Page 81 of Rules for Ruin

It didn’t sound like a threat. Effie registered it as one nonetheless. Gabriel had power in his world. More power in his way, she suspected, than Compton himself. At least with the viscount there was a veneer of civility. One must maintain outward standards and observe proper decorum. With Gabriel, there was no such veneer. No game board. No rules. She couldn’t simply waltz into his betting shop or his fine house in Sloane Street on some social pretext.

Unless…

She briefly considered obtaining the documents by other means, only to discard the idea. She was no seasoned seductress. Despite her skill at flirtation, she’d never truly been with a man. The stolen kisses she’d shared with Gabriel had been the closest she’d come. She couldn’t imagine taking things further, certainly not for mercenary gain. Not when her heart was so much engaged.

Gabriel seemed to sense the wretchedness of her dilemma. He reached for her again. This time she didn’t flinch. His fingers curled around her upper arm. He turned her to face him. “Don’t be angry.”

“I’m angry at myself.”

“For ever thinking well of me?”

“Yes, quite. For imagining that we—” She stopped before she could finish. She had no desire to make herself even more weak and pitiable in his eyes than she doubtless already was.

Gabriel’s face was no longer cold. There was a brooding look about him—a guarded concern in his eyes, coupled with some troubling emotion she couldn’t interpret. “May I kiss you again?” he asked.

“No.”

He nodded solemnly, taking the rejection in stride. “That’s fair,” he said. And then: “Shall I tell you something that might cheer you?”

She looked up at him mulishly. She hated this feeling. It was anger and mortification all rolled into one. While she’d been sparring with him, imagining that she had the upper hand, he’d been in control the whole time. It made her wonder, were women ever in control? Or was the control they wielded only an illusion permitted by men? If so, it wasn’t any kind of control worth having, not as far as Effie was concerned.

“Shall I?” he asked again.

“If you must,” she said sullenly. “But it won’t change anything between us. You and I will never—”

“I found someone who knew your friend Grace,” he said.

Nothing else on earth could have distracted Effie from her misery. She stepped forward with a start. “What? When?”

“I made inquiries, just as I told you I would. My man discovered a woman in a village outside of Sawbridgeworth who used to live in St. Giles before the clearances. She claims to have known her.”

Effie searched his face, almost afraid to ask. “What did she say?”

He ran his hand up and down her arm in a slow, reassuring pass. “I haven’t spoken to her yet. She won’t come to London. She expects me to call on her in Hertfordshire. I mean to go next week, before the Epsom Derby.”

Effie recoiled at the thought. He couldn’t go. Not if there was a chance the old woman would reveal something about Effie’s mother. Or worse, about Effie herself. “No,” she objected. “I must go myself. If you’ll give me her direction—”

“I’m going.” Gabriel’s tone left no room for argument. His hand moved on her arm again, both gentle and unmistakably proprietary. “If you’d like to accompany me—”

“To Hertfordshire? Are you mad?” It was miles away. An even greater distance than the Academy. “An unmarried lady can’t travel alone with a gentleman. It would be scandalous.”

Not to mention the risk to Effie’s heart. She was furious with Gabriel, yes, but that didn’t mean she had the strength to resist him. Not if they were on their own together for a prolonged period, and not if he would insist on stroking her and cajoling her like some fractious wild creature.

“Traveling alone with me is taking things too far, is it? After rooftops, terraces, and a jaunt through the slum? After this evening?”

“Yes,” she said. And then more emphatically. “Yes.” Her voice splintered. “I have no desire to see you again.”

He shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do mean it.” It didn’t feel like a lie, though the words nearly stuck in her throat. “I don’t know why you should care about the fate of my old servant in any case.”

His eyes kindled. “It’s not your old servant I care about.”

Effie’s injured heart gave a traitorous thump. The implication was clear. She refused to let it soften her resolve against him. She was too hurt and disappointed. “If that’s true, then you’ll give me the woman’s direction so I can go alone. You won’t force me to forgo this chance merely to avoid being in company with you.”

He stared down at her for an endless moment. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Very well,” he said. “If that’s truly want you want.”

A queer burning sensation prickled at the back of Effie’s eyes. Again, she feared she might cry. “It is.”