Page 26 of The Rebellious Countess
Damn Peter.
“I told him to watch her, but apparently at some point, she realized she was being followed. Tomás is a bit too big to hide sometimes.”
“No one is too big to hide.”
Tomás snorted. “This from a puny English dog.”
Elias grinned, but kept his eyes on Hag. “What happened with my friend?”
“Your wife finally came inside, but as she did, some of the crew from theConfiancebegan to fight over Louise.”
Elias winced. That crew manned the ship his wife was supposed to take back to England. Louise wasn’t a bad-looking woman—her hygiene, however, left something to be desired. In all honesty, most sailors held a stronger foulness to them than Louise. “What happened?”
“Some pushing and shoving, then punches turned into chairs and glasses being thrown. You wife tried to hide under the table.” Hag indicated the largest table in the front corner. “Yourfriendfound her there.”
“Where was he?” He pointed to Tomás. He knew Máira’s well-being was not Tomás’s concern, but Hag had told him to keep an eye on her. A sigh or a growl was released behind him. He didn’t look. It was best not to engage a beast. He wasn’t afraid of Tomás, he just didn’t have the time or the energy to engage in a round of fisticuffs.
“Hewas doing his job and protecting my bar.”
“It doesn’t look as if he did a very good job.” It was true. There was more damage to the tavern than Elias had ever seen.
“The damage you see was from the last group of Napoleon’s men to travel through here. I was compensated with things I didn’t need.”
That explained the luxurious furnishings in her room. Hag’s smile was sardonic. “What does a businesswoman need with fancy bedroom furnishings?”
He heard Tomás’s feet shuffle behind him and knew the man was thinking about the things he could do in her room. It was obvious to everyone but Hag that Tomás pined for her. Elias returned to his questioning. “What happened to Máira’s shoulder?”
“Your friend tried to force his intentions upon her. She wanted no part of him and resisted. When he could not persuade her, he wrenched her arm behind her back and slammed her head against the floor. He did it a second time and she screamed. I threw my knife, then grabbed my pistol and walked over to make certain he did not get up.”
He nodded. He wouldn’t have expected anything less, nor would he have wanted anything less to happen to the low-life pond scum who not only betrayed his own country for riches, but then attempted to force himself on a woman. If ever a man deserved what he got, Henry Greasley did.
He wished he could kill him again—he would have liked to do it after he got the information he needed, but Hag had done what needed to be done.
“I don’t suppose you found papers on him?” He asked.
“Papers?” The expression on her face was more ambivalent than ever.
Dammit. “Hag, I know you went through his pockets.”
“What would make you think that I would do such a thing?”
He stared at her. Waiting. Her mock innocence annoyed him and made a muscle tick in his cheek. She killed the bugger. She was as far from being an angel worthy of heaven as they came. She would be more aptly cast as Lucifer, himself. Of course, he was no saint either, and they would probably rot in hell together, along with Tomás.
Máira would not be with them.
“What did you find, Hag?”
She blinked. “Oh, you mean the part you didn’t share with me? The part about Simon Clark, the Earl of Astley, traipsing through France on a mission from the English Crown, and the Frenchman who captured him?” Her tone was casual, but everything about this moment spoke of violence and secrets too important to utter aloud.
“I don’t know who has captured the earl,” he hissed under his breath, and looked over his shoulder to ensure no one else had come in before continuing. “You killed the man who was supposed to give me that information. So, stop playing cat-and-mouse and tell me what you found.”
“The Minister of War and chief of staff to the emperor himself, has your earl. They should be at the Bastille of the Seas by now, since the correspondence was dated over a month ago.”
Bloody hell. He had put his wife in a dangerous spot if the Minister of War had captured the earl. Chances of recovering Astley alive were slim at best. With that amount of time there may be too little left of Simon Clark to take home in anything but a small box.
He wanted to curse himself to hell for endangering her as he had. Yet it all boiled down to that one moment in time when he saw her in the streets of Dumfries and she’d captured his attention with her laughter. The graceful turn of her neck as she said something to her maid had thrown his stomach in knots and his cock had nearly pointed the path to her feet. He’d instantly decided she had to be the one woman he would marry. The only woman he would swear his loyalty to. It wouldn’t matter if the town was full of nobles, something inside him demanded he select her as his bride, the dangers be damned.
Except he hadn’t expected any real dangers. Certainly not like what Máira had already experienced. And he was afraid it was only the beginning. In essence, he had no one to blame but himself…and his damned cock.
