Page 18 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

At the foot of the stairs she tiptoed to the front door. Had he come in that way? Perhaps not, as the big bolt was still drawn across it. Luckily it was well oiled and slid back with no hint of noisy objection. The only problem was that if she didn’t get back in time, when Bowles came down in the morning to unlock the door, he was going to find it already unlocked. And he was bound to become suspicious. Knowing him he wouldn’t think he’d left it unbolted himself last night. She had to cross her fingers and hope she was back before then.

She slipped her boots on and hurriedly did up the laces, then she let them both out onto the eerie, fog-swathed street and promptly nearly fell down the steps. Fortunately, she was on Gabriel’s left and he was able to grab her unceremoniously by the back of her pelisse and haul her upright. “If you’re coming with me,” he whispered, “I’ll thank you not to cause any more injuries—either to me or yourself. I fear we won’t be able to cope if you do.”

She brushed off her pelisse as if she’d actually taken the tumble and slipped her right hand into the crook of his left arm. “If I walk like this, I should be able to stay upright.” But this was a faint hope as she’d been known to fall over nothing at all, especially when under stress. Still, the necessity not to cause further injury to Gabriel’s arm inspired her to hope she might be able to arrive at wherever they were going without further mishap.

“Where is it we’re going?” she asked, now that was brought to mind.

His reply was on the curt side. “To someone who can sort out the damage you’ve done to my arm.”

“A physician? A bone setter?” But he didn’t answer.

Instead, he glanced up and down the foggy street. The lamps made islands of misty light every so often, and the fog muffled the sound of their footsteps in the most ghostly fashion. She wasn’t sure she felt safe out here in the nearly silent city in the dark of night. In the foggy dark of night where anyone could creep up on one unnoticed and stick a knife in one’s ribs. Or worse.

She swallowed. She needed to be brave and put aside these silly irrational fears. She was going on an adventure, and hadn’t she always fancied one back when she’d been a girl at Coakham reading excitingly lurid stories by candlelight in her bedroom?

She looked up at Gabriel. He did indeed look like the type of hero one came upon in those sort of books. Handsome and more than a bit wild and exciting. If only she hadn’t broken his arm for him everything would have been much easier. But then, if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t now be embarking on a middle of the night, foggy adventure. There was an upside to everything, really.

He peered into the fog. If he was expecting a hackney coach or a cabriolet at this time of the night then he was going to be disappointed. Barely anyone was about, which was strange for Hill Street with its situation in the heart of Mayfair. Usually she was kept amused guessing what had made all the variety of different sounds as she lay awake at nights listening to the life of London after dark. Not tonight, it seemed. An unusually quiet night. Perhaps the fog had put people off.

By the look of pain on his face, he was indeed disappointed at the lack of vehicles for hire.

She gave his good arm a slight tug. “If we walk up to Berkeley Square we should be able to find a carriage for hire. It’s busier than here, and there are always gentlemen about on their way home in the early hours of the morning.”

He cast her a questioning glance, but said nothing. Let him wonder.

They walked the few yards along Hill Street until they came to the square, which, if anything, seemed even foggier than the street. But sure enough, she could make out just such a vehicle as they required in the act of dropping off some returning gambler to the bosom of his family, looming out of the mist like a ghost. And there she was, thinking ghostly thoughts again. Best to check the driver had a head.

Gabriel held up his hand and the departing carriage came to a halt beside them. “Denmark Street, please.”

The coachman, who did indeed possess a head, perched high above them, tipped his hat back. “You sure that’s where you want to go, sir? With a lady?”

“Quite sure,” Gabriel snapped, no doubt made pettish by his injury, and opened the carriage door for Phoebe to get in. Once inside, she offered him her hand and half pulled him in after her. Difficult to get into a vehicle with only one arm of any use. She felt she was redeeming herself a little for her attack on him by all the help she was now providing. He sank into the shabbily upholstered seat beside her, his face drawn with pain.

She’d better check. “You’re not going to be sick, are you?”

He shook his head, lips pressed together, perhaps in an effort to contain that very thing. Their driver would not be amused if he did as she feared. But he didn’t, and the one mile journey was accomplished most promptly due to the lack of many other vehicles on the road at this hour of the night. It was accomplished in silence too, for Gabriel did not look as though he wanted to talk, and Phoebe didn’t want the driver overhearing anything untoward. Before long he drew his horse to a halt and knocked on the roof to them. “We’re ’ere.”

The door opened onto a dark and foggy street, made gloomier as it only seemed to possess five lamps shedding any light. Phoebe stumbled on the step as she dismounted, but managed to stop herself from falling flat on her face. When she turned back to help Gabriel, she saw with a start, by the nearest streetlamp, that his face had gone from paper pale to ashy gray. She took a quick glance over her shoulder at their destination. It did not resemble any sort of genteel residential street she’d ever seen before, but at least the road itself appeared clean and well-swept, which with all Gabriel’s talk of rookeries, she hadn’t been expecting. Tall, possibly seventeenth-century houses loomed above the narrow roadway, their windows blank and dark. They did not look inhabited, or at least as if no one within was awake.

The driver, once paid, took no time in clicking to his horse and trotting off into the fog. The sound of departing hooves made a lonely and melancholy backdrop to their situation, especially given how it echoed between the looming houses.

Phoebe dragged her gaze away from the departing carriage and returned it to Gabriel, who had propped himself up against the nearest house wall and closed his eyes. So the next move was up to her. He did not look well. What was she supposed to do? She began to wonder if offering to come with him had been such a good idea. She was a long way from anywhere that felt like home. Not that Hill Street did, but at least the roads around it were relatively friendly. Not that she’d ever been out in the middle of the night to find out what they were like then. She shivered. For all she knew they might be as horrible as this.

But Gabriel rose to the occasion. He visibly pulled himself together and straightened up. “Number twelve,” he said between gritted teeth.

Phoebe looked around. Where were the numbers on these unfriendly houses that at the same time managed to all look both the same and different? “Wait here.” She left him where he stood while she searched. Aha. She found one with a number. Nine. So by logical deduction, this house had to be number twelve. It looked as bleak and unwelcoming and asleep as all the others. However, without hesitation she knocked on the door with the solid horseshoe knocker provided.

Nothing happened. Twenty yards away Gabriel was still leaning back against the wall where she’d left him.

She knocked again, this time for longer.

A noise above her head alerted her to look upwards. Someone was lifting a sash window. A candle flickered and a lace-capped head emerged. “Who’s that a-knocking on my door at this time of night?” a cross voice hissed, possibly not wanting to disturb her neighbors. If she had any. “Go away.”

Phoebe took a step back into the street and craned her neck, the better to see this woman. She was wearing a voluminous nightgown and had the strings of her night cap tied in a bow under her chin. “I need your help,” Phoebe tried. “I have your sponsor here. He’s injured.” And she waved her hand in Gabriel’s direction.

The head seemed inclined to disbelief. “You have? What’s his name then? I’m not letting any nobodies in here, I can tell you. This is a respectable house.”

Phoebe wasn’t sure shouting out Gabriel’s name in the street was such a good idea, but she was saved from having to by the gentleman in question heaving himself off the wall and meandering up the street to join her. He tipped his head back with a muffled groan and squinted up at the person in the window. “For heaven’s sake, Violet, it’s me. Can’t you let me in before I fall down?”