Trapped at the Altar (39 page)

Ari gently set the puppy on the carpet and picked up her wine goblet. “You're right, of course. She's just so pretty.” Her voice sounded strange to her ears, almost without expression, and she could only hope that Ivor would notice nothing.

It was a vain hope, of course. Ivor noticed everything where she was concerned. He was looking at her far too intently, a frown in his blue eyes. “Is something the matter, Ari?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No . . . no, what could be? It's Christmas Day.”

“Mmm,” he agreed. “But for some strange reason, Christmas Day now seems rather different from Christmas Day half an hour ago. Something upset you in the kitchen.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Don't be ridiculous, Ivor. We were only there five
minutes. What could have upset me in five minutes?” She could hear the slight note of desperation in her voice and feel the color fluctuating in her cheeks. She took a deep draught of her wine and steadied her breath.

“I really don't know,” he said. “But something did.” Anything else he'd been about to say was forestalled by Tilly's reappearance with the maids, carrying a flaming plum pudding and a platter of mince pies. “There's a good brandy sauce there, too,” she declared, keeping her eyes down as she set the jug on the table. “And some sugared almonds with ginger and orange peel.”

“It smells wonderful, Tilly.” Ariadne felt her composure return as she seemed to step back from the edge of the precipice. If Ivor had continued to press her, she would have betrayed herself somehow, but now the brief respite had given her control again. She could be her old self and hope that he would forget all about that strange interlude.

How could Gabriel possibly be sitting in her own kitchen? She was only just getting her head around the idea that he was in London, that he'd come to find her. She was still trying to find the right words to tell him the next morning that their dreams of a future together could never be more than that, just the dreams of a pair of idealistic young lovers. If she had never seen him again, she thought, she could have lived her life remembering him with love, treasuring her memories of their time together, of the way they had felt about each other, and that would have been the end of it. It would not have been a betrayal
of her life with Ivor, simply a part of her own past that made her who she was. The woman whom Ivor loved.

But now Gabriel was here, flesh and blood. The man she had once loved to distraction was sitting in her kitchen, and she could still remember what that love had felt like. The memory now brought an acrid wash of guilt, although she had no reason to feel guilt. It was all in the past, before her commitment to Ivor, and yet the guilt became more intense the longer she sat opposite her husband, trying to behave as if nothing untoward had occurred.

She could not wait until the morning to bring an end to it, she realized. She would break down long before then. “Would you excuse me a moment, Ivor?” She pushed back her chair with an apologetic smile. “I have a need . . .” She gestured vaguely and hurried from the room, crossing the foyer to her bedchamber. Ivor would assume she had need of the commode situated behind a screen in the corner of the chamber. She opened the secretaire and hastily scribbled a few words on a scrap of parchment, folding it tightly, enclosing it in her fist. Then she slipped from the chamber, crept past the dining-room door, and ran down the stairs to the kitchen.

The company was still assembled at the table, and Gabriel, to her relief, was still at his place. “Don't let me disturb you. I came to get a few scraps for Juno,” she said brightly. “She's pestering Sir Ivor for plum pudding.” She brushed past Gabriel at the end of the table on her way to the scullery.

Gabriel's hand closed over the tiny scrap of paper on the table beside his plate as she disappeared. When she returned with a bowl of scraps for the puppy, he was engaged in conversation with one of the kitchen maids.

Ariadne returned swiftly upstairs, reentering the dining salon. “I am sorry for being so long, but I thought to get something for Juno.” She set the bowl on the hearth and then took her place at the table again, reaching for the jug of brandy sauce. “So, is Tilly's London plum pudding up to Daunt valley standards?” She poured sauce over her pudding and smiled at Ivor over her spoon.

G
abriel excused himself from the kitchen and headed for the privy at the rear of the backyard outside the kitchen door. He stumbled slightly as he fumbled for the door latch. “Take the lantern, man, you'll end up in the midden otherwise,” one of his dining companions advised with an inebriated hiccup.

Gabriel unhooked the lantern from the wall and stepped outside. The cold air made his head spin, and he cursed his stupidity in drinking as deeply as he had. Sir Ivor's house was hardly a safe place to let down his guard. He crossed the yard to the noisome lean-to in the far corner and went in, holding his breath against the stench. Holding the lantern high, he unfolded the paper with one hand and looked at the single scrawled line.

Meet me at the entrance to St. James's Park across the street at ten this evening.

Short and to the point. He dropped the note down the reeking black hole into the midden beneath, relieved
himself, and headed back to the brightly lit kitchen. Voices were raised in raucous laughter, and singing spilled out into the yard as he unlatched the door.

He slid into his chair again, picked up his tankard, and tapped the rhythm of the song on the table with his fingertips. His companions were too far gone in drink themselves to notice that the level in his tankard did not go down for the rest of the evening.

Just before ten, he pushed back his chair and rose with feigned unsteadiness to his feet. “Good people . . . good friends . . . thank you for your hospitality, but I must seek my bed before 'tis much later. Your kindness overwhelms me, and Mistress Tilly, never have I eaten such a magnificent Christmas feast.” He stumbled across to her and kissed her heartily on both cheeks.

Tilly, deeply regretting her invitation and now anxious to see the back of him, said gruffly, “You're welcome enough, but now you'd best get along with you before the hour grows much later. Even on Christmas night, the streets are not safe.”

“My thanks, mistress.” He wrapped himself tightly in his cloak and, with a final farewell wave, let himself out again into the yard. The fresh air this time merely increased his clarity, and he climbed the steps unerringly to the street above. It was dark, with only the faintest glimmer of a moon beneath scudding clouds, and the night smelled of snow.

The dark shapes of the trees and bushes in the park seemed menacing in their silent presence as he stepped through the narrow break in the screening shrubbery
onto the thin gravel pathway within the park. Ari had said to meet her there, at the entrance. He wouldn't miss her if he stood just inside the hedge. The lights of the palace across the park still blazed, and the sounds of music drifted over the canal. There were people still in the park, hurrying along the pathways, cloaked shapes moving along the canal, and Gabriel felt somewhat reassured. He stepped away from the shadow of the hedge to stand full square on the path, where he didn't feel so isolated.

Ariadne toppled her king with her finger. “I resign, well played.”

Ivor frowned at the chessboard. “You didn't have to resign. You could have played to a draw. Why didn't you?”

“Could I?” She looked surprised. “I didn't see how.” Her eyes darted to the clock on the mantel. It was almost ten o'clock.

“I'll show you.” He righted her king and moved a couple of pieces. “This is where we were three moves ago.”

Ari controlled her impatience with difficulty. She remembered the position well enough, and she had chosen to bring the game to a rapid conclusion rather than a drawn-out endgame. But Ivor mustn't know that. It would never occur to him that she would deliberately throw a game away in normal circumstances.

“If you had moved your bishop to rook four at this point, that would have prevented my check with my knight . . . like so.” He moved the piece and looked across at her for confirmation.

“Yes . . . yes, I see,” she said hastily. “I must not have been thinking clearly . . . oh, I think Juno needs to go out. I'll just take her to the street for a moment.”

“Not alone, you won't,” Ivor stated. “She doesn't seem anxious to go out.” He looked down at the puppy, who was lying across his feet in perfect contentment, her rounded belly evidence of a good dinner.

“No, but she needs to. She's not properly housebroken yet.” She got to her feet, bending to lift the puppy. “I'll take her to the kitchen. One of the men can take her out.”

Ivor let her go, busying himself with putting away the chess pieces. Whatever was wrong, he would find out soon enough. Ari had never been able to keep a secret from him, and he was beginning to think he'd been patient enough, waiting for her to confide in him.

Ariadne fetched her cloak and tied a ribbon around Juno's neck, then took the backstairs to the kitchen, but instead of going out through the kitchen, she took a side door that opened into a narrow alley alongside the house.

She only dared to be away a few minutes this time and ran to the end of the alley, peering into the street. The light from the salon shone through a crack in the curtains, but she would only be visible to someone standing at the window, looking down. She ran across the street, Juno galloping at her heels, and slipped into the shadows between the hedges.

“Ari.” Gabriel sprang forward, sweeping her against him as she appeared on the path.

“Gabriel . . . Gabriel, no, please, let me go.” She pushed
against him. “I haven't many minutes, and there's so much to say.”

“I don't want to say anything, I just want to hold you.” Gabriel buried his mouth in her hair as he pressed her head against his chest. “Please, just let me hold you. It's been so long.”

Ariadne pushed her head back and straightened upright. She spoke with desperate haste. “Gabriel, my dear, please. Listen to me. This has to be over between us.”

“No,” he exclaimed in a fierce undertone. “No, it cannot be. I came all this way to find you, Ari. We will go away together—”

“
No.
No, Gabriel, we will
not
.” She looked at him with desperation in her eyes. He
had
to understand. “Everything has changed. Oh, we can't talk properly now. My husband will expect me back any minute. I will meet you here tomorrow morning, as agreed. Ivor will be attending the King's morning audience, and I will explain everything then.”

She pressed her fingers against his lips and then was gone, a fleeing shadow through the gap in the hedge, leaving Gabriel wondering if she'd even been there at all. But he could feel the imprint of her body against him, and her fragrance lingered in the cold night air. She was no figment of his overwrought imagination.

She was real, in his world again. She could not mean what she had said. There was no way all could be over between them. He had come to find her, to take her away. Nothing must stand in their way. She just needed reminding of all they meant to each other. Her life was
so different now, but she just needed reminding of their past. When he kissed her, when there was time for the long, languorous kisses they used to share, then she would remember.