Dear Impostor

by Nicole Byrd

The other two ruffians blocked Gabriel’s path; one of them pulled a small but lethal dagger from his waistband.

  Gabriel’s expression was stern, and his eyes had darkened. If she had not already been so frightened, Psyche would have shivered at the look he wore. But he had no weapon, only a few flimsy gilt-colored cardboard arrows in the quiver at his waist.

  Despite his outrage, he would be helpless before the knife, she thought, despair threatening to overwhelm her. So she was as surprised as their assailants when Gabriel whipped the white satin cloak off his shoulders and wrapped it swiftly around his left arm.

  The man with the knife, as if realizing Gabriel’s intent, lunged with the sharp blade outstretched. Gabriel blocked the blow with his well-wrapped arm and at the same time, his right fist thrust forward, meeting the man’s chin with a sharp impact that rocked him back on his heels. Dazed, the attacker dropped, hitting the ballroom floor with a thud. Gabriel leaned over him and delivered another stunning blow. The spectators around them squealed and clapped, as if it were all a show.

  Idiots! Psyche had overcome her own momentary feeling of helplessness. The man holding her was staring at Gabriel in surprise and his grip was less certain. Psyche plunged her elbow into her captor’s side. Gulping with pain, he let go of her wrist, and she ran to Gabriel.

  The third man hesitated, looking unsure now that the odds were more even.

  Gabriel grabbed her hand. “Run,” he said.

  They did. At least she was not hindered by huge powdered wigs or long mermaid tails, Psyche thought as they fled through the laughing guests. Perhaps her costume had been well chosen, after all.

  And Gabriel had shed his cloak and hat, and his trousers and boots were easy enough to run in. They pushed their way through the edge of the ballroom and paused long enough to take stock.

  “Are there more of them?” Psyche asked, breathing hard.

  “It’s likely,” Gabriel said.

  And even as he answered, two more ruffians came out of the crowd. One held a rough club, and both looked unshaven and dirty.

  She felt Gabriel tense. “Get behind me,” he muttered.

  “Look out,” she said, stepping back a little so as not to hinder his defense. “There’s another!”

  The big clean-shaven man who stepped out from the other side of the room wore slightly better clothes and a determined expression.

  Strangely, Gabriel laughed. Psyche glanced up at him in surprise, then saw that the last man had stepped in front of their attackers and held up his fists. But he faced the gang members, not Gabriel.

  “Get along with you, Gov,” he told Gabriel.

  Gabriel nodded. “They will be well occupied,” Gabriel explained while Psyche grappled with the surprise that this man was an ally, not an enemy. “I hired him from Gentleman Jackson’s Academy. But it is time for us to leave.”

  They hurried on into the hall, and Gabriel waved to a footman, who approached and bowed. There was a quick exchange of coin, and Gabriel said, “Summon our carriage, quickly, and you’ll get another of these. And bring our cloaks, and then remain beside the lady; do not let her be accosted by drunken revelers.”

  His eyes bright, the footman hurried away.

  “Don’t leave me,” Psyche said before she thought, reaching for his arm. She found she was shivering, more with shock than with cold; the night was mild.

  He put his arm around her; she leaned against his comforting strength. “I won’t,” he agreed. “Where is David? We could use another good man, and the lad is strong for his age. Did he go back inside? We’ll never find him now. There are too many people in this crush, and too many damned mice!”

  The tightness in her throat seemed to strangle the laugh that tried to emerge. Madness, this night had been mad, from beginning to end.

  She watched the crowd for signs of the men who had attacked them, or for even more members of the gang. She heard shouts of encouragement from inside the ballroom and looked back to see that the impromptu round of fisticuffs, which already had one of their assailants on the floor with a bloody nose, was a hit with the company, who still appeared to think this was all devised for their entertainment. Whatever would Sally say?

  Psyche glanced uneasily over her shoulder through the open double doors. No more assailants emerged from the crowd. Yet Psyche felt a prickle on the back of her neck, as if vigilant eyes watched from the cover of the oddly-garbed mass of guests.

  “Gabriel,” she whispered. “Do you think Barrett is here? I mean, I know that Sally would not have invited him, but–”

  ”But he could have walked in, disguised like the rest of us?” Gabriel muttered back. “I would not be surprised.”

  Psyche shivered. And the masquerade had seemed like such a good chance for a safe outing. Safe? She bit back another slightly hysterical giggle.

  The servant returned, bowing and handed them their cloaks. “Your carriage awaits, my lord.”

  “Good, you may accompany us to the door.” Gabriel pressed another coin into the footman’s gloved hand. “The lady is a bit giddy from too much excitement.”

  Psyche shot him an indignant look, but he met her gaze with a bland smile. Oh very well, they had to say something to excuse their abrupt departure. The footman held open the door and they hurried out, almost falling over a prone body on the outside steps.

  “David!” Psyche exclaimed. “Is he all right?”

  Gabriel knelt to touch the boy’s throat, lift one of his eyelids. “He’s been knocked out; here, get him aid at once,” he told the servant. “We cannot stay.”

  The man shouted toward the open door, and another servant scurried out to assist.

  Psyche lingered for only a moment to make sure that the young man was breathing evenly.

  “What about Sally?” she whispered to Gabriel.

  “We’ll make our apologies later,” he answered absently.

  “No, the gang members; we can’t just leave them here!”

  He nodded and added to the footman bending over David, “There are some roughly-dressed men who have taken advantage of the costume gala to slip inside and look for purses to pick; I’d round up some more servants to scour the crowd and get them out of your mistress’ house before they do any more serious harm. They are the ones who must have attacked my friend here.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The footman looked alarmed, but he handed Psyche into their carriage and then hastened back to help carry David up the steps of the mansion.

  Gabriel conferred for a moment with the driver, then took his seat beside her, calling, “Drive on!”

  With a clatter of horses’ hooves and a jangle of harness, the carriage pulled away from the house. Psyche took a deep breath. She hoped that David was not seriously hurt, but at least she could stop looking over her shoulder; perhaps they had left the danger behind..

  “A good thing you had coin on you,” she said. “I would not have expected you to be so prepared, especially in this costume.”

  “I never go anywhere without funds,” Gabriel said, his tone noncommittal.

  Psyche remembered his uncertain existence, his years of exile, and flushed. “Of course.” Then her eyes widened. Back in the ballroom he had shed the remains of his satin cloak, and now she saw dark stains on his white sleeve.

  “Are you wounded?” The assailant with the knife had injured him, after all. She leaned closer to see his arm in the dim light, touching his ruined sleeve lightly. The fine silk had been slit, and she could detect blood still seeping from a long gash.

  “We must bind it up,” she said, distressed. “You never said a word.”

  “It’s only a scratch,” he told her. He pulled out a linen handkerchief, and she wrapped it around the wound.

  “Like the last cut was only a scratch?” Psyche frowned as she tightened the knot. “You are very nonchalant about having knives thrust into you.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be when I have your heavenly hands to tend me, goddess.” Gabriel wagged his brows comicall
y. It wasn’t easy to glare at him in disapproval when she was laughing, but she managed.

  “When we reach home, we must wash it,” she said, “so it doesn’t turn septic.”

  He shrugged. “We are not going home,” he said, his voice calm. “Barrett’s gang is growing too bold; we must give them the slip.”

  Psyche knew that her eyes had widened. She glanced out the carriage window and saw that indeed, they had already passed their own square. “But where are we going?”

  “I think it’s time I examined my new property,” Gabriel said. “And I need a quiet place to lie low for a time, till my ownership is established and I can find a way to defeat Barrett once and for all.”

  “But isn’t that the worst spot to evade Barrett?” She tried to grasp his audacious plan.

  “From what the solicitor tells me, the scoundrel hasn’t visited his former estate in years,” Gabriel said. “He is a most indifferent landlord. And sometimes the obvious card is the most unexpected one to play. I will be vigilant.”

  A flicker of light from a street lamp momentarily threw light into the carriage‘s interior; she made out an unexpected object tucked between his body and his shirt, a lethal outline clear beneath the thin fabric. Then the shadows thickened once again.

  “What is that?”

  But she knew the answer as soon as she spoke the words. It was the dagger that the first of Barrett’s hired killers had brandished. Gabriel must have taken it away from the man after he had knocked him out; she had missed his action in the strain of the moment.

  Gabriel raised his dark brows. “Never throw away a weapon,” he murmured.

  She remembered the old woman’s gossip, the whispers from Gabriel’s past. They said he’d killed her . . .

  She was riding off into the darkness with an accused murderer as her only companion, and no one else even knew their destination.

  Chapter 18

  But her anxiety was premature; Gabriel seemed quite anxious to be rid of her.

  “If they had not already discovered Sally’s location, I should have left you there,” he told Psyche as he stared outside at the dark streets. “But with the gang already in the house, it hardly seemed advisable. What other friend or relative would you feel best about visiting?”

  She had a sudden absurd vision of turning up on Percy and Uncle Wilfred’s doorstep. She laughed, then swallowed hard; this was not the time for hysterics. No, having to explain her danger would offer too much support to all of Percy’s warnings about Gabriel and his lack of authenticity. Besides, to be forced to listen to Percy lecture all day and to be too available for his amorous advances, no indeed, not even to save her life. And aunt Mavis and her sour chatter–Psyche could not brook that idea, either. Despite her abundance of relatives, she could think of no one to whom she wished to turn in her moment of deepest need.

  The fact was, she felt safest with Gabriel by her side. She had reached out to him instinctively in the ballroom. Despite the fact that he was the one who had attracted the assailants in the first place, his presence made her feel most protected, and she did not want to part from him. It was illogical, but the strength of her feelings could not be denied.

  “No.” She shook her head. ”I won’t.”

  Gabriel turned to regard her through the dimness. He sounded concerned. “You need to stay out of sight, too, Psyche, for your own sake. Believe me–”

  “I’m going with you,” she said.

  Silence, then he spoke again, and she could not read his voice. “Psyche, my dear Miss Hill–”

  What had happened to goddess? The formal title was a reminder of the great gulf that lay between them. He was a fraud, an impostor, and he had no right to remain in her company.

  “We have no chaperone; it will cause your ruin–”

  ”If anyone in the Ton finds out,” she finished calmly. “We shall have to be sure they do not. Besides, your enemies are entirely too persistent. They know where my house is, they know my family. No matter where I go in London, what if they find me again? If it’s a choice between getting my throat cut and having my reputation tarnished, I think I should choose the latter.”

  He didn’t answer; did he hear her remark as a rebuke? She didn’t intend it so; he had not asked for this life and death struggle.

  Leaning her head against the squabs, Psyche closed her eyes and thought of her years of careful deferment to the strictest rules of decorum, of her anxious observance of all of Society’s edicts. Having a band of murderers after them made those concerns seem almost insignificant. Almost . . . a respectable reputation was still essential for a woman of good birth; had she not made that her touchstone ever since her parents’ death? And now she had thrown it all to the winds. She should be distraught. Instead, like her costume, this turn-about made her feel strangely free.

  “Are you sure?” Gabriel said at last; his voice still husky with emotions she could not identify. “You must understand that I cannot guarantee your safety, my dear.”

  “Yes, my mind is made up.”

  He made no comment; did he not wish her to come? Before she could worry about this, another thought struck. Circe and Aunt Sophie. She spoke her thought aloud. “Circe and my aunt will be anxious,” she told Gabriel, “if we do not come home after the ball.”

  Gabriel nodded; he should have remembered her family. He was too accustomed to only looking out for himself, to having no one about who cared whether or not he came home. And the shock of finding that Psyche meant to remain beside him, despite the dangers, despite the pressing and more rational need for her to distance herself from his company–it awoke emotions which had been buried for years deep inside him.

  Once, he had been cast off from all that he held dear, denied the refuge of his own home, rejected by those who should have flown to his defense. He had built up a wall of cynicism to protect himself from ever repeating such a crushing blow; he’d vowed he would never again be so trusting, so vulnerable. He had built up his barricade brick by brick; Psyche had no idea how high that wall had become . . . or that she had shaken it to its selfish foundations, made the first crack in a battlement he had never thought could be breached.

  Psyche was watching him, her expression anxious. Gabriel pulled himself together and called to the driver. When the carriage pulled up, Gabriel hopped out and summoned a young street sweeper standing his post at the corner.

  “Here, a coin for you if you deliver a message,” he told the lad.

  The youngster was ragged and dirty, but his eyes were alert. “Yu’ sir,” he said.

  “Tell the household–” Gabriel gave him the address and carefully described the house and square–“that Miss Psyche has been called away to visit a sick friend; they are to say little about her absence but not to worry. Can you remember all that?”

  “Blimey, yeah,” the lad agreed.

  “I’m sure the footman will have another coin for you, if you tell him I wished it so,” Gabriel added. “Now, make haste.”

  The boy looked even keener. “I’ll run all the way, gov’nor,” he promised. With Gabriel’s coin clutched firmly in his dirty hand, the boy took to his heels.

  Gabriel returned to the carriage and signaled the driver. It lurched a little as it again moved forward. A good thing he had put a good stash of blunt at the bottom of the silk quiver with its fake arrows, Gabriel thought. This costume had little in the way of useful pockets. But he was too accustomed to his life turning unexpectedly upside down to go out without having funds easily obtainable.

  Psyche was watching him. He told her the message he had sent, and she nodded.

  “Do you think he will find the right house?”

  “With the promise of another coin as payment? I’m sure of it,” he told her, wishing he hadn’t involved her and endangered her orderly life. She looked so small and vulnerable. Her voice was still uncertain, and he wanted urgently to comfort her fears. He wanted her . . . that was the crux of it. And he was still trying to credit that she h
ad elected to remain with him. She had stayed, in the heat of danger and difficulty, when she had every reason to leave him and protect herself. He could barely believe it was true.

  “Do you not want me to come, Gabriel?” she asked quietly from the corner of the carriage.

  They had reached the outskirts of London now, and the street lamps popped up less often, so the interior of the carriage was darker. Fortunately, an almost full moon gave light to the driver and the team, but it shed only a faint illumination inside the vehicle. Gabriel could no longer see her face, it was lost in the shadows, though beneath her cloak, her white costume made a pale silhouette against the dark cushions. She sat very still, her hands clasped together in her lap.

  Not want her to come? He would have sold his soul to keep her beside him forever. The sudden realization was blinding in its intensity. He wanted her beside him, he wanted her soft body beneath him–his yearning for her was so intense he did not trust himself to even take her hand.

  The truth was, he loved her. He loved her. Gabriel had never thought he would love a woman again. But he loved Psyche with a heat and a depth that shook his whole concept of himself. She was beautiful in her soul as well as her body, intelligent, selfless, loyal, all those things he had thought did not exist in any female form. He had taken his pleasure often enough, enjoyed flirtations and trysts and hot-blooded joinings in tumbled beds and on sun-warmed sands, but he had not expected to love. He had not even imagined that the capacity for it still existed inside his hollowed heart.

  He loved her.

  Gabriel took a deep breath; he had not answered her question, and the silence between them had grown strained.

  “Of course I want you with me,” he said. She would have no idea how much truth the simple statement held. “But I must think of your well being, Psyche. As I said, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

  He saw her relax subtly, the shape of her body losing its tenseness, and he heard her take a long breath. She smelled of rose oil, and he wanted her so badly—

  “I understand,” she said. “But I have the right to make my own decision, Gabriel.”