by Anne Stuart
She took a deep breath. “Poor babies,” she said softly. “Doesn’t anyone feed you?” She held out her hand, calm, patient, and the largest, meanest of the bunch moved toward her with slow, lethal calm, the two others close behind him.
He lifted his huge snout to her hand, opened his massive jaws, and licked her.
She rubbed his head, now that he’d given her permission, and the others crowded around, seeking comfort as well. “Poor little ones,” she crooned. “What a life you must lead here. No one to take proper care of you, no one to cuddle and run with you. And what lovely creatures you are, the three of you.”
The largest one rolled over on his back, presenting his belly to be rubbed, which Elizabeth immediately did. She had always been at peace with animals. Old Peg had said it was part of her gift, but Lizzie only knew that no animal would hurt her. With the possible exception of the bad-tempered Marigold.
The dogs were loath to let her go, but she promised them a treat on her return, and after much cuddling she moved onward, through the next gate, coming up to the brightly lit house.
It was difficult to discern which was the proper entrance. She found one door and knocked as loudly as she could, battering her hand against the ancient wood, but no one seemed inclined to answer. She doubted they could even hear her. She tried to open it herself, but it was too heavy for her to move, and she gave up, moving back in search of a smaller, more accessible entrance.
She could hear distant laughter and the sound of breaking glass. There was no music, so they couldn’t be dancing, but something was keeping the household awake, and clearly they were enjoying themselves. She wondered what they could find of such paramount interest to keep them occupied. At that hour she would have liked nothing more than to be safe in her bed.
She moved along the edge of the building, edging as close to the windows as she could. They were set high and deep in the stone walls, and thick shrubbery kept her from getting too close. She could have wept with frustration.
There had to be a way into the huge, fortresslike building, if only she could find it. Either that, or she’d simply throw herself on the ground and have a major tantrum the likes of which few had seen. Gabriel was somewhere in that building, and he was the only one she could trust to help her find Jane.
At the far corner a window stood open, and the boxwood hedge beneath it was relatively sturdy. Lizzie eyed it doubtfully. It would be rough going, and the final leap from boxwood to window ledge would be a difficult one. But she didn’t seem to have any choice.
The hedge was as sturdy as she’d hoped, and twice as scratchy. It hurt her bare feet. She scrambled up it, hearing her blasted gown rip and catch, and the stone windowsill was still a good foot away from her. She had no choice but to leap for it, holding her breath.
She slammed her knees against the stone wall, but the open window provided enough purchase, and a moment later she was through, landing on the hard floor in a ball, with tattered clothes and bare feet and bloody hands. She lay there in the darkness, trying to catch her breath. She was in some sort of hallway, and no one had seen or heard her enter. With any luck she could find Gabriel and escape without running into the Chiltons or their assorted houseguests. Luck had been with her so far—she could only pray that it held.
Slowly she pulled herself to her feet, trying to smooth her abused clothing. She seemed all in one piece, albeit a barefoot, disreputable piece, but that was the least of her worries.
There were strange sounds coming from the adjoining room, grunts and noises she didn’t even want to think about. The door was tightly closed, and she decided to save that particular room for later. If Gabriel was inside, she wasn’t certain she wanted to find him.
GABRIEL WAS LOSING. He was very good at losing—he knew just how to play his cards so that it seemed his opponent was enormously clever. Francis was falling for it, his vanity powerful enough to feed on his unlikely success, and Gabriel bided his time. He was baiting his trap with all the skill and cleverness he had at his command. He had no idea whether it would prove that useful in the long run, but he had every intention of trying.
“So, shall we make the wager more interesting?” Francis murmured, a few minutes before Gabriel had expected him to. His luck had obviously made him reckless. “You know how eager we are to have you join us? Your steadfast refusals have been most distressing, particularly when one considers the wisdom you have to impart. You’ve had a run of ill luck with the cards, but you and I both know how easily that can change. Why don’t we place a small wager on the outcome of the next hand that would benefit us both? If I win, you join us in our Beltane revelries.”
“And if you lose? I don’t see that I have much to gain.”
Francis smiled, his small, pointed teeth showing beneath his rouged lips. “You have a certain concern about those around you. It would be useless to deny it—you hold family and county dear to you, and you’re worried some harm may befall them. I could guarantee the safety of your loved ones.”
“Could you, indeed?” Gabriel kept his voice silky calm. “And did you have any particular designs on my family?”
“Of course not, my boy. We’re not monsters, you know. We’re simply seekers of the truth, just as you are, and we try to follow the Old Ways, before Christianity put such a damper on things. Have you noticed that Christians never seem to have fun? Such a doleful religion.”
“No, I hadn’t noticed.” Gabriel shuffled the cards. It was his turn to deal, and Francis was too vain to realize what an advantage that gave Gabriel. Of course Francis assumed a gentleman like Gabriel would never cheat at cards. For such a degenerate, Francis was surprisingly naive.
There was no limit to what Gabriel would do to protect his own. He would lie. He would kill. He would cheat at cards. Particularly when his opponent was a useless, decadent creature such as Francis Chilton.
It wasn’t his taste for his own kind that Gabriel despised. It wasn’t unheard of in the monastery where he’d spent those long years, and while not to his particular interest, he had no quarrel with those who practiced it.
But Francis was a dangerous, evil creature who preyed on the innocent and the unwilling. And whether he liked it or not, Gabriel felt the need to protect those he could. Particularly when they were his people.
“So if you mean no ill to my family or the people in this county, why should I bother with such a wager? I have nothing to gain.” He continued shuffling the cards with a slow, idle gesture.
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. Just because I tell you they have nothing to fear doesn’t mean you’ll believe me. I regret that my reputation is not quite spotless in matters of truthfulness. But if we wager the safety of your family, then I’ll have no choice but to honor my gaming debts, as any gentleman would.”
Gabriel took leave to doubt it. However, there was always the remote possibility that Francis would keep his word, and it was worth it to Gabriel to secure it. He would leave nothing to chance, and he had no intention of feeling even the slightest bit of guilt. After all, Francis would get what he sought as well. The only way Gabriel could be completely certain his family was safe would be to join the merry revelers. While the notion was both boring and faintly nauseating, he’d done far worse in his life and managed to survive. He could manage this as well.
“Done,” he said, dealing the cards with such swift, careless grace that Francis would never guess he knew exactly which cards he was receiving.
Francis picked up his hand, a deceptively impressive selection, and smiled obliquely. “I should warn you I intend to win.”
“Intentions never harmed a soul,” Gabriel said idly.
“And let me assure you that your sister is completely safe from me, whether you join with us or not.” There was something in his tone that caught Gabriel’s attention, and his gaze shot up.
“I rej
oice to hear it,” he murmured.
“But of course, we didn’t quite clarify where Miss Penshurst fits. She’s neither a villager nor a relative, is she?”
“She’s second cousin to Lady Elinor,” he said carefully, making a seemingly foolish discard.
Francis’s smile widened. “Which makes her no kin of yours. We’ll have to wager separately for her.”
Gabriel set his cards facedown on the green baize table. “I dislike being used, Francis. Miss Penshurst requires the same guarantee of safety that the others do.”
“But why, my boy? What possible interest is she to you? She’s no more than indifferently pretty, her lineage, while respectable, is hardly worthy of yours, and as far as I can see, no one cares about her. Why should you? Do you have a secret wish to break your celibacy between her thighs? I’m not sure I blame you—redheads can be deliciously passionate, and that one seems possessed of a certain charming fierceness.”
“I feel responsible for her, nothing more.” He picked up his cards again, inwardly seething. He made another seemingly careless discard.
“And yet you seem totally unconcerned about your younger sister.”
“She’s in London. And she has her father to look out for her.”
“Not quite good enough. I think you have a tendre for the little Penshurst girl. We could arrange something, you know. If you’re afraid of repercussions, there are ways to handle these things. In the dark, with the girl properly restrained, and you could take your pleasure with no one the wiser.”
Gabriel met his gaze. “You’re a sick bastard, Francis,” he said softly.
Francis smiled. “But you’re tempted, aren’t you, love?” He laid down his cards. “I believe I’ve won.”
Gabriel fanned out his cards on the table, no expression on his face. “I’m afraid you haven’t, dear boy,” he said, mocking the endearment. “And you won’t. Ever.”
Francis stared at the cards in disbelief. And then, to Gabriel’s surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. “You delight me, Gabriel,” he said. “You truly do. I can’t deny that you’ve won this round, though how you managed to accomplish such a feat leaves me in awe.”
“Are you accusing me of cheating, Francis?”
“Never. I simply admire a skill and deviousness that is fully equal to my own. I expect we’ll have more than one chance to go at it. I’m looking forward to it immensely. Just tell me one thing. Do you have any feelings for Miss Penshurst? Do you want her?”
Silently Gabriel cursed him. If he admitted any interest, it would give Francis the edge he needed. If he denied it, it would doubtless make protecting her even more difficult. It was a question of damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
“Aren’t you going to answer, Gabriel? Do you want Miss Penshurst or not?”
He no longer hesitated. Lizzie was the last woman who would appeal to a degenerate such as Francis—her only value would be in how much he cared. The only way to protect her was to deny her. “Do I strike you as the kind of man to waste my time on such a plain little nobody? You may do with Miss Penshurst as you please. She’s of no interest to me.”
“I delight to hear you say so, dear boy,” Francis murmured. “Though I expect she’s not so well pleased.” He was looking past him, over his shoulder to the open doorway, and Gabriel froze. She couldn’t be there, in the midst of all that profligacy; she couldn’t have overheard his drawling dismissal of her.
But he knew before he turned that she was, she had. And at the slamming of the door, Francis threw back his head and laughed.
Chapter Eighteen
ELIZABETH TORE down the hall blindly, too mortified to think clearly. All the doors in this strange household were tightly closed, and it had been sheer luck that the one open door had held Gabriel, calmly playing cards with Francis Chilton.
He hadn’t known she was there, of course, and she’d opened her mouth to speak when Francis spied her. Something in his pale, smirking countenance had silenced her, just long enough to hear Gabriel’s scathing opinion of her.
“Lizzie!” The voice behind her was a furious, insistent hiss, but she ignored him, speeding up, knowing it was hopeless, knowing he was faster than she was. She couldn’t face him, not until she got her hammering heart and her ruined pride under control, and she skidded to a stop, reached for the first door she could find and opened it.
“For God’s sake, no!” she heard him cry, but it was too late. She stood frozen in the threshold of a very dark, hot room and stared at the scene in front of her in shocked amazement.
A moment later he’d put his arms around her and yanked her from the room, slamming the door shut behind them. As far as Lizzie could tell the assorted people in the room hadn’t even been aware they’d been observed.
“What,” she demanded in a shaken voice, “was that?”
Gabriel turned her around, not releasing her. In the darkened hall she couldn’t see his expression, which meant, thank God, that he couldn’t see hers. Couldn’t see the utter shame that suffused her. “You’re better off not knowing,” he said grimly. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”
She was still distracted by the odd sight beyond the closed door. “It looked like some kind of monster,” she said, struggling for some kind of calm. “So many arms and legs, and . . .” She suddenly realized what else she saw in that brief glimpse. “Oh, my heavens! Were those naked people?”
“Yes,” he said briefly. “And if you don’t come along with me, you may be joining them, whether you wish to or not.” He took her hand and started pulling her back down the hallway. She wasn’t in any mood to hold hands with the foul beast, however, and she did her best to yank her hand away. It was useless. She slapped at him with her other hand, but he ignored her, simply continued dragging her down the hallway till they reached an entryway.
The door was barred—it was no wonder she’d been unable to open it from the outside. He slid the heavy bolt and pushed her outside, following a moment later and slamming the door behind him. It took her a moment to realize now was her chance to escape, when she remembered why she’d come here in the first place.
He towered over her, and even in the darkness she could sense his anger. It was nothing compared to hers, she reminded herself. She hadn’t been gaming with degenerates while the rest of the household occupied itself in unholy doings. She’d been trying to save his sister’s life.
“It’s Jane,” she said, not bothering to disguise the fury in her voice. “She’s disappeared.”
“And that’s why you came traipsing over here in the middle of the night?” he demanded. “Haven’t you any sense at all?”
“Don’t you care about your sister? She could be kidnapped, murdered, she could . . .”
“Did you check the stables?” he asked with devastating calm.
“Why would she be in the stables?”
“Because she has a horse ready to foal. I expect Penelope must have gone into labor and Jane went down to help, particularly since Peter’s the only one on hand. He’s not going to let anything happen to her.”
“How was I supposed to know that? And how can you be so certain?” she demanded hotly.
“If anything had happened to Jane, I’m certain my gracious host would have informed me. And you weren’t supposed to go haring off like a wild woman, jumping to conclusions.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said icily. “But what can you expect from an insignificant little twit like me? I’ll just get back to the house, and you can continue with your entertainments . . .”
“I didn’t call you an insignificant little twit,” he said wearily. “I called you a plain little nobody, and I had very good reasons for doing so, which you’re far too angry to realize. And I’m more than ready to leave. Come along.”
He reached for her hand a
gain, and she slapped at him, trying to get away. He was faster than she had expected, ducking under her blows and catching her arm, drawing her tight against him. “If you hit me again,” he said between his teeth, “you will very much regret it. I intend to see you safely home, reassure myself that my sister is safe, and then get a much-deserved night’s sleep.”
She considered kicking him, then realized it wouldn’t do much good since she was barefoot. She considered sticking her tongue out at him, but that was childish and undignified. “It’s almost morning,” she pointed out inconsequentially.
“Then I’ll get a much-deserved day’s sleep,” he said. “Come along.”
She didn’t bother fighting him—much as she wanted the excuse to hit him again, she wanted to be free of him even more, and the only way to do that was to let him guide her home. She went with him willingly enough, running a bit to keep up as he circled the house and headed for the back gardens.
He pushed open the gate and pulled her into the bone-strewn courtyard. The moon had set long ago, but there was a pale pink glow in the east, enough to illuminate the courtyard and the three hungry mastiffs.
They rose, the deadly trio, advancing with menacing growls. Before Lizzie could say a word Gabriel shoved her behind him, shielding her. “Run,” he said in a whispered command. “I’ll distract them.”
Lizzie had had enough. “Don’t be an idiot,” she muttered, shoving him hard in the middle of his back. She moved in front of him, just as the largest of the dogs was about to leap, and held out her hand.
“Did you think I’d forgotten you, angel?” she cooed. “I’ve brought you a lovely treat from the big house.” The first mastiff stepped forward, sniffed at the crumpled meat pie in her outstretched hand, and delicately lapped it into his strong jaws. “I’ve got some for the rest of you,” she promised, emptying the deep pocket of her petticoat. It was stained with grease, but a worthy sacrifice for the poor hungry beasts.
