She shivered. To her immense relief he said nothing more but simply steered her around the floor. By the time the music ended and he released her, she'd regained her mental feet. She did not, however, meet his eyes; instead, she scanned the room. "I should check with Serena-'
"Everything's fine-she told me to keep you from worrying."
That had her searching his face. "She didn't."
"She did, and you know a gentleman should do everything in his power to satisfy his hostess."
Her pithy retort was cut off by the descent of Lord and Lady Collinridge, the neighbors who owned the old barn with the narrow back window. The Collinridges had known them both from childhood but hadn't met Gabriel for years; with a sweet smile, Alathea encouraged Lady Collinridge to twit her tormentor for all she was worth.
In the end, Gabriel invented a summons from his mother to escape, taking her with him.
"Jezebel," he whispered as they made their way through the crush, now as bad-as good-as any ball that Season. "You enjoyed that."
"You deserved that," Alathea retorted. A sudden press of bodies brought them to a temporary standstill, him behind her.
"Hmm-and what else do I deserve?"
Alathea swallowed a gasp as one large hand slid over her hip to perform a leisurely, all-too-knowing circuit of her silk-clad bottom.
Closing his hand, Gabriel lowered his head and whispered in her ear, "Perhaps you'd like to retreat to your office-I was, after all, ordered by your stepmother to do my very best to keep you amused."
Alathea couldn't resist the urge to tip her head back and meet his eyes. Under their heavy lids, they glowed with golden fire. There was absolutely no doubt of what he was thinking.
Her gaze dropped to his lips. Did temptation come any more potent than this?
The crush about them eased, and she managed to draw breath. "There's no lock on my office door, remember?"
She'd spoken before she'd thought-her cheeks flamed. The wicked chuckle he gave made her think of a buccaneer about to seize her, but his hand left her bottom-her fevered flesh-closing briefly, affectionately, on her hip before he released her. The flow of people resumed and they moved on.
Almost immediately they encountered Lady Albemarle, a distant Cynster connection, and stopped to chat. From her, they passed on to Lady Horatia Cynster.
"I have no idea," she responded to Gabriel's query, "if Demon and Felicity will return to town before the end of the Season. They're enjoying themselves hugely by all accounts. The last we heard, they were in Cheltenham."
They chatted easily for some minutes, then once again moved on. When the next lady with whom they paused to exchange greetings proved to be another Cynster connection, Alathea had to wonder. It was true there were a lot of Cynsters and many more family connections. Nevertheless…
As they strolled on again, she caught Gabriel's eye. "You're not, by any chance, introducing me to your family?"
"Of course not-they already know you. And those who don't were introduced to you in the receiving line."
Alathea sighed exasperatedly. The look in his eyes, the set of his jaw, warned her any protest would be fruitless-his intention was fixed. The reins were presently in his hands and he was driving as hard as he could toward matrimony. She shook her head. "You're impossible!"
His lips quirked. "No. You're impossible. I'm merely immovable."
She tried to smother her giggle but failed.
"Lady Alathea!" Lord Falworth pushed through the crowd to bow before her. "Dear lady, I've been searching quite doggedly, I do assure you." He shot a censorious glance at Gabriel. "But now I've found you, I believe a cotillion is starting. If you would do me the honor?"
Alathea smiled. For all his foppish tendencies, Falworth was an amiable gentleman and an unexceptionable partner. "Indeed, sir-it is I who would be honored." It was, perhaps, time she put some distance between herself and her self-styled keeper. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Cynster?" With a nod for Gabriel, she placed her hand on Falworth's sleeve and let him lead her to where the sets were forming.
As soon as the dance started, her thoughts reverted to Gabriel, Falworth forgotten. No other gentleman could vie with her nemesis. There was-and very likely always had been-only one man for her, the man she'd been closest to all her life. And now he wanted to marry her. He cared for her, but not in a way she could accept as a safe basis for marriage. What she should do-how she could take charge of the situation and steer a safe course for them both-she had no idea. With every day that passed, the pressure to give in, to surrender and be his wife, grew.
Her one bulwark against that was simple but solid. Fear. An unconquerable, unquenchable fear of a pain so vast, so deep, she'd never be able to survive it. A pain she sensed rather than knew, one she could imagine but had never felt. The sort of pain that no sane person invited or permitted to threaten them.
That much she knew: She was too afraid to ever consent to their marriage if all he felt for her, bar transient desire, was mild affection and a duty of care.
As she circled and swayed through the figures of the cotillion, she considered that truth, and the fact that it meant she would never bear his child.
She would never, ever, have children of her own.