Her Secret Lover (Aphrodite's Club 2)

But Sally wasn’t of a mind to be complimented. She’d been moody all day. Wonicot had a feeling it was all to do with Master Gabriel and Miss Dupre being together. It was none of his business; that was the line he preferred to take. Sally thought differently, and after she’d insisted that Wonicot interrupt them by playing at being in drink, she’d hoped the trysts might stop.

They hadn’t.

“Lord Appleby didn’t think I was a good cook,” she said now. “He hardly touched a thing when he was here.”

“Does his opinion count for more than mine?” Wonicot tried to turn it into a joke.

“It’ll be His Lordship who decides whether we stay on.”

Mary, half listening to their chatter, looked up in surprise from her sewing by the fire. “But he won’t send us away! Why would he? We’ve been here forever. It’s more our home than his.”

“But if he sells Wexmoor Manor, Mary,” Wonicot explained gently, “then there’ll be no need for us. New owners tend to want their own servants around them. We were lucky that His Lordship kept us on for so long, but it can never be like it was when Sir John owned the manor. Those days are gone.”

“But I thought—” She bit her lip, looking positively stricken.

The two Wonicots exchanged a puzzled glance. “What did you think?” Wonicot asked.

“I thought that Master Gabriel would get the manor back and then we could all go on as before.”

“Well…we hoped for that, too, but Lord Appleby is a very wealthy man with powerful friends. As far as I’m concerned Master Gabriel can stay here and I’ll do my best to hide him, but if His Lordship sells the manor, it will be hard to keep his being here a secret. If Lord Appleby finds out he’s here he’ll have him arrested and sent to jail, and nothing Sir James Trevalen says or does will make any difference.”

It was a big speech for Wonicot and was followed by a respectful silence.

“But Lord Appleby can’t sell!” Mary cried, crumpling the sewing in her hands.

“Mary, we can’t tell His Lordship what to do,” Sally chided, irritation wrinkling her brow, “and if we did he wouldn’t take any notice of us.”

“Perhaps he won’t sell, not for a while,” Wonicot soothed. “We don’t know what his plans are, do we? Let’s just hope that nothing upsets him,” he couldn’t help but add, with a grimace. “He seems like a vengeful type of gentleman to me.”

“What could upset him?” Sally mocked. “We have Master Gabriel hiding here and he’s been spending all his time cavorting with His Lordship’s mistress. Upset him! Of course he’d be upset…if he knew!”

Wonicot gritted his teeth as pots and pans were clashed violently on the stove. His wife was worried; it was understandable. Mary shot him a sympathetic look and stood up, quietly leaving the room. She looked wan, he thought, but soon forgot it in the need to soothe Sally.

Gabriel woke with a start. Someone was in the house with him. He could hear steps on the old stairs, creeping closer. He barely had time to jump out of bed and find his weapon—a hefty slab of wood—when his bedroom door cracked open.

Candlelight spilled in, and he saw who it was. Relief made him sag, and then a new sort of tension tightened his muscles. He set the wood down and, bare-chested, went to meet her.

“Mary? What on earth are you doing here?”

She’d been weeping. With her reddened eyes and the stains on her cheeks, she was like a child. Instinctively he drew her into his arms to comfort her. Gabriel also felt a pang of guilt. The girl had been acting peculiarly of late and he’d found himself avoiding her, not wanting to have to hurt her with another rejection, or to explain himself where Antoinette was concerned. But now she was in obvious distress, and all he could remember was that they had once been friends.

“Mary,” he said again, gently, “what is the matter?”

“I’ve done something very bad, Master Gabriel,” she whispered into his shoulder, and he felt her mouth tremble. “I—I was angry and jealous and I…” She took a shaky breath. “Don’t hate me, please don’t hate me!”

His heart sank, but at her final words he rallied. “As if I could, Mary. You know I would never hate you. But you need to tell me what you’ve done. Come on, trust me. Perhaps it isn’t as bad as you think.”

“It is,” she wailed, and clung closer, her body trembling.

Gabriel sighed, waiting, holding her until she calmed. Slowly the trembling stopped, and the tears, and she lifted her woebegone face to his.

“That’s better,” he said brightly, forcing a smile.

“No, it’s not,” she retorted, her face wrinkling up, but somehow she held back the tears long enough to tell him, in a small staccato voice, what she’d done. “I sent a letter to Lord Appleby. About Miss Dupre. That she has a…a lover.”

He went still, staring down at her. “Mary, what do you mean, ‘that she has a lover’?”

Silently Mary begged him for forgiveness. “I meant you.”