Page 125 of Notorious

There was a long pause and then: “There is a barrel near the entrance; it has bits of rope ends that are frayed or worn. The pistol is tucked in with the rope.”

Gabriel wanted to leave the scoundrel here, but he’d given his word. He huffed out a breath, grabbed the much smaller man under his arms, and lifted him onto the chair, untying his hands. It was less of an ordeal than his had been; Gabriel got the distinct impression the thug had considered Rowland even less of a threat than Gabriel.

He turned to the door and let Rowland untie his own feet. He checked to see if anyone had entered, but it looked the same. The door gave a shrill squeak he didn’t recall from before, and he grimaced, expecting to hear the sound of footsteps. But nobody came. They’d left a lantern hanging on a hook near the door. A big barrel stood not too far away. Gabriel ran to the barrel and began pushing through the rope.

“I lied.”

When he turned, Rowland was holding the pistol in his hand. He hadn’t wasted time to free his ankles and they were still tied, meaning he had to hop. His mouth was set in an ugly line.

Gabriel laughed—a sound with no humor in it.

“What?” Rowland asked when he saw Gabriel’s expression. “Did you expect the honor of a gentleman?” He snorted, gesturing with the pistol to the door of the smaller room. “Honor and other lofty ideas tend to fall by the wayside when one is facing debtor’s prison and public humiliation.”

“You’d do better to worry about saving your life just now.”

“Shut up. If not for you, I’d be married to that bossy harpy and have no worries except how many mistresses to keep—just like yourself. Now, put your hands where I can see them, and get back into this room and onto your chair.” His voice had gotten louder and his hand shook with anger.

Gabriel raised his hands and walked slowly toward Rowland. “He’s going to kill you.”

“No, he isn’t. Because when he opens the door I’m going to—” He glanced over Gabriel’s shoulder at something. It was only a second’s distraction, but it was all Gabriel needed. He threw himself into Rowland’s midriff and knocked him to the ground. Unfortunately, the pistol also hit the ground, skittering across the rough plank flooring.

“What do we ’ave ’ere? You ladies ’avin’ a dance?”

Gabriel rolled onto his side and up onto his feet, immediately dropping into a crouch.

It was Jed, and he was alone. Gabriel lunged for him. For such a big man, he stepped out of the way nimbly, and Gabriel skidded past him.

He heard laughter as he turned around. Jed was grinning, rolling up his sleeves. “A milling-cove, are ye? It’s some o’ the home brew you want, aye?”

Gabriel dropped into a boxer’s stance and raised his fists, sweeping the room with his eyes, looking for the gun. Rowland was rolling and moaning on the floor, his knees tucked up to his chest.

The gun had slid all the way to the far wall.

Gabriel began sidling toward it, but then Jed launched his body directly at him and he had no time for anything else.

* * *

Drusilla wished she’d listened to Parker.

“Please let me come with you, madam. Or perhaps one of the footmen. Mr. Marlington will skin me alive when he learns I let you go alone.”

“No, he won’t.” That was a lie; Gabriel would be furious. But, hopefully, it would all be over by then and she could take the brunt of his anger, rather than their servants. She’d been tempted to tell Parker about the pistol she had in the big leather satchel with the money, but she knew how men were. He would not feel assured at the knowledge she had a gun; he would be even more nervous.

“I can’t, Parker. The note said nobody but me or the consequences would be dire. I cannot take chances. If Mr. Marlington happens to return in the next fifty minutes, please wait until after nine and then you can tell him where I went.” She personally doubted the butler would be able to make him wait even ten seconds—she’d seen Gabriel in a rage—but it was the best she could do.

She opened the satchel and looked inside, as if the money and gun might have gone somewhere. No, both were still there. Ten thousand pounds—a fortune for most people. But for a gambler? She doubted Theo would make it last very long. But that would not be her problem.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, and she had to cling to the strap above the door to keep from falling off her seat. The panel slid open, and the hack driver looked at her. “Are ye sure this is the place ye wanted, missus?” he asked, concern clouding his voice.

Drusilla looked out the window onto a dark, narrow street that had at least a thousand places to hide. She swallowed hard. “Yes, this is the place. I want you to wait for me.”

He hesitated but then said, “I’ll wait for ten minutes, no more. Those ’oo run these streets are like to ’ave the wheels offa my carriage afore I even know it.”

Drusilla opened the door and stepped out before answering. She held up a gold coin, and his eyes widened. “You will wait until I return and I will give you this.”

He nodded, his expression grudging. “Aye. If you still ’ave it in ten minutes.”

There was no window on the squat two-story building, which displayed an ancient-looking and crooked sign saying LIONEL SNIVELY & SONS, PURVEYOR OF SPECIALTY GOODES. She knocked on the door and waited. A full minute passed, and she knocked again. Still nothing. She looked at the building next door—it appeared to be a ropemaker’s. There was light coming from the gap around a small door cut in a larger door.