Two days had passed since they'd met in the gazebo, two days since she'd last been in his arms with his lips on hers. They'd met that evening at a ball; although he'd claimed two waltzes, he'd claimed nothing more. He'd appeared the next morning to stroll through the park by her side. She'd been ready to counter any possessive move he made, any maneuver to demonstrate his claim over her. He hadn't made one. Unfortunately, the understanding in his eyes warned her that he knew how she felt, how she would react; he was simply biding his time until the battlefield better suited his purpose.

Of that purpose there remained not a smidgen of doubt. Marriage. The notion-not of marriage but of marriage to him-deeply unnerved her. Just thinking of him now unnerved her in a way she'd never had to deal with before. Intimacy, and all the emotions wrapped up with it, had thoroughly disrupted her inner landscape. Yet if he'd allowed her to disappear as she'd planned, to fade out of his life, while she might regret the brevity of their association, she would, she felt sure, have remained inwardly steady.

Instead, she was whirling, her stomach often hollow, uncertainty and excitement an unsettling blend. What she felt for him now she couldn't put a name to-was afraid to put a name to, to even study it at all, not while she had to refuse him.

He'd decided to marry her because he desired her and because he wanted her as his wife. The reason behind that want he'd refused to clarify; she felt sure he was motivated by a compulsion to protect her.

The prospect of him marrying her with protection his true aim chilled her. He would be kind, considerate, generous-even a friend-but as time passed, he would cease to be hers alone. He would cease to be her lover. They would grow apart…

With a little jerk, she returned to the present, to her office and the ledger open before her, to the rumble of Gabriel's voice and Augusta's piping prattle. Sucking in a breath, she held it, and tidied her pile of receipts.

She was not going to marry Gabriel-she couldn't let him sacrifice himself, or her. Turning him from his goal might not be easy, but marrying him would not be right, not for him or for her.

Marking off the last of the receipts, she opened a drawer and placed them in a box, then shut the drawer and shut her ledger. The slap of the pages brought Gabriel's and Augusta's heads up. Alathea smiled. "I have to talk business with Mr. Cynster now, poppet."

Sliding from Gabriel's lap, Augusta gifted her with a confident smile. "He said I could call him Gabriel. It's his name."

"Indeed." Rising and rounding the desk, Alathea hugged Augusta, then set her on her feet. "Off you go now-Miss Helm should be nearly finished."

Ducking around Alathea's skirts, Augusta waved to Gabriel and sang "Good-bye," then happily skipped to the door.

As it shut behind her, Alathea felt long fingers tangle with hers. She turned to discover Gabriel studying her hand, now entwined with his.

"What 'business' do you wish to discuss?" He looked up, invitation in his eyes.

One part of her mind urged her to whisk her hand from his, to whisk herself out of his orbit. The rest of her reveled in the warmth that flooded her as his fingers caressed her palm. Alathea studied the sleepy, languid beckoning in his eyes, and was deceived not at all. She looked at the wall clock. "Wiggs will be another twenty minutes, but we can make a start on a draft without him."

Looking back at Gabriel, she raised a brow and gently detached her hand. He grimaced but let her go. "All right. But you can write." He rose as she resumed her seat behind the desk. "We can start by noting the false claims we've identified."

Unsurprised to find herself his amanuensis, Alathea set a sheet of paper on the blotter. They listed Montague's calculations derived from the figures Crowley had provided Gerrard, comparing them with those Crowley had claimed. Gabriel stated and she transcribed, adding and correcting as they went. He paced back and forth behind her, between the desk and the window, stopping now and then to read over her shoulder. When they reached the end of Montague's findings, Gabriel halted beside her, scanning the list. His hand closed on her shoulder, close by her neck, on skin left bare by her summer morning gown.

His hand nestled there, strong fingers gentle on her skin.

"What next, do you think?"

Her composure shattered, unable to breathe, Alathea heard the mild words and realized with a hot rush horribly akin to mortification that he hadn't meant to discompose her. He'd simply touched her as a close personal friend might, without any sexual intention.

She was the one thinking of sexual intentions.

Before she could gather her wits, he tipped up her face. He studied it; she scrambled wildly to find some expression to mask the truth. Then his gaze turned intent, and she knew it was too late. The fingers at her throat moved again, this time deliberately.

Sensual awareness flared in her eyes. Gabriel saw it. His lips curved. "Perhaps"-he bent over her-"we should try this."

Her lips parted under his; her hand rose to cradle the back of his as he held her face steady. She gave her mouth freely as she always did; he took and drank and claimed. She was a delight in her sweet helplessness, her total inability to conceal her response, the womanly yearning that lay beneath the confidence of her years. Her tongue tangled with his; her fingers gripped his shoulder. Sliding his hand from her face, he lowered it to her breast, cupping the firm mound, then searching for its peak. Her hand followed his, cradling it still, feeling him knead and pleasure her. In one swift movement, he slipped his hand from under hers and reversed their positions, his hand covering and surrounding hers, pressing her palm to the heated flesh of her breast, guiding her fingers to her ruched nipple and squeezing them tight.

She gasped, swayed-

They both heard the creak of a board outside the door an instant before it opened.

Charlie looked in. "Hello!" He nodded to Gabriel, lounging against the window frame, then transferred his gaze to Alathea. "I'm going to Bond Street-Mama suggested I ask whether there's anything more we need for tomorrow night?"

Her pulse pounding, Alathea shook her head, fervently praying that, with her back to the window, Charlie couldn't see the flush heating her skin. "No. Nothing." Their ball would be held tomorrow night, formally introducing Mary and Alice to the ton. "All seems in hand."

"Good-oh! I'll be off then." With a wave, Charlie departed, shutting the door behind him.

Drawing in a much-needed breath, Alathea turned her head and met Gabriel's gaze. She frowned balefully. "Stop thinking about it!" Swinging back to the desk, she picked up her pen. "Aside from anything else, there's no lock on that door."

She heard his smothered laugh but refused to look his way. "I think," she said, stabbing the nib into the inkwell, "that next we should note all we've learned about Fangak, Lodwar, and wherever else it was."

He sighed dramatically. "Kingi."

Despite her hopes that all was in hand, the next morning saw a host of small commissions that simply had to be fulfilled. Leaving Serena in command, with Crisp and Figgs in their element, Alathea bundled Mary and Alice into the small carriage and escaped.

"It's a madhouse!" Face to the window, Alice peered back to where the red carpet was being shaken and swept. "If they put that out now, it'll be a mess by evening."

"Crisp will see to it." Alathea sank back against the squabs and closed her eyes. She'd been up since daybreak, and had already met with the caterers and the florist. All the major components for the evening were thankfully falling into place. Opening her eyes, she scanned the list she clutched in one hand. "Gloves first, stockings next, and then the ribbons."

The carriage bore them home an hour and a half later. Mary and Alice were bubbling with excitement; Alathea watched them with joy in her heart. No matter how tiring the day might be, tonight would be its own reward.

As they turned into Mount Street, she glanced out of the window-and saw Jeremy's head almost in line with hers. "What…?"

Jerking forward, she stared, then leaned out of the window the better to view her youngest brother, laughing uproariously, arms flailing, seated atop a pedestrian curricle propelled full tilt down the pavement by Charlie and Gabriel.

She forebore to scream.

The carriage pulled up before their front steps. Mary and Alice tumbled out, paused but an instant to view Jeremy and company, then giggled and ran indoors.

Alathea descended from the carriage more slowly, then drew herself up and waited for the miscreants to arrive before her. They did so in an ungainly rush; for one instant she watched, horrified, expecting to see her worst nightmare unfold as, hauled to a halt, the unstable contraption slewed sideways, tipping Jeremy off the high seat-

Reaching forward, Gabriel caught him, swinging him clear, then setting him on his feet while Charlie neatly righted the curricle. Charlie and Gabriel grinned at her-Jeremy did his best to appear inconspicuous.

Alathea fixed her gaze on him. "I believe I had your promise on no account to ride this machine in town?"

Eyes downcast, Jeremy squirmed.

Gabriel heaved a sigh. "It was my fault."

Alathea looked at him. "Yours?"

"I arrived just as your footman was taking delivery and offered to show them how it was done."

"You rode it?"

The look he bent on her was dismissively superior. "Of course. It's easy. Would you like me to demonstrate?"

She nearly said yes. The notion of seeing him, hideously elegant as always, precariously perched on the awkward machine riding up and down the tonnish street was almost too good to pass up. But… "No." She transferred her gaze to Jeremy. "That's not the point."

"Ah, but it is, because once I'd ridden to the corner, I simply put Jeremy on the seat and told him to hang on. It didn't occur to me that the machine had been bought for him but that he'd been forbidden to ride it."

Alathea caught the swift upward glance Jeremy shot her. She pressed her lips together, then explained, "The agreement I used to gain Serena's approval to buy the curricle was that Jeremy would only ride it on the lawns at the Park. He's prone to broken bones-to date, we've survived three broken arms and a broken leg. A collarbone in three pieces would never be welcome, but it would be even less welcome today."

Jeremy glanced up again; Alathea caught his eye. "You are extremely lucky that it was I who took Mary and Alice to the shops, and not your mama-she would have swooned had she seen your performance."

Jeremy shuffled his feet, but his eyes sparkled. A small smile played on his lips, just waiting to dawn. "But she didn't see it-you did. Wasn't it grand!" His smile broke free.

Alathea twisted her lips in an effort to hold back her own. "Potentially grand-you could do with a bit of practice, but don't you dare ride it here again."

"What about the back lawn?" Charlie asked. "That's thick-he wouldn't break anything if he fell on that."

"It's got a nice slope to it, too," Gabriel put in. "And I promise I won't let him career into the rhododendrons."

Faced with three male faces ranging in age from twelve to thirty but all with the same little-boy-pleading expression, Alathea threw up her hands. "Very well-I'll go and prepare Serena." She caught Gabriel's eye as she turned to the steps. "At least it'll keep you all out from under our feet."

His grin would have done his namesake proud.

Leaving them wheeling the curricle around to the back gate, Alathea crossed the threshold and entered a world of pandemonium. She first sought out Serena and reassured her of Jeremy's safety, embroidering on Gabriel's promise without a second thought as soon as she realized Serena was happy to place her trust in him.

For the next hour she was fully occupied dealing with queries from the caterers, the florist, and most importantly the draper. Her novel idea to decorate the huge ballroom with swaths of cerulean blue muslin, which could later be given as presents to the female servants here and at the Park, had been given form and style by the earnest young draper-the white-and-gilt ballroom looked like a vision of heaven.

"Perfect." With a brisk nod, she turned away from the sight. "Please send in your account promptly, Mr. Bobbins-we will only be in town for another few weeks."