by Anna Randol
Ian met her gaze with unflinching intent. “Everyone has secrets.”
Chapter Ten
In the middle of her dramatic, agonizing death, the actress on stage paused to glare at Madeline. Gabriel couldn’t blame her. No one had paid the redhead the slightest heed since Madeline had glided into the pit at the end of the first act. The ladies above peered over the sides of their gilded boxes with varying degrees of disgust, outrage, and envy. Their gentlemen escorts kept their heads averted, but after a few moments, although their opera glasses remained trained on the stage, the eyes behind them drifted to the far more entertaining performance below.
The gentlemen surrounding Madeline didn’t try to hide their ogling. Or their groping. Gabriel knocked away a hand reaching for her.
The actress on the stage finished dying to a smattering of halfhearted applause. She miraculously revived and flounced offstage before the curtain had fully closed.
With the pause on stage, more men gathered around Madeline. A drunken Corinthian, eager to press closer, stumbled into Gabriel, driving him backward into Madeline. He reached to steady her but two of her admirers were already hoisting her back to her feet.
Madeline laughed with abandon, as if she could imagine nothing more delightful than being tossed about by overanxious theatergoers. But rather than keeping the crowd at arm’s length as she’d done the night before, she pressed back against Gabriel, the softness of her derriere flush against his thigh. “It’s time to make a strategic retreat to the corridor.”
He threaded her through the mob of men surrounding them. “I thought you were succeeding well with your impression of a lively barmaid.”
“Barmaid? I’ll have you know that was lonely opera dancer to perfection.”
Gabriel couldn’t help grinning at her look of exaggerated affront.
“But I swear, if I get pinched once more, I won’t be able to sit for a week.”
People were already strolling about, taking advantage of the intermission. “I doubt you’ll be safer in the corridor.”
“I can keep my back to the wall. And if I’m in the corridor, the gentlemen will be able to create an excuse to leave their boxes and wander past me.”
He should have guessed even her escapes were carefully orchestrated. “You’re frightening.”
She laughed, this time a breathy chuckle meant only for Gabriel’s ears. “Why do I love your compliments the best?”
The refreshment vendor must have adored her because, true to her prediction, nearly every gentleman present found himself possessed of great thirst and in need of lemonade from the vendor directly to her left.
Gabriel settled against a wall a few feet away, allowing her free rein with her wooing.
Danbury arrived at his side a few minutes later. “I don’t know if I envy or pity you having to keep an eye on her.”
“You’re the one who bid on her. I’ll need the past seven years of your financials, by the way.”
“You know I’m good for the money.”
Gabriel did know. The man was incredibly wealthy, but Madeline was right—he couldn’t excuse his friends. “Same rules for everyone.”
Danbury focused on where Madeline stood sipping a drink, her lips moist and red from the spiced ratafia. “I suppose I will do what I must. Although I doubt she’s actually a virgin.”
“She claims she is.”
“Come now. There’s a ship at the docks waiting to take me to the other side of the globe. The only thing that holds me here is this auction. Surely you know the truth.”
Gabriel preferred not to think about Danbury taking Madeline to bed. “If you question whether she’s a virgin, why did you bid?”
One of Madeline’s bidders careened into Danbury. Grabbing the man’s port before it spilled, he steadied the man. “These men will bring shame on our entire gender if I don’t save them from themselves.” Danbury handed the glass back to the drunken man. “Do you suppose she cares if I woo her before I bed her?”
Slowly, Gabriel uncurled his fists. She wasn’t a lady whose reputation he needed to protect, after all. “No. Your bid is all that counts.”
Danbury exhaled dramatically. “Good. Then I’d better return to my box. I’m escorting the youngest daughter of the Earl of Riverton tonight. If she suspects where I’ve been, I’ll never hear the end of it. The woman can’t keep her mouth closed to save her life.” Danbury bowed and hurried off.
The ringing of the porter’s bell signaled the close of intermission. As the gentlemen returned to their seats, Gabriel worked his way upstream to Madeline’s side. “Are we returning for act two?”
She reached for him through the press of people. “Not a chance. Let’s—” She lurched, and her hand caught his in a viselike grip. Her head whipped around and she peered at the men jostling around them, her fingers digging into his hand. “—go.”
Despite the radiant smile on her face, the color had drained from her cheeks.
“Are you all right?”
Her free hand pressed against her stomach and her next step wobbled. “Who would’ve thought the punch wasn’t watered down?” She laughed, but then released his hand and folded both of her hands at her waist.
She darted and wove her way through the darkly clad gentlemen to the front entrance, her scarlet dress making her easy to follow. Several men called to her but she pretended not to hear.
Something was definitely wrong.
Frowning, Gabriel increased his pace. He caught her arm as she ran down the stairs in front of the theater. “Madeline—”
“Get my coach.”
“What is wrong?”
Her hands were shaking where they clenched against her stomach. “Curse you, just do it. Please.”
He spoke briefly to one of the lads nearby and tossed him a coin. The young man ran around the corner to where her coach was waiting.
The faltering lamps cast dark shadows over her face. “Madeline?”
She refused to look up.
Gabriel tucked his finger under her chin and tilted it up into the wavering light. “Are you ill?”
Shaking her head, she swallowed twice and lifted her gloved hands slightly from her body.
Odd. Why would the red dye from the dress—
Bloody hell.
He grabbed her wrists and pulled them fully away from her stomach. A dark, wet spot marred her dress where her hands had been. “You’re bleeding.” His pulse pounded loudly in his ears. What had happened? How had he missed it?
She wrenched her hands free and pressed them against the wound. “Shh. Not here. The cut’s not a deep one.”
She must be in shock. He pulled out his handkerchief. “We must tend to—”
The carriage appeared at the end of the street and she hurried toward it.
Did he need to wrestle her to the ground? He trapped her again, clasping her shoulders with his hands. First, he needed to see to the bleeding. “You’re injured. Wait for the carriage to come to us.”
She glared at him. “I can’t risk anyone from the theater seeing me like this. It won’t help the auction if I’m seen bloody and hurt.” She winced. “It’s not precisely the image I’ve been trying to portray.”
Did the woman even have a heart beating in her chest? “We tend it now.”
The carriage stopped. She pulled away from him and opened the door, but when she tried to climb in, a muffled moan escaped.
If he put her in the coach, at least she’d have to hold still. With one hand tucked under her arm and the other at her backside, he lifted her in. Madeline fell back onto the seat with a gasp.
Swearing, Gabriel followed her, shutting the door behind him. He leaned over her. A thin slit, about the width of his palm, cut through the bloody circle in the middle of her dress. “You were stabbed?” Rage blurred the edges of his vision.
Madeline’s breath emerged in short, quiet pants. “So it appears.”
He removed his cravat. “Who?”
“I don’t know.
There were too many people around me.”
“Why the hell didn’t you scream or cry out?”
She pressed her bloody glove against the cut. “I—”
“The dress is ruined no matter what, is it not?”
Her brows lowered, but she nodded.
He grasped the thin silk and ripped it, splitting the bodice open. A crimson stain glared against the white linen of her stays. The wound still bled, but it didn’t gush. She was right. It most likely wasn’t fatal. At least not if cleaned and properly dressed. But it must hurt like the devil.
Madeline studied her bloody undergarment, only a faint dotting of perspiration betraying her discomfort. “I never thought I’d say this, but thank heavens for my stays. The knife thrust hit the whalebone in the center and glanced off. If the criminal was more adept at stabbing women, I’d be dead. It was quite inexcusable.”
“On their part or yours?”
“Both, I suppose. But it was foolish of me to allow it.”
She sounded as if she were annoyed she’d left her reticule behind, not as if she’d nearly been killed.
During his watch. Hell, right under his nose.
Gabriel contemplated removing her stays, but now that the bleeding had slowed, he didn’t want to risk aggravating the wound while in the limited confines of the coach. He pressed his cravat against the gash with steady pressure. “Who did this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have any enemies?”
Her lips quirked in a wan smile. “Only half the population of London.”
“But most of them don’t hate you enough to kill you.”
“Fine. A quarter of the population of London.”
He couldn’t bring himself to smile. “How are you taking this so calmly?”
“Would it help if I panicked?” She gave a halfhearted cry. “Eek?”
He shook his head. His cravat was becoming sticky with blood, so he added a bit more pressure to the wound. “If there’s anyone threatening you, tell me. I’ll protect you.”
“I don’t think I’m paying you enough for that.”
He frowned. “I don’t care if you pay me. Who is it? I will deal with them.”
A brief uncertainty flashed through her eyes, then was gone. “I don’t know who stabbed me.”
The coach slowed. Gabriel placed her hands back on the cloth while he removed his coat. But when he tried to tuck it around her, she flinched away. “It will be ruined, and I can’t afford to pay to have it replaced.”
He draped it over her with a growl. “Not everything comes with a price. I don’t give a damn about your money. You’re injured and half naked. Take the blasted jacket.” He leaped from the coach, then pulled her into his arms and strode to her door.
“I can walk,” she protested, her voice muffled against his chest.
He was finished arguing. Her slender frame weighed hardly anything. She couldn’t afford to lose more blood. “No.”
Canterbury opened the door as they approached, a blue and yellow striped nightcap topping his head. His eyes widened with concern. “What happened?”
Gabriel walked past. “She’s been injured. I need hot water and bandages.”
Without wasting time on more questions, Canterbury hurried off to the kitchen.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked as he carried her up the stairs.
“You sure seem eager to get me in—”
Gabriel interrupted her witty comment. “Where?”
She sighed in defeat. “Third door on the right. I don’t need your help, but I don’t suppose you’ll listen to me, will you?”
“Do you have much experience dealing with knife wounds?”
She was silent.
“I thought not. I’ve treated them before. Let me help you, then you’ll be free to throw me out.”
Her shoulder twitched in what he supposed was a shrug of agreement. Despite her quips, she was in too much pain for much else. Her face hadn’t regained color and her lips were compressed in a thin line.
He entered her room. Next to an ornate mahogany bed, a single candle had been left burning on the nightstand, no doubt in preparation for her return. The small flame did nothing for the dark greens in the room except make them appear more forbidding. The color proclaimed it the bedchamber of the former master of the house rather than its mistress. “Why not use the lady’s rooms?”
“The bigger bed has its advantages.”
He didn’t need images of why Madeline might require a larger bed. He laid her gently on the mattress. “I need to remove your stays so I can examine the wound.” He pulled his knife from the sheath in his boot.
When she nodded, he grasped the top edge of her undergarment and carefully sliced the fabric to where it ended at her waist. He peeled back the wet, bloody cloth, revealing her crimson-stained shift.
The door opened behind him. Canterbury rushed in with a basin of steaming water and a stack of neatly folded bandages. He stiffened when he saw the blood, his hands trembling as he lit all the candles in the room. “What do you need me to do?”
To not pass out and add to Gabriel’s list of patients. “Put the supplies next to me. Then get me towels.” Canterbury complied and then fled the room.
Gabriel’s fingers hovered only for an instant before untying the ribbon at the neck of her shift and then slicing the garment from her upper body.
He made only brief note of the lush perfection of her pink-tipped breasts before focusing on the bloody mess below.
The cut still bled, but as Madeline had claimed, it wasn’t mortal. However, she would need the wound sewn shut. “I’ll call a doctor.”
“No. You said you’ve dealt with wounds before. Can’t you help me?”
“I can.” As a Runner, he’d dealt with enough of his and his associates’ wounds to be able to handle them without a second thought.
But then she shuddered, a tiny quaking that she tried to disguise as an attempt to shift on the bed. His gut clenched. The thought of piercing her time and time again with a needle and thread sickened him. He couldn’t. Not to her. Not to Madeline.
“I’ll call a doctor, regardless.”
She grabbed his arm, her bloody gloves wet on his sleeve. “They’ll just botch things. Please. You help me.”
Hell. He owed her that much. He’d failed abysmally at protecting her. Gabriel swallowed, forcing the nausea to a tolerable churning. He peeled the bloody gloves from her hands, then wiped them clean.
Canterbury reentered with towels.
“I’ll need needle and thread. And brandy, if you have it.” He looked at Madeline, giving her a chance to rethink her mad request, but she simply nodded in agreement.
Canterbury returned with the other supplies, then quickly skittered from the room. Gabriel removed his waistcoat, then rolled back his sleeves to just below the elbow.
“See? So much more pleasant than a doctor would’ve been.”
He glanced up to find her intent gaze on him and a half smile playing on her lips, but her seductive expression couldn’t mask the fear in her eyes. He tucked towels under her, then spent far too many seconds ensuring the towels were straight.
He exhaled through tightly clenched teeth. Get it done already. He dipped a cloth in the steaming water, then wrung out the excess. “I’m sorry for this.”
She closed her eyes. “So am I.”
He wiped off the excess blood as well as he could, then picked up the crystal decanter from the bedside table and poured brandy into the cut.
Her quickly stifled cry of pain echoed in his chest until he had to struggle for his next breath. He concentrated to ensure that none of his fury at her attacker translated into the cleansing strokes of the cloth, but another whimper escaped her lips.
He rinsed the cloth in the porcelain basin, darkening the water to that red-orange color particular to drying blood.
Gabriel wiped away the remaining blood with quick efficiency. A gunshot wound to his thigh had taught him
it was better not to have the process drawn out. He poured her a glass of brandy. “Drink this. It will dull the pain.”
She shook her head. “I can’t keep the stuff down.”
“Madeline—”
“I can handle it.”
Yet as he attempted to thread the needle, Gabriel’s hands shook so badly he had to stop until he regained control. Perhaps he should have drunk the brandy himself.
When Gabriel poised to begin, she jerked under his fingers. “I lied. Please, I need something to distract me. Talk to me, Gabriel.”
Madeline sincerely hoped she looked better than Gabriel did right now. Perhaps she should’ve let him call the doctor.
But then she would have given up the perfect opportunity for interrogation. Guilt was far too valuable a tool to waste.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked.
“Where are you from?” Start simple. That was the first rule of interrogation. Ease them into it. It was amazing what men would let slip before they realized the questioning had gone too far.
“London.”
She flinched as the needle sank into her flesh, and his jaw tightened still further until she could see muscles bunch.
“Cheapside,” he continued as he pulled the thread. “My mother teaches deportment to the daughters of rich merchants.”
She focused on the way his lips formed the words as he spoke, distracting herself from the friction of the thread slithering through her flesh.
“She taught you your manners?”
The worried furrows knitting his brow eased a fraction. “She taught, I just didn’t learn.”
“Does she enjoy”—she closed her eyes at the next stab—“her work?”
“I suppose. She doesn’t have many other choices. She’s too wellborn for trade but not wellborn enough to have connections to help her.”
Madeline could imagine how difficult it would be. It must eat away at her, knowing she’d been seduced, then cast aside. To have to raise the children of the man who had betrayed her.
Madeline never intended to have children. No child would want her for a mother. “And your father?” she asked.