Crawford excused himself, stating he would go below and have food sent up. Sarah changed out of her habit and into a pair of trousers she’d found in a trunk in Albert’s old room.
“Thankfully, he was still a lad the last time he wore these,” she said. “They are a bit long and loose at the waist, but Flora included a piece of twine in the valise for holding them up.”
The dark brown trousers hugged her curves and caused a stir in his breeches. “I have never seen anything so enticing.” He cupped her rump. “I’ll make you a trade. I will wear the buckskin breeches for you and you will wear these for me, once we return home.”
Sarah chuckled and leaned back against his hands. “Who knew a pair of trousers could inspire such passion.” She wriggled her bum. He went to full erection.
Enticed to madness, he removed his hands from the curved flesh and circled her waist. From there it was an easy shift to cover her breasts with his palms.
She moaned. “We do not have time to slake your needs, Husband. The maid will soon be up with food.”
“Then we should hurry.” He jerked down her trousers and kicked them away. His breeches followed. He lifted her up, carried her awkwardly to the bed, and dropped her down on the edge. With a fluid motion, he was buried inside her. With time limited, he pounded inside her to her pleasured gasps and toyed with her feminine bud until she cried out. A few more thrusts and he spilled himself inside her.
“I told you that we had time.” Lying splayed out, her shirt in disarray and her hair a tumble of waves and hairpins, she never looked more beautiful. He leaned in and nuzzled her neck.
“You did.”
A knock sounded. She pushed him off and darted for her clothing. Gabe righted his trousers. “Coming.”
She struggled to muffle a giggle. He chuckled at her rush to get the trousers up. She sat on the bed, pulled the shirt down over the gaping waistband, and settled a bland expression on her face.
Gabe jerked open the door, startling the maid. “I will take that. Thank you.” He handed her a coin, took the tray, and closed the door.
Standing, the trousers pooled at her feet. Her laughter was infectious, but his eyes were on her shapely legs. “After we eat, I shall find that twine,” she said. “I cannot sneak around Summerdown Manor with my trousers falling down.”
“I like your trousers where they are.”
“Scoundrel.”
* * *
Sarah dozed on his chest. Just after midnight, he roused her with a kiss on the brow and a light shake. “Wake up, sweet.”
The drug of sleep tried to drag her back with its murky coils. “Just another hour or two?” she protested, softly. He was so warm and the room was chilly on her exposed face. “Maybe three?”
“I would be happy to leave you here,” he said against her skin. “However, I fear your wrath should I leave you behind.”
“Erg.” Sarah pushed her hair out of her eyes and sat up on the bed. It took a moment for her eyes to focus. “I’ve been waiting ten years for this case to come to its conclusion. I would be displeased to be left sleeping while the arrests are made.”
“Then you had better ready yourself.” He climbed from the bed and went to retrieve his coat. “We need to be downstairs soon.”
Groaning, Sarah rose, quickly braided her hair, and retied the ribbon. She stuffed the whole up under a wool cap Flora had fetched for her. She tucked in the shirt and tied the twine tightly around her waist. Gabriel assisted by holding up the trousers for her, and stole a caress, or two.
“I cannot get ready, beast, with you taking liberties.” She slapped his hand away. Inasmuch as she’d love to join him in the bed, they had no time to dawdle.
“Alas, you are correct.” He helped her tighten the rope until she was certain her trousers would stay up.
A wrinkled black wool coat, too fine to wear to a housebreaking, finished her wardrobe. At Gabriel’s look, she shrugged. “It was all I could find in Albert’s trunk with big enough pockets for the pistols.
While she pulled on her boots, Gabriel readied their weapons and handed the smaller pair to her. She tucked the pistols into her pockets. “I’m ready.”
When they walked downstairs at ten minutes to one, the taproom was already filled with men. A tired-looking tavern maid was seated in a corner, the only other person in the room. Clearly the owner had already sought out his bed. The woman did not bother to get up. She was already half asleep in the chair.
They all followed Crawford out.
Horses waited in the darkness. Several stable boys stood ready to assist. After each horse was claimed, Gabriel handed them each a coin and waved them off to bed.
“Tom made arrangements with the neighbor to stable the horses while we assault the manor,” Crawford said, and they swung into the saddles. “There is a path through the forest. We’ll follow it and spread out once we reach Summerdown. My men will have fifteen minutes to overtake the guards. After, we’ll approach the house, hopefully with the occupants none the wiser.”
The horses moved about as if sensing the tension of their riders. The yard fairly crackled with anticipation of the hours ahead. Sarah did not share the men’s enthusiasm. To them, this was a dangerous game. To her it was the end of ten years of confusion and a ruined childhood.
“The goal is to capture The Widow,” Gabriel said to the men. “We need her alive if we are to catch whomever she is working for.”
In the darkness, it was impossible to see Mister Brown’s reaction to Gabriel’s order, but several heads nodded.
Beneath her ribs, Sarah’s heart thumped. She was awash with both excitement and fear. Despite the comforting weight of the pistols, she’d had just one afternoon of training and wasn’t completely confident in her skills. Still, she could not, would not, fail.
One mistake could mean her death, or the death of others.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The thought of potential deadly consequences, if she made any mistakes, strained Sarah’s mind. For a brief moment she considered staying back at the inn with her head buried beneath a pillow. Then Father’s face nudged into the forefront of her thoughts and she straightened in the saddle.
As the daughter of a spy, she had his blood, his courage in her veins. She’d not fail.
Staring up at a myriad of stars in the black sky, she hoped her father was watching, knowing how much she loved him.
She’d head confidently off into danger for him, for Albert, for the sacrifices they’d all been forced to make; a family destroyed, because of a killer.
“Sarah?” Gabriel said. “Are you well?”
Nodding, she lowered her eyes, tightened her hands on the reins, and swallowed past a lump in her throat. “I was thinking about my father. Would he be pleased with all this?”
Gabriel nudged his horse close and touched her knee. “He would be proud of you. I’m certain of it.”
Crawford gave last instructions and they rode out. The manor was just a short distance away, but with only the moon to light the path, the horses had to move slowly or risk injury on the pitted road. Silence, but for hoof steps on packed earth and an occasional whispered word, followed their progression.
Tension lingered between her shoulder blades, causing an ache down her spine.
They turned up a drive and her heart skipped. Somewhere beyond her view were Summerdown Manor and its nest of spies. Close. Sleeping. Unaware of what was about to befall them.
The neighbor, Mister Travers, waited at his stable. His eyes were feverish in the lamplight, his eagerness palatable. He stepped forward to grasp the bridle of Crawford’s horse. “I worried you weren’t coming.”
“We are not late,” the investigator said and swung down. “I thought you would be abed.”
Several men began leading the horses into the stable.
“The trail is hard to find in t
he dark,” Travers said. He patted his ample belly. “I will lead you.”
Crawford looked ready to argue. Instead he said, “As you wish. However, I will not play nursemaid to you. When bullets whiz past, you are responsible for your own head.”
Travers swallowed deeply. “Perhaps I will keep watch from the end of the trail. Should anyone try and flee, I can alert you to their direction.”
Even in the shadows, Sarah could see Mister Crawford’s amusement. She leaned into Gabriel as he helped her dismount.
She whispered to him, “Mister Crawford clearly expects Travers to flee with his tail tucked, at the first sign of danger.”
“We all think that, love.”
The walk across the property to the trail took almost ten minutes. The narrow path wound through the forest, giving the trees an eerie feel. Sarah shivered, remembering a story her father once told her of a headless horseman who rode the countryside stealing hapless souls. She hoped the image was not an omen of things to come.
At a split in the path, Travers said, “This way.”
Several more minutes passed and the trees thinned. From a distance, Sarah could see the outer shell of the large manor house looming. There was no light in the windows.
Crawford lifted a hand, halting their progression. In a low tone, he gave everyone their instructions, and his men walked off into the night. Almost immediately, their shadowed forms vanished from sight.
“This is your last chance to wait with Travers,” Gabriel whispered in her ear. “No one will think less of you.”
Sarah whispered back, “I will think less of me.”
Warm breath caressed her cheek with his soft chuckle. “Murderous spies cannot frighten off my wife. The Widow beware.”
Crawford snorted. “As I said about the Harrington women . . .” His voice trailed off. Sarah smiled.
The knot in her chest eased slightly. She was satisfied to have his support and confidence, and that of the investigator, in this endeavor. “How much longer?”
“About ten minutes by my calculation.” Those ten minutes seemed to last forever. There was no sound of fighting, no lights blazing in the windows. But for an occasional nocturnal animal walking on leaves, there was only quiet.
Finally Crawford waved them forward. “It’s time.”
“We’ll check the windows on the north and east sides and you the south and west. See you inside,” Gabriel said.
Sarah kept one hand in her pocket, lest she need a weapon. Focused on not trodding on dried leaves and branches, she let Gabriel lead. He’d been trained to track in America and was skilled to get them to the house in a safe and timely manner.
Gabriel stopped abruptly, almost causing her to crash into his back. He stepped around a prone figure.
Was the man dead? Have courage, she repeated over and over in her head as they neared the house.
“Keep close to the walls,” Gabriel whispered. They examined the doors and reachable windows as they moved forward. All were locked. Eventually, Gabriel found a small unlatched window at head level that he was able to push up. Further examination showed the opening was not large enough for him to crawl through.
“We have to keep searching,” he said. He reached to pull it closed.
“No,” she whispered. “Lift me up. I can fit.”
He hesitated for only an instant then linked his hands together. His trust warmed her. She stepped into his palms and climbed through the tight space.
Carefully, she lowered to the floor, her boots making a soft scrape on wood. She turned to peer out. “Which way?”
He pointed. “Go toward the back and find a door to the terrace. And be careful.”
Sarah flashed him a smile and lowered the window. Oddly, now that she was inside the house, her stomach settled. It was her heart that kicked up a notch. If she was caught, no one would know for several minutes; enough time to end her life.
Like a housebreaker, she moved stealthily across the room—the scullery, she thought from the condition of the space—her ears listening for any sound of movement, looked for any sign of human-shaped shadows.
Once she reached the door and entered the hallway, she headed for where she remembered the terrace being, and glanced in each room as she went. The right room proved easy to find, once her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A row of windows in a large parlor led her straight through to the terrace doors.
Her heart leapt when she pushed back the drapes to find Gabriel’s face at the glass. She unlatched the door and he stepped inside.
“Did you see anything untoward?” he asked. They opened all four doors wide. Crawford arrived and took a position, facing out toward the grounds.
“I did not glimpse anyone. This floor is empty.” Muted footfalls on the flagstone announced the arrival of the Runners, with Brown leading. Crawford led them inside.
Gabriel found and lit a lamp. “With the guards outside either subdued or dead, there is no reason to stumble about in the dark.”
“I’ll look for candles,” Sarah said. She searched through a nearby rosewood cabinet and found half a dozen candles. She lit one for herself and one each for Gabriel, Crawford, and Brown, then handed out the rest.
“Sarah and I will start on the second floor,” Gabriel said. With Sarah at his side, they left the room. Once they were alone, he touched her arm and whispered, “If you suspect danger, do not hesitate to shoot. Our spies will not hesitate to kill you.”
“I understand.” She removed a pistol from her pocket. It shook slightly in her hand.
They found the staircase. The second floor housed only one wing of bedrooms; the other was taken up by a parlor, a library, and a huge gallery.
The first two bedrooms were empty. In the third they found a man snoring, naked, atop the coverlet. Gabriel nudged him with the pistol and hit him twice in the jaw before the man came fully awake. The man fell back and did not move again.
Sarah helped her husband roll the man in the coverlet and pushed him under the bed. “That should keep him,” Sarah said and rubbed her hands together.
The next room yielded nothing. In the fourth bedroom, a man slept in a chair by the fireplace. With his back to them, his even breathing confirmed this conclusion. Gabriel clicked the door closed behind them. The man jerked awake, came to his feet, and spun around, a pistol clutched in his hand.
Sarah’s mouth dropped open.
* * *
Lord Hampton’s son stood bathed in firelight. Sarah blinked to confirm she was not imagining him. There was no mistake. He was the man she’d met a few days earlier.
“Lord Kilmer,” Gabriel said and took a few steps forward. “How interesting to find you here. Did you take a wrong turn on the way to Luton?”
Clearly flummoxed by their surprise intrusion, Lord Kilmer said nothing but gripped the pistol at his side. With Gabriel’s own pistol pointed at him, he dared not raise the weapon and attempt a shot and risk certain death.
“You bastard,” Sarah hissed. “You knew where Solange was when we visited your father, because you were helping her. Traitor.”
The man’s eyes glinted. “Alas, it is all true.”
“Is she paying you?” Gabriel asked. “Or is your connection more personal? She is years your elder, but still attractive enough to entice a man.”
Before he could answer, the door pushed open and a woman stepped inside, wearing a dressing gown. “Geoffrey, there are men in the house! Hurry, we must flee!” She spotted Gabriel and stumbled to a stop. Her appearance confirmed the latter of Gabriel’s two theories. They were lovers.
“Do not move,” Sarah growled and brought her pistol up. Their gazes locked. Sarah held the item aimed at the ready lest The Widow dared to try to escape, or attack. Her mouth curved into a smirk. “You are not nearly so fierce when wearing only your nightclothes, Solange.”
Solange’s
eyes hardened. “You should never underestimate me, Sarah. I do not need an arsenal to take down an enemy.”
“Then we were both surprised tonight. Lord Kilmer was a completely unexpected gift, and you obviously never thought we would find you. You are not as intelligent as you let yourself believe.”
Solange hissed under her breath. She said something in French that Sarah was certain was not complimentary.
Slowly, Gabriel moved sideways so he could face both Solange and the viscount. “Would you like to explain this, Your Lordship, or shall I guess why you’ve taken up with traitors? Well, other than the pleasure of sharing The Widow’s bed.”
The viscount held out a hand. “I would very much enjoy hearing your speculation.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “You were not much more than a boy at the time The Widow was coming into notoriety, so I assume you knew nothing about your father’s traitorous activities. Yes, I fully believe he was a turncoat.”
The viscount’s face tightened. “You know nothing about my father.”
“Oh, I think I do,” Gabriel countered. “I assume his reasons fell into an easing of debts, seeking favor from someone, or a woman. It doesn’t matter which. He turned against his country and cost the lives of his countrymen.”
“And my father was murdered,” Sarah snarled. “Somehow Father found out about Lord Hampton and confronted him. As they were friends, my father would want the truth. The Widow was sent to kill him to keep the secret.”
“Is that what you think?” the viscount said. He chuckled. “Solange did not kill Palmer. I was the one who overheard the confrontation, found out about my father’s activities, and realized that my life, and our family’s reputation, would be ruined once Palmer shared the truth. I waited until Palmer was well away from the house before I shot him.”
“Good Lord,” Gabriel said. “You couldn’t have been more than twenty then.”
“I was eighteen,” the viscount said. “When I realized Father would not kill his friend, even to save himself, I knew I had to do something to save him from his cowardice. To this day, Father knows nothing of my crime.”
The Wife He Always Wanted Page 30