Having given Gabriel her concealed hairpins, Mary released his hair.
Slowly, sensually, with hips swaying, she made her way to his front once more. Every moment that Lady Kerr allowed her to take control of this “erotic game” was one more moment that Gabe had to try to free himself.
Please let this work!
“I do so adore how you play with your toys, Miss White,” Lady Kerr stepped forward to halt at Mary’s side. “I commend you on your abilities.”
Swallowing the bile that rose into her throat, Mary turned to Lady Kerr. “Why thank you, your ladyship. I am a quick study. To be shamefully honest, I…rather relished it.”
Lady Kerr gestured toward Gabe. “Then please, continue.”
Mary turned toward Gabe, prepared to deal another blow. But the look in his eyes stopped her. He blinked once, then looked to one side of the room. Mary understood his signal; he had picked the lock of the manacles and wanted her to move out of the way.
She winked her comprehension. In the appearance of rounding behind him again in order to “play” with him, Mary stopped behind the chair.
The moment she had repositioned herself, Gabe surged upward in a motion shocking for someone who had been as sorely abused as he had, and in one swift motion, shoved Lady Kerr with both hands, one cuff of the manacles still fastened around one wrist. Lady Kerr fell over backwards, screaming on her way down and landing firmly on her bottom, the back of her head thudding dispassionately on the hard surface of the floor and knocking her unconscious.
Gabe wavered on his feet before crouching down to untie the ropes at his ankles.
Despite vehemently despising Lady Kerr, Mary hurried to her side and checked for her pulse. Thump-thump, thump-thump. She was alive, most assuredly.
The door scraped open and the large footman rushed inside, apparently having heard their lady’s shout of distress.
Gabe leapt forward, prepared to combat the man. Mary was amazed that his injuries did not appear to hinder him. His face, chest, and one side of one thigh were soaked in blood, and the flesh of his face had begun to swell.
With a bounce to his step, Gabe bounded toward the man and punched him square in the jaw. The footman howled and doubled over, giving Gabe an opening to jump on the man’s back, grasping the chain for his half-opened manacles with his other hand and pulling tightly against the man’s neck.
Thinking quickly, Mary retrieved the length of rope that had been used to tie Gabe’s ankles to the chair, rolled Lady Kerr to her side, and bound the lady’s wrists together. Just as she made the final tug, two meaty hands encircled her neck and pulled her to her feet.
With a strangled gasp and panic leaping through her breast, Mary used one hand to pull at the man’s fingers, and the other to reach behind her head. She scratched his cheek and made contact with one of his eyes, and he grunted in response.
“Goddamned beast!” Gabriel growled. “Won’t bloody well lose consciousness.”
The footman thrashed, knocking Mary off-balance.
Gabe roared in frustration. “That’s enough!”
There was the clink of a chain, a gasp, and a loud thunk, and Mary was released. She stumbled forward and spun around, holding her throat and pulling in deep, relieved breaths.
With a vacant expression, the guard slowly tipped sideways until he fell to the ground with a solid thud, Gabe standing over him with his manacles fisted in one hand.
“Are you well?” Gabe asked, stepping toward Mary. “Did he hurt you terribly?”
She rubbed at her neck, where the guard’s painful grip had been only moments before. While it still stung, Mary didn’t believe that a dreadful amount of damage had been done. “I am well,” she said, her voice turned gruff.
Eager to be on their way, Mary bent to check for the guard’s pulse.
“Have I killed him?” Gabe sounded entirely too fervent.
“No,” Mary croaked, rising. “We had best make our escape quickly.”
“Just a moment.” Gabe stopped her as she stepped toward the door.
Mary looked back at him and patiently waited as he used her hairpins to unlock his second wrist from the manacles.
“That was very dangerous what you did, bursting in like you did,” he said with his face turned down as he focused on his task.
Mary’s brow drew together in a puzzled frown. “I beg your pardon?” Gratefully, her voice was beginning to return to normal.
He jerked his head toward the man on the ground. “That guard is enormous, he could have hurt you in any number of ways.”
“Worried about me?” Mary smiled. “I assure you, I can handle myself around men, Gabriel.”
“You had better hope so, coming in here dressed like…” he nodded at her attire before tossing his manacles to the floor and rubbing his wrist, “well, like a harlot.”
The warmth that had begun to spread through her chest fled swiftly to be replaced by an ever-familiar aching pain.
She opened her mouth to utter a harsh rebuttal, but snapped it shut, glancing toward the rough stone floor. What was the point in arguing when he was so absolute in his low opinion of her? Embarrassment of the previous night flooded her once more and she forced it aside. Now was decidedly not the time.
“Come, we must make our escape before they awaken.” She shook her head at him. “And for heaven’s sake we must clean and bind those wounds before you get infection.”
Mary turned toward the dungeon door.
Gabe caught her arm. “Mary…”
She turned to gaze at him questioningly.
“I apologize. It was wrong of me to say that you looked like a harlot. You saved my life, and deserve appreciation and respect, not disparagement.” He shifted his feet, discomfited.
Her heart lurched in her chest and Mary swallowed past the unexpected lump in her throat. “While I appreciate your sudden attack of conscience, Gabriel, now is certainly not the time to discuss it. In fact, if we dally any longer we are likely to be killed.”
Mary cursed her unavoidable chin quiver as she made her way to the dungeon’s door. Damn Gabriel Ashley and his ability to make her feel so many dratted emotions all at once.
* * *
Gabe watched as Mary strode purposefully toward the dungeon door, her chin quivering, and the ill feeling in his chest spread at an alarming pace.
He had hurt her. He hated that he hurt her. But confound it, she was right; now was most decidedly not the time to discuss it.
He bent to retrieve his destroyed waistcoat, and within it the vital code deciphers, maps, and documents outlining stratagems.
They stepped out onto the cool, dingy landing of the stairwell and Mary hurried past him to close the dungeon’s door behind them.
“Lock it, if you will,” she said.
With a nod of comprehension, Gabe turned and, using Mary’s hairpins, slid the lock into place.
Someone would eventually come looking for them, but for the moment, they needed as much time as they could get to make good their escape.
Gabe took the first step of the dungeon’s stairs and grit his teeth at the jolt of pain in his thigh.
Mary cringed as she looked at his bleeding leg. “Are you well enough to run, do you suppose?”
He gave her a half grin, the metallic zing of his blood still filling his mouth. “My injuries are not half as bad as they appear. My chest and face sting, I will grant you, but I am entirely capable of running.”
With a curt nod, Mary turned on her heel, picked up her skirts, and sprinted up the jagged stone staircase. She paused half way up to retrieve something that had presumably fallen, then continued on her way.
Anxious to be on his way, Gabe followed.
* * *
The dash to Kerr House had not been as painful as Gabe had initially feared. Lady Kerr was either inexperienced in inflicting true pain, or she had merely intended to begin with minimal torture. Regardless of the reasoning, Gabe was grateful for his mobility and lack of serious wounds.
In fact, what pained him the most was his chest…and not the injuries upon it.
Sir Bramwell Stevens’ words came back to haunt him. “I’ve seen the way you treat her, as though she is incapable of making her own decisions or of conducting her life in a manner of her choosing… You constantly berate her for being an actress. Not once have you congratulated her on a job well done. Not once have you encouraged her.”
The sun shone down hotly on his back as they snuck through the gardens of Kerr House. They hid behind shrubberies and slunk around hedges when they heard a servant, a guest, or gardeners nearby, each pause in their flight giving them further reason for concern.
“Mary,” he whispered as they ducked behind a rosebush.
“Shh!” She frowned at him.
His conscience gnawed at him. He must get this out now. “Mary!” he hissed.
She pressed her index finger against her lips in a gesture for silence.
“I am sorry, Mar—”
“Not now, Gabe,” she whispered in return before scurrying along the trellis and into the recessed doorway leading into the back parlour.
“I must speak to you.” He followed her into the doorway.
Ignoring him entirely, she pressed a hand to the glass of the French-style door and looked within.
“Mary…”
Her head shot around as she pinned him with a fierce glare. “Shh!”
He missed her playfulness. Yes, they were attempting to make their escape from an estate full of traitors who would all most assuredly kill them on the spot if they knew who they truly were, but the Mary he had once known would have found humour in their current circumstance. He, half nude and bleeding, her in a scanty costume, her breasts all but entirely nude, crouching and scurrying through the garden… In all probability, if they were spotted they would be branded insane and thrown in Bedlam.
He must have laughed, for Mary stared at him wide-eyed and angry. “Shh!”
She put her hand to the latch on the French doors and pressed. The doors swung open on silent hinges and they both slipped into the nauseatingly pink floral parlour.
The house was abuzz with activity, but gratefully none of it was in the parlour. Pots banged and dishes clanged in the kitchens, the sound echoing through the halls.
There was no hiding his state of dress, but Gabe straightened his shoulders and wore his blood with pride as they strode through the corridors to their guest bedchamber. Good fortune was with them, and nary a single person saw them en-route.
Gabe and Mary both released a sigh of relief as the door closed and locked behind them. The room was bright—and still so startlingly puce—and the air was warm from the low burning fire.
Mary turned to face him, tossing a dark green clump of fabric to the ground. It must be the clearly missing portion of her costume. “You dolt!”
“I beg your pardon?”
She huffed an exasperated breath at him then turned to retrieve her trunks from beneath the bed. “You are silent all across the hills and fields until the precise moment that we needed to be silent. Then, of course you decide it’s the perfect opportunity for you to strike up a conversation with me.”
Gabe found his own trunk that he’d packed that morning, and placed it atop the bed, flipping open the lid. “I meant to apologize, Mary,” he said defensively. “You did an admirable job of rescuing me, as difficult as it is to admit to requiring a rescue.”
He carefully removed the documents from his balled waistcoat pocket and gently placed them in the hidden compartment at the bottom of his trunk.
She released a barked laugh of true mirth. “Ha! I slapped you, Gabe. I pulled your hair and beat you. You believe that to be admirable?”
The corner of his split and bleeding mouth curved up in a grin. “I admit that you could have been a little lighter with your abuse, but such a display in that particular circumstance was necessary. Unfortunately. You did precisely what was required of you in order to gain my freedom. You could easily have barged in with guns held high and killed the lot of them, but it would have blown your cover and ruined our chance to discover who their contact is. This way, you maintained the illusion of your innocence, which will benefit you later.”
Mary demurely nodded her head as she fastened the buckles of her trunks. “Thank you for saying that, Gabe.”
He was momentarily distracted by the gentle sway of her breasts as she tugged on the leather straps.
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you ought to change…”
She looked down at herself and laughed. “Oh, yes. Of course.”
Mary fled behind the privacy screen and Gabe released a breath in a silent whoosh. His conscience had been weighing on him and he felt lighter after having apologized.
He quickly strode to the washbasin and splashed some cool water over a washcloth and began to wipe himself down. He had just completed washing the blood off his face when a thought struck him.
“If we are somehow successful in reaching the stables without being caught, how do you suppose we commandeer a carriage without the stable boys knowing? And the servants? The guests?” He shook his head. “Damn it, Mary, we may have to leave on foot. We would never make it off the front drive before we are caught, drawn, and quartered.”
Her lilting laughter came from behind the screen, as well as a grunt and the shifting of fabric. “I have taken the liberty of arranging a curricle prepared.”
“But—” Gabe straightened, water dripping from his swollen chin. “How did you—?”
“Stevens.”
“Ah. But where are we to put our trunks? Curricles are not equipped with—”
“There are newer models, I assure you, that have compartments in the back for smaller trunks. If Lord and Lady Kerr do not have the newest model, we will simply have to put them by our feet or sit atop them. Come, Gabriel, use your imagination.”
He nodded in silent agreement and continued to clean his wounds. He would have to strip the cloth from the bed in order to bind his wounds, but such was fine with him, as he would not have to wait long before they reached an inn, where he could dress his wounds properly.