When she started to get older and the attention she attracted changed, they pulled her back into a more hidden service, fearing that even their intimidation would not be enough to protect her.
Then had come the first assault attempt.
According to Jean, there had been at least three while she worked with them.
The first time, she had just turned sixteen, and she had not yet become the strong fighter she was now. She had been on a notice delivery at night, and a drunken worker had attempted to force himself on her. She was still small and lacked strength at that time, and it would have been only too easy. But thankfully, a stranger stepped in and saved her, beating her assailant to within an inch of his life.
Gabe rather wished it had been beyond his life, but the point was irrelevant now.
“Who was it?” he growled, hardly able to breathe, his cigar cold in his hand. “Who saved her?”
Jean shrugged, averting his eyes. “She never knew. She ran away before she saw what happened.”
“But you know.” It was not a question, and Gabe watched his companion, waiting.
Jean looked back at him and exhaled slowly. “It was Trace.”
Gabe closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course it was. Who else would have been a guardian angel for her but his own bloody cousin? His chest seized with pride and pain, and an overwhelming sense of relief. He looked back at Jean. “How do you know that?”
“He recognized her from the few times he had been to the club,” Jean told him, keeping his voice low. “He came to me the day after and asked me how she was. She’d never told me about it. If I had not confronted her, I would never have known.” He shook his head and scratched his jaw. “She does not like to appear weak.”
“I know,” Gabe murmured, putting his head in his hands. Damn, what else had Amelia endured without telling anyone? She became a young woman on the docks of London, quite literally in the gutters, surrounded by ruffians, thieves, and scoundrels. The fact that she was not a prostitute or dead was astonishing.
“And the other times?” he asked faintly, not sure he could bear hearing.
“I know none of those details,” Jean admitted, sounding disappointed. “But after the firs’ time, Trace suggested that, if we meant to keep her, she needed to learn to protect herself. So, I had Benjamin teach her to fight.” He chuckled darkly, and Gabe looked up to find the man grinning. “You shoul’ have seen his face the day Tribbie bested him. She is a quick one, and he was our best.”
“I remember,” Gabe murmured. Benjamin had been a fierce contender and rarely lost in the underground ring. Gabe had bested him twice, but Gabe did not fight fairly. He rubbed his hands over his face, then looked over at Jean. “When did she leave?”
Jean tipped his head back in thought. “Four years? Perhaps five. She had earned enough to satisfy her and wanted to find her father. I cannot say what she has done for work since then, I did not see her again until last night.” He shook his head slowly. “I worried about her, despite knowing her strength and her character. This part of London is too dangerous.”
Gabe nodded slowly, pressing his hands together before his face. Amelia was an amazing creature. She knew perfectly how ugly the world was, how cruel it could be, and it explained much about his first impression of her. How she had survived was beyond him. He’d thought his life a challenge to overcome, but hers? It was unspeakable. And yet she had done it. She had overcome it all and was now a pillar of strength, yet somehow capable of such intuition and tenderness…
This new knowledge of her made him love her more than he had before.
And he hadn’t even known he’d loved her then.
But now…
He found it hard to swallow and sat back in his seat, trying for his usual hard persona. “Tell me what happened last night, Jean,” he said roughly, his voice almost betraying him. “Every detail.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sleep had no meaning. Food was a waste of energy. Anything except work was out of the question.
Oddly enough, it was invigorating.
Once he had wrung Jean dry of all information, which had been a surprising amount, he had hauled himself at breakneck speed back to Finley in Surrey. He’d spent an entire day interviewing everyone in the village that he could find, and any outlying cottages like the one Amelia had lived in. Luck had been with him, for he’d found the family that they had moved in with when forced out of their home, though they were still known by the surname of Palmer at that time.
It had not been a pleasant interview.
The family had taken them in and allowed them there for nearly four years. They described Mary as being frail and unhappy, and Amelia had been energetic and bright at first, but as time wore on, she became more serious, more defensive, and more obedient to her mother. She was always trying to please her, to draw a smile from her, taking care of her.
“It was the oddest thing,” the woman said, shaking her head. “A child taking care of her mother. She had no real childhood, you know. None at all.”
That, at least, Gabe could relate to.
They told him about Amelia’s working in the village for her mother, but despite the efforts of the townspeople, they could not make Amelia as efficient as her mother had been.
Nor could they pay her enough.
And then Mary got worse.
“We couldn’t afford them after that,” they told him. “Without wages to pay for the extra food, we couldn’t keep them on. They went to the poorhouse in Cobham.”
So, Gabe went there also, prepared to hear the worst. Mary and Amelia Tribbett, as they were then, were on record in the poorhouse for three months. Amelia was twelve upon her arrival, and her mother was an invalid. The caretaking staff was lax at best even now, and all who were able, even children, were required to work. Amelia had made an impression on one of the matrons for working her long shift and then tending to her mother all night. She would read to her, talk to her, feed her, anything at all to try and get her mother to recognize her or to find a will to live.
Nothing worked.
“It was eerie,” the older woman said, once Gabe had bribed her with a drink. “I’ve never seen a gel mourn with less emotion. She simply went blank when her mam died. No tears, no cries, no screams. Nothing.” She shivered and took a long swig from her tankard. “Unnatural, it was.”
Gabe didn’t doubt it. But he also understood.
Emotions were costly, and it was so much easier to feel nothing. He’d done that his entire life up to this point. Hell, he still didn’t have many emotions. The ones he did have were wrapped up in Amelia so tightly there wasn’t room for anything else.
Piecing together the bits of her life was only increasing the intensity of his feelings. He found her to be the most singular woman he’d ever known, and every story he heard of her became harder and harder to hear. It was as if his heart were suddenly awakening, only to be squeezed and crushed and bruised. It pained him to know how she had suffered, what she had endured. He wanted, quite desperately, to hold her in his lap, to wrap his arms around her and keep her safe.
It only followed that he should be more assured of his love for her. It was more than admiration, more than respect, more than need or desire or interest. He loved her. How she could smile and laugh despite her past, how sharp her wit could be and how beautifully she flushed, the way she could see beyond the surface of anyone and know what they were thinking. He even loved that she could thrash a man so thoroughly and without fear. He loved that she was willful and strong, that she did not depend on anyone, and that she scared him out of his mind with her lack of fear.
The woman who drove him mad was the woman who drove him now. And if he had ever done any good in his entire life, he would make things right with her. And for her.
He couldn’t begin to understand how he had come to love her, or why, or what had possessed him to do so, but the more he thought it over, the better the idea sounded and the freer he
felt. She was the ideal woman for him, and that was a phrase he did not use lightly.
And he had wounded her by seeking after another.
Gabe shook his head as he rode back to London, just as furiously as he had done before. The goddess was a fantasy, an illusion, and might always be so. Amelia was real. She was the most real thing in his life, and she was just as broken as he was. But she was slowly putting him back together, and if he could do half as much for her, he would find himself satisfied.
But how to apologize for not seeing it? For putting her life’s pursuit aside, even for a moment?
He couldn’t have gone to her that day and mumbled out the words, it would not be nearly enough. He needed to prove to her that she was important. That he was choosing her above all others, not just in her case, but in his life. In her life.
He chose her.
Gads, but they were perfect for each other. The farthest thing from perfect individually, but together, it made a bizarre sort of sense. They would always challenge each other, and with a blinding fierceness. They would cherish each other with the same.
What sort of fate had protected Amelia that night on the docks? To have Alex be present to prevent the horrors at her door? It sent a chill down Gabe’s spine, and he tossed up a rare prayer of gratitude for his cousin. It was too much, and it grieved him that Alex would never know how much that would come to mean.
Alex would have loved Amelia. And he would have loved that Gabe loved Amelia.
He would have laughed in Gabe’s face, but he would have loved it.
Gabe couldn’t tell her how he felt; not yet. There was too much to do. He needed to help her solve this case. He needed to find the closure that she needed. He understood her perfectly now, and he could see almost the entirety of her plan laid out before them. She could never be completely happy until this was over, and Gabe knew that the hatred in her heart would drive her to vengeance. She would never be satisfied with less, but she would lose herself if she succumbed to it. Gabe had been in the darkest place of humanity and had only been spared the loss of his soul by the opportunity to serve a greater purpose.
Amelia needed to find one. She needed to have hope, she needed to let go. And she could only do that with answers.
Gabe would find them. He would give them to her, no matter what it cost. Everything else could wait. National security, personal interests, other clients. He didn’t care. Amelia’s answers came first.
And if that did not testify to the depth of his feelings for her, nothing would.
He could have bloody skipped his way down to the boarding house. He was working on less sleep than he ever had in his entire life, but he was so energized at the moment that he doubted he could have slept if he was given the opportunity. His body ached, his feet were throbbing, and he looked like a dock worker without having to try for the appearance. He’d been tearing his investigation apart piece by piece, wondering why he hadn’t been giving it his full attention before. Was he really such a heartless scoundrel? Could he not see how vital it was?
He knew the truth. Of course, he was not that heartless, despite what he’d spent years believing. He’d just been working with incomplete information and dedicated to his actual work, neither of which were things Amelia could have been blamed for. But now that his eyes were opened, and he saw the truth of the matter, he’d found his skills enhanced and heightened, finding clues he’d missed before, making connections that he had been unable to before.
None of his investigations had ever had this sort of proficiency. Which made him wonder what the hell he had been doing all these years.
Gabe grinned to himself as he neared the boarding house. He’d simply lacked the proper motivation.
It was astonishing to him that he’d managed such single-mindedness when he had been so absorbed in thinking about Amelia, but instead of distracting him, she had given him focus. Hours and hours of work, his own and as many of his contacts as he could manage to send out, and at long last, he had some answers. He could have taken the leads they’d uncovered and possibly solved the entire case, but it was Amelia’s case. She deserved to see the end of it.
So instead of following his former instincts, he’d left the office, which had seemed too quiet and too empty without Amelia and headed out to fetch her.
Dawes & Pope, the merchant company that had hired Daniel Cole, had dissolved years ago, but its foreman worked on the West India docks now, and its owners still had interests in the market. They were only too happy to discuss their glory days with Gabe and his associates, and the name Daniel Cole had brought back memories for each. He had been one of them for a time before starting his own small company, and while none of them could say for certain what his interests had been, they could not deny that he had made quite a profit.
There was no indication of what had happened to him, as each of them had said Mr. Cole had quite simply disappeared one day, as had his ships and business, but they could tell Gabe where Mr. Cole had lived when in London.
And if Gabe knew where he lived, he could identify his parish, and, if he were most fortunate, could find the record of his marriage.
And that would get Amelia’s attention.
Gabe thundered up the stairs to Amelia’s room, having discovered her room number by a simple conversation with Knutt, who continued to stand watch over her.
Amelia had not taken any nightly excursions lately, but she had been busy during the day.
It brought a smile to Gabe’s face to wonder what she knew compared to what he did.
For whatever reason, Amelia’s door was slightly ajar, and Gabe gently pushed it open, feeling grateful that the door swung open silently.
Amelia stood by the window in her room brushing her hair in long, fluid strokes. She swayed slightly as she hummed to herself and the light of the window gave her skin a glow that transfixed him. She looked almost serene in her reverie, and he felt as though he were suddenly an intruder in something very intimate.
He leaned against the doorjamb and watched her, his chest tightening almost painfully. He had seen Amelia many, many times, had noticed her beauty, had scowled at the sensations looking at her had given him, but this was entirely different.
It was inexplicable, but somehow, looking at the woman he loved now that he knew of his love was far more powerful, far more potent, and far more stirring. He could barely breathe, and he could honestly say it had little enough to do with her beauty. It was quite simply and quite profoundly just the sight of her.
And dammit, he didn’t want to feel any other way.
Ever.
He swallowed with difficulty and listened to her absent humming, wondering what songs she knew, and if she was at all musical.
A cold chill settled on him as he realized that the song she hummed was the very same song he and the goddess had waltzed to.
He straightened up a little, staring at her with more intensity. Could it be? Could she…?
He gauged her height, the size of her frame, the shape of her face. It was eerily similar, and he did not believe in coincidences. The goddess had been blonde, but a woman with resources could have access to wigs of quality.
Tilda.
He felt himself snarl silently at the thought. His own people had had a hand in this, whether they knew it or not.
Amelia continued to sway and hum, a dreamy look on her face as she moved in an almost waltzing fashion by herself. Her voice rose in pitch, and suddenly perfectly matched the voice of the goddess in his memory.
There was nothing for it then.
“It was you,” he interrupted her at last.
She whirled and looked at him, eyes wide. “Gabe? What are you…?”
He marched over to her, grabbed her arm with one hand while the other tangled itself in her hair, and before she could finish her question, he kissed her; angrily, insistent, and hard. She responded instinctively, though he could feel her confusion as he devoured her lips, nothing gentle or tender in his ministrations.
How could she…? How could she…?
He growled and drew her closer, unable to stop himself from his mad frenzy, from the searing confusion and desire and fury that drove him.
Amelia shoved off him, panting and disheveled, with such force that he staggered unsteadily back. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she barked, her eyes wild with confusion and irritation, and some desire as well.
Gabe exhaled hard, shaking his head at her. “You. You are what is wrong with me. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” she demanded, flinging her arms out.
“It was you!” he cried. “At the ball! Did you think to mock me in front of the entire world? Just like you plan to do with your father if you find him?”
Amelia looked positively bewildered, none of his words sinking in. “You?” she asked, walking to her toilette to set her brush down. “What does any of it have to do with you?”
Gabe smirked without humor. “Think, goddess. Think hard.”
She stopped at once, her fingers still touching the brush handle. Slowly, she turned to look at him, her eyes wide, and her hand shakily rose to her lips. “Oh, good lord…” she whispered, horrified.
His smirk drew to a sneer. “Didn’t recognize me without the mask? Perhaps I should introduce myself. Gabriel Statler, Lord Wharton,” he scoffed with a bow, “at your service.”
“I had no idea,” Amelia stammered, fumbling for the furniture behind her. “I didn’t even… I went to find information, to track down what I could, I didn’t think I’d get access at all, and then… You’re Lord Wharton?”
“Tell anyone that and you’ll find yourself silenced,” he snarled, feeling more vicious than he’d ever felt in his entire life.
Amelia blinked slowly. “You’re threatening me?”
She was not supposed to sound hurt and betrayed. She was supposed to be defensive and riled, something that would make his fury appropriate. But instead, it rushed out of him in a harsh exhale, and he ran a hand through his hair. “At the moment, I’d rather throttle you.”
A Rogue About Town (London League, Book 2) Page 26
