M Is for Marquess (25 page)

At the thought of Thea prowling through the premises like a seasoned agent, the knots in Gabriel tightened. “Devil take it, I can’t believe I let her talk me into this.”

“Trust me, I know the feeling. But if you intend to marry Dorothea,”—the duke arched a brow—“you might as well get used to it.”

“Of course I intend to marry her.” Moodily, Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck. “As soon as this affair with the Spectre is over, I’ll talk to Kent. Or you, I suppose.”

“We could talk now. Seeing as we have time on our hands.”

Hearing the trace of humor in the other’s voice, he said stiffly, “I’m glad you find the situation entertaining. Considering the ladies may be in peril, I find little amusing about it.”

“I’m not amused; I’m resigned. It’s a common condition when one is wed to a Kent. You’ll learn soon enough,” the duke said mildly. “So why do you want to marry Dorothea?”

“What do you mean
why
?”

The other gave him an innocent look. “If you’re asking my permission for her hand, you ought to at least come prepared with some convincing arguments.”

He was on edge enough as it was and in no mood for the duke’s sardonic wit.

“First of all, I’m not asking you for anything. I’m telling you that Thea and I have come to an understanding. The moment this bloody business is over, I will make her mine.” His gaze snapped to the window as they once again passed the townhouse. Still no sign of movement—devil and damn, what was taking so long? His last thread of patience snapped, and he reached for the door handle. “I’m going in.”

The duke stopped him. “We promised them a full hour. Hell, aren’t you supposed to be the cool-headed one? I thought you spy fellows had ice flowing through your veins.”

“This is different,” he gritted out.

In the old days, he’d been known for his composure. He’d been cold and methodical in his work, shutting out inconvenient things like emotions. But this was different. Personal. Thea was involved, and if so much as a hair on her head was disturbed—

Calm down, and get a bloody grip.

“Love does complicate things, doesn’t it?” Strathaven said.

“This isn’t about love,” he said testily, “but common sense. I should never have let my future marchioness take such a risk.”

“As you say.” Strathaven studied him. “I must confess I’m surprised that you’ve decided to give marriage another go. I thought your first experience had ruined you for all others.”

Gabriel’s jaw tautened. He wouldn’t dishonor Sylvia by speaking the truth aloud. Yet as much as it shamed him to admit it, he was discovering that perfection didn’t hold a candle to a flesh and blood woman. One whose feminine strength and tender vulnerability beguiled him. He’d choose honest passion over tormented love any day.

“One moves on,” he said.

“That I can understand.” The duke’s gaze vigilantly scanned the street as he spoke. “You know that I, myself, wasn’t keen on getting caught in the parson’s mousetrap a second time.”

Gabriel knew the vile rumors that had been spread by the other’s vindictive first wife. If anyone had had reason to be wary of marriage, it had been Strathaven.

“And yet you succumbed,” he said.

“Not easily. I gave the good fight.” His friend smiled faintly. “But I soon realized that resistance was futile—another thing you learn when dealing with a Kent.”

“I’m not resisting Thea. I want to protect her.”

“Do you think I feel any differently when it comes to Emma?”

“You agreed to the present asinine plan,” Gabriel muttered.

“Because I know how to choose my battles. When my duchess sets her heart upon a thing, it is near impossible to persuade her otherwise. Why waste the effort?” Strathaven shrugged. “I’d much rather she try to persuade me.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Let’s just say Her Grace spent a great deal of effort yesterday evening trying to convince me of her plan. She easily made concessions that would have taken me forever to negotiate: she agreed to my escort, a set time frame to carry out her little plot, etcetera. Trust me, I’ve learned that it is preferable to have
her
be in the position of winning
me
over rather than vice versa.”

Gabriel’s brows rose. “You mean you forbade her all the while
intending
to concede? For the purpose of gaining the upper hand?”

“I prefer to think of it as creating a situation in which both parties win. Emma gets to have her way, I reap the benefits of being the best of husbands,”—the other’s pale green eyes gleamed—“and, most importantly, safeguards are in place for her wellbeing.”

Gabriel shook his head. “That’s Machiavellian, old fellow.”

“Machiavelli had it easy. He didn’t have to protect Emma from herself.” The duke gave him a knowing look. “You’ll have your hands full, too, my friend.”

“Thea’s not like the duchess.” Realizing that might sound insulting, he said hastily, “No offense meant. Your lady is lovely, I’m sure, but Thea is less… strong-willed.”

Strathaven’s brows arched. “Are you quite certain of that?”

Gabriel frowned… because he wasn’t. He was discovering that beneath Thea’s sweet, gentle exterior was a spine of finely wrought steel. She was more than he expected, more, in truth, than he’d known to hope for. Her courage and mettle aroused him as strongly as they warred with his own instinct to protect and take care of her.

“Dorothea may be the gentlest of the Kents,” the duke said, “but she is still a Kent. They have strong hearts and wills, and you must respect that. Fighting the essence of who they are… well, that’s like trying to stop the tides. Why do that when you can instead harness that energy toward more satisfying uses?”

Gabriel mulled it over. What Strathaven was saying made sense. In fact, he was surprised to find that the other was proving to be a veritable trove of advice. Being private men, neither had spoken so frankly about personal matters in the past. Gabriel found the open conversation novel… and not unwelcome.

Since proposing to Thea, he’d been struggling with a question, and it nudged its way forward now. At present, he and she seemed so well-suited, yet how did one ensure that compatibility lasted in a marriage? His relationship with Sylvia had seemed promising at first too… before he’d managed to make a wreck of things in the bedchamber and beyond. There was no better person to discuss this problem with than Strathaven, a former rake whose exploits had once titillated the
ton
, yet who now, by all appearances, was a model husband.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “On that topic, may I ask something of a personal nature?”

The duke quirked a brow.

“Before you were married, you had a certain reputation when it came to females. Specifically when it came to your, ahem, activities with them.”

The duke’s brow rose another fraction.

His neck heated, yet he bumbled on like an idiot. “What I mean to say is, after one is wed, one must obviously consider a wife’s sensibilities. Whatever his past, a gentleman must make certain adjustments for the long term health of his marriage. Maintaining a lady’s, er, contentment cannot be easy.”

The duke studied him for a moment before saying, “I won’t discuss what happens in my bedchamber.”

Gabriel felt himself turn red. “No, of course not. I didn’t mean to suggest—”

“But I will say this. I’ve made only one adjustment, as you put it, and that is to conduct all my activities exclusively with my duchess.”

“That’s it?” It couldn’t be that simple.

“My lady has no complaints. Trust me, if she had, I’d have heard them.”

Would it be that easy to keep Thea happy? Gabriel brooded. He had no problems with fidelity. He’d remained true to Sylvia even when she’d asked him to stay out of her bed. No, faithfulness hadn’t been the problem in his first marriage:
he
had been. He’d repulsed Sylvia with his bestial excesses, the curse of his blood.

With Thea, however, he’d headed those problems off at the pass. She had accepted his past and his carnal desires; she wasn’t going in blind. As long as love stayed out of the mix, there was no reason to doubt that their marriage would be a success.

Don’t be pathetic and needful
,
and things will be fine.

Strathaven was regarding him with something akin to compassion. “Whatever your previous experience with marriage was, don’t bring it into your future. Drink from a clean cup, my friend. A Kent is a rare vintage and should be enjoyed for her unique qualities.”

Could he put his past behind him? Lock away the demons for good? For Thea’s sake and his own, he would have to try.

“Of course, some of these rare qualities—namely a propensity for recklessness—may also drive to you to Bedlam,” Strathaven went on, “but you’ll get used to it.”

He frowned. “I am not going to get used to Thea taking risks.”

Today would be the one and only exception, he told himself. She might have swayed him this one time, but that didn’t mean he would permit his future marchioness to endanger herself again. He’d taught her a few defensive moves as an emergency precaution only. He sure as hell didn’t want her in situations where she’d actually have cause to put them to use.

“You think I like Emma running about pell-mell?” his friend said. “But short of chaining her to the bedchamber, all I can do is support her and trust in her abilities.”

The thought of chaining Thea to his bed held a lot of appeal.

“A man must be master of his own house,” Gabriel said firmly.

“Right,” the duke said in wry tones. He consulted his gold pocket watch. “Speaking as Her Grace’s lord and master then, she has precisely forty minutes left before I break down that front door and haul her out of there.”

Gabriel nodded in agreement. The two of them withdrew into shared silence, their eyes locked on the townhouse.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Despite being labelled an informal luncheon, Lady Davenport’s event was a lavish affair. Three rows of dining tables had been laid out in the ballroom, an abundance of crystal, china, and silver glinting beneath the chandeliers. Ladies in elaborate day dresses gossiped in the buffet line as a half-dozen footmen served out delicacies such as roasted turbot, pressed beef tongue, and vegetables molded in aspic.

Waiting in queue with Emma and Pandora, Thea whispered, “Should we go and conduct the search now?”

“Not yet, dear.” Em’s brown eyes took in the environs with an experienced sweep. “We’ll wait until everyone’s seated and occupied with eating before we make our move.”

“Lady Davenport will give a speech. That should buy us fifteen minutes of distraction,” Pandora said in an undertone. “We’ll go then.”

“Your Grace? Miss Kent?”

The timid voice came from behind them. Thea turned and saw a plump, red-haired girl with bright blue eyes and the face of a pixie. Gabriella Billings was the sweet and artless daughter of a wealthy banker. Emma had met Gabby last year and brought her into the Kent fold. Thea liked the girl tremendously.

Exchanging greetings, Emma introduced Gabby to Pandora, who acknowledged the girl’s diffident curtsy with a nod before returning to her vigilant perusal of the ballroom.

Thea gave Gabby’s hand a squeeze. “How nice to see you.”

“It is a
relief
to see you and Emma,” Gabby said with feeling. “I thought I was going to have to muddle through another one of these
ton
affairs alone. Papa secured me the invitation, you see. He’s donated oodles to this charity since he’s been friends with Uncle George forever—”

“Uncle George?” Used to Gabby’s free-flowing conversation, Thea knew the other didn’t mind being cut off now and again.

“Well, he’s not really my uncle, not by blood, but he and my father are old cronies. They’ve done business together forever. Papa says Uncle George is the best solicitor in London, and every banker needs a good solicitor. And vice versa. Uncle George is Millicent’s—I mean, Lady Davenport’s—papa, so I’ve known Lady Davenport for ages, too. When she was Millicent Clemens, that is. Now I don’t see her all that much.” Gabby’s brow pleated. “At all, actually.”

“It must be nice to see an old friend,” Thea said.

Gabby sighed. “Papa says I must model myself after Lady Davenport. After all, she caught a title, and in two Seasons all I’ve attracted are fortune hunters.”

“It can’t be as bad as all that.”

“Believe me, it’s
worse
. Most of them are as old as Papa, missing their teeth and hair, and they all have a depressing tendency to forget my name.” Gabby mimicked an aged, aristocratic voice. “
You there, the ginger-haired chit. Pass me my walking stick, won’t you?
”

Chuckling, Thea said with sympathy, “I know the feeling. You must take care, however. I hear fortune hunters are clever at getting what they want.”

“Not as clever as my father. When it comes to money, Papa knows best,” Gabby said cheerfully. “He’s protected my inheritance with a trust.”

“What’s a trust?” Thea asked.

“I’m not sure exactly. Some sort of legal rigmarole that Uncle George helped with. The gist of it,” Gabby said brightly, “is that I’ll retain control over my own money after I marry.”

“How extraordinary,” Thea mused. “That sounds like something every woman should know about.”

Before Gabby could reply, a thin, brittle voice cut through the conversation. “Ladies, how lovely to see you!”

Lady Davenport was thin and short, and what she lacked in stature, she made up for with the voluminous layers of lace on her gown. Her hair was a mousy shade, her dark gaze beady and assessing. She gave an impression of twitching energy.

“La, a
duchess
,” she exclaimed in tones that carried, “at my own little luncheon! You honor us with your presence.”

“Thank you for having us, Lady Davenport.” Looking discomfited, Emma said, “Um, may I introduce my sister, Miss Dorothea Kent?”

Thea made her curtsy.

Gabby opened her mouth to speak but was cut off.

“A pleasure, Miss Kent, I’m sure.” Their hostess hooked her arm through Emma’s. “I’m so
pleased
to have you here, Duchess. I feel as if we are kindred spirits, and I know we shall simply be the best of friends.” To Lady Blackwood, she said, “And my dear marchioness, how exquisite you look! I simply adore your necklace.”