Page 29 of Rules for Ruin

Franc instantly shot forward, baring his teeth at Gabriel.

Gabriel’s mouth hitched with amusement at the protective display. Releasing Euphemia’s hand, he chucked the little dog gently under the chin. Franc ceased snarling. He stared at Gabriel, stunned.

Euphemia was staring at him, too. Gabriel thought he detected a slight flush in her cheeks.

Then again, it was entirely possible the mere kiss of her gloved hand had robbed him of his senses.

He backed away from the cab as the jarvey started the horses. “Careful how you go, Miss Flite.”

She didn’t reply, only looked at him, a shadow of bewilderment in her gaze, as the hackney rolled off with a rattle, merging with the traffic of the busy street and soon disappearing from view.

6

Effie sagged back in the seat of the hired cab as it jolted down the street. She held Franc tightly in her arms, her heart beating swiftly and her head buzzing as though she’d just received a fearsome clout from an opponent in battle.

The sensation was nothing to the queasy trembling in her stomach.

Nell had said anything was permissible. Go where you will. Learn what you can. The words had unleashed Effie. This morning, on setting out from Brook Street, she’d used them to rationalize a visit to St. Giles. She must know her surroundings, mustn’t she? And the Rookery was as much a part of London as any other neighborhood.

But she hadn’t reckoned for how the experience would affect her.

As she’d ventured down the labyrinthine alleyways, questioning the slum’s few sober-looking residents and ultimately finding her way to Mother Comfort’s gin shop, Effie had outwardly maintained her composure. Her determination to find out something about her mother had superseded all other concerns. There was generally some older person in a place who possessed the community’s collective memory. Surely, one of them would remember a fair-haired woman named Grace who had once given up her child to a sinister lady in black.

But with every alley Effie had traversed, she’d been drawn further and further back into that same murk of memory—too far away to touch or recall, but close enough to feel.

And goodness, how she’d felt it.

Even now, safely ensconced in the hackney cab with Franc, the foul sights and smells of the Rookery lingered, leaving their grim stamp on her soul.

She hadn’t anything to show for it, either. Indeed, rather than finding the needle she had sought, all she’d discovered was an ever-growing collection of haystacks.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Effie’s fingers tangled in Franc’s curls, the wild buzzing in her head and chest only increasing as she recalled the sight of Gabriel Royce entering the gin shop.

Never in her life had she seen a man so utterly in charge of his environment. King of all he surveyed. And not a kindhearted king, either. A cold and implacable one, who had dispatched a man who had outweighed him by at least five stone as easily as if he were swatting a bothersome fly.

He’d been in his shirtsleeves, too. And without a cravat! The neck of his shirt had gaped, revealing the strong column of his throat.

Effie supposed she shouldn’t have noticed it. Then again, knowing one’s surroundings meant noticing everything in them, even if that everything included the bare neck of one’s brooding would-be rescuer.

The entire episode had been as breathtaking as it was baffling. The way Gabriel had behaved. Smashing that man who had insulted her against the gin shop counter. Clasping her arm so gently. Kissing her hand!

What had he meant by it all? He wasn’t, it was to be hoped, interested in her romantically, was he?

She couldn’t credit it. Not given the actions that had preceded today’s encounter.

Gabriel had warned her away from Compton. He’d even had her followed. That boy of his had seen her visit the Academy, for heaven’s sake! Effie couldn’t believe she hadn’t spotted the lad earlier. She felt a fool not to have done so. And now Gabriel knew of her connection with the place. Whether he believed it was one wholly based on her charitable instincts, Effie took leave to doubt. The man didn’t strike her as being stupid. Calculating, yes. Foolish, never.

No, she decided firmly. His attentions, such that they were, weren’t inspired by romantic attraction. They were fueled by self-interest. He was her opponent, nothing more.

Recognizing that fact put all the rest in its proper perspective.

Nevertheless…

Effie gave Franc a look of gentle reproof as the hackney clattered on toward Mayfair. “You didn’t bite him.”

Franc’s shrewd brown eyes blinked up at her without apology. He bit anyone he deemed a threat. When it came to judgments of character, his intuition was as reliable as clockwork.