The Other Bride

As the door snapped shut behind her, Phoebe bit her lip in disappointment. She had instructed the hansom cab to bring her to the “most expensive jewelry store in New York City.” But after gathering her courage and entering the establishment, she had been treated no better than a beggar.

Twenty dollars! That was all they were willing to offer her for the signet ring. Granted, twenty dollars would help her buy the things she needed, but the amount was a tenth of what she had been expecting. She’d been so angered by the patronizing tone of the clerk that she’d stormed from the shop with the ring still clutched in her palm.

What was she going to do? She needed money. Desperately. Quickly.

Stepping out of the way of the passers-by, Phoebe vainly tried to brush as much of the dust as possible from her skirts and bodice, sure that there must be another jeweler nearby where she could try again. But with her gloves as soiled as her dress, her efforts were less than satisfactory.

“Problems?”

Phoebe jumped when a deep, husky voice murmured the word in her ear. For a moment, her heart leaped and she was sure that it was the stranger from the boat. But when she turned, it was to find Gabriel Cutter standing at her shoulder.

Her stomach flip-flopped and her mouth grew suddenly dry. “Mr. Cutter,” she said weakly. Then, with more strength, she added, “Has no one told you that it isn’t polite to startle a person on a crowded thoroughfare?”

His expression remained neutral, but she thought she caught a glint of humor in his steel-gray eyes. “I would imagine it’s impolite to startle a person at any time or in any location.”

Phoebe pressed her lips together, refusing to rise to the bait offered by the lift of his brows. It was clear that he found her amusing and wished to rile her. But she would not argue with the man. She wouldn’t. With her luck, she would make him angry and he would find a way to renege on his agreement.

The thought caused her to frown. “Have you been following me?”

His dark brows lifted even more. This time his gray eyes darkened with something akin to suspicion. “Why would I possibly want to follow you, Miss Gray?”

“Perhaps you should tell me,” she insisted archly. Something about his look made her uncomfortable. So much so that her shoulder muscles grew tight with the effort it took not to run away.

“For your information,” Gabe said, “I had an appointment in the area. Imagine my surprise when I emerged on the street to find you here.”

He plucked a stray piece of fluff from her shoulder, and she stiffened. The action was innocent. So why did that tiny point of contact send a flurry of gooseflesh down her spine?