A Gentleman Never Tells(35)
She spoke with such authority Brent was surprised the lady wasn’t the duke’s sister. But perhaps that was the reason she didn’t get along with Lady Gabrielle’s father. They were too much alike.
“Yes, Mrs. Potter, I understand,” Brent said, “but I would find it difficult not to defend Lady Gabrielle’s good name should it come to that.”
“Understood, my lord, however you must. She is a duke’s daughter, so she will be forgiven more easily than most young ladies in her current circumstances. The majority of people in Society will be respectful of her position, but there will be some who cannot contain themselves. For her, you must. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly.”
Mrs. Potter smiled and said, “Good. Come along, Gabby, we’ll return to the park at another time to look for your phantom dog. Preferably when it’s warmer and the sun is shining.”
“I’ll be right there, Auntie. Muggs, would you please help Brutus get into the carriage?”
Gabrielle turned back to Brent. Her blue gaze lighted on his face. She studied him as if she were trying to absorb every detail of his features, causing his lower stomach to tighten. He remembered her saying yesterday it was madness that caused her to kiss him, and he could almost believe it, because right now he was feeling a little madness himself. He was tempted to pull her to him and kiss her right in front of her aunt.
Lady Gabrielle looked deeply into his eyes for a moment before saying, “I hope you find Prissy.”
He nodded once, thankful he hadn’t followed his urge to kiss her. That would have been sheer, unadulterated madness.
“Do you want me to tell Mrs. Potter there is really a lost dog you were looking for?”
She shook her head. “She wouldn’t believe you.”
“I didn’t think so. Thank you for your help, Lady Gabrielle.”
Her expression changed to one of concern again, and she said, “There is always the possibility someone has taken Prissy home and is desperately trying to find her owner as we speak.”
“That she is safe and warm in someone’s gentle care is a comforting thought.”
“Gabby, we really must go.”
“I’m sure Prissy will turn up soon, Lord Brentwood. Would you mind sending me a note once you find her?”
He nodded. “Lady Gabrielle, Mrs. Potter.”
The servant rushed to help her onto the carriage, but Brent stepped in front of him and held out his hand for her. Lady Gabrielle hesitated and then looked at her aunt for approval. Only when Mrs. Potter gave the nod did Lady Gabrielle accept his offer and place the tips of her gloved fingers in his before stepping into the carriage. But just that brief touch was enough to send the heat of sexual desire rushing through him. He didn’t know why, but she affected him like no other woman ever had.
Lady Gabrielle seated herself beside her aunt and turned back and smiled at him with such genuine happiness that Brent’s breath caught in his chest. He felt the same feelings he’d had yesterday when she’d approached him. At times like this, she utterly enchanted him.
This was the lady who had intrigued him so desperately he forgot about everything but her in his arms. When they’d first met, she appeared so capable and independent. And this was the lady who stood so confidently before him and admitted she was betrothed to another.
He watched her as the carriage pulled away. Her father was a strong, unyielding man. Obviously, he’d taught his daughter to be a strong-willed and accomplished young lady, and obviously she had learned early how to get her way. And when he was with her, enjoying their banter, it was easy to forget she’d designed to catch him in a parson’s mousetrap. There could be only one reason why she had. She didn’t want to marry the earl’s son. But why?
Suddenly, he couldn’t wait for Lady Windham’s party so he could see the lovely and intriguing Lady Gabrielle again. He made a mental note that it would be five days.
He stood and watched until her carriage was out of sight before he started back toward his own vehicle. He would write up a notice for The Times and all the other newsprints when he got back home. Maybe offering a handsome reward for Prissy’s safe return would bring results quicker than his outings to the park.
A few minutes later, when Brent neared the curricle, he noticed a man standing a short distance away, looking at his horse. “Can I help you?” Brent called.
The man turned toward Brent, and the first thing Brent saw was a black patch covering one of the stranger’s eyes. His long beard was graying and unkempt. A tattered plaid scarf wrapped around his neck. His hands and arms were huddled to his chest in an unusual position, and as Brent got closer, he could see that he cuddled something beneath his coat—and it was moving.