by Sara Bennett
“Where are we?” she demanded.
“Safe.” He sounded sleepy now.
“How do you know?”
He moved to touch her face but she pulled away, putting distance between them, glaring at him. She felt an unstoppable need to push and prod at him, forcing him to give her answers. Somewhere deep inside her, Antoinette longed for him to admit he’d abducted her because he couldn’t live without her. Even though she knew it was foolish and ridiculous and impossible, still she longed to hear him say it.
“What do you want from me?” she went on, moving to sit up, pulling the covers awkwardly over her naked breasts. “Why am I here?”
“Antoinette, please, not now…Sleep. We can discuss this in the morning.”
“I want to discuss it now. I need to know what you’re planning to do with me. I-I’m expected in London.”
His voice, so warm a moment ago, was suddenly cold. “You mean your duke is expecting you?”
Marietta? Who is Marietta? The question was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t force it past her lips.
“I want the letter,” he said, when she didn’t answer, the familiar refrain. “That’s why you’re here. Did you think there was another reason?”
“The letter. Yes, of course.” She’d forgotten the letter. How could she forget it when it meant so much to her? But she had.
He climbed out of bed and stood naked in the pale light from the lantern that swung gently from its hook in the ceiling. His eyes were pale blue, his face as handsome as she remembered, but he was a stranger. Not the highwayman and not Coombe, but someone else, someone she didn’t know at all.
“Why won’t you give it to me?” he said in that same harsh voice. “You can’t need it now. Do something unselfish, Antoinette, and give me the letter.”
“No! I need it. Without it I’ll never get away from Lord Appleby.”
There, she’d told the truth. She watched him, wondering what he would make of it and what questions he would have to ask. But to her dismay his expression grew even colder and harder than before, and any hope she had of winning him to her side vanished.
“So you intend to blackmail him with the letter, is that it?”
Did she? “Blackmail” was a horrible word but Lord Appleby was a horrible man.
“Where is it?” He turned and looked about him. Seeing her clothing spread about the cabin, he bent and picked up each garment, piece by piece, shaking them and searching them, even rending the padding in her petticoats to see whether the letter was hidden inside. Antoinette watched him, silent, holding her protests inside. When he finished with her clothes he grabbed her carpetbag and tipped it upside down on the bed, spilling out the contents.
Seeing her personal belongings rolling about was too much. “Stop it,” she said angrily, reaching out to stop him. But he wouldn’t be stopped. Everything must be searched and examined and then tossed aside, right down to the last hairpin and stocking.
“This is what I should have done in the very beginning,” he said in that hard, angry voice she didn’t recognize. “I would have saved myself a lot of wasted time and trouble.”
So that’s how he thought of her? A waste of time. No doubt he considered the times they’d made love a waste of time, too. Antoinette forced her own anger to fire up again, to disguise her misery.
“I wish you’d said so before, I wouldn’t have bothered pretending you were the world’s greatest lover. Frankly, you could do with some lessons.”
“Antoinette,” he said through gritted teeth.
She folded her arms over her breasts and glared back at him. “I think it’s about time you told me the truth. What has Lord Appleby got that you want?”
He took a shaky breath, calming himself. “I want the letter, and in return he will give me Wexmoor Manor.”
There was a knife in her heart, or so it seemed. He mustn’t see it or know how she felt; she wouldn’t give him the victory. “Well, that is unfortunate. For you,” she managed in a light, chilly voice.
Gabriel wanted to shake her. Or kiss her. Her insults stung but he didn’t accept them. He might not be the world’s greatest lover, but she couldn’t fake what she’d felt when they made love. It had been special, and if she wanted to deny it now, then she had other reasons. Perhaps she needed to pretend it meant nothing so that she could go to her duke and play her part. In a way he could understand her need to do that even if he couldn’t accept it. But the letter was a different matter. She was going to take it to her new protector and use it as a bargaining tool, to keep Appleby from making trouble for them.
Such cold-blooded self-interest was breathtaking, and he couldn’t allow her to do it. That letter was his means of regaining Wexmoor Manor and Aphrodite’s Club, others were depending on him, and he would get it from her, one way or another.
“Give me the letter and I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he said, leaning threateningly over her, his eyes only inches from hers. Her gaze widened, but try as he might, he could see no fear in her eyes, only a determination to match his own.
“I am tired now,” she said in a frosty voice. “Please leave me.”
Gabriel remained where he was, making sure she knew how angry he was. “You’ll give it to me,” he gritted. “That letter is my future.”
And hers, too, a voice reminded him.
Still she refused to flinch or turn away. Finally, with a sound of disgust, he left her, striding into the other cabin and slamming the door.
Antoinette slumped back, shaking, trying not to cry. All he cared about was the letter and getting his hands on Wexmoor Manor. That was all he had cared about from the very beginning, only she’d been too stupid to see it.
She had to get away from him. If she could persuade him to put her ashore she would be able to make her way home, somehow. She’d be alone, but it was better than being trapped on the Sea Witch with him. She didn’t trust him, she’d never trusted him, and she’d been right.
Worse than that, she didn’t trust herself when he was around. She was just as likely to throw herself naked into his arms. Antoinette couldn’t allow that to happen. She had too much pride for that.
She lay on the bed, the lantern swaying over her, and closed her eyes. Images of the day flitted through her mind, and it wasn’t until she reached the one of him standing on the deck with his back to her that she remembered something she could use.
There was a pistol tucked into his belt.
He had a pistol.
If she could get her hands on it she’d be able to force him into obeying her orders for a change. But where was it? Certainly not on him at the moment. Sitting up, she looked about her for his clothing, but he’d taken it with him. Quietly she made a search of the cupboards and drawers, but there were no weapons to be found and certainly no pistol.
He must have it with him then.
Antoinette knew she would have to get close enough to take it from him, and to do that she would have to lull him into believing she was harmless. It would need some thought and planning.
But then, she had all night.
Chapter 25
Gabriel scanned the sky. It was gray. The wind had picked up, too. It looked as if the weather was turning against them. He’d hauled anchor at dawn and they’d made little headway since. At this rate he’d be blown back to where he’d come from. And something else was worrying him.
Antoinette was sick.
When he’d slipped down to the cabin midway through the morning he’d found her groaning in the bed, her face another interesting shade of green. She didn’t even have the energy to abuse him when he lifted her head and tipped a few drops of brandy down her throat, although she coughed and spluttered.
“Let me off,” she begged him.
“We’re miles from the coast.”
“I don’t care. Set me adrift on a raft.”
He bit his lip on a smile. “Try to sleep.”
Her reply was a pitiful whimper.
&n
bsp; He’d checked on her since, twice, but there’d been no improvement. If anything, she looked worse. Gabriel sighed. He’d have to go into the next port, and by his calculations it was Arlington-by-Sea. If Antoinette didn’t improve, they’d have to make the rest of the journey to London by land.
And then what? Do you hand her cheerfully over to her new protector like some crazed version of a fairy godmother? And then walk away and forget all about her?
No, Gabriel knew he couldn’t do that. Not when he wanted her for himself so much that his body ached. And yet he’d known the kind of woman she was from the start; he had no excuses to offer. He couldn’t claim he’d been tricked or led astray. No, he’d managed to become entangled with her despite the numerous warnings.
He must be an idiot, because in his heart he still believed she wasn’t the woman she made herself out to be. There were too many inconsistencies, too many moments when the real Antoinette just didn’t fit with the harlot. And then last night, when they made love, she couldn’t have been faking the pleasure she felt, and the way she sighed in his arms and stroked his hair. He meant more to her than she was admitting.
Gabriel felt a burst of optimism. He could try asking her to stay with him. He hadn’t really tried that yet. Most of their conversations ended in distraction or an argument, before he had a chance to make his offer. He had to try. Before they reached London he was going to show her just how wrong she was if she thought her future lay as an old man’s darling when there was a young man aching to make her his darling.
Arlington-by-Sea was a welcome sight when he finally moored the boat just at twilight. The rough weather had slowed them considerably and he’d had to use every ounce of his strength and sailing skills to make the headway they needed to reach safety. It hadn’t been pleasant but they were here now.
The harbor was sheltered in nearly all weathers and all winds, apart from one. This one, with the wind blowing strongly from the northeast. Even moored in the harbor, the boat bucked and rolled, and Gabriel knew he needed to get Antoinette to shore and into a warm bed as soon as possible.
He launched the dinghy, throwing in the saddlebags full of his few belongings, and slipped his pistol into his belt. He fetched Antoinette’s carpetbag, repacked it, and stowed that, too. Then he returned below for her.
She was sleeping, a frown wrinkling her brow, but she looked washed out and exhausted. Even the brandy hadn’t stayed down during the last few hours, and her retching was painful to watch. Gabriel wanted to see her comfortable before he made any further decisions.
He leaned against the doorway and watched her. He must be some sort of monster because in a way he was glad she was sick, if it prevented her from going to her duke. It meant he had more time to convince her to stay with him.
Her eyes opened, dazed, and fixed on him. “Am I dead yet?”
He crouched down beside her, stroking her face, his voice gentle. “No, Antoinette. You won’t die of seasickness, although it can feel like it.”
She groaned and closed her eyes again. “We’re still moving.”
“I know. That’s why we need to go ashore. Do you think you can manage it, darling?”
“Ashore?” she croaked.
“Yes. Can you manage it?”
She nodded, and then looked down at herself wryly. “I need to get dressed, but first I need a bath.”
“We’ll deal with that when we get to the inn. A bath and a bed, how does that sound?”
“Heavenly.” She sighed.
Gabriel began to gather up the clothing he’d stripped from her last night. She did her best to manage herself, but she was dizzy and weak and obviously still feeling wretched, so it was Gabriel who pulled on her stockings and buttoned her dress and twisted her hair over her shoulder. The cloak helped to cover up any deficiencies.
“Next time we run away can we go by train?” she whispered.
He laughed, and lifted her easily into his arms. “We could make a habit of it. Every year we could run away to a different location using a different means of transport.”
She linked her fingers around his neck. “Edinburgh by foot, Cardiff by donkey, and John o’ Groat’s by elephant.”
“You sound as if you’re feeling better already,” he said, noticing the flush of color in her cheeks.
“It’s the thought of getting off your boat.”
He made his way carefully to the companionway. Her long skirts tangled around his legs, and he paused to bundle them up out of the way before climbing the narrow stairs and out onto the deck.
The dinghy was bobbing on the water, five or so feet below the deck of the Sea Witch. Gabriel lifted her over, holding her as her feet touched the dinghy and she was able to stand in the bottom of the little boat. When she sat down gratefully on the seat in the stern, Gabriel swung his leg over the railing, preparing to join her.
“Oh,” she gasped, searching inside one sleeve and then the other.
“What is it?”
She looked up at him, her brown eyes enormous in her wan face. “I’ve forgotten my handkerchief.”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “What’s one handkerchief? I’ll buy you a dozen.”
“My—my mother gave it to me,” she stammered, and suddenly her eyes were bright with tears. “She died when I was five. I treasure it.” She shook her head, putting on a brave face. “But yes, you’re right. You’ve no time to go back for a handkerchief. I’m being silly.”
Gabriel sighed, understanding that he had no choice but to fetch her handkerchief. Maybe she’d look more kindly on him. “Very well. I’ll only be a moment. Don’t rock the boat.”
She managed a smile in response, but he saw the way her knuckles were white as she clenched the sides of the dinghy.
He turned back down the companionway and into the cabin. A search among the tousled bedclothes failed to find the handkerchief, and he was about to give up when he saw a corner of lace poking out from under the mattress. With the handkerchief clutched triumphantly in his hand, Gabriel returned to the deck.
“Here you are—” he said as he moved toward the railing. And stopped, frozen with shock, hardly able to believe his eyes.
The dinghy was moving, making its way across the choppy water toward the shore. And Antoinette was rowing it, inexpertly but strongly, her pale face anxious. When she saw Gabriel she seemed to falter, one oar missing the water altogether, so that the dinghy swung to the side and she had to straighten it.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roared furiously. “Come back here now!”
“No, I won’t,” she called back, her softer voice faint as it was caught by the wind.
“I can swim, you know,” he shouted, climbing up onto the railing to prepare to dive in.
The oars rattled as she set them down inside the boat, and she fumbled for something inside her cloak. His eyes widened in disbelief when he saw she was holding his pistol in her hands, aiming it at him.
“If you come near me I will shoot you!” she declared.
He almost laughed. He didn’t want to believe her. But there was a raw look in her wide eyes and her tense, white face that told him he shouldn’t take the chance. Antoinette meant what she said, and even if she didn’t, a pistol was a very dangerous weapon in the hands of a frightened woman.
“Sparrow…” he began, pleading.
“Don’t call me that.” Her voice shook as if she was crying.
He spread out his arms wide. “Perhaps you should shoot me now because I’ll come after you. You know I will.”
“Perhaps I should,” she retorted. “You deserve it.”
“Do you know how to?” he asked curiously.
Her smile was triumphant. “Oh yes. Don’t doubt it. Now I am going ashore and you will stay here. This is where we part company.”
“Antoinette—”
“There’s nothing more to be said.”
She picked up the oars again and began to row away. A particularly savage gust of wind bl
ew spray up into her face, and she blinked and shook her head. He watched her, angry and admiring at the same time. His Antoinette was a truly amazing woman.
“I won’t say good-bye,” he called. “I’ll find you.”
“This is good-bye!”
He watched her put distance between them. “Don’t wager on it,” he murmured with a grim smile, leaning over the railing, as if he could bring her back by sheer force of will. “I’ll find you, Antoinette, and when I do…”
His grin broadened as he imagined what he would do to her. He would find her, he had to. She’d thrown down a challenge, and Gabriel wasn’t the sort of man to ignore a challenge.
Antoinette climbed unsteadily out of the dinghy and onto the shore. Luckily there were some fishermen there to help her and to secure the dinghy. She explained she had urgent business ashore and thanked them when they offered to take her to the tavern where she could arrange for transport into the nearest larger town, where there was a railway station.
She glanced over her shoulder only once.
In the fading light she could barely see him, silhouetted on the deck, but she knew he was there. Hating her. Swearing his revenge. He was worse than Appleby when it came to letting her go.
I’ll find you.
Antoinette shivered and her heart beat harder. She reminded herself that he would have no way of finding her; he didn’t know where she was going. Certainly not to London, as he imagined, but Surrey. She longed for her home, for Cecilia and Miss Bridewell, and all that was dear and familiar. Once she reached them, she would explain what had happened and send Cecilia somewhere safe, away from Appleby’s greedy, clutching hands, and then she would travel on to London, alone, and destroy him.
A grim feeling of anticipation helped her to keep going although her knees were wobbly and her arms ached from rowing. Soon it would be over. She could put all this behind her, treat it as if it were a nightmare.
As if to unsettle her, she heard the soft whisper of his voice in her head, saying, Darling. Tears stung her eyes, but when one of the fishermen asked her if she was unwell, she told him it was just the salty wind making her cry.