Her Secret Lover (Aphrodite's Club 2)

“Aye, her.” Her expression became earnest. “I’ll unpack her luggage, and I’ll search every inch of it for you, master. If that letter is there, then you can be sure I’ll find it.”

“Thank you, Mary, I’m grateful, but you must be—”

“I’d do anything for you, Master Gabriel.” And she gave him a look so piercing as to be unnerving in its intensity.

Seeing Gabriel’s discomfort, Wonicot clicked his tongue and, taking the girl’s arm, turned her about. “Good night, master,” he said firmly, and closed the door behind them. Gabriel could hear their footsteps receding, and Mary’s high voice as she made her protests, and then there was silence again. Not even the wind was stirring the trees in the wood tonight.

Gabriel sank down in his chair and turned his claret to reflect the candlelight. Mary might search Antoinette Dupre’s baggage, but Gabriel knew she would find nothing. What he was seeking was kept closer to her person. Warm against her skin. And he was going to find it, yes he was, even if he had to seduce her.

He smiled and raised his glass in a toast. “To seduction,” he said, “and the luscious Miss Antoinette Dupre.”

Chapter 4

His hand on her shoulder was warm, heavy with promise, as he smiled into her face. “Antoinette,” he murmured in his deep, husky voice, “I knew the moment I saw you that you were the one for me.”

“How could you know?” she whispered. “No one can know for sure.”

“Because you make my heart sing, little sparrow.”

In the dream it sounded wonderful, but as Antoinette began to wake she was thinking such words coming from the highwayman’s mouth were very unlikely and a little odd. She never expected to make any man’s heart sing.

Antoinette was the sort of woman who would run a household capably and well, keep within her budget, and organize her servants so that nothing ever went amiss. People respected her and were a little intimidated by her. Her husband, if she ever married, would appreciate her for those qualities, knowing that she would make his life comfortable and easy. But no, she could not imagine herself being the subject of any heart singing.

She blinked and opened her eyes, and gave a gasp.

Someone was peering down at her, and for a moment her dream and the face became confused. A heartbeat later she realized it wasn’t the man in the mask hanging over her but a pretty young woman in a mobcap that barely restrained her blond ringlets. The expression in her dark eyes was so intent it sent a chill through Antoinette.

When she saw Antoinette was awake, the girl’s expression changed in an instant. “Forgive me, miss,” she said, apologetic. “Mrs. Wonicot sent me up to ask if you was ready for your breakfast tray, but you was sleeping so deep I couldn’t wake you.”

“I had an eventful journey.”

With a smothered yawn Antoinette sat up. The chilly morning light was gleaming through a chink in the drapes, but today there was a welcoming fire burning in the hearth. Antoinette watched the flames dancing, the tension leaving her. Until she remembered where she was: Wexmoor Manor, Lord Appleby’s isolated property, and deep in enemy territory.

“What is your name?”

“Mary Cooper, miss,” the servant introduced herself. “I’m to help you dress and look after your clothes, and I’m a fair needlewoman. I don’t do hair, though Mrs. Wonicot says she can do your hair, if you’d like.”

“I can manage my own hair, thank you,” Antoinette said pleasantly, hiding a shudder at the thought of Mrs. Wonicot tugging at her locks. “Besides, I thought Mrs. Wonicot was the cook and housekeeper?”

“Well, she used to be some sort of lady’s maid in London,” Mary Cooper replied disingenuously. “She can name you all the great folk, and all the scandals. Then she decided to turn her back on that, marry Mr. Wonicot, and live at Wexmoor Manor.”

So all the talk about the lack of polish here at the manor was nonsense. Mrs. Wonicot was playing games, and Antoinette was more than ever determined not to trust her.

“Will you have your breakfast tray now, miss?”

“No. I think I’ll come down, thank you, Mary.”

“Oh.” The girl looked startled. She chewed her lip. “I don’t know what Mrs. Wonicot will say to that, miss. She was certain you’d want a tray.”

Antoinette gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Let’s surprise her then, shall we?”

“Very well, miss.” She went to leave, only to hesitate by the pile of luggage. “I’ll unpack these for you. Shake the creases out. Do you want me to find something for you to wear now, before I go?”

“No, Mary, thank you. I’ll manage for now.”

Mary had picked up the tan dress Antoinette had tossed over a chair back the night before, and now she stared wide-eyed at the torn bodice. “My goodness, whatever happened here, miss!”

Antoinette climbed out of bed. There was warm water waiting, thanks to Mary, and soft towels and a scented ball of soap. “I was held up on the journey here, Mary. A ruffian tried to rob me.”