‘Careful, lordling!’ the stranger croaked. ‘Squeeze harder an’ I’ll gut you!’
Gabriel felt the prod of a dagger against his belly. The blade pierced his clothes and cut his skin. He ignored it.
‘You’re lying,’ he said through clenched jaw. ‘Frances didn’t send that message. Where is she? What have you done to her?’
‘I haven’t done anything to her,’ the stranger replied. ‘My purse isn’t deep enough for the likes of her. But she’s found herself a nice rich protector now. He’s wealthy beyond her dreams—’ The man gasped as Gabriel’s grip on his throat tightened. He retaliated by pressing his knife harder against Gabriel’s stomach. ‘Not so tight, coxcomb. Your guts’ll make a nasty mess o’ those fine clothes of yours.’
Gabriel relaxed his grasp and shifted his weight as if he intended to step away. The stranger reduced the pressure on the blade. The next second Gabriel seized his wrist and spun him around in a shoulder-wrenching hold. He forced the man’s arm up behind his back and thrust him against the wall, grinding his face against the plaster.
‘Where’s Frances?’ he demanded harshly.
‘I’ll show you,’ the man choked. ‘No need to break my arm. I’ll show you.’
‘What is this place?’ Gabriel balked, looking around in displeasure.
From the outside he’d assumed he’d been led to an alehouse. From the inside it was clear that the building was both more sumptuous and a lot less respectable than he’d anticipated. He heard laughter and raucous voices behind one half-open door. Another door crashed open and a woman emerged, her head turned as she giggled teasingly at the occupant of the room. She was barely wearing her shift. The garment had slid down both shoulders, only her hands clutched to her breasts prevented it from falling off completely.
‘Frances isn’t here.’ Gabriel turned to leave. ‘You’ve brought me on a fool’s errand.’
His guide blocked his way, grinning with disagreeable self-assurance. Gabriel felt a stab of fear, not for himself, but for Frances. He’d been unwise to follow a stranger into an unfamiliar part of the City, but he was confident of his ability to extricate himself from trouble. Frances had grown up in the country. By her own account she had come to London less than a year ago to live with her aunt after the death of her father. She was still unversed in the many hazards of the sinful capital.
‘What have you done to her?’ Fear roughened his voice.
He made an involuntary movement towards the man and saw, just in time, the dull glint of the knife.
‘Upstairs, lordling.’
Gabriel’s heart thumped with apprehension as he mounted the narrow stairs.
‘In here.’ A thump between his shoulder blades directed him into a small chamber. ‘Now look here,’ said his guide in a low voice. ‘And keep quiet if you want to know the truth about your virtuous Frances.’
A spyhole!
Gabriel bit back a curse. What kind of fool was he being played for? He took a step backwards and felt a dagger against his side. He’d half-turned towards the man, intending to deal with his impertinence once and for all, when he heard a muffled voice he thought he recognised.
Shocked and disbelieving, he put his eye to the spyhole. Frances? Dear God, it was Frances!
Gabriel pressed his hand flat against the wall as he watched her accept a wine posset from a man he’d never seen before. Frances drank and handed the vessel back to her companion. The man made a show of turning the cup so he could drink from the very place her lips had touched. He spoke, complimenting her on her beauty and Frances smiled at him!
Gabriel’s hand closed into a fist, his knuckles pressing into the plaster as he saw Frances lift her face to be kissed. The man’s lips touched her cheek and then her mouth. Frances laid her hands on his shoulders, inviting his liberties.
A few moments later the man turned Frances and began to unlace her bodice. She allowed him to remove it and made no protest when he fumbled at the neckline of her chemise. The man exposed her breast and bent his head to lay his mouth against the soft flesh.
Gabriel broke free from his horrified paralysis. He reared up and around, nearly blind with outrage and the pain of betrayed love. So intent was he on confronting his traitorous bride and her lover that he’d forgotten his companion.
The man hit Gabriel neatly on the back of the head with the hilt of his dagger.
Gabriel’s awareness clouded. He struggled to remain conscious, but his knees sagged and he slid painfully into darkness. The last thing he heard was a woman’s mocking laughter.
Athena sat on a straight-backed chair in the dark, waiting with sick dread for Samuel to come to bed. Her cold fingers twisted and curled ceaselessly around each other as she thought of all that Samuel had done to her in the two weeks since their wedding day. Soon he would join her again. Waves of revulsion surged through her. She twisted her fingers against each other until her hands hurt.
When she had fled from Samuel ten months earlier, it had never occurred to her that her flight would eventually end with her back in Kent and married to him. But at least Gabriel and Aunt Kitty were safe. To Athena’s huge relief, Aunt Kitty had been restored unharmed to her home a couple of days after the wedding. Athena didn’t place much faith in Samuel’s integrity, but he had kept his promise where Aunt Kitty was concerned. She had to believe that he would also keep his word not to inform on Gabriel.
Samuel veered wildly in the things he said about Gabriel. Sometimes he claimed Athena had only allowed Gabriel to court her to provoke his— Samuel’s—jealousy. At other times he said things that indicated he did know that Athena really loved Gabriel. On those occasions it was easy to believe that Samuel had married her primarily to punish her for rejecting him, rather than because he wanted her.
Athena found a certain, terrible, comfort in her conviction that Samuel had married her to punish her. It meant that Gabriel was relatively safe from arrest. After all, if Gabriel was seized and executed, Samuel would no longer have any power over her. Athena had repeated that simple fact to herself over and over again during the past fourteen days. She was keeping Gabriel safe. It was the only thing that had enabled her to endure her new life. Her head jerked up, her breath catching in her throat, as she heard footsteps outside the door. She squeezed her fingers cruelly together in anticipation of Samuel’s entrance, then realised what she was doing and forced herself to fold her hands quietly in a semblance of serenity. She would not give Samuel the satisfaction of knowing how much she feared him.
The room was suddenly illuminated by the flickering light of a single candle. Samuel walked across the room to stand over her.
‘Sitting in the dark? I’ve married an economical wench,’ he said sarcastically.
‘The light strains my eyes,’ she replied in a low voice.
‘You were thinking about your lover!’ he accused her. ‘Dreaming that he might come and claim you!’
‘No.’ Late at night, when Samuel slept, Athena yearned for such a miraculous rescue. But she’d already discovered how angry Samuel became when he thought of her with Gabriel. His charade that she’d only trifled with Gabriel to incite his jealousy had worn very thin.
‘You’re lying, you whore. You look so sweet and innocent, but beneath that beautiful face you have the heart of a harlot.’
Athena gazed slightly to one side of his face, trying to let his tirade wash over her. She was starting to learn how to survive his verbal abuse. Let him rant and rage and do as he pleased. Eventually he would go away, lose interest, or simply fall asleep. She could survive.
He hated it when she didn’t respond to him. What he had always craved most from