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Suspicious, alert for danger, she made her way across the clearing. The cottage wasn’t as decrepit as it first appeared. Someone had cleared away the weeds from in front of the doorway, leaving just enough of the tangled mess to disguise the fact, and those panes of glass that hadn’t been broken were sparkling clean. The cottage might appear deserted but it was just a disguise.
A disguise such as the clever highwayman might devise.
Antoinette pushed at the solid old door and found it unlatched. It swung open without a creak, and she stepped inside the mysterious cottage, blinking against the gloom, her shoes barely audible on the stone floor. Dust motes danced in the wedge of light from the doorway, and she could see a table and a couple of chairs and a dresser filled with old crockery. The scent of herbs filled the air, old but still powerful, as if whoever once lived here had surrounded himself with aromatic plants.
Fascinated, forgetting caution, Antoinette took another step inside.
There was a noise behind her from the doorway—a footstep—and then a strong pair of arms came about her, pulling her back against a broad chest, and a familiar voice whispered in her ear.
“Little sparrow…”
Gabriel felt her jump, her body tensing. She tried to break free and run but he held her fast against him, enjoying the sensation of soft, warm, female flesh. Lucky, he thought, he had caught sight of her through the trees as he was heading home. He had his mask with him, and the visit to Sir James had ensured he was not wearing his Coombe clothes, so there was nothing to connect him to the smelly groom.
But as much as he was enjoying holding her, the fact that she was here, poking about where she had no right to be, irritated him. He hadn’t known she was aware of the cottage in the woods, and he was certain no one had mentioned it to her. Now that she had discovered his hideaway she would broadcast it far and wide, demanding he be arrested, putting Sir James Trevalen into a difficult position. He’d have to leave and find somewhere else, and he didn’t want to. Between Antoinette and Appleby, he was being driven from his rightful home.
“Do you know what happens to curious little sparrows?” he said in a low, menacing voice.
“No, what happens to curious little sparrows?” she said in a voice that strove to be calm, but he could hear the tremor in it.
“They are locked up in cages.” He lifted her feet off the floor and swung her around once, hearing her gasp of surprise. Her fingers clung to his arms where they were folded about her waist, her nails digging into the sleeves of his jacket.
“Let me go,” she said.
“This time it’s you who are trespassing,” he mocked, and spun her around again, her skirts belling out around them.
She gave a squeal, kicking her feet, and clinging harder.
Gabriel sighed and set her feet back down on the floor, but he didn’t release her. He didn’t want her fear. He wasn’t the sort of man who found pleasure in making others afraid of him. Instead he rested his chin lightly on top of her crown, once more enjoying her scent and the feel of her soft body nestled against him. Desire shot through him and as if it had a life of its own, his cock twitched and hardened. Frustratingly, he was back to feeling just as desperate as he had last time they were together.
“Antoinette…” Gabriel groaned softly.
She tried to turn her head to see him, and when he wouldn’t let her she grew impatient. “Are you injured?” she demanded. “Has someone shot you while you were robbing his coach? I should say it serves you right but…”
“But?” he repeated huskily, more interested in her curves and the way in which they seemed to fit to his harder, tougher body so perfectly.
“But I don’t enjoy bloodshed, even when the blood is yours.”
Gabriel opened his mouth to tell her that she needn’t worry, he was perfectly well, and then he changed his mind. There was concern in her voice, a sharp note of worry that hadn’t been there before. If he was as lacking in conscience as she thought, then he’d use this chance to punish her for finding his hiding place.
Only he couldn’t do that…could he…?
Gabriel staggered slightly, leaning his weight heavily on her. She gasped, turning in his arms and trying to support him. Her face was turned up to his, and he could see the darkening of her eyes as she searched for signs of an injury.
“Sit down,” she urged. “I can’t hold you; you’re too big.”
Gabriel was wearing his mask and there was nothing about him to hint at his true identity, even if she did know who Gabriel Langley was
. With a wince for good effect he let her help him to the wooden chair by the table and sank gratefully into it.
“Thank you,” he gasped. “I wouldn’t blame you if you walked out and left me.”
“I won’t do that.”
Through the slits in his mask he watched her, her expression a mixture of worry and doubt. She was wearing her spectacles—who would have thought those little round pieces of glass could make him feel so hot?—and wild tendrils of her hair framed her face. The bottom half of her long skirt was filthy, and there was a tear where the cloth had caught on something sharp.
Gabriel didn’t know why he thought her perfect when she was obviously far from it. But he did.
“I’ve behaved very badly toward you,” he said, with a shudder.
