he drawled. ‘We are.’
‘Turn around, at once.’
He shook his head. ‘Sadly, Countess, I cannot. Do not fear. We will reach our destination soon.’
Heaven help her, it seemed she’d played right into his hands. Had he decided that she had led him into an assassination and now he was planning a way to get rid of her? It seemed all too likely.
She leaned back against the squabs with a bright smile. ‘Tiens. How exciting. First we are shot at. And now it seems I have been abducted.’
To her infinite alarm, his smiled deepened.
* * *
‘Abducted?’ Gabe drawled, settling deeper into a corner. The pain from the wound in his arm throbbed dully, a grinding ache rather than the stabbing pain it had been at first. The innkeeper had been another one who had wanted to call for the doctor when he realised the bullet was still lodged in his arm. Gabe didn’t have time. Whoever had shot him would want to finish the job. He was just glad he had not told the countess where he intended to partake of breakfast. How disappointed she must be that the plan to kill him had failed. Though he had to admit she had played her part well. The surprise. The sympathy.
At least he now knew for certain she was the one Armande had warned him about.
The floating sensation in his head worried him more than the pain. It was due to a loss of blood. If she guessed at just how weak he was becoming, she’d take full advantage and have them on their way back to London in no time flat. And straight into the arms of those trying to kill him, no doubt.
Maintaining his outward calm was becoming more and more difficult as he stewed over the clever way she had lured him in. With great effort, he offered her a charming, easy smile. ‘A harsh word, don’t you think? I want to know you better, is all.’
Her eyes narrowed, a small crease forming between her dark brows making her look like an irritated kitten. This kitten had claws, as the throb in his arm testified. ‘You could do that in London, surely? Reggie will be concerned if I do not return at a reasonable hour.’ She gave an expressive shrug.
‘And to whom will Reggie run with concern?’
Her blue gaze settled sharp on his face. ‘To whom? Mrs Featherstone, naturally.’
The question played for time. Time to prepare the answer he would find acceptable. Perhaps she did not realise yet that she could not beat him at the subtle game of evasion, though of course he had not expected the truth. It amused him to put her on the spot. To see how she would handle things. Hell knew he had little else to take his mind off the pain in his arm. He kept his face pleasant and smiling and watched the mask over her expression become more pronounced. So small a change, so indefinable, if he had not expected it, he would not have seen it.
A surprising sense of disappointment hollowed his gut. What? Had he expected her to cast aside her role of seductress and trust him with her secrets? He certainly wouldn’t have done so in her place. And just because she was a woman it didn’t make her any less dangerous. It was a man’s nature to protect a female. And therein lay a man’s weakness and why she’d been sent in the first place.
He’d let down his guard and she had very nearly succeeded in getting him killed. If Bacchus had not reared at the same moment the shot was fired, she might even now be carrying his lifeless body back to London in his own curricle. He almost laughed out loud. Almost.
It was no laughing matter when England stood on the brink of disaster. Not since the Normans had a Frenchman tried to invade her soil. Even after years of war, she was a ripe and juicy plum Napoleon would love to harvest. And until as recently as last night, he’d hoped they thought of him as the key to their success. But if they were trying to do away with him—
‘Where are we going?’ Nicky asked in tones of supreme indifference. She gazed calmly out of the window as if she wasn’t taking note of their direction, but her bright gaze missed nothing.
He had to admire her lethal calm.
‘Meak.’
She blinked. Naturally, she knew about Meak. She would not be a worthy opponent if she had not looked into every corner of his life.
‘Your house in the country?’
My, but she was clever. Instead of feigning puzzlement, she coolly announced her knowledge, because she knew her face had given it away. Never had he met a woman with such savoir faire. Careful, Gabe. Admiration was akin to liking. One slip and she’d have him at her mercy. The thought riled him, yet anger did not diminish his appreciation. Or the desire thrumming along to the beat of the pulse in his arm.
‘You have heard of Meak?’ he asked casually.
‘An inheritance from a distant relative, wasn’t it? Before you came into your title.’
Meak wasn’t any great secret if one cared to ask the right questions of the right people. He stretched out his legs. ‘A very small property.’
‘And quite convenient to town.’
‘I wonder what sort of convenience you imagine?’ Indeed, his body tightened at the thought of the kind of convenience a house in the country might offer to a single gentleman. His thoughts must have shown on his face, because her smile became more sensual.
‘Why bother to go such a distance?’
No doubt she’d been expecting him to take a room at the inn. But then she didn’t know the whole story. Didn’t know how badly he was wounded. The stakes had risen by leaps and bounds. Given a choice, the last place he would have taken her was Meak. He always stayed there on his way to Cornwall. There he took a breath, shed his man-about-town persona and became himself. A point of departure to the dangerous underhanded work that would ruin him completely if it became known. Meak served as his bastion. The line of defence between the reality of the life they were about to enter and his fictional existence as an idle rake. Hopefully, whoever had sent her had not breached that particular wall. If so, he was in trouble. Which was why he could not let her go. He needed to plumb the depths of her masters’ knowledge. ‘We can be entirely private there. Alone.’ He flashed her a wicked smile.
She laughed. The warm, sultry sound of it made his groin harden. He imagined her naked on his bed. ‘How intriguing,’ she said. ‘I was told you were a shameless devil, Gabe, but I did not realise the lengths to which you would go for an afternoon seduction.’ She gave a small chuckle. ‘You underestimate your charms if you think such draconian measures are required.’
A brave player indeed. He tried to remember what that felt like. The belief. The commitment. The sureness of purpose. Risking all for the sake of an ideal. He stared into the past and with a faint sense of surprise realised he couldn’t do it. Could not recall even an ounce of the youthful zeal that had once burned so bright in his veins. First his father, then Marianne, had doused the flame, he supposed. But he had held on to his sense of duty. His knowledge of what was right kept him from falling entirely into darkness.
His eyelids drooped as if weighted. Sleep wanted to claim him. But he could not sleep yet. Not until they reached Meak and he could be sure he held her fast. Then and only then could he see to his arm properly and seek some rest.
He inclined his head. ‘You honour me,’ he said. ‘But with half the ton
