Captive of My Desires

Chapter 8 Gabrielle's nerves were nearly shredded by the time they knocked on the door in Berkeley Square. The townhouse was in the upper-crust end of town. It had taken half the morning to find out where the lord lived. Her father certainly hadn't known, as he hadn't seen the chap in more than fifteen years. All he knew was that the man had moved back to England quite a few years ago with his son. She'd tried to look her best for this meeting, and Margery had helped, getting the wrinkles out of her clothes, but her nervousness was making her feel like she wasn't up to scratch. And she was cold. Good grief. It was still summer in England! But she was too used to the warmer climate of the Caribbean now, and, unfortunately, her current wardrobe reflected that. She had only a few stylish dresses and even those were made of lightweight materials. Long ago she'd tossed away just about her entire wardrobe that she'd left England with, because it was much too warm for the Caribbean. Now her trunks were filled with brightly colored casual skirts and blouses, and not even one petticoat. She had a purse full of money for her new wardrobe, but that wasn't going to help her make a good first impression today. She was hoping no one was home, that the man wasn't even in England. If Richard and Ohr weren't with her, she wouldn't be standing here biting her lip. She would be on the first ship back to St. Kitts. The door opened. A servant stood there. Then again, maybe he wasn't a servant. With a scraggly gray beard, cutoff pants, and bare feet, he looked like he belonged in the islands more than they did. "Wot's it to be then and be quick about it," he said quite rudely. Ohr, without expression, said, "A letter for your master, to be hand delivered. We'll wait inside." He wasn't giving the man a chance to disagree. He took Gabrielle's arm and pushed past the fellow. "Now just a bleedin' minute," the man protested. "Where's yer calling card, eh?" "The letter is our -- " "Is there a problem, Artie?" All eyes turned to the woman who appeared in one of the open doorways off the long entry hall where they now stood. She was no bigger than Gabrielle, maybe an inch or so shorter, with dark brown hair and eyes. She looked to be somewhere around thirty years of age, with a face that would be exceptionally lovely at any age. The three visitors were so taken by her beauty that they were speechless, giving the servant called Artie a chance to say, "They barged in, George, but I'll be giving them the boot now." The woman -- George -- tsked and said, "There's no need for that." And then she smiled at Gabrielle and added graciously, "I'm Georgina Malory. May I help you?" Gabrielle's embarrassment prevented her from answering. She felt like a bloody beggar. She didn't care what her father had done to help Lord Malory, it couldn't be enough of a favor to expect these people to take her in and sponsor her for the Season. And it might even take her two Seasons to find a husband! The launching of a debutante was a major undertaking. It required attending party after party, planning, acquiring a new wardrobe, arranging suitable escorts and chaperones. She and her mother had talked about it often -- before Carla had met Albert. And Carla had known the right people. She'd been looking forward to her daughter's Season in London. Gabrielle had, too, back then, and even on the trip here. But now that it was time to call in favors, she just wanted to go back to the Caribbean. Richard spoke up with a charming smile, even doffed his jaunty hat for the lady. "We have a letter for Lord Malory, madam. Dare I hope he isn't your husband?" "Yes, I am," came a deep voice in a distinctly unfriendly tone from the top of the stairs. "So get your eyes off of my wife or I will have to tear you apart limb by limb." Gabrielle glanced up the stairs and aLindsey, Johanna is the author of 'Captive of My Desires ', published 2007 under ISBN 9781416505488 and ISBN 1416505482.