Free Seduced by a Stranger by Silver Eve Page A

London, March 1828
     
    The position of the moon in the clear night sky left no shadowed niche to cling to. No matter. Gabriel was not here to hide, but rather to be seen by as many as cared to look. He stood on the far side of the street, across and a little down the way from his club, studying the moon in all its bright and pale detail. It made him think of her. Catherine Weston. Of her midnight hair and porcelain skin, and the smooth, cool sound of her voice. He was both surprised and faintly annoyed that his thoughts turned to such whimsy, for his was not a nature inclined to contemplate the poetry found in the curve of a woman’s cheek. He was more inclined to the analytical and the focus of the moment.
    The focus of this moment was the need to walk into White’s and pretend interest in gambling and gossip, because that was what gentlemen did. And Gabriel knew the value of doing exactly what was expected. There was no better shield than the mundane.
    His gaze dropped and lingered on the club’s famous bow window. Several men sat there, backlit by the lamps in the room. They were chatting and laughing, their heads turned subtly so that any who passed could not help but recognize them, but more than that, they wanted to watch those in the street, to judge them, betimes poke fun at them. It was a game of sorts, one Gabriel neither understood nor enjoyed.
    Even from this distance, it was not difficult to place names to silhouettes. Bodley and Ashton and Hale, and two others on the opposite side of the table whose faces were in shadow. A few steps closer and he would know their identities, as well. Those steps were difficult to take tonight, for there were other entertainments he would rather seek out. Still, he could not come to London and avoid the club altogether. That would cause talk, speculation, perhaps even a ridiculous wager to be recorded in the betting book that lay open on the table. He preferred not to draw that sort of attention; he preferred to draw no attention at all.
    As a matter of course, he was careful to blend into the background, smiling and nodding when others did the same, dragging forth an appropriate quip at an appropriate time. Mimicking his peers had become an easy thing, though in the beginning it had taken some attention and care. Over the years he had become quite adept at appearing to be exactly as they were, to share similar thoughts and emotions. They thought him genial enough, if rather dull, a situation that he found amusing.
    He was nothing like them. His thoughts were a twisted maze, what emotions he had a dark, fetid pool.
    He was anything but genial. To know it, they had only to ask the companion he had left a mere hour past.
    But they would never know of his companion, and so they would never ask.
    He was careful about such things. Methodical.
    No one ever saw past the mask.
    Except he thought that given even a hint of opportunity, Catherine Weston, with her perceptive gaze and quick tongue, might. And here he was, back to thinking about her. Wondering at the workings of her mind. Pondering the mysteries she hid. He half imagined that spending any length of time with her, catching hold of the chance to search out her secrets, might be worth the risk that she would see him for exactly what he was.
    Just then, the front door of the club opened, spilling light across the stairs and cobbles. Two likely fellows sauntered down the steps, Newton and Pratt, a pair of harmless fools. They laughed too loudly and cuffed each other on the shoulder. Pratt’s aim was off and his fist glanced across Newton’s chest, unbalancing him as he stepped down, his foot sliding on the last stair. He spun, tipped to one side then lurched to the other, swaying and laughing, fighting for balance.
    Gabriel moved quickly, thrusting his shoulder forward to bolster Newton as he wove and dipped again, dangerously close to landing on his drink-sodden rump. He had little care if the man sprawled in drunken