Dear Impostor (37 page)

          “I should think it would be nice to be
beautiful,” Circe said. Her tone was wistful.

          Psyche looked stricken. “Dearest, you are very
lovely.” she told her sister.

          “No, I am not,” Circe argued. “I do not have
fair hair, mine is a most indifferent brown and it does not curl, and I do not
have nice blue eyes and a straight nose. And I certainly do not have a bosom.”

          “Circe!” Aunt Sophie scolded. “This is not suitable
dinner time conversation. Is it necessary to send you back to the schoolroom?”

          “I’m sorry, Aunt,” Circe said. “But it is an
accurate portrait.”

          Gabriel tried not to laugh; he did not wish to
hurt her feelings. “Circe,” he captured her attention although he kept his
voice low. “All colts go through an awkward stage, you know, before they reach
their full growth.”

          Aunt Sophie looked ready to issue further
reprimands, so he hurried on. “What I mean to say is, you are not yet finished
growing. I have no doubt that you will mature into a beautiful young woman. Then
all the young men in London will have to guard their hearts.”

          “Do you really think so?” Circe sounded
hopeful, and Psyche flashed him a quick look of gratitude.

          “I am sure of it,” Gabriel said.

          “But Psyche will still be more beautiful.” Circe
poked a fork at her slice of lamb.

          Gabriel turned his head so that the child
could not see the wink he sent Psyche. “Yes, but by then, she will be old,” he
said gravely.

          Psyche bit her lip to hold back a smile, and
Aunt Sophie tried to turn a snort of laughter into a cough, with only limited
success. But Circe brightened. “That is true,” she said, and began to eat her
dinner once again.

          After dinner, Psyche went upstairs to dress
for the ball. Circe lingered on the staircase. “I wish I could go to the ball;
I should like to have a costume,” she said.

          “Your turn will come, I promise you,” Gabriel
told her. “Personally, I should be happy to donate one blue satin sash.”

          She looked hopeful, so he added quickly, “But
I fear Psyche will not allow it.”

          Circe sighed.

          “However, you could design a costume for the
time when you are a young lady in your first Season,” Gabriel suggested, trying
to cheer her.

          Circe looked interested at once. “That is
true. I will get out my colored pencils.”

          Gabriel left her on the first landing and went
up to change into his costume. He still thought a simple domino and half mask
would have done as well; however, the fuller mask certainly did cover his face
almost completely, and the Cavalier-type wide-brimmed hat with the long plume
that the dressmaker had included would hide most of his dark hair. He looked at
the hat, which Psyche had sent up to his room after its late arrival, with
disfavor. He didn’t know which one was most ridiculous, the hat or that stupid
silk sash.

          Brickson was there to help him change, looking
altogether too cheerful.

          “Masquerades should be banned,” Gabriel
observed as he pulled off his neckcloth and slipped out of his evening jacket
and white evening shirt.

          “Yes, my lord,” the manservant agreed. He held
out the silk shirt, which touched Gabriel’s bare skin like a caress. No wonder
women liked silk lingerie, Gabriel thought. But he still felt foolish, and he
felt even more so by the time he had on the whole outfit. “I look like I should
be fighting Roundheads,” he declared. “I can’t see what is faintly Greek about
this.”

          He went down to the landing where Circe waited
patiently. “I’m going up to the schoolroom soon,” she said, as if expecting a
scolding. “But Psyche said I could see the costumes, first.”

          He made a grand bow for her benefit. “My
lady.”

          Circe giggled. “You look very fine, and the
blue sash is quite nice.”

          He showed her the mask, and Circe raised her
brows. “That is most eerie,” she noted. “A blankness where the face should be,
and only the eyes glinting through–very alarming.”

          “I hope the ladies will not all faint away,”
he said, playing along.

          “If they have even an ounce of observation,
they will know you by your fine shoulders,” she pointed out.

          Gabriel shook his head. “I hope they are not
all as perceptive as you,” he said ruefully, “or my disguise will all be for
naught.”

          At last he heard a soft step on the staircase,
and he turned to see. The sight took his breath.

          Psyche paused, her expression perplexed. “Is
something wrong? Is it too much?”

          He gazed at her for a long moment. “You look
like a goddess, indeed.”

          Psyche shrugged her almost bare shoulders. “I
feel very–um–exposed.”

          “You look as if you stepped down off Mount
Olympus, “ he said with perfect truth, gazing at the simple white linen costume
that showed off the swam-like curve of her neck, her white shoulders, the
swelling curves of her bosom, even exposing a shocking glimpse of shapely
ankles.

          “You don’t think it too revealing?” she asked,
twitching her skirt a bit but only succeeding in revealing more of her
well-formed leg.

          Gabriel thought of all the men at the ball
tonight, and how eager and lascivious their attention would be. Damn, he’d have
to hang on her shoulder for the whole night to keep them away. Somehow, the
idea did not displease him.

          “I like it,” Circe said. “And your hair, too.”

          Her hair was pulled into a simple classical
twist, with creamy white flowers tucked into the golden tresses. The color of
her cheeks was heightened just now as they both stared at her; she was indeed a
most stunning vision.

          Gabriel tried to pull himself together. “Why
did I not get a Greek costume, too?” he inquired.

          Psyche bit her lip, obviously trying not to
laugh. “When I looked into one of Papa’s classical tomes, it appeared that a
Greek man’s costume would have left you. . . um. . . exposed, indeed.”

          Gabriel’s own education came back to him; as
he recalled, the male Greek warriors often wore practically nothing. “I, uh,
can see how that might be impractical,” he agreed.

          “Besides, we wish you to be anonymous,” she
said. “I didn’t want to make it too apparent that you were the other half of my
myth.”

          The clock chimed from the parlor, and Psyche
motioned to the footman for their evening cloaks. “It is time we were off;
Circe, to bed with you.”

          The child kissed her sister good-bye and
smiled at Gabriel. “When I am a lady, you must save a dance for me.”

          “I would be desolate without your
partnership,” Gabriel agreed. They went, not out the front door, but toward the
back, having agreed earlier that Gabriel must stay out of sight as much as
possible. The showy white cloak that had come with his costume was folded over
his arm and he wore his normal black evening cloak as they made their way out
the back of the house and across to the stables.

          A cat yowled from the darkness, and Psyche
grabbed his arm. “There! Did something move?”

          Gabriel turned and narrowed his eyes; the
dancing light of the lantern made it hard to see through the shadows. “It’s
nothing,” he said, but they quickened their pace nonetheless.

          In the carriage house, the coachman gazed at
them in surprise. “Miss, no one told me you was waiting. I would have brought
the carriage around just as always.”

          “We felt like a stroll,” Psyche soothed him. Gabriel
helped her into the carriage and then climbed in to sit beside her.

          She was very much aware that Aunt Sophie was
not with them, as usual. He seemed to take up so much of the carriage, with his
long legs, and his broad shoulders, and the very masculine energy that he
exuded. She could smell his clean linen and the faint odor of shaving soap that
clung to his tanned cheeks. A shame it was only a short drive to the Forsyth
mansion. Or perhaps a good thing, she told herself.

          The carriage pulled out into the street,
rocking a little over the uneven paving stones, and she put out one hand to
steady herself.

          Gabriel caught her hand and held it within his
own. His grip was firm, and his fingers warm as they curled around hers. She
felt the tension inside her, and saw that his eyes were dark with something
more than his usual lazy charm.

          “I’m all right,” she said, settling into her
seat, and tried to withdraw her hand. But Gabriel would not relinquish it. Instead,
he used it to draw her closer. She held back for a moment only before giving in
and sliding next to him.

          Turning her head, she opened her lips to scold
him. But Gabriel knew her too well; his mouth covered hers before she could
elicit more than a peep. His clever tongue moved with delicious slowness. It
was a long kiss, and sweet. A shaky sigh escaped her when at last he began to
nibble his way down her neck and over her exposed shoulder. She would have more
gowns made in this fashion, she thought with a silent giggle.

          All laughter fled when she felt the heat of
his palm cup the heavy curve of her breast. Her shivers had nothing to do with
the cool night outside the carriage and everything to do with the sensations
his sure touch elicited. Unsure what to do, she raised tentative hands to his
wide shoulders. His warm breath against the curve of her throat made her bold.

          “Oh, my lovely, lovely Miss Hill,” he teased
gently. “It’s a very good thing you no longer have to dock my pay for my
improper actions. If that were so, I fear that I would be about to lose it all .
. .”

           Feeling just a little foolish at his reminder
of her attempts at control, she hid her smile in the smooth fabric of his cloak
and pushed all but his implied promise out of her mind. She wanted what he
offered. All these incredible new feelings—she had never expected such
pleasure, certainly not from such a person as this adventurer.

           Giving into her curiosity, she slid her hands
down his chest and under his cloak. The slippery silk covered the muscled
curves of his chest and the steady thumping of his heart. Ducking her head, she
pressed kisses against his tanned neck. Gratified when his heartbeat thundered
against her hand, she smiled and leaned her face deeper into his shoulder. Drinking
in the tangy, clean scent of him, she didn’t notice when the carriage rocked to
a stop.

          David heard the sound of carriage wheels
retreating as he hurried up to the Hill’s front door, but he did not heed it. It
was only four more blocks to the Forsyth’s palatial townhouse, and already the
street was full of carriages and chaises and old fashioned coaches; the ball
would be crowded indeed.

          He rapped smartly on the dark wood of the
door, and in a moment, a footman pulled it open.

          “I’m here for Tarrington,” David said
blithely.

          The footman blinked. “I regret to inform you,
my lord, that his lordship is out for the evening.”

          David shrugged and walked into the house; the
footman, looking surprised, gave way before him. “I know he’s skulking about,
but it’s I, Westbury. Just tell him, will you?”

          “I remember you, my lord,” the footman
protested. “But he is really not at home.”

          “I’ll wait right here,” David said. “He might
need me, you see. Protection.”

          “I think I shall get the butler,” the footman
said. He retreated, looking vexed.

          David stood alone in the front hall, but in a
moment, he heard a clear voice say, “He’s really not in, you know. You just
missed them.”

          Who was speaking? The voice was vaguely
familiar. David looked around, then up, and made out a small figure sitting on
the first landing of the staircase. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, with
her skirts pulled neatly down to hide any sight of her limbs. It was a child, a
girl, a pale stick-thin waif who looked down at him with a serious expression. One
of the family, obviously; she was well dressed, though just as obviously not
yet out. Too young anyhow, he told himself; this chit would still be in the
schoolroom. But she would know where everyone was; he walked closer.

          “Did he leave for the ball already?” David
asked.

          She nodded.

          “Dash it–oh, sorry. I should have come a half
hour ago.”

          “Are you on your way to the ball, too?” the
child asked. She had a light clear voice that fell pleasantly on the ears; too
bad she was such a plain little thing, he thought, all big eyes and wide mouth.