Chapter Five
A drenching in cold water brought Gabriel struggling up out of unconsciousness with a start.
And with his dawning awareness that both his right forearm and his head were throbbing with excruciating pain came the realization that someone whose face he ought to recognize was staring down at him.
Candlelight flickered over her features.
What was that she was clutching? A cricket bat?
He blinked and tried to turn his head, but that hurt far too much, and he experienced the fear that he might disgrace himself further and cast up his accounts in front of her.
He’d never felt such pain. For a long moment he couldn’t remember where he was.
Then memory came tumbling back, although only in jumbled fragments that didn’t want to interlock.
Wait. Had she hit him with that cricket bat she was holding up in such a threatening manner?
Deciding it was best to lie still, for the sake of the pain and in case she hit him again, he returned his gaze to her face, squinting up at her and trying to recall where he’d seen her before.
An expression of ferocious intensity was returned.
Of course. The girl from the ball. The little mousey heiress.
Why had he ever compared her to a mouse?
She was far more of a lion or tiger, especially with that cricket bat in her hand.
“Good evening, Lord Gabriel,” she said, keeping her voice low as though she didn’t want anyone to hear but him. The faint hope that she hadn’t recognized him evaporated. Damn it.
However…did her apparent equanimity mean she hadn’t yet called for help?
She did indeed seem to be the only person visible.
His spirits rose a little, much tempered by the awful pain in his forearm and the pounding in his head.
Could she have broken it? His arm, that was, not his head.
It certainly hurt enough for that. As a child, he’d once broken his arm, his other arm, when he’d fallen out of a tree at Wentworth, and this felt like something similar.
Only worse. A matched pair now. Perhaps.
His gaze took in her nightgown, her long plait of hair, the candle in her other hand.
The light of it illuminated the strangely interested expression on her face.
She was not afraid of him. Well, why would she be having incapacitated him so neatly?
But she’d probably never been afraid if her reaction to being disturbed in the night had been to seize a cricket bat and lie in wait.
A cricket bat? What kind of a girl slept with a cricket bat within easy reach?
She was a conundrum. He remembered now how she’d intrigued him only a few hours since.
He wet his lips, which had gone unaccountably dry, glad the sensation of being about to vomit had receded.
Best to attempt nonchalance. For the life of him he couldn’t remember if he’d pocketed those pearls before she hit him or could pretend he hadn’t been about to rob her.
Hopefully the latter. “Good evening, Lady Phoebe.” His voice didn’t come out anywhere near as confidently as he’d hoped.
He cleared his throat but that only made his head hurt all the more.
She bit her lower lip, which made her look a lot less fierce, and lowered the cricket bat a tad.
“This may seem an obvious question, but what are you doing in my bedroom in the middle of the night?” She kept her voice down low and frowned.
“And please don’t lie to me. I’m not an idiot.
” The low voice implied she didn’t want anyone other than them hearing, so it seemed he was right in assuming she’d not shouted for help.
The absurd sensation that he should tell her the truth arose.
She hadn’t called for the servants and she was just sitting there watching him, albeit with her weapon of choice still held firmly in one hand.
No doubt if he tried to get up and flee, if he could have done so when in such pain, she was planning to deal him another blow before he could get far.
“I was stealing your pearls,” he said, before he could think better of such honesty. If one could call stealing things honest, which of course one couldn’t. But admitting it might be.
Her delicate eyebrows rose. “You were?” She sounded most surprised.
“You are indeed a real burglar?” She paused, biting her lip again, brow furrowing in confusion.
“I have to say that I thought you must be. It was my first conclusion when I saw you enter my room. Are you…might I also be right in thinking you are the man known as the Mayfair Highwayman?”
Damn it. Honesty had its downside. Well, he might as well keep going with it. “Yes. I am.”
The threatening cricket bat sank lower. She regarded him in silence for rather a long time, or so it felt. Then she frowned a bit more. “I don’t understand. You’re the son of a duke. Why on earth do you need to steal?”
He could have said it was for a dare, but somehow that didn’t feel right, and besides which, it didn’t fit with all the other robberies he’d committed.
He considered his options. She hadn’t yet called for support of any kind.
Despite her having knocked him senseless and probably broken his arm, he had a feeling from the continuing look of interest on her face that she was receptive.
So he didn’t lie. “For personal reasons, I cannot ask my…father…to give me the money I need. It would not be right.”
Her eyes narrowed, but he could see a flash of unholy glee in them. “Personal reasons?” She paused and then her eyes lit up even further. “You are an inveterate gambler, and your father will not support your habit?”
He remembered not to shake his head. “No, that’s not it. I rarely gamble.”
“You have an expensive mistress of whom your father disapproves?”
A vision of Lady Matcham, Ambrose’s expensive mistress, leapt into his mind.
If Papa, who’d never had a mistress in his life, found out Ambrose was still dancing attendance on her while his wife daily awaited the arrival of a possible heir, Ambrose would be in deep trouble.
Probably lose his generous allowance for a while and have to rusticate at Wentworth.
Which might teach him a valuable lesson.
He shook his head and regretted it immediately.
“I have no mistress, expensive or not.” He paused.
“Please don’t press me further on my reasons, but let it suffice that you understand that I need money for a…
a project I have undertaken that eats up my funds with alarming regularity. ”
“You are being blackmailed for some secret you have?”
“No. Please don’t press me on this.”
She sat back on her heels. “So you thought you’d just steal from people for the money you need?
” Her tone was accusatory. “From members of the ton? Don’t think I haven’t heard what you’ve been up to.
” She paused. “Although one thing puzzles me. Why would you just take only one object each time you break into someone’s house? Why not take everything?”
“I only take from those that can afford to lose things.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“And mainly only from those who have refused to sponsor my particular project.”
“I suppose that might be seen as fair.”
“And I only take one object, two if it’s a pair of earrings, so no one loses over much.”
“And I suppose you could also say that might seem fair.”
“Exactly.”
The candle flame guttered in a draught. The floor felt hard beneath him. “Might you help me up? I think if you were going to send for someone to take me under arrest you would have done so by now. And I find it to my disadvantage to be lying on my back like this.”
She appeared to consider this for what felt like a long time.
Then, as if a decision had been made, she scrambled to her feet and held out a hand to him.
“Very well. Get up, but you must tell me more of the reason you are in need of money, or I shall just scream as loudly as possible, and I can assure you that’s very loudly, and everyone in this house will come running.
You don’t look to me as though you could run far. Do we have a deal?”
“Yes.”
He gave her his left hand, and she heaved him into a sitting position, a difficult thing as he could put no weight on his right arm. His head swam for a moment before settling.
A tiny hint of worry marred her face. “Are you going to be sick, because if you are it will be quite difficult for me to explain that away in the morning.” She paused. “And I have no intention of cleaning it up myself. You will have to do it if you vomit.”
He took a few deep breaths to steady his stomach, which worked.
“I shall not be sick. But now I’ll stand.
” Using the stool by her dressing table, he managed to get to his feet using only his good arm to push himself up.
Again, the room swam for a moment but then settled.
That was better. He began to feel more human and more equal to a conversation with this surprisingly fiery young lady.
She pointed at the stool. “I think you’d best sit down.”
Trying not to look as though that was such a relief, Gabriel sat down.
Phoebe fetched a chair from by the window and sat opposite him, a little too far, he noted, for him to make a sudden grab for her.
Not that he would have been capable of it.
Wise girl, though. Intelligent and resourceful girl. His sort of girl.
She regarded him for a few moments. “Well. You promised you’d tell me what you needed to steal my pearls for. I’m waiting. I can still scream, you know.”
Gabriel nodded, cradling his right arm and wondering what might dull the pain.
“Just let me pull myself together. I think you’ve broken my arm.
It hurts like hell.” He needed time to work out what he should reveal.
Was she the sort of young lady who’d take it in her stride?
Who’d think he was doing the right thing? Who’d support his aim?