Clary. He’d never been so happy to see anyone in his life. Nor so irritated that she remained among this raucous mess.
“Sara’s fine,” she assured him. “She’s waiting for us at Fisk with Helen and the girls.”
He pivoted toward her and came closer. He longed to have her in his arms, but he could see the hesitation in her eyes. He’d hurt her. He had so much to make up for.
“About this proposal.” He stepped toward her and grazed his knuckles across her cheek. “If you’re going to mention your ladies’ magazine again—”
“Marry me.” The two words were far easier to get out than Clary imagined they’d be. They’d been bubbling inside her since she’d set out for Whitechapel with Sara.
Even when Gabe told her to go. Even while she watched him fight, the two words remained lodged inside in her heart, waiting to get out.
He stood dumbstruck and silent before her, mouth gaping, eyes wide, not a sound emerging from him. Then he finally choked out, “What did you say?”
“I asked you to marry me. Maybe I phrased it wrong,” she teased. “Gabriel, will you marry me? Please.”
“You needn’t do this out of desperation,” he finally said. “The fight is over. There won’t be anymore. I don’t need you to save me.”
“Perhaps I’m saving us both.”
“You’ve never wished to marry. You long for your independence.”
She couldn’t deny his claims, though she’d never been wholly averse to marriage. Only doubtful that anyone would come along to make her wish for such a commitment. Most of all, he was right about her desire for independence. She still craved the freedom to do as she wished, to pour her energy into worthy causes, to make a difference. But now she wanted Gabriel too.
“Do you intend to quash my independence, convince me my charities are foolish, and my politics are pointless?”
“I would never want to change you, Clary.” Earnestness filled his gaze, then a glint of mischief lit his expression. “I’m not sure I could if I tried.”
“No, you couldn’t. So you’ll have to accept that I love you. I know what I’m saying and what I want. And I should warn you, I never give up.”
He grinned at that.
“Will you?” she asked softly, because she needed him to say yes. She ached to know he wanted her. That he would commit his heart, his life, to her.
“Yes, love.” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her toes for a kiss. A searching, hungry joining that left her breathless, almost making her forget where they were and how awful this night had been. When he set her back on her feet, he cupped her cheek against his palm and said, “But I can’t leave here yet.”
Panic swept in to steal all the bliss. “Why on earth not? Gabe, whatever money you wish to collect, we don’t need it. My dowry will give us a decent life for years to come.”
“It’s not the money.” He scanned behind her, gripped her shoulders, and turned her body so that she could see across the yard. “I came tonight to catch the spider in its web.” He pointed to a gathering of men at the far edge of the yard. “Those men are coppers. Undercover detectives.” His breath warm against her nape, he added, “I’ve told them everything about Rigg. What I did for him. About his schemes and associates. Where to find his vaults of stolen goods. Where the bodies are buried.”
Clary swiveled and pressed her hand against his chest. His heart beat hard but in a steady rhythm. “Will they charge you with anything?”
“No, but I’ve agreed to testify in court.” He smoothed a hand down her arm. “I’ll make enemies by ratting on Rigg. But I’ve agreed to help the Met catch all they can. They’ve asked to take a formal statement at Leman Street station tonight.”
“Then I’ll go with you.”
“No.”
Clary let out a shaky breath. “Is that your answer to my proposal?”
He pulled her into his arms, stroked a hand down her back, and lowered his mouth to hers. Clary kissed him hungrily. Hours apart had been far too long. When they were both breathless, he rested his head against her forehead.
“That is my answer.” He kissed her again. “I love you.” Another kiss, deeper, sweeter. “I want to be your husband.”
“Then take me to the station with you.” Her stubborn, determined chin jutted out, and he ducked his head and kissed her there too.
“No, love,” he whispered against her skin. “I may be the last man who deserves it, but you’ll have to trust me.” He kissed her again but too quickly. A taste when she craved more. Then he led toward the road in front of the Crossroads pub. “Go to Fisk and tell Sara all is well. I’ll come and join you when I’m done at the station. This will be over before you know it.”
“And then we can begin?”
“Yes. I cut my ties to all of this tonight. Nothing here can haunt us anymore.” He smiled. “Now we can pick up where we left off.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Over Kit’s protests and Sophia’s offer to host their wedding at the Stanhope estate in Derbyshire, Clary insisted on a simple wedding. As quick as possible and with minimum fuss. Except for her dress. She did spend at least one sleepless night turning a simple cream silk gown into a glittering, organza-strewn masterpiece. For the ceremony itself, she and Gabe agreed on the nearest registry office.
They suggested to Sara that a double ceremony might be in order, but Gabe’s sister had been so eager to tie the knot with her groom that she refused to wait while Gabe and Clary obtained a license. A day after Sara and Thomas’s registry office wedding, Helen let Clary know that Nathaniel Landau had proposed. But they weren’t keen on a double wedding either.
Dr. Landau’s family had decided the couple deserved nothing less than an elaborate ceremony, and Nate’s aunts and uncles and cousins were making their way to London for the nuptials, some coming from as far as America.
The fifteen days leading up to their own wedding was agony. But when they joined hands before the registrar, with Kit and Phee serving as witnesses, all the wait was forgotten. Gabe’s gaze lit with happiness, though his jaw tightened when Clary smiled up at him.
“You’re sure about this?” he whispered, one glossy black brow arched.
“Once I fix on a course, I rarely change my mind.”
He grinned and lowered his head so that they were a hairbreadth apart. “But you’re also impulsive. Perhaps you’ve rushed into this too quickly.”
“I’m also impatient, so quickly suits me perfectly.”
Lifting a hand, he swept her veil aside to stroke the edge of her jaw. “You suit me perfectly, Clary Ruthven.”
The registrar, a slight, pale man, cleared his throat. “Then may we begin?”
The vows were read, and Gabe repeated them in a clipped, sharp accent, enunciating every word with loving care. Clary got caught up in watching his eyes, the cool blue warming as she said her vows, shifting from love and happiness to a heat she felt kindling inside her. When they reached the part regarding obedience, Gabe chuckled, and the registrar quelled him with a stern frown.
A moment later, they sealed their promises with a kiss, and Clary forgot that Kit and Phee were watching. The registrar tapped his toe, waiting impatiently for them to be done so that he could move on to the next couple.
Clary forgot everything but Gabe. She only knew he was in her arms, right where she wished him to be. She deepened the kiss, and he responded instantly, wrapping a hand around her waist to pull her body snug against his. He snagged her veil in his hand, and pins popped from her coiffure, but she didn’t care. She kissed him again. And once more for good measure.
Kit and Phee offered hugs and well wishes and reminded them of the celebratory dinner party Sophia and Grey were hosting later in the evening. Nate and Helen would be there, and Sara and Thomas too.
“We’ll be there,” Gabe promised.
Clary’s throat was still too full. In fact, her whole body felt stretched, buoyant with joy and anticipation. She wanted to sa
vor every moment as Gabriel’s wife, yet part of her wished to rush forward to the next day with him and the next. Most of all, she couldn’t wait for the night, when she would have him all to herself.
“To Ruthven’s next, wife?” he asked as he tucked her arm into his and smiled down at her.
They’d agreed to Daughtry’s request that they stop by the office and allow him and the clerks to offer them well wishes and celebrate their nuptials in some small way.
After handing her up into a hansom cab and helping to wrestle the many layers of her gown and petticoats into the carriage, Gabe climbed up beside her and immediately began unfastening the buttons of her gloves as the vehicle rolled toward Ruthven’s. Once he had her arms free, he lifted one hand and then the other for kisses.
“A new scent,” he said as he applied his tongue to where her pulse hummed in her wrist.
“Orange blossom for weddings.”
“So you do attend to etiquette after all.”
“Just this once,” she said on a gasp when he leaned close to kiss her neck. Clary braced her hand against his thigh and felt the hard length of him through his trousers. She moved her hand closer, running her fingers over his heat.
He groaned against her neck as she explored. “Perhaps we should skip Ruthven’s and go home.”
Clary lifted her hand and turned to kiss him. “We can’t. We promised Daughtry.” Another kiss, and she took care where she placed her hands. “Besides, it’s a short ride.”
Gabe drew in a sharp breath as he straightened. “Feels like forever to me.”
Yet a moment later, the cab pulled to a stop in front of Ruthven’s, and Daughtry stepped onto the pavement as if he’d been watching for their arrival.
“Oh, happy day,” he shouted, clapping his hands.
Gabe stepped down first and helped Clary—and her enormous gown—out of the carriage. After allowing Daughtry a quick embrace, they entered the workroom to the whoops and cheers of the clerks inside. Someone had engineered a bucket of confetti to be strung from the ceiling and the whole fluttered around them as they stepped deeper into the room.
Clary laughed and tried to catch a few squares of the light paper as it floated down. Gabe watched her with a smile, though when she turned to him, he feigned a glower. “Someone will have to clean up all of this, you know.”
One of the clerks laughed, and Gabe pointed at him. The boy he’d bested in the ring a couple of weeks earlier had been hired on as their newest clerk. “I elect you for cleanup duty, Simkins.”
“Yes, sir,” the young man said with a mock salute.
Another leaned in and chimed, “Does that mean you’re boss of Ruthven’s again, sir?”
Clary took Gabe’s hand in hers. “He certainly is.” She ignored Gabe’s arched-brow gaze. The matter was one they’d yet to fully resolve. He freely admitted how much he missed Ruthven’s, but then guilt would rise up, and he’d insist on finding employment on his own. Though she hadn’t worked out all the details with Kit, Gabe had at least agreed to resume his role for the time being.
Clary had ideas about what might come next.
“The tea shop has spoiled us today,” Daughtry said behind them as he gestured toward the spot near the workroom where they’d brought a table out, covered the length in a pretty lace-edged cloth, and decorated every inch with platters and teacups and plates. In the center sat a large silver urn, steaming at the top, and Clary could smell the tea shop’s signature Earl Grey brew from across the room.
“Shall we tuck in?” she asked the gathered clerks, and they headed off to fill plates in reply.
Gabe never took his hands off her as they chatted, partook of tea and sandwiches, and accepted well wishes from each and every man. Clary was grateful for his breach in etiquette, relishing the way he rested a hand on her lower back or linked his fingers with hers.
When the last employee filed out and they’d locked the doors behind them, Gabe led her into his office. The door had been shut, and when they pushed inside, the scent of books and leather and a faint whisper of his cologne made Clary smile.
“All is just as I left it,” he said wonderingly.
“I made sure of that.” She squeezed his hand. “As far as I’m concerned, this is your space and no one else’s.”
“In that case, I’m welcome to do whatever I like in here?”
“Of course.” Though if Clary had her wish, the row of Ruthven Rules books would be the first to go.
Judging by the structure of the workroom, they could probably expand the walls of the office to make the space bigger. Which fit quite nicely with her idea. “Actually—”
“Come here, wife,” he said from where he’d planted himself against the closed door. He’d shed his suit coat, waistcoat, and tie, folding them neatly on the visitor chair, and he’d unfastened the top buttons of his shirt.
The patch of skin between his parted white collar made her mouth water. She went to him, lifted onto her toes, and kissed the spot, dipping her tongue into the hollow at the base of his throat to taste his skin. He made quick work of her coiffure, gently easing out pins and collecting them in his palm. He laid them on top of his folded clothes before running his fingers through her tresses. When his hand slid down the length of her hair, he didn’t stop. Cupping her bottom, he pulled her against him.
“Here? In the office?”
He caught her bottom lip between his teeth before soothing the nip with kisses. “Here. Now.”
Turning, he stepped with her until her back was against the wall and settled her on her feet. Kneeling down, he eased her gown up. She shivered as he dragged his fingers up her legs, slipped the ribbon of her drawers, and pulled the gauzy garment to her feet. Clary reached back and unlatched the hooks of her double petticoats, and Gabe tugged the fabric until the cotton pooled between them.
When he stood and lifted her again, her body began to pulse with aching need just where she could feel him hard and hot against her middle. Trusting him to hold her, she wrapped her legs around his waist.
He groaned as he took her mouth, stroking his tongue inside her.
“Love me like this,” she told him.
His lips found hers again as he delved a hand between them to unfasten his trousers. Breathless, on fire, heat sizzling through her veins, Clary waited for him to fill her. For some mad reason, they’d adhered to propriety since her proposal, exchanging only kisses and caresses, but this joining with him was what she craved. She would never get enough of being this close to him.
“I have a better idea,” he said hoarsely, shifting to carry her to the edge of his desk. He settled her down gently and then, in one violent sweeping motion, removed everything else from his desktop. The metal tray protested with a clatter, his beloved fountain pen spun like a top, and his blotter landed with an unceremonious thud.
“Who are you?” Clary teased. “And what did you do with my husband?”
“Your husband’s here,” he said as he gathered her skirts and wedged himself between her spread thighs. “And I never wish to part from you again.”
“Promise?” she gasped as he nipped at her neck while he slid against her.
“Forever, Clary,” he vowed as he joined with her, lifting her thighs to his hips as he thrust deeper. “I love you.” He pressed his forehead to hers as he built a rhythm, caressed her bare shoulders, pushed her bodice low to cup her breast. “I love you,” he repeated as he claimed her mouth.
Clary pulled so hard at his shirt, buttons popped free. She needed to feel him bare beneath her fingers, stroke her hands across his skin, get close to him. He took her mouth, kissed her cheeks, her nose, her neck, as he took her on his desk. When he nipped her earlobe between his teeth and whispered with heated breath, “Tell me you’re mine,” something in her sundered. She was floating, melting in bliss, clinging to him, one hand on his back, her other threaded in his hair.
She came against him, squirming and shuddering, and telling him, vowing with her body and soul
, “Gabriel, I’m yours.”
“You’re mine,” he vowed before burying his face against her neck and groaning out his release.
Afterward, he fussed over her, settling his suit coat over her shoulders, fetching her a cup of tea from the urn in the workroom, looking at her with a worry she didn’t wish to see in his eyes.
“What is it?” She slumped down into his desk chair.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to concentrate on work in this room again.” He lifted a hand, and she came to him, letting him settle into his chair and pull her down onto his lap.
“About that—”
He burst into robust laughter before she could manage another word, and she pressed a hand to his chest, relishing the reverberation of his amusement as it echoed in the room.
“Promise me you’ll laugh more often.”
After a kiss on her nose, he said, “With you by my side, I fully expect my days to be filled with laughter.” He grinned. “Except at the office, of course. Don’t wish to ruin my reputation with the lads.”
Clary pushed at him playfully, and he settled his hands around her hips.
“Now, tell me what’s whirring in that brilliant mind of yours. I can almost see the wheels turning when I look in your eyes.”
“Well . . . ” Clary drew a circle with her finger on his chest. “This is assuredly your office.”
He pursed his lips and glanced at the desk’s edge where he’d made her shudder in pleasure. “Perhaps it’s ours now.”
“That is exactly my idea! What would you say to . . . ” She paused and assessed him. “Managing Ruthven’s together?” The words emerged as a question, her tone uncertain, hesitant.
Gabe drew in a long breath and narrowed an eye at her as he exhaled. “Will you require tea and biscuits at every meeting?”
“Probably.”
“And waste time assuring dreadful writers that they can improve and flood our postbox with more stories?”
“I might.”
He frowned and stared at the ceiling. “Will you douse yourself with ink on occasion?”
“You married a rather accident-prone woman,” she teased, pushing the placket of his shirt aside to draw her fingers across his bare chest. She gripped a few strands of soft hair and warned, “You did vow to love me forever. There’s no going back now.”
How to Woo a Wallflower Page 22
