No knight so invincibly demanding.
That last made her sigh-changing direction was impossible. She'd started the charade; she'd have to play her part. Her options were severely limited.
She studied her reflection, then, with her usual deliberation, decided: While alone with him, she wasn't Lady Alathea Morwellan but his mysterious countess. It was the countess he'd kissed and the countess who'd responded.
Not her.
There'd been no harm done; none would be done.
She lowered the towel. He'd seemed to find her kisses-and the rest of her-quite satisfactory as a reward. She'd sensed his hunger-his appetite; she was certain that was not something he would fabricate. Their interaction was in no way harming him, and while it might be unsettling-even eye-opening-it wasn't hurting her.
And the fact that her kisses were enough to satisfy one of the ton's most exacting lovers was an invisible feather she'd proudly wear in her spinster cap-the cap she'd wear for the rest of her life.
Refocusing on the mirror, she critically surveyed her face and lips. Almost normal.
Her lips twisted wryly. Impossible to play the hypocrite and pretend that she hadn't enjoyed it-that she hadn't felt a thrill, an excitement beyond anything she'd previously known. In those long minutes when he'd held her in his arms, claiming her, she'd felt a woman whole for the first time in her life.
Indeed, he made her feel like a woman other than herself-or did he simply make her feel things she shouldn't
, compulsions she'd had no idea she could experience. She was twenty-nine, on the shelf, very definitely an old maid. In his arms, she hadn't felt old at all-she'd felt alive.
Driven by necessity, she'd set aside all hope of ever knowing what it was to be a woman with a man. She'd had her longings, but she'd locked them away, telling herself they could never be fulfilled. And they never could be-not all of them, not now. But if, in protecting her family again as she was, the chance was offered to experience just a little of what she'd had to forgo, wasn't that merely justice?
And if she knew she was playing with fire? Tempting fate beyond the bounds of all sanity?
Setting down the towel, she stared into her eyes, then she stood and turned toward the door.
She couldn't turn her back on her family, which meant she couldn't walk away from Gabriel.
Whether she wished it or not, she was trapped in her charade.
Chapter 5
Heathcote Montague's office looked down on a small courtyard tucked away behind buildings a stone's throw from the Bank of England. Standing before the window, Gabriel stared down at the cobbles, his mind fixed on the countess.
Who was she? Had she been a guest at Osbaldestone House, lips curving with secret laughter as she waltzed past him? Or, knowing he, together with all the Cynsters, would be there, had she slipped in uninvited, waited in the garden until their meeting, then slipped away through the shadows again? If so, she'd taken a considerable risk-who knows whom she might inadvertently have met. He didn't like her taking risks-that was one point he fully intended to make clear.
But only after he'd made love to her-after he'd had his fill of her feminine delights and pleasured her into oblivion.
He had a strong suspicion she didn't even know what sexual oblivion was. But she would-just as soon as he had her alone again. After last night, that much was certain-he'd already had his fill of restless nights.
"Hmm. Nothing here."
It took him a moment to return to the present, then he turned.
Heathcote Montague, perennially neat, precise but self-effacing, set the three notes he'd just received to one side of his desk and looked up. "I've heard back from nearly everyone. None of us, nor any of our clients, have been approached. Precisely what one would expect if the Central East Africa Gold Company is another of Crowley's crooked schemes."
"Us" referred to the select band of "men of business" who handled the financial affairs and investments of the wealthiest families in England.
"I think"-deserting the window, Gabriel started to pace-"given it is Crowley behind it and he's avoiding all knowledgeable investors, then we can reasonably conclude the scheme's a fraud. Furthermore, if the amounts involved are comparable to that on the promissory note I saw, this scheme's going to cause considerable financial distress if it runs its course."
"Indeed." Montague leaned back. "But you know the law's view as well as I. The authorities won't step in until fraud is apparent-'
"By which time it's always too late." Gabriel faced Montague. "I want to shut this scheme down, quickly and cleanly."
"That's going to be difficult with promissory notes." Montague held his gaze. "I assume you don't want this note you saw executed."
"No."