Author's Note: Okay guys, I've decided that I will update on the 2nd of every month, starting from next month onward. Exams are comin gout soon, so I'll try to write as much as possible now so that you'll have your chapters during exam preparation. This chapter is slightly short, because I've got plans for the next chapter. For those who feel that the story is moving rather slowly, I'm happy to tell you that the next few chapters would be the rising action for Troyella, yay! That's why I gotta end this chapter here lol. Right, let's get to the story!
"Gabriella," Jason said, bringing a paper-wrapped package to the kitchen, "a man brought this for you not ten minutes back."
Gabriella, who was sitting at the table for a midmorning cup of tea, received the large package with an exclamation of surprise. She had not made any purchases, nor had she ordered anything for the household. "I wonder what it could be," she murmured aloud, studying the package.
Her name and the Bow Street address were written on the brown-paper surface, but there was no indication as to the sender.
"Was there a note attached?" Gabriella asked Jason. She picked up a knife and sawed at the rough twine that had been knotted around the parcel.
He shook his head. "Perhaps there is one inside. I have to go now, Mr Bolton sent me to print some notes for him."
Gabriella smiled as she bade him farewell. Returning her attention to the mysterious package, she expertly severed the rest of the twine and unwrapped the parcel. Layers of thin white tissue enveloped something soft and rustling. Curious, Gabriella folded them back.
Her breath caught in her throat as she beheld a gown - not a plain, serviceable one like the others she owned, but made of silk and lace. It was suitable for a ball. But why would someone send such a garment to her? Her hands shook with a sudden tremor as she clawed past the gown for a note. The sender had either forgotten to include one or deliberately had not done so. She shook the gown out and stared at it in confusion, something that reached into the farthest corners of her memory...
Why, it reminded her of a gown of her mother's! As a little girl, Gabriella had loved to try on her mother's dresses and shoes and jewelry, and had played princess for hours. Her favourite dress had been made of an unusual colour, a gleaming silk that looked lavender in some lights, shimmering silver in others. This gown was the same rare shade, with the same low, scooped necklace and puffed sleeves trimmed with delicate white lace. However, this was not her mother's gown; it was a copy, made over in a modern style with a slightly lower waist and fuller skirts.
Profoundly troubled, Gabriella folded the garment in the brown paper and rewrapped it. Who could have sent such a gift to her, and why, and was it merely a coincidence that the dress resembled her mother's?
Instinctively she left the kitchen and took the parcel with her, heading for the one person she trusted most. Later, she would come to wonder why she had turned to Troy without even thinking, when she had relied only on herself for so many years. It was a sign of some significant change in her, one that made her too uncomfortable to dwell on for long.
Troy's door was closed, and the sound of voices indicated that he was in the midst of a meeting. Crestfallen, Gabriella hesitated outside the door.
Just then Martha happened to walk by. "Good morning, Gabriella," the helper cheerfully said. "Do you need something?"
"I-I wished to speak to Troy on a personal matter." Gabriella clutched the package tightly to her chest. "But I see that he is occupied, and I certainly do not wish to disturb him."
Martha frowned and gave her a reflective glance. "Gabriella, Mr Bolton has made it clear that if you ever have any concerns, he wishes to know immediately."
"It can wait," she said firmly. "It is a trivial matter. I will return later when Mr Bolton is available. No, no, Martha, please do not knock on that door." She groaned with distress as the help ignored her protests and rapped decisively at the door.
To Gabriella's consternation, the door opened to reveal Troy accompanying a visitor to the door. The grey-haired gentleman was small of stature but imposing nonetheless, dressed in a suit with a white tie. His sharp dark eyes focused on Gabriella, and he turned to smile wryly at Troy.
"Now I see, Bolton, why you are so eager to conclude our meeting. The company of this fetching creature is doubtless preferable to mine."
Troy's mouth quirked, and he did not deny the statement. "Good day, Mr Steele. I will examine the draft of your bill most carefully. However, do not expect that my views will change."
"I want your support, Bolton," the gentleman said in a soft, meaningful tone. "And if I receive it, you will find me a most useful friend."
"Of that I have no doubt."
Both men shook hands, and Mr Steele departed, the soles of his leather shoes making an expensive tapping sound on the worn wood floor.
Troy's eyes gleamed as he stared at Gabriella. "Come," he said softly, and guided her into his office. The pressure of his hand on her back was warm and light. Gabriella sat in the chair he indicated, her spine straight, while he resumed his place behind the huge mahogany desk.
"Steele." She repeated the name of the gentleman who had just left. "Surely that is not the CEO of Steele Cooperations?"
"None other."
"Oh, no," Gabriella said, thoroughly flustered. "I hope I did not interrupt your meeting. Oh, I will cheerfully murder Martha!"
Troy responded with a deep chuckle. "You didn't interrupt anything. I was ready for him to leave a half an hour ago, thus your appearance was quite timely. Now, tell me why you are here. I suspect it has something to do with that parcel in your lap."
"First let me apologise for bothering you. I - "
"Gabriella." He stared at her steadily. "I am always available to you. Always."
She could not seem to take her gaze away from his. The air around them felt alive and sultry, like the stillness before a midsummer storm. Clumsily she leaned forward and placed the parcel on his desk. "I received this from Ernest just a little while ago. He said that a man delivered it and left no word as to the sender."
Troy surveyed the address on the front of the package. As he pushed the brown paper aside, the lavender gown glimmered and rustled in the Spartan surroundings of the office. Troy's face remained impassive, but one dark brow arched as he examined the beautiful garment.
"I don't know who could have sent it," Gabriella said anxiously. "And there is something peculiar about it." She explained the resemblance between the lavender silver gown and the one that had belonged to her mother.
When Gabriella finished speaking, Troy, who had listened intently, leaned back into his chair and considered her in a meditative way that she didn't quite like. "Miss Montez... is it possible that the gown is a gift from your former lover?"
The thought gave Gabriella a start of surprise as well as a flash of bitter amusement. "Oh, no. He has no idea that I am working here. Besides, there is no reason for him to send me a gift."
Troy made a noncommittal sound and picked up a handful of the shining lavender fabric. The sight of his long fingers rubbing the delicate silk caused a peculiar flutter inside her. His lashes lowered as he examined the gown; the stitching, the seams, the lace.
"It is a costly garment," he said. "Well made, and of high-quality goods. But there is no dressmaker's label insides, which is unusual. I venture to guess that whoever sent the gown did not want it traced back to the modiste, who might reveal his - or her - identity."
"Then there is no way to find out who sent it?"
He looked up from the gown. "I am going to have one of the runners talk to Jason about the messenger, as well as investigate the dressmakers who are most likely to have made this gown. The fabric is unusual - that will help narrow the list.
"Thank you." Her hesitant smile vanished at his next question.
"Gabriella, have you recently encountered any men who might have taken an interest in you? Anyone you shared a flirtation with, or spoke to at market, or -"
"No!" Gabriella was not certain why the question agitated her so, but she felt her cheeks flood with heat. "I assure you, Mr Bolton, I would not encourage any gentlemen that way... that is -" She broke off in confusion as she realised that she had encouraged a particular man that way - Troy Bolton himself.
"It's all right, Gabriella," he said quietly. "I would not blame you if you had. You are free to do as you wish."
Rattled, she spoke without thinking. "Well, I do not have a follower, and I have not behaved in a manner that might attract one. My last experience was certainly nothing I wish to repeat."
His gaze took on a wolf like alertness. "Because of the way he left you? Or is it that you found no pleasure in his arms?"
Gabriella was startled that he would ask such an intimate questions, and her face flushed. "I don't see that it has any bearing on the question of who sent this gown."
"It does not," he admitted. "But I am curious."
"Well, you will have to remain curious!" She struggled to restore her splintered composure. "May I leave now, sir? I have much to do, especially with Taylor being injured. Martha has worked her fingers to her bone."
"Yes," he said brusquely. "I will have someone to investigate the matter of this gown, and keep you informed of the developments."
"Thank you." Gabriella stood and went to the door, while he followed close at her heels. He reached for the door, but paused as Gabriella spoke without looking at him. "I... I found no pleasure in his arms." She concentrated on the heavy oak paneling of the door. "But that was probably my fault more than his."
Gabriella felt the hot touch of his breath against her hair, his lips hovering close to the top of her head. His nearness filled her with an ache of longing. Blindly, she seized the doorknob and let herself out of the office, refusing to glance back at him.
Troy closed the door and went back to his desk, bracing his hands on the cluttered surface. He let out a tense sigh. The desire that he had kept under iron control for so long had raged in a tremendous inferno. All the force of his will, his physical needs, his obsessive nature, were now focused in one direction. Gabriella. He could barely stand to be in the same room as her without touching her.
The lavender ballgown glimmered richly on the desk. Troy imagined how Gabriella would look in it... the colour would suit her eyes and dark-coloured hair beautifully. Who had sent it to her? He was suffused with a jealousy and violent possessiveness that astonished him. He wanted the exclusive rights to provide whatever she required, whatever would delight her.
Troy sighed heavily, trying to understand the mixture of joy and strong unwillingness that seethed inside him. He had vowed never to fall in love again. He had not forgotten how terrible it was to care so deeply for someone, to fear for her safety, to want her happiness more than his own. Somehow he would have to find a way to stop it from happening, to satisfy his boundless need for Gabriella and yet keep from entrusting his heart to her.
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