Free His Favorite Mistress by Tracy Anne Warren

her consternation, heat crept over her skin, the tight feeling returning to her chest. Needing to look away, yet unable to do so, she watched as he lifted a single dark eyebrow in silent inquiry.
    Her mouth firmed, and before she knew what she meant to do, she raised one of her eyebrows back, angling her chin in his direction with a challenging tilt.
    His lips twitched, eyes widening in obvious surprise—and a bit of humor, if she was not mistaken. If he thought to intimidate her with his elevated status, he was in for a sad disappointment. Duke or dustman, she thought, his title makes no difference to me. If only she could say the same for the man himself, a shiver of sensual awareness rippling through her.
    Luckily, the baby chose that moment to exercise her lungs by letting out another lusty wail. Breaking eye contact, Gabriella glanced down and studied the pale blue velvet skirt of her gown—one of five beautiful new frocks Julianna had ordered made for her during the past two weeks. Then, with a few last words from the minister, the christening was finished. Climbing to her feet with the other guests, she soon made her way from the church.
     
    Later that afternoon, Tony stood in the Pendragons’ drawing room, listening to Julianna’s brother, Harry; her brother-in-law, retired Major William Waring; and his friend Ethan debate the finer points of horse breeding. Considering Tony owned a prosperous stable of his own—praised by many as one of the finest in England—he would normally have been immersed in the conversation. Instead he found himself distracted, his gaze and thoughts drifting often across the room toward a particular sable-haired female.
    Swallowing a mouthful of robust red claret, he surreptitiously watched Gabriella where she sat talking with the ladies. After his silent, visual exchange with her at the church this morning, he’d assumed they would have an opportunity to speak. But each time he moved in her direction, she somehow moved in an opposite one.
    He didn’t think her elusiveness was deliberate, though he had taken note of the fact that they’d ended up with nearly the whole of the dining room table between them during nuncheon. Despite the distance, however, he’d caught her glance his way a time or two, in between bites of rosemary chicken, roast beef, and a wealth of delectable accompaniments. When he’d caught her looking again over a dessert of brandied ginger cake, he hadn’t been able to contain himself. Licking a dollop of whipped cream off his fork, he’d winked, grinning as her cheeks grew dusky, her lips drawing together in the same adorable line she’d worn earlier in the church. Smiling around another forkful of cake, he’d made himself cease teasing her—for the time being, anyway.
    “So what do you think, Tony?” Harry Davies, the Earl of Allerton, asked, breaking into his musings.
    Blinking to clear his thoughts, he stared at the three men who awaited his answer. “Think about what?” he drawled, pausing to quaff another long swallow of claret.
    “About taking in a round of shooting tomorrow, of course,” the younger man returned. “Have you not been listening?”
    Quite obviously he had not, since he’d completely missed the conversational shift from horses to pistols. Ethan gave him an inquiring look, which he returned with confident sangfroid. “Ah, well, so long as the winds hold fair and the weather continues to moderate as it seems to be doing, a bit of target practice sounds most agreeable.”
    Allerton nodded his approval. “Good. We’ll gather the men in the afternoon, then. We thought the ladies might enjoy a spot of archery as well.”
    “A fine idea,” he concurred.
    Across the room, Gabriella rose to her feet. He watched as she crossed to the refreshment table, where a pitcher of lemonade and a decanter of wine had been set out for those not wishing tea or coffee.
    “If you gentlemen will excuse me,” he said, waggling his empty glass. “I