To Love a Lord Read online

  Jane knocked her head against the windowpane as with each moment this family threw her into tumult over the deception she practiced.

  “Mrs. Munroe?”

  Gabriel’s concerned tone cut into her tortured musings, twisting that blade once more. The emerald greens of his eyes moved a path over her face.

  “We’re here!” Chloe called out as the carriage rocked to a blessed halt.

  The door opened and Chloe hurried past her brother and, with the help of the driver, stepped down. Gabriel lingered a moment and she swallowed, not wanting any probing questions because she feared in her weakness this moment she’d confess all—and then be promptly dismissed. He exited the carriage and reached back inside.

  Dropping her gaze to his long, outstretched fingers, she recalled the manner in which he’d caressed one of her strands of hair. Cheeks afire, Jane hurriedly took his hand and let him hand her down.

  “I must confess, Jane,” he confided so quietly those words were nearly lost to London’s street sounds. “I have a desire,” her breath caught, “to know what has you go silent one moment and prickly and feisty the next.”

  For the span of a heartbeat, she thought to pretend she did not hear that question. But then she detected the challenge in his eyes. “Bold employers,” she tossed back and started forward to where Chloe stood in wait at the shop front. The young lady smiled and then sailed through the entrance.

  Jane hurried after her, desperate for much needed distance from the marquess.

  He called out. “And are you accustomed to bold employers?” His words brought her to a slow halt. There was a lethal edge to his question, as though he’d do battle should she utter an affirmative.

  No one had cared about her or for her in so very long. Even to her mother, Jane had merely come second to the Duke of Ravenscourt’s scandalous use of her. “N-no,” she stammered and made to enter the shop, but Gabriel blocked her path.

  “You’re lying.”

  He couldn’t know that. Not truly. She shook her head once more. “I’m—” Her breath caught as he dipped his head lower. Jane’s heart thumped erratically and she should be horrified by the curious stares being shot their way by passersby, but instead only knew the intoxicating scent of sandalwood threatening to drown her senses.

  “Do you know how I know you’re lying, Jane?” He didn’t allow her a reply. “Because a woman of your spirit would not accept the charge of liar being ascribed to you, unless there was, in fact, merit to my claims.”

  “I worked at Mrs. Belden’s Finishing School. There was hardly a worry where gentlemen were concerned.” She forced a droll humor to her tone, praying it would distract him from the intimate understanding he’d show of both her temperament and circumstances. “I assure you, Mrs. Belden would not countenance a gentleman within her proper walls.” She flicked her stare over his person. “Even if he was a marquess.” A duke, however, would be granted certain freedoms. Jane slipped past him and entered the shop. Such as taking on that powerful nobleman’s by-blow.

  Gabriel fell into step beside her. “And were you long at Mrs. Belden’s?”

  “Yes.” A year was a long time for some.

  “What of before that?”

  She gritted her teeth, as all the tender awe of his early concern was replaced with annoyance. Questions were dangerous. Particularly when all the answers brought them back to the truth of her lies. “Before that I was employed as a governess.”

  “A governess?” he asked with some surprise.

  “Yes, a governess.” To a spoiled, nasty, and not at all pleasant sixteen-year-old lady who’d quite enjoyed the day Jane had been sacked without a reference.

  “Jane?”

  They looked to the long table at the back of the shop littered with bolts of fabric. Chloe stood beside a plump, graying woman of indiscriminate years. Grateful for the young lady’s timely intervention, Jane all but sprinted in that direction. Her skin burned with the feel of Gabriel’s gaze on her person.

  “Ah, there you are, Jane,” Chloe said. She motioned to her. “Madame Clairemont, this is my companion.”

  “A pleasure.” The woman peered down her very un-French nose at Jane, indicating her opinion on the acquaintance.

  Jane stole a backward glance at Gabriel. He stood off to the side, leaning against the wall. With his arms folded against his broad chest and his hooded gaze upon her, he was elegant in his repose. She quickly snapped her gaze forward.

  “…An entire new wardrobe…something vibrant…pink… Jane?”

  She blinked, suddenly aware by the questioning stares trained on her that something was required of her. Pink. Pink. “Pink is a splendid selection, my lady.” Had there ever been a time in Jane’s life where she’d spent her days on frivolous pursuits, permitted luxuries?

  Madame Clairemont hurried around the side of the table with a piece of shimmering pink fabric. Jane stiffened and looked questioningly at her, but the woman’s lips moved silently as though she recorded her thoughts. Jane swung her attention back to Chloe. “What—?”

  “Well, I do not need new gowns, Jane.” A familiar sparkle lit her blue eyes. “You, however, are in dire need of something more than your dragon skirts.”

  Jane jumped and knocked into a table of fabric. She hurried to right the items. “Oh, no.” She held her palms up and glanced about for help. “I’m merely a companion.” Who wished to blend as much as possible with the other companions and hired help. Long ago she’d learned the perils in being noticed. “There is no need for a gown.”

  A determined glint replaced Chloe’s earlier enjoyment. “There is every need for a gown.” She shot a look over Jane’s shoulder. “Isn’t that true, Gabriel?”

  Jane’s heart thumped wildly and she turned and cast a hopeful look at him. He stood several feet away. How did a man of his impressive height and strength move with such a stealthy grace?

  “I daresay it would be impolite of me to agree,” he drawled.

  A panicked giggle worked its way up her throat. Where the other gentlemen whose employ she’d found herself in had showered her with words of praise and other nauseating compliments, Gabriel was hopelessly honest. She preferred that honesty, and yet it also proved dangerous for its appeal.

  He flicked his gaze over her; this was a coolly impersonal search of her person. “It is decided.”

  With little help from the marquess, Jane whipped around. Nothing was decided. “I am extremely grateful.” What was one more lie atop the mountains of mistruths she’d constructed? “I do not,” she held up her hands warding off the other woman’s efforts. “Require any gowns.”

  Chloe ignored her and continued with the modiste. “In two nights, we will be attending Rossini’s premiere and Mrs. Munroe must have a gown prepared.”

  The woman’s slight frown bespoke her displeasure. “Eez impossible to have a gown readied. I am a veery busy woman with many orders for—”

  “My brother,” Chloe motioned to Gabriel, “will pay you quite handsomely for the one.” She smiled. “Well, all of them.” She squared her jaw, all hint of meek, polite miss gone. “But for this evening we require the one.”

  “Oh, no.” Jane gave her head an emphatic shake. “I will wear my Sunday dress. I do not need—”

  “Don’t be silly,” Chloe scolded. “Tell her not to be silly, Gabriel.”

  Jane looked imploringly to a stoic Gabriel. He gave a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. There was little help coming there. She returned her entreaty to Chloe. “I cannot.” Not when she’d already lied her way into the man’s household. She’d not add lavish gowns to her crimes. She looked pleadingly to Gabriel, but he remained stoic and unmoving as he’d been since their first meeting several days earlier.

  Alas, not one of the present trio appeared concerned with what Jane wanted.

  At the mention of a hefty purse, the sneering modiste turned smiling. “Of course, I can have one prepared.” The woman with a suddenly very English-sounding accent hurried o
ver and took Jane by the shoulders. “Oui, mademoiselle. You are in need of gowns. Let Madame Clairemont help you. With but a little help, you will be very nearly pretty.”

  Chloe shot her an apologetic look and despite the fast-spreading panic, an unexpected laugh bubbled up her throat.

  Having clearly sensed capitulation, Chloe clapped her hands and then took Jane by the hand. “Come along.” She waved to Gabriel. “Off you go, then. We must keep Jane a surprise for y—” she quickly cut the words short, a blush on her cheeks. “Yes, very well. Off you go.”

  Jane looked to Gabriel once more, desperately wishing the coolly aloof gentleman who’d turned her out after a brief meeting would point out that there was no need for such a purchase—not on behalf of his sister’s companion.

  He sketched a quick bow and, with a heavy dose of relief stamped on the angular planes of his face, he hurried from the shop.

  Coward.

  Though—she eyed the front door he disappeared out of enviously, tempted to race after him.

  “What of this color, Jane?” Chloe held up a soft pink fabric.

  Alas, Gabriel’s sister had altogether different plans for her. With a sigh, she allowed the two women to drag her forward to be fitted for something more than dragon skirts.

  And the unexpected thrill that went through her was not excitement.

  Jane sighed. Then, she’d proven herself a liar just by joining Gabriel’s family. She was the very tiniest bit excited.

  Chapter 10

  Lady Chloe Edgerton marched with a military precision Lord Wellington himself would have admired. She neatly steered Jane through the crowded streets, while keeping her gaze fixed determinedly ahead of them.

  Gabriel followed his sister’s stare to the black and gold sign: Harding Howell and Co. An involuntary groan escaped him. He and Jane spoke in unison.

  “Not another blasted shop.”

  “Surely, we’ve completed our shopping for the day.”

  Granted, his sister’s companion’s words were a good deal more appropriate than his. Jane shot him a sideways, commiserative glance, an apology there. He inclined his head. It was hardly Mrs. Jane Munroe’s fault that his sister had set her mind on the day’s activities.

  “We must bring Jane to Harding’s.”

  “No,” Jane said firmly with a shake of her head. “No, you do not. Please,” there was an entreaty he’d not imagined Jane Munroe capable of. “You’ve been overly generous. There is nothing else I require.”

  His sister slowed her determined steps and steered Jane to a halt. She jabbed a finger in the air. “Fans.”

  “Fans,” Jane and Gabriel parroted.

  And all of a sudden, Chloe, who’d detested any and every trip to the modiste and milliners, had discovered a love of fashion. She nodded her head vigorously. “Yes. A fan. You require a—” She glared at Jane when she opened her mouth to speak. “And do not say you are just a companion. Is that clear?” With that, she took Jane by the hand and yanked her inside the shop.

  Jane cast a desperate glance over her shoulder. Despite the havoc wrought by the infernal closeness to his sister’s tart-mouthed companion, a grin turned his lips. She narrowed her eyes, as though she’d followed the exact direction of his thoughts. He knew her but a handful of days and yet knew her enough to know precisely how to needle the young woman. Gabriel winked.

  Her eyes flew wide in her face. Whatever furious response she likely planned with blistering words were effectively quelled by his determined sister. Chloe motioned to the back of the expansive shop. “At the very least, you’ll require one fan.” With that, she marched down the rows draped in fabrics, passed by other shoppers, onward, to the rear of the establishment.

  Jane shot a long glance over her shoulder at the door, as though contemplating escape. Gabriel wandered close, closer than was proper or appropriate and attracted assessing stares from the other patrons. “A woman who’d boldly challenge me with an empty plate in my own breakfast room wouldn’t be so cowardly as to run from a fan.”

  She shoved her spectacles higher on her nose. “There is sizeable conceit to a charge from a gentleman who ran from the modiste as though his heels were on fire.”

  A bark of laughter escaped him. The boisterous sound of his mirth earning all the more attention.

  Jane’s cheeks pinkened to a soft pale hue. “Must you do that?” she said from the corner of her mouth. “You are earning whispers.” Without awaiting his reply, she made her way down the aisle. She moved past the furs and the muslins without sparing a glance for any of the expensive fabrics.

  He’d long ago ceased to give a fig for what members of polite Society thought. “I don’t give a jot about whispers or gossip.” It was hard to respect or trust a lot who’d revered the previous Marquess of Waverly.

  She gave him a reproachful look. “Some of us do not have the luxury of being permitted the opportunity to thumb our noses at Society.”

  Her words gave him pause, as he was momentarily humbled by the proof of his own conceit. Of course a young woman whose station and safety in life was inextricably intertwined with her moral appearance would indeed worry. With two long strides, Gabriel moved ahead of her. He planted himself before her, effectively ending her retreat. “Forgive me.”

  Her eyes formed round circles. “You apologized,” she blurted. Was her opinion of noblemen truly so low? Or was it men in general who’d earned the lady’s wariness? He knew the ugliness of man. That she also knew some manner of ugliness dug at him.

  “Despite my pomposity, I am not a total boor in terms of manners.”

  “I didn’t say you—”

  He dipped his head close. “I was teasing, Jane.”

  “Oh.” A golden curl popped loose of her hideous chignon. She brushed the strand back, but the tress refused to comply. Gabriel took in that strand he’d caressed a short while ago. He peered past her spectacles and that painfully tight coiffure. By God…if one looked past the dragon skirts and severe hairstyle, Jane Munroe really was—by God, she was quite captivating.

  “What is it?” she asked, still warring with that loose strand, a strand he gladly wished to see her lose. Those curls should not be smoothed straight but rather worn in their natural way, tight spirals that hung loose about her shoulders.

  Reluctantly he released his hold on her silken blonde tress. “I don’t know another woman who would not revel in the purchase of fabrics and fans and fripperies.”

  “You do your sister a disservice with your assertion.”

  Goodness, she was a loyal thing, or she was adept at steering even the hint of compliments away from herself. Another protective measure? “You are indeed, correct. But for my sister, I do not know another, then. Aside from you.” That truth, the evidence of her character, a person who, presented with limitless garments and fripperies, should protest and fight at every turn, spoke volumes of who she was.

  Gabriel expected another curt response. Instead, she picked up a strip of satin fabric and rubbed it between her fingers. He studied that subtle movement, hating himself for envying a slip of fabric. “I don’t desire fabrics and fripperies as you call them because there is little worth in them.”

  He eyed the fine French fabrics that would put broke a lesser lord attiring his sister’s companion.

  “I do not refer to monetary value,” Jane explained, accurately interpreting his musings. She let the satin fall and it landed in a soft, noiseless bounce atop the pile. “I am sure these fabrics together cost more than my earnings at Mrs. Belden’s.” Those words from any other young woman would have been intended to elicit sympathy. From Jane, however, they came out matter-of-fact. “A lady’s gowns and garments do not define her, my lord.” Unrestrained emotion filled her eyes and Jane pressed a hand to her chest. “It is who she truly is—her actions, her thoughts, her beliefs. That is what truly defines a woman.”

  How many women aspired to the material and desired status? By the passion in Jane’s eyes and the fervor of her
tone, she longed to be seen for more. Her quick-wit, coupled with her calm pragmatisms, was enough to rob a man of logic. Then he made the mistake of dropping his gaze lower, to her pert nose, ever lower to those tantalizing lips, and, God forgive him for having accused his brother of being a rogue, but Gabriel moved his stare downward to the modest bodice of her dress. There was nothing the least captivating or alluring about the drab brown dragon skirts as Chloe had referred to them. Yet, staring at Jane with the thrum of other patrons milling about the shop and a humming in his ears, he appreciated the extent of his own depravity. He momentarily closed his eyes. And he hated himself for it.

  “My lord?” Jane whispered. It was a spark in her eyes and the parting of her moist lips.

  Gabriel swallowed hard. She too felt this pull between them. “Yes.”

  “Will you step aside? Lady Chloe is motioning to me.”

  He tripped over his feet in his haste to get away. A humiliated heat climbed his neck and as Jane rushed past him, Gabriel tugged at his cravat. There was something quite humbling in being so dismissed. Then, he’d never possessed the heavy dose of charm of his younger brother or any of those other rogues so favored by the ladies.

  Yet, standing there amidst the aisles of fabric, with his gaze trained on Jane’s swiftly retreating frame, she paused to cast a final glance at him.