far too fast. Because of the shot? Or was it the idea of being alone with him? It could not possibly be the latter.
‘I’m glad you approve,’ he murmured, pulling out her chair and seating her.
‘Coffee or wine, my lady? My lord?’ asked the waiter.
‘Coffee, please.’ She had the feeling she needed her wits about her.
‘For me too,’ Gabe said. ‘Thank you. If you will excuse me for a moment or two, Nicky, I’ll have my host make a better job of this bandage and be right back.’
She nodded her assent.
The waiter poured their coffee and placed several dishes on the table. Coddled eggs, rashers of bacon, slices of ham, toast, preserves and fruit.
‘I hope you are hungry,’ Gabe said, returning and giving her a charming smile as he sat down, no longer sporting the handkerchief around his upper arm. The innkeeper must have bandaged it properly.
‘Starving. Riding first thing in the morning always leaves me sharp set.’
‘Me too.’
‘How is your arm?’
‘As I said, it’s merely a scratch.’ He looked down with a frown. ‘Ruined one of my favourite coats, though. For that he ought to be horsewhipped.’
Bluster. Nicky laughed. ‘No doubt he went home with a couple of good rabbits to fill his stewpot.’
He picked up his coffee cup. ‘Here’s good luck to him, then.’
They tucked into the food and it was a good few minutes until they sat back in their chairs and sipped at their coffee. He was watching her again. Over the rim of his cup. Intently. As if considering his next move. Prickles of warning raced across her shoulders. If she had thought him dangerous when he played the charming rogue, she now thought him terrifying. She stiffened her spine against a surge of anxiety.
If he was what she suspected, he would pounce on any sign of weakness. She needed a distraction. She remembered their wager. ‘I suppose it is time to pay the piper?’ Once more she held out her hand, palm up.
He leaned forward, his eyes glittering with a kind of wildness she hadn’t seen in him before. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said with an undertone of menace she couldn’t quite fathom. ‘The wager.’ But he made no attempt to take her hand. He just smiled, a baring of teeth that was almost a grimace. ‘You do it.’
She fumbled with the button, the leather loop making it difficult. The gloves had been made to fit tight around her fingers and the leather was whisper-thin, like a second skin. The button slipped free. She drew the glove off and held it out to him. When he didn’t take it, she set it beside his plate.
He glanced down at it. ‘You have small hands, Countess.’
She trilled an easy laugh, thankfully back on the ground she knew. ‘And tiny feet.’ She lifted the edge of her skirt and looking down, circled one foot in its riding boot.
‘Delicious,’ he murmured silkily.
She glanced up at his face. The devil-may-care rogue was back. The blue eyes crinkling at the corners, his posture relaxed and easy. He picked up the glove and tucked it inside his coat. Next to his heart. A small ache in her chest made her draw in a breath of surprise she hoped he hadn’t heard.
‘I am sorry our ride was cut short in so ugly a way,’ he said.
She smiled, reassuring, as careless as he. ‘No harm done, my lord. And I enjoyed our race. It is a long time since I galloped ventre à terre.’
‘Something you did in Paris?’
What would he think if he knew she had never been to Paris? ‘Certainly not. Only in the countryside around my home.’
‘Do you miss France?’
‘One always misses home.’ It was the people she missed the most. The tenants on the family estate. Her parents who’d died long before she wed. And most of all her sister. Poor little Minette, who might yet be alive and all alone in a brutal world. But she must not think of Minette now. She must not let him see the longing in her heart. ‘What about you? Have you been to Paris?’
Wariness flashed in his eyes, but his smile didn’t falter. ‘I went after the Treaty of Amiens. It is a beautiful city.’
A part-truth. He had been to Paris during the Terror. A disaffected Englishman accepted into the ranks of the Jacobins, according to Paul. The thought made her cold. And angry. Yet if she wanted him stopped, she could not let him see this emotion either.
She placed her napkin beside her plate. ‘Thank you for a delicious breakfast.’
‘It was a pleasure. Now, it is time we left.’
Now that was a surprise. She had expected him to suggest they dally for a few hours. Take a room. Perhaps his wound was worse than he was letting on? But if so, why not have it treated properly? Why bring her here at all instead of immediately returning her home? Paul was going to be disappointed at her failure to woo this man into her bed today. But Mooreshead would want to see her again, of that she had no doubt. While he settled the shot with the innkeeper, she went to the necessary, joining him in the yard outside when she was done.
A carriage stood waiting, a dusty and unfashionable-looking equipage that had seen better days. A groom stepped forward and opened the door.
The hairs on her nape rose. A warning. She looked at Gabe in question.
‘My curricle suffered damage when they turned it around. The pole is fractured, ready to break at any moment. The innkeeper has kindly offered us the use of his rig and his coachman to get us back to town.’
‘How odd? Two accidents in one day?’
‘I know. Dashed nuisance.’
These sorts of things did happen, but her sense of worry refused to settle. Unable to see a way to voice her concern without seeming unduly suspicious, she took his hand and he helped her in. He climbed up behind her and took the seat opposite, his legs sprawling across the narrow space between the seats. He seemed larger in here than he had outside on his horse or within their private parlour. He was a powerful man who would have no difficulty overcoming her, should he wish. She should have thought to bring her pistol instead of the knife she had slipped into the pocket hidden in her shift. She hadn’t thought it necessary, given that Reggie would remain nearby. More fool her. Yet to have insisted on her groom following them to breakfast would have made any thought of seduction impossible. So now they were alone together in a carriage and she was defenceless.
Not defenceless. She still had her wits. She kept her breathing even, despite her unease.
The carriage pulled away and for all its dilapidated appearance it moved with considerable speed.
She glanced out of the window and frowned. ‘Your coachman has missed the road. We should have turned right at the bridge.’
He followed the direction of her gaze. ‘Perhaps he is taking a short cut.’ Irony coloured his voice.
‘What
