[Victoria Alexander] The Virgin's Secret (Harringt(BookZZ.org) (3 page)

Quint slanted him a suspicious glance. “Are you listening to me?”

“What? Yes, of course,” Nate said quickly, and straightened. “I am hanging on every word. I believe you have come to—” He cleared his throat. “—dessert.”

“A most important and delightful addition to a meal.” Quint shrugged. “Although dessert is entirely dependent upon one‟s taste. A light and frothy confection of spun sugar and air—”

“Similar to the first course?”

Quint nodded. “Quite. While tasty upon the tongue, such a sweet can lead to a permanent diet, which I personally prefer to avoid. And a heavier offering, say a pudding, can be thoroughly enjoyable as long as one is careful not to develop a taste for it.”

“Or one might find oneself eating pudding for the rest of one‟s life?”

“Exactly. And as much as I might like pudding, I can‟t imagine having it every day until I breathe my last.”

“Nor can I.” Although Nate suspected he would be ready for a steady diet of pudding long before his brother was. Not that he was ready for pudding—or rather, marriage—as of yet. Still, the idea was not nearly as repugnant to him as it was to Quint. He himself was confident he would know the right woman when she stepped into his life. Until then, he was more than willing to try whatever desserts were offered.

“It appears Sterling has noted my arrival,” Quint said out of the corner of his mouth, directing a smile and a brief wave to their brother, who stood off to one side of the terrace beside their mother. The Earl of Wyldewood‟s annoyed glare was as unyielding as the legendary beacon

from the long vanished Pharos of Alexandria. “Shall we join the others?”

“I don‟t think we can avoid it.” Nate chuckled.

Quint stepped through the door onto the mezzanine that overlooked the ballroom. Nate cast a last glance over the crowd below, then followed his brother. He had lost the woman in the apricot dress but had no doubt he would find her. He smiled to himself, noting the same sense of

anticipation he always had at the start of any quest, be it for the lost treasures of an ancient people or an intriguing female. Would this be a find of great importance? Or like that poor wretch Montini, would it be nothing more than a dreadful mistake?

Regardless, he had always been fond of apricots.

It wasn‟t as if she‟d never been to a ball before. Why, when her brother had been in London, they always attended the annual ball of the Antiquities Society and on occasion others hosted by organizations affiliated with a university or museum.

She wandered along the edges of the crowd on the terrace in as casual a manner as she could muster, as if she belonged here, her confidence bolstered by the knowledge that she looked her best. Her gown was the latest French fashion and something of an extravagance, even if she could well afford it. Regardless, her world did not demand an excess of fashionable gowns. Still, it did enhance her appearance, and she had just enough vanity to appreciate that. She was well aware that she was considered pretty, with her dark hair and deep blue eyes, although it had never been of particular concern.

Gabriella Montini smiled and nodded at people she had never met nor ever expected to meet.

Certainly, this would be easier if she‟d ever before attended a ball given by an earl. And considerably less, well, awkward if she had actually been invited instead of quietly slipping in through the back garden gate.

This was the home of those vile Harrington brothers, and this was where she hoped to find

evidence that one or, more likely, both of them had stolen the Ambropia seal from her brother.

Not that she had any real proof yet, but they were at the top of Enrico‟s list of possibilities and an excellent place to start. She stepped through the tall French doors thrown open to the terrace and walked into the ballroom. Should the opportunity ever present itself, she would have to thank whoever had the odd idea to have the dancing out of doors. It made her task much less difficult.

And this time she had a plan.

Gabriella accepted a glass of punch from a passing footman and inquired as to the location of the ladies‟ retiring room. Not that she had any intention of retiring, but it would provide an excellent excuse should she be discovered. All part of her plan. Admittedly, it wasn‟t an excellent plan, but it was far better than the last, which hadn‟t involved the least bit of sensible forethought and could have had disastrous consequences. Disaster was inevitable when one acted on emotion and impulse rather than rational thought.

She should have learned that lesson years ago, and thought she had. But she‟d never anticipated how sorrow and anger could build inside a person for months, until it banished sanity from even the most sensible head. Still, it was something of an adventure, and ended without serious incident, though it was not especially successful. It had been years since she‟d had any kind of adventure whatsoever that could not be found between the pages of aged, dusty manuscripts and the yellowed notebooks of long dead explorers. And she did so long to get away from books. For that alone it was perhaps worth the deception involved.

“Emma, my dear girl!” An older woman swept up to her in a flurry of satin skirts and

exuberance. “How are you? It‟s been simply forever since we‟ve seen one another. I heard you and your mother were in Paris.”

Gabriella ignored the panic twisting her stomach. The lady had obviously mistaken her for

someone else, and it seemed wise not to correct her. The last thing she needed was for anyone to realize she didn‟t belong here. She forced her brightest smile. “It has been a long time.”

“You are as lovely as always. At least I think you are.” The older woman squinted her eyes and peered at Gabriella. “Do forgive me, my dear, I have misplaced my spectacles once again.” She

heaved a dramatic sigh. “It‟s one of the banes of growing older. All sorts of things that used to work quite well no longer perform even adequately. I won‟t bore you with a long list. Suffice it to say eyesight and forgetting where I‟ve put something are among them.”

The woman couldn‟t clearly see her? Relief and a touch of gratitude for this stranger washed through Gabriella. Not enough, however, to tell her that her spectacles dangled from a jeweled broach pinned to her expansive bosom. “Nonetheless, you do appear well.”

“Oh, I am. Quite well, thank you. And I have always been dreadful about misplacing my things so I really can‟t blame that on age.” She leaned closer and laid a hand on Gabriella‟s arm in a confidential manner. “Age is a lovely excuse, you know. One is allowed to be eccentric rather than merely scatterbrained.” She straightened and glanced around the room, which was rather pointless Gabriella thought. “Is your charming husband with you this evening?”

“Yes, of course. He‟s…” She paused. Not having a husband, she wasn‟t at all sure where one might be found. But she did know where she wished to put her plan in motion. “In the library, I believe. Yes, I think that‟s what he said. Do you know where it is?”

“Through the main doors into the corridor and then just a few doors down.”

Just past the ladies‟ receiving room. How convenient. “I really should find him.”

“Yes, indeed, you should be getting back to him.” The older woman shook her head. “I wouldn‟t let a husband as handsome as your Lord Carpenter wander about freely. I should find my

husband as well. Not as handsome as yours and certainly not as young, but age looks better on him then it does on me.”

“I can‟t believe that.”

“Neither can I.” She laughed. “Do pay a call on me soon, my dear. It has been far too long.” She smiled, nodded, and took her leave.

Gabriella did hope someone would tell her the location of her spectacles. Preferably after Gabriella had left the ball. She headed toward the library and hoped she didn‟t run into anyone‟s husband, or anyone at all for that matter. Fortunately, there was no one in the corridor. She found the library door, pressed her ear against it, heard nothing, then drew a deep breath and pushed it open as if she had every right to be there. As if she was simply another invited guest.

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Thankfully, the library was indeed empty and well lit. She would hate to have had to stumble around in the dark. Antique swords and pistols were mounted on the walls on either side of the doors. A large desk sat at the far end of the room. Flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows, it was the dominant feature in the room, as she imagined the desk of an earl would be. The remaining walls were covered with tall book-lined shelves interspersed with portraits of long dead ancestors. She sniffed in disdain. Pirates and thieves the lot of them, no doubt. A smaller desk, probably for use of the earl‟s secretary, was placed off to one side of his lordship‟s.

She crossed the room to the smaller desk and wondered where to begin. It had been remarkably easy to learn that the earl‟s secretary also handled whatever paperwork his younger brothers‟

activities required. A few casual conversations with some of the older members of the

Antiquities Society bemoaning how terribly complicated verification of finds and requests for funding had become. And hadn‟t it been so much easier in those long ago days when they were the ones uncovering the artifacts and treasures of forgotten civilizations? Why, one could scarcely accomplish anything these days without hiring clerical help, which certainly was a financial burden unless one was independently wealthy. Or had a clever sister who could handle such matters, or an earl for a brother who was willing to provide the services of his own

secretary.

If the Harrington brothers had Enrico‟s seal, there could well be correspondence regarding it. It was a fabulous find. One of the few pieces ever discovered that might lend credence to the existence of the legendary city of Ambropia, if properly authenticated, of course. The discoverer of such an artifact would reap great fame, his reputation and his future assured.

The muscles in her jaw tightened. A reputation and a future that should have been her brother‟s, that would have been had not someone stolen the seal. It was a little more than a year ago that Enrico had returned to London with the seal. She had lived with her half brother since she was ten years old, after he found her residing in Italy with distant relatives of their father, two years after his death. But she couldn‟t recall ever seeing Enrico more excited about a discovery. Not that he had shown her the piece, only the impression made by rolling the cylindrical seal over wet clay. Her brother was remarkably superstitious about such things. He‟d said it would be bad luck to reveal the seal prematurely. After all, Ambropia was clouded in mystery and legend, which included a curse placed by the city‟s virgin goddess protector on the heads of those who would disturb its sleep. Now she wondered if he hadn‟t been right.

When Enrico had unwrapped the seal in front of the Antiquities Society‟s Verification and

Allocation Committee, he found a seal of far lesser significance. His claims that someone had stolen his seal and replaced it with a relatively common one did not sway the committee.

Especially as Enrico had lost his temper and charged the society itself with trying to ruin him.

Her brother was never the same after that. Recovering the lost seal had consumed him.

Competition for an artifact such as this was intense, and Enrico was certain that one of his rivals had stolen the Ambropia seal. He left London to pursue those he‟d suspected responsible. His letters to her had detailed his progress as well as listed the names of the men he thought might have taken the seal or hired someone to steal it.

But the letters grew progressively less rational, less lucid, even a touch mad, although Gabriella had refused to see them that way at the time. A mistake she later deeply regretted. If he had taken Xerxes—the manservant who usually accompanied him—or if she had gone with him herself,

perhaps…But she hadn‟t accompanied her brother on an expedition of any kind for years, not since what she thought of as the “incident,” and she knew then he would never have allowed her to do so.

Then, six months ago, she received word that he‟d died in Egypt, allegedly of a fever. The impersonal notice from a minor British foreign officer was accompanied by a crate containing her brother‟s possessions. She‟d been devastated, of course. Enrico was twenty years older than she and as much father as brother. Aside from relatives of her English mother, whom she‟d never met, he was the only family she had. She‟d vowed then to find those who were responsible and restore her brother‟s reputation.

Now, the answers might be within reach. Absently, she chewed on her lower lip and studied the desk. It was probably locked. Damnation, she should have thought of that and come prepared.

This plan was not going substantially better than the last one, and was probably not much

smarter.

It wasn‟t until after Enrico‟s death that Gabriella had discovered they were far better off financially than she‟d ever suspected. She was shocked to learn that their father had left the bulk of his significant fortune to her. Indeed, from the statements she had seen, it appeared it was her money that provided not only her support, but funding for Enrico‟s work as well. Enrico had never mentioned any of this, nor was it necessary for him to do so. As he was away more often than he was in London, his solicitor handled their finances. The solicitor arranged payment of all their expenses, including the fees for her initial schooling, the costs of continuing her studies at Queen‟s College, the modest London house where she resided, and the salary of Miss Henry.

Florence Henry served as companion, chaperone, and friend, and had been by Gabriella‟s side since she first took up residence in London.

But her discoveries weren‟t merely financial. She had also found a packet of letters addressed to her mother—the mother who had died giving her birth. She thought they might prove useful

someday to find her English relations, should she ever be so inclined. But as they had never sought her out, why should she look for them? Still, one letter in particular might prove useful.