Gabriel’s fists tightened. Obviously, the owner of that very feminine voice required assistance. He’d been reluctant to intercede before now, but this development most definitely changed things. The thought of rescuing her again sent a twinge of anticipation singing through his veins. And the possibility of collecting on her gratitude was even more intriguing.

He unfurled himself from the uncomfortable chair where he’d spent a quarter hour patiently waiting for the rendezvous to end. He stretched, tilting his neck side to side and popping the knotted kinks out.

A crash came from inside the library, and Gabriel immediately straightened, alarm rippling throughout his body. Before he could react, the doors flung open.

“Damnation, woman! You’ve split my chin!” Lord Robert Harvey exclaimed, backing out of the room. Dotting at the blood on his chin, he did not notice Gabriel standing just steps away.

Gabriel carefully retreated into the shadows. He’d rather his presence remain unknown as it appeared the incident might resolve without his interference.

“If you ever attempt that again, I shall do much more,” Lady Celia Buchanan threatened. She followed Robert’s retreat until she stood inside the doorway.

She wore only nightclothes, a billowy, muslin wrap the color of soft butter molding along her curves. Her feet were bare, toes curling against the chill of the hardwood floor. Dark waves of hair were only slightly tamed by a thick braid that hung nearly to the middle of her back. Little tendrils escaped the braid’s confines and curled around her face.

Gabriel swallowed hard at the sight of such decadence and retreated another step so the corridor’s deep shadows enveloped him even more.

Robert muttered beneath his breath. It appeared he might approach Celia, but instead, he glared at her, indecisive and angry before turning on his heel and abruptly stalking away.

“Oaf,” Celia muttered in a loud whisper. She watched Robert disappear into the darkness before glancing down at the broken end of the candlestick clutched in her hand. “Oh, blast it.”

Gabriel waited until the man rounded the corner. Then, his jaw set at a grim angle, he materialized from the shadows.

Celia squeaked in alarm at his sudden appearance, her dark brown eyes wide. “Mister Rose!” She sputtered. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Back inside the library. Quickly. Unless you wish to find yourself locked into marriage to that buffoon,” Gabriel growled, moving past Celia while simultaneously grabbing her arm.

He dragged her into the library’s interior, shutting the door behind him. Only the low burning fire in the grate and a single lamp provided light in the spacious room.

“What the Devil are you talking about?” Celia asked with breathless annoyance. She trotted to match Gabriel’s pace, then bumped into him when he stopped in front of an ornately carved wall panel.

He grunted when he felt her breasts against his arm and heard her little exhale of surprise.

Focus, Gabriel, on the problem at hand. And forget how soft she is. How warm her arm is within your grip. Forget all of that.