Stevens raised an eyebrow at Mary. “Return to the carriage and drive home. You require a doctor.” He stealthily removed a blade from his stocking. “I will take care of things here.”
With a jerky nod, Mary leaned on Gabriel as he helped her to her feet. Her torn gown caught beneath her heel, forcing her briefly to the ground once more. Gabe cursed soundly and bent to lift her bodily in his arms. She thought to fight him, but it felt rather wonderful to be carried by Gabriel.
With his lips thinned in anger, Gabe marched through the gardens, the sound of Boxton’s snivelling following their retreat. Mary put her head to Gabe’s chest, trying to outrun the villain’s cries, the cool night air chilling her teeth as she gasped for breath.
A garbled, hoarse shout came from the gardens and an involuntary whimper escaped Mary.
He looked down at her her, his blue gaze clouded with fury.
“Iknewthis assignment was too dangerous fer ye on yer own! Ye shouldnae have been here without me. I should have been there, Mary.”
She winced. “Now is not the time to quibble, Gabe. Take me home.”
* * *
“Aye, lass.” Gabe’s gut knotted sickeningly as he carefully carried Mary to the carriage.
How could he have allowed this to happen? Mary was a right mess, covered in blood from head to foot, her dress torn, hair in shambles…Damn!
“Are ye well, Mary?”
“In pain,” she murmured against the front of his coat. “But well enough, I suppose.”
“Ye should nae have accepted tha’ assignment.”
“I did my job, Gabe, and despite the potential for injury, I like my job.”
The twisting in his stomach intensified. “I ken, Mary. I donnae like it, but I ken.”
They reached the carriage and Gabe gently placed her in it, leaning her against the squabs. He hesitated to leave her there alone. What if they hit a rut and she was jostled?
“I will be fine, Gabe. They are minor injuries.”
He shook his head. She claimed they were minor, but he could see the bruises already forming on her upper arms, cheeks, and…Nae! There was a severe bruise forming under the red ring around her neck. The devil had choked her! With her own curst scarf!
Aghast, Gabe climbed in the carriage to sit beside her, and pressed his fingertips to her neck.
“Aye,” he mumbled. “He strangled ye.”
His gaze lowered to settle angrily on the blood-soaked injury in the flesh between her shoulder and neck, and his jaw clenched. “Nae. Oh, nae, Mary. Donnae tell me tha’ hebitye!” He touched his finger near the marks to closer examine them.
With a feral growl, he withdrew an unspent pistol from his coat pocket and leapt from the carriage.
“Gabe!” Mary called hoarsely after him and he stopped.
“Donnae try te stop me, Mary. That devil must pay fer wha’ he’s done te ye.”
“Stevens is handling it,” she reminded him.
Gabe’s chest rose and fell with his furious breaths. How could a man—any man—do such a thing to a woman?
“Take me home, Gabe. I must change before the rendezvous.”
“Ye arenaegoing te the—”
“Gabe,” she whispered. “We will discuss it later. In fact, there is much more that I must tell you, butnot now! Take me home.”
He sighed, only barely keeping his sudden rage under control. “Verra well, Mary. But I am nae pleased aboot it.”
