by Anna Randol
“People watch me, not the other way around.”
He walked behind her and met her gaze in the glass. “You watch with a trained eye.” He knew the truth of his words as soon as he spoke them.
She whirled away, allowing two agitated strides before her pace slowed and her hips resumed their customary sway. “Well, I’m trained in many arts.” Her voice rose slightly as she spoke, snagging the attention of a gentleman riding past.
The portly man reined in his horse and, with several strained grunts, dismounted. “What arts, Madeline?”
Her arm barely encircled the gentleman’s pudgy arm as she attached herself to his side. “What arts are you interested in, Percival? I’ve many interesting abilities. You served in India, a few years back, did you not? I’ve gleaned a few interesting talents from that area of the world.” The slender curve of her back presented an effective wall, cutting Gabriel from the conversation.
“No, I could never make a choice now. I need to leave room for one of you to surprise me.” Madeline laughed, clinging to the ornamental cement railing behind her. She desperately hoped the pose looked languid and carefree, unlike truth—that if she let go, she’d collapse.
Her suitors continued to press in around her, jostling and vying for a better position on the bridge. Their brightly colored waistcoats swam around the edges of her vision in gaudy blurs. A cool breeze blew off the Thames below, its sour, fishy smell fueling her desire to be done with her morning outing.
“Come now, Madeline, if there were no money involved, which of us would you pick?”
With lingering consideration, she scanned the dozen eager faces around her, proud as she kept her gaze from straying to where Gabriel stood a few feet behind the crowd. “I think that man knows who he is.”
As if pulled by marionette strings, all the gentlemen straightened, their chests expanding in unison as each of them came to the conclusion she’d intended.
A flicker of movement to the left caught her attention. She shifted, trying to see past the male bodies pressed around her without appearing as if she were giving anything less than her complete interest.
What had captured her attention?
There. A disjointed flicker of color in the gap between two men’s shoulders. To their left, in the space created as Tupe lifted his hand to smooth his balding pate, she glimpsed another flash of dark.
A group, then.
Her smile at Lenton drew him forward and allowed her a brief glimpse of the men approaching. It was a pack of dockside toughs dressed in assorted castoffs, moving with the ease and arrogance only youth provided. Seven of them.
While they were a good distance from docks, Ranleigh Bridge connected the more fashionable shops of London to the brothels and gaming hells on the other side of the river. All types frequented it.
Yet the youths had captured her attention, and she’d learned to not take that lightly.
“Well, gentlemen, since you’re obviously my favorites, there is a little thing I’d like to tell you.” She leaned forward as she spoke, hushing her tones, drawing in the circle of men until they provided a solid layer of protection. Or at least as much protection as Englishmen who thought boxing at Jackson’s preparation for a real fight could offer.
Although Madeline could no longer see him, the knowledge that Gabriel stood a few feet away soothed her far more than the wall of flesh surrounding her.
“I’ve been thinking about the night I’ll spend with the winner.” She closed her eyes and released a pleased sigh. “Do you know what I am looking forward to most? How I will—”
“Move your bloomin’ arses. This ain’t no drawing room,” a coarse voice said.
“How dare—”
“What is the meaning—”
Madeline’s suitors erupted into chaos as the youths pushed their way through the center of the circle, jostling and shoving gentlemen from their path, puncturing her wall as if it were paper.
“Spare a few coins, guv’nor?” A few of the lads held out their hands and dragged their faces into pitiful expressions, then guffawed when her bidders blustered and attempted to shield their pockets.
“Move along, lads.” Gabriel’s voice sliced through the ruckus, his authority lifting the heads of the youth.
“Bloody ’ell! It’s Huntford.”
“Didn’t tell us he’d be here.”
“Do it, already—”
The young man nearest to Madeline turned to her and smiled, two perfect dimples on his swarthy cheeks. “Sorry, love.”
With a quick movement, he grabbed her by the waist and tossed her over the railing.
Gabriel’s dive into the river was clean, but it still hurt like the devil. Madeline had hit the water in an awkward, half-twisted angle. If she’d lost consciousness, there was a chance he might never find her.
Fear strengthened his kicks as his head broke the surface. Putrid water dashed into his eyes and mouth. Gagging against the salty filth, he scanned the river, searching for Madeline.
A few feet away he saw her, bobbing on the current, her hair running in thick rivulets over her face.
“Madeline!” he shouted. Or at least he thought he did. It was impossible to hear his own words over the churning water and the relief buzzing in his head.
Yet she turned toward him, her eyes wild as she slipped below the foamy gray water.
Three rapid strokes brought him to where she’d disappeared. He sucked in a deep breath, preparing to follow her under, but then her head reappeared.
He caught her with one arm, relieved when she had the sense to immediately cease struggling. But even then, he had to fight to keep them both afloat and moving toward shore, his legs numbing from the exertion and icy water.
“My dress and petticoats. They keep tangling around my legs and weighing me down. If you can remove them, I can keep myself afloat.” Despite her shaking, her voice was steady.
If they wanted to reach shore, they’d have to try. Gabriel wasted a glance at the gentlemen lined up along the edge of the bridge, but none of them seemed poised to leap in and assist.
Gabriel nodded, and she pulled away, her legs kicking.
He grabbed the fabric between her shoulder blades and yanked, but the cold had sapped the power from his fingers, and they skidded painfully across the wet silk rather than ripping it. A second attempt was no more effective.
Gabriel spun her toward him. “Can you stay up a few more moments?”
Her face was chalky, but her head jerked into a nod.
When Gabriel stopped kicking, the water eagerly accepted his still form. In the inky darkness of the water, he fumbled with his boot, drawing his knife. The water grew thick as he again clawed his way toward the air. Madeline’s hands gripped his shoulders and yanked, freeing him from the water.
He swam behind her, and with a quick slice, removed her dress and other heavy layers. The fabric coiled around his legs before slithering away.
“Without the dress, I think I can make it to shore on my own.” The skin around Madeline’s lips had darkened to a purplish blue.
Gabriel eyed the hundred or so feet to the shore. He had to get her out of the water. If she could swim on her own, they’d reach it quicker than if he pulled her. “I’ll stay beside you the entire way.”
He watched her first few strokes. Her movements were jerky from the cold but competent. He followed, focused on the pale arc of her arms as they dug through the Thames. Twenty feet from shore, her arms no longer cleared the water and her attempt at a breath ended in choking convulsions. Gabriel grabbed her before she sank, and after a few more strokes, risked trying to stand. His feet squelched in silt on the river bottom as he struggled upright with Madeline in his arms, the water sluicing down his chest.
He stumbled the few remaining steps to the shore and collapsed to his knees. The edges of the rocks bit into his knees as he shivered. The men on the bridge shouted inquiries but Gabriel ignored them as he laid Madeline as gently as he could on the stones. H
er eyes were closed and her breath shallow.
Unlike him, she wasn’t shivering.
Hell.
He needed to get her warm.
She wore only a shift, rendered transparent by the water. Standing, he struggled out of his wet coat. It wouldn’t do much, but it would be better than nothing.
“Gabriel?” Her eyes squinted as if the cloudy morning was too bright for them.
He brushed a finger over her cheek. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”
“Don’t cover me with your jacket. If the bidders had to see me nearly drown, at least they can take away a pleasant mental image.”
White-hot rage chased the chill from Gabriel’s blood. “To hell with your bloody auction.” He scooped her up, wrapping his jacket tightly around her as he climbed up the embankment.
Lenton waited at the top beside a glossy black coach. “I’ve had my carriage brought around. I’ll take her—”
Gabriel strode past him. “I’ll see to her.” He set Madeline in the coach and followed her onto the expensive leather seats. He gave the coachman an address.
Lenton shifted from foot to foot as Madeline remained slumped, unmoving, against the seat. But then he nodded, giving his servant permission to follow Gabriel’s orders. “I would’ve assisted but it appeared you had things well in hand—”
“Did anyone detain the men responsible?”
Lenton’s face reddened. “No. We tried but they put up a fight—”
Gabriel shut the door, interrupting the viscount’s excuses. He’d have to track the attackers down himself. He pulled Madeline onto his lap, sharing what little warmth his body still radiated. Her head lolled unresistingly onto his shoulder, the color of her face alarmingly close to the white of his sleeve. Her chest fluttered with small, brittle breaths.
“Stay with me, Madeline.” He chafed her arms, willing energy and warmth into her slender form.
This made the third time in as many days that someone had tried to kill her. He glanced down to where a red stain leaked through the bandage and onto her shift. New worry increased the tempo of his hands. The killer might succeed if Gabriel didn’t get her warm and her wound clean.
And yet if she lived, she’d insist on continuing the auction. He didn’t doubt that.
But why? The question had hounded him since he met her, but now it reached a deafening crescendo in his mind. Despite her claims, he wasn’t ready to believe money was the only factor. She was too smart not to realize that the money from the auction would do her no good if she were dead. There had to be something he was missing. “Come on, Madeline. Stay with me.”
“We’re heading south. Why aren’t we going home?” Madeline’s voice was slurred and weak, but she was awake.
“How do you know?” She hadn’t even opened her eyes to note the surroundings.
“The sun’s on the left side of my face.”
He stroked that cheek with the back of his hand, her damp skin far too cool. “I’m taking you somewhere closer.”
Her eyes still didn’t open. “Are you trying to be ambiguous?”
“I’m trying to keep you talking.”
“I’m hardly about to die from a little swim.”
Gabriel gloried in the stubborn tone of her words. “That’s what I want to avoid.”
The carriage clattered to a halt in front of the comfortable brick town house.
Madeline forced one eye open. “That was fast. Where are we?”
Gabriel kicked open the door of the coach. “My mother’s house.”
Chapter Seventeen
Madeline screamed as she was plunged into boiling water. “Nyet! Ya ne znyoo!” She wouldn’t tell them anything. She couldn’t let go of her story of being a simple peasant woman. She had to give Ian and Clayton time to get the information out of the country. Even if her skin blistered off her body. They hadn’t forced her to talk with the rocks they piled on her chest or by eviscerating that poor woman inch by inch as she begged Madeline to confess to spare her.
Hands clamped on her arms and Madeline struggled against them, desperate to escape or, failing that, to burn some of her torturers along with her.
“Madeline.” Arms wrapped around her upper body. “I know it hurts, but the water’s only warm. It’s not burning you.”
Gabriel.
This wasn’t St. Petersburg.
She stilled. What had she given away?
“Master Gabriel?” A stately voice roughened with age rumbled over Madeline. She tried to pry open her eyes to see the man who addressed Gabriel like a little boy, but the lead in her eyelids refused to budge.
“Everything is all right, Jones. Her hands and feet are thawing, and that’s a painful process. Is my room prepared?”
“Indeed, sir. It is as warm as we can make it, and clothing is laid out. I placed the lady’s things in there as well. Are you sure you do not require a maid?”
“I’ll ring if we have need of anything. Warn my mother we’re here when she arrives home.” Gabriel’s deep, velvet voice seemed to vibrate in Madeline’s head.
Then the room was silent but for the gentle lapping of the water.
Madeline knew she’d spoken as she awoke, screamed most likely, if the soreness in her throat was any indication, but she had no idea what she’d said or in what language she said it. Gabriel remained quiet. Perhaps she hadn’t said anything. Perhaps she’d only screamed mindless nonsense.
The burning in her fingers eased until only delicious heat remained. With careful deliberation, she curled her toes. When they responded to her direction, she drew in a shuddering breath. By some miracle, she’d survived. No, not a miracle—Gabriel. When she was fighting the river, she’d known he’d come if she could stay alive long enough for him to reach her.
“The water should warm you quickly.”
Her eyes finally obeyed and opened. Submerged under the water on either side of her was another pair of legs encased in dove gray breeches. Just to ensure she wasn’t going mad, she pressed back into what should have been the edge of the tub and instead rubbed against the wall of Gabriel’s chest.
She should pull away. Although Gabriel hadn’t spoken of it, it was possible she’d said something incriminating. Even if she hadn’t, she’d sworn not to get close to him. Her desire for him made it too tempting. But she closed her eyes again, grateful weakness gave her an excuse to remain. She rubbed her cheek against the hard ridges of his upper arm.
It was the novelty of the position that enticed her, she reassured herself. Clayton and Ian had protected her, but in the end, they’d treated her as one of the team. If they had held her, it would’ve made it that much harder for them to risk her life.
In fact, no one had held her since that day her father had taken her to the park. Mama was crying when they returned, but the man Madeline’s father had left behind with Mama seemed very happy.
Her father had taken her to the park on other days. Until one day, he didn’t bother to take her away when he brought a man over to keep Mama company. Not long after that, her father had stopped coming home altogether.
A shiver shook her body.
No wonder she’d never let Clayton or Ian hold her. It made her disgustingly maudlin.
“You could have removed our clothing.” Her voice wasn’t as strong as she might have liked, but it broke the silence and dispelled the cloying security of his arms.
Or at least it should have.
He exhaled slowly, his chin resting on her hair for a moment. “We both needed to get warm as soon as possible. And it’s not as if our clothing is salvageable.”
She studied the gleaming copper tub that held the two of them. A large iron pipe trundled down the wall, ending in a spigot and knobs that jutted over the edge of the tub. “Where are we again?”
“My mother’s. Can you stay upright if I lean you forward?”
She nodded more out of principle than surety.
Tucking his hands under her arms, he sat her upright. As he s
tood behind her, water sloshed in uneven waves. She gripped the rim of the metal tub as the ripples threatened to topple her. She’d survived the Thames. She refused to drown in the bath.
From the edge of her vision, Madeline watched as he climbed over the edge, peeled off his waistcoat and shirt, and dropped them into a wet pile on the tile floor.
She’d been right. He did undress well.
But his wasn’t the body of a gentleman—a body trained by riding and sport. Gabriel’s was the body of a warrior. Lean and hard. Muscle, sinew, and power held ready to be unleashed in an instant.
Peering from the corner of her eye wasn’t nearly enough. She turned and reveled in the sight of him. Newly warmed blood burned into her cheeks and through her veins.
She wanted nothing more than to skim her finger along the smooth indentation that ran down the center of Gabriel’s chest, bisected the ridges along his abdomen then disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. But she’d wasted her small store of energy by moving her head, so she had to content herself with following the planes of muscle with her eyes alone.
Gabriel tied a towel around his waist, then reached underneath to remove his trousers. He met her gaze with a raised eyebrow. “We’re doing nothing about this lust between us, remember?”
She didn’t look away, couldn’t look away. “I haven’t done a thing.”
“It’s in your eyes.” His trousers hit the floor.
“If I remember my agreement, it was to do nothing, not to think nothing.”
His brow lowered to his customary glare.
She sighed. “I’m half drowned and exhausted. If you have fears for your virtue, they can be set to rest.”
“Good.” But his glare was belied by the desire lingering on his face.
He pulled her to her feet. “Lift your arms.”
She tried to comply but she couldn’t lift them more than a few inches from her body. She was just tired. As soon as she’d rested, she’d be able to move them. She knew that. She did. Yet a sickening sense of vulnerability coursed through her. And a spy who showed weakness ended up stripped of secrets and dead.
