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“Yes,” she said slowly. “That’s what I thought. Thank you for the kiss. Good night.”
Thank you for the kiss. Good night.
Ramsey lay in his bed on Brook Street and wondered who in the hell said things like that? Who in the hell barged in on a man’s solitude, took his orange, kissed him in a way he would never forget, and then walked away again?
Two weeks later he read about her engagement to McCullough in theTimes. He’d been so angry he’d balled it up and stuffed it in the fire. The men seated near him at his club had paused for a moment in their discussions and returned to them again without comment.
He’d seen her again, of course. He’d been at the bloody wedding, but they’d barely exchanged pleasantries. At one point Ramsey wondered if he’d dreamed the whole incident in Exeter’s greenhouse.
But not after tonight. Her lips were the same. She didn’t smell like oranges anymore. Tonight she smelled like lilies.
And he couldn’t get her or the damn fragrance out of his head.
With a curse, he rose, stalked into his dressing room and stuffed himself into a coat and trousers. If he couldn’t sleep, he could walk. If he didn’t feel like walking anymore, he could drink.
God knew Gabrielle McCullough was the least of his troubles. He had more than a bottle could drown.
Chapter 3
Sunlight streamed through the dining room on Audley Street where Gabrielle sat sipping tea alone. She’d always loved this room—its yellow papered walls, its cheery white curtains. Somehow it managed to remain cool in summer and warm and cozy in winter.
She stared down the length of the table and tried to picture George seated at the other end, reading theTimesand drinking tea. No, coffee. He’d preferred coffee. He’d been dead only a year, and already she was forgetting him. Of course, she wasn’t trying very hard to remember.
The door banged opened and Lady Diana swept in with her usual grace and flair for the dramatic. The youngest daughter of the powerful Duke of Exeter wore a striped redingote with a large caped collar, a white muslin gown, and a hat extravagantly plumed and beribboned in apple green to match the coat. Her raven black hair gleamed in a simple twist disappearing under the wide brim of the hat. Her brown eyes, the exact color of the mahogany dining table, sparkled with laughter. “I hope you don’t mind me showing myself in.”
“You practically own the place. Why not?”
Diana waved a hand. “What’s a few hundred pounds between friends?”
“Quite a lot, actually.”
“Oh well.” She shrugged and took the seat offered by the footman to Gabrielle’s right. “Now you have servants again, so the blunt was worth it.” She sat forward eagerly. “I have already been to my milliner’s. She’s almost finished with the blue-and-white-striped gown. I think I shall wear it tomorrow night at Lord Winterbourne’s ball. What do you think?”
Gabrielle sipped her tea. “I think you will look stunning, as always.”
Diana scanned Gabrielle’s simple chemise, but before speaking she waited until the footman departed. “Is Cressy joining us this morning, or did you wish to set off for Montagu House directly?”
Gabrielle sipped her tea again. This was the moment she’d been dreading since she’d arrived home last night. She was thankful for Diana. No one could be a better friend. She’d helped in every way imaginable after George passed away, including making it possible for Gabrielle to remain in the London town house. And Gabrielle appreciated all her friend had done. She had no desire to move back to Swansea with her mother and father—even if she could have done so without bringing her own problems crashing down on them. But this morning, when Gabrielle felt an abject failure, she might not have minded a little solitude.
“We’re not going to the British Museum.”
Diana’s eyes widened. “No? Did you already turn it over? Oh, Gabby! I wanted to see it.”
“I didn’t turn it over. I don’t have it.”
Diana stared at her, narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
Irritation at having to repeat herself flashed through her. “I mean, I don’t have it!”
“Don’t have what?” Mrs. Cress said from the doorway, large red hands on ample hips. “Good morning, Lady Diana.”
“Good morning, Cressy. Is that a new dress?”
The housekeeper smiled down at the dark blue dress peeking out under the starched apron she wore when polishing silver, and Gabrielle realized it was indeed new. It suited Cressy’s pretty blue eyes.
“It might be.” Her gaze snapped to the footman, who had just reentered the room. “Why doesn’t Lady Diana have chocolate?”
The footman mumbled and scrambled to pour the beverage immediately. Gabrielle shook her head. Leave it to Mrs. Cress and Diana to take a perfectly quiet, lazy morning and shake it up like a dusty rug.
