The Spymaster's Lady Read Online Free PDF Page B

thinking about water.
    â€œProbably nobody’s there. I can’t manage Adrian alone. And you can show me that well.”
    â€œDo not nag at me, monsieur.” He heard her stick grind the dirt of the road. “It is not an attractive trait.”
    â€œHe needs your help. What is it, a hundred steps?”
    She snorted, a delicate, French snort of exasperation. “I do not know how it is the English have the reputation for being stoic, for you are not in the least.” She gathered Adrian closer to her. “Come then. We will find your water that obsesses you so. Most certainly we will stop loitering here in the roadway, chatting, for anyone and his cat to remark upon. This is the gate.”
    The broomstick clicked angrily along the iron railings as they went through.
    â€œI go as far as the steps of the main house. Not beyond that,” she said. “Not one inch. Not if you have a dozen young spies upon your hands, all wounded horribly. It is thoroughly illogical that you should ask it of me.” Their feet crunched on gravel and the way led steeply downhill. “I have had little to do with the English before this. I see now that was wise, though there are doubtless many sorts of Englishmen who are more reasonable than you. Perhaps I will reserve judgment.”
    He could detect no trace of a human presence ahead. But then, he wouldn’t. Not if it was Will Doyle waiting there.
    A few steps forward and she stopped. “I do not like this.” And right she was. She had excellent instincts. “No. I will not go farther. Take the boy…”
    Adrian, even half-conscious, must have been listening. He played his part then. He moaned and sagged against her.
    She staggered and held him up. “Your friend has fainted again. We must…”
    At his side, close enough to touch, Doyle said, “It’s about time you showed up.” A burly presence coalesced from the night. “I was getting ready to storm the place.”
    Doyle. Thank God. Two tons of worry rolled off his shoulders. “Adrian’s hurt.”
    The instant she heard Doyle’s voice, the girl pushed free of Adrian and backed away into the woods. She stilled, out of reach.
    â€œGive him to me.” Doyle was a big man. He picked Adrian up bodily and carried him. “I heard he went and got himself shot. We’ve been wondering how bad it was. I stole a coach just in case. It’s down the drive.”
    â€œGood.” He turned his head to one side and the other, listening, locating the girl. There. The whisper of her breath betrayed her. Feel safe in the darkness, Annique. You just do that. “I need water for my guide,” he called after Doyle.
    He could swear Doyle read his mind. “There’s a couple flasks in the coach, nice and cold. I’ll fetch it down. Good clean water.” They were the right words, offhanded and calm.
    He felt a tremor in Annique’s waiting silence. Keep thinking about water, Annique. Keep thinking about how thirsty you are. “I’ll get that flask for you, mademoiselle, with my thanks. That’s the very least I owe you.”
    She hesitated, an almost inaudible rustle of indecision. She must be desperate for water.
    If he grabbed for her and missed, he wouldn’t get a second chance. She was too fast in the dark, too comfortable slipping around with that stick of hers. He’d have to tempt her close. “Wait,” he said softly. “I’ll bring water.”
    The smell of fresh paint led him to the coach and a spiderweb of faint lines leaking from a dark lantern. When he slid the tin sheathing aside, a wedge of light sprang up across the weed-grown courtyard.
    Doyle settled Adrian in the coach. “Where’d you catch it, lad? Shoulder? No. More along of the chest. Just the one bullet?”
    Adrian said hoarsely, “One’s enough…don’t you think? Waistcoat’s a total loss.”
    The