“Well, she is perfectly lovely.”
Lovely. Jane’s was an understated beauty made all the more intriguing when challenges flew from her lips. He gritted his teeth at the wandering direction his thoughts were taking him down. “Chloe?” he bit out, his tone heavy with impatience.
“Yes, right.” Chloe flicked a hand about. “She is perfectly lovely, however, she cannot attend Societal functions in her dragon skirts.”
“And you’d have me fit her for a wardro—ouch,” he winced as she pinched him.
“Do not be a pinchpenny.” She furrowed her brow. “Unless your estates are not prospering in which case, then, we really should all consider adjusting our—”
“My estates are just fine,” he snapped.
A triumphant gleam lit Chloe’s eyes and he bit back a curse at the second cleverly laid snare he’d stepped into. “Perfect. I shall collect my cloak, then.” She skipped to the door and disappeared out the entrance.
He dug his fingertips into his temples. “Chloe,” he called. Not for the first time wishing his sister, Philippa, had the patience to wait until the Season was concluded before seeing to all the enceinte business.
“Yes?” She stuck her head inside the room once again, an impish grin on her face.
Gabriel folded his arms at his chest. “I have matters of business to attend. Important matters.” Ones that did not include squiring her and Mrs. Munroe to modistes and milliners. When she opened her mouth, he continued, speaking over her. “And furthermore, you have Mrs. Munroe to accompany you about town.”
She dropped her eyebrows and, by the darkening of her eyes, he knew he’d made a faulty misstep.
“Oh, so you’ve foisted all of your responsibilities off on Mrs. Munroe, have you?”
Oh, bloody hell.
He tugged at his cravat, which only drew his sister’s attention to that guilty action. Gabriel immediately stopped and laid his hand back to the desktop. “I am not foisting you off on another.” Not entirely.
She brightened. “You aren’t?”
Well, perhaps he was. “Of course not.”
A pleased smile turned her lips. “Splendid.” She gave another annoying clap of her hands. “Now, do hurry.” With that, she dismissed him and rushed from the room.
Oh bloody, bloody hell. On a groan, he dropped his head into his hands. Knowing his sister as he did, Chloe had every intention of making him miserable for saddling her with a companion. Yet again, he’d stepped neatly into one of her traps. Lord Wellington himself would have admired Chloe’s masterful plotting.
Abandoning his plans for the morning, he came to his feet. Gabriel took his leave of his office. He walked at a quick, clipped pace through the corridors to the foyer. As he stepped into the marble foyer, he came to a sudden, jarring stop.
Jane stood at the center with her back arched and her neck tipped back at such an impossible angle it was a wonder she remained upright. Those tempting, red lips, that had made him forget the vows he’d taken to never be the dissolute lord to dally with his staff, were parted as though in wonder. She stared transfixed up at the towering ceiling above. The air left him on a slow exhale and it was a physical hungering to know what should so move this usually stoic, often frowning woman to such awe. It was a physical effort to tear his gaze from her moist lips.
He followed her stare upward to the mural painted on the high ceiling and frowned. He’d long detested the heavenly scenes captured by his ironical father, the devil who’d delighted in those tableaus of cherubs and angels. They adorned nearly every blasted room. When he had been a boy of nine years and his father had forced him to sit at his knee while he imparted all the dealings that would one day be Gabriel’s, he’d allowed his mind to wander. In those dreams, he’d crafted his revenge. On the darkest days, after his brother and sisters had been battered by the birch rod, Gabriel had gleefully plotted all the ways he might kill the bastard. On other days, he’d scheme up ways in which to destroy the marquess’ legacy—having those murals painted over had been one promise he’d made to himself. And yet he’d never gotten around to it.