The Wife He Always Wanted (21 page)

“We have nothing for you here, sir,” he warned. “Move on.”

The man grinned, his mouth possessing very few teeth. “Ye are Gabriel ’arrington?”

Sarah felt Gabriel tense. His body was whipcord tight. Danger rippled off him. She fingered her knife.

“Who’s asking?”

The man peered at Sarah. The look he gave her was anything but simple curiosity. Either he had a penchant for boys, or he knew she was female. No matter his predilection, his interest did not bode well for her.

“Brown sent me to fetch ye. Said ye’d be looking for ’im at the Bess. Come.” He turned and ambled away.

“I do not like this,” Gabriel said. He appeared torn between continuing toward home and meeting Mister Brown. “We might be led into a trap.”

Sarah nodded. His concern was not for himself, but for her. She had to show strength. “True, that. However, if this toothless man knew of our meeting with the Runner, then Mister Brown may have either discovered important information or be in danger. We have to find out. He may need our help.”

Gabriel expelled a breath. “Stay close.”

The stranger waited impatiently near the side of the largest warehouse in the row. There was something feral in the man’s eyes, a warning of danger to come.

Gabriel stopped. He reached for the pistol in his waistband. “This is a mistake. Turn back!” he called out to Sarah, but it was too late.

A trio of men burst from the building and were upon them before she could pull the knife free. A fourth man came up behind Gabriel as he lifted his pistol and clubbed him on the back of the head.

He staggered. They fell upon Gabriel, who fought mightily against the men. He managed to damage two faces before he was overpowered by their sheer numbers. In the melee, the toothless stranger grabbed for her. He shoved her face-first against the building and pinned her arms behind her.

“Let me go! Gabriel!”

Despite a valiant effort, Gabriel could not overcome his adversaries. They forced him down and took his pistols. “The bloke broke me nose,” one of the men said, clutching his nose. He stumbled to his feet. Blood trickled down his face to drip on his stained white shirt.

“It is no less than you deserve,” Sarah snarled. The bloodied man took an angry step toward her. Her captor swung her out of reach.

“Leave ’er be,” he commanded. “We need ’em alive.”

Broken Nose met her defiant eyes, turned, and kicked Gabriel in the ribs. He grunted but remained stoic. She refused to flinch as they pulled Gabriel to his feet. She could not show weakness.

Once their captives were secure, they dragged Sarah and Gabriel into the warehouse and shoved them into the darkness. Then, without further comment, they backed out of the warehouse, slammed the door shut, and threw the bolt home.

Sarah dropped to her knees beside her husband. “Gabriel?” She pushed his hair back from his battered face and leaned close. “Can you hear me?”

He groaned and raised a hand to his head. “Have I died?” He blinked several times and then focused on her face. She smiled softly into his eyes.

“No, love, you are not dead.”

“Damn.” He rubbed his temple and rolled up onto his knees. “Were I dead, my head would not hurt so dreadfully.”

Sarah helped him to his feet. He wobbled slightly but quickly found his balance. She touched a cut on his forehead. “Thankfully the blow confirmed what I have long suspected; you have a thick skull.”

Another groan broke the moment. Sarah glanced up at Gabriel then into the shadows. In the dim light she spotted what looked like someone seated on a chair in a corner.

She released Gabriel. He leaned on a crate and kept to his feet. “Careful, sweet,” he urged. She walked into the shadows.

Sarah closed the distance to the man, certain now, from the way he listed to the side on the chair, that he was no threat. Ropes at his ankles confirmed her assessment.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness, the battered man became clearer to her view. She leaned down and peered into his swollen face. Her stomach flipped.

“Mister Brown?” She reached out to touch his shoulder. “Mister Brown. Can you hear me?”

An almost imperceptible nod followed. “Mister Brown, I want to help you.” She searched him for serious injuries and discovered when she moved behind him that his hands were also tied. She made use of her knife and cut him free. It took her assistance for him to lift his hands to the chair arms.

“Thank you,” he rasped out. She freed his legs.

“Can you stand?” she asked.

“I cannot.”

With Gabriel unsteady on his feet and Mister Brown injured, she knew their escape was up to her. She hadn’t had a chance to formulate a plan when the door screeched open and fading daylight spilled through the opening to illuminate part of the warehouse.

A rat ran off with a squeak.

Their attackers had returned, with one addition to their band of thugs.

A woman dressed all in black.

Chapter Twenty

T
he woman was much as Sarah remembered. As before, she was wearing black breeches, coat, and shirt, though this time her long dark hair was braided. The heavy plait fell forward over her shoulder and almost to her waist.

She stood in shadow with her face not clearly visible. However, Sarah could see enough to watch her gaze encompass the room, pausing in her perusal on Mister Brown.

A sharp whisper followed as she spoke to her men. She was clearly displeased. Why? The answer came when one of the thugs walked to a nearby table and collected a bottle. He walked to the Runner and lifted the rim to his swollen lips. Mister Brown eagerly drank.

“See, we are not monsters,” The Widow said and took a step closer. She managed to stay in shadow. For a woman of her profession, keeping her identity secret was prudent.

“I would say not.” Gabriel’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. He touched the corner of his bruised eye. “Beating men bloody is a sign of good breeding.”

Her laughter filled the space. “Mister Harrington, you are a delight.”

Beside her, Sarah felt Gabriel on the ready should he need to fight. He’d been taken by surprise the first time, likely distracted by her presence and his need to protect her. He’d not make that mistake again.

Unfortunately, the men were heavily armed. Still, Sarah knew her husband and felt danger ripple off him. If the need arose, he’d fight to the death for her, weapons be damned.

“What do you want?” Gabriel bit out. “You have not killed us, so you must have another purpose.”

The woman tapped her riding crop against her boot. “You know what I seek.” All humor fled her voice. “Palmer hid papers worth a good deal to some very powerful people. You have them. I propose we trade the information . . . for your wife.”

The only sign of tension Sarah saw in Gabriel was a tightening of his jaw. The Widow underestimated her noble-born husband. “Why don’t I kill you and end this today?” His voice was low and razor-sharp.

The tone sent a chill through Sarah. In that moment, she realized her husband was more dangerous than any spy. She did not have to see The Widow’s face clearly to know the woman felt it, too. Her hand tightened on the crop.

The woman shuffled her feet, her confidence, and smile, wavering. “Such violent talk from such a spoiled English boy. Your years abroad left a mark on your disposition.”

“You do not know what I am capable of,” Gabriel said, his voice low.

The Widow took another step forward and shadow and light played across her face. Sarah could see that she was not as young as first thought. She had to be somewhere well past thirty, if she spied for at least the last twenty or so years, as Mister Brown claimed. Still, she was stunning.

She met Gabriel’s eyes. “I know more about you than you think.” She tapped her boot. “Now enough of this prattle. I want those papers, you have them, and we will trade for them. If we keep this civilized then no one needs to die.”

“We do not know where the papers are,” Sarah protested. “You know this. You’ve been in my house. Did you see any evidence we were hiding my father’s papers?”

No denial followed the accusation. It confirmed Sarah’s suspicion. She was their housebreaker.

“Then you will find them.”

Sarah slowly shook her head. “I will not allow Gabriel to trade me, and he will not help you if you harm me. I think we are at an impasse.”

“I could kill you.”

“Then you gain nothing,” Sarah said. “You have already had ten years to find your evidence. You’ve failed. I believe the reason we are still alive is your hope that we will succeed where you’ve failed.”

The woman said nothing. Then, “I do not need to kidnap you today to get my way. I can take you anytime I wish. Your husband should keep this in mind should he dare defy me.” She nodded to her men. “I will be in touch.” The group turned and filed out.

Sarah looked up at Gabriel. “When she gets what she wants, she will kill us.”

“She will try.” He rubbed his bruised chin. “Once we are in possession of the damaging information, we are a danger to the man, or men, she protects.”

“I will not accept this as our fate. She wins, unless we use the information first. Once the truth is out, there will be no reason for anyone to want us dead. We will possess no secrets.”

“True, but first we need to find the papers.” He sighed. “We are having a bit of trouble with that.”

He walked over to Mister Brown. “The Widow is everything you said. She is a bloodthirsty bitch.”

The Runner slowly lifted his head. One eye was swollen shut and blackened. “I told you she was dangerous.”

Gabriel reached to help him from the chair. “She is.” He slid under the Runner’s arm. Sarah slid under the other. Between them, they kept the battered man upright.

“You know The Widow well, Mister Brown,” Sarah said. “You described her quite accurately.”

Mister Brown grimaced and took a step. His legs struggled to bear his weight. “I should know her. She is my wife.”

* * *

S
arah’s feet faltered. She scrambled not to lose her grip on Mister Brown. “Your wife?”

Gabriel steadied them both and glanced into her wide eyes. He was equally stunned by the pronouncement.

The Runner set his jaw and said nothing more.

They walked away from the warehouse and covered some distance before hailing the hackney. The driver’s brows lifted at the sight of them stumbling across the street, but he held his tongue. He opened the door and they climbed inside. The Runner settled in the hard seat and groaned.

Her patience strained, Sarah sat next to a scowling Gabriel and stared at Mister Brown. “You are married to The Widow? You put us in greater danger by keeping this secret. I think you owe us an explanation, sir.”

The coach jolted forward and the Runner spoke. “I do. As you might suspect, this news is not something I often share. The Runners do not know of our connection. I thought it best.”

“This is not the time for excuses,” Sarah snapped. “Tell us everything or I will have you unceremoniously dumped into the Thames, without suffering a moment’s regret.”

Gabriel’s lips twitched.

Mister Brown sighed. “I met Solange in France, early on in Napoleon’s rise to power and long before Waterloo. He was bullying his way throughout the Continent and our government worried we would be next. Spies were installed to watch over him. I was one of the first to take the assignment. I moved to a house just outside Paris, in the shadow of the Palace of Versailles.” He turned to the window. “Solange worked in the palace kitchen. I met her in the village. She was very young, barely eighteen, and very beautiful. I was twelve years older. We fell in love.”

“Did you know she was a spy?” Gabriel asked.

“I did not, although I admit I did have my suspicions. Her hands were not those of a woman in the laboring class. However, I did not want the truth. I wanted her.”

“How did you discover she was spying for Napoleon?” Sarah said. “That had to be a difficult secret to keep.”

“She was guarded from the first, and I told her I was a sea captain.” He stretched out his legs. “We were together for almost a year when Henry came to me with disturbing information. Solange was suspected of passing intercepted missives to Napoleon that got three British spies killed. I did not want to believe her guilty of such a deed.”

“My father discovered who she really was?”

He glanced back at Sarah. “Yes. I hated Henry for forcing me to see the truth. My marriage was forever tainted with that information. I could not look at her without seeing those dead men. I had worked with two of them.”

“She was guilty?” Sarah said.

“She was.” Even now, his pain was evident. “I knew this was about war and I was equally guilty of passing French secrets to my own government. But she was my wife. I did not want to see her as a danger to me, my friends, and my country.”

“What did you do?” Gabriel asked.

Mister Brown turned back to the window. “Instead of arresting her, I told her she was dead to me. I left her there, in the cottage we’d shared, and never saw her again, until today. I almost did not recognize her.”

The clop of hooves and rattle of the hackney filled the quiet. Then, “Leaving her alive was a mistake. She changed from a simple spy to The Widow, the most notorious agent in Napoleon’s army. I knew from the moment I heard tales of her exploits that she was my Solange. Her name, and attire, revealed that I was dead to her, too.”

While the Runner struggled between anger for what Solange had become and his memories of the beloved young woman she’d once been, Sarah was empathetic for Mister Brown, who’d given up everything out of love for king and country.

Gabriel leaned forward. “By keeping this secret, you may have jeopardized the safety of
my
wife. Give me a reason not to expose your secret to Bow Street.”

In that moment, the Runner aged before her eyes. He slumped against the squabs. “I will not try and convince you to keep my confidence. You owe me nothing.”

“We do not,” Gabriel said. Yet, Sarah could see her husband’s inward struggle. “What about now? She clearly carries no lingering affection for you.”

Pain crossed his face. “Despite the years and the darkness in her, I still love her.” He paused. “I ask only one favor. If anyone is to take her life, it will be me.”

Shocked by his bluntness, Sarah glanced at Gabriel. He appeared relaxed, far more than she, but there was something dark in his eyes.

She suspected that he was still angry about the lie and wasn’t certain he could trust Mister Brown. She felt the same. She knew the Runner was Father’s friend and loyal to their country, yet he’d kept his link to Solange a secret from everyone. She was a weakness that he could not overcome.

How loyal was he, really? If it came down to Solange’s life or that of Sarah and Gabriel, what choice would he make?

Mister Brown hated The Widow but loved his wife.

The rest of the ride passed in silence. When they arrived home, Sarah had Mister Brown settled in a guest room and his wounds tended to. Once she was certain he was set up with food and brandy, she joined Gabriel in their bedroom.

She found him at the window. Their eyes met in the reflection. She softened and brushed a fingertip over the bruises that marked his face, then moved onto his cut lip.

“You should let me tend that.”

He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “I am fine, love.” He turned back to the glass and crossed his arms. “We can no longer trust Brown.”

“I know.” She hooked an arm through his. “I do not think he will harm us, but neither do I think he will follow through with his vow to kill her. He is torn.”

Gabriel nodded. “Agreed. He will continue to investigate and we will keep his secret. For now. However, we must remain guarded against Solange and her companions. Doubtless, she will follow through with her threat against you if cornered.”

The notion unsettled her. She went to the window to stand beside him and peered out. There was nothing visible to cause concern; no obvious sign of spies watching the town house, no black-clad figures hiding behind hedges, no large thugs waiting to kidnap her while she slept. Still . . .

Reaching out, Gabriel pulled her against him. She snuggled in his embrace. “I will not let harm come to you,” he said and kissed the top of her head.

“I know.” She spun and wrapped her arms around his waist. “And I will not allow anything to happen to you.”

He snorted. “Do you know how to shoot a pistol or fight with a sword?”

“I do not,” she admitted. “However, I think I can manage quite well with a candlestick or pot.”

He leaned to kiss her and said, against her mouth, “Remind me to watch for flying pots if ever I get your ire up. I’d like to keep my skull intact.” He nipped the corner of her mouth then reclaimed her lips.

Sarah snuggled closer and welcomed a full exploration. Lud, how she loved his kisses.

When his hands made free with her breasts, she broke the kiss and placed a hand on his chest, and he slid his hands down to cup her buttocks. “Mrs. Channing will expect us down to dinner soon.”

He reached for the lacings of her dress. “Our housekeeper can wait. I have a wife to ravish.”

* * *

W
here are we going?” Sarah asked the next morning. Gabriel had roused her from sleep with a swat on the bottom then all but dragged her limp form from the bed.

Once she was upright and grumbling about his inconsiderate behavior, he gently nudged her toward Flora, who stood at the wardrobe awaiting instructions.

“Out,” he said. He turned to the maid. “Dress her in something serviceable.”

“Out?” She put her hands on her hips, her hair falling in tangles around her face. “You wake me before the roosters and that is all the explanation I get?”

“There is no time for questions. If you are not dressed and ready for breakfast in a half hour, I will take you as you are.” He scanned the nightdress with a salacious expression. The thin fabric did not hide much to his gaze. “I think the gentlemen of London will be highly intrigued.”

Flora leaned into the wardrobe to hide her smile. Sarah huffed and took a seat at the dressing table. Gabriel called for Benning and walked through the sitting room to the chamber beyond. Although he slept with Sarah, he preferred to keep his clothes and toiletries separate from hers, away from her perfumes and fripperies.