He stared into her eyes. He read in them fear and determination. “Very well. It goes against all of my instincts, but I won’t report it,” he said, comforting himself with the reflection that no red-blooded man could resist the appeal in those green eyes. “Now come along, let’s get moving. I’ll finish up here and follow shortly.”
“What about my cat? Kitty-cat doesn’t like men,” Miss Tibthorpe said, looking as though she and Kitty-cat shared the same views. “He will be even more mistrustful now, since that horrid beast kicked him!”
“I’ll find the blas—I’ll find the cat.” Gabe told her, trying to mask his impatience. He looked out the front and checked to make sure the coast was clear. “Cats like me, don’t worry. But I can do everything much better once I know you are both safe.”
“And out of the way,” Callie said in a voice only Gabe could hear.
“Exactly.” He gave her the sort of smile one gave to a clever pupil.
She glowered at him.
“You can glower at me even better from the curricle,” he said. “It’s higher up.” Slipping his free arm around her waist he propelled her toward the door.
“I can walk perfectly well by myself,” she muttered.
“Yes, but will you? That’s the question.” Gabe compelled her onward. “Ethan, escort Miss Tibthorpe, if you please,” he ordered over his shoulder. “Now move!”
“There is no need to shove,” his duchess said snippily.
“There is every need. Think of it not as shoving, but an affectionate nudge.” He marched her out of the cottage, dumped the box in the back, and lifted her bodily into the curricle. Ethan did the same with the governess, then climbed up, squashing in beside the governess. Gabe handed him the pistols. “You know what to do.”
“So do we,” said Callie with pursed lips.
“Hah! I’ve heard that before,” Gabe said and slapped the grays on the rump.
He watched until the curricle was out of sight. Nobody followed. Gabe started to breathe normally again. He’d fought four men this afternoon and was still standing, but she’d delivered him a blow that had knocked him endways.
The way she’d come back and burst in the door, pistols waving. To help him.Him.Risking herself to save a man who was more than capable of looking after himself. He’d survived eight years of warfare.
Crazy female. She had no idea of how it was supposed to be between men and women. He was the one who protected her, not the other way around.
Gabe checked the men at the back door. They were still unconscious. He was tempted to hand the cowardly swine over to the authorities, but he’d given her his word he wouldn’t. The first time in his life he’d been swayed from doing what he considered to be the right thing.
He checked the cottage. There was damage to the doors and windows. He’d send a man down tomorrow to effect any repairs needed. He straightened a couple of rugs and some pictures.
He couldn’t get it out of his head; no woman, ever, had tried to protect him.
He had no idea how to handle it.
She had known him a day—less than a day.
He heard a sound behind him and whirled. Nothing. Then he glimpsed a movement under the kitchen dresser. He crouched down and saw a big, old, ugly, battle-scarred ginger tomcat peering warily back at him from one good eye.
“You can’t possibly be her dear little Kitty-cat,” Gabe told it. “You ought to be called Cyclops, or Ulysses.”
The cat glared at him in silence. A bitten-off, sorry-looking excuse for a tail twitched angrily. But the cat, though angry, was very much at home.
“Come on then, Kitty-cat, you old reprobate.” Gabe reached under the dresser to take the cat and the cat lashed out. Gabe swore and sucked his well-scratched hand. He wrapped a handkerchief around his hand and, uttering soothing noises, he tried again. The handkerchief got shredded and Gabe acquired some more scratches. “Look, you ugly old devil, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m just bringing that poor deluded woman her sweet little Kitty-cat.”
“Where’s ze princess?” a voice from above him said, and Gabe’s head exploded with pain.
“Princess? What princess?” he said, groggily. A boot kicked him hard in the groin and Gabe doubled up, groaning and cursing his own stupidity. At least three of them stood over him. He’d been half under the dresser, caught unawares like any wet-behind-the-ears novice.
The leader, in shiny black riding boots with silver spurs, snarled, “Don’t waste my time, peasant! I want ze princess and her son!”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t know any princess.” Gabe tried to push free, but the heel of another boot stamped down on his hand. The pain was excruciating.
“Tell us where she is. She and ze prince.”
