For one dangerous moment, she imagined herself straddling his lap, skirts to her thighs, her husband moving inside her, each?—
“Rein in your imagination, my lady, at least until tonight,” he said in that velvet voice she loved. “As much as I want you, I won’t indulge in reckless behaviour with Alfie aboard.”
She laughed to hide her mild embarrassment. “You sound so sure of yourself, my lord. I was merely daydreaming about?—”
“Having me, Olivia. Your tongue brushes your bottom lip when you’re thinking about the things we do together.”
Forced to admit it, she said, “Isn’t that what you intended? To introduce me to the sensual art of seduction. To make me want you.”
He didn’t have to try too hard.
“You need to want me when I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
“Then I shall bear that in mind.”
By the time they reached World’s End, the windows had fogged, and Olivia had counted every beat between his glances and hers. Not once had he looked away first.
Mrs Hodge’s red-brick cottage stood silent, its shutters drawn. Weeds choked the path, and the garden had run wild. An eerie stillness had Olivia glancing back at the coach, wishing they’d left Alfie behind.
Gabriel rapped twice on the weathered door and waited.
No answer.
“She should be home from the market by now.” A prickle of unease raised the hair at her nape. What if Mrs Hodge had been dealt with too? “Mr Harper always gives her a ride in his cart.”
Gabriel tried the door and found it locked, then opened the shutters, cupping his hands to the glass as he peered through the grimy pane.
“She’s not inside,” he said, stepping back from the window. “But it appears she had visitors last night. There are cups on the table, two chairs drawn to the fire, and signs she left in haste this morning.”
Strange. In the weeks Olivia had rented the cottage, she had never known Mrs Hodge entertain.
“While Mrs Hodge is away, perhaps we should visit the mausoleum.” Standing idle would do little to stem her nerves or the feeling they were being watched from the trees. “I brought the key, and it’s safer in the daylight.”
“Agreed. And it may be worth checking the cottage next door. Mrs Hodge, or the careless watch, may have left it unlocked.”
He told Kincaid to keep his eyes peeled and decided Alfie would be better off waiting in the carriage. “You can catch any bandits by surprise and give us an advantage.”
The doors to Olivia’s old cottage were locked, yet Gabriel stared at the narrow path that ran from the back garden to the graveyard. He crouched, his trousers pulling taut over his powerful thighs, and touched the ruts too deep to have been washed away by rain.
“The man found dead in your cottage was killed in the graveyard and dragged through the gate, not carried,” he said.
She came to stand beside him and studied the deep grooves in the earth, marks left by the heels of a man’s boots. One person had killed Mr Lovelace and staged the scene.
“I’m not strong enough to drag a man through the garden and up the stairs.”
“But why blame you?” He stood and brushed the soil from his hands. “They must believe you have something that could expose them. Seeing you in Newgate achieves two goals. It keeps you from running, and gives them the chance to bribe a guard to beat the truth from you.”
A shiver traced her spine. The logic was sound. Too sound.
“Then why try to kill me?”
“I doubt killing you was the plan.” He looked about, wary as a wolf on the scent. “More likely, he meant to frighten you into giving him what he wanted.”
The words dragged her back to that night, the cold press of stone, the scrape of boots behind her. Her stomach tightened. She forced the images away, clinging instead to the memory of Gabriel’s commanding voice.
He’d not abandoned her.
He’d come back.
