How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(61)

Tears came streaming down her cheeks. She swiped them away on the arm of her dressing gown, but more came.

Would he come back to Ruthven’s tomorrow? Pretend what they’d shared hadn’t changed everything?

She couldn’t imagine a moment of pretending she didn’t love Gabriel Adamson, let alone a lifetime.





CHAPTER NINETEEN

Clary had no reason to worry about facing Gabriel on Wednesday morning.

He wasn’t at Ruthven’s, though Kit was, and she’d rarely seen her brother shaking with the kind of rage his office manager inspired.

“No indication!” Kit shouted as he slammed a hand on top of Gabriel’s desk. “Not a single word of forewarning. After eight years of service, how bloody dare he?”

“May I see the note?” Clary retrieved the piece of foolscap and began pacing. The sentiments in Gabriel’s flawless italic handwriting were familiar. Nearly word for word the same letter of resignation she’d found discarded in his dustbin. Except that he made no mention of Wellbeck’s, only of his plan to move to a new situation. And unlike the previous letter, this one included no offer to remain until a replacement could be found.

Effective immediately were perhaps the two most painful words she’d ever read.

Did he truly plan to never see her, speak to her, again? What of Daughtry, who lived to serve him, and the clerks, who looked up to him, even if they made light of his dour management style behind his back?

She lifted the resignation letter again and read the final paragraph. His only mention of her. “I pray Miss Ruthven continues in her mentorship with Daughtry. She is talented, clever, and possesses an instinct for leaving everything she touches better than she found it. I wish her every success.” Clary squinted, wishing she could find more between the precise strokes of his pen. Some hidden message just for her. Some indication that all that had passed between them wasn’t so easily dismissed.

“Any ideas?” Kit prompted, his voice steadier than the tirade she’d been listening to for a quarter of an hour. “He certainly thinks highly of you.” He gestured disgustedly at the letter.

“Mr. Daughtry has been here longer than Gab—longer than Mr. Adamson. He can take over his duties until we find a replacement.” The word replacement tasted awful on her tongue. They might find another man to sit at his desk, but she could never imagine another managing the many functions of Ruthven’s as he had. And with as much ruthless efficiency.

“Will you stay on?” Kit’s question cut into her thoughts. “You could continue your mentorship, as Adamson suggests and then . . . ” He shrugged and tipped his head as he assessed her. “Would you be interested in managing Ruthven’s?”

Clary opened her mouth but no words would come. All that truly interested her at the moment was speaking to the man who belonged behind that desk. And the first thing she’d do would be to lead him outside the office and straight back to the shelter of that leafy oak tree in Regent’s Park, where he’d vowed that taking the step they had would mean there was no retreat.

“Not immediately, of course,” Kit continued. “Go on learning as much as you can. But according to Mr. Daughtry, you fit in here. Everyone adores you, and I did think you seemed to be enjoying the publishing business.”

“Yes.” She’d fallen in love with the place, the processes, and the man who ruled over every aspect of Ruthven’s operation. “I’ll consider a larger role, but not yet. I still wish to be involved with Fisk Academy, and I haven’t given up on my magazine project.”

Kit filled his lungs in a long, drawn breath. When he exhaled, the punishing line of his shoulders seemed to ease, his gaze softened, and a grin pulled up the corners of his mouth. “No, you rarely give up on anything, do you?”

If only believing in something, and someone, was enough. If she could bring Gabriel back with the power of her faith in him, he’d already be at her side, but that clearly wasn’t sufficient. Not until he believed in himself. What would that take?

“Clary?” Kit’s face had scrunched into grim lines. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

She stared down at Gabriel’s note until the black letters merged into a blurry mess. She was the worst liar in England. But how could she confess the truth to her brother? He’d speak of her ruin and reputation and probably wish to force Gabriel to marry her.

“I simply wish I knew why,” Kit mused as he scratched at his temple. “Did you know I gave him an increase in salary a few weeks ago?”

“No, you never told me.”

Now it was Kit’s turn to duck his head and stare at the blotter on Gabriel’s desk as if the square of black was the most interesting sight in the world. “Just before he began mentoring you.”

The stretch of days felt like a lifetime now. As if she’d lived more vibrantly, been more alive, in that collection of hours than all the years before. She’d fallen for and lost the only man she’d ever loved. And she still wasn’t sure why he was gone.

Kit shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and the truth of what he’d done came to her like sunlight spearing through the clouds.

“You paid him to mentor me in the hope I’d be too busy to go to the East End.” The irony almost made her laugh, though the familiar tickle in her chest never came. Only a constant ache lodged there. “Did you know he’s from Whitechapel?”