Page 90 of The Countess Caper

“And your cousin wants to keep it. Why now?”

“I don’t know.”

Roarke tilted her chin up to inspect her face, her eyes, making sure she was truly unharmed. “Your pupils are a bit dilated.”

“He dosed me with laudanum.”

Roarke stilled. “I really will kill him.”

“It’s done.”

“Tessa.”

She shrugged. “How did you even know it was him that snatched me? I didn’t put that in the letter, nor where I was meeting him. I didn’t even know it at the time.”

He growled. “Another thing we shall discuss. You warned everyone to hide, to be on guard.”

“Of course I did.”

“And you never once considered being on guard yourself?” he ground out.

“I had my daggers.” It was a feeble excuse, and she knew it. “How did you find me?” she asked again, softly.

“I found Paulette packing her things in a haste.”

She blinked. “Paulette? Who weeps at every provocation and fainted when she found a spider? That Paulette?”

“The very one.”

“Not a frightened maid, then?”

“Definitely not.”

“She used my own trick against me!” She was outraged. She ought to have seen through the subterfuge. It had been her entire life at one time, after all.

“George sent her,” he said, still stroking her cheek. Tessa did the mental calculations, noting the evidence of unlocked windows, of weasels pawing through belongings in a most un-weasel-like way. They’d assumed it was someone after one of the others. Not her. No one had bothered with her since she ran away, since The Incident, and barely even before then. “She confessed. Eventually.”

Tessa’s eyes widened at the unspoken implications of that statement and its dry delivery. “What did Rue do to her?”

“You don’t want to know. And it was not nearly as vicious as what Bryony did.”

“Bryony?”

“Your army rose to the call, devil.”

She swallowed. “For me?”

“For you.” He kissed her lightly. “Don’t you know by now that I’d do anything for you?”

The kiss went deep, demanding. He stole her breath. Her very thoughts. It was a nice reprieve, however short. It fueled her, grounded her. How did he manage that, even now? To make her feel calm and safe and messy and wonderfully wild?

Atticus knocked on the carriage ceiling. “I’ve got him.”

They pulled apart, glancing out the window. They’d left Bath proper, and the road cut through fields and trees, blurring as the horses gave chase. Tessa craned her neck to get a better look and heard the clatter of wheels, horses snorting. The wind in her face. Dirt and pebbles kicked up against the carriage. Roarke drew her back inside. “Have a care.”

The horses slowed. Tessa sat up straighter. “What’s happening? Is he getting away?”

The carriage wobbled to a stop.