She was alive—barely. Her chest rose in shallow jerks, her lips parted in a faint, breathless moan.
Gentry tore off his cravat and crouched beside her, gently moving her trembling hand aside to press the bundled silk to the wound. “Hold this,” he said quietly. “Keep the pressure. Let me see what we’re dealing with.”
Her hand slipped. Gabriel dropped to his knees, catching the silk and pressing it down. “Who did this?”
Her eyes fluttered open, vacant at first. Then they found his and filled with fear. “No,” she muttered through cracked lips.
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
She looked beyond him, her voice a croakwhen she uttered Olivia’s name. “Where is she? You didn’t leave her … not at the house?”
Pain burned low in his gut. The blade of fear was still lodged there, impossible to ignore. “They’ve taken her.”
Mrs Hodge cried, a soft, broken sound, Olivia’s name lost in the pain. “No. No. No. Do they have the file?” She gasped. “Did you find the evidence?”
“No, on both counts.”
Rather than dismay, her sigh carried relief. “Then all is not lost. There’s still time.”
Hope flickered to life. He didn’t trust it, but clung on, refusing to let it die. “Do you know where they took her? Do you know where her father hid the evidence?”
She reached for him, a trembling hand on his coat sleeve. “Follow his clues. He was convinced you would help her find it.” Another ragged breath. Her hand slipped from his sleeve, her eyes glassy with pain. “They’ll kill her once they have it … you too. They’ll not risk your wrath.”
Gentry leaned over her, voice low but firm. “Conserve your energy, ma’am. If we’re to save you, the blade has to come out.” But when he looked at Gabriel, he gave a slight shake of his head.
Mrs Hodge’s gaze drifted. She knew every second counted. “All you need is the file … but I don’t know where it is. No one does.”
Gabriel bent lower. “You must know where they’ve taken her. Who’s involved. For heaven’s sake, woman, give me something.”
Seconds passed.
“The man in the bed … it wasn’t Mr Lovelace.”
The truth hit like a punch, but there was no time to dwell.
“The watchman … he did this. He was paid to get rid of the body.”
The devil’s own fury rose in Gabriel’s chest.
“Sir …” Her voice rasped. “Sir Randall. His sister knew.”
Gabriel stared at her, blood thundering in his ears.
But the woman had one final message as her life ebbed away. “Trust no one. Go home, my lord. Find the file before it’s too late.”
Chapter Twenty
The air was so cold, Olivia could see her own breath, short bursts of white mist against the gloom of the cell. Beneath her, the cot was damp. The musty blankets weren’t fit for a dog. The pounding in her head refused to cease, and the lump behind her ear was the size of a plum.
Yet her thoughts were not for herself, but for Gabriel.
He would have heard how upset she’d been, that in a moment of jealousy, she had packed her valise and left Studland Park. Left him. Left him for good.
The ache in her chest hurt more than the one in her skull.
If she died here, among this band of revolutionaries, he would spend the rest of his life wondering, never knowing the truth.
That she loved him.
