Stepping into The Red Rabbit, Gabriel searched for his man and found him along the back wall in a darkened booth as expected.

Gabriel removed his hat and gloves. Approaching the booth, his expression remained unreadable as Mister Tallard sipped from a mug of ale and waved a hand in his direction.

“O’er here, guvnor.”

Gabriel slid onto the pitted wood bench seat. A passing tavern wench placed a full mug in front of him and quickly swiped up the gold crown Gabriel laid on the table. It more than covered the cost of their drinks, so she placed a third tankard down as well.

Mister Tallard pulled that one toward himself and proceeded to gulp it down.

“What news?” Gabriel asked while Mister Tallard swiped his bearded chin clean of sudsy foam. Hopefully, the man would not become too inebriated before he imparted the details Gabriel wished to know.

“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.