Chapter Four

      Gabriel lay in his bed, exhausted by the effort of spending just a few hours out of it. The widow was right, damn her, he needed his rest. But strangely, now John had left him and he was lying alone in the darkness, he did not want to sleep. He was fortunate, he had numerous bruises, but nothing broken, and surprisingly, no broken ribs. Apart from the blow on the head which had rendered him unconscious, his injuries were most likely caused by being bounced around in a cart for the five-mile journey to the wood on the Great North Road. He should never have gone to the tavern in Darlton without John to watch his back, but what else could he do, when the fellow was so ill?

      His mind wandered to the more pleasant subject of Mrs Hopwood. Nancy. He had some vague memory of her telling him that was her name. She had joined him for dinner, demurely dressed with no jewellery save her wedding ring, but not even the plainest gown could disguise the voluptuous figure beneath that blue silk. It had clung to her full, high breasts and shimmered over her hips when she walked. She had pinned up her hair, leaving just a few glossy ringlets resting against the back of her neck. In his mind he imagined what could have happened if she had not left him so quickly after the meal. He might have helped her rise from the table and slipped one hand around the ivory column of her neck, feeling the silken curls tickling his fingers as he pulled her towards him until he could kiss her full, red lips.

      The thought made him stir restlessly, reminding him that his bruised and battered body was in no state to make love to a woman. He should sleep. He needed his rest, but when he closed his eyes Nancy’s image taunted him. She was not conventionally beautiful, her face was too strong for that—the high cheekbones and straight nose suggested a forceful character and, by heaven, he knew that to be true! Her generous mouth was made for laughter and he suspected she laughed often, for she had a keen sense of the ridiculous. Those chocolate-brown eyes had twinkled at him several times during the evening.

      He frowned. But who was she, what was she? He tried to recall what she had said, when she had brought him to Dell House. When he had told her where he lived, she had said she knew it. So, she was no stranger to this area. Indeed, she must be well acquainted with it to know such an out-of-the-way place. And she was a gentlewoman by birth, he would swear to it, even though she said she earned her living.

      A cook! He would not have believed it if he had not seen and tasted the proof of it for himself. And why should she not be? After all, many women of good birth fell on hard times and were obliged to make a living where they could. But something jarred with him. The way she moved, the way she talked. Her energy and sheer vivacity—he could more readily think her a courtesan than a cook, for she was a dashed attractive woman.

      He shifted uneasily in his bed and then winced as his aching limbs protested. She might be Aphrodite herself, but this was no time for dalliance, even if he had been fit for it. He had a job to do and the recent attack had only served to convince him he was getting close. Time to try a different approach. Tomorrow he must arrange for something to be inserted in the papers to announce that a body had been found on the Great North Road near Tuxford. If the snow was as bad there as Nancy had said, it was unlikely anyone would be able to challenge the truth of the notice and whoever was behind the attack on him might believe they had succeeded in removing him.

      But he could not proceed with his plans while he had the telltale bruise on his face, or until he was well enough to defend himself. It would mean lying low for at least another week, maybe more, but that could not be helped. His thoughts strayed once more to Nancy. John had told him there were no signs of anyone prowling about Dell House, so perhaps he should not be in such a hurry to be rid of her. If he had to live quietly for a while, why should he not enjoy the company of an attractive widow? She appeared intent upon looking after him, too, so he would only be allowing her to do what she wanted.

      He closed his eyes, a sudden smile tugging at his lips. Who said one could not have one’s cake and eat it?

      * * *

      When John Thoresby came up with Gabriel’s morning coffee, he announced in a voice of doom that it had been snowing all night.

      ‘Drifting, too. That man of Mrs Hopwood’s says the road is already blocked. No one will be going very far today, save on foot, across the fields.’

      ‘Capital,’ Gabriel replied, sanguine. ‘Let us hope it is the same on the Great North Road.’

      John helped him to sit up and handed him his cup.

      ‘You’ve changed your tune. I thought you wanted our visitors gone?’

      ‘I do, eventually, but the snow will prevent my assailants from becoming anxious that my remains have not yet been discovered. Which reminds me, John, we need a notice in the Markham Courier to that effect. And possibly in the Intelligencer, too. That is widely read in Darlton, I believe. You say it is possible to get out across the fields? Good. I want you to go to East Markham and send a message, express, to...er...our friends in London. They will arrange the whole.’

      ‘Very well, sir. And what do you plan to do next?’

      Gabriel eased himself back against the pillows and sipped his coffee. ‘I really have no idea,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But this weather will give us a little extra time to make a new plan. Do not worry, John. I will think of something!’

      * * *

      Gabriel had taken his breakfast in his room and then allowed his manservant to help him dress. His muscles were still stiff and sore, but he felt much more himself. Well enough, in fact, to leave his room. Knowing John would want him to rest for at least another day, he had waited until he had set off on his errand to East Markham before sallying forth and it was thus a little before noon that he made his way downstairs.

      He found Nancy in the kitchen. She was absorbed in stirring the contents of a copper pan on the stove and did not notice him come in, which gave him time to study her. She wore a linen pinafore wrapped around her over her gown, a cheerful yellow muslin with a frilled hem that was more suited to a London salon than a country kitchen, but its bright colour reminded Gabriel of spring flowers. It suited her, too, the yellow contrasting well with the deep rich brown of her hair. She had swept it up hurriedly out of the way and small dark curls framed her face. Several glossy tendrils had escaped at the back, drawing his attention to the elegant neck rising from the low-cut bodice.

      For a moment he considered stealing silently up to her, slipping his arms about the dainty waist and dropping a kiss upon the soft skin of her shoulder, but common sense prevailed. She was stirring a boiling pot and he was not at all sure that she wouldn’t throw the contents over him if he took such a liberty. He decided it would be safer to cough to attract her attention.

      ‘Oh. Good morning, Mr Shaw.’

      She