Her Secret Lover (Aphrodite's Club 2)

meant giving herself to a stranger.

Chapter 11

Mary stood still, watching as Miss Dupre made her way along the upstairs corridor. She’d been following her for more than an hour, and so far she’d been into every room in the manor house. Now, as Mary peered around the corner of the landing, she saw Miss Dupre enter the old nursery. A few more steps and she was at the door. Mary crept closer and peeked inside.

She was opening the cupboards! Going through the contents as if it was her right. Now she’d picked up a small book and was flipping through the pages. A folded piece of paper fluttered out, and she stooped to pick it up, leaning toward the light to read it.

Mary turned and hurried back down the stairs. Miss Dupre was searching for something; something to use in her plan to send Master Gabriel to jail…or to the gallows. Yes, that must be it! A chill ran through Mary, and she knew Master Gabriel needed to be told as soon as possible. Maybe he would make the busybody leave, and then things could be the way they were. Mary longed for a return to the past.

Before Antoinette Dupre came to Wexmoor Manor with her bossy ways and her disapproving stare, Mary had hoped Gabriel might begin to see what was right in front of him. Why didn’t he realize Mary was the perfect wife? They could reside together in perfect bliss, and the fact that Mary was the daughter of a fisherman and Gabriel a baronet’s son would have no bearing on matters at all.

This naïve belief had sustained her for many years, and now Miss Dupre had come along and spoiled her dreams. Just wait until Gabriel heard about her poking and prying in his house. His eyes would be opened and he’d realize that Mary, his ever loyal and loving Mary, was the only one he needed.

Mary hurried off through the woods, confident that soon everything would be just as she wished it.

Antoinette didn’t really know what she was looking for. Some clue that might help her discover the identity of the highwayman or escape Wexmoor Manor, or both? It was either that or sit twiddling her thumbs, and she was never a twiddling sort of girl.

So far she’d found a great deal that made little sense. Wexmoor Manor had definitely belonged to a family previous to Lord Appleby—the Langleys. There were memories and mementos to them everywhere, from paintings and books to schoolroom desks with graffiti cut into the old wood. “Gabriel hates sums” was one that made her smile. So uncompromising. Antoinette had disliked many of her lessons but not to the point of hatred, and she would never have defaced her schoolroom desk to prove a point.

The schoolroom kept her amused for quite some time. She was still there, examining a page of ink-stained alphabet letters, imagining the child who had labored so long over the curve of an “a” and the stem of an “l,” when she realized she was no longer alone.

Her body tensed with the urge to turn and look; it was almost unbearable. But some stubbornness kept her where she was, her head bent over the yellowing pages.

“Do you wish to speak to me, or are you trespassing again?” she said, pleased her voice was so calm.

He laughed softly, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. The next moment his steps were moving toward her across the scuffed timber floor. “How did you know it was me?”

“I guessed,” she lied.

He stopped close behind her, and she was aware of the scent of him, male and healthy. Still she refused to turn. Turning would give him the upper hand in the game they were playing, and Antoinette was determined not to allow him to see how much he affected her.

“What are you looking for, sparrow? Evidence to use against me?”

“I’m sure Sir James will manage that on his own. He seems to be a competent sort of gentleman.”

His warm breath stirred tendrils of her hair. “Are you afraid to look at me, Antoinette?” he whispered.

“No, I’m not afraid.” Antoinette had no choice but to prove it and turn. He was right behind her. The black mask was startling on first seeing it again, but his mouth was smiling and the pale blue eyes she could see beneath it were warm and wicked. His fair hair curled untidily about his brow, and his broad shoulders blocked her escape.

“Give me what I want, sparrow.”

“You know I can’t.” The words were out before she could stop them, and instantly regretted.

“I don’t see why you can’t. Unless…” His voice changed. “Are you under some sort of duress, Antoinette? Is Appleby threatening you?”

He sounded different, concerned and possessive, as if he was a man she could trust. Her own feelings frightened her into reacting to push him away before he could worm any further under her guard.

“Of course not!”

“The letter—”

“There is no letter,” she retorted stubbornly.

“Antoinette,” and now he was impatient with her, and she couldn’t blame him. “We both know you have the letter. Why not give it to me and put an end to this nonsense?”

Her expression hardened, her eyes narrowed. “It may be nonsense to you, sir, but to me it is…” She bit her lip at the blunder, but he was already on to it like a cat on a mouse.

“You were very nearly frank then, sparrow. Don’t spoil it. What does the letter mean to you? Tell me and I can help you.” His voice was so low and soothing, like a calming hand upon a turbulent sea. But she couldn’t trust him; she daren’t. He was Appleby’s man.