How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(71)

“All this just to snitch on ’im.” There was no recrimination in the boy’s tone. Just a thread of admiration. A grin lifted his bruised cheek as he watched a copper secure the irons around Rigg’s wrists. “Wot if someone worse comes along to replace ’im?”

“Could there be worse than Rigg?”

“Nah, you’re right. Ain’t nobody worse.”

“Do you have a job?”

The boy slapped a fist against the opposite palm.

Gabe side-eyed the boy. “A proper job, I mean.”

“Not sure I’m cut out for proper.”

At the boy’s age, Gabe didn’t think he could change either. But he’d taken the opportunity Leopold Ruthven offered in lieu of payment. “If you change your mind, I’ll give you a chance for honest work. Ruthven Publishing. Southampton Row. Come and find me.”

As he climbed from the ring, he stopped in his tracks and realized what he’d said. Mercy, those blows had turned him dotty. He couldn’t offer anyone a job. He didn’t even have employment of his own.

But he would. He was free now. He could wash himself clean of this life and pursue what he wanted most.

Clary. He scanned the crowd for her and felt a strange mix of regret and relief when he couldn’t find her. Perhaps, for once, she’d taken his advice and gotten herself and Sara to safety. Perhaps they’d gone to Fisk Academy. He’d go there as soon as he settled one last score.

Striding toward the cluster of constables, Gabe tossed his gloves away. He felt the rush of the fight ebbing. His pulse began to steady. His breath came in even bursts. And pain came on with a vengeance. There wasn’t a part of his body that didn’t ache.

Still, he squared his shoulders, stood up tall, and clenched his fists as he approached the circle of policeman surrounding Rigg. The H Division detective strode over and gave his constable a nod. The burly young man backed away and shot Gabe a grim look.

There was no cheroot in Rigg’s mouth now. No smirk under his grizzled mustache. Only hate burning in his black eyes. “Never knew you to be a rat, boy.”

“You never knew me at all.” Gabe lifted his arm, wound back, and planted a facer on Rigg’s nose.

The devil didn’t even wince. Blood gushed down over an evil, snaggletoothed smile.

“I’m done with you, old man.” Gabe turned and jerked a satisfied nod toward the detective.

He stumbled across the trodden grass. Fatigue and weariness set in. It was over. This part was done. Now the rest of his life could start.

A few stragglers remained, loitering around the yard. He bumped into one woman, who waggled a finger at him. “Terrible fight, son. Not enough blood.”

He moved past her and another feminine voice called out of the darkness. “Are you ready to hear my proposal now, Mr. King?”

Clary. He’d never been so happy to see anyone in his life. Nor so irritated that she remained among this raucous mess.

“Sara’s fine,” she assured him. “She’s waiting for us at Fisk with Helen and the girls.”

He pivoted toward her and came closer. He longed to have her in his arms, but he could see the hesitation in her eyes. He’d hurt her. He had so much to make up for.

“About this proposal.” He stepped toward her and grazed his knuckles across her cheek. “If you’re going to mention your ladies’ magazine again—”

“Marry me.” The two words were far easier to get out than Clary imagined they’d be. They’d been bubbling inside her since she’d set out for Whitechapel with Sara.

Even when Gabe told her to go. Even while she watched him fight, the two words remained lodged inside in her heart, waiting to get out.

He stood dumbstruck and silent before her, mouth gaping, eyes wide, not a sound emerging from him. Then he finally choked out, “What did you say?”

“I asked you to marry me. Maybe I phrased it wrong,” she teased. “Gabriel, will you marry me? Please.”

“You needn’t do this out of desperation,” he finally said. “The fight is over. There won’t be anymore. I don’t need you to save me.”

“Perhaps I’m saving us both.”

“You’ve never wished to marry. You long for your independence.”

She couldn’t deny his claims, though she’d never been wholly averse to marriage. Only doubtful that anyone would come along to make her wish for such a commitment. Most of all, he was right about her desire for independence. She still craved the freedom to do as she wished, to pour her energy into worthy causes, to make a difference. But now she wanted Gabriel too.

“Do you intend to quash my independence, convince me my charities are foolish, and my politics are pointless?”

“I would never want to change you, Clary.” Earnestness filled his gaze, then a glint of mischief lit his expression. “I’m not sure I could if I tried.”

“No, you couldn’t. So you’ll have to accept that I love you. I know what I’m saying and what I want. And I should warn you, I never give up.”

He grinned at that.

“Will you?” she asked softly, because she needed him to say yes. She ached to know he wanted her. That he would commit his heart, his life, to her.

“Yes, love.” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her toes for a kiss. A searching, hungry joining that left her breathless, almost making her forget where they were and how awful this night had been. When he set her back on her feet, he cupped her cheek against his palm and said, “But I can’t leave here yet.”