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“Master?”
Mary was watching him with narrowed eyes, and Gabriel realized he was smiling to himself. He wiped the smile from his face, assuming a serious demeanor. “Yes, yes, I heard you. Go on. What happened when Sally told her where to find Sir James Trevalen?”
“Well, master, there and then she ordered Mr. Wonicot to saddle a horse! Of course he said that saddling horses was Coombe’s job, so she straightaway told him to fetch Coombe to do it. Well, he told her that he didn’t know where Coombe was. And do you know what she did then?”
Clearly he
was meant to guess, but Gabriel had lost what patience he had. Mary must have seen the glint in his eyes because she hastily answered her own question.
“She saddled the horse herself! That tells you she’s no lady, don’t it, Master Gabriel?”
“So where is she now…?”
“She set off to visit Sir James. We all tried to talk her into waiting for you…eh, for Coombe, to ride with her. To make it proper, like. But she wouldn’t listen to a word we said. She’s gone to tell Sir James all about the highwayman and have you…him arrested and locked up. Oh, master, what will you do?”
Her pretty, worried face might have stirred him once to gentlemanly concern, with a good dose of lust. It occurred to him that he felt neither. These days he was more interested in pocket Venuses with glossy brown curls and eyes that gazed into his with a mixture of curiosity and courage. Who would have thought it? He still didn’t understand it himself.
But now was no time to dwell on the peculiarities of his attraction for Antoinette Dupre.
“So she’s ridden off alone?” he said.
“Aye, master.” Mary waited breathlessly for his instructions, eyes bright.
“Then she’s either very brave or very foolish. Sir James is a friend of my father; he won’t take her side against me. And he despises Lord Appleby as much as we do. As long as his position isn’t compromised and he’s forced to act, then I am safe.”
He looked around for a towel, and Mary handed him one. He dried his face and hands.
“When did she set out?”
“Not long since.” Mary seemed deflated, as if he hadn’t done as she’d expected. “You could still ride after her and stop her,” she added hopefully.
Gabriel shook his head. “No point,” he said. Let her go off to Sir James and exhaust herself running around in a fruitless effort to have him arrested. It would avail her of nothing. Then, tonight, when she slept restlessly in her bed, she would receive another visit from her highwayman. If Miss Dupre thought she was getting rid of him that easily, then she was very much mistaken, and he would enjoy telling her so.
“You’re smiling again,” Mary said suspiciously. “What is there to smile about, master?”
“Nothing at all, Mary, except that the sun is shining and I am home at Wexmoor Manor, where I belong.”
She looked even more confused, but he didn’t bother to enlighten her. He was already thinking of later.
Chapter 8
The ride from Wexmoor Manor had brought a flush to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes. Antoinette was used to riding every morning at home, and she had missed the exercise while in London. Not that she was a brilliant horsewoman—Cecilia was far better—but she enjoyed being outdoors, and the time allowed her to gather her thoughts and consider what needed doing in the hours to come.
On the ride this morning she’d considered what she should say to Sir James Trevalen and how she was going to put her case. She was not foolish enough to think he would believe her when he knew nothing of her—she was certainly hoping he knew nothing of her ruined reputation, and she wasn’t going to mention it. But surely part of his responsibility as magistrate was to look into her allegations? And that might be enough to frighten off the highwayman…and Lord Appleby.
All she needed was a little time, enough to get away from here and back to London and use the information in the letter, and this might be the way to achieve it.
Sir James Trevalen’s house was smaller than Wexmoor Manor but of a similar age. Of weatherworn gray stone and lichen-tinted slate, it loomed over her as she drew up her horse at the front door, the facade only slightly softened by some carefully trimmed ivy.
“Do you have an appointment with Sir James?” The servant who opened the door looked inclined to deny her entry, but Antoinette wasn’t having it.
“No, I don’t, but he will still see me.” Antoinette, used to being obeyed, stepped boldly forward.
Chastened, the servant showed her into a sitting room while the master of the house was fetched.
A large mirror hung on the wall, reflecting her image. She noted the neat, plum-colored riding outfit, her hair smoothly coiled at her nape, and her eyes bright behind her spectacles. Her skin was flushed from the ride. She looked passable, she told herself critically, for a woman who’d barely slept. But it was as she lay tossing and turning in her bed that she’d come to her decision; that the only way to rid herself of the dangerous presence of the highwayman was to have him arrested.
And he was a danger to her. Because of whom he worked for and the hidden letter, yes, but there was more to it than that. He made her feel vulnerable in a way she’d never felt before. While he was nearby there was a very real chance she might forget the danger she was in and that he represented. That instead she would begin to remember the touch of his mouth on hers and the husky sound of his voice. She would lose her focus in the throes of more of the exquisite pleasure he’d given her last night when she’d completely lost control.
