A Kiss at Midnight

“Now where’s my goddaughter?” she asked, without preamble. “I’ve been to her room, so I know that’s a taradiddle about her stomach. Kate’s not the sort to suffer any ailments; I’d be surprised if the girl spent a day in bed in her life.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched as images of just how he and Kate could spend a day in bed together crashed into his mind. “I’m afraid that I can’t assist you,” he said, through the roaring in his ears.

“Can’t or won’t?” Henry said, tapping him sharply again with her fan. “I’m not a jack-pudding, you know. That girl’s parents have both cocked up their toes, and so she’s mine now. And I”—she smiled with all the charm of a mother tiger—“will not be pleased if her heart is broken.”

“I would feel the same,” Gabriel said.

“Who would guess that, seeing you circle the floor with that over-nourished Russian girl on your arm?”

“Princess Tatiana is a very . . .” He paused. “She’s a lovely girl.”

“But would Kate enjoy seeing you make sheep’s eyes at a lovely girl?”

“Lady Wrothe,” Gabriel said. “This marriage was arranged on the basis of my bride’s substantial dowry and my title. It’s an old tale, and one we’ve all heard before.” His words came out like hard little acorns, one to each beat of his heart. His eyes flicked to her face. “I cannot marry Kate.”

“If you’re planning to weave me some sort of lament, don’t,” Henry snapped. “You don’t have to hide Kate away like some sort of doxy you hired for the night while you’re out there dancing with your bride-to-be. She can be here too, because there are plenty of men who would love to marry her, substantial dowry or no!”

Gabriel took a deep breath. “I cannot marry where I will.”

“I’m not saying you should,” Henry retorted. “There are men who throw the world at their lady’s feet, and then there are the rest of you, who see the world as a ledger in black and white. I encountered one of you early in life, so I know just what you’re like.”

He had never been so close to striking a woman before. “If you’ll forgive me—”

But her hand fell on his arm, and what he saw in her eyes stayed his tongue. “You’ve got a choice before you, prince,” she said. “You damned well better make the right one, or you’ll spend your life cursing yourself. That gentleman I mentioned just now . . . I don’t think the dowry he married made up for what he lost. And I believe he would agree with me.”

Gabriel turned, rather blindly, and walked toward the door. A gentleman lurched out of his way at the last moment.

Only Wick stepped in his way.

“I told Tatiana that I’d waltz with her,” Gabriel said in a low, harsh whisper. “Find her and tell her something.”

“A waltz ? I’ll have to tell her that you’ve taken ill.”

“I have,” Gabriel said. “Sick unto death, I think they call it.”

Thirty-four

U pstairs, Kate dried herself off, examined her ruined chemise, retrieved her crumpled dress and put it over a chair, and finally pulled on a dressing gown that hung against the wall. It was silk, and felt like an exotic caress against her skin. She wound the cord twice around her waist to keep it closed.

Still Gabriel didn’t come.

She picked up the journal on Ionian treasures, leafed through it, and was amused to find a learned and aggressive letter from Gabriel featured in the notes. She picked up Aretino and put him down again immediately. Those engravings seemed to have nothing to do with the incandescent tenderness with which Gabriel had touched her.

And, like that, she realized that she’d made a decision.

She meant to sleep with Gabriel. She was greedy, mad with greed if the truth be told. She wanted this—him—for herself, to make up for the seven years in which not a soul touched her in a loving way.

She would give him her virginity, and then leave for London. Her legs trembled at the thought, and she felt her cheeks warming. It was the only thing she had wanted ferociously in years.

The door opened, and Gabriel walked through. There was something leaden in his face, in his eyes. “What happened?” she asked, from across the room. And then, walking to stand before him: “Gabriel, what happened? Are you all right?”

He looked down at her, eyes full of an emotion that she couldn’t read. “Do you know what I’ve been doing in the ballroom, Kate? Do you have any idea?”

She put a hand on his coat, wanting to feel the solid warmth of him in light of the chilly rage in his voice. “Dancing.”

“Not just dancing,” he said, precisely. “I’ve been dancing with my future wife, Tatiana.”

Kate never thought that pain could rip through one’s heart like a wound, but now she knew it could. She had managed to forget about Tatiana, to pretend that Gabriel was simply . . . elsewhere. Her whole body tensed and froze, just as it had when she had entered her mother’s room and seen a body with no spirit.

Luckily Gabriel kept talking. “I sat with her at dinner. She has dimples and speaks five languages. We danced the first dance. She is an exquisite dancer. I asked her to waltz.”

“I see,” Kate said unsteadily, reaching up to push her hair behind her shoulders.

“You don’t see ,” he said in a savage tone. “You don’t know enough about bloody society to see . Waltzing with a woman means taking her in your arms and circling the floor, leg to leg.”

“It sounds very intimate,” Kate managed, proud of the control in her voice.

“Very,” Gabriel said. “If you and I—” He turned away and spoke to the black window. “If you and I ever waltzed, everyone in the room would know we were lovers. You can’t conceal anything, not with a woman in your arms and a waltz playing.”

Kate was confused and getting a little angry. It didn’t feel right that Gabriel was pushing his betrothal in her face. “It is likely not proper for me to offer congratulations.”

He swung around and stared at her, his eyes like black coals. “Do you dare to offer me congratulations?”

Kate smoothed the front of the silk dressing gown she wore. “I should . . . I should return to my chambers.”

He was on her like a predator. “You will not leave me!”

And then she knew what the emotion in his eyes was. It was despair, and rage—and love. Love. “Gabriel,” she said, with a little gasp.

“You dare—” he began again.

“Hush,” she said, putting a hand to his cheek. “Hush.”

He swallowed.

“I probably wouldn’t love you so much if you were not the man that you are.”

His throat worked furiously. “You—”

“Love you.” She nodded. “With all my heart.” She brought his face to hers, and gave him the sweetest kiss of her life. “You are mine,” she whispered. “In some way, in some part of my heart, you will always be with me.”

With a groan, he folded her into his arms. She wrapped hers around his waist, catching the faint odor of his orange blossom soap, together with a spicy wildness that was Gabriel’s alone.