by Dawn Brower
She took it from David. It was the latest issue of Whispers from Lady X. She’d stopped reading the scandal sheet after they’d printed such revoltingly complimentary things about him.
She found what he’d taken issue to immediately. There, right at the top of the page, was this line: The Rogue Runner was seen leaving Wolverston Hall in the wee hours of the morning! She gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
“You couldn’t even wait a full fortnight before you started whoring yourself out. You’re just like your sister, aren’t you, Jemma?” David accused, disgust bleeding from his voice. “I guess blood will out, after all.”
The fear Jemma had felt when David first appeared evaporated at his harsh words. Before she could stop herself, her hand flew out, slapping him hard across his face, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing through the room.
David howled in pain. Her hand print was visible on his cheek, five close-together fingers. “You’re nothing but gutter-rubbish, just like she was.”
“You shut your bloody mouth,” Jemma snapped, ready to hit him again. “My sister was a good person, better than you can ever hope to be!”
David took a hasty step back from her, as if sensing her intentions. “I doubt that. She made it very clear amongst us bachelors what kind of woman she was, always sniffing around like a bitch in heat. Too bad Gramercy got to her first. But then, I’m sure she’s hurting for it in that convent now. Maybe I’ll find her—”
That was it. Jemma’s restraint snapped. She lunged toward him, throwing her weight against him, beating him with her fists. “You bastard. There is nothing decent left in you at all. You killed Philip, and now you go after my sister? I will make sure you pay!”
David caught her in his arms, his hands closing over her wrists in a vice-like grip. “You shouldn’t have said that, Jemma,” he hissed. “But I’m glad you did. Now I don’t have to worry if killing you is the wrong choice.”
“Gabriel’s coming,” she lied, desperately trying to break free from David’s grasp. “He’ll arrest you. You should leave now, while you still have a chance.”
David held her too tight, twisting her wrist hard, making her cry out in pain.
“Oh, Jemma, really.” David laughed, the mirthless noise chafing against her consciousness. “Do you think I haven’t been watching you? I know every secret of this house. There’s tunnels that pass through all the walls, chambers built upon chambers. Our ancestors were lecherous bastards, but those passages have served me well over the years.”
Revulsion hit her in a wave. Had he not been holding her so tightly, she would have doubled over. “You’re sick, you know that?”
“Settle down,” he ordered, rolling his eyes. “I never watched you and Philip. You were both far too dull for my interest.”
She never thought she’d be glad she’d had such a platonic-based marriage, but David’s admission centered her. Reminded her to fight harder, because she’d finally found love, and she didn’t intend on dying anytime soon.
She slammed her head back into David’s chest, hitting him square in the chin. He stumbled back, releasing her, realizing a second too late that she was gone, for she’d already spun out of his grasp. She’d made it several paces away, almost toward the door, when two clicks of a hammer stopped her in her tracks.
“I wouldn’t do that, Jemma.” David’s voice was lethally low. “There are so many more pleasant ways to die than being shot in the back. I’d like to make this as easy on you as possible, but it’s really all up to you.”
Slowly, she turned around. He held a pistol on her, aimed between her eyes. He took a step forward. At this distance, he’d be sure to hit her.
For a second, her heart stopped, as panic seized her. But no, she had to stay calm. She had to fight. Not just for herself, but for Gabriel. For her friends. For Philip, because without her, David wouldn’t pay for what he’d done.
“Why did you do it, David?” she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.
“Wolverston,” he corrected. “The title that should have been mine to begin with.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. If she could just get him talking, maybe he’d be distracted enough that she could get the gun from him.
“Do you know what it’s like, Jemma, to grow up in the shadow of perfect Philip?” He asked, ignoring her comment. “There wasn’t a single thing he couldn’t do well. Perfect marks in school. The perfect Corinthian. Hell, he was even perfect at cards. Everything came to him easily. How was I ever supposed to succeed, following after him? No matter what I did, to our parents, it was never as good as Philip.”
She could barely keep the disbelief from registering on her face. This was why he had killed Philip? Because his parents hadn’t loved him? That had never been the impression she got from the dowager countess. If anything, Jemma had thought the woman preferred David. She doted on her younger son, always overlooking his flaws.
But Jemma didn’t dare say that to him. She was terrified he’d shoot her, so she remained silent. He didn’t seem to notice. She got the feeling he was speaking more for his own benefit than hers. But the gun never faltered.
“I told myself it wasn’t worth it to keep trying. If everyone was determined to cast me in the role of the dissolute spare, then that’s what I’d be. Philip wanted to be responsible, then I’d let him be.” David’s face took on a dark cast, the whites of his eyes clearly visible.
He was mad, she thought. Bloody unhinged. But as he ranted, the gun slipped. Just the tiniest bit, but enough that she thought maybe, if he kept talking, he might loosen his grip more.
It was the only chance she had.
She didn’t trust herself to speak. The venom, the outrage she felt for him would probably come out. She simply nodded, as if she understood every word he said. As if he hadn’t slaughtered his own brother—her husband—in cold blood over nothing more than an enlarged sense of inadequacy.
“You’ve got to understand, Jemma.” He didn’t sound so self-assured anymore. “I begged Philip to help me, and he wouldn’t. Do you know what the Masons do to people who don’t pay? Philip had the money, and he didn’t want to give it to me. I had to kill him. It was the only way I would get the money.”
She nodded, her eyes never leaving the gun. It had slipped another two inches, now hanging loosely from his hand, but still aimed at her head.
“And now, I have to kill you. But at least, you’ll be with Philip. That’s what you wanted, right, Jemma?”
No, she screamed internally. She wanted to live. To have a future with Gabriel.
He took a step closer, then another. The gun slipped a little more.
She had one chance. When he came toward her again, she lunged for him, hitting him hard.
“I will never understand,” she hissed, as they both fell to the floor, scrambling on their hands and knees for the gun. “You killed him, David. Your brother. All he ever did was care about you, and you killed him.”
“Because I had to,” David insisted, slamming into her.
His heavier weight knocked her over, and she hit the ground hard, her breath knocked out of her. David took advantage of her indisposition, making a wild grab for the gun.
She kicked out, hoping to stop him, but her feet met air.
And then the gun went off.
Chapter 11
This is the most shocking news we’ve ever had to report: David Forster, the new Earl of Wolverston, has been arrested by the Rogue Runner! The charge?
Murder—and not just any murder, but the murder of the previous Earl of Wolverston! We can’t begin to fathom what would possess a man to kill his own brother, but we hope David Forster meets his maker soon at the end of a noose.
-Whispers from Lady X
Gabriel hated being away from Jemma, but work had been incredibly busy. The transport for Arthur Garland had been hijacked, with a patrolman being stabbed by Garland’s henchmen. Garland had managed to escape—and it had taken three days of pounding the
streets to find him. The Runners had caught him just as he was about to board a ship to America.
Once Garland was safely in Newgate, Gabriel wasted no time in going to Wolverston Hall. He didn’t even stop at his own flat. Seeing Jemma was far more important than getting a good night’s rest. Since she wasn’t expecting him, he’d chance going in the front entrance. When the hack dropped him off outside her house, he damn near ran up the walk, so eager was he to see her.
He knocked on the door, waiting a minute before knocking again. No one came. He knocked a third time, and still no one answered. That didn’t make any sense.
As he was debating if he ought to pick the lock, another hack pulled up in front of the house, and a couple got out. He recognized Philip’s cousin Nicholas, the Duke of Wycliffe and his lofty redheaded wife. They waved at him as they came closer, stopping in front of the house next to him.
“Is Jemma not answering?” Nicholas asked.
“She should be home,” Felicity said. “But I think she did give the servants a half day, so that could be why she’s not answering. We are supposed to meet for cards tonight, but I forgot my anatomy book. I need it for my experiments.”
Gabriel didn’t ask what kind of experiments the duchess was conducting. If the scandal sheets were any indication, she dabbled in strange things he’d rather not know about, like alchemy.
“Should we go around the back?” he suggested. “She might be somewhere in the house where she can’t hear the front door.”
“That would make sense,” Nicholas agreed.
They’d started toward the back gate when he heard a sound that made his blood run cold with its familiarity.
A gunshot.
“Is that what I think it is?” the duke asked, but Gabriel was already rushing back around the house.
In a minute flat, he had the door lock picked and was inside. “Jemma!” he shouted, running through the hall, desperate to find her. When she didn’t respond, fear surged through him, propelling him on even faster.
The door to the parlor was open. Sprinting toward it, he drew his own weapon. He skidded to a stop in front of the door. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the room, making his eyes water. His heart leapt in his chest.
Yet, when he entered the room, it wasn’t Jemma he saw in a crumpled-up heap on the ground.
It was David.
He holstered his own gun, then rushed forward, gathering her in his arms. Relief poured through him, light and blissful, making him feel as though he was high up amongst the clouds. He held her to him, reassuring himself she was real; she was alive.
He hadn’t lost her.
She pulled back from him, but before he could protest, she crushed her lips to his in a fiery kiss. For a moment, he forgot about everything except for her—the taste of her, the floral smell of her, tinged with the foul scent of gunpowder. He couldn’t stop touching her, for every brush of his rough fingertips against her soft skin felt like a damn miracle.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he said, when they finally parted.
“You almost did.” Her breath came out in irregular pants, and he noticed the scrape across her face, the bruise upon her wrists.
“He hurt you.” Rage boiled in him, as he looked over at David, expecting to find the bastard still flat upon the ground.
But he wasn’t—slowly, David inched toward the settee.
Gabriel followed his line of vision. There, underneath the settee, was another gun. From the look of it, it would have to be reloaded before it could be shot again, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He pulled out his gun, immediately pointing it at David.
“Don’t even think about it,” he barked.
David lifted his head, meeting him with bleary, unfocused eyes. The man let out a pitiful groan, dropping his head back down on the carpet.
At that moment, Nicholas entered the room, his jaw dropping as he surveyed the room. “Well, then,” he said, coming to stand by Jemma. He slid his arm around her, offering his support.
“Nicholas,” David whined. “This harlot attacked me. You must know that.”
Nicholas eyed his cousin with the hard glare that had made him famous in the House of Lords and a fixture in the scandal sheets. “I know nothing like that. And as we speak, my wife is on her way to Bow Street. Soon, this place will be invaded by Runners, all willing to support Gabriel. You’ve overplayed your hand, Cousin.”
“You never were a good gambler,” Jemma added, with a grin. “This time, you picked the wrong opponent.”
Gabriel pulled her to him, placing a kiss on the top of her head. This woman was his equal partner in every way, and God, he was so bloody glad to have her near him.
It was over. Relief flooded through Jemma, as she snuggled up against Gabriel on the settee. She’d done it—she’d proved David had killed Philip. Now, maybe, her husband’s soul could rest in peace.
Once Gabriel had cuffed David, Felicity had gone to Bow Street to summon another Runner. Patrolmen Wilcox and Green had come quickly, both of them shocked when they realized whom they had to take into custody.
“But he’s a peer,” Wilcox exclaimed, before Green elbowed him. At Gabriel’s command, each of them took one of David’s arms, and off they went. Nicholas and Felicity rode with them, to give the Runners their statement.
Gabriel remained to make sure that she was fine. She knew they’d have to go into the station soon, but for now, she was glad to have him here with her. She laid her head on his broad chest, taking comfort in the sturdy strength of him. He held a cold cloth to her forehead, to reduce the swelling of the bump on her head from where she’d hit the floor.
Other than the bump, she’d escaped with no injuries. She could barely believe it—she’d been so scared when David emerged with the gun in his hand.
“You’re safe now,” Gabriel murmured, drawing her closer to him.
He knew exactly what to say. That confirmation, and the warmth of him against her, was everything she’d needed. For the first time in a long time, she felt as though she’d done the right thing.
“It’s over, right? Really and truly over?” She tilted her head up to look him in the eyes, thinking that she could spend a lifetime staring into their depths.
“I’ll meet with the magistrate. David will still have to go through trial,” Gabriel said. “But given both the Duke and Duchess of Wycliffe can verify our testimony, and we have the buttons, I think we have a solid chance at him being arrested and sent to Newgate.”
“He’ll finally pay for what he did to Philip.” Jemma breathed a huge sigh of relief. “It won’t bring back Philip, but at least it’s something.”
“That it is,” Gabriel agreed, his eyes resting on her fondly. “You did it, Jemma. I told you that you were a brilliant investigator.”
“We did it,” she corrected. “Partners, remember?”
“Aye.” Gabriel tweaked her nose, grinning. “And you don’t even have to work to convince me this time.”
“A shame,” Jemma said teasingly. “I had quite the persuasive argument planned.”
“Perhaps I spoke too soon.” Gabriel placed the cloth on the table. “That bump is looking better already. Now what’s this about persuasion?”
For the next few minutes, she showed him with her kisses just how well-suited they were as partners. When they broke apart, both panting and grinning, Jemma thought that if this was what the future looked like, then it would be bright indeed.
“I didn’t tell you where I found that letter from Philip.” She gestured to the mess of clippings on the floor. “It was in that box—” she pointed to the gold box, facedown on the carpet, “where I kept all the clippings about you from Whispers from Lady X.”
“You did that?” Gabriel’s eyes widened, his grin growing.
“Yes. I couldn’t stand not knowing what you were doing,” she said. “And I guess Philip figured it out, after we were married. That’s why he put the letter in that box. He knew I’d check there eventually.”
Gabriel leaned back against the cushions, shaking his head. “He always was the cleverest person in the room.”
“Always. I will miss that.” She would miss so much about Philip—but at least now, she had justice for him.
“Did David say how he found out we were investigating?” Gabriel asked, bringing her back to reality.
She pointed to the paper David had left on the table. “Whispers from Lady X saw you leave the other morning.”
Gabriel uttered a foul curse. “And we didn’t even do anything.”
“It never matters,” she told him. “All it takes is the appearance of a scandal.”
“Then it is a good thing we already agreed to wait.” Gabriel squeezed her hand, standing up from the settee.
She pulled him back down next to her. “I find I have made far too many decisions based upon the opinions of the ton. Let Lady X print what she wants. We will move at our own pace.”
And so they did, with deference to their own desires, and no one else’s.
Epilogue
Word has it that Gabriel Sinclair, our favorite Rogue Runner, has wed the scandalous widow of the Earl of Wolverston. We’d like to say this is the last time we’ll ever write about Jemma Gregory Forster Sinclair, but we all know that with this family, anything is possible.
-Whispers from Lady X, July 1817
Monmorte, Essex
July, 1817
One year and ten days, give or take, since the death of the Earl of Wolverston
It rained again.
As the Year Without a Summer faded into another cold, wet year, Jemma had come to associate the Church of All Souls with that ever-present downpour from the sky. So much had changed in the last year, but there was still the wet grass at graveside, seeping into the thin muslin of her lilac walking dress as she knelt before Philip’s grave marker.
“Rosemary for remembrance,” she murmured, setting down a fresh bouquet of rosemary sprigs and lilies. “Not that I ever needed it to remember you.”