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‘From what I have read of the Prince Regent, I beg leave to doubt it,’ she said with a chuckle.
Gabrielle was enveloped in a long black evening cloak with a large hood which covered her hair. All Gray could see beside her face was a flash of deep crimson at the front edges of the cloak when she moved and a subdued hint of the same colour in the depths of the hood.
‘You look enchanting,’ he said and meant it.
‘You cannot see more than my face,’ Gabrielle protested as she took his arm.
‘Just what I said—enchanting.’
She nipped his arm in reproof at what he supposed she thought was teasing and he glanced down to see that instead of conventional long evening gloves she was wearing black lace fingerless gloves through which her skin glowed creamily.
There were no rings on her fingers, not on either hand, he saw when she gathered up her skirts to mount the step into the carriage. Of course, she would hardly bring jewellery on a voyage to England, even if she had very much. He should have thought of that, offered to lend her some. Buying jewellery at this stage in their not-quite affaire might be a sensitive issue, but he could certainly hire something suitable on her behalf. He made a mental note to suggest it.
The Altringworths’ house was not far, in a street to the west of Berkeley Square. Torchères were blazing on either side of the door, a red carpet was down from the steps to the kerb and two burly footmen were on the pavement to assist arriving guests and deter the crowd of onlookers from pressing too close.
Gray delivered Gabrielle to the ladies’ cloakroom, shed his own hat, cloak and cane and joined the group of other men waiting for their partners in the front hall. He was listening his old friend Freddie Stansfield’s account buying a team of matched Welsh bays for his mother’s carriage when Freddie’s voice trailed off and his jaw dropped as he stared over Gray’s shoulder. Gray turned and felt his own mouth open. He snapped it shut and moved, fast, before any of the transfixed men beat him to Gabrielle’s side.
‘You look ravishing,’ he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear. ‘I want to take you home, kick Henry out on to the street and make love to you all night.’
Gabrielle kept her composure, although her cheeks turned a warm, flattering pink. ‘I was aiming for mildly exotic and eccentric,’ she murmured back.
‘Unique and elegant.’ He took her hand and led her towards the foot of the staircase where a receiving line snaked down. When they were brought to a halt two steps up he turned again and studied her from head to toe.
Gabrielle was wearing a sophisticated version of her everyday working costume. Over a tightly fitted shirt of white lace with long sleeves, a slit at the neck and a stand-up collar framing her neck, was a black brocade waistcoat. A perfectly plain skirt of deep crimson silk whispered down to her toes. Her hair was caught up in an elaborate plaited coronet held in place by silver combs studded with rubies and diamonds and long ruby drops crusted with more tiny diamonds fell from her earlobes. At her throat glowed a single tear-shaped ruby surrounded by yet more glittering white stones and held on a silver chain to lie where a shadowy hint of cleavage showed at the neckline.
‘Those gems—you brought them with you? How?’ He wouldn’t have had a moment’s sleep on the ship if he’d known she was carrying a fortune with her. ‘They must be part of the Frost Fire parure—I had heard of it, but I thought it was a legend.’
‘How I carried them is my secret. But, yes, these are Frost Fire pieces. The rest are safely locked away at the quinta. My great-grandmother was Portuguese nobility and it is said that the stones were originally a gift from King John the Fifth, the Magnanimous, when he came to the throne in 1706. Family legend says that she was his mistress when he was the crown prince and this was his farewell gift when he became king.
‘They were reset like this about seventy years ago. That’s when they became known as the Frost Fire jewels, because of the contrast between the rubies and the glitter of the diamonds,’ she explained, lifting her skirts a little as she climbed, revealing a hint of lacy petticoats.
They climbed a few steps and Gray became aware that they were being eyed with varying degrees of discretion by the guests around them. Gabrielle was looking stunning, but he suspected that her jewels were what were riveting the attention of most of the onlookers. The entire parure, which would include a tiara and bracelets, rings and necklaces, must be worth more than the entire quinta. No wonder his godmother wanted to secure Gabrielle for her stepson: any prudent mother would want her as a daughter-in-law.
Gray had a sinking feeling that not only was he going to have to guard her against predatory mamas, covetous jewel thieves and fortune hunters, but that Gabrielle was set on thoroughly enjoying herself with as much verve as the most dashing young matron.
‘I imagine you are going to be a great success,’ he said drily as they reached the top and turned to their hostess.
‘I know. I could have a face like a carthorse and the disposition of a scorpion and still be a catch,’ she agreed. She said it lightly, almost flippantly, but there was something in her tone that did not ring quite true.
Someone has hurt her, he thought. Some fortune hunter. No wonder she resents her aunt so much. And no wonder that her trusted neighbours’ matrimonial scheming had angered her so.
Lady Altringworth was gracious, warm even. Her eyes had widened at the a
pproach of a young lady in such an unconventional gown, then her smile had widened, too, at the sight of the great ruby on Gabrielle’s breast.
‘Welcome to London, my dear Miss Frost. You will soon find yourself quite at home, I am certain.’ She favoured Gray with a coy look that managed to imply that he was a cunning dog to have attached himself to the heiress so promptly and then they were past and into the main reception room.
Gray took a deep breath and surveyed the throng. The room was already crowded and warm, the scent of expensive perfumes, hothouse flowers and hot beeswax mingling with the smell of food and wine and, far less pleasantly, hot humanity.
It was his duty as escort to present Gabrielle to the hostesses who would invite her to the most select parties and, he supposed, to anyone she might find useful for her wine business. That would have to be more discreet, avoiding any hint of trade, but he could probably rely on Gabrielle to manage the situation once he had pointed her in the right direction.
Her gown attracted attention, and some compliments, from the various matrons they met. Gabrielle was charming, poised, and, he was certain, would be a success. Lady Parslow introduced her to a small group of younger people, including her own recently married daughter and Gray decided he could leave her to her own devices for a while. Besides any other consideration he did not want to appear as anything but the escort her aunt had happened to select for her that evening.
‘Abandoning the heiress, old chap? Not good tactics, not until you’ve got her firmly attached. Too many interested hounds sniffing around.’ It was Freddie Stansfield again, this time with two mutual friends, Lord Peter de Clare and Malcolm Fitzwalter.
‘I am not fortune hunting,’ Gray said mildly, cursing mentally. That was precisely what he did not want to appear to be doing. ‘Simply doing my godmother a favour by squiring Miss Frost about until she finds her feet.’
‘She is certainly an original, and a beauty,’ de Clare said and they turned to watch Gabrielle as she stood laughing at something one of the young men clustered around her was saying.
