They did; Lady Osbaldestone pushed past them and stumped into the throng. Gabriel turned as Alathea took his arm.
"We'd better do as she says."
Placing his hand over hers, he guided her into the already dense crowd.
"We were late," Alathea murmured. "Only by a few minutes, but it put us so far back in the queue of carriages…"
"I was beginning to wonder if something had happened…"
Something had. Alathea met his eyes; they were gently smiling, magnanimous in victory. She looked away. "You know, I would never have expected flowers from you."
She said nothing more; the muscles under her hand slowly tensed.
"There was a note with the flowers…"
Alathea turned smiling eyes his way. "I know. I read it."
He drew her to a halt, his eyes searching hers. "Just as long as you understood it."
His tone held aggression, uncertainty, and a strong undercurrent of vulnerability. Alathea let her expression soften, let her guard down enough for him to see her heart in her eyes. "Of course I understood it."
He looked deep into her eyes, then he released the breath he'd held. "Just don't forget it. Even if you never hear or see the words again, they'll always be true. Don't forget."
"I won't. Not ever."
The noisy crowd around them had faded. For a moment, they remained in that world where only they existed, then Alathea smiled softly, squeezed his arm, and drew them both back to the present. She glanced about. "You could have chosen an evening more conducive to your declaration."
Gabriel sighed and they started to stroll. "Our whole courtship-no, our joint lives thus far have been dictated by circumstance. I'm looking forward to shaking free of the shackles and taking charge of our reins."
"Indeed?" Regally, Alathea exchanged nods with Lady Cowper. "Might I suggest that you resign yourself to sharing the reins?"
Gabriel shot her a glance; his brow quirked. "I'll think about it."
They strolled on through the crush, encountering no member of either of their families. "This is ridiculous," Alathea stated as the press of bodies forced them to a halt. "Thank heaven there's are only a few weeks to go."
"Speaking of time passing, has Struthers contacted you?" Surrendering to the inevitable, Gabriel drew her out of the parading crowd to a spot where they could stand and converse in reasonable comfort.
"No. Why? I thought you were going to see him."
"I did. I told him my address and to get in touch with me if he needed any help, but he hasn't."
"Well." Alathea shrugged and looked about. "Presumably that means all's well and we'll see him tomorrow in court." She smiled and held out her hand. "Good evening, Lord Falworth."
Falworth took her hand and bowed. Gabriel inwardly cursed. Within minutes, her entire court had gathered. They must have located her by tracking him, tall enough to be followed through the jostling throng. Lord Montgomery prosed on; Falworth and others attempted to capture the conversation and steer it in their own directions. A social smile on her lips, Alathea pretended to follow, nodding and murmuring at appropriate moments.
The first waltz and she would be his again. Unfortunately, Lady Marlborough was of an older generation; she'd scheduled a great many cotillions and even a quadrille amid a host of country dances. He'd be waiting a while for his waltz.
Meanwhile…
"Dear Lady Alathea, I most earnestly implore your favor in this dance." Montgomery bowed low.
Mr. Simpkins regarded his lordship with unconcealed dislike. "Lady Alathea, you need only say the word. I would be honored to partner you." Simpkins's bow was abbreviated to the point of abruptness.
Alathea smiled serenely on them all, her gaze at the last touching Gabriel's. "I fear, gentlemen," she said, turning back to her court, "that I will not be dancing, in general, this evening."
They all heard the qualification. They'd all seen that swift, shared glance. Now they all wondered. Furiously.
"Ahem." Lord Montgomery struggled not to glare at Gabriel. "Might one enquire…?"
Alathea waved at the crowd. "It's far too exhausting to even imagine fighting one's way to the dance floor." Again she favored them with a serene smile. "I prefer to enjoy your conversation and"-her gaze slid to Gabriel's face-"save my energies for the waltzes."
His expression inscrutable, he met her gaze, then arrogantly raised a brow. If her court had not yet got the message, the moment, heavy with blatant sensuality, should have opened their eyes. The warrior within him roared in triumph; he hesitated, then inclined his head and tore his gaze from hers. While his primitive self gloated at her gesture, it was doing nothing for his composure, further eroding the thin veneer that, where she was concerned, was all that hid his true feelings from the world.
Now she'd all but publicly declared that she was his, surely his possessiveness could relax, triumphant? Unfortunately, he felt anything but relaxed. Alathea reinstituted a conversation with Falworth, regally ignoring the not-quite-convinced looks on Montgomery's and Simpkins's faces. Gabriel tried to stand easily beside her and not think of what he'd rather be doing.
Both proved impossible. She'd been right. Marlborough House filled to the rafters was not a useful venue for what he would prefer to be doing with her, to her. Finding an empty parlor tonight would be impossible. Was there any other way they could steal an hour or so alone? With the conversations about them droning in his ears, he considered all the options, regretfully rejecting every one. He slanted her a glance. The instant she and her family were free of Crowley's threat, he would have to kidnap her, for a few hours at least. Long enough to soothe the beast within.
Thinking of how he would soothe his clamorous needs did nothing to ease them. Gritting his teeth, he wrenched his thoughts onto a different track. Struthers. He'd sent Chance to call on the old seadog at noon, offering his services in any helpful capacity. The captain had, not entirely unexpectedly, sent Chance off with a gruff but polite refusal. Chance had obeyed orders and kept watch on the run-down lodging house in the Clerkenwell Road. The captain had left late in the afternoon and headed for the City, then on toward the docks. Chance had faithfully tracked him, a talent learned in his previous existence, but the captain must have sensed he was being followed. He'd gone into a tavern and then disappeared. Chance had searched the three alleys the tavern gave access to, but hadn't been able to find the old man. Defeated, he'd returned to Brook Street to report.
If the captain was fly enough to lose Chance, then he could take care of himself. Presumably. The presentiment of danger that had struck Gabriel on first meeting the captain continued to nag at him.
Shifting, he glanced at Alathea. At least she was safe. From Crowley. She wasn't entirely safe-not in her terms- from him. They had nigh on a decade to make up for, and more than one event to celebrate. His gaze rose to her hair, to the gift he'd given her that had finally accomplished what he'd sought for so many years to achieve. He'd gotten rid of her damned caps. Never again would she wear one-he'd ensure she never even thought of it.
All of which added to his tension, to the impatience he could feel rising like a tide, a building pressure he could do nothing to release, not here, not now. He drew in an increasingly tight breath and refocused on her face, abruptly conscious that he was nearing the end of his severely strained tether. He glanced around at the gentlemen surrounding them; none posed as much of a threat to her as he.
Straightening, he shifted closer, all too aware of the countess's provocative perfume gently rising from her warm flesh. The thought of how much more strongly that scent would rise once her skin heated with passion had him clenching one fist.