Page 28 of Gabriela and His Grace (The Luna Sisters #3)
If she hadn’t had that second glass of mezcal, Gabby never would have cried.
As it was, her father had an uncanny talent for knowing exactly how to reduce her to tears.
Angrily swiping at her cheeks, Gabby pushed her way through the guests that filled the Ortizes’ home to the front entrance.
Without a backward glance, Gabby grasped her skirts and darted down the cobblestone drive toward the music and laughter that emanated from the town square.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she looked over her shoulder and saw that one of Sirius and Isabel’s grooms was following her, and a flash of affection for them spread through her limbs, for she knew they had sent him to guarantee she was safe.
Even though her walk was not a long one, Gabby’s evening slippers were more appropriate for genteel gatherings than mad dashes over graveled streets, and she limped slightly as she reached the center of activity.
Gabby paused as she took in the crowds around her, a smile slowly sliding onto her lips.
Hefting the bulk of her skirts in her hands, Gabby crisscrossed her way through the various stalls and wagons, stopping to allow a milliner to place a stylish hat on her head to model.
She did so happily, before she wandered to where a temporary stage had been constructed under a large pinon tree.
Lanterns hung cheerfully from the boughs, and a large group of children sat in a cluster before the stage, their excited chatter filling the air with anticipation.
Gabby watched with a grin at the puppet show that commenced, laughing at the performance along with the children.
After the show had ended, Gabby discovered a wagon that had been transformed into a traveling bookstore.
Narrow bookshelves lined three sides of the wagon and were filled with novels, poetry collections, history tomes, and more.
Many were in Spanish and French, but a surprising selection were in English, and Gabby energetically searched through the assortment, grabbing first one book and then another, trying to decide which one Isabel would like more.
When the elderly bookseller noted Gabby’s interest, he assisted her with selecting several different books for not only her sister, but herself, as well.
Gabby owned very few books of her own, always content to borrow from her older sister.
But now that Isabel was married, Gabby would have to acquire and curate her own library.
The idea made her more enthused than she’d anticipated.
After she paid for her selections, the bookseller had wrapped them and agreed to hold them until she collected them later, leaving Gabby to meander to where a six-member band played an eclectic arrangement of musical styles.
At one point they played a waltz, but they weaved in a distinctly Mexican flair with the sound of the guitar.
Gabby swayed side to side as she watched couples twirl around the makeshift dance floor.
“I believe you owe me a dance.”
Gabby jerked back, her eyes flying wide as she pivoted to find Whitfield standing several paces away.
The bright chandeliers in the Ortizes’ home had highlighted every detail of the duke’s beauty, but the same was not true here in the town square.
The sparse lighting from torches and lamps elongated the shadows, hiding his expression.
Yet the dim illumination also made Whitfield appear taller, broader, and more… dangerous than ever before.
Suddenly Gabby could imagine Whitfield cloaked in darkness, awaiting his lover for an assignation. How would a woman possibly say no to such a man? She shivered.
“Are you cold?” he inquired, moving closer.
“No,” she said hastily, ignoring the gooseflesh that crept along her skin. Clearing her throat, she glanced back to where the band played. “I’m surprised you’re here.”
“I seem to surprise you a good deal,” he drawled, coming to stand beside her. His woodsy scent flooded her nose, and Gabby closed her eyes for a moment and simply inhaled. Why did he have to smell so damn good?
“You do,” she managed to murmur, fluttering her eyes open and glancing up at his face. “This trip has been illuminating in more ways than one.”
Whitfield inclined his head. “For me as well.”
Gabby nibbled on the inside of her cheek for a moment. The duke knew why she had fled the party, so it seemed prudent to confront what her father had said and put the shame behind her. “Thank you for what you said.”
“What I said?”
“To my father.” She swallowed. “I’m sure it’s been quite enlightening to see how the lauded Elías Luna really feels about his youngest daughter.”
“I meant every word.” The duke rocked back on his feet. “And it has been enlightening, actually.”
Gabby wanted to ask how, but her mouth was abruptly desert dry.
To her horror, Whitfield turned on his heel and faced her directly, his blue eyes snaring hers even in the poor lighting.
“It has given me insight into the person you are. Why it often feels as if you are constantly on the offensive. As if you’re expecting verbal attacks instead of compliments.
It’s because you’ve been trained to expect such things. ”
The music and the sounds of the crowd faded away, and all Gabby could hear was the duke’s voice. His calm, soothing tenor curled about her.
“It’s also why you’re a defender. Why you rush to protect others. Your sisters, definitely, but also your friends. Acquaintances. I compared you to a Gorgon once. Do you remember?”
She nodded, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Two years prior Gabby had attended a horse race with Isabel, where they’d encountered Whitfield.
When he called her a Gorgon, she hadn’t been sure if it was a compliment or not, and Gabby suspected that was the point.
Everything about the duke left her off balance.
“I’m sure you thought I said it in jest, but I meant it earnestly.” Whitfield took a step closer, his gaze unwavering on hers. “You are a fearsome champion of others, but you take up no weapons to defend yourself.”
“I do.” The words were broken, watery, but Gabby forced herself to say them. “It’s just so hard with…”
“With him .” The duke’s tone was gentle. “Why is that?”
Shaking her head, she dropped her chin to her chest. Gabby could not believe she was on the verge of tears before the Duke of Whitfield yet again.
She was horribly embarrassed…but she also longed to wrap her arms around his waist and nestle into his broad chest. Nothing sounded more comforting, and Gabby held herself stiff as a board so she would not give in to the desire.
“Dance with me?”
Gabby frowned. “You really want to dance?”
“I do.” Whitfield smirked, and that familiar expression made her smile. “Plus, as I said, you owe me one.”
The music changed then, and so did the dancing. Quirking her lips, she said, “Do you know how to dance el jarabe tapatío?”
Furrows creased his brow as Whitfield stared at the couples positioning themselves as the first trumpet notes filled the air. “I do not. I swear I just heard a waltz.”
A giggle burst from her mouth, and Gabby pressed a hand to her lips. But Whitfield’s disgruntled expression made her laugh harder.
“They did play a waltz earlier, but not anymore,” she managed.
The duke’s frown deepened, although there was an amused light in his eyes as he watched her laugh at his expense. When Gabby finally calmed herself, Whitfield studied the dancers, who tapped and twirled around each other.
“Have you danced…?”
“El jarabe tapatío. No, I haven’t,” she said, turning to watch the dancers with him.
“Why not?”
Gabby lifted a shoulder. “The dance was only becoming popular when we fled to London. I was too young to dance it before that.”
Whitfield nodded and, after a heartbeat, glanced down at her. “I’m willing to try it, if you are.”
“You are?” Gabby blinked at him, suddenly lightheaded. “Truly?”
“Truly. Although”—he removed his hat and rubbed the back of his neck—“I will probably look like a fool.”
“We can look foolish together, then,” she proclaimed, extending him a hand.
The duke stared down at her hand for a moment and then slid his pale blue eyes up to meet hers. Her palm already prickled with awareness, and he’d yet to touch her.
Whitfield slid his fingers around hers. “Let’s be fools together.”
· · ·
Sebastian had no idea what he was doing, but he was very happy to be doing it.
How could he not be when Gabriela looked at him like that? With that radiant expression she had never directed his way because he’d ruined any goodwill she may have felt toward him by acting with his cock and not his head.
He didn’t have a chance to contemplate the thawing of their animosity because the dance’s steps required all his concentration.
They were unlike anything Sebastian had ever danced before, and involved a dramatic stomping, tapping, and spinning.
Everything about dancing the waltz was stately and refined, but el jarabe tapatío was infused with life.
With vitality. It was a dance that was made for Gabriela, who was the most vibrant person Sebastian had ever met.
Even now, as she twirled her bulky skirts as best she could and kicked her slippered feet in a close approximation of the steps the other couples were engaged in, she glowed.
Gone was the brokenhearted young woman he’d watched flee the Ortizes’ opulent home, and in her place was this vivacious beauty who was beaming her brightest smile at him.
At Sebastian, who had only ever earned her scowls.
He wanted to hold his breath, afraid that, like a bubble, her esteem would not last.
Yanking his gaze away from her spirited face, Sebastian studied the other dancers, determined to mimic their movements. The man and woman next to them moved toward each other on the beat, their heads angled as if to kiss. They danced one, two beats, and then twirled apart.