Page 82 of A Winter Scandal

“No, truly, I am sure he is not. I—I have helped him, and he is concerned about Matthew and grateful, I’m sure, for my taking care of Matthew.”

“What a bag of moonshine. I hope you do not think I would believe such nonsense.” Damaris peered more closely into Thea’s face. “Do not tell me you actually believe that! Thea … a man like Morecombe does not dance attendance on a woman because she tends to a baby who may or may not be his sister’s illegitimate child. He can hire someone to look after the baby—indeed, he has hired a nursemaid, has he not?”

“Yes.”

“Why has he not taken the baby back to his house, as he was going to? Mrs. Clemmons told me he hired the first housekeeper she recommended to him, and the housekeeper has already hired three maids. Lady Wofford is in residence there now, so his household is perfectly respectable, even if she is a bit of a snob. Lolly and young Matthew could move to his house today if he wanted.”

“He agrees that Matthew would be happier with me.”

“No doubt Matthew is. But I suspect the reason is more that Lord Morecombe does not wish to cause you unhappiness. Not to mention the fact that it gives the man a grand excuse to call on you—as he has done each and every day for over a week now.”

Thea felt herself blushing at her friend’s blunt words. “I will admit that Gabriel has expressed an interest in me.”

“I knew it!” Damaris grinned, her eyes twinkling.

“But it isn’t in any permanent way. It cannot be. Oh, Damaris, don’t you see? I cannot allow myself to hope!”

“But, darling, why not?” Damaris grabbed Thea’s hands and squeezed them.

“I am not the sort of woman a man like Lord Morecombe marries!” Thea said in an anguished voice.

“Why not? Thea, dear, your name is quite respectable. Why, you are cousin to an earl—an earl whose son is Morecombe’s friend, as well. You’ve no scandalous past or skeletons in your closet. You haven’t a gaggle of impecunious relatives who will cling to him like leeches or mad uncles locked up in your attic. And Morecombe hardly needs you to bring him a large dowry.”

“Damaris … I am plain! I am fine to … to flirt with while Morecombe is in the country for a few weeks. But he will go back to the beautiful ladies of the ton. In a few days, I will be forgotten. Gabriel will marry someone sophisticated and lovely, the sort of woman meant to be Lady Morecombe. Not a dowdy spinster from the Cotswolds.”

“Thea! Look in this mirror.” Damaris turned Thea toward the mirror again, pulling her closer to the looking glass. “Obviously, Lord Morecombe does not find you plain. There are several girls of low station whom he could flirt with—and more—if that was all he wanted. If you will remember, everyone in Chesley was chattering about the fact that he was doing exactly that. He was not lonely for female companionship. He did not need to seek you out merely to keep him occupied until he returned to London. He chose to be with you. He sought you out. And he is, as you pointed out, a man well acquainted with the beauties of the ton. He is, I venture to say, a connoisseur of female beauty. Why would you not believe his judgment regarding your looks?”

Thea gazed, wide-eyed, into the mirror. Looking at herself now, she had to admit that she was more attractive than she had thought. Something about her was softer and more pliant, and her face had a glow that she had never before seen. The body that had always been gawky now seemed to have a certain grace. Perhaps she did not have the tempting curves of Damaris beside her, but Thea now realized that her long limbs had their own sort of appeal. After all, Gabriel had told her so—not just with words, but with his desire. Perhaps some of the difference in her was attributable to the changes she had made in hairstyle or clothes, but Thea realized that something more was involved. Happiness, emotion, confidence, had all added an indefinable allure. And maybe, just maybe, she thought, before this she had not looked at herself through impartial eyes. She had never really seen herself.

Not as the vicar’s daughter, the vicar’s sister, the plain contrast to Veronica’s beauty. But simply as Thea. A woman completely separate from all those things. And deserving of her own separate life.

She turned to Damaris, an impish grin spreading across her face. “You know … I think a red dress might be just what I want after all.”

Once Thea had accepted the dress, a great deal of measuring and pinning had to be done so that Damaris’s maid could alter it to suit Thea, so it was close to an hour before Thea took her leave and started back through the village toward her house. She had not even reached the center of the town when she saw Gabriel striding toward her.

Thea could not refrain from smiling. She had been hurrying, thinking that Gabriel might have come to call on her while she was out and she would have missed him. He had visited every afternoon since Christmas, visits that had been almost as frustrating as they were delightful. Much as she enjoyed seeing Gabriel, being with him, talking to him, her being with him, even for a short time, filled her with desire—a desire that was frustratingly unfulfilled.

When they sat talking, whether side by side on the sofa or across from each other in separate chairs, Thea was overwhelmingly aware of Gabriel’s nearness. Only inches separated them. She could reach out a hand to touch his thigh or stroke his cheek; he could caress her skin, kiss her lips. But they could allow none of those things to happen because at any moment someone might pop into the room. Between Lolly and the baby, Thea’s brother, Mrs. Brewster, and the day maid, not to mention the usual daily visitors to the vicar’s house, the supply of possible interlopers was seemingly never ending. Nor could they meet at the Priory, which would not only test the boundaries of scandal, but also contained even more guests and servants. And the winter weather made any thought of dallying in some glade completely absurd.

Gabriel’s hand might brush hers as he handed over Matthew or his gaze might slide boldly down her body, setting up an answering heat, but both of them were well aware that nothing else would follow, no chance to slake the thirst building inside them. As a result, every time Thea saw Gabriel, her desire increased, followed by an equally intense rush of frustration. Even now, just seeing him walking toward her down the street, his long legs eating up the ground between them, Thea’s blood began to heat within her veins. Her fingers tightened around her reticule as she reined in her reactions.

“Miss Bainbridge.”

“Lord Morecombe.” Their eyes met, warm with the feelings that could not be expressed here on the street.

“I was just at the vicarage,” Gabriel said, turning to walk beside her back in the direction he had come. “They told me you were visiting Mrs. Howard, so I thought I would offer my escort to your house.”

“That is most kind of you.” Thea’s eyes went to his mouth. She could not help but think how it had felt on her throat … her breasts … her stomach.

His pupils darkened, and he glanced away. Thea struggled to think of something to say that did not involve any of the things her mind was dwelling on.

“Um … I … I hope your guests will not think you are neglecting them.”

“They find it odd, I believe, that I take so many rides in the middle of winter.” Gabriel grinned to himself. “Myles is the only one who has guessed the reason.”

“That you are coming to see your nephew?”

His grin widened. “That I am using it as an excuse to see you. Ian and Alan, I think, believe I have taken leave of my senses over some stranger’s baseborn child.”