Turning, Pris beheld yet another tall, elegant, patently dangerous gentleman. All the Cynster males seemed to be cast from the same mold; glancing back at Dillon while they waited for the other to finish greeting Lady Celia-from her comments he was one of her sons, by name Rupert-Pris found no difficulty seeing Dillon as part of the crew.
The same elegance-languid in repose, like a sated cat, but that could change in a flash to a hard-edged ruthlessness that the outer cloak of civilized behavior did little to mute or disguise. The same strength, not just of muscle and bone, although that was plainly there, but a strength of purpose, of decision and execution.
She narrowed her eyes at the pair of them-Dillon and Vane-trying to put her finger on the other similarity that hovered at the edge of her perception. The same…was it protectiveness?
Glancing across at the newcomer, she saw that same element in him; as he detached from his mother and made his way toward them the description came to her as an image without words-a knight fully armored, sword drawn. Not in aggression, but in defense.
Knights sworn to defend. That’s how they appeared to her.
All three, including Dillon.
“Lady Priscilla?” The newcomer reached for her hand, and she surrendered it. He bowed. “Gabriel Cynster.” He nodded to Dillon and Vane. “I have news-not as much as I’d hoped, but something.”
“I was just telling Lady Priscilla and Dillon that the underworld is seething.”
Gabriel’s gaze remained on Vane’s face for an instant, then switched to Dillon’s. After a fractional hesitation, he said, “I see. Well.” He smiled at Pris. “What I have to report tallies with that.”
Pris listened as Gabriel-whose mother called him Rupert, just as Vane’s mother called him Spencer and Demon was Harry; there was doubtless some story there, but she’d yet to hear it-described how his contacts in the world of finance had confirmed that numerous criminal figures had been badly singed if not terminally burned by the collapse of the substitution scam.
“Boswell is under the hatches and unlikely to resurface, and at least three others are close to plunging underwater permanently, too. While no one is openly cheering, many, including the new police force, are exceedingly pleased.”
Neither Gabriel, Vane, nor Dillon appeared quite as thrilled as she’d expected. Indeed, they all looked a trifle grim.
“Whoever was behind the scam, they’ve taken a good portion of London’s criminals down with them. Some will survive; others won’t. All, however, will want revenge.” Gabriel cocked a brow at Dillon. “Any word from Adair?”
“Not yet. He’s out of town, hot on the trail of Mr. Gilbert Martin, supposedly of Connaught Place.”
Vane humphed. “For Martin’s sake, let’s hope Adair and the police catch up with him first.”
Pris had remained silent throughout, judging it wise to leave those protective instincts she’d sensed unstirred. She’d been expecting them to try to exclude her; instead, she’d caught Dillon’s surreptitious signal to Vane that he could speak freely in front of her.
She appreciated that. Appreciated the fact he hadn’t sought to treat her like a child, to be protected and cosseted and patted on the head and told to go and play with her dolls. She knew there were dangerous people involved in the substitution scam; she hadn’t, however, until Gabriel had spoken so soberly, understood just how dangerous they were.
Instincts of her own were stirring, even before Vane glanced at Dillon, and said, voice low so the ladies around them wouldn’t hear, “One thing. While I was trawling for news, I heard your name often. If not general knowledge yet, it’s at least widely known that you were the crucial player in bringing the scam crashing down. Everyone, grudgingly or otherwise, regardless of which side of the street they inhabit, is acknowledging your strategy as brilliant-as just the sort of response the villainous least want to see from the authorities.”
Dillon grimaced. “Once the club stewards were told the truth-by Demon, I might add-it was impossible to put the lid back on the pot.”
Gabriel shifted. “As matters now stand, you’ll need to stay alert.”
Dillon met his gaze, then nodded. “I know.”
Pris wasn’t sure she caught the full implications of that exchange, but Vane nodded, too, then, with his charming smile, gracefully took his leave.
“You might have a word with young Dalloway,” Gabriel murmured, “although as far as I know, his involvement has remained unremarked.”
“I will,” Dillon said. “Come-I’ll introduce you.”
With her by his side, he led Gabriel to Rus. A few minutes later, they left her brother chatting to Gabriel about horses and his future assisting at Demon’s stud.
A number of ladies waylaid them; when they finally won free, she suggested they stroll by the long windows giving onto the gardens.
Few ladies present were interested in horticulture.
She paused to gaze out at a manicured lawn. “Mr. Cynster intimated there was some threat…?”
Halting beside her, Dillon replied, “Not a specific threat-a potential one.” He caught her questioning gaze, lightly grimaced. “Now it’s become known that I engineered the collapse of Martin’s scheme, it’s possible those who’ve suffered major losses might feel moved to revenge, and in the absence of Martin, or even after they’ve dealt with him, there’s a chance they’ll lash out.”
“At you?” She searched his dark eyes, calm as night-shrouded pools; she didn’t like the cold, deadening sensation that had locked about her heart. “That’s…monstrous! They took a risk-if they lost, they should…”
Dillon smiled ruefully. “Be gentlemen enough to accept their losses?” Once, he’d been naïve enough to think the same.
But her outrage on his behalf warmed his heart, and his smile, as he lifted her fingers to his lips, and kissed. “Unfortunately not, but don’t worry about them.” He brushed her fingertips again and saw her mind shift focus, watched her eyes fix on his lips. He let his smile deepen. “You’ve enough on your plate.”
She blinked, lifted her gaze, narrowed her eyes at him, but he merely smiled imperturbably and turned her back into the room. And set himself to distract her until she forgot Gabriel’s warning.
He hadn’t needed to hear it; he’d already seen the threat. But as he intended to spend every waking hour-and as many of his sleeping hours as possible, too-by Pris’s side in the immediate and subsequent future, he would be there to deflect any action against her, which was what Gabriel had meant.
A threat against him he would have viewed with dismissive nonchalance; a threat to him that might evolve into a threat against her was another matter entirely.
20
Pris couldn’t believe it. When Dillon at last returned her to Half Moon Street, a hackney carrying Rus and Adelaide following his curricle, it was nearly time to dress for dinner; somehow she’d spent the entire day with him!
At the conclusion of Lady Celia’s luncheon, he’d suggested that a visit to the capital, however short, should take in at least some of the more notable sights. As the day had turned cloudy, the wind rising, he’d suggested she, Rus, and Adelaide allow him to show them the museum.
Rus and Adelaide had been keen; she’d seen no reason not to indulge them all, but as she’d allowed Dillon to squire her out of Lady Celia’s house, she’d glimpsed a certain satisfaction in the older ladies’ faces.
But Dillon’s behavior had been faultless, even though he’d remained assiduously by her side; although there’d been moments when her senses had leapt, when his fingers had brushed her silk-twill-covered back, or when he’d lifted her down from his curricle, she could hardly blame him for that. That was her witless senses’ fault, not his. And while at times she’d been uncomfortably aware of a flickering of her nerves, of heat beneath her skin, she’d also found it easy to relax in his company-in which Rus and Adelaide had largely left her.
She’d attempted to remonstrate with her brother, in a whispered aside pointedly suggesting that it was unwise for him to slip away with Adelaide out of her chaperoning sight. He’d looked at her as if she were mad, and uttered one word. “Poppycock!” He’d promptly taken Adelaide’s arm and headed off to view the Elgin Marbles.
Resigned, she’d remained with Dillon, strolling about a series of exhibits of Egyptian treasures. Somewhat to her surprise, there’d been numerous others strolling about the hall. When she’d commented on the crowd, he’d explained that the recent artifacts from Egypt had caused quite a stir.
She mentally shook herself as he drew his blacks to a halt before the steps to Flick’s door. Tossing the reins to the tiger, he climbed down and came around to lift her to the pavement. As usual, when his hands closed about her waist, her breathing suspended, but she was growing used to the effect, enough to disguise it. She smiled up at him. For an instant, as his eyes met hers, held hers, he seemed to sober, to look deeper…her heart gave an unexpected flutter, but then he returned her light smile. Releasing her, he escorted her to the door.
Reaching the porch, he rang the bell, then turned to her. Raising her hand, he caught her eyes, brushed her fingertips with his lips, then, smile deepening, he turned her hand and, her gaze still trapped in his, pressed a hotter, distinctly more intimate kiss on the inside of her wrist. “Au revoir.”
His deep, rumbling tone reverberated through her, an evocative wave that left a sense of empty yearning in its wake.
Releasing her hand, with an elegant nod, he turned as the hackney carrying Rus and Adelaide drew up behind his curricle. Descending the steps, he made his farewells to them, then leapt to the curricle’s box seat, took the reins, glanced her way, smiled and saluted her, then gave his horses the office.
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