Page 97 of My Darling Rogue
“That bloke is right bad news, guvnor.”
“How so?” Gabriel’s scarred brow raised in question. The mere sight of his scar was apparently enough to strike fear into Mister Tallard. The older man swallowed hard and took another fortifying swallow from the tankard.
“Seems he’s left a trail of ruined misses ‘cross half of England. Once he’s had one, he up and leaves ‘em. Moves on to the next place. And nothin’ is said ‘bout what he’s done.” He squinted at Gabriel. ‘Cause what papa wants it known his little girl was tupped by the help?”
Gabriel’s heart stilled in its beat, a leaden lump occupying his chest. A dulled roar filled his ears, and without conscious awareness, his hands clenched and unclenched into fists. He gripped his own mug of ale so tight he was in danger of snapping off the handle.
This explained so much of Celia’s behavior. Her refusal to marry just any man in her orbit. For weeks now, he had believed the person who so cruelly abused her was a peer of society. A man hiding behind the mask of a gentleman.
How wrong he had been.
His sweet, fiery Celia had been victimized by someone who bore far too much resemblance to himself. A nobody. A commoner. A man of violence. Someone who had taken advantage of a young girl’s innocence. A man who returned to torment her even now.
Which begged another question. One Gabriel could not begin to contemplate.
Has that animal touched her again?
“Will you need help gettin’ rid of the bugger?” Mister Tallard’s question was tinged with a note of hopefulness. “Got me own wee daughter, ya see. Stays with her mother out in Leeds. Any bloke messes with her that way and he won’t live to see the next mornin’, if you understand my meanin’. Happy to aid ya in this, guvnor. Yessir, more than happy.”
The bloodlust rushing through Gabriel’s veins could not be ignored. And it certainly would not be denied. The uncivilized side of him, the beastly side always at war with his innate nobility and honesty, surged to the surface. It obliterated any consideration of what a law-abiding citizen would do in this situation. A marquess should not administer judgment and punishment, but then again, he was not a true marquess. Not completely, anyway.
He was Gabriel Rose in this moment, and that was a man who knew death very well. A man who would administer it with stealth and cunning and an exacting level of expertise that was the stuff of nightmares.
What needed to be done would be accomplished byhishand. This was something he alone must do. And once the earth was wiped clean of Bryan Flannigan, Gabriel would go about mending his Celia back together again.
“I will not require assistance,” Gabriel said, rising from the bench. Tossing a pouch full of coins on the table in front of Mister Talbert, he added ominously, “And if anyone should ever ask, you’ve never heard of Bryan Flannigan.”
CHAPTER41
Celia pulled open the drawer of Gabriel’s desk.
She stared at the four-barrel pocket pistol for a long moment before she carefully picked it up. The silver on the inlaid handle gleamed with a dull glow, the wood on the stock polished and smooth beneath her fingertips.
Thank goodness for Tristan’s lessons. His instructions were a way of eliminating boredom while growing up on Darby Meadows more than any belief she should learn self-protection, but Celia had been a quick student. Once her brother showed her how to load and unload a firearm, how to mark the sight and steady her aim, it wasn’t long before she could hit near the center of the target almost every time.
“Good enough to possibly kill a man,” Tristan had cheerfully exclaimed of her skill.
That knowledge in handling the weapon would serve her well now.
With a deep breath, Celia quickly loaded the pistol and slipped it into her pocket. Closing the drawer of the desk, she leaned against the piece of furniture for a moment and considered how much time she had before Gabriel was expected back.
The mantle clock above the fireplace struck the hour of two. Gabriel would not be home until at least five that evening. He would then go about changing clothes for their evening planned with Sebastian and Ivy at the theatre, and Celia hoped she would be in their bedchamber, preparing for the evening as well.
A free woman at last.
“You can do this,” Celia whispered to herself. It was possible she could kill a man and then go blissfully on her way. To the theatre. To dinner. She could commit murder then laugh afterward with her friends and kiss her husband, knowing she had done what was necessary to protect herself and Gabriel.
She would do this, and along with the original secret, she would keep the two hidden forever.
Making her way to the stables, Celia could not ignore how heavy the pistol felt in the pocket of her cloak. How it rubbed against the banknotes she also carried. The money was an incentive. Her final attempt at convincing Bryan he must leave and never come back.
And if he refused…
Celia prayed he would not.
After determining the aisleway was indeed deserted, Celia carefully climbed up to the hayloft. The pistol bumped against her leg, weighting her skirts down as she ascended the wooden ladder. She tried not to think about the real possibility of using it.
The moment she was free of the ladder, Bryan grabbed her by the arm. He dragged her away from the loft’s edge and shoved her toward the stack of hay bales in the far corner.
