The Wife He Always Wanted (29 page)

Brown ran toward Sarah, veered off, and took the stairs down two at a time. Wind blew into the foyer as Brown bolted out the open door. Sarah got to the landing and raced after him. Several Runners and at least two of Crawford’s men ran past her. She stopped and scanned the darkness. Solange was nowhere in sight.

“Find The Widow!” Brown yelled. Men separated, covering all directions as the night air wrapped them in a chilly cocoon.

Sarah stood frozen on the stoop, silently mouthing words a proper lady should not know. Even then, she realized that although Solange had not directly killed Father, she was guilty of other, just as grievous, crimes.

Someone came up behind her. She recognized the spicy scent.

“She is gone,” Sarah said. “It was my mistake. Hopefully, it will not lead to further deaths.”

“We both failed.” Gabriel took her by the arms and eased her backward into his embrace. “She cannot get far dressed as she is. We will find her.”

“And the viscount?”

“Dead.”

Sarah sighed. “My father has been avenged. I should be pleased. Oddly, I feel nothing.”

He turned her around and took her arms. “You will. Once the case has been closed and the spies arrested, you will be able to grieve for your father properly.”

“I’ve not visited his grave.” She leaned her forehead on his chest. “I wanted to wait until I was able to tell him that he may rest now peacefully with my mother. And Albert.”

Gabriel hugged her tight. “We can go together.”

The next hour was blurred as Sarah waited for news of Solange and answered questions from Mister Brown. Despite the presence of Lord Kilmer in the manor, and the pistol in his lifeless fingers, the Runner needed to conclude the shooting was justified before letting Gabriel go free.

“Gabriel shot the viscount to save my life,” she said for about the tenth time. “The viscount killed my father and tried to kill me. There is nothing more I can add.”

“And Solange?”

When I turned away from Solange, she vanished.” Sarah’s patience thinned. “I told you this many times already.”

“Was she armed?” he pressed.

“I saw no weapon.”

He stared then turned away to confer with one of the other Runners. Sarah sighed, long and deep. She was ignored for several minutes.

Finally, he rejoined her. “We are satisfied the shooting was a defensible act. Fetch Mister Harrington.”

Although they’d kept Gabriel locked in the pantry during her questioning, so he’d not influence her answers, he was unharmed, albeit a bit put out. She went to him and slipped into his embrace.

Crawford returned. “Solange escaped. There is a woodcutter’s cottage at the edge of the property. We found a horse and evidence of supplies, as if the cottage was prepared for the eventuality of a hurried escape. We’ve concluded that she took a second horse and fled. Several of the Runners have given chase, but I hold out no hope.”

“Damn.” Mister Brown slumped back in his chair. His face seemed to have aged ten years since their first meeting. “Solange will return to France where we’ll never find her.”

Gabriel rubbed his chin. “Not if you post Runners at the shipyards. She may try to ride south to Brighton or Dover and cross the Channel there. She’ll not be able to travel those distances at a fast pace without changing horses. Also, alert the posting inns to requests for horses from a woman of her description.”

One of Crawford’s men joined them. “There are three dead and three injured outside and four men arrested inside.”

“Five,” Sarah said, her voice weary. “There is one under the bed, in the third room on the left. We forgot him in the melee.”

The investigator chuckled and went off with his man to fetch the prisoner. Gabriel took Sarah’s hand. “It is nearly dawn. My wife and I are returning to the inn. If you have further need of us, you may speak to us this afternoon.”

They walked hand and hand across the property, down the forest path, and reclaimed their horses.

Mister Travers peeked around the corner of the stable. “Has the matter been settled?” he asked.

Gabriel assisted Sarah into the saddle and handed her the reins. “The spies have been vanquished.”

The portly man slumped. “Thank goodness.” He puffed up. “I was not worried for myself, you understand. I was worried about my wife and children.”

“Of course.” Gabriel swung into the saddle. “You cannot be assured of your safety just yet. The Widow escaped. She may be hiding nearby.”

Travers whimpered and rushed off toward his house like his breeches were ablaze.

“You are terrible. He will be looking for her under every bed,” Sarah said with a light scold. “The poor man may suffer an apoplectic attack if the floor squeaks.”

His wicked chuckle was her answer.

Chapter Twenty-eight

P
ack the blue, the cream, and the rose silk,” Sarah said. Flora pulled the gowns from the wardrobe and laid them on the bed. “Wait. And the green wool, too.”

“We will have to retrieve another trunk, miss.” The maid spun to encompass the room with her gaze. Every surface was covered with something that needed packing.

Sarah looked over at the last trunk. It was filled nearly to the top with gowns and fripperies, shoes and boots. And it was the second large trunk she’d filled. “Drat. Put the blue and the cream back.”

“You will make yourself ill worrying so, love.” Gabriel walked over and kissed her temple. “If you forget anything, you can send someone back for it.”

She placed a hand over her fluttering stomach. “I cannot help but worry. I am perfectly fine with your mother, sisters, and cousin. However, being all together with the entire lot, and the ruckus that comes with such a large group, is what I am not so certain of.”

“I thought you wanted the ruckus. I recall you saying so not long ago. In this very room, unless I’m mistaken.”

“I do. It’s just . . . wanting and actually doing are two different things.” She dropped a stocking on the bed. “What if the duke or Simon or Gavin finds my conversation tedious? What if the children hate me and cry when I’m near.”

He smiled. “The children will love you, and Blackwell has already shown his friendship. Simon and the duke will follow suit.” He bent to catch her eyes. “You climbed through a window into a nest of spies without balking. You held a pistol on a dangerous and infamous spy, without your hand shaking. Surely the Harringtons will be relatively dull by comparison.”

“Hmmm. Alas, my hand did shake just a wee bit. However, you do have a point.” She did love his sensible nature. Still, she asked, “Do you think I should take the blue?”

Shaking his head, he chuckled and left her to fret.

Three hours later, Mister Brown arrived as the staff was loading the trunks onto the coach. He joined Sarah and Gabriel in the library. “The boxes of papers yielded several highly placed names, as you know. Two were men whom your father suspected might be spies, but were cleared by our investigation. This morning, we arrested Lord Pembrook, the Baron Greenwood, and several others. They will be tried for treason.”

“Lord Pembrook? The man is a bounder, but he is also a traitor?” Gabriel crossed his arms. “The husbands and fathers of the Ton will feel a collective level of relief with his arrest.”

“What about Lord Hampton?” Sarah asked. “His son is dead and his secrets exposed. Will he be tried for his crimes?”

“He will not,” the Runner assured her. “He has been put under guard and in the care of a physician. He will live out whatever time he has left locked up in his home.”

His Lordship, though a traitor, was in no condition to be exposed to the horrors of Newgate. “With his fractured mind and the death of his son, he is already suffering a deplorable fate,” she said.

“What of your wife?” Gabriel continued. “Is there news?”

Mister Brown looked to the window. “We have sent men to look for her, including two dozen soldiers. Thus far there is nothing to indicate where she’s gone. It’s possible she hired someone with a ship to take her to France. If so, we will never catch her. They will pension her off deep in the country and she’ll live out her days as French gentry.”

“That is unfortunate.” Gabriel frowned and crossed his arms. “She should not be free.”

“At least the men she worked with will face punishment,” Sarah said. “Although I’m frustrated that Solange could remain free, at least the viscount is dead. Father is avenged. However, if she cannot escape to France, eventually she will be found. A woman like her would be hard to hide forever.”

“Hard but not impossible,” a voice interjected from the doorway. Gavin Blackwell stood in the space. “I think I know where your spy is hiding.”

* * *

G
abe came to his feet. “Where?”

“Three days ago, I noticed one of my ships appeared to have someone sleeping in the captain’s berth. This is not entirely unusual, as sometimes a vagrant or soused sailor will go aboard for shelter and I have to run them off.”

“What leads you to believe Solange is your mysterious guest?” Sarah said. She slid to the edge of the settee.

“A search turned up no one, so I put the matter out of my mind. Then last night, one of my watchmen thought he saw the figure of a woman on the deck of my schooner. It was dark and he could not be certain, but he did stand guard all night, in case of thievery. When he alerted me this morning, I checked again and found a stocking partially concealed under the bunk.”

“Could one of your men have entertained a woman on board?” Brown asked. His face was tight.

Gavin grinned. “A woman of the trade would not own a silk stocking of such quality.”

Sarah faced Gabriel. “It has to be her.”

“How can we be certain she is still aboard?” Gabe said.

“I am fairly certain she is in the hold, the one place I did not think to check in my first brief search. When I realized she could not have escaped past my watchman, unless she jumped overboard, I locked her in.”

Gabe chuckled. “She has to be frantic. How fitting. She fought to avoid arrest and now she’s imprisoned anyway.” The thought of Solange trapped like a rat did offer some satisfaction.

“We can either sit here all day, pondering her situation, or we can go catch a spy.” Sarah stood, walked to the door, and called for a cloak.

Gabe collected a pistol from the desk, gave instructions for the servants and luggage to travel to Harrington House as scheduled, then he and the other men followed Sarah out.

They rode in Blackwell’s carriage to the wharf where a man in worn clothing stood on the far end of the dock, looking over a schooner with a broken mast.

“It was waiting for repairs,” Blackwell explained as they walked past the row of ships. “Your Widow likely saw it as a place to hide for a few days until the search waned. Had she not come on deck and drawn the attention of Fitch, she could have hidden for another week before the repairs began.”

They came to a stop. “Have you seen a sign of her, Fitch?” Blackwell asked the watchman.

Fitch shivered. “I ’ave not see ’er, but I did ’ear screamin’. It were chilling, like from the grave.”

Sarah smiled. Her eyes took on a wicked cast. Gabriel matched it with a satisfied smile of his own.

“Remind me to add a bonus to your pay this week.” Blackwell thumped the man on his shoulder. “You may also be due a reward if this is the spy the Runners have been looking for.”

A toothless smile followed. The man rubbed his hands together. “Thank you, sir.”

Blackwell turned back to their group. “Shall we go aboard?” He walked away without waiting for an answer. Once inside they went below and he led them to a door with a lock dangling from the handle. He turned the key and removed the lock.

Gabe pulled out a pistol. “I’ll go first.”

The hold was cramped with a few crates along one side and a makeshift pallet of cloth and straw packing near the back wall. Chased away from the captain’s cabin by Blackwell’s presence above, she’d obviously been hiding in here since.

To his surprise a lamp flared and Solange stepped from the shadows, around a crate, and into the center of the space. She still wore her nightdress and red dressing gown.

“We’ve found our fugitive, gentlemen.”

Her eyes grew wild and she sneered. Gabe instantly realized she was not looking at him but behind him. “I should have expected your disloyalty, Hubert. You could have allowed me to escape.”

Brown stepped around Gabe. “You are no longer the girl I once loved, Solange. I cannot let you continue as you are. Good men have died because of you.”

“We are at war!”

“Napoleon is in exile,” Brown pressed. “Yet, you continue to play the game. Men are still vanishing, dying. You cannot hope for Napoleon’s resurrection to power. The war is over.”

Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. “The war will never be over, Husband.”

Before Gabe understood her intention, she reached out and dashed the lamp to the floor.

The dry straw packing caught fire and spread quickly.

“Sarah!” Gabe spun, the flames already clawing at the crates and racing across the floor where bits of straw were scattered. Gray smoke rose to the ceiling, quickly filling the small area. He covered his mouth and coughed. Heat and smoke seared a path down his throat.

Thankfully, Sarah was closest to the stairs and safety. Blackwell spun her around. “Gabriel!” she screamed, fighting him. Blackwell forced her up. “Gabe!”

Terrified of being trapped in the fire, Gabe grabbed for Brown but the Runner shrugged him off. Desperate, he tried again.

Brown broke loose from his grip and ran toward Solange, his arms outstretched, calling for her. Even with her madness stealing the last vestiges of his Solange from him, Brown had to save her.

Gabe could not wait any longer; he hurried for the stairs, knowing he had to get out or would die.

In the billowing smoke, he stumbled, choking.

Suddenly Blackwell appeared with a cloth over his nose and mouth. He took Gabe by the lapel and dragged him forward and up the stairs until they reached the deck. They stumbled across the slick planks and landed on the dock as smoke billowed up from below.

“Gabe!” Sarah ran to him, sliding under his right arm as Blackwell took the left. They got to shore just as his legs gave out beneath him and his world went dark.

* * *

G
abe, no!” Sarah cried. Pain ripped through her. His lifeless weight brought her to her knees. Gavin eased him onto his back and leaned to listen to his chest. It was the longest few seconds of her life.

“He breathes.” He turned and called to Fitch. “Lift him up. We need to get him into the carriage.” Between them, they half carried Gabe across the wharf to the carriage and settled him across the seat. Gavin helped Sarah up beside him and handed her the reins.

“Take him to Harrington House.”

After giving her quick directions back to Mayfair, he slapped the horse on the rump, turned, and fled back toward his burning schooner.

The carriage raced through the streets, pitching and creaking from the speed, while Gabriel remained lifeless beside her. She sobbed, begging him to live. Once she found a familiar street, she turned toward Harrington House, crying out in relief when the familiar building finally came into view.

She dragged the horse to a stop, set the brake, and raced up the steps. She pushed the door open. “Lord Seymour!” she screamed. “Help me!”

People came from every direction. Lord Seymour appeared, his face blurred through her tears. “Sarah, what’s wrong?”

“Gabe is hurt.” She caught him by the arm and dragged him outside. Soon family and servants alike circled the carriage.

“He is dying,” she wept. “There was so much smoke.” Lady Seymour pulled her into her arms and her strength failed.

“Shhh, dearest,” the countess said. “Be brave for Gabriel.”

Lord Seymour climbed aboard the carriage and examined his son. “He’s alive.” He twisted around. “Step aside,” Lord Seymour commanded. The servants parted to allow Simon and Benning through. The men took Gabriel from the carriage and carried him into the house.

Lady Seymour helped Sarah inside. “Abe, go quickly for the physician.” The footman left and the countess and Brenna took the shaking Sarah upstairs to their old room.

Noelle met them at the door. “Sarah, where is Gavin?”

Her worried voice cut into Sarah’s mind and brought her some clarity. “He is well,” she assured her friend and walked into the bedroom. The room was full of trunks and people. She had to navigate the maze to get to where her unconscious husband lay on the mattress.

“Gabriel.” Sarah rushed to his side and touched his soot-covered face. His skin was cool to the touch. She took solace in the rise and fall of his chest. As long as he breathed, there was hope.

Benning helped remove his clothing, and they pulled a sheet over him. Maids took the clothing away as Lord Seymour kneeled on the bed over his son.

“Gabe. You must fight this.” His voice was low and hoarse. “How did this happen?” Lord Seymour asked.

“Gavin found Solange on his ship and came for us,” Sarah said. “When confronted, she lit a fire. Gabriel tried to save Mister Brown and was caught in the smoke.” Her voice caught. “I think Mister Brown and Solange are dead.”

“How tragic,” Brenna said softly and rubbed her arms.

“Although Solange was a French spy, I’d not want her to die so horribly. And Mister Brown . . .” Sarah brushed her hand over her damp face. “We never fully trusted his loyalty, and in the end, he chose his love for Solange over his life.”

Lady Seymour brought over a washing cloth and bathed Gabriel’s face. His breathing was uneven, and with every hitch, Sarah’s heart flipped. She was certain each would be the last.

The physician, Mister Meath, arrived shortly thereafter. After Sarah explained the situation, he began his examination. He listened to Gabriel’s chest, looked down his throat, and checked him over for burns. After ten minutes he straightened.