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Grunting, Gabriel entered his carriage. “So, what about Miss Thompson?”
“That,” David’s lips curled, “is for another time.”
Opting to shelf that conversation for later, Gabriel gave the command to drive off, sat back, and felt something curl in his chest. In less than a sennight, he had broken four of his cardinal rules—including that last one about not offering promises. He had just given the lady’s aunt assurance that Anastasia would leave this ‘courtship’ unblemished, but Gabriel knew it would not be the same for him.
CHAPTER5
Rule Five: Jealousy is for other men
There are chances all around us; no woman shall hold one’s tether.
—Gabriel William
A Rake’s Rules
Stepping into Lady Winterton’s ball, Anastasia wished she could go back to her aunt’s home and change her gown. The washed-ivory silk gathered under the bosom and fell in a soft, graceful column to her slippers while the delicate puff sleeves bared most of her shoulders, and the neckline was trimmed with lace.
The problem was that the silk hugged her body like a glove, and she felt almost exposed.
“Don’t worry,” Victoria said while brushing a hand down her gown that flowed over her body like a waterfall. “Your dress is the newest fashion, nothing shameful about it.”
“This material is as modest as a courtesan performing her nightly duties,” Anastasia said dryly. “It is practically see-through.”
The ballroom décor was subtle and luxurious without being overdone. The room had gilded ivory wallpaper and tiered chandeliers shimmering with faceted glass; marble columns made the room look expansive while potted plants of jasmine and gardenia created nooks for intimate conversation.
“I wonder if His Grace is here already,” Victoria pondered while scanning the room.
“Speaking of him,” Anastasia asked, her heart skipping a bit at the thought of Gabriel, “You never got around to telling me what umbrage you have with Lord Gladhame.”
“I would prefer not to mention it,” Victoria responded, her cheekbones blooming pink.
That was certainly another evasion, but Anastasia was not going to push; she despised when others tried to pry into her private thoughts, so she would not do the same to her friend.
“Oh, there he is,” Victoria nodded over to the champagne fountain, and certainly, there Gabriel was, dressed to perfection in a dark ballroom suit with a rich sapphire waistcoat that emphasized the breadth of his torso. His pristinely tied cravat was studded with a single blue gem.
He looked nonchalant while talking to another lord, but Anastasia detected an unnatural rigidity to his shoulders as if someone had jabbed a rod if iron between his shoulder-blades. A tick was jumping at his clean-shaven jaw and tight lines bracketed his eyes—something was bothering him, but what?
“And there he is as well,” Anastasia nodded to Lord Gladhame, Gabriel’s friend or maybe partner-in-crime.
It was not lost on her how the two seemed to play to each other’s tune, how they picked up when the other fell short, and how they lied for each other.
Gladhame is another rake—they probably share the same rules Gabriel had once hinted to me.
“Of course, he is,” Victoria muttered, not bitterly, not hurt but more like… exhausted? What was it about him that tired her so? “Two peas in a pod, they are.”
Margaret was clad in a lovely blue silk gown with a bodice that was so low that her breasts threatened to spill from her gown.
Coquettishly, Margaret pulled out her silk fan and began to talk—or flirt, Anastasia assumed as she had not experienced with such things—to Gabriel. He looked stoic, polite but uninterested in whatever her cousin had to say, while at times, his gaze roamed over Margaret’s shoulder, seeing—and latching unto—Anastasia.
He said a few words to Margaret, bowed, and strode over to Anastasia. His purposeful stride had people stepping aside, parting like oil upon water. Gazes flung to her, but Gabriel did not seem to notice—or care. His hair was rakishly tousled, and he inclined his head to her instead of bowing.
“You’re breathtaking tonight,” he murmured, his hungry gaze roving over her hair and face. Anastasia had the feeling that though the look was quick, he had not missed a single thing. “How are you?”
“I think I should be asking you that question,” Anastasia reflected the question thoughtfully. “You seem brittle.”
His lips thinned. “I have some concerns ruminating through my mind, but that is not here nor there. Will you dance with me?”
“Certainly.”
