Scandalous Again

by Christina Dodd

  Yet Gabriel knew her. Knew she comprehended the danger Rumbelow posed to her. To everyone. And she would do whatever was needed to save lives and bring Rumbelow to justice.

  She was the bravest woman—the bravest person—he’d ever met. As he watched her disappear through the entry, he wanted to chase after her, to take her away from Rumbelow, to kill the man for daring to lay hands on Gabriel’s woman. The only thing that stopped Gabriel was a bone-deep desire for revenge for Jerry, the need to capture the French ship that prowled their shores with impunity and the knowledge that Maddie would box his ears for faltering now.

  He’d told her to trust him. Now he had to trust her to do her part to capture Rumbelow. She was the only help he had.

  The gaming chamber was a melee of weeping adies, of indignant lords and jubilant thieves.

  Gabriel noted one brute of a footman had a crying Miss Greene backed into a corner while he stripped her of jewels in a most lascivious manner. His hands wandered over her body with a freedom that made her cringe and sob. It was too much for Gabriel, seeing that, knowing that the same thing might be happening to Madeline, wondering if he would hear a gunshot . . . wondering if she would be the one behind the pistol or in front of it.

  Gabriel knew he had to give Rumbelow enough time to escape through the tunnel. Not too much time. Just enough of a head start so he could lead him to the French ship. In the meantime, Gabriel couldn’t stand it anymore. Slipping his blade from the sleeve of his jacket, he stepped up behind the footman and pressed it to his neck. “Let her go,” he murmured, “and give me your gun.”

  The burly footman laughed. “Who ye tryin’ t’ scare with that little sticker?”

  “No one.” Gabriel smacked his knuckles hard into the blackguard’s Adam’s apple, and when the man doubled over, choking, Gabriel picked up a small table and knocked him in the back of the head.

  The pistol went flying. The fellow fell face first onto the hard floor. Gabriel heard the sound as his nose broke, saw the splatter of blood.

  One of the other footmen saw the violence and took a step toward Gabriel. Gabriel faced him, knife held in fighter’s stance. “Come on,” Gabriel urged. “I’m itching for a fight.”

  The footman backed away. Robbing the women was easier. He wanted only easy pickings.

  Picking up the pistol, Gabriel tucked it into his waistband and started for the door.

  He passed Big Bill, pistol cocked, watching the action in the gaming room and keeping an eye on the door of the bedchamber. So. Big Bill’s faith in his master was failing. Big Bill could be used. He could be valuable. “Come on, then,” Gabriel said to him.

  Big Bill started, then pointed his pistol at Gabriel. “ ’Ey, where ye goin’? Get back in there. We’re robbin’ ye.”

  “Rumbelow’s not really in there.”

  Gabriel had Big Bill’s full attention. “Aye, ’e is.”

  “No, he’s not.” Gabriel walked backward down the corridor and considered Big Bill like a compatriot.

  Mouth open, Big Bill thought about it, then stepped into the corridor and followed Gabriel. “Why the ’ell would I listen t’ ye? Ye stole me woman.”

  “She’s a duchess.” Gabriel kept a wary eye on that gun. “She was never your woman.”

  Big Bill bared rotting teeth. “I know wot a woman wants, and she wanted me.”

  Leaning his ear against the door, Gabriel heard nothing. Not a wisp of sound. Not a scream. Not a shot. “How long have they been gone?” he asked.

  “I . . . dunno,” Big Bill stammered. “Ten minutes.”

  “That seems right.” In that ten minutes, Rumbelow had used his knife to slit open the wallpaper and open the passage. Madeline was giving him no trouble, so depending on the condition below ground, they would be moving swiftly. They would exit by the stable, have the horses brought around and be off toward the rendezvous with the ship.

  Straightening away from the door, Gabriel asked Big Bill, “Do you hear anything?”

  Staring at Gabriel as if he’d run mad, Big Bill pressed his ear to the door. “Nay.”

  “Is Rumbelow always so quiet when he takes his pleasure?”

  Big Bill lifted his head. “Nay, there’s usually some screamin’ and cryin’, and it ain’t ‘is.”

  “They’re gone.” Gabriel watched as bewilderment and suspicion fought for possession of Big Bill. “Escaped out the passage.”

  “Passage? There’s no . . .” Big Bill’s bloodshot eyes showed white around the irises.

  “Rumbelow figured out a way to keep everyone busy while he got away.”

  Big Bill spit a brown stream of tobacco onto the polished wood floor. “He wouldn’t leave one hundred thousand quid. ‘Tis still in the safe.”

  “Really?” Gabriel drawled. “Do you think so?”

  Big Bill had trusted the wrong man, but he wasn’t stupid. He aimed his pistol at the handle.

  Gabriel covered his ears.

  Big Bill shot off the lock. The report echoed up and down the hall. Kicking open the door, Big Bill stormed in. Stopped. Gasped.

  A man-sized black hole gaped in the wall, opening onto the black depths of the underground corridor.

  Madeline was gone. Vanished in the custody of a lawless, immoral thief.

  Just as Gabriel had planned. Guilt, worry and fear chased through his veins. Had he done the wrong thing? Was revenge for Jerry worth Madeline’s life?

  Yet how could Gabriel falter, when Rumbelow had done so much wrong, and so richly deserved to be removed from this world?

  Cursing viciously, Big Bill stormed back toward the gaming chamber.

  Gabriel followed close on his heels.

  The scene had changed since they’d left. Lord Achard slashed at two of the footmen with his wicked cane-sword, leaving them howling and bleeding. Lady Tabard hid Thomasin behind her ample girth, and under the lash of her tongue, their attacker was so cowed he backed away and pulled his forelock. Mr. Darnel’s valet lay bleeding on the floor, felled by a blow to the face. Mr. Darnel stood over him, protecting him with the kind of pugilism usually seen only in the auspices of the prizefighting ring.

  In a furious undertone, Big Bill declared, “I tol’ Rumbelow this wouldn’t work. I tol’ ‘im they’d fight back if their loved ones was attacked.”

  As one footman lifted his pistol to shoot Lord Achard, Big Bill grabbed a gun from another of his cohorts and shot the fellow in the back. The footman fell forward, sprawled in the agony of death. The explosion brought the room to a shocked silence. Smoke from the pistol wreathed Big Bill’s head as he scowled. “Ye don’t shoot a nobleman, ye fools. They’ll hunt ye down and hang ye fer sure.”

  The thieves shuffled their feet and hung their heads.

  Satisfied they’d been properly intimidated, Big Bill rushed to the safe and knelt beside it. He pulled a key from his pocket—so much for Rumbelow’s claim there were only two keys. Opened the door. Pawing the bundles of money out on the floor, he ripped the ties off . . . and found blank sheets of paper.

  Every person in the room stared.

  “Where’s the cash?” Mr. Payborn asked.

  One of the other footmen stepped up. “That’s what I want t’ know. Where’s the bleedin’ money?”

  “Bastard,” Big Bill muttered.

  “The money’s gone. Long gone.” Fixing them all with a cool glance that threatened them with the hangman’s rope, Gabriel said, “You might want to be long gone, too.”

  One of the footmen dropped the jewelry he had in his hand. “I knew it. ‘Twas too easy.” Lifting the window, he jumped out.

  The fighting between the gentlemen and the thieves began anew, but the balance had changed. The gentlemen knew the footmen wouldn’t dare shoot them. The footmen knew they were outnumbered.

  “Bastard,” Big Bill said again. With a disgusted glance around, he headed toward the door.

  Gabriel followed hard on his heels. Big Bill knew where to go. Now—if they could only get there on time.
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  Chapter Thirty-one

  Did Gabriel love her?

  Madeline and Rumbelow emerged from the dark tunnel covered in dust and cobwebs. Madeline coughed as she drew in her first breath of fresh air, but Mr. Rumbelow gave her no time to dust herself off. He marched her along at a brisk pace, heading toward the stables.

  Gabriel would come after her, she had no doubt of that. He was an honorable man who had demanded her trust, and earned it. She trusted him to come after her, but why? Because it was the honorable thing to do? Because he wanted to catch Mr. Rumbelow and get revenge for Jerry? Or because he couldn’t bear to leave her in Mr. Rumbelow’s hands?

  Did Gabriel love her?

  Would she ever know? For one of them could die.

  Her bag banged on her shin. A sparse rain fell from the lowering gray clouds, and the overcast sky matched her mood.

  She knew everything that Gabriel wanted as clearly as if he’d told her. He wanted her to go with Mr. Rumbelow to the rendezvous place so Gabriel’s men could capture Mr. Rumbelow, deliver him to justice, and capture the ship that waited for him. She understood all of that, but if something went wrong—and she recalled far too many things already had—and she was killed, would Gabriel weep? Would he remember her with affection, or as the greatest calamity to visit his life?

  She wanted, she needed the assurance that this gut-wrenching need to be near him, this longing, this desire, was reciprocated. The everything he demanded from her, she wanted from him.

  When they reached the stables, Mr. Rumbelow shook the hostler awake. “Hey! Hitch up the cabriolet. Use Campion’s matched grays. Now!”

  The hostler looked out at the rain, then back at Mr. Rumbelow as if he were insane. But he clambered to his feet. “Aye, Mr. Rumbelow, sir. Whatever ye say.”

  As the hostler led the horses from their stalls, Mr. Rumbelow leaned against the wall and beamed at Madeline. “Clever, what? I recognized you the first time I saw you.”

  Madeline set the heavy bag down and rubbed her aching arm. “Very clever.”

  “I knew I could make use of you somehow, but I never imagined I’d win you.” He loomed over her so suddenly she jumped. “Give us a kiss.”

  In the brisk tone she used to dissuade her father from his wildest schemes, she said, “Let’s get on the road first. Gabriel’s no fool. He’ll be after us soon.”

  “He’ll have to break down the door to the bedchamber, and he’ll not do that for a good long while. My footmen will keep him busy.”

  Pressing her hand to Mr. Rumbelow’s chest, she looked up at him with tacit admiration. “You planned that very well, I think. A stroke of genius, I would call it.”

  “Genius?” He nuzzled her neck.

  “Distract the footmen with promise of jewelry provided by the families of the very gamblers you’re stealing from.” She had to restrain herself from smacking him under the chin, just as she had smacked Big Bill. Instead, she kept talking. “The gamblers are so concerned with their family’s safety that they don’t dare fight back, and the footmen are having so much fun robbing a bunch of rich sitting ducks, they don’t know you’ve stolen the ante.”

  Lifting his head, Mr. Rumbelow subsided against the wall, a flattered smile playing around his lips. “You are a smart one. How did you know I had the ante?”

  She hadn’t, until he confirmed her suspicions. “You’re clever. You never intended to leave it.”

  The hostler stepped around the corner. “Yer cabriolet is ready, sir, but even with the top up, ye’re going t’ get wet.” He craned his neck to look at the sky. “If I know me weather, and I do, it’s about t’ do more than spit.”

  “No matter. Let’s go.” Mr. Rumbelow took Madeline’s arm and shoved her toward the door.

  She resisted. “My bag. The crown’s inside.”

  “Bring it.”

  She snatched up the carpetbag—after all, perhaps she could use a sash to tie him up, if ever she got the chance—and hurried beside him to the waiting two-wheeled open carriage.

  Mr. Rumbelow helped her up.

  “Will ye drive yerself, sir?” the hostler asked.

  “Of course.” Mr. Rumbelow climbed in and, standing, took the ribbons. With a brisk flick of the whip, they were off.

  They moved swiftly down the road, splashing through the puddles. As they left Chalice Hall behind, Mr. Rumbelow glanced toward the dowager’s house as if he feared they would be seen.

  Good. He worried someone would follow them, and driving would keep his hands busy.

  “Where are we going?” Madeline ignored the light spatter of rain that flew beneath the leather top, and looked about the inside of the carriage.

  “To Adrian’s Cove. My ship’s waiting just out of sight, the longboat’s at the beach. We’ll be in France by nightfall.”

  He wore a pistol shoved into his belt and had tucked a rifle into a long, slender pocket close to his right hand, protected from the rain. In a particularly nasty tone of voice, he said, “That’s not a very handsome reticule. Perhaps, if you please me, I’ll buy you a new wardrobe in Paris.”

  Paris? Not Paris. “They’ll put me in prison in Paris.”

  Mr. Rumbelow whisked a fake tear from his eye. “Into every life a little rain must fall.”

  So he schemed to use her and be done with her within days. Did he plan to sell her to the French authorities? They would probably pay well to hold an English duchess, and in turn ransom her back to her father—who had promised her to Mr. Knight.

  “You’ve planned this very well.” He possessed no other weapons that she could see. He had two shots. She had one. But he didn’t suspect she had even that. An advantage, to her mind, but one that scarcely offset his larger size and street-smart brutality.

  Whatever plan Gabriel had in mind, he had better bring it to fruition soon. She said, “I don’t understand—why didn’t you steal the ante the first night? Why bother with so much pretense?”

  “I enjoyed it. Charming everyone, making them think I liked them, that I ran a clean game.” Mr. Rumbelow used the reins with a kind of elegant gratification, as if his own skill enthralled him. “It was fun.”

  “I can see that would amuse you. But to wait until the last minute to leave! That seems . . . risky.” As they rounded a corner, the wheels sank into the mud. The cabriolet tilted. She tensed, prepared to jump if they overturned.

  Flogging the horses mercilessly, Mr. Rumbelow shouted, “Get going, ye slackers!”

  Madeline flinched, wanting to yank the whip from his hand.

  With a jerk, the grays pulled the carriage free. “That’s better,” he told them. Then, in a normal tone of voice, he said to her, “Not risky at all. Big Bill’s the only one of my men who knows me well enough to suspect a trick, and the fool thinks of me like a brother.”

  The salt-scented breeze blew in her face. “You’ve never betrayed him before.”

  “Never. But when he started courting you, I knew he had developed airs.”

  “And you’re the only one who’s allowed to put on airs.” She saw Mr. Rumbelow’s flash of temper, and knew a moment of fear, followed by a moment of triumph. She wanted Mr. Rumbelow on the defensive. She wanted him concentrating on anything but pursuit and capture.

  Shaking off the rage, he flashed one of those blinding smiles. “Yes, I’m the only one who’s allowed to put on airs.” He stroked her cheek. “Don’t worry, little duchess. You’ll come to like me.”

  His conceit had risen to frightening proportions. Turning her face away, she watched the wind-tossed trees, looked in the brush, hoping to catch a glimpse of MacAllister and his men. Where were they? What had happened to MacAllister?

  They were very close to the coast now. They would be at Adrian’s Cove soon.

  She couldn’t get on that French ship. She had to keep Mr. Rumbelow talking until . . . until Gabriel got here. Hurry, Gabriel. Hurry. “You played the whole game all the way to the end just to prove you could beat all those gamblers, didn’t you?”
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  Mr. Rumbelow laughed, that same maniacal cackle.

  Madeline found the sound as frightening now as before.

  “Especially Campion. I beat your old lover, the best gamester in England, and I took his woman.” Mr. Rumbelow pressed her shoulder. Caressed her shoulder. “I’ll be a legend now. It was good to win, and it’ll be almost as good to take you. A duchess, just for me.”

  Nausea swept her, but she would not give in to such weakness now.

  “And you’re not hideous!” he said.

  “Your compliments will turn my head.” She needed to change the subject. “Where’s the ante?”

  “I took it out of the safe almost as soon as it was placed there.” He gestured behind them. “It’s padlocked in the boot.”

  She turned, but could see nothing except the dark leather of the top. “No wonder you wouldn’t allow anyone to depart. They might have used the cabriolet, and where would that leave you?”

  “Quite right.” In a patronizing tone, he said, “You’re rather smart for an aristocrat.”

  The tone, the words, infuriated her. She smiled with all the chilly weight of family, nobility and history behind her. “You’re rather impertinent for a footpad.”

  His hand flashed out toward her face.

  She impeded the blow with a solid block of her arm. The horses danced sideways, jerking the cabriolet back and forth. The black velvet reticule swung up and smacked him on the elbow with all the solid weight of the pistol inside. “Watch your driving!” she commanded, but too late. Nothing would distract him.

  Cruelly, he jerked the horses to a halt and wrapped the ribbons around the rein guide. “What’s in that?” He snatched at the reticule. “Give it to me.”

  Swinging the black velvet holster fiercely, she had the delight of feeling the heavy metal pistol connect solidly with his ribs.

  He fell back with an audible, “Oof.”

  Heart in her throat, she leaped for the step.

  He grabbed at her skirt, caught a handful of material.