“I had a feeling you would,” she muttered. “I don't suppose you're going to let me go on my way.”
His answer was a bark of laughter. “I'm afraid not, my dear. Your spying days are over.”
“My spying—my what?”
“The British government knows all about you and your treasonous plots, Miss Carlotta De Leon. I think you'll find we do not look kindly upon Spanish spies.”
Her face was a perfect picture of disbelief. God, this woman was good. “The government knows about me?” she asked. “Wait a moment, about who?”
“Don't play dumb, Miss De Leon. Your intelligence is well-known both here and on the continent.”
“That's a very nice compliment, to be sure, but I'm afraid there has been a mistake.”
“No mistake. I saw you leaving Prewitt Hall.”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“In the dark,” he continued, “with all the servants dismissed. You didn't realize we'd been watching the hall, did you?”
“No, no, of course I didn't,” Caroline replied, blinking furiously. Someone had been watching the house? How had she not noticed? “For how long?”
“Two weeks.”
That explained it. She'd been in Bath for the past fortnight, attending to Oliver's sickly maiden aunt. She'd only returned this afternoon.
“But that was long enough,” he continued, “to confirm our suspicions.”
“Your suspicions?” she echoed. What the devil was this man talking about? If he was insane, she was in big trouble, because he was still pointing a gun at her midsection.
“We have enough to indict Prewitt. Your testimony will ensure that he hangs. And you, my dear, will learn to love Australia.”
Caroline gasped, her eyes lighting up with delight. Oliver was involved in something illegal? Oh, this was wonderful! Perfect! She should have guessed he was nothing more than a lowly crook. Her mind raced. Despite what the man in black had said, she doubted Oliver had done anything bad enough to hang for it. But perhaps he'd be sent to jail. Or forced into indentured servitude. Or—
“Miss De Leon?” the man said sharply.
Caroline's voice was excited and breathy as she asked, “What has Oliver been doing?”
“For the love of God, woman, I've had enough of your playacting. You're coming with me.” He stepped forward with a menacing growl and grabbed her by the wrists. “Now.”
“But—”
“Not another word unless it's a confession.”
“But—”
“That's it!” He stuffed a rag into her mouth. “You'll have plenty of time to talk later, Miss De Leon.”
Caroline coughed and grunted furiously as he bound her wrists with a coarse piece of rope. Then, to her amazement, he put two fingers into his mouth, and let out a low whistle. A glorious black gelding pranced out of the trees, its steps high and graceful.
While she was gaping at the horse—who must have been the quietest and best-trained animal in the history of creation—the man hefted her up onto the saddle.
“Iiiii shrr …” she croaked, quite unable to speak with the grimy gag in her mouth.
“What?” He looked over at her and took in the way her skirts were cutting into her legs. “Oh, your skirts. I can cut them or you can dispense with propriety.”
She glared at him.
“Propriety goes, then,” he said, and hiked her skirts up so that she could straddle the horse with more comfort. “Sorry I didn't think to bring a side-saddle, Miss De Leon, but trust me when I tell you that you've far greater worries just now than my seeing your bare legs.”