It all fitted into a small case. She scooped up the trinkets from the dressing table and swept them in on top, then draped a woollen pelisse over her arm. ‘That is all I need.’
‘You would make a good wife for a soldier,’ Gabriel commented.
‘I have been planning this for days,’ Caroline countered. ‘I hoped I would not have to do it, but now I do not think I have a choice.’ He saw her cast a lingering look around her bedchamber which probably represented sanctuary and privacy, certainly comfort, but she did not hesitate. His respect for her increased another notch.
* * *
The night had begun to feel like a dream. Her surroundings were familiar, yet her behaviour was not. Things that she took for granted suddenly loomed terrifying and strange—the grotesque carvings on the newel posts, the suits of armour in the Long Gallery, the grinding sound the long-case clock in the hallway made as it readied itself to strike, all were exaggerated.
The man beside her was a stranger, too. He was not the softly spoken Welsh hermit, nor the dishevelled rake she had caught on his way to bed that first morning. Neither was he the elegant, if careless, nobleman who occasionally spared social events an hour or two of his time. This man was a creature of the dark, moving through the shadows like a cat, prepared to break the law to help her and quite confident about his ability to do so. This was the man who had kissed her with careless expertise, leaving her wanting more, even as she shocked herself with that wanting.
What would his friends be like? At least they were all married, although the idea of the women of independent thought was rather more alarming than the prospect of meeting three more rakish gentlemen. What if the wives all despised or disliked her? Or worse, pitied her.
She was worrying so hard that she almost walked past the study. ‘In here,’ she breathed.
The door was unlocked and well oiled. Once inside Gabriel drew the curtains tightly closed before he turned up the wick of the lamp. ‘Where is the safe?’ With light on him she could see the tension in his body, the alertness. He looked ready to fight.
‘Here.’ She lifted down a landscape in a gilt frame to reveal a small door set flush into the wall.
‘I can force this easily enough.’
‘It is iron painted to look like wood,’ she warned.
‘Damn.’ Gabriel produced the two hairpins that she had seen him lift from her dressing table. ‘Hold the light to shine on the lock.’ He straightened the first pin, slid it into the keyhole and began to manipulate it.
Ten minutes passed. Caroline shifted the lamp to the other hand and propped her arm against the wall to ease the ache. Gabriel’s eyes were narrowed, his lips compressed. He had two pins, bent at odd angles, in the lock now.
‘It must be fifteen years since I tried this,’ he muttered.
‘If it is too difficult—’ she began. The clock made its grinding noise and they both froze, then relaxed as it chimed three.
Gabriel closed his eyes as something went click. ‘Got it.’
It was almost an anticlimax to have the door swing open to reveal nothing more than some folded documents, a bag of coin and a stack of jewellery boxes. In the almost Gothic atmosphere of flickering lamplight and tension the least the safe should have contained was a skull and a vial of poison. Caroline did not feel this was the moment to be sharing such fancies with Gabriel.
She sorted out her own jewels from the family gems, which were to be passed down to the eldest son for his wife, and nodded to Gabriel. He closed the door, manipulated the picks until, much faster this time, the lock clicked home, and then lifted the picture back into place.
‘What do we do now?’ she asked as she stuffed the valuables deep into her valise.
‘We go to the hermitage until I can make arrangements. Is it possible to get out of the house without leaving a trace? I’d like to delay pursuit as long as possible.’
‘The side entrance to the garden. There’s a trick to jiggling the lock.’
Gabriel cracked open the door. ‘Hell.’ He pushed her back into the study. ‘Someone is coming.’
‘There’s nothing beyond this room. It must be my father.’
Gabriel cast a swift look around, then fell to his knees, dragging her with him as he blew out the lamp. ‘Under the desk.’
It was a double-depth partners’ desk, designed for two men to face each other as they worked. The kneehole might give them both enough space to remain hidden, provided no one sat down and extended their legs. Crushed under there against Gabriel, the valise jammed under her raised knees, Caroline held her breath until coloured dots began to swirl in the blackness.
As the door opened she drew in a shallow breath. Surely her heartbeat must be audible? Beside her Gabriel was utterly still, then she felt his finger begin a slow movement against the back of her hand
. I am here, it seemed to say. Don’t be afraid.
She closed her fingers around his, holding on as the tension grew. Her father put down his lamp and began to sort through the papers on the desk above them, muttering irritably as if he could not locate what he wanted.
Her body was hot and cold. Cold with fear, hot where it touched Gabriel’s. Beneath the broadcloth she could feel his strength, the muscles tensed for action, the total control. His confidence seeped into her, allowing her to relax just a little, to breathe more easily, and as the panic ebbed something else flowed in to replace it, an aching physical awareness, the need for Gabriel’s arms around her, his mouth on hers. She lowered her head until her parted lips touched the back of his hand and then she stilled, breathing in the smell of his skin, letting the taste of him seep into her mouth. His fingers tensed in hers.