Her laugh was rich and exultant. "You won't lose me, Lord Praed, I can assure you."
"Oh, I know that," he called back, his eyes glittering. And neither of them missed the underlying meaning of their words. Something had been started that would not soon be finished. But neither of them was as yet prepared to put a name to what it was.
The chase took them across four fields and Gabrielle was at his heels throughout. They sailed over hedge and stream and he could almost feel her breath on his back. The frigid January air whistled past their ears; the hooves crashed over the hard-ridged furrows of the plowed fields; they plunged into a copse and he heard her laughing curse as a branch whipped her cheek and she dropped low on the horse's neck.
And at the kill she sat her panting horse steadily, with no sign of flinching from the swift and bloody slaughter.
Nathaniel felt again the power emanating from the tall, taut figure. He was responding to the wildness, the passion, the force that drove her, and he couldn't help himself. Fearless and unconventional, Gabrielle de Beaucaire spelled a form of trouble he didn't think he could resist, not if he stayed in her vicinity.
He waited for her to show some fatigue as the day wore on. Or at least to say that she was hungry. But she stayed at the head of the field, unflagging and uncomplaining. He was famished and knew she must be too, but he couldn't bring himself to admit a need that his indomitable companion ignored. They exchanged few words but their paths never veered. Sometimes Gabrielle took the lead, sometimes he did. And Nathaniel began to feel they were engaged in an unspoken competition. Which of them would call a halt first?
In the end it was Gabrielle who said, "We'd better turn back. We're about ten miles from Vanbrugh Court and we'll be lucky to make it home before dusk."
"The horses are tired," he offered in assent.
Gabrielle shot him a quick glance at this bland observation and her lips twitched. "So am I."
"Oh, are you? I feel as fresh as I did this morning."
"That's a Banbury story if ever I heard one," she said, refusing to rise to provocation. "If we go this way, we can clip a mile off the ride." She gestured with her whip across a style.
"And how many times do we risk breaking our necks 7"
She seemed to consider the question. "Twice." Chuckling, she turned her horse and jumped the style.
It was nearly dusk when the weary horses trotted up the drive of Vanbrugh Court. A postchaise with the Vanbrugh arms on its panels was being driven away from the front door. "Simon must have just arrived," Gabrielle observed.
Nathaniel made no comment. Once he'd spoken his mind to his host, he would be free to leave the trouble and temptation resident in Vanbrugh Court before matters became any worse. He'd be on the road by dawn.
Gabrielle swung down from her mount without assistance, but Nathaniel's sharp eyes noticed that she wavered for a second as her feet touched solid ground and the straight back curved slightly, her shoulders drooping.
So she wasn't completely invincible. It was a small satisfaction. He put a hand lightly under her elbow as they went up the steps to the open front door. The touch was electrifying, and he heard her sharp indrawn breath.
"Oh, there you are!" Georgie came out of the library. "You're the last to come back. I was beginning to worry."
"Gabby's always the last to return from a hunt.” her husband commented, following her into the hall.
Simon Vanbrugh was a rotund man with a genial expression enlivened by a pair of very shrewd gray eves. His assessing gaze ran over the new arrivals. Had Gabrielle managed to win over the prejudiced spymaster? It was hard to tell, but they'd presumably spent the day together and there was a promising informality to Nathaniel's supporting hand beneath her elbow.
"Did she wear you out, Nananiel?" He laughed lightly as he bent to kiss his wife's cousin. He and Georgie had grown up as neighbors and had been childhood sweethearts, so Simon had known Gabby almost as long as his wife had.
"Did I, Lord Praed?" Gabrielle turned to look at her escort with a cool arch smile.
"I don't believe so, madame," he said, suddenly stiff and formal. His hand dropped from her elbow. "If you have a minute, Simon, I'd like a word with you."
"Georgie, will you come and talk to me in my bath?" Gabrielle asked as the two men disappeared into the library. "Or must you play hostess for the next hour?"
Georgie shook her head, interest sparkling in her eyes. "Everyone's dressing for dinner. Besides, nothing can take precedence over an account of your day with Nathaniel Praed."
Gabrielle laughed, linking her arm through her cousin's as they mounted the stairs. "I've a tale to tell, Georgie."
In the library Nathaniel flung himself onto a leather sofa with an audible sigh. He stretched out his legs to the fire and examined his mud-splattered boots.
He came to the point with customary lack of ceremony. "What the devil do you mean by foisting that wild woman on me, Simon?"
"Wild? Gabby?" Simon turned from the sideboard, a cut-glass decanter in his hand. "She's not wild, Nathaniel. Oh, a trifle spirited, I grant you, but she's got as cool a head on her shoulders as anyone I know."
"Oh, is that so? And it's a cool head that leads a woman to climb through my bedroom window at one o'clock in the morning? It's a cool head that leads her to jump a ten-foot stone wall as if it's a stack of firewood?"
"Claret?" Simon inquired, a chuckle in his voice. "Did she really climb through your window?"
"Thank you." Nathaniel took the proffered glass. "Yes, she did, presenting me with that ridiculous scrap of velvet… of all the absurd, fanciful notions. Obviously she thinks the business of the service is some great game of secret signs and amusing clandestine ex-cursions. I tell you, Simon, you had no right, no fight at all, to compromise me by revealing my identity to a headstrong, reckless, wild woman."
Having thus unburdened himself, Nathaniel drank deeply of his claret.
Simon sat down in a wing chair opposite him and thoughtfully sipped his own wine. "You're not compromised, Nathaniel. You should know better than to imagine I would reveal your identity without good cause."
He leaned back in his chair and took a pinch of snuff. "Gabby came to me some weeks ago. You remember that interesting piece of information we received about Napoleon's intention to attack Sicily?"
Nathaniel nodded, his eyes sharp with attention. The piece of intelligence from a hitherto unknown source had enabled the government to strengthen the British fleet protecting the Bourbon king in Sicily. The show of strength had changed Napoleon's mind somewhat abruptly.
"Well, it came from Gabby." Simon permitted himself a satisfied smile as he saw his companion's reaction. "She learned it from Talleyrand and brought it to me as an indication of her ability and her desire to act as an intelligence agent for England. I discussed it with Portland, of course, and we decided you should make the decision. Even if you decide against her, I will vouch absolutely for her discretion. I've known her since she was eight years old. She's unusual. She's clever. She has wit and courage. And she most desperately wants to be of service to England."
"Even if I grant she has some of those qualities, you know I do not employ women." Nathaniel stood up and went to refill his glass.
"There are exceptions to every rule," his host reminded him. "Tell me where you would find another agent so perfectly placed, so impeccably qualified? She has entrees into every diplomatic, political, and social circle in Paris. Talleyrand is her godfather, man!"
"And she's prepared to betray him?" Nathaniel looked skeptical.