Miss Gabriel's Gambit (4 page)

David whirled at the sound of that soft voice to confront a vision. At first, he wondered if his drunken dreams were still plaguing him, for no real woman could be so exquisitely beautiful. A plaited crown of blond hair framed a face of the kind that Botticelli had adored. Eyes the color of a calm green ocean regarded him from beneath a dark lashed fringe. Porcelain cheeks began to glow a delightful red, as ripe-cherry lips began to thin into a frown. David tried to recall himself, but could not help letting his gaze linger on the delightful contours of her lush figure. Even the concealing folds of her shapeless black merino gown could not entirely mask a woman who might serve as a model for Temptation personified.

Sylvia took a deep breath, trying to control her growing anger and decided to return the stranger’s rude gaze measure for measure. It had been a mistake to come down in answer to the peculiar summons, she could see that now. Far better to have sent the footman to seek out Boniface than to subject herself to providing a spectacle for this slack-jawed pretender! Lord Donhill, indeed! Even as a novice to the fashionable world, Sylvia could see that the garments on the man’s tall, muscular frame looked as if they had been pieced together by a tailor with more cheek than skill.

Since her Uncle’s death had unexpectedly demoted her from the respected daughter of the house to poor relation dogbody, Sylvia had learned that there were those who might consider her fair game for dalliance. She waited for the visitor’s thunderstruck expression to transform into the leering lust she had come to expect from the men who equated poverty with vulnerability, but his shabby lordship surprised her.

 “I must apologize, Miss ...” he said, his lip twisting into an appealing smile.

“Gabriel, milord,” Sylvia said, schooling her countenance to blandness, she resisted the desire to tell him to put his apologies into the pocket of his hideous coat and leave. Caution and habit caused her to evaluate the situation logically.

While his dress was less than fashionable it was definitely clean and well-kept. Among the top tiers of the ton, most masculine foibles were tolerated if not celebrated. There was, therefore, the distinct chance that this was one of those instances where eccentricity rather than poverty was at play. In either event, if the man truly did have a title, Aunt Ruby would be most furious at missing this unlikely lord’s call, much more so if she found that her niece had turned him away.

 It would be a sin beyond forgiveness if Sylvia were to offend any man who might be viewed as a likely suitor for Caroline, especially a noble one. Still, if Sylvia’s cousin was his lordship’s object, why had the footman insisted that the visitor had come to call on a mere boy of nine?

“Miss Gabriel,” David said, feeling more than a little ashamed at putting Sir Miles’ kinswoman to the blush. “I hope that you will forgive me for my uncommon rudeness, but to be blunt; I was startled. I assume that you are aware of your unusual looks. It is somewhat unsettling to be confronted with a living image of a seraph this early in the morning, particularly when one has spent a somewhat iniquitous night.”

Sylvia found herself relaxing somewhat at his jocular tone and his disarming honesty. She felt an absurd longing to straighten his cravat and sweep that thatch of coal black hair from his eyes until, in a gesture of chagrin, he brushed it aside himself. A shaft of sun streaming through the windows touched him as he removed his spectacles, polishing them absently on that woeful neckcloth of his. The glimpse of those green-flecked brown eyes put Sylvia in mind of rich earth at tilling time. A peculiar sparkle seemed to light his face, making him seem almost like a little boy who has been caught at some mischief. Despite his unexpected charm, Sylvia reminded herself that it might prove to be a serious error to let down her facade.

“Indeed,” Sylvia replied. “I have no sword, milord, so I fail to see how you could mistake me for an avenging angel.”

David looked up in surprise. Comeliness
and
insinuations of wit? He returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose. It was only years of reading the countenances of those who challenged him across the chess board that allowed him to detect a hint of quickly concealed tempest in those sea-green eyes. Other than that fleeting telltale, her exquisite face was fatuously blank, seemingly devoid of expression.

Had she sized him up and dismissed him because of his casual attire? It would not be the first time that he had been cut because of his sartorial heedlessness, but nonetheless, he felt a strange stir of disappointment. A pity that Miss Gabriel seemed to lack the humor and spirit that would have animated those chiseled features. As it was, she seemed no more than a pretty, but dull piece of living statuary.

“I have come to see Sir Miles,” David said, his voice formal once more.

“He shall be down shortly,” the stone angel said, in a toneless voice.

David cast about for some topic to fill the growing silence. Perhaps the weather? The latest
on-dit
? But then he did not know the latest
on-dit
, so it would have to be the weather. Surely that would not be too much for a woman of even limited intellect. In David’s narrow experience it was almost a certitude that women endowed with superior beauty were shortchanged in the attribute of intelligence. Once beyond the set topics of climate and gossip they inevitably foundered and sank in the seas of more intellectual conversation. He was about to comment on the delights of the sun after so much rain when relief arrived and the door was thrown open. However, instead of the elderly Sir Miles, a young boy of about nine burst into the room.

“I’m done with my lesson, Syl. Now may I meet Lord Whatsisname?”

“‘Lord Donhill,’ Miles,” she reproved, turning to their guest. “May I present Sir Miles Gabriel.”

The boy made his leg, but David did not see. He turned abruptly to the window, hoping to conceal his shock and disappointment as the web woven of ephemeral hope and fancy was torn to shreds. It was clear now that Highslip had been correct. The old baronet was dead. A few moments passed before David dared to turn his face again. Fortunately, the years of chess play had given him infinite practice in commanding his features. However, he could not quite control the betraying tones of roughness in his voice.

“I am sorry, lad,” he said extending his hand. “I was expecting your Uncle.”

“Uncle Miles died over a year ago,” the boy said sympathetically. “Surely everyone knows that.”

Although his features were now impassive, Sylvia had seen Lord Donhill’s face before he had turned away; the pain in his eyes had mirrored the ache in her own heart. Despite Uncle Miles’ multitude of eccentricities, Sylvia had loved her uncle dearly and it was clear to see that Lord Donhill too, must have held the late Sir Miles in great esteem. Her curiosity roused, Sylvia was about to question Lord Donhill but to her surprise, he bent down before the boy, squatting until the two were eye to eye.

Sylvia smiled at the sight of that awkwardly bent lanky frame, her reserve thawing entirely. It was a rare adult that realized how intimidating a grown man’s height could be to a child. Lucky indeed, that Lord Donhill did not favor fashion, for a pair of skin-fitting breeches could not have stood the stress of the powerful thighs that were limned by the tautened fabric.

“I lived very far away,” David said. “In India. Your Uncle and I were good friends, but we had never met face to face.”

“I never heard of no Lord Donhill.” Miles asked cocking his head in an inquiring pose. “How can you be friends if you never met?

By post
, Sylvia thought, an uneasy cold feeling spreading through the pit of her stomach as she digested his words. She felt much as if she had swallowed one of Gunther’s famous ice confections whole, her mind racing giddily as she considered the unlikely possibility that the consequences of her deceit were coming to roost on her doorstep. However, the more she tried to convince herself that her fears were foolish, that he had often declared that he would never leave India, the more certain Sylvia became that her worst nightmares were about to come true.

“I have only recently become Lord Donhill, just as you are a relatively new-made Sir Miles. My name is David Rutherford,” he said, taking off his glasses and polishing them in a forlorn gesture before slipping them absently into one of his pockets.

David Rutherford. The pronouncement of the name cut the last thread of Sylvia’s clinging hope and she felt herself spinning down into the abyss of her own making. Somehow she had always pictured her Uncle’s correspondent as an older gentleman, close to Uncle Miles in age. Still, would that have made her actions any less improper? Sylvia doubted that Aunt Ruby would see it in that light, much less forgive her scapegrace niece were she to hear the whole. Deliberately, Sylvia cleared the confusion from her mind, concentrating on the problem arrayed before her. Knowing David Rutherford, the truth would undoubtedly be the best solution.

“Famous! I’ve heard all about you,” the boy exclaimed. “I vow, you play chess nearly as well as cousin-”

“Miles,” Sylvia interrupted quickly. “Can you ask Boniface to see to some refreshments for our guest?”

“Why not just ring?” Miles asked, but he was forestalled by Sylvia’s quelling look. “I’ll go get him,” he mumbled. “Can’t just say you don’t want me to listen, can you?”

Once more, David found himself alone with the stone angel.

“I am sorry, milord. Had I known your identity, I would have spared you this,” she said. “However, the footman is a new one and he quite insisted that you wished to speak to my young cousin.”

There was a curious tone to her voice, one that he almost would have styled warmth. Curious, he patted his pockets in search of his spectacles.

“Sir Miles spoke quite fondly of you, milord,” Sylvia said choosing her words carefully. “Your letters and the game were a joy to him, particularly in the last months of his illness. Even when he could no longer could think clearly enough to play, he bade the game continue.”

The brass knocker rapped impatiently and a babble of voices echoed in the entryway. Surely Aunt Ruby and Caroline had not returned so soon! Sylvia felt a growing tide of panic at the unmistakable high pitched nasal whine of her aunt’s orders to the staff. Sylvia regarded David Rutherford's face rapidly considered her options. If she were to tell him the whole now, without any preamble, there would certainly be questions, questions that would take far too long to answer. Discovery would be inevitable, since Aunt Ruby would be upon them in a matter of moments. There was only one possible move.

“I know it was most improper, milord,” Sylvia said in a rush. “My younger brother William could not bear to leave the game unfinished and it was he who continued the play in the months that followed our uncle’s passing. In a way, it was his tribute to a man who was most dear to the both of us.”

“I would certainly have acceded to continue the game, if that was his concern,” David said, feeling a rush of annoyance.

Sylvia hung her head guiltily. In truth, she had feared that he would put an end to the play upon hearing the news. “Your last letters had mentioned some business difficulties,” she said weakly, praying that William would forgive her for the lie that she was putting in his dish. “I believe my brother meant to spare you the additional burden until you were on your feet once more. However, I soon realized that it was wrong to keep the news from you. I, myself, sent a letter informing you of Uncle Miles’ death.”

“Unfortunately, I never received your letter. I suppose that, like my other correspondence, it will catch up with me in time. After all, I only received your brother’s final move last evening. And if the final moves were his, I must congratulate him upon his
tour de force
. I declare, I did not see my doom upon me till almost the very end.” David said. “Is he at home?”

“No, milord,” Sylvia said. “He is down at Oxford.”

“He plays splendidly,” David reiterated. “Nonetheless, Miss Gabriel, I do not enjoy being made to look a fool. The truth would certainly have spared me a great deal of trouble, although I cannot say it is any less humbling to lose to a callow youth than to a man who has passed from this earth altogether. I knew that Sir Miles had been ill, of course, but I am sorry to say that I paid it too scant attention.”

His wistful tones caused Sylvia agonies of guilt. “Milord, do not blame yourself. My uncle’s health was never of the best, but this was something of a shock to us all.” The sound of footsteps treading heavily up the stairs reminded her of her danger. Aunt Ruby would be angry, so very angry if she heard the whole of her niece’s deceit. “I know that it was wrong to deceive you, milord, but I beg you, do not hold it against my brother and do not tell my Aunt Ruby, I pray you. She and Will do not get on well and I fear if she hears of this she will cause him no end of trouble. Please, milord.”

“He did me no real harm. If you feel so strongly, I shall say nothing,” David agreed, moved by the sincerity of her plea.
So, the stone angel does have a heart after all
, he thought as he fumbled for his glasses once more to better view the effect of emotion on that marble face.

Just as he found the proper pocket, the door flew open. When he saw the sight framed by the doorway, he wished that he had never taken the spectacles from his pocket.

“Milord! We did not expect callers when we are so soon come to town,” Ruby Gabriel said coyly.

David would not have believed that a woman who looked to be well over fifty could simper so, but simper she did, pulling a young chit in tow. Like a ship of line, floating amidst an ocean of unbecoming ruffles and furbelows, the woman plunged forward into the sea of introductions and neatly maneuvered her daughter to the side of the prize. To her credit, the girl seemed rather reluctant to be put forward, but her mother was a force too strong to resist.

“My daughter, Caroline Gabriel, milord,” Mrs. Gabriel declared.

As she advanced, David edged back slowly until his knees met the edge of a chair. Masterfully cornered, David bowed and planned his defensive position.