Free Love Letters by Lori Brighton

in the least.
    “Kennwick! Lad, how are you?”
    Gabriel resisted the urge to sigh. He’d wanted to dance the required two dances with Helen and leave, retire to his townhome where he could think about his soon to be fiancé and his confusing feelings toward her. Lord Roberts slapped him on the back, nearly sending him stumbling forward. The robust man acted the fool with too many drinks, like most men. Roberts usual pale face was ruddy, his hair messy. He gave Gabriel an irritating wink.
    “Going to visit your fiancé?” He patted his belly, bloated with age and too much whiskey. “Aww, now she’s a looker, she is.” He leaned closer, his foul breath fanning Gabriel’s neck. “But you know who I’d like to get my hands on? That quiet companion of hers. I have a feeling she’d be a tigress in bed.” Annoyed, Gabriel started forward, but not quick enough to avoid the second slap, a loud whack to his shoulder. “See what you can do about that, won’t you lad?”
    Gabriel curled his fists, his anger boiling. Bastard. He wanted to hit the man. Instead he merely gave him a tight smile and continued on. Cynthia certainly deserved better than Roberts. He’d only seen her three times, always sitting quietly while he talked with Helen. But he knew enough to know she was a sweet girl, kind, shy. She deserved a nice farmer…no. A Vicar? No, he had a feeling she had some fire underneath her quiet façade. She deserved…perhaps a baron. Someone who would respect her, dress her in fine things.
    He wasn’t an idiot, he’d noticed the few times he’d visited Helen that Cynthia wasn’t treated well. It certainly wasn’t uncommon for companions to be ignored. But he’d see an end to it once they married. He wouldn’t have her treated as a servant, as he’d been treated as a child, forgotten, invisible. No one deserved to be treated that way.
    The closer he got to Lady Hogar, the more suspicious he became. She was angry with her daughter, that was obvious. Was she actually pinching her? How very odd! Disgusted, he almost turned to leave. He felt no connection to the woman who would be his mother-in-law. He supposed she wasn’t bad to look at, but she was flamboyant, annoying, greedy . Completely opposite of his mother’s cold demeanor, yet just as bad. A woman to be endured until he and Helen were married, if they married.
    “My Lord!” The older woman chimed at his approach, giving him an overly wide smile that ate up half her narrow face. “How wonderful to see you.” She nudged her elbow into Helen’s side.
    The girl dropped into a quick curtsey. Her bosom practically popped from the low neckline of her garish red gown. From what he could tell, simplicity was not Helen’s choice of fashion. Yet, still, he remembered Helen being rather flat in the chest area. Amazing and wonderful, what corsets could do. He lifted his gaze to her face, but could see little through the black veil posing as a mask.
    “My lord,” she muttered, her soft voice barely audible over the music and conversation surrounding them.
    “Have you come to dance?” Lady Hogar asked , pushing her daughter forward before Gabriel had a chance to answer.
    Helen fell into him, her body soft and warm and wonderful. He forced his thoughts to remain pure, forced his body not to harden at the contact. His opinion would not be swayed by a lovely body. His hands clasped her upper arms, holding her steady.
    Her shimmering red hair caught the candle light and practically glowed. Lighter in color than he remembered, but then he hadn’t seen her in months.
    “Of course. I would love to dance,” he said. She was staring at his jacket, acting the timid mouse. What was her game? “If she’ll have me.”
    Lady Hogar laughed an annoying shrill, nervous sound. “Of course she’ll have you.”
    Helen smelled different, he realized. Not the heavy, suffocating French perfume she usually wore, but something soft, sweet, natural. Something that quite stirred