Such a grand show of force. If there’d been any doubt as to where she stood it was over. When he reached them he paused and turned back to face Perrin. ‘Unless you come to your senses, in which case you may seek us out during supper and grovel at her feet.’
Without another word, or so much as a backward glance, he claimed a white faced Imogen and led her out of the room, their friends falling in behind them. An impenetrable wall of silk and velvet.
Imogen collapsed into the chair Gabriel placed her in, her gown crumpling around her. The seats around them overflowed with their friends. She simply wanted to leave, but when she’d tried to do so, George had shaken her head, and forced her to stand her ground.
The odd, hushed whispering conversations taking place set Imogen’s teeth on edge. This was exactly what she’d been dreading all along. People were sneaking glances at her as they passed, and the occasional high pitched titter could only have been at her expense.
She fought back the urge to vomit, breathing slowly, deliberately. Gabriel reappeared with a selection of delicacies. A footman reached past her to fill their glasses with champagne.
‘Drink up,’ Gabriel urged, eating a lobster patty as though nothing were out of the ordinary. ‘You’ve earned it.’
He was perfectly at his ease. Laughing beside her in grey striped silk, the curls of his wig negligently dangling over one shoulder. He was giving a masterful performance. He picked at a bit of wax that had fallen on his sleeve, as if that minute task were all the worry he had in the world.
Imogen tossed back the entire glass. Gabriel handed her his glass before waving the footman back over, and commandeering a bottle for the table. She drank the second glass in three gulps, and George filled it again.
Her stomach lurched in protest then settled. She had to make it clear to Gabriel that he was not to fight Perrin. Anger churned, burning its way through her. ‘You’re not—’
‘Not going to discuss it here,’ the countess interrupted, cutting off whatever retort had sprung to Gabriel’s lips. ‘We’re all going to go on as if nothing happened. Eat. Drink. Dance, and then we can leave, and the two of you can fight about it all the way home, all night long, and into tomorrow if you care to, but not now.’
Imogen swallowed her anger down, nearly choking. She took another gulp of champagne. Everyone was behaving as if this were a perfectly normal evening. It was tragedy masquerading as a farce. Couldn’t they see that?
And they continued to pretend for the next several hours. She was paraded around the dance floor until the final notes of the evening wavered and dissipated. The crowd had hardly thinned. Everyone was watching them, curious, eager for another disaster. Another show. Breathless with anticipation.
Imogen shook her skirts out, smoothing them over her hoops. ‘Do they expect us to cap the evening by making love here and now?’
Gabriel chuckled and held out her evening cloak. ‘It would certainly put the finishing touch on a rather unusual evening.’
She hooked the clasp with shaking fingers. George grabbed him by the arm, hauling him back from her. ‘Not so much as a kiss on the steps, you awful man.’
Gabriel bit the inside of his cheek, amused despite himself, despite his nymph’s obvious temper and the warning note in George’s voice. Denied the prey he wanted, he was itching for a confrontation. Any confrontation.
He’d have loved to put on a show the ton would never forget, but Imogen had been tried almost past her limits. Better to get her home and into bed. She’d feel better in the morning, and so would he.
By morning he would know exactly where and when he’d get to extract Perrin’s apology. Something which he was looking forward to with almost unholy glee.
Please let Perrin choose swords. Pistols would be too quick, too easy, too impersonal. Not nearly bloody enough…
When they arrived at Dauntry House, George deserted them in the hall. ‘You don’t need me in the middle of this.’
Imogen stared dumbly about the hall, all emotion gone from her face. Poor thing. She looked numb. Done for. Gabriel tugged her into the saloon and over to the chairs before the cold hearth. He gently pushed her down into one, then sank into the one opposite it, crossing one leg over the other and settling back into the embrace of the high-backed chair. He swept his wig from his head and tossed it onto the small table beside him.
‘Well, love,’ he prompted.
‘Don’t even think about taking that tone with me.’ Her eyes flashed, the whites glowing in the dark room. Gabriel didn’t allow his lips to curl up into a smile. It took all the strength he had.
‘Did you happen to notice that Perrin had made himself scarce by the time we returned from supper?’ he asked offhandedly.
Imogen blinked. Clearly she hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t had the smallest idea that they’d already won the first battle.
When she didn’t respond, Gabriel stretched out his leg and jiggled her knee with his foot. ‘Out with it. You were near bursting during supper.’
Prodded out of her thoughts Imogen glared at him again. ‘You’re not to fight him, Gabriel.’
‘Oddly enough, I’m going to.’
‘I won’t have it,’ Imogen insisted, sitting up and leaning forward, her expression suddenly earnest. ‘Tonight was bad enough, but if you kill Perrin—you’ll—I’ll—’
‘You’re right, love, tonight was awful, and if I don’t meet your ex-husband it will be open season on us both.’ He held up a hand when she started to reply, and she fell silent, staring at him, her brows drawn together in a worried little frown. ‘And who said anything about killing him? There’s no humiliation in that, or at least none he’d be around to suffer from, and that’s what I’m after. That damn little
