Page 70 of Rules for Ruin

“Please, call me Ruth.”

“Euphemia,” Effie offered in reply. She felt Gabriel’s cool gaze briefly touch her face.

She knew what he must be thinking. She’d given him leave to call her Effie, while Ruth Mannering was denied the privilege.

It wasn’t the same.

Ruth may be the sort of girl that, under other circumstances, Effie would have been friends with, but they weren’t friends. They would never be friends. How could they when Effie was here under false pretenses?

Given her mission, it was safer to refrain from forming intimate connections. A friend could be hurt by Effie’s deception. An acquaintance could only be disappointed.

As for Gabriel, Effie saw him for no more and no less than exactly what he was. And, despite the fact he knew nothing of her past, he saw her, too. Like recognized like, he’d told her the night they’d met. There was no question of betrayal between the two of them. They knew what they were.

Which is why he had no right to be angry with her. Not on any account. She’d told him flat out that she intended to continue about her business. If Gabriel was foolish enough to stand in her way, he had only himself to blame.

Miss Compton glanced at Effie over her shoulder. “Don’t let fashionable society hear of your attendance at one of Lady Bartlett’s gatherings, Miss Flite. You wouldn’t like to get a name for yourself.”

“Is that name bluestocking?” Ruth retorted, seeming to be only half in jest. “There are worse names for women.”

“Only one name is worthy for females of my acquaintance,” Miss Compton said. “That name is lady.”

“Well put,” Lord Powell said. “A true lady, with all her delicacy, is a creature to be revered.” He offered Ruth his arm as they ascended the gentle slope toward the exhibition grounds. “If you’ll permit me, Miss Mannering?”

A blush pinkened Ruth’s cheeks as she accepted his arm. It was she who had suggested including Lord Powell in their party, and it was now apparent why. She plainly had a soft spot for the man. “Thank you, my lord.”

Miss Compton took the opportunity to take Lord Mannering’s arm. It was the work of a moment. She’d already asserted her claim over him by her proximity. She’d scarcely left his side since she’d arrived in Brook Street.

Lord Mannering flashed another regretful look in Effie’s direction before resigning himself to Miss Compton’s maneuverings.

Effie fell in beside Gabriel as the others pulled ahead of them. His head was bent, his jaw set hard, as he walked. His thoughts seemed to have turned inward, leaving his outward aspect as impenetrable as armor. Only a muscle ticking in his cheek betrayed the war he was battling within.

“You haven’t had much to say to me, sir,” she remarked.

“I have a great deal to say to you, and none of it fit for company.” His deep voice was completely without inflection.

A prickle of anxiety traced down Effie’s spine. He was behaving much as he had when she’d first met him. That distant gaze, and that cold, remote manner, with no emotion to soften it. Then, it had intrigued her. Tonight, it set her on edge.

This, she recognized, was the ominous calm before the storm. And a storm was coming; she could feel it. She nevertheless affected an air of unconcern. “Oh?”

“You might have mentioned that Mannering and Powell were to be in your party.”

“You don’t approve of them?”

His face was impassive. “They both owe me money.”

Effie recalled how the two men had reacted when Gabriel had arrived in Brook Street. “Goodness. That certainly explains a lot.”

“So, it wasn’t part of your plan?”

“To make them miserable? Of course not.”

“To make me miserable, then.”

“Are you?” She smiled. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Now why do I have difficulty believing that?” he murmured.

Effie refused to be intimidated by his mood. Never mind that her insides were starting to tremble and her palms were growing damp beneath her evening gloves. She’d never shrunk from a challenge.