How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(68)

Clary needed no more encouragement. She started across the road and tipped her head back to make sure Sara followed. They hooked arms as they stepped inside, drawing the notice of several men, who grunted and offered compliments and lewd suggestions. Sara led Clary straight to the bar, waving to catch the barman’s notice.

“Wot can I get ye, ladies?” the affable man said as he approached.

Clary slid a coin across the counter, keeping it covered with her palm. “Information, sir.”

He ducked to see the coin, and she lifted her fingers to reveal a crown. The man whistled as one brow shot up. “Tell you anything you like, miss. Wot you need?”

Sara planted an elbow on the bar. “Word’s floatin’ ’bout a brawl. Rigg’s boy. Where and when?”

The barman eyed them both dubiously. “Eager for blood, are ye, ladies?”

“I have cutthroat tastes,” Clary told him. “Do you know anything about a fight this evening?”

He gestured toward her hand and the coin below. She slid him the crown across the bar.

“Might do,” he said after pocketing the money. “Stroke o’ midnight. Back o’ me rival’s establishment.” He nudged his chin left. “West a mile. Edge of Whitechapel. The Crossroads.”

“I know the place,” Sara whispered eagerly to Clary. “Let’s go.”

Starting down Whitechapel Road, they walked until Clary’s feet ached and the muscles in her legs burned. A few times, Sara stopped to catch her breath, patting and rubbing her belly before continuing on.

“Are you with child?” Clary finally whispered to her.

The young woman gulped before casting her a defensive look. “And what if I am?”

Clary offered her a soft smile. “Then I offer you felicitations and insist we get out of here as soon as we can.”

“Believe me, I’ll drag the fool out of this stew by the scruff of his neck if I have to.” Sara picked up the pace. “I only wish Thomas were here to help us, but I didn’t wish to wait any longer before coming to find you.”

“Is Thomas your husband?”

Sara’s face lit in a smile. “He soon will be.”

A few more steps, and Sara grabbed Clary’s wrist. “That’s it. Just up ahead.”

The building housing the pub was taller than most. Light spilled out onto the pavement from its many windows, along with the music of accordions and raucous laughter.

“We should go ’round back,” Sara advised. “If Gabe’s come early, that’s where he’ll be to prepare.”

Finding a side lane several buildings down, they proceeded to an alley that ended abruptly at a high wooden fence that enclosed the yard behind the Crossroads pub.

“How do we get inside?” Clary asked as she scanned the wood for any opening or loose slat.

“We knock,” Sara told her as she lifted her fist to rap on the wood. A moment later, four slats several feet away parted, and an enormous man stuck his head through.

“Rigg sent us to see to ’is man,” Sara told him boldly.

The man raked her with a leering gaze. “How about you see to me first, luv?”

Sara sauntered over, and Clary followed close behind. “Let us in,” she told him, “and we’ll negotiate.”

The man cast a gaze at Clary and licked his beefy lips. “Two at a time is just to my taste.” He pulled back the linked slats farther, leaning in close as Sara and Clary stepped inside.

Sara pulled Clary away from the man and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Go and find Gabe. Convince him we must leave here. I’ll distract this one.”

“He’s too big and too vile. I can’t leave you alone with him.” There was little point in finding Gabe and convincing him of her love if she allowed harm to befall his sister. She knew him well enough to know he’d never forgive her.

“I’ve got a blade in my boot and another stuffed in my corset.” Sara glanced back at the randy gatekeeper. “I’m not afraid to use ’em. Now go,” she said with a shove to Clary’s arm. “Find him so we can get out of this miserable place.”

Clary walked quickly across the yard, attempting not to draw the notice of the men clustered around various spots inside the walls. Some stood smoking, others sat in chairs, as if awaiting the fight. Still others worked on stringing long lines of rope around the space, creating the fighting ring itself, she assumed. Up ahead, she saw light inside the open rear door of the pub, and to the left, another area, covered with a tarp but not part of the building itself. She ducked toward the shadowed space, and the air whooshed from her lungs.

At the far end of the tarpaulin shelter, Gabe moved in the dim light of a lantern. Bare from the waist up, he jabbed at a bag that hung from a beam overhead.

She ran toward him, and he pivoted at the sound of her footfalls.

“Clary?” he rasped.

He caught her as she slammed into him, holding her tightly in his arms. She plastered herself against him, linking her hands behind his back, unwilling to let him go. When he tipped her chin up to gaze into his eyes, she saw the same relief that was singing through her body.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He tore off the padded gloves he wore and took her face in his hands, which were wrapped mummy-tight in strips of fabric. “You need to leave here.”