“Are you ever not working?”
“No.”
Her lips widened into a grin. “I can just picture you ordering a woman to bed with you.”
Gabriel knew he should be insulted, but all he could focus on was the slight crinkle on her nose. It turned her smile from perfect to something far more real.
She straightened, fixing her smile on an approaching man. “Lenton! I feared you wouldn’t make it tonight.”
The crease on her nose was gone, returning the smile to mere perfection. A hollow smile.
After his initial certainty, Gabriel frowned, studying her again. There was nothing to confirm his suspicion. Her eyes still sparkled. Her face was glowing and animated.
A spurt of disgust tightened his lips. No, he was a fool and she was far too good at her job. No doubt Lenton found some quirk in her that he thought was only for him.
Sickening.
As if to confirm his suspicion, Lenton caught Madeline around the waist. “Come away with me. You don’t want these others.”
With a graceful twist, Madeline disengaged his arms in a clever maneuver that left her hands clasped in his. “But I had so hoped to dance with you this evening.”
The poor sod didn’t even realize she’d escaped him. “When are you free?”
“In only four sets.”
Lenton groaned. “I shall persevere until then.”
The other slavering gentlemen descended, forcing Lenton back, but Gabriel refused to cede his place near Madeline. He didn’t try to hide his expression of thinly reined tolerance, and either that or his reputation was fierce enough to win him a handbreadth of distance from the press of bodies.
Madeline, laughing at some inane folly, whipped open her fan and brandished it flirtatiously in front of her, accomplishing the same separation from the crowd. As the men laughed at one of her sallies, she drew toward Gabriel, lifting her fan to conceal her mouth. “Your scowl could eclipse the sun.”
He directed the aforementioned expression at some striped popinjay who attempted to insert himself next to Madeline. “Good.”
“I’m not paying you enough for this much diligence.”
She’d provided him more than she’d ever know—the perfect opportunity to watch Lenton and Billingsgate interact with the others. “I do my job. You do yours.”
“For the record, I wish I could scowl rather than wave this fan. It is much less tiring.”
The corner of his mouth quirked, ruining his scowl. “You’re welcome to try it.”
“I should. So many men fantasize about dour-faced women.” A comical grimace flashed across her face for the barest instant before Madeline redirected her energy back to the pack in front of her.
After several minutes, the other courtesans, realizing the shifting interest of their customers, wove their way through the men around Madeline, hoping that the dejected supplicants would turn to them for comfort.
But they’d underestimated Madeline’s skill.
She held court like a pagan queen—jesting, flirting, drawing them all in while keeping them at bay. Except for a few fellows who wandered over to examine the commotion rather than Madeline, she kept their rapt attention.
Which, unfortunately, left the eager, ambitious women at loose ends.
As they grew more bored, his scowl reduced in proportional efficiency.
He batted away a hand that slid down his side. “Can I borrow that fan?” he muttered, inching a step closer to Madeline.
She cast him a glance from the corner of her eye. “Perhaps a sword?”
A hand pinched his backside, startling him into taking a step. His back pressed into Madeline’s. “Tell me that was your hand.”
She laughed. “You should hope. But never fear, it’s time to break up this mob. I need to leave them longing, not trampled.” She accepted the hand of an older gentleman to the cries and groans of her other admirers, then let him lead her to the dance floor.
Without Madeline luring them closer, the group of men slowly dispersed, snared by Madeline’s competition.
Gabriel
“No.”
Her lips widened into a grin. “I can just picture you ordering a woman to bed with you.”
Gabriel knew he should be insulted, but all he could focus on was the slight crinkle on her nose. It turned her smile from perfect to something far more real.
She straightened, fixing her smile on an approaching man. “Lenton! I feared you wouldn’t make it tonight.”
The crease on her nose was gone, returning the smile to mere perfection. A hollow smile.
After his initial certainty, Gabriel frowned, studying her again. There was nothing to confirm his suspicion. Her eyes still sparkled. Her face was glowing and animated.
A spurt of disgust tightened his lips. No, he was a fool and she was far too good at her job. No doubt Lenton found some quirk in her that he thought was only for him.
Sickening.
As if to confirm his suspicion, Lenton caught Madeline around the waist. “Come away with me. You don’t want these others.”
With a graceful twist, Madeline disengaged his arms in a clever maneuver that left her hands clasped in his. “But I had so hoped to dance with you this evening.”
The poor sod didn’t even realize she’d escaped him. “When are you free?”
“In only four sets.”
Lenton groaned. “I shall persevere until then.”
The other slavering gentlemen descended, forcing Lenton back, but Gabriel refused to cede his place near Madeline. He didn’t try to hide his expression of thinly reined tolerance, and either that or his reputation was fierce enough to win him a handbreadth of distance from the press of bodies.
Madeline, laughing at some inane folly, whipped open her fan and brandished it flirtatiously in front of her, accomplishing the same separation from the crowd. As the men laughed at one of her sallies, she drew toward Gabriel, lifting her fan to conceal her mouth. “Your scowl could eclipse the sun.”
He directed the aforementioned expression at some striped popinjay who attempted to insert himself next to Madeline. “Good.”
“I’m not paying you enough for this much diligence.”
She’d provided him more than she’d ever know—the perfect opportunity to watch Lenton and Billingsgate interact with the others. “I do my job. You do yours.”
“For the record, I wish I could scowl rather than wave this fan. It is much less tiring.”
The corner of his mouth quirked, ruining his scowl. “You’re welcome to try it.”
“I should. So many men fantasize about dour-faced women.” A comical grimace flashed across her face for the barest instant before Madeline redirected her energy back to the pack in front of her.
After several minutes, the other courtesans, realizing the shifting interest of their customers, wove their way through the men around Madeline, hoping that the dejected supplicants would turn to them for comfort.
But they’d underestimated Madeline’s skill.
She held court like a pagan queen—jesting, flirting, drawing them all in while keeping them at bay. Except for a few fellows who wandered over to examine the commotion rather than Madeline, she kept their rapt attention.
Which, unfortunately, left the eager, ambitious women at loose ends.
As they grew more bored, his scowl reduced in proportional efficiency.
He batted away a hand that slid down his side. “Can I borrow that fan?” he muttered, inching a step closer to Madeline.
She cast him a glance from the corner of her eye. “Perhaps a sword?”
A hand pinched his backside, startling him into taking a step. His back pressed into Madeline’s. “Tell me that was your hand.”
She laughed. “You should hope. But never fear, it’s time to break up this mob. I need to leave them longing, not trampled.” She accepted the hand of an older gentleman to the cries and groans of her other admirers, then let him lead her to the dance floor.
Without Madeline luring them closer, the group of men slowly dispersed, snared by Madeline’s competition.
Gabriel
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