How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(15)

With a little effort, he could outwit a hellion.

“Perhaps—”

“Yes!” Ruthven whooped, nearly dancing a jig across the bare wood floor of Gabe’s office. “I knew you’d see reason. Clary will come around too. Trust me.”

Gabe rarely trusted anyone, but what disturbed him most was the man’s reference to persuading his sister. “Mr. Ruthven, your sister is aware of this plan, isn’t she?”

“Not every detail.” Ruthven ducked his head to stare at the toes of his boots. When he looked up, his actor’s mask faltered. Worry etched lines across his forehead. “She will agree. We’ll convince her.”

“We?”

“I’m willing to up your salary by as much as a hundred pounds. Surely, that will encourage you to take her on.”

Gabe wanted the money, no doubts on that score. But he wasn’t at all certain he was the man to convince Miss Ruthven to agree to her brother’s scheme. He suspected she’d be more amenable if Ruthven promised she could avoid Gabe for the duration.

“How long do you intend this”—Gabe couldn’t bring himself to refer to the man’s sister as a project—“mentorship will last?”

Ruthven shrugged. “As long as it takes.”

“Until?”

He sketched vaguely in the air. “Until she’s matured and has learned a few skills. Until she’s more sensible and less impulsive. Until I’m not worried every time she walks out the door.”

While Ruthven fretted, Gabe surreptitiously pulled his resignation letter from the desk and crumpled it in his fist. One hundred pounds for a brief period of misery. No, that wasn’t quite true. If Ruthven’s stated goals were true, this project might last a very, very long time.

“So we’ve settled the matter?” Ruthven coaxed.

Gabe stood and offered his hand. “We have, sir.”

“Excellent.” Leaning in and lowering his voice, Ruthven added, “Best not to mention every detail to Clary. Especially the matter of the pay rise and additional bonus.”

“Of course not, sir.” Bribery might taste excellent when one’s desired ends were achieved, but it never settled well in the belly. Gabe knew that better than most.

Just as they broke off their handshake, Daughtry burst into the office. “Pardon me, gentlemen. Mr. Adamson, you’re wanted in the workroom, sir. Your sister is here and says she must speak with you urgently.”





CHAPTER SIX

“This way.” Gabe led Sara through the rain, lifting his overcoat over her head to provide shelter as they headed to a nearby coffeehouse. She’d refused to enter his office and carry on a conversation in front of the clerks in the workroom.

“I don’t wish to disturb your workday.” Breathless and shaking, she settled into the straight-back chair he pulled out for her. With a hand to her chest, she wheezed out her words. “I thought you should know straightaway.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Gabe lifted two fingers in the air, and a waiter nodded. As a devotee of the shop’s dark, smoky brew, most of the staff knew him well. A moment later, the young man deposited mugs that puffed like the stacks of a steam train.

“I ventured out for a bit of a wander,” Sara started on a whisper. “Just around the square. They were cuttin’ the grass. You know I can’t resist that smell. Heavenly, it is.”

There hadn’t been much fresh-cut grass in Whitechapel, and they’d both come to treasure such a simple luxury.

She took a quick sip of coffee, wincing at the stinging heat. After another wheezing breath, she inclined toward him, leaning on the table. “I stopped to take in the spring flowers, and that’s when I saw him. I swear it was him, Gabe.”

Dizziness came like a wave, and he grasped the ceramic mug in front of him, letting its scalding heat ground him. Worry gnawed at his belly, a familiar chewing he hadn’t experienced in years. He shook his head, trying to deny it, but he knew. He could see the proof in his sister’s eyes. For so many years, they’d been safe. They’d forgotten the most important lesson of the East End: always watch your back.

“Did he speak to you?”

“Not a word. Soon as I seen ’im, ’e scarpered like the rotter ’e is.” She always fell into pure Cockney when something got her back up. With a hand still pressed to her chest, she worked to steady her breathing.

“You’re sure you saw him?” He had to ask. He wanted her to waver.

“Tried to convince myself I was mistaken. That I’d dredged up some nightmare.” She tapped a finger against the table. “It was him, Gabe. The devil himself.”

So this was the reckoning. The devil had vowed to come knocking. As soon as Gabe got his first taste of success. He’d promised to make whatever Gabe touched turned to dust. Swore to haunt him for the rest of his days.

Unfortunately, Malcolm Rigg wasn’t a ghost.

“Go back home.” Gabe removed a few coins from his pocket. “No more wandering today. Get a cab, and bolt the doors once you’re inside. Answer to no one.”

“I don’t fear for myself. That old goat can’t keep me trapped inside.” Sara swept back a strand of dark hair, as black as his own, and gazed at him with sadness in her eyes. “Truth is, he never cared a farthing about me. Just wish I could keep him from causing you more misery.”