He straightened. She sank against the seat. She tried to speak and almost choked; clearing her throat, she tried again. "Mr. Cynster…"
"My name is Gabriel."
Despite her veil, their gazes locked. She stared at him, her breasts rising and falling beneath her cloak. "I thought you had to consider our next move."
His gaze didn't waver. "Believe me, I am."
He waited; when she made no reply but continued to stare at him, he inclined his head. "Until our next meeting." He reached for the door. "Incidentally, when will that be?"
After a moment, she managed, "I'll contact you in a day or two."
S
he was still breathless; he hid a triumphant smile. "Very well." Deliberately, he let his gaze harden, pinning her where she sat. "But you will remember what I said. Leave Swales to me."
Although it was no question, he waited. Eventually, she nodded-one of her usual crisp nods. "Yes. All right."
Satisfied, he opened the door and stepped down to the pavement. Shutting the door, he signaled to the coachman. The reins flicked; the coach rumbled on.
He watched it roll away, then turned and climbed his steps, a great deal more than merely satisfied with the achievements of the night.
Chapter 4
She'd never felt so breathless in her life.
One elbow propped on the dining table, Alathea toyed with her toast and struggled to bring some order to the chaos of her mind. Not a simple task with her senses still reeling.
How naive she'd been to ignore the portent of that first, oh-so-innocent kiss. Sealing a pact, indeed! It hadn't occurred to her that, with no prickly reaction to stop him, he would most assuredly kiss her again. So now here she was, in a totally unexpected, never-before-experienced fluster. Just the thought of last night's kiss-series of kisses-was enough to addle her brain. One conclusion, however, was horrifyingly clear. Her errant knight believed she was a married woman-an experienced married woman-one with whom he could freely dally. But she wasn't. Thus far, he hadn't suspected that fact, but how far could she travel his road of rewards without giving herself away?
Without having to give herself away?
All that was bad enough, but to top it all, he'd filched the reins from her grasp. God alone knew where her carefully laid plans were now headed.
She should have foreseen his move to take control; he'd always been the leader in their childhood games. But they were no longer children, and for the last ten years she'd been accustomed to command; being summarily relegated to the rank of follower was a little hard to take.
About her, the rest of her family talked, ate, laughed; sunk in her thoughts, she barely heard them. Picking up her toast, she crunched, and decided she'd have to allow at least the appearance of him being in charge. His Cynster self would settle for nothing less; it was pointless beating her head against that wall. That didn't mean she had to meekly let him make all the decisions, only let him think he was. Which led to the question of how she could ensure that he didn't forge on and simply leave her in ignorance.
She would have to meet with him regularly, a prospect that made her edgy. Organizing their next meeting was logically her next step, but she'd yet to recover from their last. She'd counted on his deep vein of chivalry in enticing him to her aid-not in her wildest dreams had she imagined he'd extrapolate so fiendishly as to claim a reward.
Even that word was now forever altered in her mind. Now it instantly evoked something illicit. Something exciting, thrilling, tempting-
Seductive.
Her thoughts whirled; her lungs seized. Simply recalling that moment in the carriage when, with typical highhandedness, he'd set his lips to hers still made her dizzy. Remembering what had followed sent color rushing to her cheeks.
Instantly, she banished the mental visions, and the remembered sensations as well. If anything, the latter were worse. Lifting her teacup, she sipped and prayed no one had noticed her blush. She hadn't blushed in the last five years, possibly not in the last ten. If she suddenly started coloring up over nothing, questions would be asked-speculation would be born. Quite the last thing she needed.
Ruthlessly burying all memories of the drive to his house, she told herself she had no reason to berate herself; she couldn't have avoided it-any of it-without raising his suspicions. There was no point considering it further, beyond sending heartfelt thanks to her guardian angel-she'd very nearly blurted out his name when he'd released her. "Rupert" had hovered on the tip of her tongue; she'd only just managed to swallow the word. Uttering it would have spelled an immediate end to her charade; she was the only female younger than his mother who persisted in calling him by his given name. He'd told her so himself.
Why she was so stubborn about it she didn't know-it was like clinging to a simpler time long gone. She'd always thought of him as Rupert.
My name is Gabriel.
His words rang in her mind. Gazing at the windows, she pondered; he was right-he was Gabriel now, not Rupert. Gabriel contained the boy, the youth, the man she'd known as Rupert, but also encompassed more. A greater depth, a greater spectrum of experience-a deeper reserve.
After a moment, she mentally shook herself and finished her tea. As the countess, she would have to remember to call him Gabriel, while Alathea still dubbed him Rupert.
And she would have to find a way to limit the rewards Gabriel would, without doubt, attempt to claim.