Paulette’s heart sparked with a hot rush of blood. His lips, his hands—she felt herself falling, wanting, pressing closer. His tongue touched her lips and she parted for him, letting him in. And his hands, oh his hands, they were touching her bottom like they had that first day, sending the fire into her center.

She felt the ripple of muscle in his shoulders and slid her hands higher, fingering the hair at his neck. She’d started all this, aiming for his cheek and kissing his neck, where the hard pulse under soft skin had driven her wild. She pressed herself closer and matched what he did, twining her tongue with his.

His hands gripped her harder and levered her up, pushing at her skirts until her warm female part smashed against something quite hard, and shocked pleasure surged through her. This was…He was…

She squeaked as he shuffled them over and her back touched the wall. His hands smoothed her legs, and cool air swirled. He brought her closer, tighter, his hard place rubbing up more shivers of pleasure.

Soft kisses moved over her cheek, down her neck and her bosom, and further, over the edge of her bodice. He took her nipple through layers of fabric and suckled.

She felt the jolt all the way to her privates, a hot, coursing lava melting her inside. She heard panting, hers, and a low grumble, his.

And the creak of a door latch.

Mr. Gibson froze, and the next moment she was standing and he was putting her dress in order.

She blinked. Her eyes had adjusted, but there was still not enough light to truly see, and no light had poured from an open bedchamber door.

There’d been no need to stop. No one would have seen them.

“To bed with you, love,” he said, his voice shaky. He pressed his lips to hers briefly. “Leave everything to me.”

When her bedchamber door closed on him, she leaned against it and hugged herself.

If anyone had peered out of one of the bedchambers, they would have seen nothing. It was too dark. She was achy and itchy, and all warm inside. They could have kept on.

Still…it had been her second compromising situation of the evening. Mr. Gibson had rescued her from Agruen—who surely would have tried to assault her—only to take liberties with her himself, liberties that if discovered would result in her being locked up in that small hut Shaldon had planned for them, with a man who would hate her for trapping him into marriage.

And she didn’t want that. Though she wouldn’t mind being kissed by Mr. Gibson again, because he certainly knew what he was about.

She touched the wet spot on her bodice and felt the tight bud he had created through the fabric.

And he had called her love.

“I’m right sorry, Polly,” Mabel whispered nearby. “It was me opening the door.”

She closed her eyes. “Relight the candle, Mabel.”

Mabel shuffled about. “Oh my, he is a strong one.”

“Let it be, Mabel.”

The tinder sparked and started to glow, and the candle wick flamed, revealing Mabel’s broad grin. The maid came closer with the light and looked her over.

“If he tumbles you, you must make him marry you. You could do much with four thousand a year.”

She should never have told Mabel about the bequest. “Just help me out of this.”

Mabel stripped the dress off of her and looked at the bodice. “I’m not sure that wet spot won’t stain.” She was still grinning. “You’ve been gone quite a while. Their ladyships went off to bed ages ago.”

“And how do you know? Where were you, hmm? Out in the stables perhaps.”

Mabel smiled again, and then laughed.

“It’s not funny, Mabel. You must be careful of your reputation also. And perhaps you could see about that stain. I’ll need that dress for London.”

“Oh, aye.”

Mabel’s blithe manner rankled. “Perhaps I should send you back to Mrs. Everly.”

Mabel put her hands on her hips. “You ungrateful miss, bite your tongue. Besides, I wasn’t doing anything much beyond talking, and only briefly. And I’m not sure but with all the visiting staff there won’t be some goings on in this house, and that poor housekeeper tearing her hair out. Not as I’d mind you having a visit from Mr. Gibson, but I’ve had a cot set up to stay with you here.”

A scratching at the door brought Jenny. “Is there aught else tonight, miss?” she asked.

Paulette reached for the blue dress, draped over a chair. “I’ve a spot where I, er, spilled something.”

“We should see how it dries,” Mabel said. “In the morning—”

“No.” Jenny crossed the room and took the gown, studying it. “The housekeeper says attack stains afore they set. I’ll just take it down now and sponge it and ‘t’will be dry by morning perhaps.”

And she could travel to London with one decent dress in her bag.

“Thank you, Jenny,” Paulette said. “But don’t linger about.”

Mabel closed the door on the girl and turned the key in the lock. “She’s a good girl, and I warrant, I’m tired, as must you be after sitting up all last night waiting for the London coach. Now to bed, and dream about that big fine man.”

Paulette waved off the teasing, sensing Mabel’s worry. Her maid had got wind of Lord Agruen’s presence.

“You must also be careful, Mabel.”

“Aye. I will be. And so must you.”

She hadn’t been careful tonight. No—she hadn’t been smart. Agruen was not a man to take on alone, perhaps not even by Mr. Gibson.

Bink eased the door of Agruen’s bedchamber open a crack. A dim light showed from within, and he heard the faintest of rustles in the dark corner.

An Argand lamp stood on a table, the wick turned down low.

“Excuse me, yer lawdship,” he said gruffly. No response. A valet would surely respond. “Is anyone here?”

The hair on the back of his neck stirred. Someone was here, but not Agruen or his servant.

Anger surged through him. Bink Gibson could sniff out a thief at thirty paces. He did not employ thieves. If a thief was present, he or she must be one of the visitors’ servants.

He stepped in and closed the door. “Who is here? Come out.”

Thomas crawled out from under the bed, and Bink’s breath eased. “Bloody hell,” he huffed.

“Shhh.” Thomas put his finger to his mouth. “We have to hurry.”

Fifteen minutes later, he deposited Thomas in the nursery, threatening to lock him in, and headed below stairs. He took the steps quietly and turned down a corridor. The housekeeper’s sitting room door clicked open. Mrs. Bradley stood wrapped in a dressing gown, her hair covered in a white cap, a candle in hand.

“Mr. Gibson. Thank heavens. I heard something.” She took in a sharp breath. “There. Do you hear it, too?”

A faint thud came from the kitchens.

His skin rippled again. This night was like his time on the Peninsula—one bloody up after one bloody down.

He reached for her candle. “Let’s have a look. Stay behind me, ma’am.”

The servants’ hall was empty, as it should be at this late hour, everyone abed above stairs.

A muffled cry came from further on. The laundry room door was unaccountably closed. He ran and flung it open.

A man craned his neck their way and froze, breeches down, shirt straggling, arse bare to all the world.

The housekeeper screamed. A girl was stretched on the mangle table, writhing, breasts exposed and legs bared to her hips. A gag muffled her frantic cries.

Bink shoved the candle at the housekeeper and jumped the small space, seizing the man’s collar, and tossing him back into a worktable with a loud oof. The man staggered, his breeches tangling with his legs, loose and flopping like his flagging prick.

Bink tossed laundry to the housekeeper. “Cover her, then get his lordship. He’s in the library.”

The man jerked and metal flashed. Bink dodged, just in time, a scream cutting the air. He grabbed the wrist with the knife, swept a sharp kick to a bared knee, and twisted the man round with a crack that released the knife and brought him down on his face.

He pressed a foot into the man’s kidneys and jerked the arm he still held.

“Leave off, you ox,” the man groaned.

Leave off? Bink clenched his teeth, his heart racing.

The voice was unfamiliar. This was not one of his men, not one of the Greencastle servants, or the ones from Cransdall either.

He ground his foot harder. It didn’t take much imagination to know which of the visitors he belonged to.

Images of Spain, of blood, of a woman, and then later a girl, sent his heart raging. The master might escape justice, but his man wouldn’t.

A whimper from the table brought Bink back, and he glanced up. A panting Mrs. Bradley was pulling at the girl’s bindings. She grabbed a blue garment and covered the girl with it.

The room dimmed and his chest squeezed. That was Paulette’s blue dress, the one he’d just pawed, not an hour ago, in the corridor outside her room.

Paulette.

He leaned in as the girl sat up, and breath whooshed back into his lungs.

It was Jenny, one of Lady Hackwell’s Longview girls. Not Paulette.

He dropped the arm and lifted his foot away, and hoisted the man up.

“Now there’s a sight.” Agruen growled from the doorway. “You’ve done it now, Spellen. If that flaccid thing dangling in front is your cock, no wonder you had to tie the girl up.”

Bink’s blood roared.

Before he could lash out, Hackwell pushed into the room, his gaze sweeping over the scene.

“Take care of her,” he said to the red-faced housekeeper. Then he turned his eyes on the villain. “Fasten your trousers.”

Bink checked Agruen’s man for weapons before letting him fumble with his breeches and fall. Nothing broken, nothing bruised, that Bink could see. Too bad.

Hackwell tossed a length of washing line. “Bind him. And then lock him up and set a guard.”

The girl’s gag had come off and her whimpering turned to quiet sobbing. She latched onto the housekeeper and planted her face in the woman’s bosom.

“The charge will be rape,” Hackwell said.

“Bloody bitch kicked me,” Spellen spluttered. “I never got in. And anyway she wanted it. She agreed to meet me here.”

Jenny’s head came up. “You lie,” she shouted.

“And you gagged her and tied her?” Bink growled.

“She wanted it.”

Agruen pushed forward. “Oh, come now, Hackwell, haven’t you ever heard of this game? Many women like to be tied up. Some men too.”

Bink pulled Spellen’s arms to his back, making him gasp again. “Well then, we’ll make it nice and tight so your man here enjoys it.”

Mabel’s arrival with a cup of chocolate woke Paulette. The sun shone brightly through the open curtains and shimmered off the yellow walls.

She shoved back the covers and took a sip. Chocolate was a rare treat. “Oh, this is divine. But it’s so late. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were up half the night and finally sleeping so soundly.”

“I must find—.” She bit off the next words, Mr. Gibson.

“He’s ridden for the magistrate.”

She climbed from the bed juggling her cup. Perhaps he’d found the ring and would charge Agruen with theft. “Why? What happened?”

“Well, no one is saying much, but they’re all a-whispering, and one of the maids is still abed, but no one is allowed to talk to her except the housekeeper. They’re saying she’s sick.”

“Have you seen Jenny? What does she say?”

“That good girl you had running all night with your laundry and such? I’ve not seen her either. But I heard whispers Lord Agruen’s valet is locked up in a stout shed back beyond the stables, with two of the footmen keeping watch.”

Paulette’s heart quickened and she gripped the cup tighter. His valet was locked up, and a maid abed. One didn’t have to have a governess to deduce the connection.

A dagger to the man’s privates would be the proper solution.

Mabel reached for her cup, a strand of hair peeping from under her cap. She must have had a long visit to the stables to wheedle her news.

“That was a very long whisper, I’d say. I wonder where you heard it.”

Mabel shrugged.

“Well, then,” Paulette said, “Where’s Agruen?”

“Johnny said he’s out with the other lords shooting.”

“And where’s Thomas?”

“Thomas?”

“Lord Hackwell’s brother. Did you not see him last night? A tall boy?”

“Why, in the nursery, I suppose.”

Paulette poured another cup of chocolate, and drank it down, her stomach growling. Perhaps there would still be some cold toast and bacon set out. Perhaps Lady Hackwell was in the breakfast room. Perhaps she would tell her what happened to the maid.

And perhaps she would also know when Mr. Gibson was to return.

She must try to find out without sounding too interested.

Lady Hackwell appeared for breakfast a little after Paulette. When Paulette inquired about the ill maid, Lady Hackwell sent the footman for more tea and coffee and bade him close the door. She slid her plate near Paulette’s and drew closer.

“Lord Agruen’s valet assaulted one of my maids last night.” Her voice shook and her fist tightened around her knife.

Paulette’s skin crawled. It was as bad as she had thought. The valet would be as vile as the master.

“I would be pleased if you would not mention this to anyone for the girl’s sake. We are still sorting out the facts.”

Had it been unwelcome?

“Mr. Gibson and the housekeeper discovered them. It was quite unpleasant.”

She pictured Agruen’s valet sneaking into the women’s quarters. “Oh, the poor girl.”

“Yes.”

“Was she one of yours? I mean, was she from your home in Sussex?”

“Yes. It is easy enough for a girl to succumb to a pretty face and a smooth manner.” She spread jam on her toast, the knife shaking. “But not this girl, I think, and not in these circumstances.”

Not Jenny then. The saucy, pretty girl looked to have a bit of the flirt in her. She and Mabel had quite liked her. “What will happen to her?” She’d been rescued from Agruen twice. Perhaps she could hire the girl away from the whispers and the condemnation likely to follow.

Not that she needed another maid. She could barely afford to keep Mabel.

Lady Hackwell patted her hand. “Do not worry. We do not rescue them to throw them away again after one mishap.” The door latch creaked. “I’d be pleased if you would keep this private,” she whispered.

“Of course,” Paulette said.

“Do you ride, my dear?”

“Well, I have a horse and I used to have a cart that I drove by myself, but riding, well, not often.” Only a few times in fact, when she’d straddled Horace bareback. The one time Mabel caught her, the maid had come close to an apoplexy. She set down her fork. “Actually, to be honest, one couldn’t say that I ride at all.”

Lady Hackwell laughed. “It’s time you started. Leave everything to me. If you do not mind a riding habit that’s a bit made over, well, I know just the horse for you. We’ll have you on Moonglow, the gentlest boy in our stables.”

“I believe the gentlest boy in your stables at present must be my Horace, whom Mr. Gibson rescued for me.” Paulette smiled. “Though he has never had a saddle strapped to him, so perhaps you are right.” Her cheeks heated. “Horace, I mean. In any case, it is ever so nice of you to offer, but I’m not sure I’ll be with you for very much longer.”

Lady Hackwell studied her without blinking, and her smile grew warmer. “My dear, I’m talking about this afternoon. My husband wants to take you round. Thomas will go with you—you were ever so kind to him last night, I’m afraid he’s ready to have you stay forever. And of course, we’ll send a groom along. I’d go myself except that this one—” she patted her stomach, “has started to make his or her presence known. But I have no doubt you’ll do well.”

It was Johnny, Mabel’s beau, who boosted her onto a yellow gelding and coached her on how to keep her seat and manage the horse. The heavy skirt of the sapphire blue riding garb was a devil to work with, but once arranged, it anchored her to the saddle.

Three maids had swarmed her after her breakfast, carrying the dress, tucking and pinning. They’d come back an hour later with the altered gown, and Lady Hackwell had insisted she keep it.

None of the maids had been Jenny, which seemed a bit odd. The girl had been so helpful the night before, yet…she’d not brought the soiled gown back from the laundry. She would need to have Mabel check on it.

Johnny released her and she circled the yard and brought the horse to a halt.

“That’s right, miss,” Johnny said. “You have the hang of it. Sure and you never rode before?”

She laughed and patted the horse’s neck. “Never with a saddle. And never aside. But don’t tell anyone that, Johnny.”

He pounded his heart and promised. She liked Mabel’s conquest.

“Are you coming with us today?” she asked.

“Not as I know, miss.”

Riding had her nerves jumping, and riding with Hackwell—well, he seemed a kind enough man, and certainly his wife thought so, but Mrs. Everly’s whining voice started up in her head. Unless he’s your husband, never be alone with a titled gentleman. And didn’t her experience with Agruen prove that?

Her face warmed. And then, there was the untitled gentleman who’d kissed her last night.

“Master Thomas will be along to help you, needs be,” Johnny said, smiling.

Ach, Mabel’s new man beamed a quite handsome smile. She wished she could keep him, for Mabel’s sake. “Well, then, I’ll count on Thomas hanging back to help me while his lordship rides ahead.”

Male voices drew her attention. Lord Hackwell and Mr. Gibson strode toward the stables, both in riding attire. Her heart lifted, and then a memory of the previous night’s kiss swept through her, and a furious heat overtook her.