His sister stood at the top of the stairwell, and yet it was the stranger alongside her who commanded his attention, captured his notice and he was ensnared all over. He blinked. Jane Munroe? Surely not? Where were the spectacles and the severe chignon and…
Then she wet her lips, a nervous gesture on her part.
By God, Jane Munroe. There was nothing plain or bitter or ugly about this woman, gossiped about by Society. She was the goddess Aphrodite, rose from the sea foam, to torment with her beauty. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but could not manage one single utterance. At his notice, color blossomed on her cheeks and God if he did not want to go back on every honorable pledge he’d vowed where she was concerned and make her his.
Chloe urged the young lady forward. They stopped before him and waited. His sister stared pointedly at him. His mind raced. There was something expected of him? Words? Actions? Unscrambled thoughts? With a deliberate cough, Chloe tipped her head in Jane’s direction.
“Where are your spectacles?” he blurted.
A becoming blush stained Jane’s cheeks as she hastily placed the wire rims in their proper place. By God, they did nothing to detract from her beauty. She was still more striking than Aphrodite, Goddess of Beauty. How had he failed to see it from the moment he’d first met her?
His sister coughed into her hand.
Gabriel remembered himself. He sketched a jerky bow. “Mrs. Munroe.” Jane. She could only be Jane, in this moment.
She dipped a curtsy, holding his gaze with a boldness he admired. “My lord.”
It was a sin the name belonging on her lips went unuttered. Gabriel. My name is Gabriel.
Several liveried servants came over and saved him from making a cake of himself any further with his gaping mouth and lack of words. The footmen helped the young women into their cloaks and then Joseph rushed forward and pulled the door open. Arm-in-arm, Chloe and Jane filed out before him. He drew in a deep breath and lingered at the doorway, taking a moment to appreciate the gentle, seductive sway of Jane’s hips.
“My lord?” Joseph drawled with such dry amusement, Gabriel flushed.
“Er, yes. Very well.” He tugged at the lapels of his cloak and set out after Jane. And his sister. Jane Munroe was a companion and nothing more.
What a bloody liar. As he walked to the carriage, he remained with his gaze fixed on Jane. She was a blasted beautiful woman. Just then, she placed her fingertips in the servant’s hand and with a murmur of thanks that made the young man’s cheeks flush, allowed him to hand her into the coach.
At the momentary flash of masculine appreciation in the man’s eyes, Gabriel balled his hands into fists. With a growl, he stomped the remainder of the way. As though feeling Gabriel’s burning gaze trained on him, the servant glanced at his employer. His throat bobbed and he backed quickly away. Gabriel pulled himself up into the carriage and paused.
The two young women, seated side by side gave him no choice but to claim the opposite bench. He slid onto the seat and, a moment later, the coachman closed the door. The carriage rocked into motion.
In a bid to not openly stare at Jane, Gabriel tugged the red velvet curtains open and peered out at the passing London streets. Jane’s visage, however, reflected back in the crystal pane and he used the opportunity to study her in ways he shouldn’t notice her. Yet, how had he failed to appreciate the heart-shaped contour of her face or the long, thick, golden lashes that shielded her crystalline blue eyes? In the windowpane, their stares collided and she hastily averted her gaze. He frowned. How could she remain so indifferent to him when she’d so upended his righted world?
His sister, ever the consummate talker, filled the quiet. “Have you ever attended the opera, Jane?”
Over the years, his sister’s inquisitiveness had proven the bane of his existence as she’d asked improper and impolite questions she had no place knowing an answer to. In this moment, however, he found himself grateful for his sister’s bold questioning.
Jane shook her head. “I have not.”
What a travesty. A woman of her grace and beauty should be performing the intricate steps of the waltz at some ball or soiree, with her golden hair awash in candlelight. Except, on the heel of that came the image of her in the arms of some nameless, faceless stranger. A growl climbed up his throat and stuck there.