Mary’s brow drew together in a puzzled frown. “I beg your pardon?” Gratefully, her voice was beginning to return to normal.
He jerked his head toward the man on the ground. “That guard is enormous, he could have hurt you in any number of ways.”
“Worried about me?” Mary smiled. “I assure you, I can handle myself around men, Gabriel.”
“You had better hope so, coming in here dressed like…” he nodded at her attire before tossing his manacles to the floor and rubbing his wrist, “well, like a harlot.”
The warmth that had begun to spread through her chest fled swiftly to be replaced by an ever-familiar aching pain.
She opened her mouth to utter a harsh rebuttal, but snapped it shut, glancing toward the rough stone floor. What was the point in arguing when he was so absolute in his low opinion of her? Embarrassment of the previous night flooded her once more and she forced it aside. Now was decidedly not the time.
“Come, we must make our escape before they awaken.” She shook her head at him. “And for heaven’s sake we must clean and bind those wounds before you get infection.”
Mary turned toward the dungeon door.
Gabe caught her arm. “Mary…”
She turned to gaze at him questioningly.
“I apologize. It was wrong of me to say that you looked like a harlot. You saved my life, and deserve appreciation and respect, not disparagement.” He shifted his feet, discomfited.
Her heart lurched in her chest and Mary swallowed past the unexpected lump in her throat. “While I appreciate your sudden attack of conscience, Gabriel, now is certainly not the time to discuss it. In fact, if we dally any longer we are likely to be killed.”
Mary cursed her unavoidable chin quiver as she made her way to the dungeon’s door. Damn Gabriel Ashley and his ability to make her feel so many dratted emotions all at once.
* * *
Gabe watched as Mary strode purposefully toward the dungeon door, her chin quivering, and the ill feeling in his chest spread at an alarming pace.
He had hurt her. He hated that he hurt her. But confound it, she was right; now was most decidedlynotthe time to discuss it.
He bent to retrieve his destroyed waistcoat, and within it the vital code deciphers, maps, and documents outlining stratagems.
They stepped out onto the cool, dingy landing of the stairwell and Mary hurried past him to close the dungeon’s door behind them.
“Lock it, if you will,” she said.
With a nod of comprehension, Gabe turned and, using Mary’s hairpins, slid the lock into place.
Someone would eventually come looking for them, but for the moment, they needed as much time as they could get to make good their escape.
Gabe took the first step of the dungeon’s stairs and grit his teeth at the jolt of pain in his thigh.
Mary cringed as she looked at his bleeding leg. “Are you well enough to run, do you suppose?”
He gave her a half grin, the metallic zing of his blood still filling his mouth. “My injuries are not half as bad as they appear. My chest and face sting, I will grant you, but I am entirely capable of running.”
With a curt nod, Mary turned on her heel, picked up her skirts, and sprinted up the jagged stone staircase. She paused half way up to retrieve something that had presumably fallen, then continued on her way.
Anxious to be on his way, Gabe followed.
* * *
The dash to Kerr House had not been as painful as Gabe had initially feared. Lady Kerr was either inexperienced in inflicting true pain, or she had merely intended to begin with minimal torture. Regardless of the reasoning, Gabe was grateful for his mobility and lack of serious wounds.
In fact, what pained him the most was his chest…and not the injuries upon it.
Sir Bramwell Stevens’ words came back to haunt him. “I’ve seen the way you treat her, as though she is incapable of making her own decisions or of conducting her life in a manner of her choosing… You constantly berate her for being an actress. Not once have you congratulated her on a job well done. Not once have you encouraged her.”
