How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(66)
The young woman planted a hand on her belly in the way she’d seen other women do when they were increasing with child. “A bit unsettled today. Wouldn’t take anything if you did.” Tall but much thinner than her brother, Miss King moved with much more frenetic energy, and she flitted around the office, submitting every inch to a thorough inspection before taking the seat Clary indicated. “Looks very much like Gabe, it does. Neat as a pin. He’s always hated dirt and muck and mess. Even when we were living in the midst of worst of it.”
“I’d like to know more about his upbringing,” Clary said as she settled beside Sara. She perched on her chair, turning to face the young woman who bore such a striking resemblance to her brother.
“Would you, indeed? I suspect you’ll have a fine time of it, trying to get more details from Gabe. As much as he hates mess, he loathes thinking about the old days more.” Sara waved at her. “If he’s told you anything at all, then he must adore you. Never speaks of what he’s been through to anyone.”
Clary had a sense his history was far darker than the horrors he’d confessed, though she found it difficult to imagine much worse than a child being caged.
“Would you mind if I’m blunt and sharp this afternoon, Miss Ruthven? There’s no time to waste.” She leaned forward, and Clary could see that her skin was pebbled with perspiration. “I’ve come to plead with you. I think you’re the only one who can stop him.”
Clary shook her head. If only she had that power, he’d still be with her. He’d never have walked out of Kit and Phee’s front door and left her behind.
“Yes, miss,” Sara insisted. “Now hear me out. He’s gone to Whitechapel. I rue the day I ever mentioned our mother to him a few weeks ago. He went back to find her, when he hadn’t stepped foot in that godforsaken place for years.” She bowed her head to stare at the floor a moment before meeting Clary’s gaze again, her eyes beseeching. “Please, miss. You must help me stop him. He’s gone to fight for Rigg.”
Ice filled her veins, and Clary shivered. “No, he wouldn’t do that.” The shivering wouldn’t stop. From her feet to her forehead, she quivered as if she’d been dunked in the icy depths of the Thames. “He hates that man.”
“He hates the notion of losing you more.” Sara shook her head. “You see, he has nothing. He’s given us, my Thomas and me, all his savings for a dowry.”
“Congratulations,” Clary told her, still unable to make sense of what she’d been told. “But how could Gabe think of going back to fighting?”
“He needs to pay his rent, Miss Ruthven. Find employment, the honest way.” She shrugged and rubbed a hand over her belly. “Says he hopes to win you back some day.”
“Win me back?” Clary stood and prayed her shaking body would keep her upright. “He left me, Miss King. Resigned his position here. He didn’t lose me. He left me.”
Sara stood too. “Men aren’t always easily understood, and what they call logic, we might call rubbish. But Gabe hasn’t stopped thinking of you for a single second, I vow that to you.” She laid a clammy hand on Clary’s arm. “The old devil’s offered Gabe as much as he’d earn in a year for one fight in the pit. Gabe thinks he needs that money to have you.”
Clary could recall the sodden feel of the messenger boy’s note in her hands. Gabe hadn’t even wanted her to read it. And he wouldn’t have gone back into that life of horrors willingly. Unless he felt trapped, with no other choices.
If he’d only come to her, they could have found a solution together.
“I’m hoping that fierce look in your lavender eyes means you’ll help me.”
Clary patted the young woman’s hand where she still had a hold on her arm. “Of course, I will.”
“Tell him the money means nothing to you,” Sara pleaded. “Even if it’s a lie. I know as well as most that money matters a great deal, but say anything you must to dissuade him from this terrible course.”
“The money doesn’t matter to me.” Her body stopped quivering, and Clary pressed a hand to where her heart was beginning to thump with something other than the misery she’d felt since parting from Gabe. “And I’m terrible at lying,” she told his sister, “but I do have another idea.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Gabe waited in the shadows, watching dusk turn to darkness over Whitechapel. He’d spent an hour in the Ten Bells, nursing a single pint of dreadful ale and confessing his misery to a man he’d never met before today. Just his luck that the man would turn out to be one of H Division’s wily plainclothes detectives.
Now he stood in the dark, awaiting the devil.
The behemoth appeared first. He lurched down the pavement, scanning for any mischief ahead. Then Rigg came along, with his other thug in tow, heading into one of his favored establishments, a whorehouse cum gambling den that none but his closest associates were allowed to enter via this alleyway entrance.
“Rigg,” Gabe called to the demon.
The behemoth and the other thug sprang into action, one palming a cudgel, the other raising the barrel of a pistol that gleamed in the moonlight.
“Go inside, boys,” the old man told them. “Tell ’em to prepare a spot for me at the table, while I conduct a nice tête-à-tête with my Ragin’ Boy.” After sweeping his beady gaze from one end of the alley to the other, as if he could see in the darkness, he smiled across at Gabe. “Got my message, did ye, boy?”