Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(101)

Ethan’s entire body tensed in preparation for action, but he stopped in response to Garrett’s staying gesture. She stood beside Jenkyn with a fireplace poker in hand, while the older man was doubled over in his chair, gripping his forearm and crying out in agony.

“My aim was at least three inches off,” Garrett said, regarding the iron in her hand with a perturbed frown. “Probably because it’s heavier than my cane.”

“What did you do that for?” Ethan asked, bewildered.

She picked up an object from the small table and showed it to him. “This was fitted into the cigar stand. He took it out when he lit the cigar.”

As Ethan came to take the gun from her, Garrett said, “Sir Jasper seems to believe he created you, and therefore has the right to destroy you.” She regarded the groaning man in the chair with cool green eyes and said crisply, “Wrong on both counts.”

The butler and a footman burst into the room, followed immediately by the two warehouse guards. As the room erupted with questions and shouts, Garrett stood back to let Ethan handle it. “After we’re finished here, darling,” she asked, just loudly enough for him to hear over the commotion, “could we possibly find a place where someone doesn’t want to shoot you?”





Chapter 25




In the tumultuous days that followed, Garrett found many reasons for joy. Her father returned from his holiday at the Duke of Kingston’s seaside estate, and the healthful regimen of sun, fresh air, and sea bathing had done wonders for his health. He had put on a bit of weight, and he was rosy-cheeked and in high spirits. According to Eliza, who was also refreshed and glowing, the Duke and Duchess, and everyone in the Challon family, had spoiled, indulged, and made much of Stanley Gibson.

“They laughed at all of ’is jokes,” Eliza had reported, “even the old one about the parrot.”

Garrett had winced and covered her eyes with her hands. “He told his parrot joke?”

“Three times. And they all liked it just as much the third time as the first!”

“They didn’t like it,” Garrett had moaned, looking at her through the screen of her fingers. “They were just being remarkably kind.”

“And the duke played draw poker with Mr. Gibson twice,” Eliza had continued. “You’d faint if I told you how much he won.”

“The duke?” Garrett had asked weakly, while visions of debtor’s prison had flashed before her eyes.

“No, your father! It turns out, the duke is the worst draw poker player in the world. Mr. Gibson gave him a fleecing, both times. Your father would have beggared the poor man if we’d stayed longer.” Eliza had paused to regard her with bemusement. “Doctor, why is your head on the table?”

“Just resting it,” Garrett had said in a small voice. The Duke of Kingston, one of the most powerful and influential men in England, owned a gaming club and had run it himself in his younger years. He was not the worst draw poker player in the world, and had almost certainly used the game as a pretext to funnel money into her father’s empty pockets.

Her discomfort over having imposed on the Challon family’s generosity was quickly forgotten in the joy of returning to the clinic and having patients to see again. Her first day back began with a bit of much needed fence-mending with Dr. Havelock, who approached her with a hesitancy that wasn’t at all like him.

“Can you forgive me?” was the first thing he had asked.

Garrett had given him a radiant smile. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said simply, and caught him thoroughly off guard with a spontaneous embrace.

“This is most unprofessional,” he grumbled, but he hadn’t pulled away.

“I will always want your honesty,” Garrett had said, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. “I knew at the time you were trying to do what was right for me. I didn’t agree with your position, but I certainly understood it. And you weren’t wrong. It’s just that I had some unexpected luck, as well as a patient who was as tough as whit leather.”

“It was a mistake for me to underestimate your skill.” Havelock had given her a rare, fond glance as she pulled back. “I won’t do so again. And yes, your young man is an uncommonly durable fellow.” His snowy brows had lifted as he had asked with a touch of waggish anticipation, “Will he be stopping by the clinic to pay a call? I’d like to ask him a question or two about his intentions toward you.”

Garrett had laughed. “I’m sure he will when he’s able. However, he’s already warned me that he will be much occupied for the next few days.”

“Yes,” Havelock had said, sobering, “These are tumultuous times, with scandal and upheaval in both the Home Office and the Metropolitan Force. And your Mr. Ransom seems to be a key figure in all of it. He’s gained renown in a remarkably short period of time. I fear his days of wandering through London unrecognized are over.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Garrett had murmured, rather stunned by the notion. Ethan was so accustomed to absolute privacy and freedom—now he was coping with his altered circumstances.

She had no opportunity to ask him, however. During the next two weeks, Ethan didn’t come to see her even once. A note arrived almost daily, consisting of a few hasty sentences scrawled on a correspondence card. Sometimes the note was accompanied by a fresh flower posy or a basket of violets. Garrett was obliged to hunt through newspaper reports to track his daily whereabouts. The Times had shocked the nation with a series of articles concerning the illegal private detective force that had been operating out of the Home Office. Ethan was constantly on the move as his participation was required in multiple investigations and confidential meetings.