Ann Lethbridge - Gabriel D'Arcy

‘Delicious,’ he murmured silkily.

She glanced up at his face. The devil-may-care rogue was back. The blue eyes crinkling at the corners, his posture relaxed and easy. He picked up the glove and tucked it inside his coat. Next to his heart. A small ache in her chest made her draw in a breath of surprise she hoped he hadn’t heard.

‘I am sorry our ride was cut short in so ugly a way,’ he said.

She smiled, reassuring, as careless as he. ‘No harm done, my lord. And I enjoyed our race. It is a long time since I galloped ventre à terre .’

‘Something you did in Paris?’

What would he think if he knew she had never been to Paris? ‘Certainly not. Only in the countryside around my home.’

‘Do you miss France?’

‘One always misses home.’ It was the people she missed the most. The tenants on the family estate. Her parents who’d died long before she wed. And most of all her sister. Poor little Minette, who might yet be alive and all alone in a brutal world. But she must not think of Minette now. She must not let him see the longing in her heart. ‘What about you? Have you been to Paris?’

Wariness flashed in his eyes, but his smile didn’t falter. ‘I went after the Treaty of Amiens. It is a beautiful city.’

A part-truth. He had been to Paris during the Terror. A disaffected Englishman accepted into the ranks of the Jacobins, according to Paul. The thought made her cold. And angry. Yet if she wanted him stopped, she could not let him see this emotion either.

She placed her napkin beside her plate. ‘Thank you for a delicious breakfast.’

‘It was a pleasure. Now, it is time we left.’

Now that was a surprise. She had expected him to suggest they dally for a few hours. Take a room. Perhaps his wound was worse than he was letting on? But if so, why not have it treated properly? Why bring her here at all instead of immediately returning her home? Paul was going to be disappointed at her failure to woo this man into her bed today. But Mooreshead would want to see her again, of that she had no doubt. While he settled the shot with the innkeeper, she went to the necessary, joining him in the yard outside when she was done.

A carriage stood waiting, a dusty and unfashionable-looking equipage that had seen better days. A groom stepped forward and opened the door.

The hairs on her nape rose. A warning. She looked at Gabe in question.

‘My curricle suffered damage when they turned it around. The pole is fractured, ready to break at any moment. The innkeeper has kindly offered us the use of his rig and his coachman to get us back to town.’

‘How odd? Two accidents in one day?’

‘I know. Dashed nuisance.’

These sorts of things did happen, but her sense of worry refused to settle. Unable to see a way to voice her concern without seeming unduly suspicious, she took his hand and he helped her in. He climbed up behind her and took the seat opposite, his legs sprawling across the narrow space between the seats. He seemed larger in here than he had outside on his horse or within their private parlour. He was a powerful man who would have no difficulty overcoming her, should he wish. She should have thought to bring her pistol instead of the knife she had slipped into the pocket hidden in her shift. She hadn’t thought it necessary, given that Reggie would remain nearby. More fool her. Yet to have insisted on her groom following them to breakfast would have made any thought of seduction impossible. So now they were alone together in a carriage and she was defenceless.

Not defenceless. She still had her wits. She kept her breathing even, despite her unease.

The carriage pulled away and for all its dilapidated appearance it moved with considerable speed.

She glanced out of the window and frowned. ‘Your coachman has missed the road. We should have turned right at the bridge.’

He followed the direction of her gaze. ‘Perhaps he is taking a short cut.’ Irony coloured his voice.

‘What madness are you about?’ she asked. ‘We are heading away from London.’

‘Yes,’ he drawled. ‘We are.’

‘Turn around, at once.’

He shook his head. ‘Sadly, Countess, I cannot. Do not fear. We will reach our destination soon.’

Heaven help her, it seemed she’d played right into his hands. Had he decided that she had led him into an assassination and now he was planning a way to get rid of her? It seemed all too likely.

She leaned back against the squabs with a bright smile. ‘ Tiens . How exciting. First we are shot at. And now it seems I have been abducted.’

To her infinite alarm, his smiled deepened.

* * *

‘Abducted?’ Gabe drawled, settling deeper into a corner. The pain from the wound in his arm throbbed dully, a grinding ache rather than the stabbing pain it had been at first. The innkeeper had been another one who had wanted to call for the doctor when he realised the bullet was still lodged in his arm. Gabe didn’t have time. Whoever had shot him would want to finish the job. He was just glad he had not told the countess where he intended to partake of breakfast. How disappointed she must be that the plan to kill him had failed. Though he had to admit she had played her part well. The surprise. The sympathy.

At least he now knew for certain she was the one Armande had warned him about.

The floating sensation in his head worried him more than the pain. It was due to a loss of blood. If she guessed at just how weak he was becoming, she’d take full advantage and have them on their way back to London in no time flat. And straight into the arms of those trying to kill him, no doubt.

Maintaining his outward calm was becoming more and more difficult as he stewed over the clever way she had lured him in. With great effort, he offered her a charming, easy smile. ‘A harsh word, don’t you think? I want to know you better, is all.’

Her eyes narrowed, a small crease forming between her dark brows making her look like an irritated kitten. This kitten had claws, as the throb in his arm testified. ‘You could do that in London, surely? Reggie will be concerned if I do not return at a reasonable hour.’ She gave an expressive shrug.

‘And to whom will Reggie run with concern?’

Her blue gaze settled sharp on his face. ‘To whom? Mrs Featherstone, naturally.’

The question played for time. Time to prepare the answer he would find acceptable. Perhaps she did not realise yet that she could not beat him at the subtle game of evasion, though of course he had not expected the truth. It amused him to put her on the spot. To see how she would handle things. Hell knew he had little else to take his mind off the pain in his arm. He kept his face pleasant and smiling and watched the mask over her expression become more pronounced. So small a change, so indefinable, if he had not expected it, he would not have seen it.

A surprising sense of disappointment hollowed his gut. What? Had he expected her to cast aside her role of seductress and trust him with her secrets? He certainly wouldn’t have done so in her place. And just because she was a woman it didn’t make her any less dangerous. It was a man’s nature to protect a female. And therein lay a man’s weakness and why she’d been sent in the first place.

He’d let down his guard and she had very nearly succeeded in getting him killed. If Bacchus had not reared at the same moment the shot was fired, she might even now be carrying his lifeless body back to London in his own curricle. He almost laughed out loud. Almost.

It was no laughing matter when England stood on the brink of disaster. Not since the Normans had a Frenchman tried to invade her soil. Even after years of war, she was a ripe and juicy plum Napoleon would love to harvest. And until as recently as last night, he’d hoped they thought of him as the key to their success. But if they were trying to do away with him—