Free A Secret Love by Stephanie Laurens Page A

“Where did this come from?”
    â€œThe little table out here.”
    She led the way. Gabriel set the lamp down on the side table she indicated, then waited until she passed through the gate in the railings before turning the wick down. The light died. “Let’s hope,” he murmured, moving around the clerk’s desk to the gate, “that the clerk is not the sort to keep a careful eye on the level of his lamp oil.”
    She returned no comment, but waited by the door.
    Retrieving his cane, he opened it. She stepped through. He followed, shutting the door, then crouching down to turn the heavy tumblers of the lock. Not a simple task. They finally fell into place. “How on earth did you manage it?” he asked as he straightened.
    â€œWith difficulty.”
    Certainly not with a hairpin. Stifling his curiosity, he followed her down the stairs. Her heels clicked on the stone. Crossing the cobbles silently would be impossible. At the bottom of the stairs, he took her hand and placed it on his sleeve. She looked up at him—he assumed in surprise. “I presume your carriage is waiting?”
    â€œAt the far corner of the Fields.”
    â€œI’ll escort you to it.” In the circumstances, she could hardly argue, yet he knew she considered it. If she’d tried, he would have informed her that, courtesy of five tin boxes, she now had more chance of flying to her carriage than of dismissing him with nothing more than words.
    There were rules to all engagements, in seduction as in war; he knew them all and was a past master at exploiting them for his own good. After the first clashes, every lady he’d ever engaged with had decided his exploitation had been for her good, too. Ultimately, the countess would not complain.
    They set off, openly crossing the courtyard. He felt her fingers on his sleeve flutter nervously, then settle. He glanced at her veiled face, then let his gaze skate down her cloaked form. “You appear to be a recently bereaved widow who could thus have good reason for visiting the Inn late.”
    She glanced at him, then gave a slight nod and lifted her head.
    Approving the imperious tilt to her chin, Gabriel looked ahead. She was no mean actress—there was now not a hint of trepidation to be seen. If he had to have a female partner, he was glad it was she. She could think, pick locks, and carry off a charade—all definite positives. Despite his irritation on first finding her here, he now felt in considerable charity with her role.
    He would, of course, put his foot down and ensure she engaged in no more midnight searches, but that would have to wait until after they got past the porter nodding in his box by the gate. Head up, spine straight, the countess walked past as if the porter didn’t exist. The man touched his fingers respectfully to his cap, then yawned and slouched back on his stool.
    They walked on. In the shadows cast by the huge trees of the Fields, a small black carriage waited, the horses’ heads hanging. As they neared, the coachman glanced around, then hunched over his reins.
    Halting by the carriage, Gabriel opened the door.
    The countess put out her hand. “Thank you—”
    â€œIn a moment.” Taking her hand, he urged her into the carriage. He felt her puzzled glance as she complied. As she settled on the seat, he glanced at her coachman. “Brook Street—just past South Molton.” With that, he followed the countess into the carriage and shut the door.
    She stared at him, then scooted further over as he turned and sat beside her. The carriage rocked into motion.
    After an instant’s fraught silence, she said, “I wasn’t aware I had offered you a ride.”
    Gabriel considered her veiled face. “No doubt you would have—I thought I’d save you the trouble.”
    He heard a small spurt of laughter, instantly suppressed. Lips curving, he faced forward. “After all, we