Gabriel began sidling toward it, but then Jed launched his body directly at him and he had no time for anything else.
* * *
Drusilla wished she’d listened to Parker.
“Please let me come with you, madam. Or perhaps one of the footmen. Mr. Marlington will skin me alive when he learns I let you go alone.”
“No, he won’t.” That was a lie; Gabriel would be furious. But, hopefully, it would all be over by then and she could take the brunt of his anger, rather than their servants. She’d been tempted to tell Parker about the pistol she had in the big leather satchel with the money, but she knew how men were. He would not feel assured at the knowledge she had a gun; he would be even more nervous.
“I can’t, Parker. The note said nobody but me or the consequences would be dire. I cannot take chances. If Mr. Marlington happens to return in the next fifty minutes, please wait until after nine and then you can tell him where I went.” She personally doubted the butler would be able to make him wait even ten seconds—she’d seen Gabriel in a rage—but it was the best she could do.
She opened the satchel and looked inside, as if the money and gun might have gone somewhere. No, both were still there. Ten thousand pounds—a fortune for most people. But for a gambler? She doubted Theo would make it last very long. But that would not be her problem.
The carriage came to an abrupt halt, and she had to cling to the strap above the door to keep from falling off her seat. The panel slid open, and the hack driver looked at her. “Are ye sure this is the place ye wanted, missus?” he asked, concern clouding his voice.
Drusilla looked out the window onto a dark, narrow street that had at least a thousand places to hide. She swallowed hard. “Yes, this is the place. I want you to wait for me.”
He hesitated but then said, “I’ll wait for ten minutes, no more. Those ’oo run these streets are like to ’ave the wheels offa my carriage afore I even know it.”
Drusilla opened the door and stepped out before answering. She held up a gold coin, and his eyes widened. “You will wait until I return and I will give you this.”
He nodded, his expression grudging. “Aye. If you still ’ave it in ten minutes.”
There was no window on the squat two-story building, which displayed an ancient-looking and crooked sign saying LIONEL SNIVELY & SONS, PURVEYOR OF SPECIALTY GOODES. She knocked on the door and waited. A full minute passed, and she knocked again. Still nothing. She looked at the building next door—it appeared to be a ropemaker’s. There was light coming from the gap around a small door cut in a larger door.
There was also an inn, but the raucous voices spilling from the cracked and hazy window made her shudder; the Jolly Taxpayer public house would be her last choice.
The driver had taken a flask from somewhere and was busy with it, paying Drusilla no attention. She took the pistol out of the bag, slung the satchel over her shoulder, put her hand on the handle, and opened the door.
* * *
They were surprisingly well matched when it came to skill. Unfortunately, Jed outweighed Gabriel by a good three stone. Every hit the other man landed was like two of Gabriel’s.
They were breathing hard and the big man’s face was sheened in sweat.
“Where’s Big Paul?” Gabriel taunted, wanting to know when some other man—a man this one called “big”—might be arriving.
Jed gave a wheezy laugh. “Never you mind about Paul. You’d best be minding yersel’.” Like a bolt of lightning his fist shot out. Gabriel dodged, but it clipped him on the shoulder. It was like being struck with a mallet.
“Quick, ain’tcha?”
“Not fast enough.”
That made Jed laugh. “I tell you what. If you—”
The door opened, and both he and Jed turned to stare. It was his wife, and she was holding a pistol.
She saw him, and her taut features brightened. “Gabriel!” The pistol wavered in her hand. “Oh, thank God, Gabriel!”
“Have a care,” he said as Jed began inching toward her. “Hold the gun steady on him, Dru. I’ll get some rope.” No problem there, at least.
“Ye wouldn’t really shoot me, would you, lass?” Jed took a step toward her and Gabriel opened his mouth—but his wife was already ahead of him and took a step closer to Jed, raising the gun higher, her expression grim and her hands steady.
“You are a big target, sir. Even I cannot miss you.”
Jed raised his hands and took a step back.
Gabriel grinned and snatched the end from a huge spool of rope, yanking to get enough free to reach Jed. “Good girl, Dru.”
“Yes, good girl, Drusilla.”
Gabriel whipped around just as Rowland stood up from where he must have been hiding beneath the piles of spooled rope. He had the bloody gun in his hand, and it was pointed at Gabriel.
“Theo, where is Samir?” Drusilla began to move the pistol.
“No, keep that on Jed, my dear. Do it,” Rowland snapped when she hesitated.
“Keep it on Jed, darling,” Gabriel urged, giving her a reassuring smile.
Rowland nodded when she obeyed. “Good, now you,” he said to Gabriel, “go tie that big ape’s hands.”
“What?” Jed wailed. “I’m yer partner in this—ye need—”
“Shut. Up.” Rowland’s voice shook with barely suppressed rage and his hand trembled. “What are you waiting for?” he demanded, glaring at Gabriel.
“Drop your hands,” Gabriel told the towering man.
“You would have taken all the money, stuffed me in a sack full of rocks, and thrown me in the river,” Rowland continued, his voice shrill.
Jed prudently kept his mouth shut.
“Where is Samir, Theo? I know you don’t want to harm a child. Tell us—”
“He’s safe. He’s not here. I’m not a monster, Drusilla. I wouldn’t hurt him.”
Drusilla’s expression shrieked disgust and disbelief, but she made no comment.
“Make sure to tie him nice and tight,” Rowland said to Gabriel.
At least they agreed on one thing. Gabriel finished tying a double knot on Jed’s giant wrists and turned to Rowland. “I need a knife to cut the rope.”
Rowland gave a high-pitched, whinnying laugh. “Not likely. Get on your knees, Jed.”
The big man looked from Rowland to Gabriel, his expression suddenly pleading.
Gabriel snorted. “You’ll get no help from me, mate.”
“On your knees or I’ll shoot.”
While Jed awkwardly dropped to his knees, Rowland began to inch sideways toward Dru, keeping the gun trained on Gabriel.
“Good,” Rowland said once Jed was down. “Now lower the gun and slide it across the floor, Drusilla.” She cut a look at Gabriel, and Rowland saw it. “I won’t hurt either of you. That was never in my plans. I just want the money—it’s in that bag?”
She nodded.
“Go ahead, Dru; do as he says,” Gabriel urged.
She lowered the gun to her waist, but before she could lay it on the floor, the satchel slipped from her shoulder and knocked the gun from her hand. The explosion was deafening in the enclosed space, and it reverberated endlessly.
As if in slow motion, Gabriel saw Drusilla raise her hand to her mouth, her eyes fastened on Rowland, whose arm wavered.
“I’m . . .” Rowland looked down at his stomach, clutching at himself with one hand. “Shot.” The pistol in his hand wavered and then hit the ground. Gabriel winced, waiting for a second shot—but the gun just clunked harmlessly on the wooden slats. Rowland swayed, both his hands on his midriff, which had darkened with a growing blossom of red.
Drusilla ran to Gabriel. “Have I killed him?”
Gabriel quickly picked up Rowland’s unfired pistol and turned to Jed. The big man was already on his feet and halfway out the door, rope trailing behind him.
“Gabriel?”
He put one arm around Drusilla, and they went to where Rowland lay; the man was gutshot. He wouldn’t
last long, and his end would be agonizing.
The sound of rope unspooling caught his attention. He tucked the gun in the waistband of his pants and grabbed the rope. Jed almost jerked him off his feet, but Gabriel managed to loop the rope around a big metal cleat bolted to the floor—no doubt something used in the making of rope. The thick cord snapped taut, and he heard a yowl of pain beyond the door.
Drusilla dropped to her knees beside Rowland’s prostrate form and stared up at Gabriel. “There must be something we can do?”
He glanced from his wife’s distraught face to the man on the floor.
“Please, Marlington,” Rowland gasped, cradling his middle with a shaking arm. “Don’t let me die this way.”
“Where is my son?”
“I don’t know—I swear, Jed took him. Please—” tears streamed down his agonized face.
“I think he’s telling the truth,” Drusilla said.
So did Gabriel.
“We’ll get you to a physician, Theo,” Drusilla said in a shaky voice. “He can take out the bullet.”
Gabriel strode toward the door. He needed to keep hold of Jed or he’d never find Samir. Rowland could bloody well wait.
A crowd of customers from the inn had gathered, and somebody was already helping Jed untie the rope. The serving wench saw him first.
“There ’e is!”
The mob turned as if it were one creature, all eyes on him.
“’E’s a no good dirty tea leaf ’oo was trying to steal from my shop,” Jed said, throwing Gabriel an evil grin.
Gabriel lifted the pistol. “Stay where you are.”
The mob hesitated.
“’E can’t shoot all of us,” one of the men yelled.
“No,” Gabriel said, aiming his pistol at the man—obviously the leader. “But I can kill you.”
Jed flung away the rope. “Gimme back what’s mine, and I’ll tell ’em to let you go.”
“Where. Is. My. Son.”
“I’ll tell you after I get what you’ve taken.”
“Come and get it.”
Jed slid a look at his mob, whose spirits were rapidly cooling. “Let’s get him, lads.”
“Let’s not,” a bored voice said. Byer stepped out from behind the pawnbroker’s shop, his normally impeccable attire dirty, his coiffeur mussed.
“How the devil did you get free?” Jed growled.
“That hardly matters. What matters are these gentlemen.”
Men began filing out from behind the building: constables and Runners.
The crowd broke apart and scattered like cockroaches exposed to lamplight. When Jed looked ready to join them, a half-dozen men raised pistols.
“Not you, I think,” Byer said as five men came forward and grabbed the huge man.
Gabriel lowered his arm and strode toward Jed, prepared to rip him limb from limb. “Where is my son? Tell me now or so help me God I’ll—”
“We’ve already found the boy, Gabe.” Byer limped up to him, his buckskin breeches torn and bloody on one thigh. “He’s safe with the Parkers, who are spoiling him rotten by the way.”
“Thank God! How did you find him?”
“From this fine fellow.” The Runners dragged a tiny man out from the shadows.
Jed gave a sound of amazement. “Bloody ’ell, ’ow the devil did they get you, Paul?”
Gabriel stared: This was Big Paul? The man was not even as high as Byer’s shoulder.
Big Paul shrugged miserably at Jed’s question.
“I’m afraid Mr. Tompkins has far better connections than you, old chap,” Byer said, nodding to the men holding Paul. “You can take them both away now.”
Gabriel turned and ran toward the open door to the rope warehouse. Inside, Drusilla’s head was bowed and her shoulders were shaking.
He crouched down beside her, and she turned an anguished, tearstained face toward him. “I killed him, Gabriel.”
He wrapped an arm around her. “It was an accident, Drusilla.”
“I know, but . . .” Her voice broke, and she sobbed.
Gabriel knew what she meant: taking a life was never pleasant, no matter how it happened.
He lifted her to her feet. “Come on, darling. Let’s get away from all this.”
“But—what about Samir?”
“He’s at home. Byer’s man already found him.”
“Thank God!” She swayed, and Gabriel held her tightly against him and started to lead her away. But she stopped, turning back toward Rowland’s unmoving body.
“What will happen to him?”
Gabriel looked at Byer.
“The constables will report him dead due to an accident.” He was beside the door, his face a grim mask. “I hate to say it, but it is better this way, Mrs. Marlington. His life would have been over and he would have shamed his family. This way—” He shook his head and opened the door wider. “Well, don’t worry, we shall take care of it.”
“Come, darling. Let’s get you home.” Gabriel led her toward the waiting carriage.
“Gabriel, you forgot this.” He turned to find Byer holding out the satchel.
“Thanks, Tommy.”
Beside him Drusilla shook her head. “Money,” she said, the word dripping with disgust.
Yes, money—Gabriel agreed silently, and the things people would do for it.
Epilogue
Two mornings later they were lazing beneath the blankets, even though they would be leaving for the country today and should have been up and about an hour ago.
They lay side by side on Gabriel’s bed, slick with sweat.
“There,” Gabriel said, turning only his head to kiss her shoulder. “I think I can face hours closeted inside a carriage now.”
Drusilla chuckled weakly. “That’s not very flattering to me as your travel companion.”
“I did not mean you, my dear.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “You’ve never taken a two-day carriage ride with a child before, Dru. Trust me,” he went on before she could reply, “I’ve done it several times with my young brother and sisters, and it is not an activity for the faint of heart.”
“It can’t be that bad, Gabriel.”
Gabriel thought about his mother’s three youngest children—the twins and the heir, all of whom were under the age of five. It wasn’t enjoyable for anyone to be closeted in a coach for hours—but it was especially difficult for little bundles of energy.
“Besides, half the coach is full of toys and books. It will be a delightful journey,” his blissfully ignorant wife said.
It was Gabriel’s turn to laugh. “That just goes to show you how—” A sharp rap on the door interrupted him. “Who the devil could that be?”
Drusilla shrugged. “I don’t know. But it is your room, so you should have to get up.” She stretched and then pulled the covers up to her chin.
“You lazy thing,” he chided, kissing her hard on the lips before swinging his feet to the floor and pulling on his robe. “I told Drake last night that we would leave when we chose to leave and not to disturb us at the crack of dawn,” he said, somewhat unfairly, since bright sunlight was piercing the gap in the drapes.
Parker stood outside in the hall, his expression pained. “I beg your pardon, sir, but this just came for you.”
Gabriel glanced at the note—it was his mother’s handwriting.
“There is a messenger waiting below, sir.”
“Give me a few moments, Parker.”
His butler nodded, and Gabriel closed the door before cracking the wafer.
“What is it, Gabriel?” Drusilla called from the bedchamber.
“A message from my mother.” He unfolded the note: it was brief. He read it once, and then read it again. And then he read it a third time when the words continued to make no sense.
“Good God!” He yanked open the door to find Parker hovering in the hall. “Tell the messenger I shall head over to Exley House directly.”
Gabriel shut the door and strode through the be
droom to his dressing room. He snatched up the buckskins he’d been planning to wear today and turned.
Drusilla was kneeling up on the bed and holding on to one of the posts. “What is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It is Eva.”
“Oh no, what? Is she—”
He cursed in every language he knew, allowing himself full rein.
“Gabriel!” she said, her eyes round with shock. “Tell me what has happened?”
“My sister is headed for Scotland with Earl Visel.”
Drusilla’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no. That is why he didn’t return the night of the ball—he wasn’t going to take me—he was planning to abduct her all along.” She frowned. “But Eva wasn’t at the ball—she was with Melissa in the country. I don’t understand.”
Gabriel laughed. “No, that was where Eva was supposed to be. Now she is with Visel.”
She flung aside her sheet and hopped down off the bed, momentarily distracting him with her fetching body. She planted her fists on both hips and glared. “He is a brute and a liar. You must go after him, Gabriel—but if they’ve been gone—”
“If Eva’s groom is to be believed, they left the night of the Richland ball.” Gabriel laughed, and the sound was more than a little hysterical. “This is—well, this is absolutely bloody unbelievable! Even for Eva this is beyond everything.”
“It’s hardly fair to blame Eva for her own abduction, Gabriel. It is Visel who should be caught and strung up and—”
“It was Eva.”
She cocked her head, her brow wrinkled with confusion. “What?”
“It was Eva, Drusilla. Visel didn’t abduct Eva; Eva abducted him.”
Please read on for a preview of OUTRAGEOUS,
the next novel in Minerva Spencer’s Rebels of the Ton.
Chapter 1
London
1816
Godric Fleming, Earl Visel, vowed to kill his cousin Rowland when he got his hands on him.
He strode down the alley, feeling like a fool as his ridiculous cape billowed out behind him as if he were some Barbary corsair. Which was, of course, exactly how he was dressed—or at least the English public’s perception of a corsair.
Notorious Page 33
