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“Feel free to start speaking, darling,” he said, feigning nonchalance. “We don’t have all night. Unless you are interested in some late-night exercising, in which case, I’d ask you to make haste as well.”
He punctuated his words with an appraising gaze he sent her way from the top of her head to the soles of her boots. The Duchess of Somerset regarded him with a haughty, bored look, the one she’d probably learned from her grandfather while she was still in her crib, and carefully lowered herself into a chair. The effect was somewhat ruined by a shiver that passed through her. Probably the warmth of the fire chasing away the chills.
“My lord—” she began.
Gabriel interrupted with a scoff. “By all means, let’s be formal,” he said sarcastically. “Since you are in my bedchamber in the dead of night, you might as well call me Gabriel.”
“This isn’t your bedchamber,” she said skeptically, looking around.
“My bedroom is through these doors.” Gabriel gestured with a wave of his hand. “This sitting room is part of a bedroom suite.”
“Very well.” She demurely folded her hands on her lap, a picture of a proper young lady in a devil’s den. “Gabriel, in that case, you can call me Evie.”
“I’ll call you whatever I like, pet.” St. Clare sent her an appraising look again.
“Right. I forgot; it’s too much of trouble for you to remember a lady’s name. Isn’t it?” She had the gall to smirk at him.
“Listen, love, you showed up at my house, in the middle of the night, after being the reason for the ruin of my reputation”—she gave a ladylike snort. Gabriel narrowed his eyes—“my reputation, which led me to a loss of my fortune. So, you better get to the point and then get out.”
“I believe your reputation was ruined long before I was born, my lord. But I concede, I played a part in the loss of your fortune, however unwittingly. And this is the reason I am here,” she said with all the dignity of a queen.
“Oh?” He raised his brow.
“I came here to propose a bargain.” She looked at him down the length of her pretty freckled nose. A queen offering her lowly servant a scrap of leftover food. Then she ruined the effect by sneezing into her sleeve. Twice.
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “For God’s sakes, get rid of those sodden boots of yours and sit closer to the fire.” He got to his feet and walked to his bedroom door. He showed up a moment later with an afghan wrapped over his arm. Evie already moved the heavy chair closer to the fire and snuggled in it, drawing her feet under her buttocks. He knelt before her and tucked the blanket around her, taking advantage to caress her tiny waist and hips. Another shiver passed through her. He walked to the sideboard, filled a glass of whisky, and handed it to her.
“Drink.” He stared right into her surprised, wide eyes.
“I don’t—” She tried to hand the glass back to him, but he turned and settled back in his chair.
“Drink. You need to get warm and fast. Otherwise, you’ll catch a cold. And trust me when I say I shan’t be sitting by your bedside feeding you chicken soup.”
She grumbled something under her breath, then took a sip and started coughing as the burning liquid passed through her throat.
Gabriel chuckled. “A little more,” he coaxed, and to his surprise, she obeyed, taking another sip before lowering the glass to the floor. “You were saying?”
“Yes, right.” She cleared her throat. “I have a business proposition for you.”
“Business proposition? Does it involve asking another woman for a favor? Perhaps in return for a tryst at her ball? Because if so, I refuse. Once is quite enough.”
“I promise you, this proposition doesn’t involve any trysts.”
She was calm and composed again, hands demurely folded on her lap. Only the red in the crests of her cheeks signaled the warmth of the whisky coursing through her blood. Her lush lips returned to their regular rosy pink. Her flame-colored hair started drying and curling at the base. She was the picture of innocence, somehow mixed with the picture of pure seduction. Although for Gabriel, even a saint would be the perfect picture of seduction.
“Then, I am definitely not interested,” he said.
“I promise you will find it worth your while.”
“Very well.” Gabriel let out a weary sigh. “Go on.”
“As you know, I am a duchess in my own right,” she said, looking him squarely in the eyes.
He did know that. It was a rare occurrence indeed when a female became an heir to the peerage. Thus were the terms of the Somerset title upon its inception, though. And Gabriel had to agree. There was no better lady to become a duchess. Evie was born for the role.
He made sure not to react to her words, however. He knelt to take his glass of whisky back and took a sip.
“Besides the title and the lands, my grandfather left me quite a lot of money,” she continued.
