Page 48 of Rules for Ruin

Gabriel’s body went still.

For the barest moment, he wondered if he’d imagined it. It couldn’t be her. That wasn’t the ballroom terrace. It was the balcony of someone’s private quarters. And she wasn’t standing there, as any sane person would do. She appeared to be seated on the ground, her skirts billowing about her in a heap. What the devil was she—

There was a faint shudder of a tremulous breath.

His heart lurched. He took a sharp step forward. “Miss Flite?”

There was no response, only the same soft, unsteady gasping. It sent a jolt of apprehension through him. “Euphemia?” he said, raising his voice. “Is that you?”

A slim, ungloved hand slipped out of the terrace railing, gripping the stone pillar in reply. “Gabriel?” Her voice was a mere thread of sound. “I can’t…”

“You can’t what?”

“Move.” The bewildering statement was followed by a pitiful breath of unsteady laughter.

The sound squeezed Gabriel’s already quaking heart in a viselike grip. “Good God. Are you hurt?”

She uttered another short laugh. It had more in common with a whimper. “Scared,” she breathed. “S-Stupid of me.”

He didn’t require any other explanation. What would be the point? She couldn’t move. She could barely talk. And she’d just admitted to being frightened. Her situation must be alarming indeed.

His reaction to her distress was no less alarming.

Shedding the close-fitting constraints of his evening jacket, Gabriel strode to the wall of the house. He gripped the thick branches of the aged wisteria. Whether it could hold his weight on its own was debatable. He didn’t pause to test it. Impelled by the sound of her whimpering breaths, he hoisted himself up.

He had some experience in climbing. In his youth, he and the other street children had often broken into houses searching for food and coin. Back then, Gabriel had become adept at shimmying up vines and running along rooftops.

Granted, it was decades since he’d last attempted it. He was much bigger now, and far broader of shoulder. Maneuvering his weight took some doing. The branches made ominous creaking noises beneath him, and he muttered more than one curse before he reached the terrace. But reach it he did. Gripping the edge, he hoisted himself over the railing like some demented Romeo.

He found Euphemia hunched in the corner in a cloud of violet silk. Her face was waxen in the moonlight, her lips bloodless and her forehead damp with perspiration. Her bosom rose and fell with every rapid, shuddering breath.

The vise on Gabriel’s heart squeezed tighter still, making it difficult for him to think or to breathe. He could only react. Sinking down next to her, he took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. She met his burning stare with wide, panicked eyes. “Scared,” he repeated. “Of heights?”

Tears started in her gaze. They shimmered there, unfallen, turning the dark blue of her eyes to the same deep shade of plummy violet as her gown.

“It’s all right,” he murmured gruffly. “You’re all right.” His thumbs moved over her cheeks in an achingly gentle caress. “I’ve found you.”

She nodded mutely as her teeth began to chatter. Her neck and arms were bare, but he doubted the reaction was from the cold. She appeared to be in some kind of terror-induced shock.

He continued stroking her, staring into her eyes, compelling her to focus on him—only him—until he felt her breath coming easier. The full skirts of her dress bunched between them. “Daft woman,” he said softly. “Why didn’t you just go back inside?”

“Locked out,” she managed in a whisper.

His thumbs stilled on her cheeks. He shot a narrow look at the glass doors. “Whose room is this?”

“C-Compton’s.”

Gabriel suppressed a swell of masculine outrage. What in the hell could she possibly be doing in Compton’s bedchamber? And how had she found herself locked outside of it?

“What was your plan?” he demanded in a low growl. “To remain here all night?”

“B-Break the window.”

“Which you would have explained exactly how?”

“Past explaining. Too…too frightened.”

A disconcerting wave of tenderness washed over him. It sank into his soul, overwhelming his defenses—and his better judgment. “All right,” he muttered, half to himself and half to her. His fingers gently cradled her jaw, his thumbs sliding over her cheeks. “This is what’s going to happen, sweetheart. I’m going to rescue you.”