"Or Gerrard's guardians."

"Precisely. Gerrard appears distinctly older than he is."

Vane considered. "I can't see any reason why Gerrard couldn't develop an interest in gold mining." He looked at Gabriel. "Provided, of course, that we don't tell Patience."

"I hadn't imagined doing so."

"Well, then." Vane straightened away from the wall as the attendant slipped back into the alley. "I'll explain the matter to Gerrard, if you like, and see what he thinks. If he's agreeable, I'll send him to see you."

Gabriel nodded. "Do." Picking up the extra pistol the attendant had brought, he hefted it. "So what's the score?"

They fired ten rounds. Gabriel beat the others easily, a fact that made him frown. "Marriage," he observed, "has dulled your edges."

Vane shrugged. "It's just a game-hardly important. Marriage has a way of rescripting your priorities."

Gabriel stared at him, then looked at Devil, who merely looked back, making no attempt to correct Vane's strange thinking.

Reading his thoughts in his eyes, Devil grinned. "Start thinking about it, for as sure as August follows July, your time will come."

The words froze Gabriel, just as they had at Demon's wedding; again, a tingle of presentiment glissaded down his spine. He managed to suppress his reactive shiver. Adopting an easy expression and his usual debonair manner, he accompanied the other two outside.

At five o'clock, Gabriel was idly scanning the Gentleman's Magazine when someone knocked on his door. Listening, he heard Chance's footsteps all but dance up the hall; smiling, he returned to the magazine.

A minute later, the parlor door opened. Chance stood in the doorway. "A Mr. Debbington to see you, m'lord."

Gabriel inwardly sighed. "Thank you, Chance, but I'm not a lord."

Chance's brow furrowed. "I thought as how all the Quality was lords."

"No."

"Oh." Catching a glimpse of Gerrard, waiting at his elbow to get past, Chance stepped aside, and all but shooed Gerrard over the threshold. "Well, here you are. Do you want me to pour you some brandy?'

"No. That will be all."

"Very good, sir." With commendable aplomb, Chance bowed himself out, and remembered to shut the door.

Gerrard stared at the closed door, then looked questioningly at Gabriel.

"He's in training." Gabriel waved Gerrard to a chair. "Would you like some brandy?"

Gerrard grinned. "No. Patience would be sure to notice." Once at ease in the chair, he met Gabriel's gaze. "Vane told me about this swindle you're trying to expose. I'd be happy to help. What do you need me to do?"

Omitting all mention of the countess, Gabriel outlined his plan.

Chapter 6

At noon the next day, Gabriel descended the steps of the Burlington Hotel, well satisfied with the arrangements he'd made. His plan was in motion and developing nicely. Soon the countess would be his.

Turning into Bond Street, he looked ahead. His steps slowed.

Alathea stood on the corner of Bruton Street, hanging back by the shop facade, her gaze on the crowd surrounding a nut vendor.

She'd always been particularly partial to nuts-and she was clearly debating pushing into the crowd to secure a bag. At this hour, the rowdy crew about the vendor's stall was composed of young sprigs and boisterous bucks.

Lips setting, Gabriel had crossed the street before he'd even thought of what he was doing-or going to do. The memory of his last encounter with Alathea flashed-too hotly-into his mind. His jaw set more firmly. Perhaps a bag of nuts would go some small way toward mending his fences with her.

He could hardly excuse his reaction to her by explaining he'd confused her with another lady.

Alathea eyed the circle of male backs between her and the source of the wonderful smell of roasting nuts. That succulent smell had lured her from the doorway of the modiste's where Serena, Mary, and Alice were engaged in making last-minute adjustments to their ballgowns. The salon had been airless and cramped, so she'd come down to the street, intending to simply wait.

That smell had made her stomach growl. Pushing into the crowd, however, would very likely expose her to a score of impertinent remarks. Still… her mouth was watering. Deciding she could not exist a minute longer without a bag of nuts, she stepped forward-

"Here."

A strong hand closed about her elbow and drew her back-her heart nearly leaped free of her chest!

Without meeting her eyes, Gabriel moved past her. "Let me."

She did, for the simple reason that she dared not move-her legs had turned to jelly. Her latest plan for survival dictated she avoid him at all costs-she'd intended to do just that. She'd been doing just that-she was in Bruton Street at noon, for heaven's sake! What was he doing here? She'd never have left the safety of the salon if she'd known he was about.

She clung to her irritation-undoubtedly wiser than surrendering to her panic.

Gabriel turned back to her, a brown paper bag in his hand. "Here."

She took the bag and busied herself opening it. "Thank you." She popped a nut into her mouth, then offered the nuts to him.

He took a handful, his gaze on her face. "What are you doing here?"

She met his eyes fleetingly. "I'm waiting for Serena and the girls." She gestured down Bruton Street. "They're at a fitting."

Looking down, she took her time selecting another nut. If she gave him absolutely no encouragement, perhaps he would go away. She was acutely aware that the longer she was alone with him as herself, the greater the danger of his recognizing his countess.

Then her conscience prodded-hard. Damn! She didn't want to, but… Lifting her head, she fixed her gaze on his right ear. "I have to thank you for yesterday. I would have been kicked if you hadn't…"

Grabbed her, held her-been aroused by her.

She quickly ended her sentence with a gesture, but her consciousness must have shown in her eyes. To her amazement, from under her lashes, she saw color trace his cheekbones. He was embarrassed? Good lord!

"It was nothing." His accents were clipped. After a moment, he added in a low voice, "I'd rather you forgot the incident entirely."

She shrugged and turned to stroll back to the modiste's. "If you wish." Dare she suggest he do the same?

He fell into step beside her-there seemed little point suggesting he leave her to walk the street alone. Luckily, the bag of nuts gave her a perfect reason for not taking his arm; touching him again would be inviting disaster. As it was, she could stroll with a good two feet separating them-reasonably safe. She flourished the bag of nuts between them, inviting him to help himself as they strolled. It felt like feeding tidbits to a potentially lethal leopard to keep him distracted while she strolled to the cage door.

Thankfully, the door of the modiste's wasn't far. She stopped beside it, contemplating handing him the almost empty bag in lieu of her hand. "Thank you for the nuts." She met his gaze and realized he was frowning.

She froze-apprehension locked her lungs. Had she said something? Done something?

"You don't happen to know…" His tone was diffident. He glanced away. "Have you met a countess, one recently widowed-?"

Gabriel broke off. What was he doing! One glance at Alathea's face confirmed he'd said enough. Her expression was deadpan, her eyes blank.

"No."

He mentally kicked himself. She knew him well enough to guess why he'd asked. A spurt of resentment surfaced; she'd always turned aside any reference to Lucifer's conquests with an amused glance, but she'd never extended the same leniency to him.

He frowned. "Forget I asked."

She looked at him, blank still. "I will."

Her voice sounded odd.

He was about to step back, make his excuses, and leave, when the rowdy crew from the nut vendor's stall came barrelling past. One jostled his shoulder. He turned, stepping closer to the shop front, closer to Alathea, instinctively shielding her once more. The group streamed past, then were gone. Turning back to Alathea, his farewells froze on his tongue. "What's the matter?"

She'd paled-she was breathing quickly and leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes had been shut-now they flew open.

"Nothing. Here!" Alathea thrust the nut bag at him, then whirled and opened the modiste's door. "Serena will be wondering where I've got to."

With that, she fled-there was no other word for it. She dashed into the small foyer, grabbed up her skirts and flew up the stairs to the salon. She didn't care what he thought of her departure-she simply couldn't bear to be so near him-not anymore. Not as Alathea Morwellan.

Two days later, Alathea stood at the window of her office, sunk in thought. Wiggs had just left. In light of his worry over the promissory note, she'd felt compelled to reveal that she'd engaged the services of Gabriel Cynster. Wiggs had been impressed-and hugely relieved. He'd recalled that the Cynsters were their neighbors in Somerset. Luckily, she'd remembered to suggest that, given the necessary secrecy surrounding their investigations, Wiggs should not communicate with Mr. Cynster other than through her.

The rotund man of business had gone off much happier than when he'd arrived. She'd asked him to clarify the procedure for approaching the Chancery Court to have the promissory note declared invalid once they'd secured proof of fraud. She hoped the matter could be dealt with via a petition direct to the bench, avoiding any mention of the family name in open court and the added expense of a barrister.

In the matter of their investigations, all was proceeding smoothly; she wished she could feel as comfortable over the way matters were proceeding between her and Gabriel.

For the past two days, she'd done all she could to avoid meeting him. Not seeing him, however, didn't ease the guilt she felt over his embarrassment. It was doubtless irrational but the feeling was there.

Lurking in her mind was the recognition that he always stepped forward whenever she needed him; incidents like the horse in Bond Street, the crowd about the street vendor-those were not unusual, not for him and her. Despite their difficulty-indeed, in the teeth of it-he'd always helped her whenever he'd known she needed help. He was helping her now, even if, this time, he didn't know it was her he was helping.

He deserved better from her than deceit, but what could she do?

She sighed and concentrated, forcing herself to deal with the latest twist in her charade. For a start, she would make an effort to reinstitute their old relationship and behave normally toward him so he'd forget his embarrassment. As herself, beyond that moment in Bond Street, she'd barely touched his sleeve over the past decade-surely she could get through the next weeks without touching him more than that?

And secondly, regardless of all else, no matter the struggle, she would not allow-could not allow-the susceptibility that had overcome her in Bruton Street to surface again. If he came close, she would suffer in stoic silence. That much, she owed him.

She frowned, realizing she now thought of him by his preferred name. Then she shrugged. Better to think of him as Gabriel-Gabriel was the man she had to deal with now. Perhaps, if she bore that in mind, the hurdles she kept encountering might not be quite so surprising.

Gazing at the shifting greens beyond the window, she set aside her resolutions and turned to her next problem: how to learn of his plans. That he had plans, she didn't doubt. He'd told her to leave Crowley to him; it was tempting to simply do so. Unfortunately, as he didn't know her family's identity, that course was too risky. And she needed some control over his capacity to claim rewards.

That was another hurdle. While she desperately wanted to arrange another meeting to ask what he'd learned, what he was doing, what he had planned, justifying the likely indiscretion was not easy. It was perfectly possible he'd discovered something new, some significant fact-what reward would he claim if he had?

Her experience was insufficient to provide an answer. And she wasn't sure she trusted herself-not while in his arms.

That was the part she understood least. While with him as the countess, she seemed to occupy a position in relation to him that had never been available to Alathea Morwellan, despite the fact she knew him so well. It wasn't only the illicit nature of their interaction, but some different, deeper linkage, a sharing more profound. A sharing she coveted but knew she couldn't have.