“I’m delighted to hear it,” she said warmly.
“Thea, you should have found me if you weren’t feeling well last night.” Emma approached, her brown eyes worried. “Thank heavens Tremont was there to help you. Lord knows these affairs can take one over the edge—”
“There’s no need to fuss, Em. I’m perfectly well.” Certain her face must be red as an apple by now, Thea sought to change the subject. Looking over her sister’s shoulder, she saw Strathaven make a furtive adjustment to the board on the wall. “What are the two of you hanging up there?”
“It’s for a game. Similar to archery except one uses darts instead of arrows,” Emma explained. “Mr. McLeod has one at home. He and his fellow soldiers used to play it to pass time during their regiment days. And you know Strathaven. Anything his brother has, he has to—” Catching the duke move the target, she said in exasperated tones, “That is far too close to the window, Alaric.”
“The board shows up better near the light. It’s perfectly placed,” her husband said.
“If you don’t want glass in the panes.” Her lips pursed. “I won’t be able to play for fear of breaking the window.”
“Fear helps one’s aim.” Coming over, Strathaven chucked her under the chin. “Now stop worrying, pet, and let’s get organized into teams.”
Freddy opted to watch, so Thea found herself paired with Gabriel, which was perfect, since she was dying to talk to him. The duke went over the rules: each team was given four darts, tiny spears beautifully ornamented with colored feathers—blue for the Strathavens and green for Thea and Gabriel. From the throwing line, each player had to toss their dart at the target, which was painted with three concentric circles and a red bull’s-eye in the center. The team with the dart that landed closest to the bull’s-eye was the winner.
As Emma stepped up to take the first turn, Gabriel said in an undertone, “How are you?”
To one who did not know him, his question was merely polite. But Thea saw from the taut line of his jaw that he was genuinely concerned about the aftermath of last night. The fact that this strong, stoic man worried over her made her feel as giddy as if she’d imbibed a glass of champagne.
“I’m well,” she assured him. “Better than well.”
“You don’t regret anything?”
“No.” Seeing his seriousness, she couldn’t help but tease, “Actually, there is one thing.”
“Yes?”
“I regret that we didn’t do it sooner.”
A breath left him, one that she hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His eyes heated, turning to molten steel. “As to that, there is always the future.”
Her knees wobbled, her heart thumping. “Is there?”
“God, I hope so.”
His tone was fervent, so unlike the emotionless Angel that she had to smile. At the same time, insecurity niggled at her. What had changed for him last night? What had prompted him to act on his attraction at last? For so long he’d wavered on their relationship. What guarantee did she have that his feelings wouldn’t change again?
Before she could work up the nerve to ask, the duke called her up for her turn. She went to the line and tried to concentrate on the target. Holding the green dart at eye level, she aimed and let it fly. It plunked in the outermost ring, farther from the center than Emma’s dart.
She returned to Gabriel. “I’m not very good at this,” she said ruefully.
“You just need practice.” Though his expression was impassive, his eyes smiled. “I’d be happy to lend a hand with your form, princess.”
Her pulse took on a staccato beat. Goodness, a flirtatious Gabriel was even more devastating to her senses than an enigmatic one. Recalling that he’d used the same endearment with her last night, she said shyly, “Why do you call me that?”
“Princess, you mean?”
She nodded.
“Because you remind me of a story. The princess locked in the tower.” His low, husky voice made goosebumps rise on her skin. “From the first time I saw you, I wanted you to let down your hair for me.”
Thea’s breath left her in erratic surges. She felt lightheaded. Any more of this and she might faint with happiness. Luckily, Emma’s cheer interrupted them. The duke had landed a dart in the ring closest to the center.
It was Gabriel’s turn, but he passed Thea the feathered projectile. “Try again.”
“Now, you go. We’ll lose otherwise—”
“It’s just a game.” He steered her toward the line. “Bring your arm back a little more, like this.” He positioned her arm, so that her hand was near her right ear. His nearness stole her breath, his clean male musk making her giddy. “Try to keep your shoulder and arm relaxed; think of it as throwing from your elbow.”
She concentrated, trying to follow his advice. She threw, and the little arrow thudded into the circle next to the bull’s-eye.
“Well done, Miss Thea!” Freddy said.
Rather pleased with her improvement, she smiled. “Thank you, dear.”
Emma’s next throw missed the board completely, landing in the molding around the window, a mere half inch from the glass. She gave her husband an
I-told-you-so
look.
Gabriel handed Thea their third dart. Again, he helped place her arm into position. “This time,” he said, “snap your wrist a little to give it extra speed.”
Her dart landed even closer to the center than her last one.
“Nicely done,” Gabriel said. “You’ve got the touch for this.”
His approval sent a wave of warmth through her.
The duke went last for his team. His arrow landed in the red, just a smidgen left of center. That was that, Thea supposed. No one was going to beat such a shot.
When Gabriel held out the final dart, Thea shook her head. “Please, you take a turn. I want to see your form.” Realizing how that sounded, she blushed.
“If you insist.” Smiling faintly, Gabriel didn’t even bother to step up to the line. In fact, his eyes didn’t leave hers, and in a movement so natural it looked like he wasn’t aiming at all, he let their last dart fly.
It hit the board with a decisive thud. Dead center, Thea saw with amazement. The target vibrated from the power of his throw, a few of the other darts loosening and plummeting to the ground.
Freddy let out a whoop. “You won, Papa!”
“Not bad, Tremont.” Strathaven’s brows lifted. “Done this before, have you?”
“A time or two.”
As the duke and Em set about collecting the darts, Gabriel turned to Thea. “Would you care to take a stroll in the garden?” he said quietly. “There is much for us to discuss.”
“I would love to—”
She was cut off by the shuffling arrival of Jarvis, the aged butler. “Begging your pardon, Lord Tremont,” the loyal retainer said in his Scottish brogue, “but a message arrived for you just now.”
Gabriel took the note from the salver. He scanned its contents, his expression darkening.
“News?” the duke said.
“I hired a man to look for the governess, and he’s tracked down an old address for her in Shoreditch.”
“Do you think she’ll be there?” Strathaven said, frowning.
Gabriel’s eyes were as hard as steel. “It’s a lead I’ll have to check out.”
“I’ll go with you,” the duke offered.
“I’d rather you keep an eye on my son. I’ll be back soon—with good news, I hope.” He paused, his gaze on Thea. “Once this business is over, the future can truly begin.”
“Do have a care,” she said anxiously. “It could be dangerous—”
He bowed over her hand, murmured, “We’ll talk more when I return. Wait for me?”
She nodded. He said a brief goodbye to Freddy and strode out.
“Don’t worry, dear.” Seeing the fear the boy was valiantly trying to hide, Thea gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Your papa will be fine.”
“I don’t like Mademoiselle Fournier. She’s not a good person.” Freddy’s bottom lip quivered.
“No, she isn’t, but hopefully this will soon be over. Now would you care to try throwing some darts? I could use a practice partner.”
“Oh.” Freddy’s brow furrowed. “I suppose I can try.”
He proved a quick study, the first few tries landing respectably in the middle ring.
Like father, like son
, Thea thought with pride. Freddy’s next dart hit the edge of the red, and at that same instant, the windows suddenly rattled with a blast.
He blinked. “I didn’t do that… did I?”
“What the devil? That came from the street.” Strathaven was already heading out of the room, toward the front of the house. “Stay back here where it’s safe.”
Emma, of course, followed him, and Thea and Freddy hurried behind her. In the drawing room, Thea went to one of the windows overlooking the street. She stood on tiptoe, craning her neck to see—
Her heart stopped.
At the end of the road, Gabriel’s carriage lay on its side, engulfed by flames.
Chapter Thirteen
“Trajan, we have to run.
Now.
I’ve got horses waiting…”
Marius’ voice filtered through smoke and flames. Through burning rage.
Gabriel shoved the other aside. “Not leaving. Not until I kill every last one of these bastards.”
“Goddamnit, there’s no time—”
The enemy swarmed out of the flaming building, surrounding them. Gabriel bared his teeth, the beast rearing, clawing inside him. Weeks they’d held him captive, beaten and flogged him, laughing as he thrashed in agony.
They’re all dead men.
The moon glinted off his knives. The sea roared.
When the haze lifted, bodies lay on the sand all around him. His hands were warm and sticky. Stillness fell like a shroud. Too still. Where was Marius?
His gaze shot to the distance. Two figures near the cliffs. One held a pistol.
The other was Marius.
“No,” Gabriel shouted.
The shot shattered the night.
***
“I’m sorry, my lord. The babe came early. There was nothing I could do for either of them.”
Words echoing through an empty corridor. All he could see was the closed door, the barrier that had briefly opened seven months ago.
It is my duty, Tremont, to give you a spare to go with the heir.
Cool words, cooler sheets.
His hand lifted of its own accord, reaching for the knob.
“No, my lord, you mustn’t go in. There hasn’t been time to—”
Death. The scent of it rousing his instincts, putting them on alert. But danger had already come and gone, leaving destruction in its wake. He ran a trembling hand over matted brown hair, beauty turned into a waxen mask.
Duty had killed her—
he
had killed her. He sat numbly amidst the blood-stained linens, holding the remnants of love.
***
Gabriel awoke, panting.
His hands clutched… bedclothes. Not the interrogation chamber in Normandy. Not his estate. Flickering dimness, a strange bed—
“Be calm, my love. You’re fine. I’m here.”
His head turned in the direction of the voice. In the gloom, he saw glimmering hazel eyes, hair spun of gold and honey. Recognition anchored his woozy senses.
“Thea?” he croaked. “What happened?”
Her hand fluttered against his forehead. “You were in an accident this morning.”
Panic flared. “Frederick?”
“He’s safe,” she said soothingly. “No, don’t move—”
Too late. Pain clawed his side when he tried to sit up. He fell back against the pillows, black streaking across his vision.
“You must have a care, Gabriel.” Her voice quivered with worry, and she pressed something cool against his forehead. “There was an explosion, and you sustained injuries. Luckily, no vital organs were damaged, but you do have bruised ribs. Dr. Abernathy removed a wooden shard from your side.”
In a flash, it returned to him: scattered vegetables, the overturned cart blocking the path. He’d opened the carriage door, intending to get out and see what was going on. Then came the deafening blast. Fire shooting everywhere. He’d hurtled through space, horses screaming…
“My driver?” he bit out.
“He’s alive,” she said quietly, “but his injuries will take some time to heal.”
Another innocent hurt because of him. Guilt and rage made his head spin, blackness rising.
“Have some of this.” She held a glass to his lips.
The cool, citrus-flavored liquid was a balm to his parched throat. He drank greedily and didn’t notice the bitterness until after he’d downed it all.
“Devil take it. You gave me laudanum?”
“Dr. Abernathy said you’ll need it for the pain. And to get some rest.”
“Don’t need rest. Have to get the bastard who did this—”
“When you’re better. Right now you can’t stand on your own two feet let alone hunt down a murderer,” she chided gently. “If you try to move, you’ll only reinjure your wounds.”
He sagged against the pillows, his mind fuzzing in and out of focus.
Have to protect them… have to tell her… even if she despises me…
He fought off the fog, gripped her wrist.
“Tell Strathaven,” he said hoarsely, “he must keep everyone safe. Protect you.”
“You needn’t worry. There are footmen everywhere.”
“
No.
Professional guards.” His tongue was thick in his mouth, his eyelids pulling down like lead weights. He grasped the first thing that came to mind. “Your brother’s agency—
promise me
.”
“I promise.” Her eyes were wide, her lips trembling. “What is going on, Gabriel?”
He tried to focus as her face blurred. “The enemy… dangerous.”
“Who is he? Gabriel…”
Her voice came as if from afar. He was falling, falling into a black tunnel.
“Spectre,” he whispered.
The dark dragged him down.
Chapter Fourteen
The next afternoon, Thea waited in the drawing room for Gabriel to come down. Upon awakening, he’d insisted on calling a meeting with the others. He’d brushed aside her questions and protests that he wasn’t well enough to leave the bed.
It’s an urgent matter,
he’d said tersely.
I’ll explain things when everyone arrives.
There’d been no dissuading him.
Now Ambrose entered the room, his wife Marianne by his side. His brawny, brown-haired associate, Mr. William McLeod, followed. The Scotsman greeted Strathaven by buffeting him on the arm. The duke returned the favor with equal force; such was the way between the two brothers who were as different as night and day in look and manner.