A Gentleman Never Tells(78)
Lady Gabrielle was the most difficult person he had ever tried to figure out. At times it seemed as if she was trying her best to keep him from being attracted to her by pretending she couldn’t dance, pulling out poetry to read to him, or trying to make him believe she had a hellish temperament, and several of her ancestors had gone mad. But then there were other times, like the first time they met in the park, when she intrigued him by telling him to speak gently to Prissy. And times like now, when she was just so delightful he couldn’t wait to get her alone so he could pull her into his embrace and kiss her for as long as he wanted.
It didn’t matter which lady she decided to be, she was always desirable, and if he’d had the opportunity to pick a wife of his own choosing, he was beginning to think he certainly couldn’t have done any better than Lady Gabrielle.
“Oh, I forgot to ask you,” Gabrielle said after they had ridden in silence for a while, “did you hear about the Duke of Rockcliffe’s dog, Tulip? She is now missing, too.”
Brent slipped his arm over the top of the bench and eased it around her. “I heard a day or two ago that she went missing, but I don’t know any details and I didn’t ask. How and where did the dog disappear?”
“She was with the duke’s youngest brother, Lord Waldo. The duke is actually with my father and the Duke of Norfolk and several other gentlemen on a hunting jaunt in Kent.”
“I’ve not met the Duke of Rockcliffe, just his younger brother,” Brent mumbled, remembering his brief conversation with Lord Waldo a few nights ago.
“The duke is a very somber man, much like my father,” Gabrielle continued. “But Lord Waldo is really a pleasant man. He was enjoying an afternoon in Hyde Park with Miss Alice Peyton when Tulip wandered off and never came back.”
Brent grinned and then chuckled softly. “I wonder if they had as much pleasure in the park as we did. As I recall, I enjoyed myself immensely, didn’t you?”
Her eyes widened, and pink flamed in her cheeks. “Well, ah—of course, but I really don’t know what they were doing in the park.”
Brent laughed again. She was enchanting when she was embarrassed and flustered.
She straightened her back, lifted her chin and shoulders, and very properly said, “However, I do know that Lord Waldo had the duke’s little dog with him and while he wasn’t looking, Tulip wandered away and now can’t be found.”
“Hmm,” Brent said, pretending to be in deep thought. “It sounds like maybe they were in the park doing what we were doing.”
Gabrielle huffed. “I’m trying to be serious, and you are making it very difficult.”
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist a little teasing. Forgive me.”
They hit a huge hole in the road, and the carriage nearly bumped them off the seat. They laughed, and Brent took the opportunity to press even closer to Gabrielle. The tip of her nose was turning pink from the wind, and already a golden strand of hair had escaped the tight fit of her short-brimmed velvet bonnet. Brent loved looking at her, and it was very satisfying being so close to her he felt the warmth of her body.
“So tell me about this dog,” he said.
“I really don’t know very much about Tulip. I just found it remarkably odd that another dog has gone missing. I can’t ever remember a time when I’ve heard of three dogs missing in little more than a month.”
“I agree,” Brent said. “Something like this doesn’t happen unless something or someone is making it happen.”
“Some ladies and I were talking about the same thing before you arrived at the church today.”
“Really? I chatted with two gentlemen before the service started, and no one mentioned it to me.”
“I’m sure that’s because everyone knows how distraught you’ve been because you haven’t found Prissy.”
Brent’s brows drew together, and he frowned. “Distraught? Is that what people are saying about me?”
“Not so much now, of course, but when you were searching the park for Prissy, I might have heard that term used once or twice.”
“Might have?” he grumbled.
Her eyes softened gently. “Well, you were distraught that your mother’s dog is missing, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Brent knew White’s had a wager going about whether or not Prissy would be found by Christmas, and then there were wagers about whether she’d be found dead or alive. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Londoners found such perverse pleasure in mocking someone’s trials… but they did.