Page 39 of A Perfect Gentleman

“Who? Who is she meeting?”

“I don’t know.” She set her chin mutinously, and Graeme knew he had gotten all he could from her.

It didn’t matter. It was enough. He hurried from the room. His steps grew ever faster as he walked down the hall, and he took the stairs almost at a run. What in the world could have possessed Abigail to meet someone by the river? One didn’t have to be from London to know that would be a dangerous place.

She must have been desperate to do that. But why? What did she hope to do? What could be worth the risk? Anger and worry warred for dominance within him as he strode out of the hotel and hailed a cab. The driver sent him an askance look when Graeme named his destination.

“I’ll double your fare if you get there quickly,” Graeme added.

The man took him at his word. It was only minutes before the hansom was rolling down a narrow street that ended at the split and faded sign of the Crimson Pirate. A muted pool of light illuminated a scene that sent Graeme’s heart into his throat. Two figures stood facing each other at the edge of the light, with the dark void of the river beyond them.

A shot rang out, and one of the forms fell to the ground, followed almost immediately by another bang, and the second form sank to its knees.

“Abigail!” Graeme flung open the door as the driver pulled his horse to a halt. He jumped down from the carriage before it completely stopped rolling. Behind him the driver let out a shout, but Graeme took off at a run, ignoring him. He was aware of nothing but the cloaked figure kneeling over the fallen one. Not shot, then, just tending to the other. It was her; it must be. It couldn’t be Abigail lying on the ground.

Graeme saw a figure race out from beside a building and dart straight at the fallen pair. The dark form slammed into the person kneeling beside the body, knocking her over the low wall. There was a splash as she hit the water.

Graeme let out a roar and raced forward.

A quick glance at the prostrate figure on the ground assured him it was not Abigail. He turned to the low wall. It was black as pitch beyond it. “Abigail!”

He heard her cry, cut short, and a great deal of splashing. Cursing the darkness, he kicked off his shoes and started over the wall. A door swung open behind the building beside him, and light cut an arc across the water, enabling him to see the river below him. There, struggling against the current, Graeme saw a flash of white. He dove into the water.

He put out of his mind how easy it would be to lose sight of her in the dark and how much her soaked skirts and cloak would drag her down. He concentrated only on slicing through the water in the direction he had seen her. Suddenly more light arrived on the wall behind him, enabling him to see.

He caught a glimpse of her only feet away from him, just as her head slipped below the water. He gave a furious kick, diving beneath the surface, and found her. Wrapping his arms around Abigail, he surged upward. When they broke the surface of the water, she let out a low, wordless cry and her arms clamped around him, clinging.

It was awkward, swimming with only one arm, and the current tugged at him, her water-logged clothes weighing them down. But Abigail, after the first frantic thrashing, had the presence of mind not to struggle, just to cling to him, kicking her legs to help propel them forward.

They wallowed through the water to the wall. The driver of his cab stood there, holding up a lantern. His was the illumination that had shown him Abigail. Other figures joined the driver, and as Graeme drew closer, one of them reached out, extending a long wooden stick. Graeme wrapped his hand around it, and the men pulled them the rest of the way. Hands reached down to lift Abigail from the water. For a moment she clung stubbornly to Graeme before she let go and allowed them to pull her up. Two other men grabbed Graeme and helped him as he heaved himself out of the water.

Abigail was slumped on the ground, coughing, Graeme’s driver and another man bending over her. A few feet away, several other people were crouched over the still and silent body.

“Abigail.” Water streaming from him, Graeme went to her. She was frighteningly pale in the light of the lanterns. “Get the cab.” Graeme pulled her to her feet and swept her up into his arms. She shivered convulsively. “I’m taking her home.”

The crowd gave way before him, though one protested, “ ’Ere. Wait! Wot about ’im? ’Oo’s this? ’Oo shot him?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Graeme lifted Abigail into the carriage. She was still shivering and far too ashen. He held her on his lap, wrapping his arms around her to warm her, though he suspected his own wet, chilled body would be of little help. “Hold on. We’ll be home soon, and you’ll be warm and dry.”

“I was so scared,” she whispered, so softly he could barely make out her words.

“I know. But you’re safe now.” His arms tightened around her. “What the devil were you thinking, going to the docks?” Relief suddenly swelled into anger. “Have you no sense? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She made no answer, just shook her head and burrowed into him. The gesture only added to the turbulent confusion of emotions inside him. He wanted to hit something, to shout at her, and at the same time to cradle her in his arms.

“Was it worth risking your life? Who in the hell did you go there to meet? Who killed him?”

“I don’t know!”

He made a noise of disbelief, and Abigail struggled to sit up and face him. He clamped his arms around her even more tightly, holding her against him. She glared at him, which perversely made him feel on safer footing.

“That’s the truth,” she insisted. “I don’t know his name. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“Why would you go down there to meet someone you don’t even know?”

“He said he had information I’d want.”