Caught by Surprise

by Jen Turano

  Stepping from the stairs, Temperance exchanged smiles with Permilia. Agreeing to rejoin her friend after she dealt with what should be the last of the flower deliveries, Temperance headed off down a hallway.

  She reached the backroom a short time later, finding two deliverymen wearing work aprons that were embroidered with a rose—a signature design that Charles Klunder, New York’s renowned florist, used to advertise his business.

  Giving the many flower arrangements that were littering the tables and floor a quick glance, she lifted her head. “These are meant for the dining room, so if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you where to put them.”

  Leading the way to the large room on the first floor where the guests that evening were to be served a sumptuous twelve-course meal, Temperance moved through the tables, turning to gesture the men forward when she found some tables that had no flowers on them.

  Her hand froze midgesture, though, when one of the men dropped a flower arrangement to the ground, breaking the vase in the process, right as he pulled a pistol from his apron pocket and aimed it her way.

  Her only thought was to avoid a bullet, so she snatched up a sharp knife meant to cut the meat during course number five and threw it at the man. She let out an incredibly loud shriek when a far sharper knife than she’d just thrown whizzed past her ear, and she dropped to the floor in search of cover.

  A howl of rage suggested she might have, curiously enough, met her mark with her knife, but before she could give herself a pat on the back, a shot rang out, glass shattered, and the sound of footsteps pounding her way had her scrambling across the floor on all fours.

  As additional shots rang out, terror rose in her throat, but then she heard Gilbert yelling over the mayhem, and she knew without a doubt that today was not going to be the day she died.

  Chapter

  Twenty

  Rage pounded through Gilbert’s veins as he set his sights on the two men randomly firing their pistols through the dining room, trying to hit Temperance, who was obviously on the ground somewhere.

  He had no idea if she’d been hit but knew the only way to get to her was by dealing with the men trying to kill her. Pulling out his pistol, he took deliberate aim at one of the men, pulled the trigger, then felt a flash of satisfaction when that man staggered backward, dropped his pistol, and plunged to the ground. Aiming for the other man, he fired off a shot, missed, then crouched behind a table and began exchanging bullets across the dining room.

  As the vase shattered on the table he was crouching behind, Gilbert stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out more bullets. Before he could reload his pistol though, the bullets that had been whizzing his way suddenly stopped. A second later, amidst a bout of swearing, Gilbert realized the man’s pistol was jammed, and knowing it was now or never, he sprang into motion.

  Racing around the tables that separated him from the attacker, he got to within two feet of the man and launched himself through the air, taking the man to the floor a second later.

  In a rumble of grunts, curses, and flailing limbs, Gilbert managed to pin the man to the ground, drawing back a fist and planting it against the man’s jaw.

  Unfortunately, the man turned out to be a hardy sort, and the next second, Gilbert was rolling across a floor covered in shattered glass with Temperance’s attacker rolling with him.

  A turned-over chair stopped their momentum just as a torrent of water poured over their heads, and a crystal vase was brought down on the attacker’s head. The man’s eyes rolled up into his head as his body went limp.

  Shaking wet hair out of his eyes, Gilbert rolled to the right, looked up, and found Temperance standing over him, holding a crystal vase and looking completely furious.

  Before he could get so much as a single word out of his mouth, she raised the vase over her head again, but paused when a voice rang out.

  “Temperance, don’t hit him again. He’ll not be able to give us answers if he’s not left with at least a semblance of wits about him.”

  Turning his head, Gilbert caught sight of Edwina Sinclair racing over the glass-strewn floor, her feet encased in what seemed to be gardening boots. She’d obviously been interrupted in the process of getting prepared for the ball that evening because she was wearing a velvet wrapper with feathers attached to the collar, and half her hair was wrapped up in rags, while the other half was streaming over her shoulder. Her face was covered in an unusual orange paste, but she didn’t appear to be bothered by that as she lurched to a stop beside the unconscious man, bent over, then nudged him with her pistol. Straightening, she gave Temperance a nod of clear approval.

  “Excellent job, Temperance. You’ve laid him low and saved Gilbert some additional bruises in the end, although . . .” Edwina looked back at him. “Your nose is bleeding, Gilbert, and I imagine you’re going to sport two black eyes before long.”

  “Goodness, Gilbert, I didn’t notice you were bleeding,” Temperance said, whipping a napkin from a table before crouching down beside him and pressing it against his nose. “Don’t squirm,” she admonished when he realized his nose was throbbing somewhat painfully.

  Helping him to a sitting position, she kept the napkin pressed firmly against his nose even as she brushed wet hair from his eyes. “I’m sorry about the water. The vase was the first thing I saw to use as a weapon.”

  “It was a good choice,” he said, his voice muffled because of the napkin. “Although you should have yelled for help instead of taking on the job yourself. You could have been hurt coming to my rescue.”

  She smiled and patted his shoulder. “If you’ll recall, it’s what we do—we look out for one another.” She turned her head as additional people began swarming into the dining room. “It does seem as if our rescuing each other is going to get a bit of a reprieve because it appears there’s a good half-dozen Pinkerton agents on the scene now.”

  “I’m afraid my days of being a fledgling agent are certain to be numbered,” Edwina said, a note of disgust in her voice. “I can’t imagine many of the other agents would have been so negligent as to allow two full-blown criminals to slip into the very house they were supposed to be guarding.” She blew out a breath. “I also can’t imagine they’d be so negligent because they were enjoying a new skin regimen that’s supposed to hold wrinkles at bay.”

  “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself, Edwina, especially since, if you’ll recall, you’re not on duty,” Temperance pointed out, peeking under the napkin still attached to Gilbert’s nose before she pressed it right back again. “Still bleeding,” she told him before she looked up at Edwina. “And, really, it’s not as if we could have expected these men to sneak in here dressed in uniforms worn by our florist of choice today. Who goes to those lengths to do away with an ordinary woman whose death, in my humble opinion, won’t benefit a single soul?”

  “Someone who was given the job of killing you and is now scared to death they’re going to be killed because they haven’t been able to achieve any success with seeing you dead.”

  Looking past Edwina, who’d immediately begun beaming at the newcomer, although she did seem to be trying to hide that fact behind a raised hand since it wasn’t every day a Pinkerton detective was seen beaming warmly at a fellow agent, Gilbert discovered Agent Samuel McParland had joined them. He was already looking the unconscious man up and down before he shook his head.

  “That’s Richard the Snake, and I bet the other man is Bernie the Butcher, which means someone’s put a very attractive price on your head, Temperance.”

  Temperance frowned. “Why would anyone of the criminal persuasion call themselves Richard the Snake? That’s hardly discreet. He should have simply called himself The Snake, or Slithers, which is far scarier and lends a bit of mystery to his identity.”

  Agent McParland crouched down, opened one of Richard the Snake’s eyes, then took his finger away. “Odd as this is going to seem, this man’s name isn’t Richard. It’s Harvey, but before you ask me why he goes by Richa
rd, I have no idea, nor can we ask him since I do believe he’s going to be out for a while. What happened to him?”

  “Temperance brought a crystal vase down on his head,” Gilbert said.

  “Nice.” Agent McParland smiled at Temperance before he straightened. “That man alive?” he yelled to Eugene, who was standing next to the man Gilbert had shot, holding a silver knife in his hand that seemed to be dripping blood.

  “He’s fine, ’cept for the bullet hole in his arm,” Eugene said. “And the hole left by this fancy piece of dinnerware.”

  Agent McParland caught Gilbert’s eye. “You stabbed him with a dinner knife?”

  “That must have been Temperance, although I was responsible for shooting Bernie the, er . . . Butcher.”

  “Seems like he got carved up instead of doing the carving he’s so fond of,” Agent McParland said before he arched a brow Temperance’s way. “Want to explain to me how it happened that you ended up alone with two members of the criminal class who seem intent on murdering you?”

  Taking a moment to explain what had happened, Temperance ended with “Gilbert arrived on the scene, there was a fierce gun battle, he shot one of the men, and I helped by hitting that man with a vase.”

  Agent McParland’s brows drew together. “I believe you neglected to address how you managed to stab the man with a dinner knife.”

  A trace of a smile flickered over Temperance’s face. “I didn’t stab him. I merely got lucky when I threw the knife his way. Imagine my surprise when I actually hit someone.” She turned her smile on Gilbert. “If nothing else, that knife-wielding lesson taught me I’m ill-equipped to handle myself in a knife fight, which is why I threw it and ran.”

  The rage that had been lingering in his veins disappeared as something warm, and quite frankly, fuzzy, replaced it. Even though Temperance had always been an impulsive sort, she’d matured over the years they’d been apart—had even become a bit practical. That practicality, mixed in with the whimsicality she’d always embraced, made her downright irresistible and . . . made him long to kiss her.

  As soon as that thought took hold, his gaze dropped to her lips, lingering on the small crescent-shaped indentation that was right next to the corner of her lip, brought about by her smile.

  He wanted to kiss that spot, and then move on to kiss the fullness of lips that were a very enticing shade of pink, something he’d never noticed before, but something he certainly wasn’t going to forget again.

  Leaning forward, he stilled when Temperance suddenly whipped the napkin from his nose, replacing it with a soaking wet napkin someone had handed her. Just like that, he was swept back to reality and to a room filled to the gills with people, which certainly wasn’t a setting that was appropriate for sharing a first kiss with Temperance, or even thinking about a first kiss with her.

  “Forgive me, Gilbert, am I hurting you?” Temperance asked, her smile fading away.

  “Not at all” were the only words he seemed capable of summoning up.

  “Why are you scowling then?”

  Gilbert was spared an immediate response when Agent McParland and a few other agents carted the two criminals from the dining room. Bernie the Butcher began causing such a ruckus that it took four agents to subdue him, which went far in proving the man was not a bargain criminal-for-hire, especially since he’d been shot and stabbed with a knife, yet was still able to fight.

  After the agents left the room, trailed by Edwina, who was clomping after them in her garden boots, Gilbert accepted the hand Temperance held out to him, and with water dripping off him and shards of broken glass tinkling to the floor, he rose to his feet.

  Temperance immediately began dusting him off with another napkin, right as the room swarmed with additional people, all of whom seemed to be in some state of dishabille. Before he could do more than gape at the ladies rushing his way in a flutter of wrappers that all sported brightly colored feathers, and all of whom had different colored paste on their faces, Gilbert was surrounded.

  “Are either of you hurt?” Miss Henrietta demanded as she pulled Temperance into a hug, one she seemed in no hurry to end since she kept Temperance close as she peered at him through violet paste that lent her a somewhat terrifying appearance. “Why is your face all bloody?”

  Gilbert grabbed another napkin, shook it free of glass, then took a swipe at his face. “One of the attackers punched me in the nose, but I’m fine.” He smiled. “I’m sure the black eyes I’ve been told I’ll soon sport will lend me the reputation of dashing gentleman of intrigue about town.”

  “Add that in with the news you’re now the Earl of Strafford, and I’m afraid the ladies will be relentless in their pursuit,” Permilia said, stepping up next to him. Shaking her head, she took the napkin from him. “Allow me. You’re missing the worst of it.”

  Shooting a glance to Temperance to see how she was reacting to the reminder he’d inherited a somewhat lofty title, Gilbert found her still being fussed over by Miss Henrietta, who was now holding Temperance’s hand and peppering her with questions.

  “Do tell me,” Permilia said quietly to Gilbert, “that you’ve been spending your time over the past day and a half composing one of your infamous lists that will assist you in presenting Temperance with a compelling argument as to why she’d be quite content to become a countess.”

  His lips curved. “Asher has obviously been carrying tales to you about my habit of creating lists. But yes, I have begun compiling a list.”

  “May I hope it’s a detailed list—filled with very compelling ideas?”

  Gilbert leaned closer. “I’m afraid it’s not complete, which is one of the reasons I’ve made myself scarce over the past day.”

  Permilia frowned. “How complete is it?”

  “I’ve only come up with one valid reason for her to want to become a countess—that reason being there’s plenty of beautiful scenery in England I know she’d love to paint, although . . .”

  “You made yourself scarce because you’ve been struggling to make a list?” Temperance asked, sidling up right beside him even as she sent him a look of exasperation.

  Gilbert arched a brow. “Did it ever occur to you that Permilia and I were having what one might call a private conversation?”

  She arched a brow right back at him. “You should have sought out a private setting then, but getting back to you making yourself scarce—you do realize that I’ve been more than put out with you for not calling on me to discuss your new circumstances, don’t you?”

  “Since I knew you found the idea of me acquiring a title disconcerting, and since I’ve always known that you prefer to sort through troubling information well removed from the source of that trouble, I thought you’d appreciate me giving you uninterrupted time to reconcile yourself with the idea of becoming a countess.”

  “That was very considerate of him, dear,” Miss Henrietta called from a few feet away.

  Temperance immediately turned her back on Miss Henrietta and tugged him around as well, effectively stopping that woman from reading their lips.

  “I would make an abysmal countess, as you very well know.”

  He ignored that. “I also knew you were out of sorts yesterday—or perhaps furious would be a better word—after learning your parents changed their plans about whom they wanted as your guardian in case anything happened to them. Discovering they’d chosen Wayne over my parents must have left you reeling, which, again, is why I thought it would be for the best to allow you time to digest everything that had been disclosed without having me around to distract you.”

  Something interesting flashed through Temperance’s eyes before she took hold of his arm and, for some unknown reason, began pulling him toward the door.

  “You’re not throwing me out, are you?” was all he could think to ask.

  She stopped in her tracks. “Don’t be ridiculous. I only wish to continue this conversation elsewhere. If you’ve neglected to notice, we’ve got quite the audience, some of whom h
ave been stealing closer and closer to us.”

  Turning, he found Miss Henrietta and Mrs. Davenport still advancing their way, both ladies stopping abruptly when they evidently realized they’d been spotted.

  “Where are you two going?” Miss Henrietta asked, batting innocent lashes his way.

  “I need to have a private chat with Gilbert,” Temperance said.

  She inclined her head. “The library would be a lovely spot for a chat, and . . . I’ll have tea sent around immediately.”

  “Why are you looking so . . . pleased?” Temperance asked Miss Henrietta, right as Mrs. Davenport, her face covered in orange paste, sent Gilbert a smile as she sauntered ever so casually past him, dropping something into his pocket.

  “I’m sure I’m not looking pleased, dear,” Miss Henrietta returned. “It must be the violet-colored paste Mrs. Davenport convinced me to put on my face.” She gave a little flutter of her hands. “Who knew it would affect my expressions, although . . . speaking of expressions, I am beyond curious as to what caused the expression you were just wearing. May I dare hope it was an epiphany on your part regarding . . .” She batted lashes Gilbert’s way once again.

  “Your talent with observation is certain to get you into trouble one day” was all Temperance said to that before she pulled Gilbert into motion and out of the room, moving down the hallway at a fast clip.

  As he broke into a trot to keep pace with her, he stuck his hand in his pocket, swallowing a laugh when his fingers enclosed around the object Mrs. Davenport had slipped into his pocket. It was a ring.

  Why she thought he might need a ring at this point in time was anyone’s guess, unless she and Miss Henrietta had come to some type of conclusion about that epiphany Miss Henrietta had mentioned, one that very well might revolve around Temperance’s feelings for . . .