Mary picked up her sheer skirts and ran through the empty halls of Kerr House. It was muffled, but she had heard it. Gunfire.
Her lungs burned and her muscles ached with the force of her effort. She ran past several startled servants, but she did not care what they thought. Gabe was in trouble.
Please don’t let him be dead, please don’t let him be dead!
She ran through one doorway and then another, finally coming upon the door leading to the back garden. She had to slow her momentum to pull the door open. Not bothering to close it behind her, she burst through the doorway and out into the bright sunlit back gardens.
Instinct told her where to find him: the ruins. Her feet carried her between the hedgerows, between the beds of flowers, and onward. The birds chirped, the butterflies flittered, but Mary paid them no heed; she just ran.
Rounding the hedge of a maze of some sort, Mary ran directly into a large tree—oh dear. Not a tree. A man!
Her head buzzed briefly as she blinked at the solid form.
“I beg your pardon,” she said breathlessly, staring into the man’s impeccable cravat.
“Mary!”
Her startled gaze flew upward and directly into the stunning golden eyes of her friend Sir Bramwell Stevens.
“Bram! Oh heavens, did you hear it, too?”
“Yes. I was on my way to see who it was.”
Fear still gnawed its way through Mary, but an odd sense of calm stole over her at the sight of her friend. “I believe it was Gabe. I do not have the time to explain, however. I must go to the castle ruins. They’re just beyond the garden walls, on top of the hill.
Bramwell nodded.
“Do me a kindness, Bram, and have a curricle prepared for a quick departure?”
“Of course. But what of Gabe?”
“Leave that to me. Just get the curricle. Please.”
Without waiting for his response, Mary picked up her skirts and tore through the garden.
* * *
Mary was right. Gabe was wrong, and damn it, Mary was right.
Gabe let out a harsh growl, barring his teeth, as the shot grazed his leg. He exaggerated his pain, staggering on the spot before dropping to his knees, roaring at the jarring impact. “What the devil, woman?”
A bit of a performance would not only give Lady Kerr a false sense of accomplishment, but it would have the added effect of discouraging her from feeling the need to shoot him again to increase her accuracy.
Malicious delight flashed in her eyes. “Oh, I believe you understand my reasoning perfectly, Tony.”
She turned to motion to someone outside the dungeon’s door and a large footman dressed in canary yellow livery entered to place a chair in the centre of the dark, damp room.
“Have a seat, darling,” Lady Kerr said in her deceptively silken voice.
Damn. Gabe should have listened to Mary when she had expressed her suspicions about Lady Kerr. He should have been more aware of what was going on around him, more alert, more… He shook himself internally. There was no use in berating himself for not realizing the lady’s guilt. Right now, he must think of a way out of this.
Lady Kerr’s giant brute of a footman—where the devil had he come from?—lifted Gabe bodily off the ground and sat him on the thoroughly worn chair before wrenching his arms behind the backrest to trap his wrists together with chained iron manacles. The man was strong, Gabe gave him that.
The manacles were tight and effective. The brute then moved on to tie Gabe’s feet to the chair’s legs with a length of rope.
With a commanding flick of Lady Kerr’s wrist, the footman obeyed the silent command, retrieving the spent pistol from her hand and exiting, closing the dungeon door behind him. The scraping of wood against stone echoed around them, until with a final clunk, the door was shut, leaving the room entirely black.
“Mmm,” Lady Kerr’s voice rumbled sensually. “I do enjoy the darkness, but…”
Her voice trailed off as the sound of her footfalls replaced it. There was a scrape, the sound of stone striking stone, and then poof, a flame lit the end of a torch. Lady Kerr strode around the room lighting other torches with hers, before she placed it in its own ring mounted on the stone wall.
With the room brightened, it looked oddly more ominous than before. Rats skittered along the side of the walls, seeking shelter from detection, and a small heap of bones lay nestled in the corner. Lord, Gabe hoped it was an animal’s bones, deceased of natural causes.
“Now we may have a proper discussion.” Lady Kerr stood before Gabriel, her hands on her slender hips. “You must know by now who I am, and what I’ve done. But you have me at a disadvantage. Who are you?”
Gabe suppressed a smile. All at once, two things became clear. One, Lady Kerr was unquestionably a traitorous spy working for Bonaparte, and two, she hadn’t any proof of Gabriel’s identity, merely suspicion. He must be convincing as an innocent and, with luck, she would be disabused of her assumption and Gabe’s identity would remain intact.
He had endured torture before—had trained for it, as a matter of fact—and he could certainly withstand questioning from Lady Kerr. “My name is Mr. Anthony Spencer, and I—”
Crack! Her hand connected with his cheek in a surprisingly painful slap.
“Try again,” she said.
“I am Anthony Spenc—”
Crunch! Her fist connected agonizingly with his nose, the awful sound echoing in his ears, before blood began to spurt from his face. Damn, had she knocked out a tooth? Gabe ran his tongue over his teeth the metallic zing of blood consuming his mouth. They were all still there. Thank God!
“Again,” she grunted.
Gabe again suppressed his grin. Instead he swallowed his pride and released a frightened whimper. “I am the youngest son of Sir Peter Spencer. I have—”
“Argh!” With a frustrated growl, Lady Kerr stormed to the dungeon door and opened it.
She stuck her head through the opening to speak briefly with her brute.
Gabe strained against the manacles to no avail. He might be able to stand, but with his ankles bound to the chair and his wrists tied behind him, he was at such a disadvantage that he would never win in combat against this madwoman. He was well and truly caught.
The door scraped closed once more and Lady Kerr returned with a weapon in each hand. She dropped a bullwhip to the ground several feet away before advancing on him with a six inch, fearsome-looking, blade.
“I believe this clothing is in the way.”
“I rather like it,” he said.
Her face darkened as she advanced. She took the knife to his coat, slitting the sleeve from his wrist to his shoulder. Bloody hell, she must be strong!
“That was a nice coat!” he said indignantly.
Ignoring him, she slit the other sleeve and pulled the mass of wool from his person. She proceeded to remove his waistcoat, holding within it the vital documents and the hairpins that could have so helped him at this moment. That thought brought another question to mind. She had discovered him outside her husband’s study; would she not have wondered if he had taken anything from within?
Lady Kerr tossed what was left of his coat and waistcoat across the dungeon to slide along the filthy floor. With a malevolent smile on her lips she leaned over him to press a punishing kiss to his tightly closed lips.
There was so much that was fundamentally wrong with his current dire situation, but one thing was certain: Lady Kerr was an abysmal kisser. Mary was far superior.
His eyes widened. Good God, Mary!
Had she been caught as well? Did she know of his capture? How did she fare? Did she worry? Had she heard the gunshot?
Gabe felt the scrape of something sharp against the under side of his chin, dragging him forcedly from his thoughts.
She pulled away from him, his cut, bloody cravat hanging loosely from her clenched fist and her face red with his blood.
“Mmm… I love the smell of a man’s blood.”
“That came from my nose,” he grimaced.
“Delicious…”
Gabe closed his eyes against the disturbing image of Lady Kerr licking his blood from her lips. And he thought of Mary. His Mary, with long, curling auburn hair and warm, kind, shining grey eyes. Mary, with laughter that echoed gaily through a room and lightly lilting on the air, over hills and on the breeze to seep deep into his heart like a soothing balm.
Rip! Lady Kerr tore his shirt noisily from his person, a gasp of delight on her lips.
“Ooh, sweaty, bloody, and half nude. Precisely how I like to conduct my little experiments.”
Mary, Gabe kept his eyes shut and thought of her. Mary, who played with him as a child, shared his secrets, commiserated with his pitiful woes, and always waited for him when he was away at school.
He felt Lady Kerr drift away from him, but he kept his eyes shut.
Mary, who always looked so pretty in the dresses her mother would make for her but Gabe was too afraid to compliment.
Snap! Gabe’s eyes squeezed tighter and he released a roar of pain as the tip of Lady Kerr’s bullwhip connected with his bared chest, slicing through the thick skin there.
Mary! His mind cried. Mary, who danced like a siren calling to sailors and kissed like a goddess personified. Mary, who made him feel things that he had never before experienced and had not the faintest idea how to put into words.
“Who are you?” Lady Kerr shouted at him.
He opened his eyes to gaze at Lady Kerr. How could any man find her even mildly attractive? Her dark eyes were filled only with malice, her brow marred with deep scowl lines…and her heart was shrivelled and blackened from the hellfire burning inside her. How long had she been dead inside, he wondered? And how had he not noticed it before?
“My name is Anthony Spencer, my la—”
He broke off as she swung her arm up, the bullwhip arching high into the air, and the expression of pure evil etched on her features.
Gabriel shut his eyes as the crack rent the air and the tip of the bullwhip made yet another slice through the flesh of his chest. Gabe roared.
Mary, he repeated the litany in his mind. Mary who had put her trust in him, who had offered him her body, which he had so foolishly refused. Bloody hell was he ever a fool! When he found a way to escape the vile Evelyn, Lady Kerr, Gabe would make it his duty to beg Mary’s forgiveness and take her… Take her, tup her, make love to her, God, he would make her moan and scream with delight and beg for more. And he would delight in giving her precisely what she asked for. Repeatedly. For countless nights and eternal days for the rest of their lives if necessary.
Thud. Gabe grunted as the lady’s small fist connected with his cheek. When had she abandoned the whip? His eyes snapped open. He could feel his face swell from each hit, each slap as her merciless attack continued.
Gabe groaned and cried out with each hit, though his reactions were mostly exaggerated. While the woman was persistent and eager, she lacked the strength and imagination to do him lasting harm—unless she decided to put her weaponry to use once again. Her attack was still painful, however, and with continued hits, Gabe could be in great danger of serious injury…or losing his life.
Finally, she stepped back to gaze at the result of her fine, ruthless progress of mauling him. She smiled foully, apparently pleased. Gabe felt ill.
The door scraped open on creaky hinges, garnering his and Lady Kerr’s attention, and in strode Mary, as though jumping from his thoughts and into flesh and blood. His heart leapt. Mary’s hair hung loosely around her shoulders and waist and she wore—bloody, bloody hell, what is she wearing?
Gabe nearly swallowed his tongue. Mary wore virtually nothing on her upper body; only a thin layer of sheer material stretched from her shoulders to just under her nearly nude, pert breasts. Each dusky nipple strained against the transparent gauzy fabric. Her arms were draped with the same material to tighten at the cuffs at her wrists. Her midriff was entirely bare; the soft skin of her pale belly veritably calling out to be licked. Her layered skirts flowed to the floor, but—good God!—they had a slit going from bottom to high on her thigh, just begging to be spread wide so one might sample what lay beneath.
Mary’s lips curled back in an aroused grin as she placed her hands on her waist, deliberately displaying her flagrantly exposed figure. She cocked one hip, allowing her belt of shining coins and bells to jingle.
Despite himself, Gabe’s cock twitched.
“Oh yes,” she lowered her voice to a husky thrum. “Please tell me I can join in this erotic game.”
What the devil?
Mary walked toward him, her hips swaying deliciously with each step.
Apparently, Lady Kerr was stunned into silence, for she simply stood back and watched as Mary halted before Gabe. He looked up into her bright, grey eyes, wishing he could tell her just how sorry he was for what he had done and how he had treated her.
Lady Kerr, having suddenly realized the dangers of having the two of them so close, called out, “Guard!”
Crack! Gabe grunted in shock.
He blinked his swelling eyelids rapidly to clear the stars from his vision, then stared disbelievingly at Mary’s impassioned features. “You struck me!”
Her eyes rolled back as she shut them in an aroused expression that entirely confused Gabe. What was she doing?
“Oh yes,” Mary moaned, earning another twitch for his still-eager member.
“Hit him again,” Lady Kerr called. Apparently having decided that she could handle them on her own, she flicked her wrist to send her man away.
Mary wound her hand back and slapped him again, so much harder than Lady Kerr had. Gabe groaned as more stars danced before his eyes. The woman was going to knock him senseless!
With an aroused, yet slightly malicious grin, the likes of which Gabe had never seen grace her perfect, full lips, Mary very slowly rounded the chair. Once. Twice. Then halted at his back.
Her nails scraped his scalp as she fisted her fingers tightly in his hair. Gabe grimaced as she yanked his head backwards to hit the back of the chair. She pressed her lips to his ear.
“You’ve been naughty, yes?”
“N—no,” he stammered.
She tightened her grip on his hair and thunked his head against the chair’s back again for emphasis. “You have been naughty. You began this little game with Lady Kerr and you didn’t invite me…”
Gabe felt something slide into his palm while she spoke. Oh, the sly woman. The genius! Of course his Mary would think to do something like this. But blast it, did she have to hit him so hard?
“You naughty, wicked boy, playing with the other girls and not with me.”