Page 28 of Rules for Ruin (The Crinoline Academy #1)

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Effie had no intention of revealing Miss Corvus’s secrets. How could she when she didn’t know the half of them herself? But after what she had learned in Trowley Green, and after Gabriel had accepted her—truly accepted her—she couldn’t lie to him any longer.

He was right. They were the same.

Perhaps they even belonged together. It certainly felt that way, on his lap and in his arms. Here, at last, she was safe, and known, and…

Beloved.

Gabriel hadn’t said it in so many words, but the emotion was there all the same. It was in the way he held her and comforted her. In the tenderness that deepened his voice and softened the hard edges of his granite-hewn face. No longer cynical, he had looked into her eyes with raw sincerity.

“I know who you are,” he’d said.

Effie’s heart had thumped heavily in answer. This connection between them…It was a form of kinship she’d never encountered. An elemental recognition, all tangled up with vulnerability and desire. The temptation to give in to it was great indeed. But in the aftermath of learning about her mother, another feeling had emerged in Effie’s aching heart. An iron-forged sense of what she owed to Miss Corvus.

Reluctantly, she withdrew from Gabriel’s arms. He didn’t attempt to stop her, only looked at her steadily, his expression intent, as she collected her bonnet from the adjoining seat and moved to take its place.

“I don’t know her by that name,” she said, arranging her skirts. “But I believe she may well be her.”

Gabriel sat up straighter as she settled beside him, leaning toward her in her seat, his pale blue eyes riveted to her face. “Wingard said his sister went abroad. He told me she’d died.”

“A version of death. The lady who raised me wasn’t a broken woman. She was a creature of singular strength. So much so that I spent all my life imagining her cold and heartless.”

His brows notched. “You say she raised you—”

“As much as a child can be raised in an orphanage. There was no love or affection in that place.” The old bitterness threatened as Effie uttered the words. She recognized it now for what it was: childhood ignorance; a misperception of the facts.

For the first time in her life, she ignored the acrid sensation. The wave of bitterness passed over her and through her, leaving her clear-eyed in its wake. She may not fully know Miss Corvus’s secrets, but when it came to her motives, Effie was at last beginning to understand.

“She saw that we were well educated,” she said. “Not only in the traditional subjects, but in the untraditional ones. She ensured we could think for ourselves, and defend ourselves. That we would never fall victim to any man.”

Through it all, Miss Corvus’s prevailing message had always been clear. Effie was alone—intrinsically, inherently alone. She could rely on no one but herself. A valuable lesson, given Miss Corvus’s own history, but one that had left Effie feeling isolated and abandoned. A girl with no place in the world where she belonged.

Until now.

Gabriel had said she belonged with him.

Effie met his gaze. He was still frowning. Still no doubt appalled. It was difficult to tell anymore. The softness that had been in his face when he’d told her that nothing else mattered was gone, replaced by something grim and implacable.

It made it easier for Effie rather than harder. Love and acceptance were unfamiliar waters, but she’d been navigating the stormy seas of adversity from childhood. Conflict was second nature to her.

“When I began to get restless,” she continued, “dwelling too much on my past, she sent me to Paris to act as companion to a wealthy widow. I was only summoned back last month.”

“Why now?” he asked.

“Because of Lord Compton.”

Gabriel’s expression darkened at the mention of the viscount’s name.

“His opposition to a married women’s property bill is an obstacle that must be overcome,” Effie said. “As I’m the oldest, and the best capable of moving in society, it was only logical Miss Corvus would—”

“Send you to infiltrate his inner circle?” A spark of fury blazed in Gabriel’s eyes. “Heartless is right. This champion of women you describe may as well have thrown you to the bloody wolves. If Compton gets wind of what you’re doing—”

“He has no idea,” Effie said. “He thinks all I’m concealing are my own reduced circumstances. That I’m looking for a protector—you, possibly.”

Gabriel’s gaze turned dangerous. “He said this?”

“His butler observed us coming out of the library on the night of the ball.”

“Did he,” Gabriel said flatly. It wasn’t a question.

“Lord Compton told me himself but three days ago. I called in Grosvenor Square. He showed me his antique book collection. He knows I have no money. No prospects. He assumes I’m weighing my options. Either you or…”

“Or him,” Gabriel concluded.

A shiver traced down Effie’s spine at the look in his eyes. She’d never seen him so angry. At his worst, he became cold and remote. But this…

This was something else.

“No more,” he said in a voice of perilous calm.

Her pulse skipped. “Gabriel, really—”

“No more chasing him. No more visiting his house and searching his rooms. I don’t want you within a mile of the man.” He caught her chin in his hand, compelling her to face him. His eyes burned into hers. “Do you understand me?”

A blush heated her face. She’d never been the subject of such hazardous intensity. Not even when he’d kissed her so passionately at Cremorne Gardens.

“Of course I do,” she said. “You’re attempting to order me about according to your whims. But I’m not finished with—”

“You’re finished,” he said.

Anger rose within her. She would have pulled her face away in outrage if he wasn’t holding her chin so firmly. “No,” she returned fiercely. “I’m not . Not until I’ve done what I set out to do.”

“And what am I meant to do?” he shot back. “If something were to happen to you—if Compton hurt you or that butler of his—”

“I can defend myself. No one is going to—”

“If either of them lay a hand on you, I’ll kill them.”

A thrill went through her. Good gracious, he meant it. He was prepared to dispatch anyone who dared touch her. It was overbearingly protective. Indeed, it bordered on primitive. She should be appalled by the notion. She was a strong, independent lady, fully capable of protecting herself. Even so…

“That’s very flattering,” she managed. “But you needn’t contemplate such a course.”

His thumb pressed her chin, still holding her fast. He looked into her eyes, more serious than she’d ever seen him. “I found you,” he said gruffly. “I’ve no intention of losing you.”

Her heart thumped heavily. “You won’t.”

“Then promise me that you’ll give up.”

Effie would have loved to set his mind at ease. To tell him she would cease pursuing Compton, and shun all risk of danger. But it wasn’t true. It wasn’t her.

“I can’t promise,” she said. “More depends on my success than the passage of a married women’s property bill. There’s Franc—our life together—our entire future. If I fail, I shall have no money for a home of our own.”

His eyes searched hers with sudden calculation. “She’s offered you money?”

Effie couldn’t tell if he was shocked by the fact. Indeed, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking any longer at all. His face had gone peculiarly blank.

“How much?” he asked.

She hesitated to answer. She didn’t like revealing her less honorable motivations. It was one thing to risk her life and reputation for the greater good of women. It was quite another to do it for material gain.

“Enough to gain my independence,” she admitted grudgingly. “I shall get to keep all my clothes as well. The entire wardrobe that was made for me in Paris. I could never in my life afford such a luxury on my own. Without it—”

“I can buy you a new wardrobe,” he said.

She stared at him, startled into silence.

“Gowns, jewels, anything.”

She shook her head. “Gabriel…”

His hand lifted to cradle her cheek. “If that’s all you desire, then let me give it to you,” he said recklessly. “Fine clothes. A comfortable house. A coach-and-four if you want it.”

Her heartbeat quickened, even as her stomach sank at the implication. “In exchange for what?”

“For being mine,” he said.

She exhaled an uneven breath. She hated that she was tempted. “I don’t want to be kept by someone. Not even you.”

“We’ll keep each other. Help each other.”

“How?”

“The Rookery. There are plenty of women there whose lives you can make better. We’ll work to reform it. You have opinions, ideas. I’ll listen to you. Take your advice. We can reside in Sloane Street. You said you thought the house fine. It can be yours. Ours.”

“And I’ll be your…what?” She didn’t dare say the word mistress ; the prospect brought nothing but pain.

He brushed his thumb over the slope of her cheek. His voice deepened. “You’ll be my love.”

Her heart ached with longing. “Your love.”

“That surprises you?”

“No.”

“It offends you?”

“No.”

His brows sank. “If you don’t feel the same—”

“I do,” she said softly. “You must know that I do.”

The barest flicker of relief crossed his face. He smiled briefly. “I didn’t know. I hoped, but—”

“Gabriel…”

His mouth quirked with sudden humor. He looked different. Younger. “If you want pretty speeches, you’ll have to look elsewhere, sweet. I’m no fancy lord, just a rogue from Birmingham. All I can tell you is that you’re magnificent. Doubtless you’ve heard it before.”

“No,” she said. “I haven’t.” Gentlemen had complimented her frequently enough on her eyes, her face, her figure. They had called her beautiful often, magnificent never.

“Bloody idiots,” Gabriel said. Bending his head to hers, he pressed a kiss to her lips.

Effie’s eyes fell closed and her mouth softened under his. A part of her had feared that his feelings toward her would change. That after learning the truth about her origins, he would respect her less. But it appeared the opposite was true. He was gentler, sweeter. As though it was the first time their lips had touched.

And perhaps it was.

On every other occasion there had been something between them. Panic, tears, lies, and artifice. But not now. Now, they were both fully vulnerable. Fully themselves.

She curved a hand around his neck, bringing him closer.

He obliged her, deepening their kiss. He was less cautious now, his desire for her evident in the way he cradled her cheek and the strength with which his arm came about her waist. He held her fast against his chest, so close she could feel the heavy beat of his heart.

Effie’s own heart thumped hard in answer as she sank into the fierceness of his embrace. She kissed him back with warm, half-parted lips, sighing, yielding, her fingers twining in his hair. Her blood sang out—yes, yes, yes. This was exactly where she belonged. Where she’d always belonged.

It would have been so easy to succumb to the sensation.

Goodness, he’d all but said that he loved her! He’d offered her a house, fine dresses, a coach-and-four. More than that, he’d proposed something like a partnership. A mutual endeavor to reform the Rookery. The place both of them had, at one time, called home.

But Effie had another home. One she hadn’t recognized for what it was until today. The remote, iron-gated stone house where she’d learned, grown, transformed into a woman to be reckoned with.

The train rattled down the track. London was still a distance away. There were other stops in between. The next was one with which she was intimately familiar.

“I can’t,” she murmured against his mouth.

“Can’t what?”

“Be with you,” she said. “Not on those terms.”

Gabriel’s hand froze on the curve of her waist. A moment passed in absolute stillness, his unsteady breath mingling with hers, before he drew back to look at her. He stared into her eyes. “On any terms?”

“I still have a job to do.”

He released her from his arms, leaving her cold. “A job,” he repeated. The sardonic edge in his voice left no doubt as to what he thought of it.

She mustered an air of offended dignity—not an easy feat when her face was flushed and her lips still swollen from his kisses. “I see how it is. The only way we can be together is if I sacrifice what’s important to me. The notion of you sacrificing anything is ludicrous, I suppose.”

“I haven’t sacrificed?” His gaze hardened. “I’m here with you, aren’t I? Tomorrow is Epsom. I have two horses running, a shop that’s packed to the gills, a passel of gentlemen reformers waiting to meet with me, and I’m in bloody Hertfordshire.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

“You didn’t have to ask. I’d have been with you every moment if I could. I’d never have let you go with Mannering in the first place. I’d have taken you home with me that night where you belong. You’d have been mine and I’d have been yours.” His eyes smoldered. “The only thing keeping us apart is you.”

Effie steeled herself against another swell of yearning. “And yet, I’m the one who must bend.”

“No. All you must do is cease pursuing Compton, for your own good, Effie, and for mine. God knows I’ve offered you enough in exchange for it. A fine home, handsome clothes, a carriage. And myself—which would be sufficient on its own if you felt anything for me even approaching what I feel for you.”

“You forgot the thirty pieces of silver,” she replied quietly.

He stilled. A derisive huff emerged from his lips. “My offer makes you a Judas, does it?”

“I would be if I accepted it. I’d be betraying my sisters.”

“Your sisters,” he scoffed.

“I’d be betraying myself. What security is there in being dependent on you for the smallest thing? You’re not, after all, offering me marriage.”

He looked at her steadily, his face taut with anger and some other emotion she couldn’t fully grasp. “Why offer what you won’t accept?”

“No. You’re right. There’s no need at all.”

The train slowed on the track, approaching the station.

Know your surroundings. Know your opponent. Know yourself.

The three rules reverberated in Effie’s muddled brain in time with the rattle of the wheels on the track. She had always believed that, whatever else happened, she knew herself. Her goals, her desires. But not any longer. She’d had everything backward and inside out. What she needed was clarity, and there was only one person who could give it to her.

Coming to an abrupt decision, Effie stood from her seat.

Gabriel rose at once beside her, his hat in his hand.

She backed to the door of the compartment, the floor of the train shuddering beneath her feet. “I’m disembarking. Pray don’t follow me.”

A flash of emotion crossed Gabriel’s face. “Effie, wait—”

“I have something I must do alone.”

“Next stop, Waltham Station!” the brakeman shouted down the corridor as the train rolled to a halt. “Waltham Abbey, Loughton, and the Epping Forest!”

Understanding registered in Gabriel’s eyes. “You’re going to the orphanage.”

“I must,” she said.

He moved to follow her.

She set her hand flat on his chest. “No.”

His fist clenched on the brim of his hat. His jaw clenched as well. Every fiber in him seemed to be at war.

“Please,” she said. “I know what I’m about.”

“We’re not finished,” he informed her stonily.

“I know.”

“When I return from Epsom, we’re going to settle this thing between us once and for all.”

Effie opened the door as the train came to a halt. Her gaze held his, raw and unflinching. She comprehended, then, exactly what it was she felt for him. This wild, aching madness that complicated her plans and defied common sense, while at the same time feeling so wonderful, so right. It could only be one thing.

Recognizing it now was hardly convenient. But Effie could deny it no longer. Not to herself—and not to him.

“I love you,” she said.

Gabriel’s cold expression fractured. He looked astonished. Shaken. His lips parted to speak.

She didn’t wait to hear what he might have said. There was no time.

“Come and find me after the Derby,” she told him.

With that, she slipped out of the compartment and off of the train.