for dalliance, he was here because his misplaced sense of family responsibility and natural chivalry had forced him to do her aunt’s bidding. And, she suspected, he genuinely believed she would be better off marrying a suitable English gentleman. She could not blame him for the attempt at carrying out her aunt’s wishes.
Now—finding himself with an armful of willing young woman, one who he knew was not a virgin—he was exhibiting a self-control that was positively saintly.
Or perhaps not. She could feel his lips moving against her hair and the big body so firm against hers was tense... Gaby twisted within the circle of his arms and tipped back her head to look up at him. His face was a pale oval in the gloom, but his breath was warm on her cheek. ‘Kiss me, Gray?’
‘Why?’
That was a very good question, damn him.
Then she felt, more than heard, his breath hitch. ‘Because we both want to? Because we are both adult, single people?’
He did not reply in words, simply bent his head and found her lips, teasing along the seam. She opened to him with a sigh, accepted his tongue into her mouth with the touch of her own, tasted him and hungered for more. Gray kissed like a dream: firm, gentle yet assertive, devastatingly thorough. And like a dream, the kiss ended all too soon, leaving her dazed and wondering.
Her fingers were in his hair and it took her a moment to free them, to stroke down to the nape of his neck and away. She felt him shiver under the caress. ‘That was...good.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, settling her back against his chest. Somehow she had moved—or been moved?—from his side to sitting across his thighs. ‘It was. And unwise.’
Ah. Sitting like this, there was no mistaking the fact that he was aroused. Gaby’s memory presented her with a perfect picture of what was under those elegant evening clothes, which did not help her own control in the slightest.
