The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  “Thank God, Gabby.” Suddenly, disappointingly, he clasped her shoulders and put her at arms’ length. “Let’s get out of here before the owner comes back.” Then he took her by the hand and pulled her along toward the door. At least, she assumed that was where they were headed. Frankly she was having difficulty seeing anything in the dark room. She received definite impressions, however, from her other senses. Like so many places she’d been that day, the apartment was stale and malodorous. It was cold, too, there being very little difference inside from the temperature outside. The ever-present noise of tenement life that surrounded them vibrated from the walls, the floors, and the ceiling.

  They had gained the door, but it was locked. Zach moved his hand over the adjacent wall, looking for a key hanging there, she supposed. By his grunt of satisfaction, she deduced that he’d found one. The key grated in the lock, and the knob turned. Zach threw the key on the floor, opened the door and went out, tugging Gabrielle behind him as she tried to keep pace with his long-legged strides.

  A surge of relieved joy swelled in Gabrielle as she blinked against the relative brightness of the gallery. They’d done it. They were free! But her mood of happiness was precipitant. Before they’d had a chance to close the door behind them, a voice called out, “Hey, you there! What d’ ye think ye’re doin’ comin’ out me chum’s place?”

  Gabrielle looked up and into the scowling countenance of a huge bearded man with arms the size of ale barrels.

  Chapter Ten

  Zach wasn’t the least surprised to discover that the challenges of the evening weren’t over. After all, he was in the company of Gabby, wasn’t he? The bruise on his eye had faded a few days before, so he supposed that the gods had convened in their celestial conference chamber and decreed that it was Zach’s fate to reacquire a little color. What would it be this time? he wondered. A broken nose in shades of delicate fuchsia, a tomato-red swollen lip, or perhaps another black eye?

  “I’m talkin’t’ ye, ye arsehole.”

  Zach scuttled Gabby behind him and faced the man with as much sangfroid as he could muster. “That’s not a very pleasant name to call your chum’s cousin.”

  The man looked taken aback for a moment, then recovered, saying churlishly, “I ain’t no chawbacon, guv’nor. I reckon Pete’s no relation to a nob like you.”

  Zach cleared his throat and smiled engagingly. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though I don’t expect Peter would appreciate you doubting his genealogy.”

  The man’s brow furrowed in deep multiple lines, like the loose-skinned head of a basset hound. “Peter, eh?” The man held a basket of groceries under one furry arm, and with his free hand he pulled thoughtfully on his bewhiskered jaw, carefully studying Zach from head to toe. “Cousins, ye say?” He peered over Zach’s shoulder at Gabby. “And what about the chit?”

  “My sister,” Zach lied smoothly.

  The man continued to frown. “What be the two of ye called?”

  To Zach’s utmost irritation, Gabby sidled around him and smiled demurely at the ruffian. “I’m Anastasia, and my brother is Demetri. We’re from Cumbria. And, if I might be so bold as to inquire, sir, what are you called?” She batted her lashes. Gawd, what was the little nodcock about? Did she think she could charm the venom out of this snake with a few coy flutterings of her lashes and an exchange of names? And where the devil had she got those sissified names? Straight out of a Radcliffe novel, he’d wager!

  The man’s brow did clear a little, however, and his next question was put forth in a much less surly tone, and directed to Gabby. “So where’s Pete?”

  “Did I catch your name, sir?” Zach asked him, employing Gabby’s tactics of cajolery despite his criticism of them.

  “Lem,” he muttered grudgingly. Zach noticed that the man had spoken much more agreeably to Gabby. Perhaps there was something to batting one’s lashes, though he doubted that Lem would be similarly charmed if Zach did it. “Now what about Pete?”

  “I… we … don’t really know where he is, er … Lem. We were supposed to meet him here a half hour ago.” Zach started sidestepping, hoping to work their way cautiously toward the stairs. “Since he’s obviously been held up, we thought we’d find a pub and buy old Pete a nice splash of whiskey to bring home.”

  Suddenly Lem’s face darkened, the blood boiling up under his skin like molten lava. “Pete dinna drink whiskey. He’s pure fer gin, and anyone what know’s ’im, know’s that fer a fact! You ain’t his cousin. I expect ye’re one of those gentlemen thieves, is what I think!” He gouged the air, pointing a thick finger toward Gabby. “And she’s yer distractin’ wench! Hand over whatever ye took from Pete’s place, or I’ll turn ye upside down and shake ye till yer teeth rattle and yer pockets are empty! The chit, too!”

  Zach had been averse to making a sudden move. Large men were frequently much quicker with their “bunches of five” than people suspected. And he’d Gabby to think of, too. But it appeared that time had run out for thinking. Pete’s chum had set his basket of food on the floor and was pulling back his fist to deliver Zach a stunning blow to one of those facial features he had moments earlier been imagining in different colors.

  “Duck, Gabby!” Zach shouted, just before he made the necessary dip himself. Lem’s arm whistled through the air just above Zach’s head as he took his swing. Zach slipped past Lem, pulling Gabby along with him. And they ran. They ran down the stairs as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at their heels.

  Comparing the loyal Lem to a hound again seemed appropriate, because the large, furry fellow appeared to enjoy the chase as much as any baying canine might. Lem even growled and snarled as he thudded heavily behind them, and such animalistic noises issuing forth from the hairy—albeit two-legged—species pursuing them so purposefully was not conducive to Zach’s peace of mind.

  They had gained the door leading to the outside. Zach burst through and skidded to a stop at the front of the building, causing Gabby to bump into him by the sheer momentum of their flight and the abrupt stop. There were a few people in the small cobbled square, and Zach scanned the shadowed faces for John. He did not know where Malcolm had finally parked the carriage, and without John to guide them, they’d never find it. But with Lem hot on their tail, Zach had no leisure to stay put in one spot till John noticed them. Behind them, Lem was just coming through the door, and Zach was trying to decide which direction to go. Then he saw John. He was standing just across the way with his mouth gaping open and his eyes agog.

  Zach supposed John must be excused for his inability to move. It must be a shock to see Gabby and to deduce by slow and painful mental rumination that she was the abducted girl Mr. Blake had sent him to rescue from a nunnery. But there was no time for the indulgence of incredulity. “John!” he called, pulling a wide-eyed Gabby out of the way of the lunging Lem just in time.

  John was finally made to realize how dire the situation was, and nudged into movement. “This way, sir!” he called, swooping a skinny arm through the air to show their direction. Then he took off running down one of the many narrow wynds that were offshoots of the little courtlike square they presently stood in, and Zach and Gabby followed.

  Weaving through the people traversing the passageways was an intricate business and took a bit of agility. Zach was glad John was guiding them through to the carriage instead of Malcolm, because John’s thin frame was much more conducive to the maneuvers required, such as dodging the occasional unsuspecting pedestrian.

  John had an odd way of running, with his arms bent tight at the elbows, tucked close to his sides, and lifted chesthigh. His long fingers were curled into fists, his knees bobbed up and down in straight vertical thrusts, and he pivoted his scrawny neck around at intervals to make sure Zach and Gabby were still close behind. John had never had much upper-body strength, but judging by the evidence presented this day, Zach had to conclude—with much admiration—that John was a first-rate runner. So first-rate that Zach had a little difficulty keeping up
with him, especially since Gabby slowed him down. He could hear Gabby’s labored breathing, but he couldn’t stop and allow them both to catch their wind, because he could still hear Lem in heated pursuit.

  For such a big man, Lem had remarkable staying power. Zach was beginning to wonder if they’d be driving down the hill to New Town with Lem’s considerable bulk attached to the carriage in some way—perhaps dragging from the back, Lem’s fingers curled tightly around the wheel axles.

  Suddenly Zach heard a large thud behind them and painful grunts, like air being expelled from lungs by an outside force. Zach craned his neck and saw Lem sprawled on the ground with some poor sucker in a heap just opposite, obviously having been ploughed down by the lumbering Lem. Zach pitied the fellow who had unwittingly ambled into Lem’s path, but at least now they needn’t worry about him attaching himself to the carriage, and they could slow down.

  “John!” After catching his attention, Zach indicated to his sprinting servant that speed was no longer vital to their escape, and then he pulled Gabby to his side and put his arm around her waist, supporting her as they quickly walked the remaining distance to the carriage.

  Gabrielle huddled in the carriage under a lap rug and two thick woolen blankets, waiting while Zach gave Malcolm and John brief instructions for compliance with their madeup story about what had happened that day. They would support Zach’s farradiddle, she was sure of it. Zach treated his servants so well that they would do anything to repay his many kindnesses.

  Gabrielle felt dazed. In the past few minutes since they’d escaped from Mother Henn’s brothel, she hadn’t had time to do much of anything besides catch her breath and keep up with Zach without falling. She found it remarkable that she’d managed to do both, though her legs ached and her lungs and throat felt raw and burning from the icy air she’d been sucking in at such a rate.

  Presently Zach got in the carriage, and Gabrielle lifted the ends of the blankets so he could scoot beneath them and share their warmth with her. He hesitated a moment, then accepted the mute invitation, settling himself close to Gabrielle and pulling her against his side. Gabrielle smiled to herself and happily nestled under his arm, resting her head on his chest.

  “Does this mean you’re not angry with me?” She loved the sound of his heart so close to her ear, the feel of its rhythm against her cheek.

  He sighed, the chill air making his breath fog. “How can you dare ask me that? Of course I’m angry with you. You might have been killed.”

  She toyed with the buttons of his vest. “But you forgive me?” His heart was beating faster.

  “I’ll take that under consideration.”

  “What must I do?” She poked a finger through the front closure of the vest, feeling the cool muslin of his shirt underneath, remembering the warm skin under the muslin.

  He covered her hand with his, holding the curious fingers in a firm grip that made movement impossible. “You must stay out of trouble, to begin with.” She suspected his warning had a double meaning. “And you must tell the Murrays about your false engagement.”

  She pulled her hand free and rested it in her lap. Her cheek remained where it was, against his chest where she could continue to enjoy listening to the rapid beat of his heart. “You’re not going to tell them?”

  “No, I shall leave that to you.”

  “Will you also leave it to me to decide on the proper time and place to do it?”

  There was a pause. “Are you stalling, Gabby? What’s the point in prolonging this travesty?”

  Gabrielle did not reply at once. She was afraid that if Zach thought things resolved in Edinburgh, he might leave. Unless, of course, that woman in Old Town had some sort of hold on him. But she knew Zach was jealous of Rory, and she was reluctant to relinquish her last trump.

  “You have said you’re not the marriageable sort, Zach, though I have told you straight out that I’m in love with you.”

  “I explained that, Gabby,” he began, trying to express his reasoning. “I don’t think you love me in the manner—”

  “Let’s not argue, Zach,” Gabrielle interrupted him in a soothing voice. She casually laid her hand on Zach’s knee. His heart immediately beat faster. “I think Rory’s in love with me, and perhaps, since you don’t want me, I should reconsider and take Rory’s proposal seriously.”

  Zach stiffened, perhaps as much in response to the hand on his knee as to Gabrielle’s words. “I thought Rory understood that the betrothal was just a farce.”

  “That has always been the understanding, but I… er … suspect that he would like to make it a genuine promise to marry. Perhaps until I make up my mind I hadn’t ought to cause a to-do by confessing everything to the Murrays. If Rory and I decide to wed after all, no one will be the wiser, and therefore no one will be upset.” Gabrielle traced circles on the taut fabric covering Zach’s knee.

  Again he caught her hand and held it firm. Sounding more than a little exasperated, he said, “I thought you said Rory wasn’t your type.”

  “No, you said that. Besides, Zach, if I can’t have the man I love, I may as well have another man. Someone attractive and fun.”

  “He’s a womanizer!”

  “As long as he comes home to me, I don’t care how many women he ogles and flirts with.”

  “Then you assuredly don’t love him!”

  “I never said I did. You know who I love. But I want children, Zach. Lots and lots of children. And, as you know, there’s only one way to get them.”

  His heart was thudding furiously. She knew she was twisting the knife, but she didn’t know any other way to communicate to Zach the absurdity and tragedy of marriage to someone other than the love of her life. She wanted children, all right, but not with Rory or anyone else but Zach. Little towheaded boys with amber eyes…

  “It’s getting stuffy in here,” he said at last in a grim, constrained voice. He threw off the covers, gently pushed Gabrielle away and moved to the opposite end of the seat they shared, cracked open the window just a tad, and drew deep breaths.

  She let him be. They were both tired and they still had an ordeal to face once they reached Charlotte Square. Tomorrow was another day.

  The Murrays had been understandably worried by Gabrielle’s and Zach’s protracted absence, Regina and Rory included, but Aunt Clarissa, stripped by worry of her usual complacence, was fit to be tied. As soon as Gabrielle and Zach reached the house and played out their broken wheel scenario, displaying the proper amount of astonishment and indignation over their messenger’s failure to deliver the note, Aunt Clarissa descended on Gabrielle like a ruffled, clucking hen—shooing her upstairs to her room and ordering a hot bath and a throat elixir, certain that Gabrielle’s cold walk to the inn at Duddingston had given her an inflammation of the vocal cords. Gabrielle’s voice was a bit raspy, and she was certainly in need of a bone-warming, soothing bath, so she allowed her aunt to fuss over her and finally to tuck her into bed.

  Interaction with the rest of the family had been minimal, but Gabrielle was glad of the reprieve. No doubt, poor Zach was still downstairs, deeply immersed in the distasteful task of lying, guiltily accepting the Murrays’ kind thanks for taking care of their charge, and wincing at the knowledge that they completely believed every word he’d uttered. At that very moment, he was probably trying to ease out of the room and up to his bedchamber where he could be miserable by himself.

  As Gabrielle drifted off to an exhausted sleep, she had a sad, wistful feeling that maybe Zach would be better off if she simply left him alone and married someone else. And why not Rory? She knew he liked her and was physically attracted to her. As she’d told Zach, Rory had hinted that if he had the urge to marry, she’d be his first consideration. After all, if you couldn’t have the man you loved …

  Gabrielle had slept late, but when she paused at the arched entrance to the breakfast parlor and looked in, everyone was still there, except Zach. Despite her disappointment, Gabrielle couldn’t help but be cheered by
the bright winter snowscape as seen through the large bow window just opposite the dining table. Streams of sunshine fell on the crisp white tablecloth set with gleaming blue and white china. A vase of hothouse salmoncolored cabbage roses stood in the center. The smell of bacon and kippers and fragrant freshly brewed coffee drifted from the sideboard. Since she hadn’t eaten much the day before, she was hungry.

  As she entered the room, the conversation stopped, and everyone looked at her. She was feeling guilty this morning for making them worry, and she was ever so grateful when all of them smiled at her and caroled, “Good morning.”

  As Rory pulled out a chair for Gabrielle to be seated, she turned to Sir George, smiling. “I’m surprised to discover all of you still sitting about the table. I slept later than usual this morning.”

  Sir George smiled back, nodding his head. “That’s understandable, lass. You had a tiring time of it yesterday.”

  “Sir George and I wanted to make sure you were feeling quite the thing before we went about our scheduled activities,” Lady Grace said in her smooth, modulated voice. “And I believe Regina and Rory have an excursion in mind about which they wish to speak to you.”

  Gabrielle feigned interest with another polite smile, then casually inquired, “But where’s Zach? Isn’t he to be included in this excursion?” A servant poured Gabrielle a steaming cup of coffee, which she immediately doctored with a large dollop of cream and three shavings of sugar.

  “Zach’s gone off already,” Rory told her with a significant look. “Business, as usual.”