The Wallflower Wager - Tessa Dare Page 0,69
is for a neighbor across the square to see you tiptoeing from my house to yours at dawn. Courting scandal at this stage would only give your family reason to object.”
“I’m tempted to argue, but I won’t.”
“I’ll check the corridor,” Gabe said. “We don’t want Mrs. Burns surprising us again.”
“She wouldn’t tell a soul.”
“Perhaps not, but she might scare the soul out of me.”
As Gabe ventured into the corridor, he paused and held his breath. From down the way, he heard the creak of floorboards. As he moved toward the sound, a ghostly figure appeared in the distance.
Gabe shook himself and rubbed his eyes. “Hammond?”
The architect’s silvery hair stood at wild angles, and he was clad in only a white nightshirt. On one forearm, he balanced a tray of food. He had a bottle of wine tucked under his other arm, and a pair of wineglasses clutched in his free hand—the source of the clanking, Gabe presumed. The man was sweaty and breathless.
“What the devil is going on?” Gabe asked.
“Devil, indeed.” Hammond leaned over his tray to whisper. “I finally learned the truth about Burns.”
“Brilliant,” Gabe muttered. “I thought you’d ruled out ghost, witch, and vampiress. What’s left?”
“The woman’s a succubus.”
“What’s a succubus?”
“A female demon.” Hammond’s eyebrows lifted. “One who feeds on sexual pleasure.”
“Well, then. I am exceedingly sorry I asked.”
“Gerard, is that you?” The sultry, smoky female voice came from within a nearby chamber. “I’m waiting.”
“Good God. The enchantress calls.” Hammond backed his way into the bedchamber, tray and wine in his hands. “If I’m dead in the morning, bury my corpse with a stake through the heart.”
Numb with shock, Gabe returned to his own bedchamber.
Penny lifted her shoulders in question. “Well?”
“I have good news and bad news.”
“Let’s have the bad first, please.”
“The bad news is, I’ll never, so long as I live, wipe the past two minutes from my memory.” He scratched the back of his head. “The good news is, tonight we’re in the clear.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The morning of the ball was so frantic with preparations that when Gabe met Penny at the door, he didn’t even trouble with greetings.
“Come.” He took her by the hand. “I have something for you in the study.”
When he closed the door behind them, she blushed and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Er, Gabriel . . . I really would love to, but my hair’s just been washed and pinned, and I’m down to my last few wearable frocks.”
“I’m not after that,” he assured her. “Not that I’d mind it, of course. But it’s not my intent to bend you over the desk for a passionate tryst . . . today.” After taking a moment to chase that tempting image from his brain, he patted the chair behind the desk. “Sit.”
Gabe opened a strongbox hidden in a cabinet and withdrew a large, flat velvet box. He placed the box on the desk blotter, inordinately anxious. “Go on, then. Open it.”
She lifted the top and peered inside. “Oh, Gabriel.”
He moved behind the chair, looking over her shoulder at the sparkling array of rings. Diamond, ruby, sapphire, emerald . . . every precious gem he could think to request at the jeweler’s, and a few he hadn’t known existed.
“I thought you’d prefer to be surprised, but I didn’t trust myself to choose one you liked. So I simply bought them all.”
“They’re exquisite.”
He waved off her praise. “None of them are fine enough for you.”
“I don’t need even one ring so grand, let alone a tray of them.”
“Too late. They’re all yours. Wear them all at once, if you like. Or designate one for each day of the week.”
She pried a ring from the velvet padding—a pale pink diamond set in gold and ringed with smaller sparkling stones. “I always did love pink.”
“Try it on.”
Penny slipped the ring on her third finger. She held her hand at a distance to admire the way the stone flashed in the light.
“It’s beautiful.” She rose from the chair and kissed him. “Thank you. I love it.”
He exhaled, relieved. “Good. Now let’s have it back. I’ll lock it up for safekeeping.”
She held her hand close to her chest. “Must I take it off?”
“Yes, you must. We’re not engaged.”
She arched one golden eyebrow and smiled. “Yet.”
Good God. He didn’t know where her faith in him originated—dropped off by pixies floating on the breeze with toadstool parasols, most likely—but at this point, he didn’t bloody well care. If he pulled this off, he would be either the most cunning bastard