“Gabriel, you startled me,” his sister said, a hand at her chest. “I was just speaking to Jane about the Duke and Duchess of Crawford’s ball.”
Gabriel stood at the entrance of the ballroom. He never removed his hard gaze from Jane. The intensity of that stare burned her with its heat. It sucked the breath from her lungs. Then he moved his focus to where Mr. Wallace’s hands lingered on her waist. The moss green of his eyes darkened near to black.
Mr. Wallace abruptly relinquished his hold upon Jane.
Chloe continued to fill the silence. “Jane still does not know how to dance.” She favored both Gabriel and the poor dance master with accusatory looks.
Gabriel blinked several times as though brought to the moment and then turned to his sister. “What is this?” A slight frown played on his lips.
She swallowed a groan. “This is nothing.”
“Dance,” Chloe explained and threw her arms out and demonstrated a step. Apparently Jane and Chloe were of a different mind-frame on the importance of the nonsensical steps and Gabriel’s need to know such information. “Even after Mr. Wallace’s attempts, she still doesn’t know how.” The dance master’s scowl indicated his displeasure at having his efforts called into question before his employer.
Jane shifted. In her defense it really had only been a week. Granted, she’d made little to no progress in the endeavor. “It’s true, I fear. I’m really rather horrid.” Chloe and Mr. Wallace’s silence stood as confirmation to her admission.
“I am certain that is untrue,” Gabriel encouraged, the consummate polite gentleman.
Her heart tugged. No one was ever polite and a gentleman where she was concerned.
“Oh, it is true,” Chloe, said unhelpfully. She motioned to the violinist. “Allow Mr. Wallace to demonstrate.”
“Chloe,” Jane began. “I—oomph.” Mr. Wallace put his hands upon her once more and forced her into movement.
Through the painfully awkward, and for Mr. Wallace, likely just painful set, Gabriel stood at the bannister, his arms folded at his chest as he took them in with a hard, dark gaze.
What was he thinking?
“Do pay attention, my lady,” her instructor gritted out the command for her ears alone.
“I am trying,” she said tightly. It was just particularly hard with her husband glowering in that menacing fashion at the dance master. What had poor Mr. Wallace done to merit—“Oomph.” The aggrieved instructor steadied her again, tightening his grip upon her waist.
“That will be all,” Gabriel barked. His loud baritone thundered from the marble floors and echoed throughout the cavernous space.
Mr. Wallace came to a stop as though he’d been granted the Queen’s pardon.
“Chloe, Mr. Wallace,” Gabriel snapped. “If you’ll excuse me a moment?”
Chloe smiled widely and inclined her head. “Of course.” Jane stared after her as unease warred with excitement at the prospect of being alone with her husband. Or bridegroom. She still couldn’t quite sort out whether or not he was a blasted husband.
She fisted her skirts as being with this man, the same man who’d abandoned her on their wedding night, alone now, when they’d been alone before, became altogether different. Not that either of them had entered into the union believing it would be a marriage in truth. She released her grip upon her fabric. “Gabriel. You wished to speak to me?”
*
Gabriel wished to kill the bloody dance instructor with edacious hands is what he wished to do. The sight of the other man touching Jane had unleashed something primitive and primal from deep inside—a fierce, ugly part of himself he’d never known existed.
He clasped his hands behind his back as his sister and Mr. Wallace and the diminutive violin master he’d hired took their leave. Except, now that he’d gotten rid of the bloody instructor, he hadn’t a blasted idea what to say to Jane—whom he’d studiously avoided for the better part of the week, torturing himself through meals with a glimpse of her, and then separating. He’d spent these past seven days trying to rebuild the walls he’d built about him for thirty long years. He needed distance from Jane and the longings she’d stirred within him. Yet, a week later, he’d only found he didn’t need distance—he needed to see her.