Absolute Pleasure by Cheryl Holt Page A

earlier.
    The convictions of others no longer mattered to him, but the snubs and censure continued to vex Gabriel. Gabriel couldn't let it go, but then he'd been refused much— wealth, status, material comforts—that might have legitimately been his but for his notorious parentage, so perhaps he had reason to be bitter.
    Yet his rancor was misplaced. He was bound and determined to exact recompense for the affronts that had been visited upon John, even though John bluntly proclaimed that he'd provoked much of his own adversity. In defiance of how John insisted that he didn't require such dubious assistance, Gabriel persevered, and John ended up helping him in his various intrigues, the one currently in progress being an excellent example.
    He stepped to the parlor door and unobtrusively peeked at his guest. She was nervous, furtively glancing at her timepiece, patently fretting over Lady Elizabeth's whereabouts.
    His job, if one could call it that, was to entertain her, to take her mind off her companion. It wouldn't do to have her scurrying home, telling tales. Especially not when the current mark was Elizabeth Harcourt, daughter of his old nemesis, Findley Harcourt, Earl of Norwich.
    Norwich was an ass, a selfish prig, an arrogant, pompous stuffed shirt, who had seriously mistreated his first wife—Lady Elizabeth's mother, Pamela. John had stood as her friend, and on one propitious occasion had even given Findley a sound thrashing for the egregious sins he'd committed against her.
    Findley hadn't changed; evidence his failure to find Elizabeth a husband. For Findley's own purposes, she'd been exploited and used, so she could only benefit from an acquaintance with Gabriel, but they couldn't have Mary Smith spoiling the ruse before it had a chance to get off the ground.
    He had honed his ability for flirtation and dalliance at the grandest courts of Europe, and he was a master at distraction. Gracefully, he waltzed into the room, tugging at his cuffs. He'd oft been told that he could charm the bark off a tree, which was near to the truth.
    "Miss Smith," he gushed, "welcome back."
    "Hello, Mr. Preston." She started to stand, but he waved her down.
    "Don't you dare rise, my dear." He crossed to her, then he bowed attentively, kissing her hand, holding on to it much longer than was proper. "How enchanting to see you again so soon."
    "And you, as well."
    Momentarily, he paused to bestow a close-up, winning smile, designed to disarm and appease, but as his gaze locked with hers, he was the one caught off guard.
    His breathing arrested, his heartbeat accelerated, and it dawned on him that he was feeling sexual desire. For pleasant, striking Mary Smith! A woman with whom he'd only been acquainted for three hours!
    It had been so long since a woman had physically bewitched him that he barely remembered what attraction felt like. How incredible!
    With that silvered blond hair, and that rounded, voluptuous figure, she really was stunning. Clearly, she'd once been a beauty, and she still was; an uncommon woman who had matured well and who wore her age with refinement and dignity.
    She had the most exceptional blue eyes, a deep azure that was positively mesmerizing, and they evinced a perception that seemed ancient and wise. They were eyes that had seen the best and worst in life, and for the briefest instant, he imagined that he'd miraculously blundered onto a kindred spirit, someone who'd suffered and grieved, but who'd kept on, just as he had done.
    Which was nonsense. After the tragedy his recklessness had launched with Selena, he never permitted himself to indulge in any fantasies involving romantic drivel. Such rubbish eventually led to heartache and disaster.
    "Forgive me for staring." He gauchely stumbled over himself, still clutching her hand, and he forced himself to drop it, then eased himself into the chair that was positioned directly across from her.
    "That's quite all right." She politely covered his lapse of manners, but