by Anne Mallory
Gabriel shook his head slowly, watching his friend. “Greville Street.”
John’s eyes snapped to his and held for a long moment. He nodded. “Yes.” His voice softened. “Thank you, Gabriel.”
“Dentry and Dresden will take care of the rest. I’ll make sure of it.”
John’s shoulders straightened and he dusted off the knee of his right leg. “Where shall I be going?”
“On a visit to the Continent. You shall take a liking to Italy during your tour and stay there a few months. You will correspond with Lord Dentry and me every few weeks—and we will keep the ton abreast of your adventures, should they require news. If anyone inquires after you in Italy, you will move to France, and so forth.”
John nodded. “My assets?”
“In a year you will have a tragic accident—”
“A racing accident, I hope. Fitting for me to go out on a horse, don’t you think?”
Gabriel nodded, looking at his hands, foreign, clenched in his lap. “Fitting indeed.”
“My documents are in order. There should be no trouble in a year. I’ve left everything to you anyway.” John was calm, eerily serene. “Take care of my stables, will you? The horses. The trainers. I have a fine foal. Newmarket winner for sure. I would like it if you would race her, or sell her to a worthy buyer, should you have a care for me.”
“I have a care for you, John.”
He looked away, his throat working. “I know. I’m sorry, Gabriel.”
“I know, John. I’m sorry too.”
The carriage slowed. Hooves clomping to a stop. The turning of the wheels pausing for a moment, suspended.
John turned to him. “Marietta is good for you, Gabriel. I quite like her. Don’t be a fool and let her go.”
“I can do nothing but let her go, John. Sometimes love can only be given by setting someone free.”
John watched him, then held up his bound hands. “You speak truly.”
Gabriel paused, unsure whether he could truly bring himself to cut the rope. One cut through his bindings and it would be done. He pulled a knife from the bundle. His hand reached out, like a body part separate from his control, and cut the rope. The coil fell onto John’s lap, then slithered to the ground.
They looked at each other for a long moment. Gabriel handed him a piece of charcoal, the cloth bundle with its two bulky objects bumping his thigh. John rubbed his hands over the charcoal, wiping streaks along his cheeks, his forehead, down his nose. Over his ears and around his neck. Over the shirt. Anyplace identifiable.
“I will have to do something to my hands,” he said in a conversational tone.
“Yes.”
“The street, maybe. A quick swipe to open the skin, to roughen idle fingers.” His smile was self-deprecating.
Gabriel didn’t respond.
John finished his ministrations and straightened his shirt, an unconscious gesture. “How do I look?”
Gabriel nodded, his lips unable to form words, his heart unable to beat.
John looked at him for a moment. A lifetime. “Good-bye, Gabriel.”
“Good-bye, John,” he whispered, somehow dredging up his voice. “May you find peace.”
John smiled. A smile of old, like when they were younger, before Eton had separated them; playing on the estate, no cares in the world. “Yes,” he said simply.
He held out his hands, and Gabriel placed the bundle on top, the two objects clacking together, one heavy and one thin.
John’s hand shot out before he could blink and pulled Gabriel to him. A fierce hug, a promise. Then he pushed him away and gripped the carriage handle. “Good-bye.”
And he was gone.
Gabriel sat in the carriage. Staring at the opposite seat. Unable to tap the trap to tell his driver to move.
The carriage started moving without his tap. John had obviously not had such trouble. Gabriel allowed the motion to sway him back and forth. They rounded the corner. A distant shot rang out.
Gabriel didn’t need to look back. To see. He trusted his friend. He smiled grimly. And wasn’t that the crux?
Chapter 22
Middlesex murderer dead! Shot by own hand at the scene of a previous crime! Murder weapon found in his pocket—letter opener used on all the victims…Servant from the Dentry estate gone mad, an Edward Smith…though physical identification impossible…Arthur Dresden discovers murderer and claims the reward…whole story from his mouth on page four…Lord Dentry testifies! Kenneth Winters found innocent at trial and released! All charges dropped on both Winters brothers! Monetary settlement given by Lord Dentry…Statements on page six…London rejoices! Safe once more…
“Are you angry with me for not telling you before we left for the estate that John was guilty?”
Marietta pushed the special edition papers aside and looked at Gabriel, who was holding a mug of tea to his chest, the steam swirling up and around his face, as beautiful now as it had been the first time she’d seen him. Perhaps even more attractive now, if such a thing were possible.
“No. If you had told me about Alcroft after you made the discovery, I would never have been able to keep it a secret from him. I would have acted differently.”
He nodded, his eyes falling to his tea, as if searching for the answers inside. “Are you leaving tonight?”
She wet her lips, her heart beating, unsure. “I can. Mark and Kenny are back in our rented house. Kenny said neighbors have been pouring in with congratulatory gifts and goodwill. Invitations are overflowing. Everyone wanting the first bit of gossip.”
“You are welcome to stay here until the fury dies down.”
“Thank you. I should probably go back, though. In case Kenny needs me.” The last was more of a question. Would he ask her to stay?
“Best for you not to be caught here either. Everyone is probably wondering where you’ve been. Off to a friend’s in the country. Stick with that story, no matter what your ratty cousin says.”
She smiled, a strained, forced smile. “Yes.”
“I know someone who will vouch for your whereabouts this past month, should you need it. A nice couple in Windsor.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Please.”
Silence.
“I’ll help you pack.”
Packing took little time. Not nearly as much as it had taken a month past. It was as if time had sped ahead to hasten their separation. She dreaded the activity of packing as much now as she had then. The pain in her heart markedly different, but still present.
The next thing she knew, she was at the bottom of the stairs, case in hand.
“It would be best if you go on your own. I’ll have the driver stop a street or two over. You can catch a hack.” He pressed a few coins into her palm, his touch burned. “I’ll send your other things around later. In an unmarked carriage.”
“Thank—” She cut herself off before she could finish the sentiment. Silence pervaded the foyer. “Will you be—”
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
She nodded and gripped her case more tightly.
Gabriel leaned forward, touching her chin, her cheek, brushing a loose strand behind her ear. His lips touched hers. Soft, yet firm. Warm and lovely. He pulled away, their bottom lips holding until the last moment and then disconnecting with regret.
“Good luck, Marietta. I know you will be fine. Remember what I said.”
Find some nice young man to marry, comfortable, not a gambler, someone who will treasure you.
Someone who wasn’t Gabriel. Someone with whom she could marry and raise a family. Someone she didn’t love.
But also someone she wouldn’t burden. Who wouldn’t have to awkwardly reject her offerings. Who might come to love her someday.
“Good luck, Gabriel.”
She walked into the carriage.
“This old thing? Why it is barely above a rag,” one woman said to another, displaying her beautiful gown, obviously new and at the height of fashion. The
two women blended into the crowd.
Marietta looked into the ballroom. She’d had to visit the retiring room for a bit, and even then found herself accosted by people wanting to know. Wanting to discover all of the salacious news before their neighbors. The night’s festivities were in full swing, the ton euphoric over its new intrigue and gossip. Its notorious new favorite members.
She paused for a moment at the threshold. The doors wide open to her. The different groups of people standing in pockets. Each group would be delighted for her to join them. Like a storybook on vellum pages. She’d been asked to dance every dance, for once needing to turn down offers to save her feet. It was like a strange dream. And though the vellum was lovely, it was unsatisfying beneath her fingertips.
Two women chattered in chairs off to the side. “The Winterses are distantly related to the Duke of Shastmore, Earl Givet, and Baron Tercake. Lovely connections.”
The other woman nodded and Marietta looked away. Of course now their connections were remembered. When it was convenient. The invitations that had dried up like the desert were now flooding their silver tray. The ton eager to unearth every piece of the scandal. Their fall from grace and triumphant return.
She saw Mark, still skinny, but not emaciated like Kenny, holding court to the side. Kenny stood next to him looking more uncomfortable than he would have in this situation six weeks ago, Mark, on the other hand, was acting as if he’d never left the bosom of the ton. As if he’d always had a small fortune, courtesy of Lord Dentry. She made her way to them.
“…and that is the exact thing I told him. Crandon, my friend, you don’t put the bet on the sixes!”
The crowd around him laughed. She had heard the joke six times now, though, and was waiting for someone to finally catch on that it wasn’t a very good one.
“My sister! Miss Winters. Have you met my sister, Plufield?”
The earl said no and they were quickly introduced. “Charming.” “Delightful.” “Handsome.” She would start to think highly of herself if the new adjectives to describe her continued.
“I was wondering if I might have a word with you both,” she said to her brothers.
The other men quickly excused themselves. Mark looked put out. “What are you doing, Marietta? Flushing the game into other yards?”
“No. I don’t desire—”
“I have two offers for you already. And four more just waiting. Think we might even be able to bring Plufield up to scratch. My sister, a countess. Just think of it. We’ll use the others to advance his suit, of course. And if a bigger fish finds himself in our net, well, then we will scoop him up.”
“Mark—” she began.
“I’m the most glorious brother, I know.”
“No. Why are you doing this?”
Mark’s expression was half irritation, half confusion. Kenny looked uncomfortable, but for the first time he didn’t run off at the first sign of a fight, he threw his shoulders back and braced his feet. He would need to work on his neck and head, hanging lower and pressed forward, but all in all she felt a rush of pride. Kenny was finally growing up.
She knew who to thank. Gabriel had done something to him. Shoved a spine through his tail or pulled a string through his core. Kenny had gone to visit and thank him a few days ago and had come back a new man.
“The opportunity is there. We must grab it.” Mark must have read her face aright for once, because his tone changed to disbelief. “You can’t tell me that you don’t want to be married. There are plenty of good matches here. Solid ones. I think you should wait for Plufield, myself, but if you think the lure is only good for a few weeks, perhaps we should take one of the others. Nice, ready blunt there. Good connections.”
“Blunt is one of the things of which I wished to speak to you.”
“Really, Marietta, I hardly think a girl need worry about such things, as I’ve told you. I have extra pin money for you,” he said generously. “You can buy a new bonnet or some ribbons.”
“You can’t keep spending, Mark.”
“’Course I can. I have the funds, don’t I? Lord Dentry was quite considerate.”
“Ga—” She cleared her throat. “Mr. Noble hired an accountant for the reward funds. The compensation and settlement. You will reach a cap on the quarterly funds soon.”
“I’ll just take a loan against the rest, nothing to it.”
Anger pushed past her shields. “Have you learned nothing? We will be penniless once more. Beholden and ruined.”
“Which is why you should marry Plufield. Or Ratching. They can keep us in funds. Won’t let their in-laws starve.”
“You are unbelievable. I can’t—”
Kenny held up a hand, chin high. “Let me try to talk to him, Marietta.”
She stared at Kenny, and out of the corner of her eye could see Mark do the same. She nodded slowly, elation and pride running through her. “Very well, Kenny. Thank you.” Even if he couldn’t talk sense to Mark, the shock of him trying was sure to keep Mark silent for at least a few minutes. Besides, maybe Kenny would be the one to get through to him. “I believe I shall retire. I’ll send the carriage back.”
Kenny nodded. Mark still looked flabbergasted, his long face even longer with his jaw dropped so far. With a satisfied smile she turned and walked outside, bypassing the well wishers, the gossip hounds, the suitors. It wasn’t that the suitors weren’t acceptable. There was even one young man on Mark’s list who would make a solid, respectable husband.
But none of them were Gabriel. None of them were hers. And she was damned tired of trying to scrape her way, to dodge and plot and worry about what came out of her mouth at any given moment. Gabriel might not always be the perfect knight charging on his steed. But he was hers. She felt it deep within her. And she was going to let him know it.
She gave the driver the direction, ignoring his look, or the fact that he might tell someone that he hadn’t dropped her off at home. The carriage moved. The wheels rolled forward. Hooves clomped. Closer and closer.
She stepped from the carriage as soon as it stopped. “Go back to the ball. I will be fine.” She pressed a coin into his hand, then turned. The carriage rolled off behind her. She would have to hire a hack if this didn’t work.
But it was going to work. She’d make it work.
She straightened her shoulders and marched up the walk.
The brass ring in the lion’s mouth glimmered in the faint light of the gas lamps. Fierce yellow eyes surveyed her from above the loop, questioning her nerve. Marietta Winters curled trembling fingers around the bottom of the metal and forced it against the door knocker.
A large man answered the door, the light this time allowing her to see it was truly a butler, austere, but with the look of a man who could hold himself in a fight. His eyes traveled over her cloak, her shoes, her face, her hair. Chimes rang in the hall, giving the time as eleven in the evening. Too late to be calling, by any stretch of protocol.
“Yes?”
“I need to speak to Mr. Noble.” This time her voice was strong, calm.
“Miss Winters, I presume?”
She blinked. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Winters, but Mr. Noble is out for the evening.” He looked behind her. “I’ll have the carriage see you home.”
Disappointment, sharp and deep, hit her. “I see. Thank you.”
A different carriage from any she had ridden in previously escorted her back to her rented town house. Gabriel must be out with one of his others somewhere in the city. Seeing someone new perhaps?
The thought didn’t bear thinking.
She entered the house and greeted the butler. Their new butler. Jeanie, the only servant they had rehired, passed her in the hall, her eyes unfocused and dreamy. Marietta shook her head. Jeanie was a good worker but a mite daft sometimes.
The door to her room was shut, and she opened it and slipped inside, heading for her dressing table. Jeanie had been prompt in lighting her lamps. She peeled off her glove
s and reached to her nape to unclasp the necklace there. Movement in the looking glass held her motionless as she examined the image.
That explained Jeanie’s behavior and the lamps.
She dropped the necklace to the table and walked back to the door, closing it softly and sealing them inside. She leaned against the door, her hands splayed on the wood behind her.
Gabriel was sitting on her bed, papers spread about in a terrible mess on top of it, leaning back against a pile of her pillows, looking wonderful, even with the dark creases under his eyes.
“Marietta.”
“Gabriel. This is my bedroom, you did know.”
“I confess I’ve been here before.”
A tingle shot through her, very different from the one she had experienced the last time he was in her room, the night their partnership had begun.
“How did you get in?”
“I bribed your servants.”
“Well, that will hardly do. And here I thought you had hired us some respectable ones.”
He unfolded from his position and rose slowly, hitching his hip and shoulder against one of the bed poster poles and crossing his arms. “I bribed them doubly, so they would say nothing to your brothers or anyone else, should I stay for five minutes or five hours.” Emotion flashed through his eyes, and she caught the vulnerability he tried so desperately to hide. “I suppose the poor servants are only as respectable as the man hiring them. Perhaps you should have checked his references.”
He looked delicious. Hair falling into his eyes, the ever watchful look within them. Vulnerability and strength.
“Perhaps I still should. A full, thorough search.”
He smiled. A full stretch of sensual lips—palpable relief combined with a predatory upward curl.
“That would be best. Tea?” He pointed to a service on her side table. He had obviously made himself right at home.
“No.” She walked toward him, picking the pins out of her hair as she went. “I’ve had plenty of tea.”
“You were supposed to be at the Smithertons’ for at least another hour.”