A yawning chasm of silence grew outward from the middle of the dining hall where Gabriel and Celia sat. Lady Darby appeared somewhat distressed, her gaze darting between her daughter’s icy countenance and Gabriel’s.

“I hope your injury is fully healed, Lady Celia,” Robert remarked from across the table. His chin still bore evidence of the wound Celia inflicted upon him, but it had not diminished his interest in her. “I join others in expressing my concern for your well-being.”

Gabriel glared at the man. A need to leap across the wide, mahogany expanse, through the elaborate candle and lily centerpieces, and over the delicate chinaware and crystal goblets burned his stomach with unrelenting intensity. His hands itched to wrap themselves around the young lord’s throat and squeeze until no further bleating issued from his mouth.

He sipped his wine instead as Lord Harvey continued.

“Do you plan on joining the festivities planned this evening?” Robert tipped his glass in Celia’s direction. “I humbly offer my escort, if that is the case.”

“Thank you, Lord Harvey,” Celia coolly replied. “I’ve not yet made my decision.”

“I will sit with you, Lady Celia, should you decide not to take part in the dancing,” Sara offered, leaning past Robert with a wide smile. “We shall keep one another company.”

“There is no need for you to be sidelined.” Celia nodded at her friend. “I may dance after all.”

Gabriel’s brow knitted into a frown. If Celia intended on making him jealous, he would quickly ruin those plans.

“I do not mind keeping Lady Celia company.” His hand moved from his own lap to her silk-covered thigh, his head tilting as he favored her with a sidelong glance. “You should not risk further injury, my lady. We shall be bored together.” When she stiffened beside him, Gabriel allowed himself a tiny smile. Concealed by the tablecloth and the table itself, he squeezed gently, his fingers warning her to stay and accept his touch.

Celia’s own smile was grim. “But Mister Rose, that would be torture beyond comprehension. Surely, you have other matters that better occupy your time.” Her tone left no doubt she would be the one suffering from his presence. Her own hand disappeared beneath the tablecloth. It was accomplished with such grace and subtlety no one, not even Gabriel, noticed. Then to his utter surprise, he felt a prickling of pain.

It was almost too preposterous to be true. Celia, armed with her dinner fork, stabbed the silver tines into the top of his hand. It did not hurt, for she pressed with restraint, and Gabriel was hard pressed not to crow out loud with laughter.

“Torture is a relative term, my lady,” Gabriel said solemnly.

Celia shot him a heated glare, then pushed the weapon into his skin with greater purpose.

With relative ease, Gabriel shifted his hand, grabbing the handle of the fork. His fingers covered hers in a crushing grip.

“Time in my company might not be as horrible as you think.” He squeezed Celia’s hand until her grip on the fork loosened. It fell soundlessly to the carpeted floor.