How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(46)

He raced for the spot, grabbed the man’s boot, and dragged him into moonlight. “Keene. Isn’t that what they call you?”

The same blighter who’d confronted Clary that first day he’d seen her in Whitechapel. Gabe had wanted to thrash the man that day, but he’d held himself back because she was standing nearby. Nothing restrained him now. His blood was up, his body ached, and after years of fighting, he knew nothing was better for pain than battling through it.

He hauled the man to his feet.

“I didn’t mean to,” Keene sniveled, tears and blood and mucus collecting on his lips. “I’d never ’urt the girl. I love ’er.”

“Tell it to the rozzers.” Gabe got a good hold of the back of the man’s coat and shoved him forward. “Walk. Quickly. Before I change my mind and pummel you into the pavement.”

Gabe pushed the man along toward the back side of Fisk Academy. A gaggle had assembled. The constable had been joined by another uniformed copper, Helen, and a few older students. Clary stood just outside the rear door.

“Gabriel.”

His name on her lips was like a balm, making him forget everywhere he hurt. Clearing the hatred of Rigg that boiled inside him.

“That’s the man,” Helen said, her voice firm and decisive as she pointed to Keene. “Girls, go back inside.”

“Where is she?” Keene called.

Gabe gave the man a hard shove, then jerked him back. “Speak only to the rozzers. Leave the ladies alone.”

The fool didn’t listen. He did what he’d done the first day Gabe saw him. He made a terrible choice. Twisting back, he began swiping blindly, attempting to strike. Gabe arched back, avoiding his blows.

Releasing the fabric of Keene’s coat, Gabe let the man wheel around to strike. When Keene came at him with a roundhouse swing, Gabe ducked the blow, landing his own on the man’s jaw. Another to his midriff, and then Gabe took Keene down with a swipe of his boot behind the man’s ankles. Keene didn’t move from where he landed, moaning and crying, mumbling his defense for whatever heinous acts he’d committed.

“That was magnificent.” Clary rushed up and stopped short when she drew near, raising a hand to her mouth. “What did he do to you?”

“Wasn’t him.” Gabe grasped her wrist when she reached for him to keep her from getting blood on her fingers. He glanced toward the school as the constables came forward to collect Keene. “You’re all right? He didn’t harm you?”

“I’m fine.” She looked away for a moment before lifting her gaze to his. “He lured Sally out to meet him and turned violent when she wouldn’t . . . respond as he wished.” She shivered, and Gabe could feel the tremor in her wrist. “She fought him. Scratched him. I should have taught her to punch him in the throat.” Her voice quavered, and her eyes shone in the moonlight.

Gabe drew her into his arms. She fitted herself against him, and he rested his chin atop her head. Underneath his overcoat, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

Bruised and bloodied as he was, he let out a ragged sigh. She was warm, soft, sweet-scented bliss, and her trust in him was a gift he didn’t deserve. Too soon, she lifted her head and squinted at him in the darkness.

“You dispatched Mr. Keene quickly.” She slid her hand down to his, caressed his knuckles, where his scars were stinging like in the old days. “You were a fighter once?”

“Once. Tonight. Does a man ever really change?” Gabe unlatched her arms from around his waist and set her away from him.

He hadn’t changed. Not truly. Fighting Rigg’s thugs, taking Keene to the ground, striking out, fist to flesh, had sparked those bone-deep instincts he’d honed for years on Whitechapel’s streets. Some awful part of him had enjoyed every second of besting Keene. And he’d loved the flash of fear he’d seen in Rigg’s coal-black eyes.

“Come inside. Let me at least clean your cut.” She’d taken his hand, tugging at him, despite his determination not to follow her. He didn’t wish to involve her with this part of his life.

“I need to get home to my sister.”

She didn’t release his hand, and he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. “Do you wish for her to see you like that? You can tidy up inside.”

Sara had seen much worse. She’d been the one to stitch him up after many of his fighting ring injuries.

There was such determination in Clary’s face, mixed with real concern. When he was near her, she reminded him of the man he wished to be, the one he pretended to be, not the one he’d left behind.

“Just for a moment,” he said, relenting and stepping toward her.

She gave him one of those smiles, and he feared they’d be his undoing. When she looked at him like that, he was apt to follow her anywhere.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“We can use Helen’s office.” Clary led him by the hand because she liked how the strength of his grip grounded her after the night’s events. Also, she suspected if she let him go, he’d bolt in the opposite direction.

He took in the small, meticulously organized room with an appreciative glance. He and Helen shared fastidiousness in common when it came to their work space.

“I’ll go and fetch some water and a cloth.” At the door, she turned back. “You’ll still be here when I return?”