"I can't." Dismayed, she gazed at the beautiful blooms-at the favor her warrior had sent her as a token of his heart. She desperately wanted to carry them, but didn't dare. "Fetch a vase, Nellie."

With a disapproving humph, Nellie left.

Alathea cradled the posy in her hands, and let all that it meant wash through her. Then she heard Mary's and Alice's voices; blinking, sniffing, she gently laid the posy back in the box and set it to one side of the table. In a daze, she finished her toilette, clasping her mother's pearls about her throat, placing the matching drops in her ears, lavishly dabbing on the countess's perfume.

"Allie? Are you ready?"

"Yes. I'm coming!" Her wits whirling, she rose. Her gaze on the posy, cradled in its delicate box, she breathed in, exhaled, then picked up her reticule and turned.

"Hurry! The coach is here!"

"I'm coming." Reaching the threshold, Alathea lingered. Her hand on the door, she looked back at the delicate box he'd used to send her his heart.

Her gaze lifted to the mirror beyond, to her own reflection.

A moment later, she blinked. Leaving the door, she re-crossed the room.

Halting before the dressing table, she picked up his note. She reread his message, then looked again at her reflection.

Her lips twisted, lifted. Tucking the note into her jewelry box, she raised her hands to her cap.

It took a moment to ease out the pins. Alathea ignored the chorus of calls wafting along the corridor. This time, her family could wait.

Laying aside the cap, she quickly unwound the posy. She wrapped the ribbon around the tight bun on the top of her head and tied it in a simple knot, the trailing ends interleaving with the surrounding curls. Fingers shaking, she separated three luscious blooms from the arrangement. By the time she'd threaded the stems into her thick hair and secured them with pins, she was smiling, her heart soaring, her face mirroring her joy.

Nellie rushed in, vase in hand, and abruptly halted. "Oh, my! Well, now! That's better!"

"Put the others in water. I have to rush." Whirling, Alathea squeezed Nellie's arm, then, breathless, ran to the door.

Brows high, Nellie watched her go, then, a broad smile wreathing her face, she bustled to the dressing table. She placed the two remaining blooms in the vase, then carefully carried it to the table beside the bed. Nellie wiped her hands and returned to the dressing table to tidy Alathea's combs and brush. She was about to turn away when the folded note poking out from Alathea's jewelry box caught her eye.

Nellie cast a glance at the door, then lifted the lid of the jewelry box and took out the note. She unfolded it, read it, then refolded it and replaced it. And chuckled delightedly. "You'll do, my lad. You'll do."

Gabriel saw his flowers in Alathea's hair the instant she appeared in the archway giving onto Lady Marlborough's ballroom. The sight transfixed him; joy, relief, and something far more primal locked his lungs. Pausing with her family at the top of the stairs, Alathea looked down, over the ballroom, but didn't immediately see him. His gaze didn't leave her as she slowly descended the broad sweep, one hand lightly skimming the balustrade as she searched the throng.

Then she saw him.

He drew breath and started toward her. His eyes didn't leave her face as he closed the distance between them; he had no recollection of those he passed as he cleaved through the crowd. He reached the newel post before her.

She descended the last steps, her gaze locked with his, pausing on the very last, higher than he, then she stepped down to the floor and angled her head so he could study the blooms.

"I couldn't carry them-you do understand?"

Triumph washed through him, a rolling wave that nearly brought him to his knees. "Your alternative is inspired." He took her hand; uncaring of any who might be watching, he carried it to his lips. His eyes held hers. "My lady."

Some magical force held them trapped, hazel drowning in hazel, so close they could sense each breath the other took, each beat of the other's heart. Neither could manage a smile.

"And about time, too, but do get a move on! There's a seat on a chaise over there I want to snare."

Alathea jumped and whirled. Gabriel looked up, into Lady Osbaldestone's black eyes. She grinned evilly and poked his arm. "Don't let me stop you in your rush into parson's mousetrap, but do get out of my way!"

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.

Risking a scene at this point was senseless. He'd do better to take his clamoring instincts, possessive and otherwise, a short distance away.