‘Miss India Hamilton and Viscount Jeremy Artarmon.’
Having been on edge for the last ten minutes as he’d waited for this announcement, Gabriel looked up from his place in the receiving line.
India.
The breath rushed out of his lungs and he stood transfixed.
She was a vision of ethereal beauty, sheathed in a deep purple halter-neck ball dress that outlined every delectable curve of her body, and made his mouth dry. It took considerable effort to look away from her to the man at her side, but curiosity won.
An inch or two shorter than India, the viscount was not a remarkable-looking man. His blond hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. He wore dark-framed glasses and had a weak chin. Slight of frame, it looked as though it wouldn’t take more than a puff of wind to blow him away. No. Not particularly good looking by any stretch of the imagination.
With weary cynicism, Gabe decided it must be Artarmon’s wealth and title that attracted India.
‘It’s such an honour to be part of the celebrations, Your Majesty,’ said the elderly woman who stood in front of him in the receiving line.
He tore his attention away from India and her fiancé and searched his memory for this guest’s name. Countess somebody-or-other...
A lifetime of training enabled him to form an appropriate comment to the countess, before she moved on to greet his brother, Devereaux, and Dev’s fiancée, Mackenzie.
Gabriel had to endure at least another dozen, tedious greetings before India was finally curtseying in front of him. Many times he’d been bored at these official functions, but right now he downright resented the formality of the occasion when everything in him wanted to whisk her away somewhere private and make her explain what she saw in Artarmon.
‘You’re a vision of loveliness, Miss Hamilton,’ he said as he took her hand.
‘Your Majesty,’ she said with a slight, almost regal inclination of her head, ‘the ballroom is beautiful. Everything looks fabulous.’
‘Thanks to your planning.’ Indeed, he’d never seen the palace’s ballroom look quite so spectacular. Tens of thousands of fairy lights twinkled throughout the room, each a representation of the lives the Princess Eden Foundation had touched during its ten years.
The man next to India cleared his throat.
‘Allow me to introduce my fiancé, Viscount Jeremy Artarmon,’ she said as a blush stole through her cheeks.
‘Your Majesty, it’s a great pleasure to meet you.’
Dear Lord! His voice was a nasal whine—a complete assault to the eardrums. How could she bear to listen to it?
‘Artarmon,’ he uttered the surname thoughtfully. ‘Are you related to George Artarmon, the Earl of Picksbury?’
‘The earl is my father.’
‘I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your parents on several occasions.’ Gabe had always warmed to the elderly couple. He remembered now that they’d become parents quite late in life and had spoken glowingly about their only child—Jeremy. ‘Your father has a tremendous ability to engage everyone around him with his humorous stories, and your mother is the epitome of a gracious lady. Please pass on my regards to them.’
A pained shadow crossed Artarmon’s face. ‘Thank you, I will.’
‘Santaliana’s so busy with all the crews from the yacht race and with the influx of tourists who came to watch the last race,’ India put in quickly. ‘The city’s buzzing tonight.’
Gabe looked back to India. Why had she changed the subject so quickly? Was something amiss between her fiancé and his parents? He shelved the thought and replied, ‘There are also a lot of photographers here trying to get pictures of tonight’s guests.’
‘The foundation is receiving fabulous media coverage,’ she said with what appeared to be a forced smile.
Even her tight smile was beautiful. Mesmerised for a few seconds, Gabe had to shake himself to respond. He didn’t want to make small talk about the ball or the foundation. He wanted to dig into her engagement. ‘You’ll be a countess when you marry, Miss Hamilton.’
‘I rather think India may prefer to keep her own title, since it outranks mine,’ Artarmon said.
Her own title? The words ricocheted through his head.
India shifted on her feet and lowered her gaze as Gabe shot her a pointed look and said sharply, ‘I wasn’t aware you possessed a title.’
‘Stubborn thing won’t use it,’ Jeremy rushed in before India had a chance to respond. ‘According to the Letters Patent, now that her father has passed away, she could use the title because every male and female issue of lineal descent can adopt it, and there are no male heirs to the dukedom.’
A dukedom? Good grief! No wonder she’d been part of the rich set and hadn’t needed to find employment. ‘Which dukedom is that?’
‘India’s grandfather was the Duke of Dunmorton.’
Gabriel just about rocked back on his heels at the revelation. The music and chatter around them faded into insignificance as he homed in on the words and grappled with them. ‘Eden used to speak of her friend Lady Dee, the granddaughter of Duchess Dunmorton. Is Dee your sister?’
When she finally looked back up and met his eyes, her chin jutted forward at a stubborn angle. The light in her violet eyes was defiant. ‘My parents used to call me Indie, and when I was learning to say my name as a toddler, all I could manage was Dee. It stuck.’ The smile she sent him was one that smacked of satisfaction—a put-this-in-your-pipe-and-smoke-it expression. ‘Eden knew me as Dee.’
Bloody hell!
Just like that, his belief that she’d invented her friendship with Eden was turned on its head. No wonder India had been present at the funeral. No wonder she’d been asked to work for the foundation. Eden had often spoken of her close friend, Lady Dee, and Gabe knew she’d held her in very high esteem. Now that her father had passed away, of course India was no longer Lady India. She was no less than the Duchess of Dunmorton.
Why hadn’t he pieced it together? He couldn’t remember whether or not Eden had mentioned at some point that she’d convinced Dee to work at her charitable foundation. There was some hazy recollection now that she had told him.
A frustrated tightness pervaded his chest as he realised that the Cinderella he’d searched for had been right under his nose the entire time. Even before he’d met her at the ball, she’d been taking tea with his sister.
God Almighty! He couldn’t believe the irony of it.
‘India, like her father before her, isn’t a huge fan of titles or of the nobility system. It used to peeve her grandmother no end as India downright refused to use her title,’ Artarmon explained.
Gabe felt the skin between his brows tighten into a frown. ‘Eden always referred to you as Lady Dee or Dee.’
‘My grandmother introduced us.’ Her tone was all sweet innocence, however the glint in her expression that told him she was revelling in throwing the facts at him as if they were deadly darts. ‘Gran was very much into family heritage and keeping the title alive. She always introduced me as Lady Dee—even though my father refused to be known as the duke.’
‘I see.’ Gabe would think on this some more in a quiet moment. There were a few things about India Hamilton he needed to re-evaluate. But if she wasn’t a fan of titles—and she outranked her fiancé anyway—what the hell did she see in Jeremy Artarmon?
‘Will I have the pleasure of speaking with our guests, or are you going to hold up the receiving line and keep chatting all night, brother?’ Devereaux asked.
It was a necessary prompt, because the line of those waiting to be presented to the royals of Santaliana had grown much longer since India had appeared before Gabriel. Gabe leant forward and spoke quietly to India. ‘I’ll speak to you later, Your Grace.’ The words were a warning. They hung between them and her spine stiffened a fraction before she moved towards his brother and Mackenzie.
Gabriel was acutely aware of every word Devereaux and India exchanged as she congratulated his brother on his overall win in the international superyacht racing series which had been held as a fund-raiser for the foundation.
It was incredibly difficult for Gabe to respond appropriately to the person who followed India in the receiving line.
Gabe listened as Dev introduced India and Artarmon to Mackenzie and heard him comment that he recalled meeting India at Eden’s funeral. It irritated the hell out of Gabe that he hadn’t even known the Cinderella he’d searched for had been so close.
India was so stunning, Gabe was relieved his brother hadn’t made her a notch on his bedpost in the days before he’d met Mackenzie.
Tension speared through him as the thought gripped him. Gabe turned his head sharply to his left to look at his brother. Had Devereaux taken India to his bed?
Gabe’s body went cold then hot. Suddenly, the collar of his shirt seemed constrictive.
He told himself he was overreacting. There was nothing in the way Dev or India were interacting with each other that suggested they were anything other than previous acquaintances.
‘Your Majesty?’ The man in front of him asked.
Good grief! What had the guy said? Searching his subconscious mind, Gabe found he had no idea. He forced out what he hoped was an appropriate response. ‘It’s very good that you were able to attend this evening.’ The man he addressed looked a little taken aback, as though the comment had been out of place. Damn!
The man moved on with a perplexed expression and Gabriel spent the next hour struggling with his concentration as he welcomed more guests to the ball.
His mind continually wandered back to thoughts of India—the Duchess of Dunmorton. Her title surely came with its own hefty wealth. No need for her to skim any money from the Princess Eden Foundation—and Michael had confirmed that the income she received from her role as managing director was paid straight back to the charity.
So what had prompted a wealthy duchess to work as the managing director? It was difficult to accept that her motives were entirely altruistic, particularly given her reticence to accompany him to Africa and see the benefits of the foundation’s work firsthand.
As for her fiancé... He couldn’t fathom it. The guy seemed innocuous enough, but he wasn’t the sort of man who impressed as being strong. Surely, with all her strength, India would want to marry a guy who matched her in that area?
Over the next couple of hours, Gabe’s gaze continued to flick to the couple, trying to make sense of their relationship. There was nothing about their body language, nothing in the looks they exchanged with each other—or even their physical proximity—to suggest they were lovers. They looked more like business colleagues than a couple who shared a personal relationship.
What the devil was wrong with Artarmon?
If Gabe had India at his side, the entire room would know she was his. There’d be no stopping his arm from wrapping around her and drawing her close, or his hand from holding hers. He’d want physical contact with her every second.
Hell! He did crave physical connection with her—and not just such a superficial connection either. Every cell in his body yearned for a far deeper, more intimate connection. The thought made his groin throb as he ached to be inside her.
At that moment, India left Artarmon talking to another couple and wandered over toward a table to refill her drink. If Artarmon had been any sort of gentlemen, he would’ve attended to the task for her.
Actually, she walked straight past a waiter on her way to the table. Why hadn’t she just reached for another glass from the waiter’s tray? Could it be that she wanted time away from her partner?
Seizing the opportunity, Gabe wove his way through the crowd, delivering a smile to one or a nod to another, but moving too quickly and purposefully to be engaged in conversation.
Nobody diverted him from his path to India’s side.
Even though she had her back to him, she stilled as he approached. There was a definite thread of awareness between them. He was almost certain she felt his presence; knew that he was close.
As if in confirmation, she turned slowly and looked straight at him.
He skipped any pleasantries. ‘Dance with me.’
It wasn’t a request, it was a command, and he was delighted when she responded to it instantly. There was no hesitation as she put her glass on the table and walked straight to him as though she was a sleepwalker.
Gabe took her hand in his and led her the short distance to the dance floor. Then she was in the circle of his arms and they moved together effortlessly. His instinct was to pull her closer, to enjoy the perfect fit of her body against his and dance just as closely as they had at the masquerade ball. He wanted to shift his head closer to breathe in the scent of her shampoo and to let his teeth nip at the delicate shell of her ear.
Unfortunately, here, he didn’t wear a mask. Here he was on public display and he knew all eyes watched.
Clearing his throat, he forced conversation in order to break the spell that had all his senses tuned into her. ‘You’re full of surprises.’
The dazed look in her eyes vanished and he sensed the fine hairs rising on the back of her neck as she bristled against him. ‘Why, King Gabriel? Because you didn’t realise I’m eligible to have people call me Your Grace?’
‘Why don’t you?’
‘Why should I, Your Majesty? It’s not a title I earned.’
‘Artarmon said you have no respect for titles.’ That he could believe after the way she’d spoken so frankly with him when they’d met. She’d not shown any respect for his! ‘If that’s the case, I insist you call me Gabriel.’
‘Your title is vastly different from mine. You’re the king and that’s not just an honorary title. You actually run a kingdom—your title indicates your position... your duties and responsibilities.’
It felt as though she deliberately tried to create a distance between them and it annoyed the hell out of him. ‘Why are you engaged to Artarmon?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard me. I want to know why you’re engaged to him.’
‘That’s absolutely none—’
‘There’s no spark between you. Not even the slightest bit of sexual awareness.’
‘We’re British. We’re renowned for our proper behaviour in public.’
His grip on her hand tightened. ‘Rubbish! Lovers the world over are instantly recognisable. It’s in the way they look at each other, the way they stand close together or seek any opportunity to touch. You just have to glance at Devereaux and Mackenzie to see why they’re about to be married.’
‘They’re a lovely couple.’ She looked over toward them. ‘You’ll be very busy. No sooner will this ball be over than you’ll be in full swing for the wedding, then off to...’ She swallowed before she continued. ‘You’ll be off to open the hospital and school in Misanti.’
‘Don’t change the subject,’ he told her sternly. ‘I haven’t seen you and Artarmon touch once tonight. His arm hasn’t been around you, you haven’t held hands and you haven’t even stood close together as you’ve spoken.’
Her eyes widened. ‘There are six hundred guests in this ballroom. You’ve hardly watched us all night.’
‘Well-suited lovers touch. Constantly.’ He allowed his hand to press more firmly into the small of her back. ‘Their body language and total absorption in each other screams to everyone. Artarmon isn’t totally absorbed in you.’
‘Not everyone behaves the same way.’
‘Nor are you totally absorbed in him.’
‘I... He—’
‘If he truly loved you, he’d use any excuse to hold you close and he’d hold you possessively to let you know of his desire and warn every other male in the room that you were his. He wouldn’t let you wander away to fill your own glass, he’d have a second one ready for you before you took your last sip of the first.’ Her lips parted and Gabe’s blood heated with his need to kiss her. ‘He’d take you to the dance floor as an excuse to hold you close. He’d undress you with his eyes and he’d hold you like this.’
In demonstration of his point, he shifted his hand a fraction lower, so his fingers were no longer at her waist, but his thumb was able to rub over her hipbone. Her instant intake of breath and the slight dilation of her pupils revealed her immediate awareness. ‘You see, India? One touch from me and you’re instantly aware.’
‘That’s because your touch is inappropriate.’
His voice was a little gravelly as he told her, ‘If we were lovers it’d be a hell of a lot more inappropriate, even if we are on a dance floor in public.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. And... stop it!’ she hissed. ‘We are in a very public place and we aren’t wearing masks tonight.’
‘Rubbish! You’re wearing a mask, or a disguise at least. When you’re with Artarmon your entire passionate persona is masked, or neutralised.’
‘Really, Gabriel!’
‘Really, India!’ He mimicked, while he inwardly rejoiced that she called him by his first name. ‘You’d love nothing more right now than for me to waltz you right out of this ballroom and away to a place where we’re guaranteed privacy. Somewhere you can give into your passionate instincts and do all the things that you’d like to do to me. Somewhere I can do all the things you’d like me to do to you.’
‘No. You—’
‘You’d mould your delectable body against mine—your softness to my strength. You’d look up at me with your lips apart, just as you are now, wanting me to kiss you. Wanting me to taste you. Wanting me to make you mine.’
For a moment her body went lax—the hand on his shoulder pressed down, telling him her raised arm had grown weightier.
Savage need ripped through him. ‘Come with me, India.’
She stiffened. ‘You’re supposed to be respectable. You’re supposed to be honourable and here you are propositioning an engaged woman.’ She flung the words at him, but there was a tremor in her voice that told him she was more vulnerable to his suggestion than she wanted to convey. ‘I thought it was your brother who was the playboy.’
He looked at her sharply. Dev hadn’t been the playboy he’d been reputed to be, but he certainly hadn’t been chaste either. His brother had been single when he’d met India, and Dev was a red-blooded male who’d always appreciated a beautiful woman. ‘Do you have firsthand knowledge of his playboy ways?’ If she responded affirmatively, he might go and knock Devereaux’s teeth down his throat.
‘What?’ She was suitably taken aback.
‘You said you met my brother at Eden’s funeral. Did he proposition you?’
‘I can’t believe you’re asking me such a thing!’
‘Dev hadn’t met the gorgeous Mackenzie back then. He was free to proposition beautiful, single women, and I’m certain very few of them refused his invitation to share his bed.’
She stopped dead on the dance floor. ‘You’re way out of line.’
‘Have you and my brother been lovers?’
‘No. What the hell is wrong with you?’ she hissed.
Relief coursed through him, but even as he relaxed, he realised their lack of movement to the music drew attention. Well might she ask what was wrong with him. His behaviour was completely foreign and totally unacceptable. He was the king, for heaven’s sake, and there were six hundred guests here who could watch his every move. And every move he made with India was pretty obvious, given that both of them were so tall they stood out in the glittering sea of jewelled bodies.
‘My apologies,’ he said with less heat as he steered her off to the side of the dance floor and into a spot where they were shielded to a certain extent by a pillar. ‘Ever since I thought you and Devereaux may have been together—even briefly—I admit to having been jealous.’ Huge admission, but there it was.
The violet depths of her eyes grew troubled, but even though they’d come to a standstill, her hands still rested on his shoulders. ‘Why are you playing this game with me?’
‘It isn’t a game, India. I want you.’ He continued to enjoy the feel of her slender waist beneath his hands and no longer cared that the embrace might be witnessed.
‘I’m engaged.’
‘But not married. Have you set a date?’
‘No.’ Her gaze fixed on his bow tie.
‘What’s stopping you?’
Her hands slid down from his shoulders and rested with her palms against his chest. ‘You said you knew Jeremy’s parents, but you obviously haven’t seen them for several years.’
‘That’s true.’ The fine hairs on his nape raised, his intuition telling him she was about to tell him something significant.
‘Jeremy’s mum has multiple sclerosis and is extremely unwell. She is being nursed round the clock by a palliative care team who’ve moved into their country home. Although she’s put up a brave fight, she isn’t expected to live for much longer.’ Her eyes were moist as she spoke, and Gabe couldn’t help but think that she reacted with more emotional attachment for her fiancé’s mother than she did for her fiancé. ‘Jeremy and I... er... it would be inappropriate to make wedding plans at this point.’
Her tie to the Countess of Picksbury seemed sincere, but her reference to wedding plans didn’t ring true. ‘I remember the countess spoke frequently and glowingly of her only child. I would’ve thought she’d find much more contentment and more to live for knowing her son was happily settled before she passes away.’ Another thought struck him, ‘Unless she disapproves of you for some reason?’
Pain shot through his foot from where she deliberately brought her heel down hard onto his toes.
Gritting his teeth against the stabbing agony, he challenged, ‘Hit a raw spot, did I?’
‘Not at all,’ she enunciated clearly, as she pushed against his chest. Her lips formed a benign smile, but her eyes were hard chips of amethyst. ‘You’re just being your usual rude self and making assumptions about things of which you know nothing.’
He released her, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. ‘You’re close to his mother?’
‘I adore Jeremy’s mother,’ she said passionately. ‘In fact, I adore both his parents. They’ve been absolutely wonderful to me—especially when my grandmother died.’
‘You speak with more feeling for them than you do for your viscount. I can’t understand what you see in him. Why are you planning to marry him when you’re so attracted to me?’
‘You seriously overrate your appeal.’
Propriety be damned! Before she could protest, he put his arms back around her and steered her into the open again and onto the dance floor.
‘Damn you, Gabriel de la Croix! This has to stop,’ she vented through clenched teeth. Ignoring her directive, he exerted a little more pressure on her lower back until he felt the softness of the lower half of her body pressed intimately against his.
Her eyes widened. ‘Gabriel, please!’
‘You don’t need to beg me, India. I’ll become your lover willingly.’
‘Damn it all! You’re verging on making a scene. Anybody watching us would think...’
‘That we’re lovers?’ he supplied. ‘They wouldn’t be far off the mark considering that’s what we both want to be.’
The nails of her right hand tried to score his shoulders through the fabric of his jacket, but didn’t even come close to leaving an indentation.
With a smile he said, ‘Got to hand it to the Italian tailors. They only use the best fabric.’
Her eyes were a stormy, violet sea.
Fortunately, sanity asserted itself. Despite his deliberate goading, he knew India was right. He held her too closely in public. Easing his body away from hers, he felt instantly bereft.
Overwhelmed by an all-encompassing need to be with her, he continued to guide her through their dance with one overriding purpose. Weaving between the other couples, he manoeuvred her over to the far side of the room and right behind another pillar. This pillar not only obscured him, it concealed a doorway from the view of the rest of the ballroom.
Anticipation coursed through him. He’d reached his destination.
Gabe didn’t even give India time to protest. He nodded to the liveried guards who were on duty to prevent access to this wing of the palace. With efficiency of movement, he opened the door to an informal retiring room and whisked her inside. A split second later, he shut the door firmly behind them and turned the key in the lock to ensure they wouldn’t be interrupted.
His only thoughts were of India and the ravenous physical hunger that assailed him. He drew her again into his arms and was impaled by a spike of lust, which shattered every ounce of his control. With a deep groan, he plundered her mouth.
There was only a small hesitation before he felt her body soften and her arms creep up so her fingers speared through his hair. She used her hands to anchor his head to hers. The ragged, husky sounds she made were further communication that she was also powerless against the tide of longing between them, and welcomed the possession of his lips against hers.
Every instinct he possessed strained to satisfy the unrestrained hunger and mutual need that flared between them.
When his hand splayed across the curve of her lower spine to gather her closer, he felt the tiny quivering vibrations that passed through her slender frame. All cool, practised seduction techniques were forgotten as he was swept up in a maelstrom of fiery, elemental, lust that consumed him and blinded him to all else. There was nothing refined in the way his hands moved over her frame in desperate need, moulding her to him as she moaned into his mouth.
Where was the man who prided himself on his self-control?
A voice he didn’t recognise scoffed at him, telling him it didn’t know and it didn’t care.
His fingers drew down on the long zipper of her dress, which rested over her spine. In return she loosened his bow tie, then started working at the top button of his shirt.
His senses were swamped by the softness of her breasts pressing into his chest, and the alluring floral fragrance of her perfume mingled with the barely perceptible musky hint of her need.
The taste of the expensive French Champagne on her tongue brought back memories from the masquerade ball. How was it that the flavour improved when he tasted it from her mouth? If only the vignerons could capture that secret ingredient, their vintages would be even better.
‘Gabriel,’ she whispered against his lips, when his fingers completed their mission with her zipper and he was able to peel back the fabric and trace the toned flesh of her back with his hands.
It wasn’t enough. He wanted all of her.
Naked.
Now.
Easing the garment from her shoulders, down her arms and off over her hands, he was delighted when her breasts sprang free. He pulled back a little to admire her as she undid the buttons of his shirt.
My God! He’d never seen breasts so perfect. Reaching out, he cupped each of them in his large hands. His thumbs and forefingers drew on the already distended dusky-pink nipples, causing a raw, needy sound to emerge from her throat.
Each tug of his fingers resulted in a corresponding jerk of his arousal.
Her hands were under his shirt, smoothing over the crisp, masculine hair smattered over his pectoral muscles. Every touch was electrifying, but there’d be time later for her to explore his body. Right now, he wanted to explore hers.
Bending his frame, he claimed one taut peak of perfection in his mouth. The taste of her heated flesh was even more divine than the Champagne on her tongue. How much better would she taste lower down? He had to know. He had to make love to all of her with his mouth before he claimed her with his body.
‘We were meant to be lovers,’ he told her raggedly. ‘Break off your engagement with Artarmon.’
‘Oh my God!’ she gasped, and he saw the panic in her eyes as she pulled away from him and instantly drew her dress back up over her breasts. ‘Jeremy!’
‘You forget about him the instant you’re in my arms. You can’t marry him, India—not knowing how strongly you want me.’
‘This is... lust.’ She thrust her arms back into her dress. ‘It doesn’t count.’
‘It counts, and it’s obviously a lot more lust than you have for Artarmon.’ God knew it was lust that was killing him—his physical need for her so great, his masculine desire throbbed painfully. ‘In the whole evening, nothing in your behaviour or his would make anybody believe you’re engaged. One second alone with me and we’re tearing each other’s clothes off.’
‘I don’t normally behave this way.’
‘Nor do I. That’s exactly my point.’
‘This is madness!’
‘It might be madness, but it would be cruel to marry Artarmon when you feel this level of madness with me.’ God damn it! She had to listen to him before she killed them both with frustration. ‘Break off your engagement tonight or I’ll break it off for you.’
‘Don’t you dare say anything to Jeremy.’
Shit! How could she stand there and deny this passion between them?
‘If you have any regard for him at all, you’ll agree he deserves more than marriage to a woman who goes up in flames every time she’s with another man.’
‘I can’t break up with him.’
‘Why?’
‘Damn it, Gabriel, just accept it.’
He took a step toward her, but she backed away. ‘Become my lover, India. You won’t regret it.’
She shook her head but her expression was miserable.
‘I won’t lie to you. I’ll never offer you marriage,’ he told her baldly. ‘I’ve been married before and I’ve vowed I’ll never take another wife. But I can guarantee you’ll be happier as my lover than you would be as Artarmon’s wife.’
‘You have no right to ask this of me. This thing between you and I... it’s just... a throwback... Maybe it goes back to that night years ago when we were both so attracted and that went unfulfilled. There’s nothing more to it.’
‘It won’t go away,’ he told her adamantly. ‘Every time we’re together, it builds between us.’
‘I won’t break off my engagement to Jeremy.’
He swallowed back a curse. ‘I won’t make love to another man’s fiancée.’
‘Well, that’s awfully big of you, considering I haven’t asked you to.’
‘What do you think that was just now?’ He let out a short laugh that mocked her words. ‘Every time you look at me, your eyes plead with me to make love to you. Don’t bother trying to deny your body was begging me for fulfilment.’
There was a short, sharp knock at the door and the handle turned. ‘Gabe! What are you doing in there? Open the door.’
Bloody hell! What did Devereaux want?
‘India?’ It was Artarmon’s whining voice.
‘Oh my God!’ Her voice was complete panic. ‘Quickly! Do up my zip!’
She turned her back toward him.
He was tempted to ignore her request—to open the door and let Artarmon see exactly what they’d been up to.
She turned her head to look at him. ‘Gabriel!’
He couldn’t ignore the distressed plea, but hated having to slide her zipper back into place when what he really wanted to do was strip her of all her clothes.
‘Please, do up your buttons,’ she entreated.
‘You have to tell him, India. Tonight.’ He made quick work of the buttons then ensured his bow tie was back in place. ‘Do you really think the man will want to marry you when he knows what we’ve been doing in here?’
‘He won’t care.’
‘He won’t care? Well he bloody well should care. If I were him and I found you with another man, I’d rip out the guy’s throat.’
‘Damn you, Gabriel! It’s not like that between Jeremy and me.’
‘I can see that,’ he grated. ‘So what the hell is it like and why are you with him?’
‘Lust is never a good basis for a relationship,’ she muttered as she turned her back to him and began walking towards the door.
Gabe grabbed at her shoulder and spun her back to face him. ‘Listen to yourself and your lame justification, India,’ he implored. ‘Your words are at complete contrast with the needs of your body and you sound like some bloody puritan talking.’
‘Gabriel!’ Devereaux called again.
‘This sexual chemistry between us isn’t going to disappear,’ Gabe told her as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘You can’t marry into a lukewarm relationship and deny yourself the fulfilment of extreme, physical pleasure.’
She gulped. ‘I love my role at the foundation. Please don’t force me into a position where I feel I have to resign just so I can avoid you.’
It was no idle threat. He read the conviction behind her words in her eyes.
They had a week scheduled together in Africa. If he pushed her now, she wouldn’t accompany him. This unfulfilled passion between them wasn’t going anywhere. Every day it seemed to grow. A week together in Africa... He could wait.
Wordlessly, he went to the door and turned the key in the lock. ‘India! What on earth have you been doing in here with the door locked?’ Artarmon whined as the door opened.
‘Seeing to a few last-minute details.’ Her lie was evident in the tremor of her voice and in the way strawberry red stained along her cheekbones. ‘We have something special planned for midnight, and we didn’t want to be interrupted. I can’t tell you any more than that or it’d ruin the surprise.’
Gabe had to hand it to her. Latching on to the fireworks planned as a surprise for midnight was very inventive.
‘We’ve seen to everything now, so let’s go back.’ She took her fiancé by the arm and he looked surprised at the contact as she bustled him out of the room. ‘I’d love something more to drink.’
Gabe could relate to that need. Anything alcoholic would be welcome right now. The higher the alcoholic content the better.
The sight of India leaving on Artarmon’s arm chafed. It was the first bloody physical contact she’d had with her fiancé all night and Gabe was sure it was designed to underline her link to the damned man.
‘Last-minute details?’ Devereaux drawled after the couple left.
‘Leave it,’ Gabriel warned.
‘Should I summon the guards and have them interrogate you as to your true identity and what it is you’ve done with my brother?’
‘What the devil are you talking about?’
Dev laughed. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when my straitlaced, very proper brother was sprung behind a locked door with another man’s fiancée—and at an official occasion when you should be mingling with the guests. Just think, all this time I’ve thought we’re so different, I’ve wondered whether there was some genetic anomaly between us or whether I’d been swapped at birth.’
As if it wasn’t enough to cope with Devereaux’s mirth, Gabe’s two closest friends sauntered into the room.
Oh, great.
‘I could swear the stunning woman who just left here on the arm of some weasel look-alike was wearing lipstick when she was dancing with you, Gabriel. Funnily enough, it now seems to have rubbed off,’ Marco remarked with a knowing smile.
Khalid closed the door. ‘For a man who’s known for his discretion, there was absolutely nothing discreet about your behaviour on the dance floor just now, nor the way you danced your partner right off the floor and out of sight.’
God damn it!
‘Mackenzie noticed your interest in the duchess when you greeted her in the receiving line,’ Dev added. ‘My very astute wife-to-be has spent the entire evening pointing out to me the way you’ve watched every move Eden’s friend has made.’
‘Eden’s friend?’ Khalid asked.
‘Who is this duchess?’ Marco wanted to know, ‘And why have I never been introduced to her before? She’s an incredibly beautiful woman.’
‘Stay away from her, Marco.’ The growled warning was made before Gabe could stop himself. Such was the vehemence of his tone that his brother and two friends stood gaping at him. Oh shit! Gabe ran one hand through his hair before he finally confessed, ‘Damn it all, she’s Cinderella!’
Devereaux looked at him as though he’d lost his mind, but his friends—who’d been with him at the masquerade ball—looked at him with varying degrees of incredulity.
‘Gabriel?’ his brother asked. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Surely not,’ Khalid spoke over the top of Devereaux.
‘Cinderella?’ Marco chimed in. ‘But you said she was Eden’s friend.’
‘What the devil are you three talking about?’ Dev demanded.
Gabriel ignored his brother and pinned his friends with a furious stare. ‘As unbelievable as it is, India Hamilton—also known as Duchess Dunmorton—was already a friend of Eden’s when I met her at the masquerade ball.’
‘Let me get this straight. That woman is Lady Dee Dunmorton?’ Marco asked. ‘She’s the woman who was such a close friend of Eden’s and she was Cinderella?’
‘Yes. I’ve been corresponding with her for the last two years, because she’s managing director of Eden’s foundation, but in all that time I had no idea she was the woman I’d searched high and low for years ago.’
Khalid shook his head. ‘That’s incredible.’
Gabe agreed. ‘I only met her a short time ago when she came to Santaliana to discuss the arrangements for tonight.’
‘Unbelievable.’ Marco let out a low whistle. ‘Eden used to speak of her in glowing terms, now you’re involved with her?’
‘For God’s sake, would someone please tell me what’s going on?’ Devereaux insisted. Khalid still appeared to digest the facts as he brought Dev up to speed. ‘Your brother met a woman years ago—’
‘Six years ago,’ Gabe cut in.
‘—and he was so smitten with her, he was prepared to end his engagement to Angelique.’
‘Which was exactly what you two had urged me to do,’ Gabe said as he pointed angrily to each of his friends.
‘I wish you had ended your engagement,’ Dev told him. ‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Because one of my friends here decided that I wasn’t behaving rationally and scared India away by telling her I was already engaged.’ His jaw clenched as he shot daggers at Marco. ‘It was you, wasn’t it, Marco?’
Marco’s spine stiffened and his six feet three inches suddenly seemed taller as he stared straight back at Gabriel. ‘Yes.’
Khalid groaned. ‘Oh, shit! Why did you do that?’
‘Don’t act now as if you disapprove, Khalid,’ Marco levelled at him. ‘You know damned well we both agreed that Gabe was acting completely out of character that night.’ He looked at Devereaux as he explained, ‘Your brother, who was still very much engaged, was prepared to have a one-night stand with a woman he knew nothing about—a woman he met at an event which was advertised as a masquerade ball, but was actually a cocaine-fuelled orgy.’
‘I ought to knock you out for interfering,’ Gabe snarled at Marco.
Devereaux and Khalid both moved simultaneously to stand between Gabriel and their friend.
‘Calm down,’ Khalid urged. ‘I’ve never seen you so upset.’
‘Upset is an understatement, and I have every right to be furious to discover my friend chased away a woman I wanted, and also lied to me by telling me she’d set her cap at Abdul. That was another lie, wasn’t it, Marco?’
Marco’s lips twisted with regret before he gave a sharp nod. ‘We’d gone there to prove to you how unsuitable Angelique was. I thought you were making a mistake getting involved with someone from the same social set she moved in.’ He made an apologetic gesture. ‘How was I to know she was one of Eden’s closest friends?’
‘Hell, what was she even doing there?’ Khalid demanded.
‘Obviously I made a mistake,’ Marco admitted. ‘I’m sorry. All I can say is I had your best interests at heart.’
‘Gabe, am I reading this right?’ Dev asked. ‘Dee—India—was the woman you met at the masquerade, and you’re still attracted to her?’
‘Yes, God damn it!’
‘But she’s engaged,’ Khalid protested.
‘Would you have let that stop you from pursuing Sabihah?’ Gabe demanded.
‘He has a point,’ Marco put in.
‘Hang on,’ Dev urged. ‘Khalid’s married to Sabihah. Are you saying you feel equally as strongly about India?’
‘No, I’m not!’ Gabe exploded. Then, trying to calm down and justify his actions, he said, ‘You’ve seen Artarmon. He’s a whining weakling.’ God, but he wanted to kick something. ‘I’ve watched them together tonight and seen absolutely no sign of any closeness between them. She virtually just admitted there’s no physical passion between them. They interact with each other like formal strangers.’
‘Judging from her lack of lipstick when she left here, I’m guessing she doesn’t react to you like a formal stranger?’ Marco ventured sardonically.
‘But they’re still engaged,’ Khalid pointed out before Gabe could put Marco in his place.
‘Only months ago, you told me I had to marry to secure the de la Croix line,’ Dev said. ‘You told me categorically you’d never remarry, so if that’s the case, just what are you offering her?’
‘Shit! I can’t believe I’m having this discussion with you three. This is really none of your business.’
Khalid looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. ‘I’ve only ever seen you rattled once before, and that was when this woman failed to return to you at the ball. I can’t believe how badly you’ve got it for her—still.’
‘Which is why I bloody well can’t let her walk away on Artarmon’s arm.’
‘What are you planning to do? Seduce her?’ The surprise in Marco’s tone was reflected on his swarthy features.
‘Yes, damn it!’
‘I doubt Eden would be impressed,’ Marco said.
‘Eden’s not here, Marco.’ Gabe made the point savagely and immediately regretted his outburst as both Marco and Devereaux looked sucker punched.
Devereaux regarded his brother like he was looking at a stranger. ‘This isn’t you, Gabriel. You’re not the type to seduce an engaged woman away from her fiancé for a short-term affair.’
‘In all the time since Angelique’s death, have you even had a short-term affair?’ Marco asked.
‘We’re not discussing this any further,’ Gabe declared. ‘My mind’s made up. Whatever is between India and Artarmon, it’s definitely no love match. I’ll be doing them both a favour by breaking them apart.’ I’ll be doing her a favour by showing her just how much passion she’d be missing out on if she took Artarmon as her husband.
‘I never thought I’d see the day,’ Khalid said softly as he ran his fingertips along the strong line of his jaw. ‘I think I want Sabihah’s take on this.’
‘Oh for God’s sake, just leave it, Khalid,’ Gabe groaned. ‘You should definitely leave Sabihah out of it.’
‘But you’ve never played around!’ Dev said.
‘And how often have we bemoaned that fact, Devereaux?’ Marco countered. ‘As much as we all love him, haven’t we always wanted your brother to loosen up and live a little more? To shed some of those responsibilities he takes so seriously? Why shouldn’t he have an affair with a beautiful woman? He should be having affairs with many beautiful women, but I’m not entirely comfortable with him choosing Eden’s close friend.’
‘Stop discussing me as though I’m not here. I don’t care what any of you think. I’ve told you, my mind’s made up and I don’t need your approval.’
‘Have an affair, by all means. But choose someone who’s not already engaged.’ Khalid folded his arms across his chest. ‘There’s no reason to become embroiled in any type of scandal. There are a million beautiful, single women out there who’d be yours for the taking. Forget this woman and find someone else.’
‘It’s somewhat alarming to know you’re about to break the habits of a lifetime,’ Marco said, ‘but I feel obliged to intercede, Gabriel. Find another woman to take as your lover.’
‘Keep your advice to yourself, Marco,’ Khalid ordered.
‘Shit!’ was all Devereaux managed as he covered his face with the palms of his hands. ‘I can’t believe this is even happening.’
Marco was all arrogance. ‘It doesn’t happen often, but I admit it seems I was wrong to intervene at the masquerade ball. I had no idea the extent to which your libido had been stirred by Duchess Dunmorton and if Eden had known I’m sure she would’ve encouraged a serious relationship between you both. However, she wouldn’t have approved of you pursuing her friend when said friend is engaged.’
‘Is it his libido or his heart that’s been stirred?’ Khalid wondered aloud as he looked with narrowed eyes at Gabe.
Chilly fingers traced across Gabe’s tautened shoulders, right down his spine. He was quick to declare, ‘I said nothing about a stolen heart, gentlemen. Rest assured, my organ continues to pump away steadily in my chest, and that situation will never change for any woman.’
Devereaux made a scoffing sound. ‘Now you’re definitely sounding like my brother, but you know from my example and from Khalid’s that all it takes is the right woman, and when you find her, you give her your whole heart over willingly and have every confidence it’s in safe hands.’
‘I will not marry again, and I don’t intend to lose my heart to any woman,’ Gabe insisted.
Gabe’s friends exchanged glances that were faintly superior before Khalid and Devereaux spoke simultaneously, ‘We’ll see...’
‘Gentlemen,’ Marco put in, ‘I think we should all return to the ball before our presence is missed.’
‘Come on, Gabe,’ Devereaux urged.
Pent-up frustration coiled inside him as he followed them back to the ballroom.
His friends would wait for an eternity if they ever thought he’d fall in love. Santaliana was his mistress. His responsibilities allowed him no time to invest in a serious relationship. Besides, as much as he hadn’t loved his shallow wife, he’d been responsible for Angelique’s death—just as he’d been responsible for the death of his parents and his sister.
Apart from the men he was with, everyone Gabe had ever formed a close relationship with had been killed. He was damned if he’d form a close attachment to anyone else—have anyone depend on him to make the right decisions for them—and watch them die because of his actions or a decision he made.
India Hamilton.
Although he had a physical craving for her, there was no risk he’d ever become emotionally involved with her. Even knowing she wasn’t the fortune hunter he’d thought she may be, and even while logic told him she wasn’t skimming any money from the Princess Eden Foundation, he still couldn’t be certain she hadn’t run with the same crowd as Angelique at some point. There was some reason she’d been invited to the masquerade ball. Even if he’d wanted to remarry, she could never be his wife. He agreed wholeheartedly with her that titles were no recommendation of a person’s worth. It didn’t matter she was a duchess. The fact that she’d lived an idle life of luxury and been part of that London crowd made her totally unsuitable in any other role than as a short-term mistress.
A mistress.
His friends were right. He’d not taken a lover since Angelique.
As King of Santaliana he’d needed to live a very circumspect lifestyle.
Thinking back to the original goals he’d had for India, he readjusted them. As she probably possessed her own sizeable fortune, he may not be able to lure her with a pot of gold. But her reactions to him told him she was definitely as attracted to him as he was to her. India’s role at the foundation may be altruistic, but there was no integrity in marrying Artarmon when she responded so fervently to another man’s kisses.
Not long and they’d be in Africa together.
No Artarmon.
No Devereaux, Khalid or Marco looking on.
Gabe could be a patient man. He’d back off India—for now. She’d have no excuse to cancel her trip, but upon their return from Africa, she’d definitely be cancelling her engagement.