miss?â said one of them, stepping forward.
âOh. Iâ¦â What was she supposed to say? Laura wondered. Ladies didnât fetch gentlemenâs cloaks. Providentially, a large group came in behind her, calling for their wraps. âMy friends,â she muttered, fading back as the footmen came forward to serve them.
Cloaks and hats were fetched. When the servants were occupied draping them over shoulders and waiting for tips, Laura slipped past and grabbed the first dark cloak she saw from the scores awaiting their owners. Moving quickly to the rear of the hall, she was lucky in finding another set of doors that led out onto the terrace. In the next moment, she was through them, her heart beating rapidly, and she hurried along to the spot where she had left Gavin.
He was leaning against the wall, looking rather unwell. âI got it,â Laura told him. âAre you all right?â
He nodded and held out his hand for the cloak. She gave it to him, and he tried awkwardly to swing it over his broad shoulders. âHere,â she said, pulling it straight and then stepping back.
âItâs short,â he commented.
âI beg your pardon. I didnât have time to try it for fit.â
âNever mind. It will have to do.â
âReally?â said Laura, stung at his lack of gratitude. âYou donât want me to go back and find a better one?â
âI doubt youâd be able to.â
âYouââ
âGo inside. Iâll wait a few moments so that no one will connect us.â
âThatâs all?â
âWhat else would there be?â
âI made some effort to get that for you,â Laura pointed out. âCatherine was wondering where I had been, andââ
âThen youâd best return to her at once,â he interrupted.
âAnd I had to sneak around several footmen. It was not precisely comfortable.â
âI would have managed it better,â he acknowledged, as if she had been confessing some fault.
Laura was speechless. She had not expected effusive thanks, but this was beyond anything.
âWill you go?â he added.
âWith pleasure!â she snapped, turning back toward the hall doors and leaving him standing there alone.
Four
Gavin sat in his parlor slowly sipping from a glass of brandy. His arm scarcely hurt now. Hasan, who had skills beyond the imagining of most gentlemenâs gentlemen, had bandaged him up, pronouncing the wound minor. They had both seen worse, Gavin mused. Much worse.
For a moment, his mind ranged over some of the perils he and Hasan had endured. Never once had he found occasion to question the manâs loyalty, he thought. On the other hand, he had earned that loyalty, Gavin acknowledged. He had included Hasan in his escape from a filthy prison pit straight out of a medieval inquisition.
Gavinâs thoughts returned to the present incident. His attacker had certainly been a watcher, not an assassin. He had thrown the knife only to avoid capture and the exposure of whatever plot was brewing.
Gavin moved his shoulder to ease it and turned the brandy glass in his hand. He had sensed he was being watched, but he hadnât known the stakes were this high. He had to find out why he had become a target.
He sipped brandy and found his thoughts drifting again from this vital question to his companion in the nightâs adventure. Laura Devaneâs reactions had been surprisingly intelligent, he thought. He hadnât actually expected that she would get him a cloak. It had only been his first scheme. But not only had she agreed, instead of whining or arguing, she had done it. How many gently reared women would, or could, steal a manâs cloak from under the noses of a gaggle of footmen?
An unconscious smile tugged at Gavinâs lips. He had always judged women at a glance. One look told him whether he was interested, whether he wished to pursue or avoid. But with
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