It wouldn’t do to be caught with too predatory an expression on his face. Any interest at all would rouse George’s attention, but simple politeness wouldn’t catch the male guests’ attention. Or not more than usual. Half the men here were trying to figure out how to get her into their beds, he’d bet his favourite team on it.
Sydney and Bennett were both overly solicitous, and Drake, well, Drake was an even worse roué than he was. He might be considered bad ton, but Drake had such a wild reputation he was excluded from many of the larger venues that Gabriel still graced by invitation.
Imogen met his gaze, but glanced away immediately, turning her attention to her plate, until Sydney said something that elicited a smile. Gabriel gave himself a mental shake and turned his attention to Morpeth, who was discussing their all joining the hunt at Quorn the next day. No reason to drive himself crazy over Sydney Exley. Syd was simply not in the petticoat line; she couldn’t be with anyone safer, especially in this crowd. Drake, on the other hand, he’d be keeping an eye on.
After dinner they all retired to the drawing room, settling in around the scattered tables to play whist and piquet, while a footman wandered about, filling their glasses.
His nymph was demurely ensconced with George and Lord Exley before the fire. She looked tired, skin stretched a little too tightly over her cheekbones. Her glance slid over him, skittered away like a bat.
‘Listening to my father and George hash over all the last few months has got to be dreadfully dull for you,’ Syd said, extending one hand to Imogen and helping her up from her seat.
‘You’ll be much better off with us out on the terrace,’ Lord Dorrington added, seconding his friend.
His nymph glanced to George, who waved her off. ‘You go, too,’ she said to her husband. ‘You don’t want to listen to this.’
Somercote smiled, but shook his head. ‘Not a chance. I’m simply agog to hear how the Cooper children have been fairing, and to find out about Mrs Swift’s new son.’
George raised one brow, but she seemed content for him to stay. Amazing. George was displaying alarming signs of domesticity.
A faint shudder worked its way down his spine. It was all so terribly wrong.
Layton and Dorrington had already escorted Imogen out to the terrace, his cousin and Morpeth drifted out, followed by Bennett and Drake. Gabriel fell in behind them, hands already searching his pockets for a cigarillo.
He pulled a cigarillo and a spill from his pocket, twirling the small twist of paper as he walked towards one of the lamps that illuminated the terrace. He lit the spill and used it to light the cigarillo, all the while keeping an eye on Imogen.
He bit the side of his cheek and studied the tableau before him. His nymph was sitting perched upon the wide stone balustrade, in animated discussion with all three gentlemen. He puffed on his cigarillo and repressed the urge to wade in and send them about their business.
Drake glanced over at him, a mere flick of his eyes, but the smirk on his face said it all. Gabriel wasn’t surprised that Lindsey Darling would catch on so quickly, he’d always had a sixth sense for ferreting out what you least wished him to know and the devil’s own sense of humour.
Refusing to be drawn, Gabriel leaned against the balustrade and bided his time. He crumpled what was left of the spill to ash and let the wind carry it away. He wasn’t about to pursue her in as blatant a way as he would have to in order to break into their ranks.
For the moment he was content to simply watch her, to indulge himself with a few entertaining fantasies, and to wonder and worry if she had been made aware of the gossip circulating London. She hadn’t come near him all evening, and that led him to believe she had been. Rotten luck.
He grimaced, and took a long drag on his cigarillo, savouring the spicy flavour of the tobacco. She couldn’t avoid him all night…
Lying in bed later that night he began to regret his strategy. Watching Drake flirt with her, Bennett teach her to play hazard had been more than annoying; it had been torture. He supposed he was lucky that St Audley had thus failed to put in an appearance and further cut him out. As it was, she’d eluded him all evening, and now he was alone in his cold room, filled with unanswered questions, and almost overwhelmed with lust.
This was not the reunion he’d been hoping for. He kept forgetting she wasn’t one of the ton’s practiced flirts. That even if she wanted him—and he wasn’t entirely sure that she did—she wouldn’t think to casually tell him which room was hers.
Just being in the same room with Imogen made his blood heat, and when she looked at him, her lower lip caught between his teeth, and a worried expression clouding her eyes, it was all he could do not to simply pull her into his arms and kiss such doubts away.
He rolled over and punched the pillow into a more comfortable shape and flung himself down again.
When he’d joined the crowd teaching her to play hazard, she’d waited a few minutes, and then excused herself. When he’d found her seated with George and Cardross, she’d glanced around the room searchingly, eliciting invitation from Drake to join him for a game of chess. Damn him.
Thoroughly put out, Gabriel rolled over again and buried his face in his pillow, too wound up, and too irritated to sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Reports that a certain viscount has abandoned the court of the Lady Corinthian appear to be premature.
Tête-à-Tête, 17 October 1789
Seated atop one of the countess’s hunters, Imogen clenched her knees together around
