As they approached Cardross, they were waylaid by the Duke of Bedford. Imogen stiffened. Bedford had been a political ally of her husband’s, but he paid her no mind at all, hardly seeming to even notice her existence beyond a cursory nod of his head. He waved Alençon over towards a very delicate chestnut. Alençon dropped her arm to run his hands over Bedford’s filly. Gabriel promptly stepped into the breech, hands sliding knowingly along her arm, drawing her to him.
Imogen shut her eyes for a moment, dizzy. Let the soothing scent of the barn wash over her. Hay, horse, dung, sweat, leather…she caught a whiff of sandalwood. Angelstone. She swallowed hard and followed him down the barn.
They finally found Aérolithe, Cardross and Alençon’s blood bay filly, and after billing and cooing over her, and hand feeding her slices of dried apples, the duke suggested Gabriel and Imogen take themselves off to Gregson’s. ‘We’re going to be here for hours. And I’m sure we’re boring Miss Mowbray to tears. Be a good lad and take her off for some tea,’ he said with a sly twinkle.
Imogen blinked at them all, stunned to have been so easily pawned off, but Gabriel smiled wolfishly, and agreed that tea would be just the thing. With her hand tucked firmly between his arm and his chest he led her out of the barn and turned them both back towards the heart of Newmarket.
It seemed to Imogen that the crowd melted away as they passed through it; parting much like the red sea had for Moses. She was hardly aware of walking at all. Her stomach was in a knot, her heart was racing, and her mouth had gone suddenly dry. Her ears were ringing, and while she knew Gabriel was speaking to her, she couldn’t hear a word. She was dazed. Dazed and excited…and floating.
His nymph’s thoughts were elsewhere.
He’d paid her several rather warm compliments, specifically designed to throw her into a flutter and put her to the blush, but she’d only nodded absently, and smiled a bit vacantly in response. He gave up teasing her, concentrating instead on steering them safely though the mob which choked the streets.
They, themselves, were creating quite a stir as they moved through the crowd. He nodded to a London acquaintance and smiled at the look of shock he saw on many of the gentlemen’s faces.
The sight of a lady on his arm other than the Countess of Somercote or his cousin was one which was virtually unknown. Imogen was clearly neither of those ladies.
Gabriel saw several gentlemen stiffen as they passed. It didn’t surprise him that they recognized the former Mrs Perrin. Though she’d been absent from polite circles these past five years, she’d been a toast, a well-known hostess, and had ended her career as a famous adulteress. Nonetheless, their shocked faces told him they were surprised to see her squired about by himself.
Undoubtedly word was already flitting around Newmarket that the beautiful Portrait Divorcée had resurfaced, and she was now in the keeping of none other than the infamous Brimstone. Gabriel glared at the stiff-rumped Lord Talgert, who quickly looked away and scurried off. At least Imogen seemed blithely unaware of the whispering notice swirling around them.
Gregson’s was oddly quiet, an island of calm in a town besieged. ‘Did you know Mrs Staunton presented the colonel with twins?’ Imogen asked, obviously searching for a safe topic.
He chuckled. ‘My cousin informed me of the Stauntons’ new additions. Both boys if Torrie is to be believed.’
‘Yes.’ Imogen blew on her tea before taking a sip. She set the delicate cup aside to cool, hands flitting around the saucer, adjusting the cup’s placement.
Nervous.
He smiled again.
Gabriel pulled Imogen in tightly against him and steered her around a group of town bucks who were swaggering down the narrow pavement. One of them tipped his hat and another one winked at Imogen, earning a glare from Gabriel. Insolent puppies. If he’d had George on his arm he’d have wiped that grin from the whelp’s face. But he didn’t; he had Imogen, and he didn’t want to shock her…at least not publicly.
Back at the inn they found that the few stragglers had now arrived, and George was holding court over all the men in the tap room, happily chatting with her former father-in-law and Morpeth. Gabriel escorted his nymph over to the countess and smiled widely when George leapt up to greet him. He gave her a quick hug, wrapping one arm carelessly about her waist, and then paused. He stood staring down at her.
‘George,’ he said, trying to keep his mouth from dropping open in disbelief. ‘You little devil. When were you going to tell us?’
She blushed and gave him a half-smile, half-grimace. ‘Not till the shooting party. Damn you, Gabriel.’
The tap room had grown suddenly quiet, everyone’s attention drawn to the tableau taking place near the windows. ‘What’s that then, George?’ Bennett inquired, raising his brows.
George glared at him one last time, then glanced across the room to her husband. The earl smiled and shrugged.
‘Victoria’s going to kill me when she finds out she’s the last to know,’ George said with a nervous little laugh.
‘Not if my wife or mother get to you first, baggage,’ Lord Glendower said into the sudden quiet. The whole room burst into laughter.
‘And poor St Audley is going to be green that we all knew first,’ Viscount Layton said, crossing the room. ‘He should never have taken himself off to talk to Bedford about that hunter.’
Gabriel gave way as her former brother-in-law pulled her in for a quick hug. ‘Not every day I find out I’m to be an uncle,’ Layton added, with a grin.
The countess endured a good ribald ribbing from her friends, while the earl looked on smugly, accepting the congratulations of his circle
