The Wife He Always Wanted

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Anger stiffened her spine. She stepped away from him and spun around. “I will not go. I’ve made too many sacrifices to not see this to its conclusion. I’ll not be chased off by my father’s killers.”

  “And I’ll not risk your life.”

  The level of his protectiveness both comforted and frustrated her. “Mine is not your life to risk,” she stated. “I kicked the wasp nest and will not be scared off by the stings.” She met his stare and refused to blink. “My father deserves justice. If you send me away, I’ll move in with Nanny and not return.”

  The look in his eyes told her he was mulling both taking the chance of angering her further by sending her off and wondering how serious was the threat. Finally, acceptance slipped over his face. “How did I ever think you an amiable wench? Had I known Noelle would turn your temperament from shy to fearless, I would have forbid her instructions.”

  Sarah’s lids narrowed. “You cannot blame her for the change. I always had a spark of fierceness in me. It was my aunt who squelched the flame with her stern rules. By Noelle’s example, and my own desire, I discovered my strength again.”

  Gabriel placed his hands on her shoulders. “I do not like the danger you face. These people are killers. They will not hesitate to eliminate us both, if we threatened them to exposure to arrest.”

  She closed her hand over his. He cared for her; of this, there was no question. “I know. However, with you at my side, we are a fearsome pair. The Widow will not win.”

  His mouth twitched. “The Widow had best run and hide. My wife is on her tail.”

  Smiling, Sarah rose onto her toes and kissed him. He slid his hands up her back and locked them together. How she loved his kisses and hands on her body. There were so many differences between them, so many reasons why their marriage shouldn’t work, but not because of this.

  Once the kiss ended, Sarah reluctantly released his neck. It was then that she remembered the note and withdrew it from her pocket. “This came today.” She held it up. “The sender is a mystery.”

  “I hope it is not an invitation to another musicale,” Gabriel groaned. “My ears have not yet recovered from the last.”

  “Hush. If it is such an event, then I shall refuse with some reasonable excuse.” She ripped open the note and realized immediately it was not an invitation. She read it aloud:

  I have discovered some new information about the case. Meet me at the Black Bess tomorrow afternoon at three.

  “It is signed by Mister Brown.” She handed the cryptic missive to Gabriel. He scanned the page and frowned.

  “The Black Bess is in a squalid area near the wharf.” He turned the note over. “There is nothing else to indicate why the Runner would want to meet us there. His news must be of grave importance for him to choose the Black Bess.”

  “Perhaps he’s found where The Widow is hiding?” Sarah said, hopeful. “A woman spy wouldn’t hide in fancy drawing rooms.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’d be surprised where spies hide. It’s rumored that Lord Hayman was once a spy, though it has never been confirmed. He is all of eighty now.”

  “His is a story I’d like to hear,” she replied. “What tales the octogenarian could tell if the rumors are true.”

  “Let us focus on one spy at a time.” He folded the note and tucked it in his coat. “First, I will have additional locks installed on all the windows immediately. We cannot have our spy breaking in whenever she wishes, and I’ll not have her standing over our bed while we sleep.”

  The notion made her shiver.

  “Second, I do not like the idea of taking you to the pub. The area is not for ladies of quality.” He held up a finger before she could protest. “However, we have already had this argument once today. We will figure out a way to keep you safe.”

  “I do appreciate your acceptance of my part in this drama, though I did not seek your permission,” she said tartly. “However, I do prefer you accepting what you cannot change over arguing until I get my way, anyway.”

  * * *

  The area around the Black Bess was squalid. The fetid smell of rotten fish and seawater burned her throat. The streets were not swept, and the buildings had the overall look of disrepair.

  This was the sort of place a woman of quality would not want to wander alone, or risk more than her body. She could lose her life.

  Keeping her hands in her pockets proved challenging. However, if she wanted to be a believable chimney sweep or one who delivered coal, she could not put her finger under her nose to block the smell. Only a young woman with weak sensibilities would.

  Similarly dressed as Gabriel in ash-covered clothing and a smudged face, with her hair tucked under her hat, she was still thin enough to resemble a boy. No one would ever recognize her as a lady without stripping her to the skin first.

  The final item to complete her disguise was a knife tucked into her waistband and hidden under her coat. Gabriel had insisted she carry a weapon, and the pistols were dismissed as too bulky to hide under her boy-sized coat.

  “I do not understand how Mister Blackwell works under such conditions every day,” she whispered. They passed a pair of rough-looking sailors leaning against a wall. “The smells are offensive and the people, worrisome. How can he not fear cutthroats and thieves?”

  “His business is farther down in a place not as disreputable as this,” Gabriel muttered back. “Though, I’d rather you limit your travels to more fashionable districts.”

  It didn’t take much to agree. The idea of wandering here alone, day or night, sent an icy shiver through her. She’d be a perfect target for the worst in men.

  “You do not need to press the issue,” she said, pulled her hat lower over her eyes, and stepped lively, determined to stay close on his heels.

  The Black Bess was nearly empty when they arrived. A serving woman, well-worn and well-endowed, brought two tankards of ale and clunked them down on the table.

  “Would ye like stew?” Gabriel looked at Sarah and she shook her head. “Suit yerself.” She ambled off, large hips swaying.

  “I fear anything cooked here,” Sarah said and sniffed the ale. Feeling a bit mischievous, she took a sip, shuddered, and pushed the tankard away.

  Gabriel chuckled. “It takes a while to develop a taste for ale.” He lifted the heavy cup and took a large swallow. He grimaced. “Especially when drinking this cow piss.”

  Time ticked by for a half hour and then for another and Mister Brown failed to appear. They waited nearly two hours before Gabriel lost patience and rose. “He is not coming.”

  “I hope he did not get robbed on his way here,” Sarah said. “In this area, one has to hold tightly to one’s purse.”

  “Brown would know the dangers. He’d be cautious.”

  The comment did not assuage her. “Wherever Mister Brown is, he missed our appointment. I fear something’s gone awry.”

  “You may be correct.” Gabriel tossed a handful of coins on the table and led her out of the inn. “However, there is nothing to do now but return home and await his next contact.”

  A breeze hit her face and her throat closed, leaving her unable to reply. Odd that she found the air less foul inside the shabby inn than outside where the unforgiving wind brought the unmerciful stench.

  She tucked her face into her shoulder and drew in a few deep gasps, accepting that she could not hold her breath indefinitely. “I need a bath,” Sarah said after a moment. “With heavy lye soap.”

  A grunt was his reply. He was keenly watching a ship unload several dozen sailors, who whooped and stumbled down the gangway, headed straight for the inn. Several doxies stepped out of the shadows, wearing dresses that covered very little.

  “Let us go before the fighting and wenching begins.” Gabriel hurried off with Sarah close behind. They weaved their way back toward the street where a hired hackney driver was
promised a generous fee to wait. Sarah was thrilled with the thought of putting the wharf well behind them.

  They were about halfway there when a man stepped out from beside a warehouse and into their path. Gabriel stopped and reached out to push Sarah behind him.

  “We have nothing for you here, sir,” he warned. “Move on.”

  The man grinned, his mouth possessing very few teeth. “Ye are Gabriel ’arrington?”

  Sarah felt Gabriel tense. His body was whipcord tight. Danger rippled off him. She fingered her knife.

  “Who’s asking?”

  The man peered at Sarah. The look he gave her was anything but simple curiosity. Either he had a penchant for boys, or he knew she was female. No matter his predilection, his interest did not bode well for her.

  “Brown sent me to fetch ye. Said ye’d be looking for ’im at the Bess. Come.” He turned and ambled away.

  “I do not like this,” Gabriel said. He appeared torn between continuing toward home and meeting Mister Brown. “We might be led into a trap.”

  Sarah nodded. His concern was not for himself, but for her. She had to show strength. “True, that. However, if this toothless man knew of our meeting with the Runner, then Mister Brown may have either discovered important information or be in danger. We have to find out. He may need our help.”

  Gabriel expelled a breath. “Stay close.”

  The stranger waited impatiently near the side of the largest warehouse in the row. There was something feral in the man’s eyes, a warning of danger to come.

  Gabriel stopped. He reached for the pistol in his waistband. “This is a mistake. Turn back!” he called out to Sarah, but it was too late.

  A trio of men burst from the building and were upon them before she could pull the knife free. A fourth man came up behind Gabriel as he lifted his pistol and clubbed him on the back of the head.

  He staggered. They fell upon Gabriel, who fought mightily against the men. He managed to damage two faces before he was overpowered by their sheer numbers. In the melee, the toothless stranger grabbed for her. He shoved her face-first against the building and pinned her arms behind her.

  “Let me go! Gabriel!”

  Despite a valiant effort, Gabriel could not overcome his adversaries. They forced him down and took his pistols. “The bloke broke me nose,” one of the men said, clutching his nose. He stumbled to his feet. Blood trickled down his face to drip on his stained white shirt.

  “It is no less than you deserve,” Sarah snarled. The bloodied man took an angry step toward her. Her captor swung her out of reach.

  “Leave ’er be,” he commanded. “We need ’em alive.”

  Broken Nose met her defiant eyes, turned, and kicked Gabriel in the ribs. He grunted but remained stoic. She refused to flinch as they pulled Gabriel to his feet. She could not show weakness.

  Once their captives were secure, they dragged Sarah and Gabriel into the warehouse and shoved them into the darkness. Then, without further comment, they backed out of the warehouse, slammed the door shut, and threw the bolt home.

  Sarah dropped to her knees beside her husband. “Gabriel?” She pushed his hair back from his battered face and leaned close. “Can you hear me?”

  He groaned and raised a hand to his head. “Have I died?” He blinked several times and then focused on her face. She smiled softly into his eyes.

  “No, love, you are not dead.”

  “Damn.” He rubbed his temple and rolled up onto his knees. “Were I dead, my head would not hurt so dreadfully.”

  Sarah helped him to his feet. He wobbled slightly but quickly found his balance. She touched a cut on his forehead. “Thankfully the blow confirmed what I have long suspected; you have a thick skull.”

  Another groan broke the moment. Sarah glanced up at Gabriel then into the shadows. In the dim light she spotted what looked like someone seated on a chair in a corner.

  She released Gabriel. He leaned on a crate and kept to his feet. “Careful, sweet,” he urged. She walked into the shadows.

  Sarah closed the distance to the man, certain now, from the way he listed to the side on the chair, that he was no threat. Ropes at his ankles confirmed her assessment.

  Eyes adjusting to the darkness, the battered man became clearer to her view. She leaned down and peered into his swollen face. Her stomach flipped.

  “Mister Brown?” She reached out to touch his shoulder. “Mister Brown. Can you hear me?”

  An almost imperceptible nod followed. “Mister Brown, I want to help you.” She searched him for serious injuries and discovered when she moved behind him that his hands were also tied. She made use of her knife and cut him free. It took her assistance for him to lift his hands to the chair arms.

  “Thank you,” he rasped out. She freed his legs.

  “Can you stand?” she asked.

  “I cannot.”

  With Gabriel unsteady on his feet and Mister Brown injured, she knew their escape was up to her. She hadn’t had a chance to formulate a plan when the door screeched open and fading daylight spilled through the opening to illuminate part of the warehouse.

  A rat ran off with a squeak.

  Their attackers had returned, with one addition to their band of thugs.

  A woman dressed all in black.

  Chapter Twenty

  The woman was much as Sarah remembered. As before, she was wearing black breeches, coat, and shirt, though this time her long dark hair was braided. The heavy plait fell forward over her shoulder and almost to her waist.

  She stood in shadow with her face not clearly visible. However, Sarah could see enough to watch her gaze encompass the room, pausing in her perusal on Mister Brown.

  A sharp whisper followed as she spoke to her men. She was clearly displeased. Why? The answer came when one of the thugs walked to a nearby table and collected a bottle. He walked to the Runner and lifted the rim to his swollen lips. Mister Brown eagerly drank.

  “See, we are not monsters,” The Widow said and took a step closer. She managed to stay in shadow. For a woman of her profession, keeping her identity secret was prudent.

  “I would say not.” Gabriel’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. He touched the corner of his bruised eye. “Beating men bloody is a sign of good breeding.”

  Her laughter filled the space. “Mister Harrington, you are a delight.”

  Beside her, Sarah felt Gabriel on the ready should he need to fight. He’d been taken by surprise the first time, likely distracted by her presence and his need to protect her. He’d not make that mistake again.

  Unfortunately, the men were heavily armed. Still, Sarah knew her husband and felt danger ripple off him. If the need arose, he’d fight to the death for her, weapons be damned.

  “What do you want?” Gabriel bit out. “You have not killed us, so you must have another purpose.”

  The woman tapped her riding crop against her boot. “You know what I seek.” All humor fled her voice. “Palmer hid papers worth a good deal to some very powerful people. You have them. I propose we trade the information . . . for your wife.”

  The only sign of tension Sarah saw in Gabriel was a tightening of his jaw. The Widow underestimated her noble-born husband. “Why don’t I kill you and end this today?” His voice was low and razor-sharp.

  The tone sent a chill through Sarah. In that moment, she realized her husband was more dangerous than any spy. She did not have to see The Widow’s face clearly to know the woman felt it, too. Her hand tightened on the crop.

  The woman shuffled her feet, her confidence, and smile, wavering. “Such violent talk from such a spoiled English boy. Your years abroad left a mark on your disposition.”

  “You do not know what I am capable of,” Gabriel said, his voice low.

  The Widow took another step forward and shadow and light played across her face. Sarah could se
e that she was not as young as first thought. She had to be somewhere well past thirty, if she spied for at least the last twenty or so years, as Mister Brown claimed. Still, she was stunning.

  She met Gabriel’s eyes. “I know more about you than you think.” She tapped her boot. “Now enough of this prattle. I want those papers, you have them, and we will trade for them. If we keep this civilized then no one needs to die.”

  “We do not know where the papers are,” Sarah protested. “You know this. You’ve been in my house. Did you see any evidence we were hiding my father’s papers?”

  No denial followed the accusation. It confirmed Sarah’s suspicion. She was their housebreaker.

  “Then you will find them.”

  Sarah slowly shook her head. “I will not allow Gabriel to trade me, and he will not help you if you harm me. I think we are at an impasse.”

  “I could kill you.”

  “Then you gain nothing,” Sarah said. “You have already had ten years to find your evidence. You’ve failed. I believe the reason we are still alive is your hope that we will succeed where you’ve failed.”

  The woman said nothing. Then, “I do not need to kidnap you today to get my way. I can take you anytime I wish. Your husband should keep this in mind should he dare defy me.” She nodded to her men. “I will be in touch.” The group turned and filed out.

  Sarah looked up at Gabriel. “When she gets what she wants, she will kill us.”

  “She will try.” He rubbed his bruised chin. “Once we are in possession of the damaging information, we are a danger to the man, or men, she protects.”

  “I will not accept this as our fate. She wins, unless we use the information first. Once the truth is out, there will be no reason for anyone to want us dead. We will possess no secrets.”

  “True, but first we need to find the papers.” He sighed. “We are having a bit of trouble with that.”

  He walked over to Mister Brown. “The Widow is everything you said. She is a bloodthirsty bitch.”