Page 50 of Rules for Ruin

Effie rose on quivering legs. The sight of the dark garden stretched out beneath them, unobscured by the terrace rail, sent another tremor of fear through her. She clung to Gabriel’s sleeve. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“Yes, you can.” Gently extricating himself from her grasp, he went to the stone railing. “I’ll go over first, and then I’ll help you. We’re not debating it.”

With that, he swung over the side.

A reflexive scream bubbled in Effie’s throat. She ruthlessly stifled it, hating that her fear of heights should make her so weak and irrational. Gabriel hadn’t leapt to his doom, for heaven’s sake. He was safe on the other side of the terrace rail.

“Lift your skirts out of the way,” he said.

Still trembling, Effie caught her petticoats and crinoline up as best she could, revealing a glimpse of her stocking-clad limbs.

That wasn’t all she revealed.

The moonlight glinted on the implements tied to her crinoline.

Gabriel shot them an inscrutable look. Whatever his thoughts, he appeared to comprehend she was in no position to hear them. His gaze returned to hers, commanding all her attention. “Take my hand,” he said. “And don’t look down.”

Staring steadily back at him, she obediently accepted his outstretched hand. Her heart was racing and her palms were damp, but what else could she do? There was no other way out of this. She was going to have to trust him.

He helped her swing one leg over and then another, first holding her hand and then holding her waist. He then edged her to the wisteria, step by careful step, along the outside of the terrace. His booted foot found a knot in the branches and he pulled himself over.

His arm was still around her waist. “Look at me,” he said when her eyes drifted. “We’re almost there. All that’s left is to move your foot onto that branch.”

Again, Effie obeyed him. Some of her hair had come loose from its pins. It fell in her eyes but she couldn’t brush it away. She was gripping the wisteria with both hands, and Gabriel was gripping her.

“We’ll go down together,” he said, his big body half covering hers. He was protecting her. Ensuring that, so long as he didn’t fall, she wouldn’t fall.

It was cold comfort, given what had happened to Nell.

Effie moistened her dry lips. “Gabriel—” She looked at him over her right shoulder. His face was only inches from hers. “You should know that the last person who attempted to help me down from a great height ended up grievously injured.”

He stared at her a moment. “The last person—?” His brows snapped together. “Are you telling me this has happened to you before?”

“Yes,” she confessed. “Though, it wasn’t a terrace. It was the roof of a building.”

His arm tightened reflexively around her, strong as a band of iron. “Bloody hell, Euphemia.”

Her fingers clenched tight to the branches. “Considering what’s just transpired between us, I had rather you called me Effie.” She paused. “It’s what my friends call me.”

His expression was at once unreadable. “We’re going to be friends, are we?”

“I believe so.”

“Do you kiss all of your friends?” he asked in a peculiarly neutral tone.

“I didn’t kiss you,” she pointed out. “You kissed me.”

He helped her descend another branch. His low voice was a rough growl in her ear. “When you and I get down from here, we’re going to have a serious conversation.”

But by the time Effie’s feet were safely on the ground, she was in no position to discuss anything. The distant sound of music carried on the evening breeze. It was “All Through the Night”—the penultimate piece of the evening. Effie remembered seeing it on the program.

No longer in danger of falling, she quickly regained her senses. She had a purpose in being here. One that wouldn’t be aided by the loss of her reputation.

She hastily smoothed her hair and skirts back into some semblance of order. “I must return at once,” she said. “The concert’s nearly over and Lady Belwood will be concerned. I don’t want her sending the servants to look for me.”

Gabriel’s own hair was uncharacteristically disheveled. He retrieved his coat from the ground and wordlessly put it on.

Effie went to him without thinking and reached to neaten his cravat. “I can tell you’re aching to lecture, scold, or interrogate me, but I trust it can wait until a more convenient time. Later this week, perhaps?”