* * *
Mary hissed a breath between her teeth as they rounded a sharp turn. She had not been injured severely, but her body felt battered and bruised, particularly from her fall to the ground. Of course, Boxton’s bite was rather painful, as well. She was simply grateful that she was still able to speak. Granted, she was a mite hoarse…but she was still able to speak.
She wondered what Stevens had done with Boxton. Had he taken him to gaol? Beaten him? Killed him? She supposed she would find out soon enough.
Gabe sped the horses along the lantern-lit, busy streets, weaving between angry riders and cursing coachmen.
Finally, they made the last turn onto the safe house’s street, and Mary released a relieved sigh. She was nigh desperate to change out of her torn, bloodstained gown, corset, and chemise. She looked down at herself. Indeed, Boxton’s bloody fingerprints marred her underclothes.
How abhorrent. She would have to burn them all.
The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the safe house and rocked as Gabe stepped down from his perch. The door swung open and Gabe’s arms reached inside.
“I am able to walk on my own, Gabe. You needn’t—”
“I donnae care if ye say ye are able, Mary. Iwillcarry ye up those steps and into yer room.”
She sighed. He was very determined and, this once, she would oblige him. When she divested herself of her bloodstained frock and cleaned her wounds, he would see that she was more than capable of moving unaided. On the morrow, however, she would likely be very sore.
Gabe gathered her in his arms and Mary was again swept away by his clean, fresh scent, his warmth, and his sheer brawn. To be able to lift her bodily in his arms without any strain… She had to keep herself from sighing aloud.
Swinging the front door open, he carried her over the threshold, then kicked the door closed behind them. She could tell that he was being careful not to jostle her as they crossed the foyer and ascended the stairs.
The home was quiet, as most of the customary inhabitants were on assignment, and those that remained were either in their sickbeds, recovering from injury, or likely training.
They arrived at her guest bedchamber, and Gabe pressed his hand—while still holding her in his arms—to the latch, but he hesitated.
“Mary?” he said in hushed tones. “Did ye lock th’ door when ye left?”
“No, but—”
“Were all the suspects at the ball?”
Her eyes grew wide as she returned Gabe’s fearful gaze. “Lord Kerr said that Lady Kerr was detained by appointments or some such thing.” She licked at the dried blood on her cracked lip. “You do not suppose…”
They both looked in suspicion at the door and Gabe slowly lowered Mary’s feet to the ground. He pressed his index finger to his lips in a signal for silence.
Gabe withdrew his pistol and slowly pressed the door’s latch, careful not to make a sound as it opened. Mary watched with bated breath as the door swung wide.
He motioned Mary to remain where she was, to which she soundlessly scoffed, removing her dagger once more from its sheath at her thigh. Did he truly believe she would miss an opportunity to catch an intruder in her bedchamber? In thesafe house, of all places?
Signalling his intent to enter, Gabe eyed her for a response. Mary nodded.
He saw the intruder first, aiming his pistol at the shadowy mass sitting in Mary’s armchair. Mary lifted her dagger, ready to throw.
“Stand up and show yourself,” Gabe shouted in his practiced English accent.
“Come off it, Gabe,” a decidedly familiar voice said.
With a sigh, Gabe lowered his weapon and returned it to the holster hidden beneath his coat. “Bloody hell, Colin. I nearly shot you!”
Mary lowered her arm and slid her dagger back into its sheath, immense relief flowing through her. They could certainly use more help.
“But you didn’t,” Colin Greene drawled. “And for that I thank you.”
“What the devil are you doing in Mary’s room? Were you looking for me?” Gabe asked, striding toward the fireplace.
Mary closed her bedchamber door and slid the latch.
