"Very likely." Gabriel considered, then continued, "It's my guess that without Crowley, and without those notes, the Central East Africa Gold Company will simply cease to exist. It has no capital, and Swales, from all I've been able to glean, is not the sort to drive this type of enterprise on his own."
Chillingworth considered, too, then nodded. "It'll do. We'll simply leave and take the notes, and get your Montague to return them to their owners."
They wrapped the notes securely in a blanket and Charlie carried them off the ship. Alathea helped Gabriel. Chillingworth was their lookout. When he joined the others in the shadows by his carriage, he nodded. "All clear."
Alathea sighed with relief. "Help me get Gabriel inside."
Chillingworth stared at her, then, hauling open the carriage door, cast a narrow-eyed look at Gabriel. "I assume," he asked in a sweetly innocent tone, "I should drive directly to his house?"
"Of course!" Alathea scrambled into the carriage, then turned and reached out to help Gabriel in. "I need to tend that cut properly as soon as possible."
Gabriel shot Chillingworth a wicked grin, then bent his head and stepped into the carriage. Chillingworth slammed the door shut. "Who knows," he said, loudly enough for Alathea to hear, "it might even need stitches."
With that, he climbed to the box seat, took up the reins Charlie was holding, and set his carriage rolling back to London.
Chapter 21
Chillingworth let Gabriel and Alathea down in Brook Street.
"I'll go straight home," Alathea called to Charlie as she went up the steps beside Gabriel, her grip on his arm firm and supporting. "I don't know how long this might take. Tell your mama there's no need to wait up for me."
Gabriel grinned as he reached for his latchkey. He could just imagine Chillingworth's face. Chillingworth had somewhat curtly offered to drive Charlie back to Marlborough House. That probably entitled him to yet another quota of Cynster gratitude. Given they could never be sure just how incapacitated Crowley had been before Chillingworth shot him, tonight had seen the earl's stocks rise high indeed.
Charlie called an acknowledgment. Chillingworth's horses stamped, then the carriage rattled away. Sliding his key into the lock, Gabriel turned it. Glancing at Alathea, he twisted the knob and opened the door.
This would, after all, shortly be her home. He was simply jumping the gun a trifle. He wasn't, however, foolish enough to sweep her off her feet and carry her over the threshold.
He let her shoo him in, instead, fussing like a mother hen.
Chance appeared at the end of the hall. He was in his shirtsleeves, clearly taken aback to see his master returning so early. When he saw who his master was with, he goggled, and started to silently back away…
Alathea saw him and beckoned. "You're Chance, I take it?"
"Hmm." Chance ducked his head, warily edging closer. "That's me, mum."
Alathea shot him a sharp glance, then nodded. "Yes, well, your master has been injured. I want a bowl of warm water-not too hot-brought up to his room directly, with some clean cloths and bandages. And some salve, too-I assume you have some?" All the while she'd been progressing down the hall, towing Gabriel with her.
"Umm." Falling back before her advance, Chance looked helplessly at Gabriel.
"This is Lady Alathea, Chance."
Chance bowed. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, mum."
"Indeed." Alathea waved him away. "I want those items, and I'll need your help upstairs momentarily." When Chance stared at her blankly, she leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "Now. Immediately. Sooner than soon."
Chance jumped back, all but tripping over his feet. "Oh! Right. Straight away, mum." He scurried through the baize door.
Alathea watched him go, then shook her head and tugged Gabriel on toward the stairs. "Your eccentricities never cease to amaze me." She proceeded to propel him up the stairs.
She couldn't have done it if he hadn't been willing-very willing-despite the fact that he hated being the object of any woman's fussing. Her fussing he was willing to endure given that she'd yet to make any formal statement-a clear and unequivocal acceptance of his heart.
He wanted to hear it, but she was perennially stubborn; encouraging her to let her feelings run riot, as they presently were, would make it all the harder for her to draw back, to balk at the final hurdle. So he meekly climbed the stairs, biding his time, letting her imagine he was weak. He did feel a little lightheaded, relieved that it was over, that Crowley was dead, never to darken their horizon again, and eager, buoyed with anticipation like some callow youth at the realization that she was his.
All he needed now was to hear her admit it.
"Here." He stopped by his door and leaned against the door frame, letting her turn the knob and set the door wide. Without the slightest hesitation, she urged him inside, steering him to the wide bed.
She pushed him to sit on its side. Her fingers going to the improvised bandage, she glanced frowningly at the door. "Where is that man?"