Gabe adjusted his seat in the stiff driver’s perch of Hydra’s carriage. He hated being the one sitting outside waiting for the others to complete an assignment. He saw the reasoning in it, he supposed, but it grated nonetheless.
The other coachmen sat about, either imbibing in a hidden stash of liquor or sleeping on their perches. Gabe, however, thought. About Mary. He thought about Mary and her flowing auburn hair and soft grey eyes, about the way her lips perked when she was lost in thought, of how she moved when she walked, the slide of her hair between his fingers, her pert, delicious breasts…
The very startling thought of what their children would look like crossed his mind. Would they have her features, or would they favour him? Or, perhaps, would they be a little of both; curling auburn hair with blue eyes, or straight brown hair with…
Gabe sat bolt upright, alarm buzzing through him. His heart began to thump wildly in his chest and his eyes grew wide.
Children! He dropped his head in his hands as countless curses and admonishments flowed through his mind. He’d had his share of lovers before, but he’d always used French Letters to protect against conceiving with them. Why the bloody hell had he forgotten with Mary?
His fists clenched, pulling at his hair. Children. With Mary! My God, how had he not thought of this before? Hell, he could have withdrawn and spilled his seed in a cloth or on her abdomen. What was the matter with him? Mary could, at this very moment, be carrying his child. And, damn it, she was inside among dangerous traitors while he was ordered to sit out here and wait for her!
Gabe’s gut knotted and his skin tingled. He couldn’t sit there any longer. He must find out if she was well, to the devil with his post.
Without a second thought, Gabe leapt from his perch and darted down the side of Maison Sheffield. He glanced in windows, looking for Mary, but couldn’t find her. Slinking onto the portico, Gabe avoided detection from the merry dancers within the ballroom.
A faint scream rent the air and Gabe straightened once more. Mary?
It was covered by ruckus laughter coming from the ball, but he knew for certain that that scream had come from the gardens. And he ran. Not caring about the shrubberies tugging at his stockings and breeches, or what he crushed, Gabe dashed hell-bent through the gardens.
He thought he heard someone call Mary’s name, and it drove him faster.
Passing the last of the torches, he went directly into the darkness. He rounded a hedge, and his heart stopped. Mary was covered in blood, her gown torn, and she was battling against Boxton.
Giving himself nary a second to think, Gabe withdrew his pistol, aimed it at Boxton’s shoulder, and pulled the trigger.
* * *
Mary gasped, her heart leaping to her throat and her ears ringing at the deafening din of two pistols being discharged.
She spun to see two of her favourite men standing behind her.
Sir Bramwell Stevens stood with her spent pistol in his hand, his eyes cold with lethal intent as he gazed at Boxton through the smoke coming from the barrel.
“You shot me!” Boxton sat on the ground with one hand over his stomach, and the other on his shoulder. “You’re a bloody servant and you shot me! And you!” he spat at Gabriel. “I knew there was something wrong about you, Spencer.”
“Mary!” Gabe tossed his spent pistol to the ground and rushed to her side. “Mary… My God, wha’ happened te ye? What did the bloody bastard do?”
“Mary,” Stevens said. His customary charming and affable nature had been replaced by single-minded, deadliness. “Are you well, Mary?”
She blinked, bemused. “No,” she admitted. “Once I bathe and dress my wounds I will be a sight better, I believe.”
She could see Bram’s jaw clench even in the darkness of night.
“Do you require assistance to walk?” Gabe asked.
She shook her head and he nodded in understanding.
“Gabriel, return her to the carriage,” Stevens growled bluntly.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
His dark, golden gaze flicked to her then returned to Boxton. “What I should have done long ago…after this bastard abused Anna so.”
Mary had heard about Hydra’s sister, Lady Devon, Annabel Mason, née Bradley, and how Lord Boxton had courted her, which had proceeded poorly, indeed.
“Annabel? What has she to do with this?” Boxton cried. “Who are you?”
Stevens raised an eyebrow at Mary. “Return to the carriage and drive home. You require a doctor.” He stealthily removed a blade from his stocking. “I will take care of things here.”
With a jerky nod, Mary leaned on Gabriel as he helped her to her feet. Her torn gown caught beneath her heel, forcing her briefly to the ground once more. Gabe cursed soundly and bent to lift her bodily in his arms. She thought to fight him, but it felt rather wonderful to be carried by Gabriel.
With his lips thinned in anger, Gabe marched through the gardens, the sound of Boxton’s snivelling following their retreat. Mary put her head to Gabe’s chest, trying to outrun the villain’s cries, the cool night air chilling her teeth as she gasped for breath.
A garbled, hoarse shout came from the gardens and an involuntary whimper escaped Mary.
He looked down at her her, his blue gaze clouded with fury.
“I knew this assignment was too dangerous fer ye on yer own! Ye shouldnae have been here without me. I should have been there, Mary.”
She winced. “Now is not the time to quibble, Gabe. Take me home.”
* * *
“Aye, lass.” Gabe’s gut knotted sickeningly as he carefully carried Mary to the carriage.
How could he have allowed this to happen? Mary was a right mess, covered in blood from head to foot, her dress torn, hair in shambles… Damn!
“Are ye well, Mary?”
“In pain,” she murmured against the front of his coat. “But well enough, I suppose.”
“Ye should nae have accepted tha’ assignment.”
“I did my job, Gabe, and despite the potential for injury, I like my job.”
The twisting in his stomach intensified. “I ken, Mary. I donnae like it, but I ken.”
They reached the carriage and Gabe gently placed her in it, leaning her against the squabs. He hesitated to leave her there alone. What if they hit a rut and she was jostled?
“I will be fine, Gabe. They are minor injuries.”
He shook his head. She claimed they were minor, but he could see the bruises already forming on her upper arms, cheeks, and… Nae! There was a severe bruise forming under the red ring around her neck. The devil had choked her! With her own curst scarf!
Aghast, Gabe climbed in the carriage to sit beside her, and pressed his fingertips to her neck.
“Aye,” he mumbled. “He strangled ye.”
His gaze lowered to settle angrily on the blood-soaked injury in the flesh between her shoulder and neck, and his jaw clenched. “Nae. Oh, nae, Mary. Donnae tell me tha’ he bit ye!” He touched his finger near the marks to closer examine them.
With a feral growl, he withdrew an unspent pistol from his coat pocket and leapt from the carriage.
“Gabe!” Mary called hoarsely after him and he stopped.
“Donnae try te stop me, Mary. That devil must pay fer wha’ he’s done te ye.”
“Stevens is handling it,” she reminded him.
Gabe’s chest rose and fell with his furious breaths. How could a man—any man—do such a thing to a woman?
“Take me home, Gabe. I must change before the rendezvous.”
“Ye are nae going te the—”
“Gabe,” she whispered. “We will discuss it later. In fact, there is much more that I must tell you, but not now! Take me home.”
He sighed, only barely keeping his sudden rage under control. “Verra well, Mary. But I am nae pleased aboot it.”
* * *
Mary hissed a breath between her teeth as they rounded a sharp turn. She had not been injured severely, but her body felt battered and bruised, particularly from her fall to the ground. Of course, Boxton’s bite was rather painful, as well. She was simply grateful that she was still able to speak. Granted, she was a mite hoarse…but she was still able to speak.
She wondered what Stevens had done with Boxton. Had he taken him to gaol? Beaten him? Killed him? She supposed she would find out soon enough.
Gabe sped the horses along the lantern-lit, busy streets, weaving between angry riders and cursing coachmen.
Finally, they made the last turn onto the safe house’s street, and Mary released a relieved sigh. She was nigh desperate to change out of her torn, bloodstained gown, corset, and chemise. She looked down at herself. Indeed, Boxton’s bloody fingerprints marred her underclothes.
How abhorrent. She would have to burn them all.
The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the safe house and rocked as Gabe stepped down from his perch. The door swung open and Gabe’s arms reached inside.
“I am able to walk on my own, Gabe. You needn’t—”
“I donnae care if ye say ye are able, Mary. I will carry ye up those steps and into yer room.”
She sighed. He was very determined and, this once, she would oblige him. When she divested herself of her bloodstained frock and cleaned her wounds, he would see that she was more than capable of moving unaided. On the morrow, however, she would likely be very sore.
Gabe gathered her in his arms and Mary was again swept away by his clean, fresh scent, his warmth, and his sheer brawn. To be able to lift her bodily in his arms without any strain… She had to keep herself from sighing aloud.
Swinging the front door open, he carried her over the threshold, then kicked the door closed behind them. She could tell that he was being careful not to jostle her as they crossed the foyer and ascended the stairs.
The home was quiet, as most of the customary inhabitants were on assignment, and those that remained were either in their sickbeds, recovering from injury, or likely training.
They arrived at her guest bedchamber, and Gabe pressed his hand—while still holding her in his arms—to the latch, but he hesitated.
“Mary?” he said in hushed tones. “Did ye lock th’ door when ye left?”
“No, but—”
“Were all the suspects at the ball?”
Her eyes grew wide as she returned Gabe’s fearful gaze. “Lord Kerr said that Lady Kerr was detained by appointments or some such thing.” She licked at the dried blood on her cracked lip. “You do not suppose…”
They both looked in suspicion at the door and Gabe slowly lowered Mary’s feet to the ground. He pressed his index finger to his lips in a signal for silence.
Gabe withdrew his pistol and slowly pressed the door’s latch, careful not to make a sound as it opened. Mary watched with bated breath as the door swung wide.
He motioned Mary to remain where she was, to which she soundlessly scoffed, removing her dagger once more from its sheath at her thigh. Did he truly believe she would miss an opportunity to catch an intruder in her bedchamber? In the safe house, of all places?
Signalling his intent to enter, Gabe eyed her for a response. Mary nodded.
He saw the intruder first, aiming his pistol at the shadowy mass sitting in Mary’s armchair. Mary lifted her dagger, ready to throw.
“Stand up and show yourself,” Gabe shouted in his practiced English accent.
“Come off it, Gabe,” a decidedly familiar voice said.
With a sigh, Gabe lowered his weapon and returned it to the holster hidden beneath his coat. “Bloody hell, Colin. I nearly shot you!”
Mary lowered her arm and slid her dagger back into its sheath, immense relief flowing through her. They could certainly use more help.
“But you didn’t,” Colin Greene drawled. “And for that I thank you.”
“What the devil are you doing in Mary’s room? Were you looking for me?” Gabe asked, striding toward the fireplace.
Mary closed her bedchamber door and slid the latch.
“Actually, I was looking for Mary.”
Through the darkness, she could see Gabe’s back tense.
“Well, you’ve found me.” Mary said, her voice hoarse.
A flare of light lit the room as Gabe ignited the coals in the hearth.
“Mary?” Colin turned his gaze fully on Mary and released a gasp of dismay as he surged to his feet. “Sweet, merciful Lord in Heaven! Mary! What happened to you? Are you well?”
“I am well enough, Greene.”
Gabe went about lighting candles around them, lending a glow to the room. As the sitting room got brighter, Colin’s features grew increasingly horrorstruck.
“Who did this to you?” he said, aghast. “We must alert Hydra at once!”
She shrugged her uninjured shoulder. “The man’s been taken care of, and Hydra knows that I was on assignment. I am afraid that cannot sit to discuss it at the moment, for I must change and ready myself for the rendezvous—”
“Ye willnae come with me, Mary,” Gabe interjected. “It is too dangerous, and yer already injured.”
She wheeled on him. “You are injured too, Gabriel! I was there, I saw what she did to you! Is it any wonder you’ve gone purple and green?” She huffed a frustrated breath. Why would he not listen to her? “Stevens has taken care of Boxton,” she continued, “that could pose a problem for the rendezvous. I must dress and prepare myself for any eventuality. We are wasting valuable time disputing the matter! The assignment is incomplete, and both of us are at risk. I must follow through.”
He gazed at her in silence for several moments, the muscle in his jaw jumping. “Dress yerself,” he finally grunted.
She flashed him a big smile and swept to her wardrobe to withdraw her nighttime sneak-work frock. With one last grin at Gabe and Greene, she dashed behind the privacy screen.