A coachman opened the carriage door as they neared. The vehicle was nondescript, sturdy but unremarkable.
“Weare going for a drive.”
He held out his hand and she paused, casting glances in both directions. Seeing no one in the immediate vicinity, and feeling a distinct lack of choice, she gripped his gloved fingers and allowed herself to be helped inside.
The interior of the carriage was quite nice. Rich velvet seats, leather straps, and luxurious pillows. The shades were drawn, even with twilight upon them, and a low gas lamp spread shadows into the corners and crevices.
“You fancy a ride through the park at eight, is that it?”
He closed the door and sat across from her, his face shifting between shadows as he settled. “I fancy not having every sentence of our conversation dissected by your butler and other servants.”
Her lips tightened, but it was hard to defend. He spoke nothing but the truth of the matter.
“You doubt my household?”
He peeled off his gloves, a languid, sensual motion where each finger was caressed from root to tip. “Absolutely.”
“Quite suspicious of you.”
“I am a cautious man. Perhaps I should speak to your brother before we go further in our negotiations.”
She knew instantly that it was not Kenny of whom he spoke.
“Mark is indisposed.”
He lazily pulled a glove through his fingers. “Pity.”
The carriage rocked lightly as they rounded a corner.
“You said that you would decide whether to help my brother by eight.” She lifted her chin, clinging to her last remnants of pride. “Have you?”
“You have accepted my terms? Without question?”
Two gleaming eyes reflected in the lamplight under dark lashes and locks, like the devil making a bargain. A fine sheen of perspiration gathered along her hairline. “I have little choice, have I? I would not have sought you out otherwise. And you have given little enough explanation about what you might want from me.”
“Dangerous wording, Miss Winters.”
“Choice wording, then, Mr. Noble, as I find dealing with you far from safe.”
He settled farther into the plush velvet seat. “You may as well call me Gabriel.” The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he knew she would do no such thing.
“I prefer Mr. Noble.” The words were clipped. Everything else about this situation held her powerless. She would fight until her dying breath to retain some semblance of control.
“And I prefer you call me Gabriel.” His taunting tone curled into silk-covered iron. “If we find ourselves in a tavern or on the streets, it’s hardly going to do our investigation much good for you to give away the game.”
Tavern? Her? We?She bit her lower lip and ignored that portion of his statement for a second. “As if everyone in town knows your name?”
“My name is not unknown to certain elements. It is why you seek tohireme, is it not?”
“And your face? Hardly a visage to be forgotten,” she said, a part of her surprised at her vitriol; the relief of having someone to help turning into unnecessary combativeness.
“Are you calling me handsome? Why, Marietta Winters, I do believe I am blushing.” His voice deepened as he played with his leather gloves, dragging them through his fingers in slow motions.
Her cheeks roasted. “I stand by my statement.”
“No need to worry. I usually travel in disguise. Much easier for everyone that way.”
He maintained his indolent posture leaning back against the squabs, but a new thread of tension laced through the latticework in the carriage. The gloves dangled from his fingers, forgotten for a moment. Marietta made note of the tension. Though she wasn’t sure what it signified, perhaps she could use it to her advantage later.
