“Say nothing if you value your life,” he growled.
She gave him a speculative look and opened her mouth to speak.
“Or your reputation,” he added and fixed his gaze on her mouth.
It shut. With something of a snap. And remained pursed in a disapproving line.
That mouth would be the death of him, Gabe thought.
Without a word she turned and walked upstairs, head held high, queen dismissing peasant. Her deliciously rounded backside swayed enticingly with every step.
Once she’d disappeared, Gabe turned back, to find Ethan watching him with a broad, knowing grin.
“Well, don’t just stand around looking witless,” Gabe snapped. “Let’s get this place cleared up a bit.”
Ethan nodded. He started picking up overturned furniture. “Gone to a lot of trouble, she has, to make it nice. And keep an eye out for her kitty-cat. She’s worried about it.” He shuddered. “Can’t stand cats, meself. Make me sneeze.”
Gabe looked around the room and realized Ethan was right. Under the smashed china, the scattered earth and geranium and spatters of gore, the woodwork and floors had been freshly polished and were fragrant with beeswax. Everywhere were small, fussy feminine touches of curtains, ornaments, hand-hooked rugs, framed watercolor pictures, all knocked awry or ruined.
Gabe hadn’t noticed; Ethan had. Interesting.
They set to, cleaning up as best they could. First they carried the prisoners and slung them out the back. Three of them had regained consciousness and struggled, spitting abuse in some language he didn’t recognize. One spat at Ethan.
“That does it,” he muttered, seized a dented brass vase from a shelf, and used it to biff each of them unconscious again.
Gabe looked at the vase and snorted. “She probably loved that vase, Ethan.”
Ethan shrugged. “It was ruined anyway.”
They picked up everything that had been dropped and swept up everything that had been smashed.
Gabe glanced at the ceiling. “What the devil are those women doing? How long does it take to pack a bag?”
Ethan shrugged. “They’re women.” He picked a book up and sniffed it. “Leather. Beautiful embossing.” His fingers traced the decoration before setting the book carefully on the shelf. He looked through a few of them, then noticed Gabe watching and closed them with a snap. “No pictures.” He quickly shoved all the books back on the shelves, then went in search of a broom.
Gabe was righting the upside-down books when the two ladies came downstairs.
“About tim—er, all set?” He hurried forward. Miss Tibthorpe was carrying a faded carpet bag, and an umbrella and Callie was carrying a large, covered box.
Gabriel relieved her of it. “Good God,” he exclaimed. “What’s in this? It weighs a ton.”
“Tibby’s things,” she said in a voice that indicated she thought the question impertinent.
Gabe grinned. A few minutes in her governess’s company and his avenging angel was turning back into a snippy little duchess. Gabe didn’t mind. He liked her either way. He noticed the pistols and placed them carefully in his pocket.
“I’ve packed enough for a few days,” Miss Tibthorpe said, “but I’m worried about my dear little Kitty-cat. I can’t find him anywhere.” She went to the back door and called, “Kitty-kitty-kitty!” No cat came forward.
“You get along to the Grange, we’ll find your cat,” Gabe told her. “We’ll finish tidying up here—”
“Oh, but I can do that later.” Miss Tibthorpe glanced doubtfully from him to Ethan, who’d been pushing the mop around the floor a bit, leaving smeary marks. He looked like a big ox in the feminine little cottage.
“Madam, we made the mess, we will clean it up—or rather, I will. Ethan will escort you two ladies back to the Grange and I will bring these villains before the local magistrate.”
“No, you mustn’t!” Callie gasped. “I don’t want them reported.”
Gabe frowned. He didn’t like it. “The crime should be reported. Any other action is to invite anarchy.”
“If you report that foreigners broke into Tibby’s house and held her prisoner, there will be a huge fuss. Count Anton must be staying somewhere nearby. The local constable is bound to speak to him, Count Anton will find out who reported it and where you live—he will know where I am.”
