The Stolen Princess (12 page)

“Yes. Have you ever shot a gun?”

Tibby shook her head. “Never.”

“Then I will take them. I know how to shoot. Rupert had me taught.” Her face hardened. “And if it's Count Anton or one of his thugs, my aim will not waver. You must make some sort of loud, shocking noise the moment we enter the cottage. It will get their attention.” Callie took a deep breath. “I will do the rest.”

G
abe was two men down and two to go when Ethan arrived; he seized a heavy brass vase and smashed it over the fourth man's head. He dropped like a stone. Gabe threw a final mighty punch at the last man standing, and the cottage was suddenly silent.

The two men grinned at each other. “A fine fight, by the looks of it, Capt'n,” Ethan said.

Gabe heaved a satisfied sigh. “It was indeed.” He flexed his knuckles gingerly. “Though it's some time since I've fought with just my hands.”

“If you'd borrowed me knife—” Ethan gave the vase a rub on his sleeve and replaced it on the mantel. He turned it so the dent wouldn't show.

“No. As I said before, killing anyone would complicate things too much and draw unwanted attention to Mrs. Prynne and her son. We'll hand these fellows over to the law for attempted burglary or false imprisonment or something. They will hardly admit their true purpose—”

Just then, one of the fallen men groaned and started to move. Ethan grabbed the brass vase again and thumped the man unconscious. The vase was now dented on both sides. He set it back on the mantel. It listed sadly.

“Let's get this lot tied up,” Gabe ordered.

There was no rope to be found in the small, feminine cottage, but they found a pile of folded sheets in a cupboard and ripped the top one into long strips that they used to tie up the villains.

“I'll inform the magistr—” Gabe began, when
crash
! A large clay pot containing a geranium came smashing through the side window and shattered on the floor, sending glass, earth, and bits of geranium everywhere.

At the same time the front door flew open. “Nobody move!” a feminine voice bellowed. “I have a gun!”

“Two guns!” an equally strident feminine voice behind her added. “And I have a spade!”

Gabe sighed. He understood now why the army contained no women. Women didn't understand about orders. They confused them with advice.

He watched as his small avenging angel sprang into the room, her pistols—his pistols, actually—cocked and ready. She looked flushed and tense and beautiful. Her hair was starting to slip out of the knot he so disliked, and the most kissable mouth in the world was pushed forward in a belligerent pout he found enchanting. And infuriating. One long, silky tendril drifted down over her nose. She blew it aside and glared fiercely around the room.

“Aim for the heart,” he told her and strolled forward. She met his gaze and the pistols wavered. She glanced around the room again and her hands dropped to her sides.

“Oh,” she said. “You managed without us.” She sounded almost disappointed.

“Yes, as you see, I managed without you.” He removed the pistols from her far-too-lax-for-his-comfort grasp and laid them aside. “Where is Nicky?”

“With the Barrows. He'll be safe back at the Grange by now.”

“As you should be,” he ground out. All he could think about was what if he hadn't managed. She would have walked in here to a room full of thugs. Pistols or not, she wouldn't have stood a chance.

“Pooh,” she said. “I had the pistols and you were unarmed and outnumbered.”

He wanted to throttle her.

He wanted to kiss her.

He stepped back, forcing himself to take several deep breaths. She became aware of his expression and bit her lower lip in sudden doubt. Gabe stared at her mouth. It was red and soft and luscious and he hadn't been able to get the taste of her out of his mind all day.

He still wanted to throttle her.

He wanted more than ever to kiss her.

Most of all, he wanted to bed her.

He dragged his gaze off her. Behind her stood a small, thin woman brandishing a spade over her head. She, too looked around the room, and the spade fell, along with her face. “My house!” she cried. “All my things!”

Everybody looked. For the first time Gabe took in the wreckage of the room. Furniture overturned, china smashed and scattered across the floor, pictures askew, some damaged beyond repair…

Her gaze fell on the tightly trussed men and sharpened. “I suppose you had to use my new sheets for that.”

“Oops,” Ethan murmured. “It's not as bad as it looks,” he began. “Why don't I—”

She shot him a glance that would have felled a lesser man. “Oh, just make yourself
a nice cup of tea
,” she snapped, and began to straighten the room with brisk movements.

“You don't have time for that,” Ethan said. He turned to Gabe. “She says there were seven men originally, so there are at least three others out there.”

“Then they could return at any moment,” Gabe said. “Miss Tibthorpe, you have three minutes to pack a bag, then you two ladies will leave this place. It is not safe for you.”

“I would prefer to stay here and defend my home,” Miss Tibthorpe told him in a crisp voice. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

“Yes and I will help.” Callie stepped forward.

“No, you won't,” Gabe informed her. “Miss Tibthorpe is too sensible a woman not to realize the danger she would be putting you in. She wouldn't want that, I'm sure.”

“But I'm the reason there is danger in the first place. Those men are after me.”

“Exactly,” Gabe said. “Which is why both of you must disappear from this place immediately!”

Tibby considered his words then looked at her friend. “He's right,” she said. “Your safety is more important than my things.” She hurried upstairs.

Gabe turned to his green-eyed thorn. “You will go straight to the Grange, you will not return for any reason whatsoever, and you will take the pistols with you. That is an order, understand?”

“Yes, but—” She opened the adorable mouth and Gabe could think of only one way to shut it. And it was neither the time nor the place.

“Do not argue with me, woman,” he roared. “It is an
order
!”

“Yes, but I am not in your army, and I take orders from no man,” she said sweetly. But before he had time to say anything she added, “I will do it, because it seems to me the most sensible thing to do, but what I wanted to say is—”

“Say nothing if you value your life,” he growled.

She gave him a speculative look and opened her mouth to speak.

“Or your reputation,” he added and fixed his gaze on her mouth.

It shut. With something of a snap. And remained pursed in a disapproving line.

That mouth would be the death of him, Gabe thought.

Without a word she turned and walked upstairs, head held high, queen dismissing peasant. Her deliciously rounded backside swayed enticingly with every step.

Once she'd disappeared, Gabe turned back, to find Ethan watching him with a broad, knowing grin.

“Well, don't just stand around looking witless,” Gabe snapped. “Let's get this place cleared up a bit.”

Ethan nodded. He started picking up overturned furniture. “Gone to a lot of trouble, she has, to make it nice. And keep an eye out for her kitty-cat. She's worried about it.” He shuddered. “Can't stand cats, meself. Make me sneeze.”

Gabe looked around the room and realized Ethan was right. Under the smashed china, the scattered earth and geranium and spatters of gore, the woodwork and floors had been freshly polished and were fragrant with beeswax. Everywhere were small, fussy feminine touches of curtains, ornaments, hand-hooked rugs, framed watercolor pictures, all knocked awry or ruined.

Gabe hadn't noticed; Ethan had. Interesting.

They set to, cleaning up as best they could. First they carried the prisoners and slung them out the back. Three of them had regained consciousness and struggled, spitting abuse in some language he didn't recognize. One spat at Ethan.

“That does it,” he muttered, seized a dented brass vase from a shelf, and used it to biff each of them unconscious again.

Gabe looked at the vase and snorted. “She probably loved that vase, Ethan.”

Ethan shrugged. “It was ruined anyway.”

They picked up everything that had been dropped and swept up everything that had been smashed.

Gabe glanced at the ceiling. “What the devil are those women doing? How long does it take to pack a bag?”

Ethan shrugged. “They're women.” He picked a book up and sniffed it. “Leather. Beautiful embossing.” His fingers traced the decoration before setting the book carefully on the shelf. He looked through a few of them, then noticed Gabe watching and closed them with a snap. “No pictures.” He quickly shoved all the books back on the shelves, then went in search of a broom.

Gabe was righting the upside-down books when the two ladies came downstairs.

“About tim—er, all set?” He hurried forward. Miss Tibthorpe was carrying a faded carpet bag, and an umbrella and Callie was carrying a large, covered box.

Gabriel relieved her of it. “Good God,” he exclaimed. “What's in this? It weighs a ton.”

“Tibby's things,” she said in a voice that indicated she thought the question impertinent.

Gabe grinned. A few minutes in her governess's company and his avenging angel was turning back into a snippy little duchess. Gabe didn't mind. He liked her either way. He noticed the pistols and placed them carefully in his pocket.

“I've packed enough for a few days,” Miss Tibthorpe said, “but I'm worried about my dear little Kitty-cat. I can't find him anywhere.” She went to the back door and called, “Kitty-kitty-kitty!” No cat came forward.

“You get along to the Grange, we'll find your cat,” Gabe told her. “We'll finish tidying up here—”

“Oh, but I can do that later.” Miss Tibthorpe glanced doubtfully from him to Ethan, who'd been pushing the mop around the floor a bit, leaving smeary marks. He looked like a big ox in the feminine little cottage.

“Madam, we made the mess, we will clean it up—or rather, I will. Ethan will escort you two ladies back to the Grange and I will bring these villains before the local magistrate.”

“No, you mustn't!” Callie gasped. “I don't want them reported.”

Gabe frowned. He didn't like it. “The crime should be reported. Any other action is to invite anarchy.”

“If you report that foreigners broke into Tibby's house and held her prisoner, there will be a huge fuss. Count Anton must be staying somewhere nearby. The local constable is bound to speak to him, Count Anton will find out who reported it and where you live—he will know where I am.”

He stared into her eyes. He read in them fear and determination. “Very well. It goes against all of my instincts, but I won't report it,” he said, comforting himself with the reflection that no red-blooded man could resist the appeal in those green eyes. “Now come along, let's get moving. I'll finish up here and follow shortly.”

“What about my cat? Kitty-cat doesn't like men,” Miss Tibthorpe said, looking as though she and Kitty-cat shared the same views. “He will be even more mistrustful now, since that horrid beast kicked him!”

“I'll find the blas—I'll find the cat.” Gabe told her, trying to mask his impatience. He looked out the front and checked to make sure the coast was clear. “Cats like me, don't worry. But I can do everything much better once I know you are both safe.”

“And out of the way,” Callie said in a voice only Gabe could hear.

“Exactly.” He gave her the sort of smile one gave to a clever pupil.

She glowered at him.

“You can glower at me even better from the curricle,” he said. “It's higher up.” Slipping his free arm around her waist he propelled her toward the door.

“I can walk perfectly well by myself,” she muttered.

“Yes, but will you? That's the question.” Gabe compelled her onward. “Ethan, escort Miss Tibthorpe, if you please,” he ordered over his shoulder. “Now move!”

“There is no need to shove,” his duchess said snippily.

“There is every need. Think of it not as shoving, but an affectionate nudge.” He marched her out of the cottage, dumped the box in the back, and lifted her bodily into the curricle. Ethan did the same with the governess, then climbed up, squashing in beside the governess. Gabe handed him the pistols. “You know what to do.”

“So do we,” said Callie with pursed lips.

“Hah! I've heard that before,” Gabe said and slapped the grays on the rump.