Dear Impostor (46 page)

          When they awakened, she still lay in his arms,
at ease despite her nakedness. When his gaze traveled over her still flushed
breasts, his open admiration was a benediction that she accepted without self
consciousness. So much had changed so quickly, and Psyche had changed, too. In
some corner of her mind, she gave thanks that–whatever the future held–Gabriel
would always be the one to have taught her about the corporeal side of love,
love’s other face. She was sure that no one else could have opened her mind and
her heart to the wonders of this passion, could have elicited such responses
from her physical nature, responses that had allowed her to surprise even
herself. No, she was glad that this had been the first time, with Gabriel, and
it had truly been an expression of love.

          They were both still sticky with a light sheen
of perspiration, and she thought longingly of a warm bath, or even a chilly
secluded lake into which they might plunge. Together, naked, feeling the water
cool against fevered skin . . . And that picture evoked images of lovemaking
all over again; she blinked, amazed at the feelings that so easily reawakened
within her.

          Gabriel raised himself to one elbow and leaned
over her, gazing at her face, smiling at the spark of yearning that rekindled
within her blue eyes.

          “I believe I have created–”

          ”A monster?” She finished for him, a little
fearful that these feelings were perhaps not normal, certainly not . . .
respectable.

          “Never,” he said quickly. “A marvel, though
not really of my creation. An awakening, I should say instead. An awareness of
the passions I always suspected lay beneath your proper exterior.”

          He saw the doubt that clouded her eyes, and he
kissed her very gently. “Rejoice, my love; you have been granted a rare gift, a
gift that comes from your own honest heart, your own healthy body and mind. Some
women take years to learn what you have already instinctively grasped, and some
women never come to know it at all.”

         
Some women never have a man who cares
enough, who is wise and gentle and loving enough, to bring them to this
knowledge
,
Psyche thought, but she did not voice her instinct.

          “So,” she drawled after leaning in for a long
kiss, “what made you finally succumb to my demands?”

          “Honestly, I was afraid you might throw the
table at me next.” Gabriel laughed and ducked to avoid her mock-furious attack.
He gently bracketed her wrists in his hands in expectation of her next swat. But
instead, she lifted her face and they shared a long kiss, luscious in its
sweetness, with warmth that rapidly grew–

          And was never to flower into passion. Instead,
a slight noise sent Gabriel very still. He paused and lifted his head.

          Psyche had heard it, too. “A mouse?” she
whispered.

          “If so, it has two very large feet,” Gabriel
told her, his voice grim. “I believe it is time to leave this wonderful manse,
my dear.”

          She rapidly pulled her simple tunic back over
her head and into place, smoothing her hair as best she could and picking up
her cloak and her sandals.

          Gabriel also dressed quickly. He tossed the
soiled blue sash into the ash-littered fireplace; they had disrupted the layer
of dust on the floor, but there was little other sign that someone had been
here. With his boots in one hand, Gabriel motioned for her to follow him. She
tiptoed across the dusty floor and waited while he peered around the doorframe.

          “It sounds as if they are at the rear door,”
he breathed into her ear.

          She nodded again, not even asking who ‘they’
were. Neither of them had any doubts, she was sure. Barrett would never give
up; how long could they continue to elude his murderous gang?

          Which way? She looked the question at Gabriel,
who seemed to be thinking. He glanced back toward the window, which was shaded
by overlarge, untrimmed shrubbery. He motioned, and they ran lightly to the
window.

          Gabriel grunted as he pushed at the window
sash, the wood swollen from years of neglect. At last it slid open, and he put
his head through, glanced quickly around, then withdrew to help Psyche slide
over the sill. He held her hands as she scrambled through, then dropped the few
feet to the ground.

          Psyche looked around as Gabriel followed her,
jumping to the soft earth just beside her. The grass rustled and the bushes
stirred; the slight noises seemed loud to Psyche’s ears. Had anyone heard them,
seen their escape?

          A shout from the back of the house was her
answer.

          “Oy, they be getting away!” a hoarse voice
shouted.

          “Make a dash for the woods,” Gabriel
instructed.

          Holding her hand, he half-pulled her along as
they both ran for their lives. Psyche pelted through the grass, wincing as her
bare feet hit pebbles and stubbed against hard roots. Once, she almost fell,
but Gabriel caught her and tugged her erect once more.

          Men were racing after them, she could heard
the crash of bodies through the undergrowth, see the shaking of limbs as she
glanced back. She and Gabriel sprinted across the uneven ground. Soon, she was
panting, but Gabriel never seemed to tire, and with his strong hand to urge her
on, she was determined to keep up, to run till her very lungs burst from the
strain. She would not be the weak link, the cause of his capture, his death. Nor
her own, for that matter. The thought of falling into the hands of Barrett and
his hired ruffians left her cold with dread.

          So she ran till her sides ached and her legs
trembled and her vision was streaked with red. Only when she seemed to float in
a daze of exhaustion, when she no longer could even make sense of Gabriel’s
words, when he had to take her by the shoulders and pull her to him in the
shadow of a giant oak, did she realize that they had apparently outrun their
city-bred pursuers.

          “Rest for a moment,” Gabriel whispered. “But
do not make a sound.”

          She nodded; she had no breath left to answer. Her
whole body was shaking, and she would have fallen if he had not held her
against him, his hard-muscled body reassuring in her current state of weakness.

          While her labored breathing slowed, Psyche
strained to hear. The woods around them seemed empty again; she heard birds
call, and in a moment a hawk shrieked somewhere in the skies above. The sound
made her shiver. The hawk was a predator, angry perhaps because it had dived
for a songbird and missed. There were other predators in the forest, today,
just as angry, just as frustrated.

          Had the gang members given up and turned back
to the decaying mansion? Or were they behind the next tree, just waiting for
Gabriel and Psyche to show themselves?

          Psyche shivered. They could not stay hidden in
the shadow of this tree forever.

          Gabriel seemed to have the same thought. “If
we can make it to the village–” he whispered into her ear.

          She nodded. Her driver was there, with the
carriage, and people who would witness and perhaps deter further attack. Gabriel
scanned the clumps of trees closest to them, then nodded to her. Swiftly, but
as quietly as possible, watching where she stepped, aware for the first time
that her feet were bruised and bleeding, leaving a track that any shire-born
hunter would likely be able to follow, she trailed Gabriel through the trees.

          He was angling back toward the drive, she
thought, or perhaps going parallel to it; they could not go too far into the
woods and risk getting lost; they might even accidentally double back and walk
right into the fox’s den. Yet if they walked openly down the drive, they could
be seen.

          Even as she considered all the dangers, she
felt Gabriel stiffen. “What?” she breathed. Then she heard it, too, the faint
sound of horses’ hooves. Was Barrett getting reinforcements? Fear rushed over
her, and she saw the grim set of Gabriel’s jaw. He kept hold of her hand, but
with his other, he reached inside his shirt and brought out the small knife.

          She knew they would not take him, or injure
her, without a fight, but Gabriel would be sadly outnumbered.

          The noise came nearer, and Gabriel bent low
beneath a leafy branch to make out the horse, or perhaps the team, that
approached them; the driveway was only a few yards from their current hiding
place. Then he dropped her hand and–to Psyche’s shock–darted toward the
approaching vehicle, yelling and waving his arms.

          While she watched in astonishment, he looked
back and motioned her forward. “Quickly,” he called.

          She ran to join him, then saw with a spreading
wave of relief that it was her own carriage and team, her own faithful driver,
returning to collect them as instructed.

          “Get in!” Gabriel pulled open the door so that
Psyche could scramble inside. “We’ve been attacked,” he called to the driver.
“Turn at the first opportunity and make your best speed away from this place! When
you get to the main road, I’ll give you more directions.”

          The man nodded, and Gabriel jumped inside.

          Psyche was still breathing quickly. “Where are
Barrett’s killers–did they see us?”

          “I don’t know, but we will soon outdistance
them,” Gabriel said, almost giddy from the release of tension. “Barrett is too
low on funds to have a four-horse team, nor a well-sprung racing curricle. If
they have the same gig they used before, it cannot keep up with your steeds.”

          Psyche nodded and drew a deep breath. Her cheeks
had been flushed from the exertion of their mad race through the trees, but now
her complexion was fading to its normal creamy hue. She reached back and pulled
a twig from her tangled hair, trying to braid her locks into some semblance of
order. In his mind’s eye, he saw her hair pins scattered on the library floor
where his eager fingers had tossed them.

          Gabriel’s brief elation faded, and he felt a
new wave of guilt. How much longer would her safety be threatened by his
enemies?

          “Are we going back to London?” she asked, her
voice quiet.

          Gabriel considered; he had underestimated this
group of villains more than once; he must not do it again. “No, they must be
expecting that; they might have an ambush waiting along the road,” he told her.
“We will go south instead.”

          Psyche did not protest. She pushed her hair
back and then brushed at the leaves that clung to her costume after their dash
through the woods. “I will look a strange sight at an inn,” she observed, but
her tone was only mildly rueful.

          How many well-bred ladies would have
maintained their composure when faced with a sudden flight from a blood-thirsty
gang, all the while wearing a disordered costume and little more? She had no
baggage, no maid servant, and her reputation was in dire peril, yet her blue
eyes were calm, her expression serene. She was a marvel, his enchanting Miss
Hill. Gabriel gazed at her, love swelling inside him. She was unique, and she
was his–if only briefly. He must keep her safe; next to that, nothing else
mattered.

          Even if he had to break a vow he had sworn to
uphold all his life.

          When they turned into the coach road, Gabriel
conferred briefly with the driver and then returned to the carriage. He sat
quietly for some miles, keeping his gaze directed toward the countryside that
flowed past outside the carriage window. This time, the demons that he wrestled
with were uniquely his own.

          The voices in his head were louder than the
steady echo of the horses’ rhythmic gait. “No problematic whelp of mine will
disgrace the family name in such a fashion! You disgust me . . . No whining,
dammit, this time you’ve gone too far . . .” Gabriel’s jaw clenched with the
memories of old pain, anger that still simmered deep inside

          Psyche watched him, knowing she should demand
more information as to where this mad flight was taking them. After all, it was
her safety which hung in the balance, too. But the strange sense of contentment
that had outlasted their few hours of passion lingered. However their future
would unfold, whatever fate had in store, she thought that perhaps it was
important to savor each moment they spent together, even if it involved nothing
more than rolling along side by side in her carriage down a quiet road, the
hedgerows alongside filled with the chatter of birds and the rustle of small
animals and all the other sounds of late spring in the English countryside.

          She didn’t want to think of the future, of
afterwards when Gabriel might not be with her. Now, the carriage swayed, and
she could hear the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the occasional crack of
the driver’s whip swung over the team’s heads to keep them alert, never
touching their burnished chestnut backs. She was aware of Gabriel’s presence in
every inch of her body; his ridiculous costume would have looked absurd on
anyone else, but Gabriel’s easy poise transcended what he wore and made any
fanciful outfit seem only a minor detail compared to his beautiful face and
well-shaped body.