by Ava March
The few other men around the table began placing their bets. Gabriel fingered his remaining chips. It was a small stack compared to the one he’d just lost, but enough for one more decent bet. And if he didn’t bet, he wouldn’t have even a chance to pay off Carter.
Picking up the chips, he reached out to place them on red eighteen—his age when he’d first kissed Anthony. But he stopped, hand hovering over the green baize.
If he lost this, he would have nothing. Not even enough to pay for a meal on the morrow.
He needed to step away from this table, gather his thoughts. Yes, that’s what he needed to do, before he lost every halfpenny in his possession.
As the croupier called an end to the betting, Gabriel turned from the table and crossed the room to the cashier’s cage.
With his chips turned back into coins, he pushed open the door and stepped out onto the walkway. Moonlight gilded the buildings across the street, masking the details. But even though the sun wasn’t shining, it was obvious he wasn’t in a decent part of Town. The boards crossing the windows on what might have once been an inn. The raucous shouts seeping from the tavern next to it.
Anyone with a scrap of common sense would have avoided the area, but Gabriel hadn’t had much of a choice. Carter frequented the decent hells around Cheapside, and therefore Gabriel needed to avoid those. He’d found the one he’d gone to tonight—he didn’t even know the name—by asking a fellow along the street. Any hopes a smaller hell closer to the Rookery would give better odds had long since vanished.
Perhaps if he found a different hell... He made to pull out his pocket watch to check the time, but his fingers only encountered the silk of his waistcoat. He let out a sigh. He should have asked the cashier for the time. But what did it matter anyway? Now he didn’t even have enough coins to get his watch back from the pawnbroker. And he definitely should not go to another hell. Not tonight. He needed to gather his thoughts, figure out what he should do next.
Because right now, he hadn’t a bloody idea. All he knew was that his loans were five days past due, and he had less than ten pounds in his pocket.
Letting out a heavy sigh, he headed east to make his way back to his pathetic room at the inn. With each step he took, the desolation hanging over him grew heavier and heavier. Stopping at the next crossroads, he gathered his bearings. Should he head left or right? A hackney was stopped along the street to the left. The nag’s head was hanging down, the driver on the bench hunched within his coat, both looking as downtrodden as the buildings around them. Yet it was a hackney nonetheless.
That sense of pure need, the one he’d been fighting so desperately to ignore, swelled within him.
Gabriel’s feet began to take him toward that hackney. But before he made it a few paces, he stopped and turned around to head south. No, he should not go to Anthony’s. Going to Anthony’s wouldn’t solve anything. Being past due on his loans was enough of a problem to contend with. He didn’t need something else to be upset with himself about.
He needed to continue resisting the urge to see Anthony. Of late, he’d been doing well...except for the lapse four nights ago. But the memories of Anthony’s kisses, his touch, the feel of his bare body against his own was all he should have.
He shouldn’t even have those memories.
With a weary shake of his head, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and continued putting one foot in front of the other.
“Tilden.” His name echoed off the surrounding buildings.
Gabriel snapped his head up from his study of the walkway. Three men were crossing the street, heading straight toward him. Three men he didn’t recognize.
“You Tilden?” one of the three asked.
Hell and damnation. Gabriel’s pulse began racing through his veins.
His pause must have been answer enough.
The trio converged on him. Gabriel held his ground, refusing to run like a coward.
“We need to speak with ye,” said the one on the left with the stocky build.
“About what matter?” Perhaps they weren’t associated with Carter. Perhaps—
“About what matter?” Using a mockery of an aristocratic accent, the middle one echoed Gabriel’s question. “Did you hear that, fellows? The nabob don’t know why we’re here.” An ugly sneer pulled his lips, his narrowed eyes pinned on Gabriel. “Carter sent us.”
Hands shoved at Gabriel’s chest. Caught off guard, he stumbled back into the shadows of the alley behind him. Before he could get his feet fully underneath him, a fist connected with his jaw. His head snapped back. Pain exploded across his mouth. A punch landed to his gut, knocking the wind out of him. Then another to his eye, a flare of pain streaking across his face. Sparks danced before his eyes, temporarily blinding him.
Gravel bit into his skin as he fell to his knees. Hands grabbed at the front of his coat, hauled him up to his feet and shoved him harshly back against the brick wall of the alley, the impact rattling through his ribs.
“He’s tired of waitin’ for his blunt, Tilden.”
Dread slammed down onto his shoulders. “My apologies.” His voice came out weak, thin, gasped words as he struggled to catch his breath.
The man with a scruffy beard leaned in close. The foul stench of his breath made Gabriel’s stomach turn. “That won’t do. If ye don’t pay, we will make ye pay.”
He could taste the metallic tang of blood, could feel it drip from the corner of his lip. “But I—”
His ears registered the crunch of another set of footsteps. A massive shadowed figure grabbed at the man on Gabriel’s right.
The third thug darted to his fellow’s aid. A hard point pushed against Gabriel’s side. “Don’t move,” Scruffy Beard growled at Gabriel.
Dear God, that must be a knife at his side.
Shock swamped Gabriel’s senses. He was frozen to the spot. There was the thump of fists connecting with flesh as the massive shadow fended the two off. And then one of the thugs fell to the ground, and stayed there.
“Stop, you bleedin’ bastard, or I’ll gut him,” Scruffy Beard threatened.
From the corner of Gabriel’s eye, he caught the flash of a steel blade quite close to himself. Another man stood behind the one holding Gabriel, that flash of steel touching Scruffy Beard’s neck.
“No, you won’t,” the man said, calm and composed.
Scruffy Beard took a swift, audible breath and went still, his eyes going wide.
The heavy thud of a body hitting the ground snapped Gabriel’s attention back to the fight. At the massive man’s feet lay the dark lumps of two bodies. Whipping his head over his shoulder, he pinned his gaze onto Gabriel.
Fists clenched at his sides, the giant stalked to Gabriel, the length of his greatcoat flapping at his heels, the shadows unable to hide the pure vengeance etched on his face. As he neared, he pulled back one arm. Gabriel instinctively braced for an impact. The man with the blade on Scruffy Beard took a step back. And the giant landed a swift punch to the side of Scruffy Beard’s head, sending the man crumpling to the ground.
The clang of steel impacting with hard earth echoed off the brick walls of the alley.
The one who had saved Gabriel from being gutted bent down, picked up the fallen knife and slipped it into his own pocket.
“What are you doing with that?” the giant asked, with a slight pant behind his voice.
“His blade is safer with me than him. Don’t want to leave it lying where he can get at it.” The giant’s fellow had sharp, handsome features and the sort of lean, efficient build common around these parts of Town. He motioned to Gabriel. “Come along, and mind you don’t step on him.”
His heart slammed against his ribs. What in bleeding hell had just happened?
“You want them to finish what they started? No? Then come along befo
re they come to.” With a nudge to the massive giant, the fellow turned to leave the alley.
But the giant didn’t move. “Are you injured?” he asked Gabriel. “Do you need assistance?”
Gabriel blinked, then his pride—what was left of it—rushed to the forefront. Like a cloak, he gathered it around himself, using it to shield the brittle, frayed mess he’d become. He pulled his spine straight, squared his shoulders. From his waistcoat pocket, he grabbed his handkerchief and used it to wipe the blood at the corner of his mouth. “I am in no need of assistance.”
A lie if ever he’d told one.
“We can offer an escort back to your home, Mr. Tilden, if you would like,” the giant added.
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “How do you know my name? I do not recall an introduction.” These two knew who he was? How? Why? He was certain he’d never seen either before in his life.
“As we were coming upon the alley, we overheard one of them call you Tilden,” the lean fellow replied.
A perfectly reasonable explanation. “Thank you for the offer, but no. I am quite able to manage on my own.”
“But—”
The lean man laid a hand on the giant’s forearm. “If you insist.” He took a step back, giving Gabriel space.
Tugging the cloak of pride tighter about himself, Gabriel managed to keep his hands from shaking. He gave the two men a tip of the head. “Thank you, and good day.”
And he turned and walked out of the alley.
It wasn’t until he’d reached the inn, had walked through its shabby front door, that the full magnitude of the altercation in the alley hit him.
He shoved his key at the lock on his room’s door. Brass skidded across wood. He tried again. Then steadying his right hand with his left, he finally managed to get the key into the lock.
He lunged into the room, shut the door and with a trembling hand, turned the lock.
Oh God. Oh hell. He’d just been beaten in an alley over loans he couldn’t repay.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. It’s just the shock from the ordeal, he told himself as he swiped at his eyes. Letting out a grunt, he flinched. Damnation, his eye hurt.
Focusing his attention on assessing the damage to himself, he lit a candle and took it to the small mirror in the plain wooden frame hanging above the washstand.
His sigh echoed about the room. He certainly looked as though he’d been beaten in an alley in a questionable part of Town. His hair disheveled and the knot on his cravat crooked. A faint smear of blood near the corner of his mouth. And a swollen and bruised left eye.
You’re a damned pathetic mess of a man.
And the worst part? That statement wasn’t an exaggeration in the slightest.
He grabbed the short length of cloth hanging from the side of the washstand, dunked it in the pitcher of water and held the soaked cloth to his bruised eye. Water ran down his cheek, over his jaw, the skin there beginning to darken with a bruise.
The mirror reflected the view of the room behind him. The narrow bed with the thin brown blanket. The yellowed walls. The edge of the battered table.
Less than two months ago, he had been in Derbyshire, in his comfortable house. A decent-sized bed and warm blankets. Expanses of green grass and fields beyond his windows.
How far he had fallen in such a short amount of time.
He set the wet cloth on the washstand and, using the towel from the shelf below, patted his face dry. Granted, he still had no desire to return to the country house. The all-consuming loneliness, guilt his ever-present companion. But the prospect of losing his land forever if he couldn’t find a way to pay off Carter?
Panic rushed upon him.
He couldn’t allow that to happen. Couldn’t lose his land.
He crossed the short distance to the bed, sat on the edge of the mattress and dropped his head into his hands.
What the hell was he going to do?
A tide of misery crashed over him. Tears pricked at his eyes anew.
Anthony, I need you.
For many long moments, he sat there, his soul begging him to go to Anthony. If he could just be with Anthony...
But what then? Anthony would ask about the bruised eye and jaw. And what would Gabriel tell him? I was beaten in an alley because I owe thousands of pounds I can’t repay because I lost everything gambling.
A harsh wince crossed his face.
Who would want to be with such a pathetic mess of a man?
To have Anthony look on him with disgust and disdain...
Losing Anthony’s regard and affection—that scared him more than the possibility of being gutted and left for dead.
Letting out a broken sigh, he lifted his head. With a bone-tired weariness pervading his entire being, Gabriel pushed to his feet. Taking the wooden chair from the table, he wedged it under the door’s knob. Then he blew out the candle, climbed into bed and without bothering to remove his clothes, pulled the blankets up to cover himself.
But sleep eluded him.
* * *
The rattle of the wheels and the drone of rain filled the interior of the hackney as the driver guided the nag through the empty streets of Mayfair. The elegant town houses were dark, their inhabitants long gone to bed.
Throughout the journey across London, Gabriel had kept his attention focused out the door’s window in an attempt to occupy his mind and keep the worries from overwhelming him. For the past three days, he’d stayed in his room at the inn, only venturing out to go down to the inn’s dining room for meals. He looked a bruised mess, that was for certain, and Carter’s men had found him on the street once already.
But with each solitary day and night, the need to be with Anthony had grown stronger and stronger. Add to that the worry Carter would soon track him down at the inn...
When the day’s light rain had shifted to a downpour well after midnight, he had stuffed his belongings in his leather bag, thanked the innkeeper for his hospitality and set off on foot until he’d been able to find a hackney. All the while, he’d done his best not to think about how cowardly it was to scurry from the inn under the cover of darkness and heavy rains.
The hackney slowed to a stop. With his bag in hand, he stepped out into the rain, paid the jarvey and waited until the hackney had driven away and was out of view. Then he pulled open the door of Anthony’s building and went inside.
As he went up the stairs, his heart began to pound against his ribs.
Tell him the truth.
He’d resolved upon it. Had decided upon it. Had told himself if he went to Anthony’s, he needed to ask for his help. God knew, he hadn’t a notion how to help himself out of his current predicament, and he didn’t have anyone else he could turn to. In any case, given Anthony’s comments and questions the last time Gabriel was here, the man had to at least suspect that Gabriel was no longer squiring his sister about Town.
Stopping before Anthony’s door, he took a deep breath and lifted his arm.
The rap of his knock echoed about him.
Like an iron band, fear wrapped around his chest, shortening his breaths.
Yet Gabriel forced himself to remain at Anthony’s door, to not dart back down the stairs.
There was the faint creak of floorboards, of approaching footsteps. Then the click of a lock, and the door opened, revealing Anthony clad in nothing but a pair of trousers, his sandy blond hair sticking up at odd angles, his eyes barely half-open.
“Were you in bed?” Gabriel asked.
“Actually, yes.” Anthony scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s three in the morning, Gabriel. But do come in.”
“My apologies, I didn’t intend—”
Anthony shook his head, cutting him off. “I’m already out of bed, so come along inside. No reason to go back out in
to the rain.”
With a nod, Gabriel entered the parlor.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” Anthony asked, as he shut and locked the door.
I need your help.
The words rose within, yet he couldn’t get them past his lips.
Anthony turned from the door. His gaze swept over Gabriel’s face. “Gabriel, your eye. What happened? Are you all right?”
The worry, the true concern, the—dear God, was that love reflected in Anthony’s gaze?
The rapid beat of his pulse echoed in Gabriel’s ears. The fear the next words out of his mouth could turn that glimpse of love into disgust and disdain...
“You came to my rescue.” Anthony’s voice, from a month ago, sounded in his head. The smile that had been on Anthony’s face, his pride in Gabriel radiating from him. “You definitely need to be wearing armor.”
And his resolve crumbled.
Chapter Eleven
Though it was damned difficult, Anthony held on to his patience and waited for Gabriel to respond. The man had clearly been in some sort of altercation. His left eye wasn’t swollen shut, but it definitely appeared puffy, the surrounding skin darkened with a bruise. It was possible Gabriel had simply been sparring at Gentleman Jackson’s, but given Morgan’s report of Gabriel’s recent activities, Anthony doubted it was merely a sparring injury.
“I...I was accosted by footpads the other night.”
“Footpads?” Gabriel had been set upon by thieves?
“Yes. They were interested in my watch and the coins in my pocket.”
“Where did this happen?” Near the inn he’d been staying at, no doubt.
“Along a street.” Setting a leather bag at his feet, Gabriel began unbuttoning his greatcoat.
“Did you file a report at a station house?”
“No, it wasn’t worth the bother. They didn’t take that much.”
“But they hurt you, Gabriel. You really should file a report, give the constable descriptions of the men. Do you need a compress for your eye?”
