Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Olivia caught sight of Gabriel, standing in the doorway, eyes dark as Erebus, only softening when they landed on her.
In that split second, she saw it: relief, the well of emotion he was struggling to contain.
Then his gaze shifted an inch, to the bruise marring her cheek, and a shadow passed over his features.
A tear rolled down her cheek. “You came.”
“I’d go to the ends of the earth to find you.”
He scanned the room like a predator deciding who to slay first. The quaking rector? The conniving baronet? The three men with necks as wide as mooring posts? The aunt who had made a miraculous recovery? Treachery her only ailment.
“We can do this the easy way.” Gabriel cracked his neck. “Surrender and face trial for your crimes. Or I hurt you.” He glared at Mrs Culpepper. “Every last one of you.”
Mrs Culpepper moved closer, the tip of the blade she concealed pricking Olivia’s nape. “There is an alternative. You surrender, or watch your wife die before my men kill you.”
She saw him stiffen.
“Miss Bourne is in custody and ready to give names. The evidence is locked away safely at the Order’s office. Hurt my wife, and none of you will leave here alive.”
Sir Randall laughed. “You bluff well, Lord Rothley. But you’re alone and outnumbered. And my comrades would die to protect the fraternity.”
Something occurred to her then. There were other people, important people, involved with this group. It was unlikely anyone here would live long enough to stand trial. They’d either die protecting the cause or risk becoming the fraternity’s next victim.
“I’m not sure your comrades will survive much longer than you.” Gabriel scanned the men, doubtless searching for the weak link. “Reverend Clay. The Lord forgives those who repent. Be sure to choose the right side.”
Gabriel employed the clever tactic of divide and conquer.
It worked. Perhaps fearing the Lord’s wrath, the rector raised his hands. “All I wanted was to help the needy. But once these devils sink their teeth in, there’s no getting free.”
According to Mr Lovelace, that’s exactly what had happened to Miss Bourne. Olivia might have suffered the same fate, had her father not given his life to protect her.
“And Sir Randall,” Gabriel began, “are you aware Mrs Culpepper has faked her death? That she left her house to a fictitious relative abroad? That she plans to leave for France tonight?”
“Liar!” Mrs Culpepper cried. “Don’t believe a word, Randall.”
“I saw the grave,” Mr Dalton said.
Sir Randall turned, as sharply as if he’d seen a snake in the grass. “You’ve been acting odd of late. I feared you were planning something. You want the evidence so you might blackmail us all.”
“Fool. Can’t you see what he’s doing?”
Olivia ignored the angry exchange. She used the distraction to work at the knot on her bindings, as she had been doing for the past half hour.
Clearly weighing his odds, Sir Randall nodded to the three gormless brutes. They puffed their chests and approached Gabriel, one’s knuckles still cut from the beating he’d given Mr Lovelace.
Mr Dalton seemed amused by the situation. “Remember the brawl in that tavern near the docks?”
“The Slipper?” Gabriel slid the blade back into his boot. His sardonic smile would give Lucifer pause. “Where the dockworkers placed wagers against us? Yes. If only we could bet on ourselves now. I could purchase a new Arabian.” He flexed his fingers. “Which one of you bastards hit my wife?”
She wasn’t sure which brute threw the first punch, only that he missed. Her elegant husband. A gentleman by birth, a warrior by heart, a pugilist by necessity, delivered a blow that knocked the wind from the thug’s sails. He staggered back, landing on a side table, splitting the wood in two.
While the rector darted into the hall like a frightened doe, Mr Dalton proved just as adept with his fists. He was quick and lethal, using both brains and brawn, while his opponents swung like men with straw for wits and fists like mallets.
Two came for Gabriel at once.
The first blow caught his jaw, not enough to fell him, but enough to remind him this wasn’t a sparring match. He ducked the next, drove his elbow into the man’s ribs, then pivoted and kicked the other square in the knee.
Mr Dalton took a hit to the shoulder that would certainly bruise, but he answered with a head-butt that sent his opponent staggering back, clutching his bleeding nose.
And then Mr Lovelace arrived, one hand gripping an iron bar, the other his ribs. He brought it down across one man’s back with a sickening crack. The thug let out a howl and crumpled, arms flailing like a felled ox.
Mr Dalton grinned, a trace of blood on his teeth. “I do enjoy a dramatic entrance.”
“Yes, if only we hadn’t had to wait ten years.” With a wolflike grin, Gabriel beckoned his opponents.
But one lay groaning on the floor. The other two hesitated, bloodied, winded, and far less certain of their odds.
Mr Dalton straightened, reached into his coat, and drew a blade with a soft hiss of metal. “I suggest you reconsider. We’ve men surrounding this house. Leave now while you still can.”
That did it. One glanced towards the doorway, the other swore under his breath. The fight drained from their eyes. They stepped back and slipped into the corridor before vanishing through the front door.
Gabriel turned to Sir Randall. “I trust you’ve kept your membership at Jackson’s, and your courage matches your fellow Scots.”
Sir Randall adjusted his cuffs, chin lifted with a pride that bordered on delusion. “You think me a villain, but the people dinnae rise on their own. They whimper. They wait. We gave them something to roar about. And when they did, the House listened.”
“Yes, and lined your pockets in the process.” Gabriel shifted his gaze to Mrs Culpepper, perhaps aware of the blade pressed to Olivia’s nape.
“Release my wife. You won’t escape this house.
And once the investigation is underway, I’ve no doubt they’ll discover you’ve profited from other people’s misfortune too. ”
“How easy it is to speak from such an elevated position,” Mrs Culpepper mocked. “Your mother knew how it felt to be trapped by convention. Why do you think she chose to work for me?”
Olivia noted the twitch in Gabriel’s eye, the tightness in his mouth, the way his fingers curled into fists. She wished she could run to him, wrap her arms around him, tell him nothing mattered but their future.
But he needed to hear this.
And she had almost undone the twine binding her wrists.
“So that’s what they argued about.” He swallowed hard as recognition dawned. “The real reason they entertained. Doubtless, she persuaded peers to vote with their cocks, not their heads.”
“She was an excellent agent, until your father died, and it was clear you weren’t so easy to manipulate. If only Katherine hadn’t fallen in love with Justin Lovelace. History may have repeated itself.”
Gabriel turned to face his old friend.
But Mr Lovelace had gone.
So had the rector.
“I suddenly have a newfound respect for my father,” he said with a wry grin. “I’d wager your niece used the money to run. To escape the life you mapped out for her. You didn’t allow them to live abroad. You found them and forced them to come home.”
Mrs Culpepper laughed quietly to herself.
“When I heard Miss Hawkins had visited The Burnished Jade, I knew her father had sent her there. The plan was to recover the evidence, and you’d have been none the wiser.
Katherine was insurance. Meant to turn your head.
The fact you’re alive, standing here, says she failed in every regard. ”
Gabriel didn’t snap back. His gaze found hers, his dark eyes softening. “No woman alive could turn my head. I’m in love with my wife. My heart is hers. And always will be.”
A breath caught in her throat. Of all the words he could have said—harsh retorts, threats, demands—he’d chosen that.
Love.
Freely given, when she’d braced for fury.
It stirred in her, rising like warmth through her chest. And if they died here, if this was their final stand, she wanted him to know how deeply she loved him.
“I’m in love with you, too, Gabriel.” She blinked hard, willing back the tears. “I knew you’d find me. I was afraid you thought I’d left.”
“You’d never break our blood oath.”
She shook her head. “No. Never.”
Mrs Culpepper groaned. “Give me the evidence. Let me walk out, and you’ll never have to worry about the fraternity again.”
“And what of me? You forget we both swing if the truth gets out.” Sir Randall's burr sharpened the words. “What of our bargain?”
“It’s every man for himself. And I’ve got a blade to the girl’s neck.”
“Does the lad know you killed his mother?” Sir Randall let out a mirthless laugh. “That you had men hunt her down and leave her to rot in that French hovel?”
“Traitors must pay. Else we’d all be for the gallows.”
Gabriel went still.
Olivia caught the shift, the way his breath stopped, shoulders tensing like a bow drawn tight.
A chill swept through the room, sharp as an arctic storm that settled in the bones and never left. He slid the blade slowly from his boot, his expression so vengeful Satan would have cowered.
“Release my wife.” His tone was hard, unforgiving. “Or I’ll throw this blade so it lands between your brows, witch.”
“And risk the life of the woman you love?”
Perhaps Mrs Culpepper meant to put her blade to Olivia’s throat or wave it at Gabriel. Either way, the tip was no longer at her nape. She caught the glint of steel as the woman’s hand dropped and knew it was her one chance to act.
She yanked hard at the twine binding her wrists, and it snapped.
In the same breath, she lunged from the chair and struck Mrs Culpepper across the face, sending her reeling, the blade skittering across the floor.
Mr Dalton was already moving, charging at Sir Randall like a battering ram. The front door burst open and Mr Daventry stormed in with half a dozen armed men at his back.