Miss Gabriel's Gambit Read Online Free PDF Page B

been cut because of his sartorial heedlessness, but nonetheless, he felt a strange stir of disappointment. A pity that Miss Gabriel seemed to lack the humor and spirit that would have animated those chiseled features. As it was, she seemed no more than a pretty, but dull piece of living statuary.
    “I have come to see Sir Miles,” David said, his voice formal once more.
    “He shall be down shortly,” the stone angel said, in a toneless voice.
    David cast about for some topic to fill the growing silence. Perhaps the weather? The latest on-dit ? But then he did not know the latest on-dit , so it would have to be the weather. Surely that would not be too much for a woman of even limited intellect. In David’s narrow experience it was almost a certitude that women endowed with superior beauty were shortchanged in the attribute of intelligence. Once beyond the set topics of climate and gossip they inevitably foundered and sank in the seas of more intellectual conversation. He was about to comment on the delights of the sun after so much rain when relief arrived and the door was thrown open. However, instead of the elderly Sir Miles, a young boy of about nine burst into the room.
    “I’m done with my lesson, Syl. Now may I meet Lord Whatsisname?”
    “‘Lord Donhill,’ Miles,” she reproved, turning to their guest. “May I present Sir Miles Gabriel.”
    The boy made his leg, but David did not see. He turned abruptly to the window, hoping to conceal his shock and disappointment as the web woven of ephemeral hope and fancy was torn to shreds. It was clear now that Highslip had been correct. The old baronet was dead. A few moments passed before David dared to turn his face again. Fortunately, the years of chess play had given him infinite practice in commanding his features. However, he could not quite control the betraying tones of roughness in his voice.
    “I am sorry, lad,” he said extending his hand. “I was expecting your Uncle.”
    “Uncle Miles died over a year ago,” the boy said sympathetically. “Surely everyone knows that.”
    Although his features were now impassive, Sylvia had seen Lord Donhill’s face before he had turned away; the pain in his eyes had mirrored the ache in her own heart. Despite Uncle Miles’ multitude of eccentricities, Sylvia had loved her uncle dearly and it was clear to see that Lord Donhill too, must have held the late Sir Miles in great esteem. Her curiosity roused, Sylvia was about to question Lord Donhill but to her surprise, he bent down before the boy, squatting until the two were eye to eye.
    Sylvia smiled at the sight of that awkwardly bent lanky frame, her reserve thawing entirely. It was a rare adult that realized how intimidating a grown man’s height could be to a child. Lucky indeed, that Lord Donhill did not favor fashion, for a pair of skin-fitting breeches could not have stood the stress of the powerful thighs that were limned by the tautened fabric.
    “I lived very far away,” David said. “In India. Your Uncle and I were good friends, but we had never met face to face.”
    “I never heard of no Lord Donhill.” Miles asked cocking his head in an inquiring pose. “How can you be friends if you never met?
    By post , Sylvia thought, an uneasy cold feeling spreading through the pit of her stomach as she digested his words. She felt much as if she had swallowed one of Gunther’s famous ice confections whole, her mind racing giddily as she considered the unlikely possibility that the consequences of her deceit were coming to roost on her doorstep. However, the more she tried to convince herself that her fears were foolish, that he had often declared that he would never leave India, the more certain Sylvia became that her worst nightmares were about to come true.
    “I have only recently become Lord Donhill, just as you are a relatively new-made Sir Miles. My name is David Rutherford,” he said, taking off his glasses and polishing them in a forlorn gesture