Scandalous (7 page)

Gabby's rueful conclusion was that the lapdog was more likely to meet with success.

"She be no more your sister than I be, you blackguard!
You are not my lord Wickham,
and I for one knows it. My lord Wickham is dead!" Jem's voice was shrill with indignation.

Gabby's jaw dropped at that inopportune utterance. She watched, frozen, as the pistol reappeared, so quickly that it might almost have been done by sleight of hand, this time to point with unmistakable menace at Jem.

"No! No!" she gasped, horribly afraid that she was about to witness murder done. To reveal so much, under these circumstances, was quite possibly a fatal error. Dear fool, she thought with an inner groan, what were you
thinking?
Clutching at Jem's arm— he automatically clasped her elbow to assist her to rise without ever removing his gaze from the pistol— she surged painfully upright. Gaining her feet, ignoring the ache in her leg and hip, she placed a hand on Jem's shoulder for balance, and summoned a— she hoped— teasing smile for the man with the gun. "Jem was funning, of course. Really, Marcus, have you
no
sense of humor?"

There was the smallest of pauses. Beside her, Jem made a restive movement but remained prudently silent, no doubt realizing too late that to issue his challenge in the dead of the night when they were alone with the imposter and his henchman might not have been entirely wise. The pistol continued to point unwaveringly at him. It occurred to Gabby then that if what Jem alleged was true, they just might be in the gravest of danger.
Mortal
danger.

Too late now. She very much feared that the damage was done. The words could not be unsaid, and she could only hope that she had managed to smooth them over. If not, there was no one around to come charging to the rescue: her sisters and Twindle were deep asleep some two stories above, and the servants were at the very top of the house. They were at his mercy, defenseless.

"That hound won't hunt, my dear." Wickham's silky-sounding drawl made her go cold with fear. "So you might as well abandon the attempt. Permit me to say that you're a very poor liar. You've been looking at me like I was a ghost since you first set eyes on me." He gave a short, unamused laugh as his gaze held hers. "The question is, now what's to be done?"

His eyes glinted black in the candlelight. Gabby felt her heart give a great lurch as the pistol was leveled at Jem with, she feared, deadly intent. Jem's arm shot out, pushing her more fully behind him, and her fingers dug into the groom's shoulder as she watched a long, bronzed thumb ease back the hammer….

The sound of the gun being cocked seemed as loud as an explosion in the breathless silence.

Then Gabby, even while staring down the mouth of the gun, bethought herself of something, and felt the tension that had stretched her nerves tight as bow strings ease.

"All right, whoever you are, that's quite enough," she said tartly, trying again if her injured leg would bear any weight; it seemed that now it would, and, trusting her own two feet to support her once more, she cautiously removed her hand from Jem's shoulder and slipped around to stand beside him. There was a severe expression on her face as her gaze met the imposter's. "You might as well quit waving that pistol about. It is quite useless to try to frighten us with it any longer, you know. I am perfectly well aware that Jem and I stand in no danger from it."

Beside her, Gabby felt Jem quiver. He rolled an anxious eye in her direction, which she ignored. The false Wickham looked at her rather meditatively.

"Indeed?" His fingers moved, seeming to caress the shiny metal beneath them with real affection. The weapon was, she noted, fully cocked, and still aimed at Jem. Still, she knew she was not, could not be, mistaken. "How so?"

"A shot would rouse the household," she pointed out calmly. "Which you must know as well as I do. Too, a pair of bloody corpses in the entryway would present their own problems: the bodies would have to be disposed of, for instance, and every trace of blood scrubbed away, all before anyone came upon the scene. Then you would have Jem's and my disappearance to account for. Hue and cry would be raised for us, and you would inevitably come under the kind of close scrutiny that, under the circumstances, I am quite sure you would rather avoid."

He met her gaze for the briefest of moments.

"You're a mighty cool customer, madam, I'll give you that," he said with a slight, wry twist of his lips. Despite a protesting murmur from his henchman, who stood just behind him glowering at them over his broad shoulder, he carefully eased the hammer down into a safe position and repocketed the pistol. "So which is it, do you think, Gabriella? Have I refrained from shooting the two of you because I fear bringing the household down around my ears, or because the task of disposing of two— how did you put it, bloody corpses? —is beyond me?"

"I have no idea." Gabby's voice was unruffled. "Nor do I particularly care."

"You rascals, by this time tomorrow the Runners will be after you," Jem said with relish, having apparently decided, now that the pistol was out of sight and the imposter was responding so lightly to Gabby's challenge, that the enemy was well on the way to being routed. "If 'twere me, I'd be taking to me heels as soon as ever I could. I dunno but what impersonating a belted earl ain't a hangin' offense."

This, Gabby could not help but feel, was unnecessary provocation. The false Wickham's gaze flicked to Jem, running over him from the top of his salt-and-pepper head to his sturdy boots, giving the impression that it missed nothing in between.

"You know, you are growing most tiresome, the pair of you. I really cannot have you spouting your nonsense all over London." His tone was thoughtful. Crossing his arms over his chest, he regarded them out of narrowed eyes.

"Let me take care of the bloody nuisances for ye, Cap'n," growled the hitherto silent giant at his back.
"I
won't 'ave no problem riddin' us o' a pair o' plaguey corpses."

"Then I see I need no longer hold back." The imposter looked at Gabby with a sardonic smile. Jem immediately thrust her behind him again, almost oversetting her in the process, and reached inside his coat, withdrawing from an inner pocket a pistol that Gabby had not even known he carried. Horrified, she watched as he brandished the pistol at their adversaries, facing them with the gloating expression of one who held all the aces even though he had to tilt his head back to look up into the faces of the taller men.

"You'll keep a proper distance from Miss Gabby, ye scoundrels," Jem said through his teeth. "Miss Gabby, do you go back along to the book room and lock yourself in. I'll deal with…"

The imposter's fist shot out so fast that Gabby barely saw it move, and connected with Jem's chin with a wicked-sounding crack. Jem's grizzled head snapped back, and without a word he crumpled to the floor, landing with a sickening thud. The pistol skittered harmlessly across the floor. Grinning, Barnet moved to scoop it up.

For a moment Gabby could only stare in horror at her fallen champion, who sprawled senseless almost at her feet. Then her accusing gaze shifted to her ersatz brother, who looked maddeningly calm as he rubbed his knuckles with the thumb of the opposite hand. Behind him, his henchman chortled approval as he pocketed the pistol. At the sound, her spine stiffened and she felt her temper begin to heat.

"You have now run your length," she said icily to her false brother. She crouched rather clumsily beside Jem, ascertained with a touch that he still breathed, and glared up at the man looming over them. "Whoever you are, whatever game you are playing at, this farce is now at an end. If you do not turn yourself about, instantly, and leave my house, taking that— that sniggering ape with you, I shall scream the place down."

"Unwise to utter threats you can't carry out, Gabriella." There was a taunting note to his voice.

"Oh, can't I just?" Gabby retorted, and opened her mouth to scream.

In that instant he was upon her, swooping down like a bird of prey, one hand clamping hard over her mouth, his arm encircling her waist, all before she could get out so much as a squeak. Fighting with all her might, Gabby was still easily bested. In a matter of seconds she found herself hoisted clear off the floor in an awkward her-back-to-his-front hold that imprisoned her arms even while he continued to press his hand over her mouth.

"That's the ticket, Cap'n." Barnet hovered close, nodding approval, as Gabby fought for what might well be her life. "Now we'll see 'ow much screamin' she'll do."

"Let me go," Gabby cried, but nothing emerged but an unintelligible croak. The imposter's palm completely covered her mouth. His long fingers dug painfully into the soft flesh of her cheeks. She could not scream; she could scarcely breathe. She could, however, kick, and this she proceeded to do with abandon despite the pain it caused her, smashing her heels— it was a pity she wore only soft slippers, she reflected furiously— into his shins with a viciousness she had not realized she was capable of. Squirming madly, she bit at his hand. Her teeth sank deep into the fleshy part of his palm. As the salty taste of his skin filled her mouth she felt a fierce spurt of satisfaction.

"Damn it to bloody hell," he yelped, jerking his hand away. Mouth free, Gabby sucked down a great gulp of air and screamed for all she was worth. Just as quick as that, he shoved a wad of what felt like balled-up leather deep into her open mouth, stifling the cry almost at birth.

Caught by surprise, she gagged and choked as she tried to spit the oily-tasting thing out again. It was suffocating her….

"Serves you right, my girl," he said grimly, his eyes staring inimically into hers as he shifted his grip to lift her high against his chest. Struggling with all her might, gasping for breath as she tried to expel the gag with her tongue, sweating with anger and fear, she writhed frantically in his arms as he held her clamped against the hard wall of his chest. But her struggles weakened as her need for air increased. Her heels, flailing futilely against empty space, gradually stilled; her squirming lessened and then ceased altogether. His arms were unbreakable bands imprisoning both her arms and her legs; it was, she realized with growing despair, impossible to win free.

For the time being it was all she could do just to breathe.

"Take him away and keep watch on him until I tell you otherwise," he said to Barnet, indicating Jem, who still lay unconscious on the floor, with a jerk of his head. "At the moment, I feel a pressing need for some private… conversation… with my dear little sister."

6

Disdaining to let her head touch his shoulder, Gabby kept her neck stiffly erect and held her head high as she was borne along the cavelike hallway with as much ease as though she weighed no more than a feather— which in fact, she reflected grimly, she scarcely did. He was so much larger and stronger than she as to render any kind of physical contest between them laughable. Whatever he chose to do to her, there was little she could do to stop him. The very helplessness of her position infuriated her, for which she was thankful. It was better, far better, to be angry than afraid. Fear rendered one weak….

Although it was too dark to read his expression clearly, she could see his eyes, and she glared into them, hoping to silently convey all the unflattering sentiments the foul-tasting gag prevented her from giving voice to.

Whatever he planned, she warned herself, her only chance of avoiding it lay in keeping a cool head.

"I collect you launched your little ambush from the library." A thin thread of light showing beneath the closed library door obviously prompted his comment.

He did not even sound out of breath, she reflected furiously, while thanks to his gag she fought for every lungful of air, and, whether from that, or exertion, or— she hated to think it— fear, her heart thumped painfully in her chest.

Stopping at the door, he managed, by dint of a little deft juggling, to turn the knob without loosening his hold on her. When the door swung open he carried her into the library and pushed it shut again with his foot.

"You were lying in wait for me, weren't you, you and your servant? Unwise, under the circumstances, don't you think?"

As she couldn't answer, and he obviously knew it, the question, uttered as he carried her across the library, took on a purely rhetorical quality. The fire had burned low in the hearth, Gabby saw, but it still gave off a faint orange glow that illuminated the area immediately around it. He deposited her in the same high-backed leather chair in which she had been sitting before. Imprisoning her wrists in one large hand, he crouched in front of her, looking at her speculatively. His wide shoulders blocked her view of much of the room. His hard-planed, swarthy-skinned face was too close for comfort. His dark blue eyes bored into hers; his mouth was set in a thin, hard line. With the best will in the world she could not deny that he was a heart-stoppingly handsome man. The acknowledgment did nothing whatsoever to make her loathe him less. Spine ramrod straight, chin up, she eyed him with open hostility.

He continued reprovingly, "What you should have done was kept your suspicions to yourself until you could lay them before Mr. Challow or another of his ilk. Confronting me in private with none but an elderly, undersized groom to protect you was nothing short of bird-witted."

As Gabby was thinking much the same thing, his words served merely to heap coals on the fire of her seething anger. Of course, it was of some small comfort to reflect that she had not intended to confront him at all; the confrontation had come about as a result of her fall, which had been entirely accidental. Still, had she taken the night to consider before attempting to determine the truth surrounding the appearance in London of her supposed brother, the outcome of the subsequent unmasking would have been very different.

"Now," continued her tormentor in a goading tone that made her long to spit in his eye, "purely as a result of your own foolishness, you find yourself at
point non plus."