there had been a time in his life when he had flouted the rules and had met with disaster, and I wondered what it had been.
Despite myself, I felt another flicker of interest in Major Ramsey and his past.
I realized suddenly how very little I knew about him. “And what about you?” I asked. “What’s your given name?”
“Gabriel.”
I considered this. It seemed appropriate that he might share a name with the archangel: impressive, intimidating, and firmly on the side of good. With that fair, handsome face he looked a bit like an angel, or a marble bust of one.
“I hadn’t taken you for a Gabriel, but it suits you,” I said after a moment. “I assume your friends don’t call you Gabe?”
“My friends call me Ramsey,” he said. “No one calls me Gabriel.”
“Not even women?” I pressed. There was, I realized, the risk he might think I was actually flirting with him, but I was trying very hard to break down some of his barriers.
I had thought I might throw him off a bit with this question, at least rattle his very proper demeanor, but he met my gaze evenly. “I don’t have a lot of time for women at present, Miss McDonnell.”
For some reason I found this difficult to believe. I didn’t have a great deal of experience with men, but I had enough to know that a man like Major Ramsey could have his pick of girls with very little effort.
“Well, I won’t call you Ramsey. It’s much too formal. So Gabriel it shall be.”
“That is your prerogative,” he said flatly.
Of course, if he was always as much of a pompous prig as he was when talking to me, it could very well put a damper on things where women were concerned.
I found myself wondering what he was like in his regular life. Surely he smiled and laughed and talked of silly things with the people close to him? I couldn’t imagine that he went through life with his shoulders squared and that grim face all the time. Of course, the persona seemed very natural to him, so perhaps he did. In any event, it was never going to make any difference to me one way or the other, so I needn’t worry about it.
“Is there anything else I need to know before we get there tonight?” I asked.
He looked at me. “Like what?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the man with all the information.”
“You know nearly as much as I do about what will happen tonight. Just keep your eyes open, and tell me if you see anything suspicious. Don’t put yourself in any danger.”
“I don’t intend to.” I found it almost a bit sweet that he was concerned with my well-being.
“During the display of the porcelain, there will likely be an opportunity for us to slip away and get to the safe. You must follow my instructions at all times. I know you’re used to working on your own, but, for all intents and purposes, you are now under my command.”
So much for sweet talk.
I suppressed my instinctive desire to contradict him and instead answered primly. “Yes, sir, Major Ramsey.”
He didn’t say much else as we drove, and I didn’t press him. I could already tell that we weren’t likely to fool anyone into thinking we were romantically linked, but there was no helping that. He certainly couldn’t say I hadn’t tried.
A short time later we pulled up in front of a massive sandstone mansion. Even the sandbags and blackout curtains couldn’t dampen the effect.
Jakub opened my door and I stepped out of the car, looking up at the magnificent structure and preparing myself for whatever lay ahead. To be honest, the thought of interacting with a bunch of society people was daunting.
“Ready, Elizabeth?” he asked, extending his elbow to me.
I slipped my arm through his. “Ready, Gabriel.”
Together we walked up the front steps and into the building.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I had been prepared for grandeur, but Sir Nigel Randolf’s Mayfair house was a study in opulence. It was all white marble floors and pillars, golden moldings, and glittering chandeliers—everything so bright it almost hurt the eyes.
The house was also massive. The foyer alone was large enough to host a ball, our footsteps echoing on the gleaming floors and up, up into the ceiling three stories above us. This, I thought, was perhaps the ultimate symbol of the decadently rich: huge amounts of space devoted to nothing in particular.
“Vulgar, isn’t it?” the major said in my ear.
I looked