Kate Noble (37 page)

At the mention of Lisbon, a little of Gail’s fire left her, and she shrunk back a bit. Her face fell slightly, but as her stubborn chin came up and her mouth opened, it was Evangeline who came back to face him, a zealous protectiveness filling her with strength.

“If I recall,
Father
,” she said with the icy imperiousness only petite blondes can summon, “I will reach my majority in a matter of weeks. When I am twenty-one, I will no longer have to bow to your whims. You may be prepared for a long engagement, but I assure you, once I celebrate my birthday, it will be surprisingly short.”

And with that last statement, Evangeline took her shocked sister’s hand, and exited the library as quickly as her feet could carry her.

UPSTAIRS
, Evangeline broke down in sobs in Gail’s arms.

INSIDE
the library, the battle was far from over.

Romilla, crossed to the desk, where her husband had resumed reading the paper.

“What on earth just happened?” she asked, her tone implying she knew exactly what had occurred.

“My dear,” Sir Geoffrey sighed. “I’m tired. I’m irritated—more so now. So if possible, could we have this little discussion at another time?”

“I just witnessed a display unlike any I thought I’d ever see from you. You mocked Evangeline’s feelings by trying to buy her off with paints. You made Gail ashamed by mentioning Lisbon—which you know good and well was provoked! I speak Portuguese, too, I know exactly what was said, even if you have conveniently forgotten how the girls were insulted! What made you think that yelling bloody murder and intimidating your children was the best way to handle Evangeline’s request?”

Romilla put her hands on her hips, her eyes boring through the paper until Sir Geoffrey had no choice but to put it down and deal with the third disgruntled female in his family.

“She’s just nervous. She needed to know the engagement still stands.”

“She’s not nervous. I’ve never seen her more resolved in my life. Did you listen to her at all? She’s unhappy. The situation, to her, is untenable. I, for one, would like to know why.”

“Well, it’s lucky then you haven’t seen her all your life.” Sir Geoffrey felt the ire rising again. “She’ll follow along and do as she’s told. Evie’s always been a good girl.”

“She’s not a girl anymore, Geoffrey!” Romilla’s volume matched her husband’s. “She’s a young woman, with a mind of her own, and feelings on top of it. Which you just told her don’t matter! Evangeline is a young lady who knows her own self and, in my experience, is not in the practice of making idle threats.”

Sir Geoffrey stilled for a moment, letting the meaning behind his wife’s words sink in.

“My God…do you really think she would? Cry off when she turns twenty-one?” Sir Geoffrey rubbed his chin as Romilla shrugged in reply.

“She does not leave this house.” Sir Geoffrey pointed a shaking finger to the doors.

“What?” Romilla’s head snapped up.

“Evangeline. Keep her under lock and key. She does not leave this house, she does not leave her
room
until she can be brought to her senses!”

“My dear, no, I meant we should talk to her…get to the bottom of her thinking!” But her protests fell on deaf ears. Sir Geoffrey had already stormed into the hall, calling for Mrs. Bibb.

Romilla could only stare blankly at the utter stranger who had replaced the loving family man she had married.

IT
was decided that the Alton household would spend the evening in.

Notes were sent to the hostesses of all the parties they had planned on attending that evening, remarking that Romilla and the girls were so worn out from the social rounds of the past few weeks that they were taking a well-deserved respite. The hostesses were understanding and happily placated by the promise of invitations to the next Alton household event.

Evangeline and Gail had each retired to their rooms, Evangeline too deeply entrenched in her tears to think clearly, and Gail resolved to think long and hard about the situation. But she soon grew restless and found herself wandering the halls until, at last, she came to the conservatory.

Summer bloomed all year long in the indoor garden, and as the sun faded into darkness, the atmosphere must have been very much like the night Max stole the infamous kiss from Evangeline. The scene of the crime, Gail thought bemusedly, as she walked to the fountain, the sound of water flowing over the carved sprites soothing her mind. All of this madness because of one silly kiss. As she seated herself on the stone bench, her foot tapping idly on the head of a stone frog, Gail thought what would have happened if it had been she instead of Evangeline. Would she have let Max kiss her then? Would she have been engaged now? Would she have been happy?

It didn’t matter what would or could have happened, Gail thought, shaking off those disturbing questions. What mattered now was what was to be done—and when the answer finally came to Gail, it was the clearest, simplest, truest thing in the world. In this whole mess it was the only thing that felt right.

Gail quietly slipped back upstairs, intent to visit with Evangeline and tell her what she planned—but was deterred when she saw Evangeline’s door was still closed. Best to allow her some privacy, she supposed.

Dinner was served in each person’s bedchamber, and all too soon, the sun dipped below the horizon. As Gail ate, she made her arrangements, finished her letter to Count Roffstaam, and afterward, crept downstairs to place it in the pile of correspondence by the door. When she saw the footman take the letters to be delivered, she again crept up the stairs, but this time, was confronted with the sight of Romilla by Evangeline’s closed door.

Romilla paused, obviously wanting to say something, but unable to find the words. Gail took a breath and took the opportunity to ask something that had been plaguing her for far too long.

“Was it you?”

Romilla blinked at her. “Was what me?”

“Was it you who placed the announcement in the papers?”

“Gail, I told you, Lord Longsbowe—”

“Had nothing to do with it,” Gail finished for her. “So I ask again, Romilla. Was it you?”

Romilla brought her head up and met Gail’s cool assessing stare with one of her own.

“Yes,” she affirmed, completely without shame or boastfulness. “Things were about to be ruined, so I had your father call in a favor.”

The faint sound of muffled sobs emanated from Evangeline’s room. Gail gave a small, cynical smile. “And you don’t believe things to be ruined now?”

A frown crossed Romilla’s brow, as she silently digested Gail’s words.

Gail was about to turn into her own room, when Romilla found her voice. “Where were you?”

Gail turned back, looking at her stepmother quizzically.

“The night of the Holts’s ball,” Romilla clarified. “Your father said you took the carriage…why would you leave so early?”

Gail felt her cheeks go hot, and Romilla in turn went pale, and held up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t think I want the answer to that question.”

They stood awkwardly for some moments longer, staring at each other, until finally, Gail simply said, “Goodnight, Ma’am,” and went into her own bedchamber. She didn’t see Romilla poke her head into Evangeline’s room, see the girl asleep on the bed, and remove the key from the inside of the door. Then she closed the door, locked it, and pocketed the key.

SO
, it seemed to Gail there was nothing left to do but go to sleep. After all, emotional encounters tended to be physically draining, and today she had endured no less than three. While certain she would toss and turn all night long with the weight of her decisions, in truth Gail was asleep when her head hit the pillow.

SUCH
was how Max found her—asleep in bed, dead to the world.

He was very thankful to see she was not drooling.

Sneaking into the back of Number Seven had been surprisingly easy. The wall was uneven brick, easily scaled, and the full moon had lent plenty of light to the operation. Climbing the one tree outside Gail’s window, however, proved more difficult.

Reedy and covered with thorny vines, Max endured dozens of scratches and a few moments of real fear when the tree swayed so violently he was certain he would fall. But nothing would keep him from his beloved’s side—not even Mr. Newton’s principles of gravity.

Rescue the girl and save the day, my good man.

Finding the window unlocked, he tiptoed into Gail’s room.

She was an angel drenched in moonlight, her long lashes casting shadows against her cheek, a small smile painting her soft mouth, and so deeply unconscious the only movement she elicited was the slow and steady rise and fall of her breast.

Max’s mouth quirked mischievously. How best to awaken his angel?

He leaned down in the moonlight, softly kissing her mouth. Gail gave a small moan, but still remained asleep. Max deepened his kiss, drawing her through a haze of dreams into reality, assaulting her senses, waking her body before her mind had the chance to catch up. Max felt her slackened arms snake up around his body, through this hair, and…

POW!

And wallop him with a vase from her bedside table.

“Ow!” Max cried, barely remembering in time to keep his voice down. He fell back on the bed, hands clutching his skull, his vision reeling. Gail sat up immediately, readying herself to strike again, but Max quickly placed his hands before him in a gesture of surrender.

“Gail, stop! It’s me!” he whispered hurriedly.

“Max?” She blinked the remnants of sleep and defensive attack away. Slowly, she lowered the vase. Luckily, it was only made of pressed tin, and bore the impression of Max’s head, which was far preferable to the opposite situation.

“Oh, Max!” she cried, and flung herself into his arms. He caught her with an “oof,” and another “ow” as her force knocked him over and into the bedpost. She gave him a hearty kiss to sooth his wounds, before pulling back and asking questions.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in? Did anyone see you?”

Max gently placed a hand over her mouth, gesturing for silence.

“No, I don’t think anyone saw me, and I got in via one terribly unsteady tree. It’s a hazard to lovesick swains everywhere.”

“Max, don’t be vexatious now, I beg you.”

“I’m serious,” Max continued, taking Gail by the hand and pulling her out of bed. “Look at me, I’m all scratched over, and nearly died twice. Kiss it and make it better?” He grinned.

Gail let a withering glare speak her reply.

God, she was lovely, he thought, his mouth going momentarily dry. The fantastically simple lines of her nightdress, the moonlight highlighting all the right curves through the sheer fabric. In fact, Max was so preoccupied by the vision before him, he didn’t notice that the vision was speaking to him, and therefore had to resort to poking him in the arm.

“Max, what’s going on? Why are you here?”

He shook off his current train of thoughts, fought his way back to the present. He grinned that lopsided, rakish grin that routinely made Gail’s knees go weak. “I thought about everything I said earlier today, everything you said. I came to a conclusion.”

“Yes?” she said, a catch in her voice.

“You’re an idiot,” he said softly, pulling her to him. “And it seems I simply cannot do without you.” He held her still for a moment, locked in time, in the space of a breath. “So, you need to pack, quickly. We’re leaving tonight.”

“Leaving?” she squeaked, bemused, as Max opened her wardrobe. “You’re
abducting
me?”

“Eloping. Eloping involves hurried packing. Abducting involves masked men and a burlap sack.”

“Max…”

“Dress for travel, pack only what you’ll need for a day or two. I’ll buy you entire continents of wardrobes once we’re wed, but for now, speed is of the…”

“Max,” she said firmly. “Look down.”

He complied, thinking maybe there was a particular pair of shoes from the heap that invariably collected at the bottom of wardrobes—but instead he saw a packed valise sitting neatly on the floor.

“As you see, I came to a similar conclusion. I can’t seem to do without you either.” Her face softened into a sheepish smile, and Max was awestruck.

“Besides, I was already aware of your idiocy,” she shot back, grinning.

“You were going to abduct me?” he asked, that half smile playing across his lips.

“Elope,” she replied coolly, but then she smirked. “But I was going to do so in the morning! After a full night’s sleep.”

He laughed aloud at her exasperation, unafraid of who would hear.

“Silly girl! Don’t you know all proper eloping is done in the dead of night?” When she shrugged in reply, her nightrail slipped off her shoulder in the most innocent, beguiling way, that Max had to force his head to turn back to the wardrobe.

“Ahem.” Max coughed, moving the valise to the outside and rummaging through the wardrobe’s contents. “You need to put some clothes on, else we’ll never get out of here. What’s…? I thought you said you burned this.”

Max’s rummaging hand had come to the very back of the wardrobe, and pulled out the deep green riding habit. It was balled and wrinkled, but most certainly not burned.

“Yes, well…” Gail cleared her throat, eyes askance. Max was suddenly overcome with the urge to grab Gail and kiss her thoroughly. So he did.

“I do love you,” he said, after he finally pulled back, brushing an errant lock of hair out of her eyes.

“I didn’t tell Evangeline,” she admitted worriedly, looking up into his face. “About my plan to abduct…er, elope. I didn’t know how, and she’s the one who will be gossiped about, and snubbed everywhere she goes. Max, I don’t want to cause her any pain.”

He opened his mouth to answer, but a considerable amount of noise at the window caused his face to split into a grin.

“Good God, Longsbowe,” Will Holt said as he stumbled into the room, “I nearly killed myself in that damn tree. I thought you said it’d be an easy climb.”

“I wouldn’t worry about Evangeline,” Max said to an astounded Gail. “I brought her a gift, to sooth the pain of losing me.”

For indeed, while Gail and Evangeline had spent the whole of the afternoon rehashing almost every single moment of the last two months, Max had engaged in a similar, albeit shorter, conversation with Will Holt.

He had found his best friend in his offices at Holt Shipping, imbibing a rare glass of brandy during working hours.

“I’m sailing on the morning tide,” Will had said immediately upon seeing his friend.

Max, noting that Will’s face was pale and drawn, sat down in a chair opposite and said, “You look horrid.”

“You look fairly awful yourself,” Will replied, sipping the brandy.

“I’m in love with my betrothed’s sister. What’s your excuse?”

Will paused, the glass halfway to his lips, and smiled in spite of himself. “Well, I’m in love with your betrothed. Brandy?”

That is all that was said on the subject.

Now, Will stumbled about Gail’s bedchamber, banging into a delicate side table before his eyes managed to adjust to the relative darkness of the indoors.

“Miss Gail,” he said, with a polite bow. Gail stood partially concealed behind Max—she was still in her nightgown, after all. “Do you happen to know where I might find your lovely sister?”

“Um…the door across the hall,” Gail replied, blushing furiously. Once Will had made his exit, Gail turned triumphant eyes to Max. “So he
is
the one who wrote Evie’s letter!”

“What letter?” Max asked confused.

“Never mind—I’m just going to bask in the glow of being right for a moment.”

Max shrugged, grinning. “It wasn’t a terribly difficult guess. Evangeline and Will are not as farfetched as say, Max and Gail. Don’t worry about your sister. No one will laugh at the wife of the most successful shipping businessman in London and the sister of a Countess.”

Gail looked to her beloved in wonder, before throwing herself into his arms and kissing him so thoroughly, he had to pinch the back of his hand to be able to pull away.

“Time enough for that later,” he breathed. “For now, hurry and change.”

She did, shaking out the green riding habit and donning it with the speed of a jackrabbit. She was just doing up the final buttons on the jacket when Will knocked softly and reentered the room.