The Unexpected Marriage of Gabriel Stone (Lords of Disgrace) by Louise Allen Page A

female.’ She widened her eyes at Gabriel and the corner of his mouth kicked up. ‘It never occurred to me it might be anything other than the wind on an unlatched casement that I ought to close.’
    ‘You are not air-headed, Caroline. You are a positive menace. But come if you must.’
    She followed him out the door, resisting the temptation to clutch at his coat tails. The house was as silent as it ever was, alive with the creaks and groans of its old timbers, the whistle of the wind in the chimneys, the tap of the branches of the elm on the east parlour side. Gabriel moved, soft-footed as a housebreaker, drifting down the corridors, across the stairhead with a glance down at the hooded chair by the front door where the footman on duty was asleep, a lamp turned down low beside him.
    At Woodruffe’s door Gabriel put his ear to the panels. ‘He’s asleep,’ he murmured in Caroline’s ear as he eased the door open and slid through the gap. Then she was alone on the landing with only the shivery sensation of his warm breath on her cheek to tell her that this was not some fevered dream.
    * * *
    Woodruffe was sprawled snoring across the bed, still in his shirt. Gabriel averted his gaze from the white hairy legs, the slack-mouthed face, and scanned the rest of the bedchamber.
    Imagining this man in bed with Caroline did nothing for his concentration. He had been fighting the urge to kiss her, to toss her on to the nearest flat surface—piano, chaise , bed, hearthrug—and plunder that innocence until they were both exhausted. So far at least he had managed to behave like the gentleman he was supposed to be and not the rake he actually was, and keep his hands off her body.
    Knight-errantry was supposed to bring its own rewards, not acute frustration, he thought bitterly as he studied Woodruffe’s belongings. He should have thrown Caroline out the moment he found her in his drawing room, now he could not help himself trying to right her wrongs, not now he knew she had been hurt, not knowing what he did about Woodruffe. He was a man now, not a desperate child, and he had the power to thwart both men who threatened her. But once he had done something about this he was going to take himself off to Paris and plunge into mindless, hedonistic pleasure because virtue was, most certainly, overvalued.
    A dressing case sat on the table, the lid pushed up by the paper that had been jammed inside it. Gabriel set the lamp down so the light was shielded from the sleeper and lifted out the contents. Bills, most of them third or fourth demands, a letter from Woodruffe’s steward and a bulky, folded, piece of parchment that weighed heavy in his hand.
    Gabriel opened it, wincing as the stiff folds crackled like gunshot. The weight was explained by the red seal that swung free at the bottom. A marriage licence and, by the size of it, a special licence at that. He did not risk unfolding the thing, knowing it would be the size of the table top, but set it aside and checked the rest of the box.
    The collection of prints secreted at the bottom were certainly obscene. Gabriel was no prude, but he found he was handling these with the tips of his fingers as though the smut would rub off. Woodruffe had an unpleasant predilection for images of helpless women tied up, or in chains—and none of them appeared to be enjoying the experience. Certainly not the whips and canes the leering men in the prints were wielding.
    He packed it all away, then took the lamp and searched the drawers in the dresser, the clothes press and finally, as Woodruffe snored on, the books on his bedside table.
    Feeling he was in need of a bath, Gabriel eased his way out of the door and closed it silently behind him.
    ‘Did you find anything?’ Caroline whispered.
    Too much. He studied her in the simple white nightgown that reached to her bare toes, her hair in a plait over one shoulder. She looked worryingly like the innocent victims in Woodruffe’s pornographic prints. The