Gabe of their strolls through Brussels’ streets, but only in contrast. Gone was the ease between them, the pleasure of merely walking at her side. Still, he was struck with the odd feeling of how right it seemed that they walked together again.
He must take care. It was startling how easily his fantasies about her grew. He must not forget that her sole purpose was to save her son and she would do anything to rescue him from his folly.
Even marry.
Gabe tried to keep that thought in his head. It helped ward off fanciful musings.
The Albany was a popular bachelor residence for the aristocracy, so it stood to reason top-lofty Edwin would live there.
When they reached Piccadilly, Emmaline remarked, “There are many shops here.”
Gabe made a sarcastic smile. “Did not your Napoleon call En gland a nation of shopkeepers?”
“He is not my Napoleon,” she snapped. Her voice turned low. “Never my Napoleon.”
The Albany was set back from the street, a three-storey house flanked on two sides of a courtyard by wings two storeys high. They crossed the courtyard, Emmaline receiving curious and appreciative glances from the young gentlemen they passed. Gabe disliked their open admiration.
He led her through the main doorway and found a servant attending the hall.
“Is Edwin Tranville here?” Gabe asked the man.
“Cannot say,” he answered. “I do not know of all the comings and goings. Shall I send someone to his room?”
“Please,” Gabe answered.
The man made a vague gesture towards the wall. “You may wait here.”
Gabe endured Emmaline receiving more leering glances by men who passed by. She nervously fingered the front of her dress, which did nothing to keep him from thinking about how pleasurable it had once been to undress her.
“I do not wish to see him,” she murmured.
Gabe’s compassion was sparked again. “If you like, I can escort you back to your hotel and return here later.”
She shook her head. “I do not wish to delay.”
Two men crossed the hall and this time their glances at Emmaline were plainly lascivious. Gabe nearly stepped forwards to defend her.
He controlled the impulse. It would help nothing to engage impertinent young men in fisticuffs.
Finally the servant returned, another man accompanying him.
This man approached them. “You asked for Mr Tranville?”
Gabe nodded. “We did.”
“Mr Tranville is not here. I am his man. May I ask the reason you are calling upon him?”
Gabe responded, “I served with him in the Royal Scots.”
The valet looked at Emmaline and raised his brows.
Good God. Even a valet was being insulting. Gabe glared at him. “My betrothed accompanies me at my request. Do you have some objection?”
The valet’s cheeks turned bright red. “I beg your pardon, Captain.”
“When will Mr Tranville return?” Gabe demanded.
The valet pulled on his collar. “I do not know precisely.
He has travelled out of town. I am awaiting instructions from him whether he wishes me to follow him.”
Gabe frowned. He should have known Edwin would make this complicated. “Where is he?”
“I do not know precisely,” the valet answered. “I am awaiting his direction.”
“Non!” Emmaline exclaimed.
Gabe spoke quickly. “Someone must know where Tranville went. Is there anyone here who might know?”
The valet shook his head. “I do not know if he is acquainted with anyone here.”
“But we must find him!” cried Emmaline.
Gabe put a stilling hand on her arm. “Is his father in London at present?”
“I do not believe so,” the valet answered. “I believe he is at his estate.”
Gabe turned to Emmaline. “It is no use.”
She looked stricken, but there was nothing more they could do here now. She held back, but finally nodded. She took his arm and they started to walk towards the door.
The valet called after them, “Mr Tranville’s cousin resides in London. Perhaps she knows where he is.”
Emmaline’s fingers squeezed Gabe’s arm. Her expression turned hopeful.
“Where may we find her?”
The valet gave them her direction on Bryanston Street. “Her name is Miss Pallant.”
Gabe and Emmaline walked out of the Albany and back to Piccadilly Street.
“May we call upon this Miss Pallant?” Emmaline asked him.
He felt as if in a snare, but one he’d chosen to walk into. “We may go there as soon as you wish.” “Now, Gabriel?” Her eyes pleaded. “Now, Emmaline.”
Emmaline leaned back against the worn leather of the hackney coach, grateful to Gabriel for hiring it. Her feet hurt from trying to keep pace with him when they walked. When they’d strolled through Brussels he’d never walked so fast.
She supposed she ought not to repine too much about Brussels and how rapturous her time with him had been. Matters were so altered between them now.
His reaction to her bargain to become his wife had not been at all what she had expected. She thought she was offering him what he desired, but it only seemed to make him angrier at her. Did he not know that if it were not for Claude, she would have married him long ago?
She touched the ring she wore beneath her dress, the one that reminded her daily of how important to her he had been.
And still was.
Sitting next to him in the carriage was difficult. She could feel the heat of his body, inhale his scent, feel every breath he took, every flexing of muscle. Being so close reminded her of tangled sheets and naked skin and the glorious nights she’d spent enfolded in his arms.
Now he avoided touching her and the space between them on the carriage seat seemed to crackle with unpleasant emotions.
The coach stopped and he glanced out the window. “We are here.”
He
