A Secret Love

  And she didn’t like Crowley. The thought of meeting him at night alone and cut off from help was the substance of nightmares. He was evil. She’d sensed it very clearly, watching him as he’d watched Gerrard Debbington, seeing the cruel gleam in his eyes. Gabriel had said Crowley liked to gloat over his potential victims, but it was more than that. He viewed people as prey. There was viciousness and real cruelty beneath his semicivilized veneer.

  She wanted him as far away from her family as possible.

  All things considered—and she did mean all—the only sensible way forward was to find the needed proofs without delay. Then Crowley would no longer be a threat, and the countess could fade into the mists.

  “Fangak. Lodwar. What was the other one?” Sitting at her desk, she drew a sheet of paper onto the blotter and reached for a pen. “Kafia—that was it.”

  She wrote the names down, then settled to list all the names and locations she could recall Crowley mentioning.

  “Mary? Alice?” Alathea peeked into Mary’s bedchamber, where her elder stepsisters often repaired when they were supposed to be resting. Sure enough, both were lolling on the bed wearing identical expressions of disgusted boredom. They both lifted their heads to look at her.

  Alathea grinned. “I’m going to Hatchard’s. Serena said you could come if you wished.”

  Mary sat bolt upright. “They have a lending library, don’t they?”

  Alice was already rolling from the bed. “I’ll come.”

  Alathea watched them scramble into shoes, struggle into spencers, grab bonnets, casting only the most perfunctory of glances at their reflections. “There is a lending library, but before you go looking for Mrs. Radcliffe’s latest, I want you to help me find some books.”

  “On what?” Alice asked as she joined her at the door.

  “On Africa.”

  “That was boring.” On a long-drawn yawn, Jeremy sank deeper into the seat of the hackney and leaned against Alathea’s shoulder. “I thought they would have known about digging up gold. All they wanted to talk about was melting it.”

  “Hmm.” Alathea grimaced. She’d thought the gentlemen at the Metallurgical Institute would have known about mining, too. Unfortunately, the academy, whose sign she’d glimpsed when walking with Mary and Alice, had proved to focus solely on refining metals and the subsequent workings. The good gentlemen had known less than she about gold mining in Central East Africa. Despite reading late into the night, she knew virtually nothing about the subject.

  Alathea glanced at Augusta, snuggled on her other side with Rose propped on her lap. At least Augusta was happy, unconcerned with mining gold. “How’s Rose?”

  “Rose is good.” Augusta looked at Rose’s face, then turned her once more to the window. “She’s seeing more of the city—it’s crowded and noisy, but she feels safe in here with me and you.”

  Alathea smiled, closing her hand around the small fingers snuggled trustingly into hers. “That’s good. Rose is growing up—she’ll be a big girl soon.”

  “But not yet.” Augusta looked into her face. “Do you think Miss Helm will be all better when we get back?”

  Miss Helm had developed the sniffles, which was why Alathea had Augusta with her. “I’m sure Miss Helm will be recovered by tomorrow, but you and Rose must be very good with her this evening.”

  “Oh, we will.” Augusta turned Rose’s face to hers. “We’ll be specially good. We won’t even say she has to read to us before bed.”

  “I’ll come and read to you, poppet.”

  “But you have to go to the ball.” Alathea stroked Augusta’s hair. “I’ll come and read to you first—I can go on later in the other carriage.”

  “I say!” Jeremy jerked upright, staring out of the window. “Look at that!”

  Alathea did—it took a moment before she realized what she was looking at. “It’s a pedestrian curricle—at least, I suppose that’s what it is.”

  She’d heard of the contraptions. Both she and Jeremy leaned close to the window, with Augusta pressing between; they all watched the gentleman in a natty checkered coat balanced precariously above the large wheel weave in and out of the traffic until he disappeared from view.

  “Well!” Eyes alight, Jeremy sank back.

  Alathea looked at his face. “No.”

  Her tone was absolute; Jeremy’s face fell. “But, Allie—just think—”

  “I am—I’m thinking of your mother.”

  “I wouldn’t fall off—I’d be extra specially careful.”

  Alathea met his eye. “Just like you were extra specially careful when I allowed you to drive the gig?”

  “I only got tipped in the river—and anyway, that was old Dobbins’s fault.”

  Alathea held her tongue. The hackney rolled on, taking them back into the fashionable district. As they turned into Mount Street, she glanced again at Jeremy’s face. He was still dreaming of the dangerous contraption; she knew he wouldn’t let go of his dream until he’d experienced it, or something worse. He was adventurous, the sort who simply had to try things out. It was a compulsion she understood.

  “Pedestrian curricles have been around for some years.” Her musing comment had Jeremy turning, his eyes lighting. She met his bright gaze. “I’ll ask your mama. Perhaps Folwell can find one—”

  “Whoopee!”

  “On one condition.”

  Jeremy stopped bouncing on the seat, but his eyes still glowed. “What condition?”

  “That you promise not to use it in town at all, but only once we’re back at Morwellan Park.” Where the lawns were thick and cushioning.

  Jeremy considered for only a moment. “All right. I promise.”

  Alathea nodded as the carriage rocked to a stop before Morwellan House. “Very well. I’ll speak with your mama.”

  Propping up the wall at yet another ball, Alathea stifled a yawn. She blinked her eyes wide, struggling to keep them open; she’d spent the past two nights reading into the small hours after the rest of the household was abed. It was the only time she had to herself to wade through the tomes she’d found on Africa.

  Central East Africa, however, continued to elude her. What little she could find on the region was largely speculative, and exceedingly scant on detail.

  A familiar head of burnished chestnut hove into sight above the masses. The most peculiar thrill shot through her; she immediately looked for cover. There was not a palm or shadowy alcove anywhere near. Besides, that might not be wise. Getting trapped with him in the shadows was likely to scramble her wits.

  Beneath her skirts, she bent her knees and sank just enough so that she was no longer so readily detected by her height. Through gaps in the horrendous crush, she caught glimpses of Gabriel as he prowled the room.

  For some peculiar reason, at least viewing him from a distance, he seemed like a different man. She could see, appreciate, aspects of him she hadn’t truly noticed before, like the perfection of his restrained elegance, and the subtle aura of leashed power that cloaked his tall frame. And his reserve, that distance, apparently unbreachable, that he maintained between himself and the world.

  He was bored—truly bored. She could see why Celia and the ladies of the ton despaired. They were right in thinking he didn’t see them at all; from the way his face was set, the steadiness of his gaze, she would have wagered Morwellan Park that he was thinking more of Central East Africa than of a glittering ballroom in Mayfair.

  One lady braved his detachment and put her hand on his sleeve. He smiled, urbanely charming; gracefully, he lifted her hand and bowed over it. Straightening, he exchanged a light word, some quip to set the lady laughing, hoping . . . only to be disappointed as with no more than that superficiality, he smoothly moved on.

  He was a master at sliding through a crowd, refusing to be anchored, ineffably polite, arrogantly assured, and utterly impossible.

  “Alathea! Good gracious, my dear—what peculiar fetish do you have with walls?”

  Abruptly straightenin
g, Alathea looked around—into Celia Cynster’s startled eyes. “I was . . . just easing my legs.”

  Celia gave her a hard, inherently maternal stare, but was distracted by a glimpse of her firstborn through the crowd. “There he is! I made him promise to attend—he’s been to hardly any balls this entire Season—well, only family affairs. How on earth does he expect to find a wife?”

  “I don’t think securing a wife is uppermost in his mind.”

  Celia nearly pouted. “Well, he had better get started on the matter—he’s not getting any younger.”

  Alathea kept her lips sealed.

  “Lady Hendricks has been dropping hints that her daughter Emily might suit.”

  An image of the lovely Miss Hendricks popped into Alathea’s mind. The young lady was sweet, modest, and excessively quiet. “Don’t you think she’s a little too timid?”

  “Of course she’s too timid! Rupert wouldn’t know what to do with her—and she certainly wouldn’t know what to do with him.”

  Alathea hid a smile. “Are you really entertaining any hope that some lady will be able to influence Rupert? He’s the least easy to influence person I know.”

  Celia sighed. “Believe me, my dear, the right lady could do a great deal with Rupert, because, you see, he’d let her.”

  “Lady Alathea!”

  Blinking, Alathea refocused on Mary and Alice, strolling with Heather and Eliza ahead of her on the lawns. It was clearly not they who had called. Looking around, she discovered two blond beauties rushing to catch her up. Both held on to elegant bonnets, ribbons streaming in the breeze; profusions of golden ringlets danced on their shoulders.

  Recognizing the twins, Alathea halted. She’d been introduced to them at a ball, but they hadn’t had a chance for any lengthy chat.

  Gaining her side, the twins waved at their cousins, then turned beaming smiles upon her as they flanked her. Alathea got the distinct impression she’d been captured.

  “We wondered if we might speak with you,” one began.

  Alathea smiled, a shrewd suspicion of what was to come dawning in her mind. “You’ll have to take pity on me—I can’t remember which of you is which.”

  “I’m Amelia,” the one who’d spoken testified.

  “And I’m Amanda,” the other said, making it sound like a confession. “We wondered if you’d mind giving us your opinion.”

  “On what subject?”

  “Well, you’ve known Gabriel and Lucifer since they were young. We’ve decided that the only way we’ll be able to escape them and find our own husbands is for them to get married, so we wanted to ask if you could give us any pointers.”

  “Any hints as to who might be suitable—”

  “Or characteristics to avoid, like being hen-brained.”

  “Although that does narrow the candidates.”

  Alathea looked from one bright face to the other—they were earnest, eager, and totally serious. She stifled a gurgle of laughter. “You want to marry them off so they’ll no longer be in your way?”

  “So they’ll no longer guard us like the crown jewels!”

  “We’ve heard,” Amelia said darkly, “that some gentlemen won’t even come near us, simply because of the ructions that might ensue.”

  “They actually cross us off their lists, right from the first, all because of those two!” Amanda all but shook her fist at her absent cousins. “How on earth can we reasonably assess all the possibilities—”

  “And make sure they’ve assessed us properly, too—”

  “If our watchdogs are forever snarling—”

  “And they always snarl loudest at the most interesting gentlemen!”

  “Well,” Amanda went on, “you know what gentlemen are like. If there’s the least hurdle, then they simply won’t bother exerting themselves.”

  “Well, they don’t need to, do they? There’s always so many other ladies about for whom they need exert themselves not at all.”

  “So you see, when it comes to eligibility, we’re laboring under an unfair disadvantage.”

  “Oh, dear.” Alathea fought to straighten her lips. “You know, I really don’t think Gabriel and Lucifer would like you to think of them as an ‘unfair disadvantage.’ ” She suspected they’d be hurt, their male egos bruised.

  Amanda kicked at the grass. “Well, we don’t plan on telling them, but that doesn’t excuse the fact. They are a disadvantage.”

  “And they are unfair, too.”

  Alathea didn’t argue—she thought the same. They were being pigheadedly unfair, refusing to see that Amanda and Amelia had any modicum of sense and, regardless of all else, had every right to choose their own husbands. The way Gabriel and Lucifer had always treated her—as an equal companion—stood in stark contrast to how they treated the twins. Although they’d always interposed themselves between her and any threat, they hadn’t tried to stop her from encountering those threats.

  Looking up, she checked her charges ambling ahead; all four girls were engrossed in some avid discussion. Alathea glanced at the twins—at Amanda, scowling at the grass as she walked, then at Amelia, softer of face but with the same determined set to her chin. “Why do you think their marrying will help?”

  Amanda looked up. “Well, it has with all the others. They’re no longer a problem.”

  “All you have to do is look, and you’ll see it. Why, Devil was the worst, but he’s so much easier now.”

  “Once they marry, it’s as if all their attention is focused on the lady they wed.”

  “And their families.”

  Alathea pondered that.

  “We think we should concentrate on Gabriel first.”

  “Simply because he’s the elder.” Amelia glanced at Alathea. “Do you think that’s the right tack?”

  Alathea considered the picture of Gabriel trying to maintain his repressive watch over the twins while simultaneously fending off ladies the twins themselves introduced. He wouldn’t have time to cause her any problems. “I think . . . that your aunt Celia could give you some names.”

  Amanda brightened. “That’s a thought.”

  “There would be no need,” Alathea mused, elaborating on the picture in her mind, “to be overly subtle. The ladies won’t care as long as they gain some time by his side, and he’ll know what you’re up to from the first, so there’s no need to be careful on that count.”

  Amelia stopped dead. “He’ll be trapped.” She swung to face Alathea and Amanda, her eyes alight. “He won’t be able to escape—”

  “Except”—Amanda concluded with great relish—“by leaving us alone.”

  Hookhams Lending Library in Bond Street was Alathea’s port of call the next morning. Unfortunately, their section on Africa was almost nonexistent. Nevertheless, she borrowed all four books; old and rather tattered, they held out little promise. Juggling them under her arm, she stepped down to the pavement. The biggest book slipped—her shoe skidded off the last step—

  “Careful!”

  Hard hands gripped her arms and righted her. Jerking her head up, Alathea stared—into Lucifer’s face. She swallowed her sigh of relief, and struggled to calm her thudding heart. For one moment, with the sun behind him, she’d thought him his brother. “Ah . . .”

  “Here—give me those.”

  He didn’t, of course, give her any choice. “Oh—yes!” Alathea drew in a quick breath. “Have you been riding this morning?”

  He looked at her. “In the park? No. Why?”

  She shrugged. “I just wondered . . . I’d love to go for a ride, but it’s so impossible here—only being allowed to amble in the park.”

  “If you want to ride”—he tucked her books under one arm and fell in beside her—“you’ll need to organize an excursion to the country.”

  Alathea grimaced. “I may as well wait until we return home.” Her only hope was to keep him talking, to hold his attention so he didn’t glance at the books. Africa was an unusual topic, certainly an odd one for her to be studying
in depth. Given that Lucifer shared Gabriel’s house, and she knew how they tossed tidbits and observations back and forth . . . she drew in a breath. “But the Season’s still got weeks and weeks to go.”

  “Indeed, and those weeks are crammed with more balls than ever.” Lucifer frowned at the pavement. “And now here’s Gabriel threatening to eschew all but compulsory family events.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “The damned twins have gone on the offensive.”

  “Offensive? What do you mean?”

  “Last night, they swanned up to Gabriel on three separate occasions with a different lady each time, and cornered him.”

  Alathea wished she’d seen it. “Couldn’t he get away?”

  “Not easy with one of the twins hanging on his arm and refusing to let go.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Oh, dear, indeed. You know what will happen, don’t you?”

  She looked at him questioningly.

  “He’ll wash his hands of the hussies.”

  “Leaving you in the firing line.”

  Lucifer stopped dead. “Good God.”

  She managed to keep him grumbling about the twins all the way to where her carriage waited. Deftly dropping a kiss on his cheek, she snagged her books from under his arm.

  He frowned at her. “What was that for?”

  “Just for being you.” Safe in the carriage, the books on the seat beside her, she smiled gloriously.

  He humphed, shut the carriage door, and waved her away.

  She was still smiling when she crossed the threshold of Morwellan House; she nodded brightly to Crisp as he held the door. Stacking her books on the table beneath the mirror, she reached up to remove her bonnet.

  “There you are, dear.”

  Serena stood in the drawing room doorway. Placing her hat on top of the books, Alathea crossed the hall. “Do we have guests?” she whispered.