Chapter 35
Gabe adjusted his seat in the stiff driver’s perch of Hydra’s carriage. He hated being the one sitting outside waiting for the others to complete an assignment. He saw the reasoning in it, he supposed, but it grated nonetheless.
The other coachmen sat about, either imbibing in a hidden stash of liquor or sleeping on their perches. Gabe, however, thought. About Mary. He thought about Mary and her flowing auburn hair and soft grey eyes, about the way her lips perked when she was lost in thought, of how she moved when she walked, the slide of her hair between his fingers, her pert, delicious breasts…
The very startling thought of what their children would look like crossed his mind. Would they have her features, or would they favour him? Or, perhaps, would they be a little of both; curling auburn hair with blue eyes, or straight brown hair with…
Gabe sat bolt upright, alarm buzzing through him. His heart began to thump wildly in his chest and his eyes grew wide.
Children!He dropped his head in his hands as countless curses and admonishments flowed through his mind. He’d had his share of lovers before, but he’d always used French Letters to protect against conceiving with them. Why the bloody hell had he forgotten with Mary?
His fists clenched, pulling at his hair.Children. With Mary!My God, how had he not thought of this before? Hell, he could have withdrawn and spilled his seed in a cloth or on her abdomen. What was the matter with him? Mary could, at this very moment, be carrying his child. And, damn it, she was inside among dangerous traitors while he was ordered to sit out here and wait for her!
Gabe’s gut knotted and his skin tingled. He couldn’t sit there any longer. He must find out if she was well, to the devil with his post.
Without a second thought, Gabe leapt from his perch and darted down the side of Maison Sheffield. He glanced in windows, looking for Mary, but couldn’t find her. Slinking onto the portico, Gabe avoided detection from the merry dancers within the ballroom.
A faint scream rent the air and Gabe straightened once more.Mary?
It was covered by ruckus laughter coming from the ball, but he knew for certain thatthatscream had come from the gardens. And he ran. Not caring about the shrubberies tugging at his stockings and breeches, or what he crushed, Gabe dashed hell-bent through the gardens.
He thought he heard someone call Mary’s name, and it drove him faster.
Passing the last of the torches, he went directly into the darkness. He rounded a hedge, and his heart stopped. Mary was covered in blood, her gown torn, and she was battling against Boxton.
Giving himself nary a second to think, Gabe withdrew his pistol, aimed it at Boxton’s shoulder, and pulled the trigger.
* * *
Mary gasped, her heart leaping to her throat and her ears ringing at the deafening din of two pistols being discharged.
She spun to see two of her favourite men standing behind her.
Sir Bramwell Stevens stood with her spent pistol in his hand, his eyes cold with lethal intent as he gazed at Boxton through the smoke coming from the barrel.
“You shot me!” Boxton sat on the ground with one hand over his stomach, and the other on his shoulder. “You’re a bloody servant and you shot me! Andyou!” he spat at Gabriel. “I knew there was something wrong about you, Spencer.”
“Mary!” Gabe tossed his spent pistol to the ground and rushed to her side. “Mary… My God, wha’ happened te ye? What did the bloody bastard do?”
“Mary,” Stevens said. His customary charming and affable nature had been replaced by single-minded, deadliness. “Are you well, Mary?”
She blinked, bemused. “No,” she admitted. “Once I bathe and dress my wounds I will be a sight better, I believe.”
She could see Bram’s jaw clench even in the darkness of night.
“Do you require assistance to walk?” Gabe asked.
She shook her head and he nodded in understanding.
“Gabriel, return her to the carriage,” Stevens growled bluntly.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
His dark, golden gaze flicked to her then returned to Boxton. “What I should have done long ago…after thisbastardabused Anna so.”
Mary had heard about Hydra’s sister, Lady Devon, Annabel Mason, née Bradley, and how Lord Boxton had courted her, which had proceeded poorly, indeed.
“Annabel?What has she to do with this?” Boxton cried. “Whoareyou?”
