He tripped over his feet in his haste to get away. A humiliated heat climbed his neck and as Jane rushed past him, Gabriel tugged at his cravat. There was something quite humbling in being so dismissed. Then, he’d never possessed the heavy dose of charm of his younger brother or any of those other rogues so favored by the ladies.
Yet, standing there amidst the aisles of fabric, with his gaze trained on Jane’s swiftly retreating frame, she paused to cast a final glance at him.
He grinned and favored her with one more wink—
She crashed into a table of hats. Several toppled over and fell silently to the floor. Once again, the other ladies present peered condescendingly at the young lady. “Forgive me,” Jane apologized and hastily fell to her knee to rescue the handful of creations at her feet. Her apologies were met with further sneers. His sister’s companion made quick work of picking up each bonnet, one at a time. The faintest, almost imperceptible tremble to her fingers hinted at her quiet shame.
A powerful, consuming rage manifested in the form of a low growl in his throat. He strode forward, detesting a world in which lords and ladies saw her as a stranger and for that, an interloper in their existence.
Chloe raced forward. She skidded to a halt beside Jane and dropped to a knee beside her. “You needn’t worry, Jane,” she said on a whisper loud enough for all nearby busybodies to hear. “They are just bonnets. No more or less important than any of the other pieces here.” She directed those words at a plump matron who had the good grace to blush and then hurry on her way.
Jane gave a weak smile. “Thank you.”
Gabriel stopped beside them. He held a hand out first for his sister and then Jane. She hesitated a moment and then placed her gloved fingertips in his. A shock of awareness penetrated the thin kidskin of the fabric, searing his palm. She smiled and, with her murmur of thanks, conveyed how wholly unaffected she was by him.
Good. Her response was the safer one. Any other passionate kisses and desirous looks would weaken him in ways he’d never allow. He’d never allow himself to be vulnerable.
*
As Jane followed Chloe to the display of fans, shame consumed her. She’d spoken to Gabriel of actions and thoughts and a person’s worth, and in actuality, there was no more dishonorable person than she. For Mrs. Jane Munroe, none other than Miss Jane Munroe, bastard daughter of the Duke of Ravenscourt, was a liar. She was here accepting his sister’s kindness and gowns and garments that she had no right to.
“Jane?”
She looked up.
Chloe snapped open a pink satin fan with a wooden frame. She handed it over.
Jane tossed her palms up in protest. “My lady—”
“Chloe.”
“Please, I cannot—”
Gabriel’s sister thrust the frame into her hands. “Here.”
Jane gave the piece an awkward wave and then made to hand it back. She wanted nothing more in terms of this family’s generosity. “It is lovely.”
A beaming smile lit Chloe’s face. “It is yours then.” She waved over the shopkeeper. “We shall take the pink fan.”
The older woman took the delicate piece, far lovelier than anything Jane had ever possessed, and rushed to wrap it.
Chloe slipped her arm into Jane’s. “May I speak candidly, Jane?” She didn’t allow her a response. “I’ve known you but two days and yet there are things I know about you.” Jane bit the inside of her cheek hard. For everything Chloe believed she knew about her, she comprehended a good deal less. She guided Jane down the next aisle and then cast a glance about. Jane followed her stare to Gabriel, who strolled at a safe, deliberate distance. “Do you know what I believe?”
Jane’s mouth went dry under the sudden fear that her secret had been discovered and she’d now be publically decried by this woman who’d been only kind before now. She managed to shake her head. “What is that, my lady?”
“Chloe.” She released Jane’s arm and captured both of her hands. “You do not want to be noticed.”
At the unerring accuracy of that admission, Jane stilled as panic threatened to overtake her. Were her efforts at concealment very obvious to everyone?