Her Secret Lover (Aphrodite's Club 2)

His eyebrows rose high. “But…how did you know?”

She gave something between a laugh and a sob. “I know everything about you, master. I was jealous and I thought if I told His Lordship he’d take her away and then we could…could…”

He’d stopped listening. “So Appleby knows?”

“Aye.”

Gabriel dropped his arms, his mind racing. He knew Appleby too well to expect His Lordship to ignore such news. Antoinette’s behavior would lodge in his black heart like a thorn, and from that moment on he’d be planning his revenge.

Mary was babbling, and some of what she was saying caught his attention, enough for him to understand that quite a lot of her tears were self-pitying, for her own situation. Instead of being angry, Gabriel felt relieved to know she wasn’t truly in love with him after all.

“What will happen to me?” the girl cried. “I didn’t think of anything but him coming and taking her away, and that we would be back to the way we used to be. But now I know I was wrong. Nothing can be like it was, can it? And if His Lordship finds out the lover I was talking about is you! Oh, Master Gabriel, I’m that sorry…”

Gabriel cut her short. “He won’t find out from me. Don’t worry, Mary, you’ve done the right thing by telling me. Now, I’ll have to go away for a time, and I’ll have to take Miss Dupre with me. But I promise you that one day I’ll return and all will be well. Do you believe me?”

Mary nodded miserably but he could see she didn’t.

“Go back to bed. If Lord Appleby turns up and starts asking questions, then just say you have no idea who the lover is. No, wait…” He grinned. “Tell him it was Coombe.”

She gave a tentative smile back. “Yes, Master Gabriel.”

“And that you think Coombe will take Miss Dupre to Truro in Cornwall because Coombe has relatives living there. Be sure the Wonicots know what to say, too.”

“Where will you really be going, Master Gabriel?”

He touched her cheek. “I can’t tell you, Mary. If you don’t know, then it can’t slip out. I don’t want to put you in danger.”

“I’ll miss you,” she said woefully.

“No, you won’t.” He laughed and spun her around. “A lovely girl like you, Mary, must have dozens of suitors. You’ve been so busy wasting your time with me, you haven’t noticed them. Just wait and see if I’m right.”

Dazed, she let him accompany her to the door, and with another reminder to be careful, Gabriel sent her off into the night. He felt energized. Alive. At last something was happening. He hadn’t realized until this moment just how much he’d begun to sink into a mire of his own making. A stodgy soup of subterfuge.

Gabriel grinned as he hurried upstairs to get dressed and pack some of his belongings. Appleby was on his way, probably getting closer by the moment, and he neede

d to get Antoinette away.

He paused. How was he going to do that? She’d argue, and at the very least demand an explanation before she set foot outside the front door. Now wasn’t the time to go into detail; all that must wait until they were somewhere safe and secure.

Gabriel knew there was only one way to make her trust him enough to leave with him.

He’d have to be Coombe.

Chapter 22

Antoinette had been tossing and turning, dreaming but unable to drag herself fully awake. There were wolves chasing her through the dark woods but their faces weren’t animal faces, they were the faces of the people currently in her life—Lord Appleby and the highwayman, Mary and the Wonicots, Cecilia and her late uncle. She ran but the wolves were too fast and too strong, and finally they cornered her. But just as she was about to be torn asunder, Coombe’s hand reached down to her from above and she was drawn up into the trees. “You’ll be safe now,” he said, and she looked up into his grubby face and wondered if it was true. Because there was something about him, something so familiar…

The knocking on her door broke into the dream. Startled, she called out, “Who is it?”

“Mrs. Wonicot, Miss Dupre. Please let me in.”

Antoinette sat up, her hair in her eyes. “Come in,” she said.

The door rattled and then the knocking began again, louder and more urgent.

What was wrong with the woman? Antoinette struggled out of the tangled bedclothes and padded across the floor on bare feet. That was when she saw the dresser blocking the doorway, and remembered how she’d dragged it there last night, thinking to spare herself the complication of another of the highwayman’s visits. Besides, that name still rankled: Marietta.

Now she heaved the dresser back out of the way and opened the door. Mrs. Wonicot stood outside holding a lamp, a paisley shawl draped over her voluminous white nightgown. Her plump face appeared to have grown new lines since Antoinette last saw her, and her eyes were ringed with tiredness.