Once acknowledged, the emotion surged in Gabriel’s veins, as irksome as it was unmistakable. He recognized it with a grim sense of certainty. He was in love with Euphemia Flite.

He and every other gentleman in London.

Unlike them, Gabriel had nothing tangible to offer her. Not a title. Not a vast fortune. Not even the distinction of formal education. He had nothing save himself.

It wasn’t enough.

Indeed, judging by the fleeting glimmer of relief in Effie’s face when she saw him, Mannering was, at the moment, a far preferable alternative.

It was some consolation that the dapper young baron wasn’t at his best. His hair was rumpled, his cravat unknotted, and his coat missing a button. “Miss Flite,” he said with evident relief. “Thank God you are safe.”

Effie still wore Gabriel’s heavy black coat draped over her shoulders. She slipped it off, returning it to him without a word.

He took it from her, equally silent. The interior was warm to the touch. A whisper of her fragrance lingered where the collar had brushed her bare skin.

“I’m quite well,” she said to Lord Mannering. “And the others? Are they—”

“Miss Compton was in a bad state. Powell has taken her and my sister home in the carriage. I saw them off before coming to find you. Someone said that Royce had carried you away from the fray.” He looked to Gabriel. “I owe you a debt, sir.”

“You do,” Gabriel agreed without inflection. “But nothing on her account.” Standing half a step behind Effie in the shadow of the trees, he exercised a ruthless control over his emotions. The same control that had allowed him to relinquish her in the woods. It wouldn’t take much to break it. A word from her. A look. A touch.

“May I kiss you again?” he’d asked her only minutes before.

But she hadn’t wanted him then, and she didn’t want him now. She’d scarcely even looked at him since they’d emerged onto the path.

If Mannering suspected anything, he didn’t show it. The events of the evening had been too fraught to allow for a strict enforcement of any social rules. Gabriel had spirited Effie to safety; that was all his lordship seemed to care about.

“I shall take charge of her now,” he said manfully. “I have a cab waiting.” He approached Effie, proffering his arm. “Miss Flite?”

Gabriel’s jaw hardened. If he insisted on escorting Effie home himself, it would only put her in the position of refusing him again, just as she’d refused his request to kiss her. She’d made it perfectly plain that she never wanted to see him again.

But though she may not want him in this moment, Gabriel still wanted her to be safe, even if that meant he must relinquish her to another.

He remained unmoving as she took Mannering’s arm.