A Gentleman Never Tells(63)

Brent and Gabrielle slowed their steps a few yards from the woman. “Don’t be frightened, madame,” Brent said, breathing hard as they walked alongside her. “We mean you no harm.”

The woman kept walking and didn’t bother to even glance his way as she said, “Didn’t think ye did. Not done nothing to ye. Got no reason to think ye’d ’arm me, ’ave I?”

“No, of course not,” he said. “Do you mind if we have a moment of your time.”

At that, she looked over at them and stopped. “Don’t mind at all.”

Brent saw that her gaze suddenly sailed past them and froze on something behind them. Concern etched its way into her lined face. Brent knew she must have caught site of Brutus. He glanced back and confirmed his suspicion. The large old dog was slowly lumbering toward his mistress.

“Don’t worry, madame,” Gabrielle said in a friendly voice as Brutus came up beside her, panting heavily from trying to keep up with them. “He’s big, but he won’t hurt you.”

“’E’s old,” the woman said as the dog under the canvas continued to bark and scratch, clearly wanting to be free.

“Yes.” Gabrielle reached down and patted Brutus’s shoulder. “He doesn’t see or hear as well as he used to, but age has given him a quiet and gentle nature.”

The woman wasn’t convinced. Apprehension about the dog didn’t leave her face. She said, “What can I do for ye? I don’t ’ave a thing a fine fella like you or a fancy-dressed lady like her would want.”

Brent smiled and nodded once. “I understand that. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind telling me what you have under that canvas in your cart?”

At first she looked at him as if he was daft, and then she gave him a happy, toothless smile. “I ’ave me dog under there. Can’t you ’ear?”

Brent gave Gabrielle a hopeful glance and then turned back to the woman. “Why do you have her covered up?”

“It’s a ’e, not a she.”

At hearing the dog was male, Brent’s anticipation faded and disillusionment flared.

Stepping closer to the woman, Gabrielle asked, “Do you mind if we ask why you have him covered in your cart?”

The old woman looked at Gabrielle as if she didn’t have a brain in her head. “Don’t mind at all. It’s cold today if ye ’adn’t noticed. I’m trying to keep Sir William warm.”

“I’m sure he likes the kind treatment,” Gabrielle said. “I adore little dogs. Do you mind if I see him?”

She looked at the mastiff again. “I guess it will be all right. ’E’s not going to stop barking ’til ’e sees who you are, anyway.” The woman reached down and peeled back the canvas, revealing a covered basket. She took the lid off, and a small black-and-white dog of undetermined breed jumped out and into the cart, barking like a banshee at the mastiff. Brutus never uttered a woof.

“Sir William is a fine-looking animal,” Brent said. “Thank you for showing him to us.”

“Yes, thank you,” Gabrielle said, and then she, Brutus, and Brent turned and headed back in the direction of the curricle.

As they walked in silence, Brent knew it was time he stopped searching for Prissy. He didn’t want to, but it was ridiculous for him to take off running every time he heard a small dog bark. It was time to accept that Priss was gone and not coming back. He had to put her memory to rest.

Halfway to the carriage, Gabrielle touched his arm, and they stopped. Her eyes were soft and full of compassion. It was as if she knew what he’d been thinking. When she looked at him with so much concern, Brent’s stomach tightened with desire. The strong wind had blown strands of her golden blonde hair from the chignon at her nape, and they caressed her cheeks. Her lips were moist and inviting. All he could think was he wanted to pull her to him and kiss her again, but they were no longer shielded by trees, and it would be too risky. Besides, Brutus stood between them, too. He couldn’t help but think maybe the mastiff was a good watchdog after all.

“I’m sorry the dog wasn’t Prissy,” Gabrielle said.

“So am I,” he said, not wanting to share with her that he’d come to the conclusion Prissy wasn’t going to be found.

“Do you think there is any connection to Prissy’s disappearance and Lord Snellingly’s dog?”

“I do not believe in ghosts, Gabrielle.”