Page 7 of Scoundrel for Sale
Gabe dropped his shirt back over his head as he crossed the stage and hopped down before his purchaser. He could still see nothing of her face in the candlelight. He took her hand, clad in an elbow-length black kidskin glove, and bowed over it. “My lady,” he said, as his best guess was that a woman with such an elegant bearing would be titled. He gestured up the aisle. “Shall we?”
She nodded crisply and took his arm. “We shall.”
And with that, Gabriel led his black-silk-clad savior out into the night.
Chapter 2
The carriage Madame Heron had waiting for them was perfect: unmarked black lacquer on the outside, plush gray velvet on the inside.
Gabe handed the woman in black up into the carriage, then paused as he followed, unsure if he should sit next to her or take the facing seat. Normally he would not presume. But considering the circumstances…
Seeing her ramrod-straight drawing room posture, he opted for the facing seat.
After a few seconds of silence, Gabe said, “Thank you.”
The veil-clad head turned to regard him. “For what?”
“For purchasing me. Instead of Lady Liddell. I—” He paused, considering his words. “I’ve never slept with a married woman before, unless she had that sort of arrangement with her husband. I wasn’t keen to start.”
“Of course not. You would never do that,” she murmured.
“What was that?” he asked, startled. It sounded almost as if she knew him.
Yet he had no idea who she might be.
She waved a black-gloved hand. “Never mind.”
He blanched as it occurred to him that his purchaser might be in much the same situation as Lady Liddell. “For all I know, you might be married, too,” he said cautiously.
“I’m not. I’m a widow.”
The tension that had crept into his shoulders abruptly eased. “That’s a relief.” He studied her in the moonlight filtering through the carriage windows. He still couldn’t make out anything of her face, but she was of medium height and had a splendid figure with lush breasts and a deliciously curved bottom. It would be no chore to bed this woman. “You can take that off if you like,” he said, gesturing to his own face. “I’ll find out who you are soon enough. Unless”—he grinned, and it felt natural, the first smile he hadn’t had to feign since the start of this bizarre evening—“that’s something you like. To wear your veil, and nothing else.”
Her voice was prim. “I do not wish to be seen on the way to our room. I will remove it once we’re safely inside.”
He inclined his head. “As you prefer.”
The carriage slowed as they approached their destination: Pulteney House, London’s finest hotel, located just north of Green Park. Instead of pulling up to the main entrance, the carriage went around to the back, and they were ushered in via the servants’ entrance. A footman led them directly to a suite on the top floor.
Gabe had never had occasion to enter the Pulteney before, but the room was as lush as he’d expected. Axminster carpets adorned a hardwood floor so glossy it gleamed in the candlelight. Curtains of Prussian blue velvet, corded in gold, had been drawn over windows that ran almost the full height of the wall. Not that there was much to see at this time of night, but during the day, the view of Green Park must be spectacular. Scenes from Greek myths adorned frescos that lined the walls. And the plush satin counterpane upon the bed was a bright, immaculate white.
The room had been prepared for them. The satchel Gabe had given Madame Heron was waiting in the dressing area, and his change of clothes was neatly hung, ready for the next morning.
Gabe also noticed a few items set upon the bedside table: two bottles containing different types of oil, a neat stack of towels, and a tall glass of water with a number of translucent strips floating around inside: sheepskin condoms, pre-soaked and ready for use.
Gabe strode over to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. “Would you like something?” he asked his companion. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that she had begun to unpin her veil. He kept one eye on her, eager to see who his companion for the evening might be. “There’s champagne, sherry, and hot water if you’d prefer tea.”
The veil had become snagged on something—most probably a hairpin—and she was carefully working to untangle it. “Is there any Madeira?”
“There is,” Gabe confirmed, turning to pour it. He couldn’t help but smile as he did so. “You’ve made me think of my best friend’s little sister. She always preferred Madeira.”
He turned with their drinks in hand. She’d managed to work the veil free, and Gabe watched as she pulled it up and over her head. Her back was to him, but the first thing he noticed was her hair, piled atop her head, neither brown nor blonde, but a lovely shade of caramel.
She turned her head, glancing at him over her shoulder. The glasses suddenly slipped in his hands as he met a pair of familiar eyes—huge and aquamarine blue, the same color as the sea off the coast of Malta. He managed not to drop their drinks entirely, but most of the glasses’ contents went sloshing onto his boots.
“And she still does,” Abigail said, smiling as she tossed her veil onto a chair.
Chapter 3
