The Wife He Always Wanted (24 page)

The Runner did not protest. Gabe shot her a glance then held out his hat. No shots. The silence following the shooting offered no comfort. How could he get focused on the shooter if he did not know the direction in which he was hiding?

“Be careful,” Sarah urged.

He dropped onto his hands and knees and peeked out. Emboldened by no further shots, he leaned out further.

“I cannot see anyone.” Taking a chance, he stood and leaped out. He hit the ground and his knees buckled. A shot cracked and he rolled under the coach and out the other side.

“Gabe!” Sarah cried.

“I’m unhurt,” he quickly assured her and scrambled behind the wheel. The coach was angled sideways across the road and the weeds along either side were uncut. It offered him some cover from flying bullets. At his back was a ditch.

Not enough protection for comfort. Still, now he knew the direction of the shooter. That would help.

Careful to keep low, he jerked off his coat, put the pistol in his waistband, and slid sideways and away from the coach. The horses shuffled restlessly as he moved past them. Without the firm hand of the coachman, they were uncertain, nervous.

His extensive experiences in America gave him an advantage. He and Albert had gotten into many situations when he thought they’d breathed their last, and yet managed to survive.

This shooter paled against a party of Cherokee, or a band of bank robbers whose horses they’d just borrowed.

His mouth twitched and a feral gleam filled his eyes. No, he and Albert had faced worse. They’d learned to hunt food with the best trackers in Texas, how to move soundlessly through wooded mountains when looking for a kidnapped girl, and when to turn and ride away when the odds were against them.

Damn. His heart grew heavy. If only his friend were alive to share this one last danger.

Never had the stakes been higher for Gabe in all his years away. Sarah’s life was endangered. He could not fail her.

Sliding on his belly, he pulled himself from the ditch and into the weeds, his mind focused, shutting out every sound, every thought, outside of finding the attacker.

Another shot, then two, hit the coach. The man was getting impatient. The coach walls weren’t enough to keep the bullets from gaining entry inside. He had to hurry.

Gabe’s stomach burned. Like a cat, he moved, careful and nearly soundless, until he reached the fence bordering the road. From there, he crawled beneath the wood planks into the pasture and followed the fence to the east where a small wood copse stretched along the fence. His heart pounded in his ears.

The distance narrowed. It took concentration to hear anything past the thud of his heartbeats in his ears.

Eventually, he heard a low-voiced conversation amid harsh whispers. He edged closer. He could see the backs of two armed men, one nearer the coach, the other behind a small tree and to the back side of the front man. He was loading pistols for the other.

Gabe stood. With care, he stepped forward to within reach of the second man. He waited until the stranger put down the loaded and primed piece.

“Where is ’arrington?” the man asked. His answer was a hand over his mouth and an arm around his neck. The stranger struggled. Gabe quickly cut off his breath. He applied pressure until the man went limp and then quietly eased the unconscious man to the ground.

“I cannot see him,” replied the first man, oblivious to the goings-on behind him, clearly too focused on trying to kill Gabe. “He must be under the coach.”

Gabe cleared his throat. The man spun around, his jaw open. Gabe released a feral grin and lifted his pistol. “Looking for me?”

Chapter Twenty-three

H
arrington.” The man was medium height, balding, but built to fight. His pistol was raised halfway, not yet positioned to fire. Gabe intended to keep him from taking a shot.

“One and the same.” Gabe’s weapon
was
ready.

The stranger smiled, showing one missing tooth. “I should’ve known you would not be easily killed. I once got in a brawl with an American seaman. Those bastards can fight.”

Although not American, Gabe nodded. Americans were a tough lot. “Then you know that I have no intention of allowing you to kill me, my wife, or Brown. The decision is yours. Put down the pistol, or sacrifice your life.”

The man seemed to consider his options, his smile never wavering. It was his eyes that gave him away. In a blink, the pistol came up and Gabe shot him through the heart.

Muddy brown eyes widened. He stumbled back. “Bastard.” The man went down and breathed his last.

Without a second glance, Gabe walked to the other man and reached for his coat, pulled him up, and tossed him over his shoulder.

“Don’t shoot me. There is no danger,” he called out to Brown and walked out of the small copse. Brown peered out the coach door and Sarah moved up beside him. Relief flooded her features. “I shot the other one.”

He dropped his burden unceremoniously on the ground and went to check on the coachman. Blood soaked the servant’s gray greatcoat. Gabe climbed up for a closer examination, surprised to find the man breathing, though struggling to do so.

“I need help,” Gabe called out. Brown appeared at his feet. Between them, they got the coachman down from his seat and into the coach. Sarah helped remove Gabe’s cravat and stanched the blood flow.

“He needs a physician, and quickly,” Sarah said. She pressed the cravat down with both hands.

“I will do my best.”

Gabe left the coachman to her care and joined Brown outside. “You stay with our prisoner and I will go for help.” He climbed into the driver’s box and claimed the reins. Without another word, they were off.

It took fifteen minutes to return to Westwood Park and dispatch a pair of Runners back to Brown. Another half hour passed while hunting down a surgeon, and another hour for the coachman to succumb to his injury, despite a valiant effort to save him.

Sarah was bereft. She’d been certain her fight to keep him alive would save him. “I tried. I tried,” she said as Gabe pulled her against his chest. Her weary body trembled. He wanted to take away the pain, but he could do nothing but comfort her.

“I know you did, love.” He kissed her head and breathed in the scent of orchids. “The bullet nicked his lung. There was nothing anyone could do.”

She lifted her head. There were no tears, just deep sadness. “I am pleased one of the shooters is dead. I only wish the other had a similar fate.”

The coldness in her voice chilled him.

Recent events had changed his country mouse, and he hated the bitterness that now occupied his sweet Sarah.

“I wish the same. Unfortunately, we need him alive. He is our connection to The Widow and her merry band of killers.” He took her hand, led her from the house, and they returned to the coach. His Lordship had offered his coachman to drive them back, and Gabe accepted. “Let us see what Brown has discovered.”

If they intended to receive information about the shooter and his companion when they returned, they were disappointed. The man was still too befuddled by Gabe’s attack to do more than babble incoherently before lapsing back into a stupor.

“He said nothing of use?” Gabe asked while they loaded the stranger into the coach.

“Nothing yet,” Brown replied. He, Gabe, and the borrowed coachman loaded the body into the boot. “Although I did get enough to conclude that he and the dead man were brothers.”

They rolled him onto the seat, and Gabe, Sarah, and Brown sat opposite him. They all stared. “He is not at all what I thought a spy would look like,” Sarah said. “I expected more . . . polish.”

“He is not a spy,” Gabe explained. “I think they were hired for the purpose of following through with Solange’s threat. They planned to kill Brown, injure me, and kidnap you. The Widow’s employer is tired of waiting for your father’s papers. If they have you, they know I’d do anything to get you back.”

Her expression softened. Absent privacy, she did not need to speak to express her appreciation. She took his hand.

Lud, he loved her. Once this case was settled, he’d hand her the heavens if it meant never again seeing hurt in her eyes or hearing bitterness in her voice.

* * *

A
fter dropping off Mister Brown, the body, and the prisoner, Sarah and Gabriel returned to the town house. Gabe hoped that by morning the stranger would be recovered enough to give them something to lead them to The Widow and her employer.

Sarah called for a bath and groaned as she slipped into the steaming water. Having been hunched over the coachman for the ride to Westwood Park in an effort to stanch his blood loss, her back ached dreadfully.

“I think I shall stay in here until morning.”

Gabriel removed his soiled waistcoat. “The water will be icy in twelve hours.”

“Then I shall instruct the maids to remove and replace the water as needed.” She stretched her arms over her head. “I do not think that is too much to expect after the day we’ve had.”

Placing her arms on the edge of the tub, she rested her chin on the back of one hand. “You are the handsomest man in all of England. No, the entire world.”

He chuckled. “You are biased, sweet.”

“I certainly am not.” Her gaze drifted down his body, eagerly watching as he unbuttoned and slipped his pants off his hips and perfect buttocks. She touched her tongue to her bottom lip as his already rising erection sprang into view. She wondered if she’d ever think of him as anything but magnificent, even when he was old and stooped. “No man will ever challenge you for my attention.”

For a time, they forgot dead men, and spies, and murder cases, and just enjoyed their bath. After, they dried off and snuggled together in bed.

Fire crackled in the fireplace while Sarah lay on his chest, listening to his heart beat strong in his chest. She wanted to stay this way forever, in his arms, and shut out all of the darkness outside of these protective walls.

“I love you, Sarah Harrington.”

Her head popped up. “What?”

Gabriel toyed with her damp hair, brushing it from her face so he could look into her eyes. A smile tugged at his mouth. “I love you, Sarah.”

All her strength left her, her bones turning to pudding. The surprise of the unexpected statement left her unable to speak. She always hoped for affection between them. She never expected his love.

“Truly?” she asked, finally.

“I do.”

She found the ability to push forward and kissed him. She laughed against his mouth. Her heart welled with happiness. “I love you, too. Lord knows why, but I do.”

Chuckling, Gabriel kissed her long and passionately. They spent the next hour abed then went down for dinner, when Sarah begged for food. “I am famished. Getting fired upon taxes one’s body. If you do not feed me soon, I will expire.”

Over pigeon pie and pease pudding, they spoke of nothing about the case, murder, or thugs with pistols.

They loved each other. That was enough.

Harris found them there, relaxing over tea and port. “A pair of footmen sent by Lord Seymour left a trunk on the stoop for you, sir. They said it was shipped to Ireland by mistake.”

“Ireland?” Gabriel rose and Sarah followed him out. Sitting just inside the doorway was a battered brown trunk.

“Is it yours?” Sarah asked.

“It is.”

Gabriel popped open the lid and examined the contents. He frowned. “It appears that everything is here. To be certain, have the footmen carry it upstairs and I will look through it thoroughly.”

Once the trunk was placed by their bed, Sarah and Gabriel took everything out, piece by piece, until the contents were all laid out on the mattress.

The items consisted largely of clothing, some letters, and a few trinkets he’d picked up from foreign places. In the stack was a cloth-wrapped package tied with string. He handed it to Sarah. “I could not pack Albert’s clothing, so this is all that’s left of his personal things. There are letters and some items he’d want you to have.”

She took the package and caressed the surface. “Twenty-eight years of life all wrapped up in faded cloth and string.” She’d open it later, when she was alone.

“Yes. However, they are the things he cherished most.”

She set it on her lap and examined the scattered items. “Was anything taken?” she asked.

“I see nothing missing but for a pouch of coins and a musket that I bought from the son of an American soldier.” He sat on the bed. “My trunk was not stolen by spies after all. It was sent on the wrong ship. A thief took advantage and stole a few things from it, nothing more. Thankfully, my name and my parents’ address were written on the outside. I reported it missing when I arrived in London.”

“At least it was returned.” She caught Albert’s package up against her. “I am grateful to have something of my brother’s.”

The clothing was sent off for cleaning. “I suspect you will not be wearing most of this here,” Sarah said as she handed the maid a cowhide vest. She waited for the girl to scurry off before cocking a brow at her husband. “I had all but forgotten the fringed trousers. I was too fearful of you to appreciate how well they fit and how wicked you looked in them. I’d like to see you wear them again; when we are alone, of course.”

A glint appeared in his eyes. “Yes, My Lady.”

Flora arrived, ending any further talk about fringed trousers. In her arms was a box. “Your gown came for the party tomorrow tonight. You might want to check to make certain the alterations are correct.”

“Drat. I’d forgotten about the Sherwood party.”

Gabriel kissed her cheek. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He slipped out. Flora stripped Sarah out of her day dress and pulled the deep blue silk gown over her head. The dress skimmed over her body. She turned this way and that in front of the mirror. “It fits perfectly.”

The maid nodded. “I shall have it pressed.”

Once they finished picking out fripperies to go with the gown, Sarah went in search of Gabriel. She found him in the library. He clutched a sheet of paper and did not acknowledge her arrival.

She cleared her throat. “A farthing for your thoughts.”

He glanced up. “I’ve been pondering the case; going back to the beginning and working forward. There is one person we have not yet spoken to. Lord Hampton. He would be the man who directly supervised your father’s activities.”

“I had not considered him.” Sarah sat in the chair before the desk. “I thought Father’s job as a secretary was a cover for his spying.”

“Perhaps. Even so, Hampton had to know your father’s profession. A secretary is expected to be available at all times. Lengthy absences would be unacceptable and cause for dismissal. That your father kept his job over many years leads me to conclude that Hampton was the man whom your father reported to.”

“Hmmm.” She considered the idea. “Lord Hampton might be the one person who can give us the clues we seek. Whatever Father knew, Lord Hampton was privy to.”

“I agree. I’ve sent around a note asking for an audience tomorrow.”

Sarah left him to continue his reflections on the case and went back to their room. The trunk and contents had been moved into the connecting bedroom for Gabriel’s dispersal, so she sat on the bed and opened Albert’s package. Inside was a book by Charles Brockden Brown. Some of the corners were bent to mark his page, and the spine and cover were worn. She closed her eyes and imagined Albert reading the book by firelight.

Her throat constricted. “I shall have to see what you found so intriguing about this book, Brother.” She set the book aside.

There was a small painting of a pretty young woman with black hair.
Hester
was written on the back of the frame.

“Who were you? What did you mean to my brother?” Sarah peered into blue eyes. “I must ask Gabriel.”

Beneath the painting was a colorful beadwork cloth with a dog or wolf embedded in the center, a white and black feather, and several small pieces of gold. A necklace made up the last of the trinkets. It was a small braided rope that passed through a round hole in a stone shaped like a crude arrowhead. She held it up to the light.

“Albert found the arrowhead in Mexico,” Gabriel said from the doorway. “He fashioned it into the necklace. He wanted to give it to you when he came home.”

Tears sprang to her eyes as she slipped it over her head and settled it between her breasts. “I will treasure it always.”

With one hand on the stone, she reached for the painting and held it up. “Can you tell me who Hester is?”

Gabe smiled. “A few years ago, Albert and I rode for four weeks with a wagon train heading west from St. Louis. He fell madly in love with Hester. She was a beauty. Sadly, she was already married. When she turned him away, he claimed a broken heart.”

“Unrequited love,” Sarah said wistfully. “How did he procure the painting?”