A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) (18 page)

“What a suspicious but methodical mind you have,” Amelia said appreciatively.

“Well, thank you.” Gwyneth bobbed her head. “The highest of compliments in my family.”

“But I do believe Madame was genuine about her devotion to Monsieur la Toure and finding an artist of Gabby’s caliber. She truly was moved.”

Gwyneth shook her head again. “Do not forget, Madame Abney is a gifted actor. We saw last night her incredible dramatic skills. I also thought she was being honest, but we can’t trust anyone with Gabby’s safety in question.”

“What do you think, Gabby? Do you think she was acting or sincere?” Amelia asked.

“I don’t know what to think. It is all so confusing. But I need to go backstage to find out if the lady is a liar.”

“It could be a trap and possibly dangerous.” Gwyneth raised both eyebrows.

Gabby refused to be helpless, to allow her fearful circumstances to dictate her behavior, especially in front of these fearless ladies.

“As your chaperone, I must accompany you. I will bring my pistol,” Gwyneth added gleefully.

Amelia burst into laughter. “There is no way Ash is going to allow you and Gabby to go backstage unaccompanied. I must go with you.”

Then the ladies all hooted. As if the danger to her was a hilarious joke.

“Please excuse us, Gabby. We’re not making light of the threat. We are entertained by our husbands. It’s a game we play with them. Ash and Derrick have us guarded at all times. Neither will admit to it, but right now I’m sure Talley is following our carriage on horseback. You needn’t worry. There will be plenty of protection backstage.”

Amelia straightened the small hat flirtatiously perched on the side of her head. “What an eventful afternoon. And, unlike Gwyneth, I hope this is the usual boring party that Lady Bostwick hosts.”

Chapter Twenty-one

He watched from the garden hedgerow, hidden in the dense foliage, out of sight of all of London’s society. He had followed her from Madame Abney’s townhouse to the Bostwick estate. Now that he had found her, he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight.

Ashworth stood to one side, away from the milling groups, his brow pinched together as a younger man spoke, most likely one of Rathbourne’s underlings reporting. Ashworth, like Rathbourne, had worked undercover for years in France. Were they as tired as he was of the layers of lies, assignations, and deceptions?

He had one final mission, and then he was finished with the entire lunacy. He didn’t care if France and England continued fighting for the entire next century.

There was a hush when she entered the garden, as if she were a member of the British royal family. Her French royal lineage had brought ample tragedy to her short and innocent life.

Pompous dandies with their extravagant cravats, bright colored jackets, and tight lips crowded around her. She had grown into a beautiful woman and all the London coxcombs noticed.

From the way she stiffened in response to the swarming men and their need to take her hand, she wasn’t impressed with the English any more than he was. He was glad she didn’t want the attention from all the men because his plans would put an end to this ridiculous farce.

A stunning redhead wearing a very stylish gown that looked more French than the tasteless English style, swept in and took Gabrielle’s arm, extricating her from the hordes.

The blue ribbon tied at the side of her bonnet framed the Valmont’s extraordinary eyes, white-blond curls, and her distinct Gallic chin, carved from centuries of superior breeding. Her graceful, confident manner was the epitome of French beauty and style.

The redhead’s comment made Gabrielle smile. But as she moved closer to his position in the hedge, he noticed the forlorn slope of her small shoulders and air of dejection surrounding her. Was she aware of the treachery planned against her?

A lissome man pressed his lips to her small, gloved hand in familiarity.

The audacity of the Englishman touching her destroyed any of his newly acquired patience. He was going to run the English bastard through. He wasn’t sure if he could wait until he extricated Gabrielle from London before he killed the “gentleman.”

The redheaded woman squeezed Gabrielle’s arm and then waved to a goliath with a harsh, square face. Another of Rathbourne’s henchmen by the forceful stare he leveled at the gentility crowded in the garden.

All the party needed was Rathbourne to complete British intelligence.

Gabrielle was in the midst of a trove of English spies. Were they protecting her or using her as a pawn in the game with Fouché and Napoleon? Most likely using her, as he would have done in the past.

How her presence in the midst of the den of spies came about made no difference now. He didn’t care how many men surrounded her. He’d get his revenge. And once he had tasted the sweet reward, he’d be finished.

Gabrielle kept her eyes downcast, listening intently to the animated English gentleman who spoke rapidly and expressively. By the way his eyes searched her face and the way he angled his body possessively toward her, he was pleading his cause as a jilted lover.

Whatever the blond Adonis had pleaded, Gabrielle was moved. Her skin flushed and she chewed anxiously on her lower lip. She had feelings for the persuasive Englishman. It couldn’t be true. With her French lineage, how could she lower herself?

He’d tear the man apart. But only after he inflicted his retribution.

He couldn’t risk anything today, with England’s elite spies all around. He now was a changed man—he had almost learned patience over the last year. The right time would come. And when it did…

Chapter Twenty-two

Fenton stepped closer and lowered his voice, showing some sense of propriety with two dowagers standing only a few feet from them. “Did you manage to get your diva singing last night?”

Hell, Michael didn’t need a rehash of the absurd scene from just hours before with the demanding opera singer. He wished he had never heard of Madame Abney. Why couldn’t he go back to deciphering codes with Hen?

But he had to maintain the appearance of pursuing Madame Abney, especially to bait his two blockhead friends who lived on the
ton
’s gossip.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve just come from her townhouse.”

Chalmers inspected Michael’s impeccable blue coat and perfectly tied cravat, which he had worn to look upright and proper for Gabby. “You went home to change your clothes?”

Avoiding looking at his friends, Michael examined the cuffs on his sleeve. “Of course, couldn’t come in the clothes from last night.” Not really a total lie since no one wore their clothes from the previous night.

Fenton, more astute than Chalmers, kept his steely gaze on Michael. “Something’s not right about you.”

Michael pulled at his cravat. Fenton and Chalmers had shared many an adventure and might see through his pretense. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Fenton?”

“You’re not acting like your usual clever self. No witty rejoinders that fly right past Chalmers.”

Chalmers elbowed Fenton. “Give the man a break. He’s tired after his night with Madame.”

He wasn’t tired, but he was worried about Gabby’s reaction when she saw him at the garden party. He had reasoned it would be strange if he didn’t greet Amelia and Lady Gwyneth, hoping that would give him enough time for a moment with Gabby.

Fenton looked around and behind him before speaking. “You might have some competition for Madame’s attention. She’s attracted royal notice.”

Michael shifted his weight and feigned curiosity in Lady Roscoe’s arrival to hide his acute interest in Fenton’s news. Fenton always knew the
on dit
, since he spent most of the time in clubs, hiding from his mother and three sisters.

Chalmers poked Michael in the ribs again. The damn poke hurt. The man had no idea of his strength. “Hope you impressed her last night.”

Fenton crowded closer to Michael. “No snappy retort?”

“I never share my… It is ungentlemanly.”

Chalmers snorted, causing guests to turn to look at them. “Since when did you become a prig?”

He had never regaled men with stories about women, but that didn’t stop women from talking about him. Which led to today’s misadventure. Madame Abney wanted either to test his reputation or to prove her own. Damn women and their gossip.

“I don’t think you have any worries. The king only wants her to perform a sacred piece of music, a cantata by Bach, a royal performance.”

The small hairs on Michael’s neck stood on end. Could the threat to His Majesty be encoded in tonight’s performance? He was glad that he planned to return to the opera tonight and glad that Gabby wouldn’t be at the performance to watch his pursuit. He’d listen carefully to the music. He also needed to spend time with Madame to have access to her music, which wouldn’t be too difficult.

“Do you know when this royal performance will happen?” Michael scanned the crowd, pretending interest in the party.

“You didn’t want to talk about her performance last night?” Fenton grinned widely. “Or was it your performance that has you concerned?”

Michael rolled his eyes and waited for Chalmers’s lewd retort when he spotted Gabby, Lady Gwyneth, and Amelia arrive in the garden.

“She’s here,” Fenton said. Chalmers whipped around. “Excuse me, old chap.” And Chalmers, like all the other men in the garden, made straight for Gabby.

Fenton and Michael stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the gentlemen flock around Gabby.

“She doesn’t look like a woman seeking male attention,” Fenton observed.

Gabby’s eyes were shuttered down, hidden by her adorable bonnet with a big blue bow.

Hope rekindled in Michael’s chest. Gabby wasn’t looking at any of the men with her eyes wide open in interest or enjoyment, not the way she looked at him, or at least had before this afternoon.

“I think I’ll wait for a more private moment to regale the lady with my charms,” Fenton jeered.

Michael wanted to plant a facer on Fenton’s handsome visage. The storm of his possessiveness was growing exponentially, like a mathematical equation. He wasn’t a violent man who derived pleasure from fighting or hurting others, but watching all the men of his acquaintance touch Gabby was a startling revelation. He would and could hurt anyone who wanted Gabby.

Lady Gwyneth took Gabby’s arm. Michael couldn’t hear Lady Gwyneth’s comment, but whatever she said caused the men to back up and open a path for the ladies.

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael spotted Ashworth moving toward his wife.

Taking the opportunity to join Ashworth, Michael called out to him. There were some benefits to Hen’s marriage to Rathbourne.

Ashworth turned and waited for Michael to accompany him.

Ashworth said quietly, “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“A bit of confusion that I need to remedy.”

“Already?” Ashworth’s eyes glinted in amusement.

“Darling,” Ashworth took his wife’s arm and pulled her away from the crowd of gentlemen. He gave a possessive look that was clear to the men—she is mine.

Lady Gwyneth and Ash separated themselves, staring into each other’s eyes. Ashworth ran his hand along Lady Gwyneth’s arm in a tender lover’s touch.

Michael couldn’t wait for the day when he could touch Gabby publicly, declaring she was his and his only.

“Mademoiselle Gabrielle.” Michael searched Gabby’s face, looking for a clue into her feelings, hoping for a sign.

“Michael, what a pleasure to see you this afternoon,” Amelia spoke loudly.

Gabby wouldn’t meet his eyes. She had the same closed expression for him as for all the other gentlemen.

“We were making our way to the table for refreshments. Would you like to join us?”

Startled by Amelia’s suggestion, he offered his arm to both ladies. “This way, ladies.”

Bless Amelia. She had just given him a way to plead his cause to Gabby. He felt Gabby’s hesitation before she placed her hand on his arm.

With her slim, white glove on his arm, heat and need washed over him.

Amelia said in a loud voice, “Lovely afternoon for a garden party, don’t you agree?”

Michael had to control the urge to press Gabby’s slight body closer to his side. Amelia walked to the far end of the table, giving Michael a brief moment to speak with Gabby.

Bending over the table piled with sweets, he pretended to be filling a plate for Gabby, choosing between the wide array of biscuits, tarts, small crème cakes, and assortment of fruit. He held up a lemon tart and showed the dessert to Gabby while he leaned closer and whispered, “Gabby, please let me explain about this afternoon. It isn’t what you think. I haven’t broken my pledge. I promise.”

Gabby’s eyes, darkening to the color of sapphire, searched his face as if trying to decipher a substitution code.

“Please Gabby. Let me explain. Meet me in Ashworth’s garden tomorrow night at midnight.” His voice grew rough with need at the idea of Gabby, alone with him in the dark.

Michael would have missed her slight nod if he weren’t watching intently. He placed the lemon tart on her plate.