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Staring at the glass in his hand, Gabriel swallowed the painful truth that he was hiding, hiding from the world, from Ana and himself. Was the fear of falling in love—of loving another and being loved—the albatross around his neck?
If anything, Ana deserved the truth.
Setting the glass down, Gabriel sighed, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and rub his face. “You think so?”
“I know so,” David replied, “And listen, if I find myself in your position any day, I give you full permission to slap some sense into me too. Agreed.”
Looking up, Gabriel swallowed, “Agreed.”
Arriving at Knighton’s ball, Gabriel expected he would draw attention after his disappearance the week before, but he didn’t expect every eye in the room to be locked on his form. Nevertheless, he didn’t care about them—he only needed to find Anastasia, and find her he did while she was waltzing with the braggart Portland.
His teeth ground in frustration, but he decided to wait…and wait… and wait. Every time he made to claim her for a dance, another lord claimed her hand. Shunned to the side, Gabriel could only admire her from afar.
The empire-style-cut gown was a deep emerald satin with a cream tulle overlaying it and matching lace embroidery at the hem and bodice completed the ensemble to perfection. He had to speak with her—it was a must—but with no pause in sight, he ventured up to the upper balcony to wait and think.
What will I tell her? Is she ready to leave already? Will I let her go if she is?
He heard whispers from just beyond the mouth of the balcony, and while the hushed voices—a man and a woman—sounded familiar, he could not quite place them.
“…have you made an impression on her?”
“I have, and I assume your other half of the plan is still set?”
“Well,” the woman agreed, “he is here, so yes, the plan is in place. You’ll get the one-up on that man, and I’ll get this tart to stop usurping my place.”
Gabriel snorted—typical machinations to ruin some poor lady’s life from a jealous party. Themodus operandiof most ton women. He turned away as the two went off, and after what could have been a quarter of an hour, he went to rejoin the ball—but he couldn’t find Ana. Even after three turns around the room, he saw no sign of her.
What had happened? Had she left?
Gabriel stood alone, watching the swirl of dancing couples with a frown marring his handsome brow as he contemplated how to find Anastasia.
A hand grabbed his arm, and he turned to find Margaret. “Your Grace,” Margaret gasped dramatically, “Ana has taken ill, and she is asking for you.”
Alarmed, he asked, “Where is she?”
“I will show you.” She took his arm, and Gabriel followed willingly even though he would not usually allow such liberties.
“When did she become ill?” he asked as Margaret tugged him out of the ballroom, through the main hall, and up the main stairs.
“She’d been dancing all night, and then, she said she felt lightheaded and weak. She has not been eating much for the past week, Your Grace,” Margaret said worriedly. “She is in here.”
Opening a door and tugging him through, Margaret took him into an empty library, and at that moment, Gabriel knew he had been tricked and was in trouble.
He turned to face Margaret and scowled as the clock clicked. “What is going on? Where is Ana?”
“She is getting what she deserves,” the girl said as she dropped the metal key down her bodice. “If you want to open the door, you must fish it out.”
“Are you a fool?” he demanded. “Open the door, Margaret.”
“No.” She pouted prettily and rested a hand on his chest. He smacked her hand away, but she smiled seductively. “That tart has clouded your mind, and I’m going to change it.”
“Tart, you mean yourcousinAnastasia?” he growled. “What are you talking about, Margaret? Where is Ana?”
“I shan’t tell you,” she replied. “How is it that the moment she waltzes into town, she grabs your eyes when I have tried to show you that I am your best choice for years, yet you have not even looked at me twice. What else could I do except this to get you to be with me? You need a good woman, and if you throw it away on that country-fed, trollop wench—”
“Watch your tongue,” Gabriel growled.
“No!” Margaret stomped her foot. “You’ll see that I am better!”
