poor dear looked quite harassed beneath her puce turban and its nodding peacock feather. Well, she would. She was supposed to keep a close eye on her and Mooreshead. At least until they were sure he suspected nothing. A cornered man was more than risky.
‘Do you ride?’ she asked with one eye on the widow’s imminent arrival. ‘I usually go to Hyde Park at seven in the morning. Before it is busy.’
His eyes gleamed with wickedness. ‘So, you like to gallop.’ The innuendo was not lost on her, but she chose to ignore it.
After a brief hesitation, he continued smoothly. ‘I’ll take you up in my carriage at six. Bring your horse and your groom. We will breakfast afterwards.’
She smiled her acceptance of the invitation as Mrs Featherstone arrived at their table. Mooreshead rose to his feet and offered the older lady a chair with a bow and a charming smile. If he felt the slightest irritation at their lack of privacy, it did not show. Exquisite manners were his forte. But a storm lurked beneath the unruffled surface. She could feel it battering against her skin.
As was usual among the English, the conversation turned to the weather. Certainly no one was ever ill-bred enough to mention the war.
The discovery of the Countess Vilandry’s dwelling required little effort on Gabe’s part. Her location in Golden Square was known by all and sundry. While not exactly desirable, the location was respectable. Her companion, Mrs Featherstone, was an unknown and generally described as bit of a mushroom. Not that Gabe put much store by stuffy conventions. While the countess might be considered fast, and a little risqué, his enquiries into her background and her obvious acceptance into society had made him wonder if his suspicions might be wrong.
Sceptre had been unable to tell him anything, good or bad.
Émigrés were nothing unusual these days. London seethed with refugees from Bonaparte’s vision of France. The more he had thought about it, the more certain he had become that neither side was so stupid as to send anyone so obvious against him. Or was his reluctance to believe it the result of the smouldering attraction low in his gut every time he brought her to mind. Wanting a woman that much was dangerous to any man’s sanity, but in his case it was completely out of character. The few relationships he had allowed since returning from France had been fleeting, an integral part of establishing his persona. Nevertheless, after Armande’s warning, he could not afford to ignore such an obvious play for his attention. Not now when one stumble, one error in judgement, would bring down his carefully erected house of cards.
He drew his carriage up at her front door, pleased to see a waiting groom mounted on a staid-looking hack holding the reins of a showy little black mare who showed the whites of her eyes at the sight of his curricle. His tiger, Jimmy, jumped down and went to his horses’ heads at the same moment the front door opened and the countess stepped out in a riding habit of pale blue that showed off her curvaceous figure to perfection. A curly brimmed beaver adorned with a veil set on severely styled hair made her look naughty.
Gabe leapt down and strode up the steps to meet her. He bowed. ‘Good morning, Countess. I am encouraged by your promptness.’
A corner of her mouth curled upwards. ‘Don’t be, mon cher Mooreshead. My Peridot does not like to be kept waiting.’
‘Your mare is as beautiful as her mistress.’
‘And far more impatient.’
He chuckled. She was clearly a woman skilled in the art of flirtation with a lively wit. She would keep his thoughts from growing too dark for an hour or two. She might even be willing to slake his lust. His body hardened. He quelled his surge of desire with ruthless determination. He had other more important matters on his mind. Like leaving London for Cornwall at the earliest opportunity, which he would do as soon as he was sure the countess was harmless.
Taking her hand, he escorted her down the steps onto the flagstones. ‘Then I must not keep either of you waiting. I have ordered our breakfast for nine.’
Her blue eyes sparkled. ‘You are very forward, milor’.’
He inclined his head. ‘Faint heart does not win fair lady.’ He gestured to the curricle. ‘May I assist you?’
‘Certainement.’
As he lifted her, his fingers spanned her slender waist and, despite her very feminine curves, he was aware of the lithe strength beneath his hands. A woman who rode frequently and hard.
Once more his body stirred at an image of the kind of riding she might enjoy that would involve them being alone together. Between the sheets. Once more the urgency of his visceral response surprised him. He was without doubt going to enjoy their association, no matter how brief.
He walked around to his side of the carriage and climbed up. ‘Your man will follow behind?’
‘He will.’
‘Let ’em go, Jimmy,’ Gabe said. The little tiger jumped clear and Gabe set his horses in motion.
Countess Vilandry frowned. ‘Your tiger does not come with us?’
Yes, this lady was unusually quick witted. ‘We have your groom.’
‘Yes, but who will mind your horses while we ride? Oh!’ She laughed. ‘You, Milor’ Mooreshead, are a very bad man.’
He grinned at her. ‘I’ve been on the town a long time, Countess. I have not failed to learn how to make the most of the company of a lovely and enticing woman.’
She settled herself more comfortably on the seat. ‘I do not respond well to flattery.’
‘And if it is the truth, Countess?’
She shook her head. ‘Incorrigible.’ She said it the French way and the caress in her voice was unmistakable. Velvet and honey and fine old brandy wrapped up in one word.
‘But you should know, Milor’ Mooreshead,’ she continued as he wove between the slow traffic of carters and tradesmen about their business, ‘your reputation precedes you. I have been warned that there isn’t a lady in London who does not fear for her virtue when you smile her way.’
‘Call me Gabe,’ he said, deliberately avoiding her teasing glance by pretending to concentrate on feathering between two slow-moving vehicles.
‘Gabe?’
‘Short for Gabriel.’
‘A devil named for an angel? Très amusant.’
‘Indeed. But do not tell me you did not already know.’ She had to know his name. And he would not have her think him an idiot. Nor did he want to play word games. Or not much anyway. He wanted his suspicions put to rest. Though that didn’t make a scrap of sense, when he needed to learn just who had been sent and by whom. It really would be so much easier if she was the one. He could deal with her today and leave for Cornwall first thing in the morning. He turned his head and gave her a quizzical smile so he could read her expression.
Her eyes danced with amusement as if she had nothing on her mind but easy
