The Stolen Princess (34 page)

Tonight after the party, when they made love, she would tell him.

“Y
ou know when we first talked about this, I didn't understand your amusement when your aunt said it would be a small and meager affair,” Callie murmured to Gabriel. They'd been standing with Lady Gosforth at the foot of the staircase for nearly an hour, greeting the guests who flowed in a never-ending stream through the front door. Luckily Callie was used to it: Zindarian state receptions were not dissimilar.

“But it is, my dear, positively
shabby
,” Gabriel retorted imitating his aunt's fruity tones.

She giggled. Lady Gosforth's “few intimates for a bite beforehand” had turned out to be dinner for twenty couples. The “small private party, a positively meager affair” meant as many of the
ton
as could be squashed into the large house in Mount Street.

Callie was in a wonderful mood. Gabriel had flirted with her all through dinner and she was feeling light-headed and excited and breathless. She couldn't wait for the night to be over, for the moment when they were finally alone. She kept planning it in her mind…

“Princess Caroline,” a fussily dressed elderly man bowed low over her hand, reminding Callie to concentrate on the matter in hand. With an effort she recalled his name. He'd come to her wedding—Sir Oswald Merri-something. “How do you do, Sir Oswald,” she said.

“I'm well, thank you, my dear.” The old gentleman beamed at her in a fatherly manner. “No need to ask the blushin' bride how she does—you're bloomin', my dear, positively bloomin'! You're a lucky devil, Renfrew!”

“Thank you, Sir Oswald, and thank you for coming,” Gabriel said and, after Callie had promised him a dance, the old gentleman moved on.

After another half hour, the press of guests had slowed to a trickle and Lady Gosforth sent them off. “Have some fun. Go and dance, my dears.”

A small string orchestra played in the ballroom and as if by some prearranged signal, as Callie and Gabriel entered the room, they struck up a waltz. “Shall we, my dear?” Gabriel asked her and without waiting for a reply, he swept her into the dance. The dance floor had cleared as people stood back to watch the bridal couple take the floor.

Callie circled and circled in Gabriel's arms. The surroundings were nothing but a blur of color and movement, all she could see was Gabriel. With one hand on his shoulder and the other clasped in his big, warm hand, she twirled and twirled, gazing into his blue, blue eyes as her feet in their scarlet dancing slippers floated on air.

Their first waltz, she thought.

“But not our last,” he said, reading her mind.

She didn't want to think about the future. Right now, she was happier than she'd ever thought possible.

“S
o, you're the little foreign widow who managed to hurry Gabriel Renfrew to the altar,” a sultry voice behind Callie said.

Callie turned, not much liking being called a little foreign widow. Looking down at her was a statuesque blonde whose dress of gold satin seemed to have been molded to her body. She was very beautiful.

“I beg your pardon?” said Callie. “Have we met?”

The blonde held out three languid fingers. “Lady Anthea Soffington-Greene.” She scrutinized Callie with an air of faint, dismissive amusement. Callie bristled.

“Gabriel's marriage has thrown the ladies of the
ton
into mourning,” Lady Anthea drawled. “Not me, however.” She glanced at Callie's gown, smirked, and smoothed her own gold satin over her hips. Her dress was cut extremely low; her large, full breasts were almost wholly visible, rather like two large blue-veined cheeses, Callie thought.

She reminded her of the Valkyrie.

Lady Anthea added, “A small thing like a hasty wedding won't change what's between Gabriel and me.” She smiled knowingly.

Callie's fists curled in their lace gloves. She wanted to scratch the woman's eyes out. “My husband is taken,” she said fiercely, looking the woman in the eye. “However, his brothers are free.” She glanced across the room to where Harry stood, tall and handsome, surrounded by women and flirting shamelessly. He didn't dance, she noticed, perhaps because he was embarrassed by his limp.

Not one of the women was an unmarried girl, she realized with shock. They were all young, glamorous matrons. They could be hunting Harry for one reason only.

Lady Anthea tittered. “You mean Harry the Crippled Bastard?”

Callie stiffened. “If you are referring to my brother-in-law, Mr. Harry Morant, how dare you refer to him as a cripple in my presence! And I'll have you know he was born in wedlock!”

Lady Anthea arched an eyebrow and said in a suggestive tone, “So the wind sits in that quarter, does it? Harry is a handsome devil, I grant you, but Gabriel is more my kind of meat. The thumbs say it all.”

Callie saw red. Gabriel's thumbs were hers! “My husband is not on your menu, Lady Anthea! If you need servicing, I suggest you approach Mr. Morant. He's kind to animals, I know. He may even take pity on an underdressed bitch in heat!”

Lady Anthea, her eyes glittering with rage, drew herself up with a hiss. Callie braced herself, ready for battle, but Gabriel came up behind her and slid his arm around her waist.

“Lady Anthea, is it not?” he said smoothly. “How do you do? You must excuse us, my wife is needed elsewhere.” And before Callie could say a word he steered her firmly away.

“Gabriel, do you know that woman?” Callie demanded.

“Yes, I know her, but
not
, my love, in the biblical sense,” he said as he led her out onto the terrace. He turned her around to face him, his face alive with amusement. “And here I was elbowing my way through the crowd in the rudest way because I thought you might need defending from one of the most poisonous harpies in the
ton
.”

Callie scowled suspiciously at him. “You think she's a poisonous harpy?”

“I know she is.”

His words pleased her, but she wasn't finished yet. “She's quite beautiful.”

He nodded. “Very beautiful, yes, she is. For an underdressed bitch in heat.” His eyes were dancing.

She narrowed hers at him. He hadn't needed to add on the
very
. “She talked about your
thumbs
,” she accused.

He smiled and cupped her cheek with his palm. “She may have seen my thumbs, but I promise you that's all she's seen of me. I wouldn't touch that woman with a barge pole, let alone with, er, anything else.”

“Never?”

“Never. Never in the past and certainly not in the future. Besides, my body is wholly and exclusively dedicated to you—or had you forgotten those vows I made in church the other day?”

Mollified, she relaxed. His arm slid around her waist and the hand cupping her cheek moved to the back of her head. One long, strong finger stroked the nape of her neck, sending delicious shivers down her spine. “She was horrid about Harry,” she told him.

His face hardened. “I'm not surprised. She's a vicious creature. Harry was once hopeles—” He broke off. “But that's in the past and besides, it's Harry's tale to tell, or not. Would you care for some supper?”

“In a minute,” she said. She wasn't quite finished. “Lady Anthea told me all the ladies were in mourning since you got married.”

He gave a smug smile. “Well, of course they are. I'm a very charming fellow. Quite good-looking, too, I'm told.”

“Not as handsome as your brothers,” she said dampeningly.

“Yes, but they all feel sorry for me now, knowing I'm firmly under the thumb of a shrew.”

“A shrew?” she said indignantly.

“Yes, but a very beautiful one, and she wears me out so that I am not the least use to any other women.”

Strangely pleased by his words, she kissed him.

After a very satisfying interlude, he murmured, “Besides, she's a very jealous creature and all the other ladies will be too frightened to cross her.”

“Jealous? I am not jealous!” She stared at him shocked. “And nobody is ever frightened of me.”

“Tell that to Lady Anthea,” he said and kissed her again.

After that Callie was walking on air as well as dancing on it. She'd never enjoyed a party more. Gabriel didn't precisely hover, but he was never more than a few paces away and she was aware of his eyes on her throughout the evening.

Rupert used to watch her, too, waiting for her to make some gaffe, or drop something, or say the wrong thing. She was never comfortable with Rupert watching. This was different.

Gabriel watched to make sure she was having a good time. When her glass was empty, he would appear to have it filled. If she hovered between groups of people, not sure who to talk to next, he would appear and introduce her to someone. Or if she was being bored to death, Gabriel would come to rescue her.

Nash, Luke, and Rafe danced with her, and they and Harry were all very attentive, making sure she had whatever she needed, that she wasn't bored or feeling lonely in this crowd of people she didn't know. It was wonderful to have such tall, handsome men watching out for her. Callie had never felt so cared for at a party before. She was not on trial. Her only job was to enjoy herself.

She smiled and nodded at the most recent bore, a hunting-mad lord whose name she had forgotten. He'd pontificated for ten minutes now about the delights of hunting and the various horses he owned and all their interesting foibles and she hadn't been able to escape. He was impervious to hints and excuses. At last, she thought as she saw her husband threading his way toward them. Rescue was at hand.

“But there,” said Lord Hunting-Mad, “I've been goin' on about my own mounts when really what I'd like to hear about are yours, Princess. I hear the horses of Zindaria are something quite special.” He nodded genially as Gabriel arrived and said, “How do, Renfrew. The princess here was about to tell me about her favorite mount.”

Gabriel, his eyes dancing, said suavely, “Really? Do tell, Princess.”

She looked him straight in the eye and said, “I ride often, of course, and find it a most stimulating form of exercise. But not horses. Never horses.” And with a sweet smile at his lordship, she sailed away, leaving Gabriel choking on his champagne.

“Not horses?” she heard Lord Hunting-Mad demand. “What the devil does the gel ride then?”

Callie paused to hear what her husband would say, knowing full well the only creature she ever rode was himself.

“Camels,” Gabriel said when he had recovered his composure. “She's very fond of riding camels.”

Lord Hunting-Mad turned and peered at Callie in astonishment. “
Camels
? Well, bless my soul, how dashed peculiar!”

Callie was still laughing when Gabriel caught up with her. “Minx,” he said. “I think the Lady Anthea victory has gone to your head.”

No, thought Callie, it was Gabriel Renfrew who'd gone to her head. She was bubbling, as though she had champagne in her blood.

She pretended to consider him, scanning him from head to toe in a thoughtful manner. “You are rather like a camel,” she began and then froze as a movement over his shoulder caught her eye. Her fingers bit into his arms.

“Count Anton!”

As she spoke, the count spotted her from across the room. He bowed elegantly, enjoying her discomfiture.

Callie clenched her fists. “How dare he come to our wedding party!”

“My fault, I'm afraid,” Nash said, coming up behind them. “I notified the Foreign Office and the Zindarian Embassy of your marriage straight away. I should have guessed that the count would find some way to gain entrance to this party.”

“I don't want him here. Can't we throw him out?” she asked Gabe.

“Not without making a scene and mortifying Aunt Maude,” Nash said quickly, seeing that Gabriel looked quite willing to do just that. “The count is the guest of the Austrian ambassador. He escorted the ambassador's wife here, Princess Esterhazy, a very influential leader of the
ton
—she's one of the patronesses of Almacks. If you tossed the count out, she would be mortally offended and take it out on Aunt Maudie.”

Callie scowled. “Then I will tell him to leave—very politely—and you don't need to look so worried Nash, I am the soul of politeness—”

“Lady Anthea will vouch for that,” Gabe murmured.

Callie looked daggers at him. “Count Anton is no joking matter.”

“No, I know,” Gabriel said soothingly. “But remember, he can do nothing to you here. We've stopped his legal move to have Nicky handed over and he's surrounded by some of the most influential people in England. And I'm here, and Harry and Rafe and Luke and Ethan and Nash.” He gestured to where Harry and Rafe had positioned themselves on either side of the count—not obviously, but with clear intent to protect. Ethan, as Callie knew, was upstairs with Tibby and the boys.