Before Chillingworth could reply, before Alathea could even see how he reacted, Gabriel drew her forward. Alathea fumed but didn't try to break free; a steel manacle would have been easier to break than Gabriel's hold on her arm. He marched her across the room to where a door stood ajar, giving access to a corridor.
"Where now?" she asked as they stepped through the door.
"Somewhere private. I want to talk to you."
"Indeed? I have a few words to say to you, too."
He led her up a flight of stairs, then back along a quiet wing. The door at the end stood open; beyond lay a small parlor, curtains drawn against the night. A fire burned in the grate. Three candelabra shed golden light on satin and polished wood. The room was empty. Drawing her hand from his arm, Alathea swept across the threshold. He followed. Reaching the fireplace, she swung to face him, and heard the lock fall home.
"This ridiculous situation has got to end." She fixed him with an irate glance. "The countess is no more. She has faded into the mists, never to return."
"You, however, are here."
"Yes, me. Alathea-who-you've-known-all-your-life. I'm not some delectable courtesan that you have any real interest in seducing. You're annoyed because as the countess you thought I was-you now know better. And you know perfectly well that once you get over being annoyed, you'll be off after some other lady, one more suited to your tastes."
He'd remained by the door; head tilted, he regarded her. "So my interest in you is fueled by annoyance?"
"That, and perversity. A response to Chillingworth and the others. It's almost as if, having relinquished your silly watch on the twins, you've transferred your attention to me!"
"And what's wrong with that?"
"You're obsessively protective! If you'll only stop and think, you'll realize there's no need. I need to be protected even less than the twins. Worse, hovering over me is exceedingly unwise. It calls attention to us-you know what people will make of it. Before you know where you are, the ton will have imagined into existence something that simply isn't."
A moment passed, then he asked, "This something that isn't-this illusion you claim the ton will think it sees. What, precisely, is that?"
Alathea huffed out a breath. Across the room, she met his eyes. "They'll imagine we have an understanding, that in the near future they'll read an engagement notice in The Gazette. As Chillingworth so sapiently stated, it's widely known that our families are close, that you and I have known each other for years. No one will imagine any illicit connection-they'll imagine we'll wed. Once that idea gains credence, there'll be hell to pay."
"Hmm." He started to walk toward her. "And that's the bee that's buzzing in your bonnet?"
"I have absolutely no desire to spend the rest of the Season explaining to the interested why we aren't about to marry."
"I can guarantee that won't occur."
"Indeed?" She bridled at his patronizing tone. "And how can you be so sure?"
"Because we are going to many."
Gabriel halted directly before her. A full minute passed while she stared at him, speechless. Then her eyes clouded.
"W-what?"
"I agreed to defer discussion of the matter until after we'd dealt with the company-that, however, is clearly not to be. So it may as well be now. As far as I'm concerned, we're getting married, and the sooner the better."
"But you never had it in mind to many me. Not when we spoke after Lady Arbuthnot's ball."
"Thankfully, you never did learn to read my mind. I decided to marry you when I knew you as the countess. The morning after Lady Arbuthnot's ball, I was still adjusting to the startling discovery that it was you I'd decided to make my wife. As you might imagine, that was something of a shock."
"But… you must have changed your mind. You don't want to marry me."
"Not only do I want to marry you, I am going to marry you, a fact that makes my attitude toward you and other gentlemen perfectly understandable. I might be obsessively protective, but only about those of whom I'm obsessively possessive, such as the lady who will be my wife. The ultimate ramification of your masquerade as the countess will be marriage to me. There is, therefore, no false illusion for the ton to see-the only conclusion society will leap to will be the truth."
"As you deem it."
"As it will be." He stepped closer; physical awareness flashed in her eyes. She lifted her chin; he captured her gaze. "This is real. I'm not going to grow out of it, or lose interest and become distracted. Marriage to me is your immediate and irrevocable future. If you hadn't realized, you'll need time to adjust, but don't imagine there'll be any other outcome."
"But…" She shook her head dazedly. "I'm not the countess. It was the countess who fascinated you-a lady of mystery and illusion. I don't fascinate you-you know everything there is to know about me-"
He kissed her, closed his lips over hers, then closed his arms about her. It was easy to do with her being so tall. Her resistance lasted a heartbeat, then vaporized like mist; she sank against him, her lips parting at his command, her mouth an offering he claimed.
Alathea clung to her wits. She yielded all else without a fight, knowing any fight would be futile, but she held on to reason. About her, the world whirled; her senses rioted. He'd shocked her with his declaration, but she surprised herself even more.
She wanted him. Her hunger was too strong, too sharp in its raw newness, for her to ignore or mistake it. The arms locked about her were a welcome cage, the hard body pressed to hers the essence of dreamed delight. He plundered her mouth, ruthless, relentless, not gentle. She took him in, lured him further, to give and take and give again.
He took and exulted in the taking. She knew it. She sensed the surge of passion, his and hers, and reveled in her power. The heady wave grew into a vortex of heat, swirling about them, flames licking, touching, but not yet consuming. Then, to her surprise, the world steadied.
He lifted his head.
She felt him draw breath, his chest swelling against her breasts. It was an effort to lift her lids enough to see his face. Hard, each plane edged with desire, it gave her no clue to his direction. His eyes, glinting gold under lids as heavy as hers, were fixed on her hair.
His arms shifted. One hand splayed across her back, holding her against him. The other rose…
To her hair.
"What…?" She felt a brusque tug; satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. Glancing to the side, she saw her beaded cap in his hand. "Don't you dare throw that in the fire!"
His gaze returned to her face. "No?" Then he shrugged and tossed the cap to the floor. "As you will." His hand returned to her hair, rifling the soft mass, searching and plucking. Pins tinkled across the hearth.
"What are you doing?" She tried to wriggle, but he held her too securely. Then her hair fell free.
"You appear to have formed a grossly inaccurate opinion of what fascinates me. Arguing with you always was so much wasted breath, so I'll demonstrate instead."
"Demonstrate?"
"Hmm." He speared his free hand through her hair, spreading his fingers, combing through the long tresses, holding them out, watching them drift down as his fingers pulled free. "You never did understand why I hated your caps, did you?"
Mesmerized by the possessiveness investing his harsh features, Alathea didn't answer. He played with the silken mass, then he gathered half of it in his fist, tipping her head back.
"What else?" His gaze fastened on her eyes. "Ah, yes. Your eyes. Have you any idea what it's like to look into them? Not at them, but into. Whenever I do, I feel like I've fallen into some magical pool and lost myself. Certainly lost all sense." His gaze lowered. "And there's your lips." He took them in a swift, achingly incomplete kiss. "But we know why I like those." The arm about her eased, his hand drifted from her back. He still held her by her hair. "But I don't believe you have any idea about this."