“Are you coming with us, Royce?” Mannering asked.

“I’ll make my own way,” Gabriel said.

At last Effie looked at him. There was a glint of uncertainty in her face. Doubtless she was thinking of his promise to provide her with the location of the old woman in Hertfordshire.

It was better than her not thinking of him at all.

“I’ll send word to you tomorrow,” he said. And then to Mannering: “You should reach Brook Steet within the half hour. See that nothing delays you.”

Mannering’s throat bobbed on a swallow. He mumbled an acknowledgment to Gabriel’s unspoken warning before leading Effie away back toward the gates of the Gardens. She walked alongside him without looking back, the glass dragonflies in her hair twinkling in the lamplight.

Gabriel watched her go, a bloodless stone settling in the place where his heart should be.

There was a good chance he’d lost her this evening. That any flicker of fondness or friendship she’d felt for him had died the moment she’d learned he had Wingard’s documents and was unwilling to give them to her.

Perhaps she truly did wish never to see him again.

The prospect left him empty. Numb. The only feeling he could summon as her black-cloaked figure disappeared into the crowd was something very close to despair.

“What have you done to me?” he’d asked her.

He still didn’t know the answer. All he knew was that she’d been a bright, dazzling light in his dark world. Not a remote, beautiful creature to put on a pedestal, but an equal. A second self. If he wanted her, he was going to have to win her.

And he wanted her like mad.

Never mind that the odds against him were rising by the second. Gabriel was a bookmaker. He made his own odds. So long as he did, this game wasn’t over. Not until he said it was.

• • •

Effie exchanged all of five words with Lord Mannering during their journey to Brook Street. She was in no mood for conversation. All she desired was the comfort of Franc and the warmth of her borrowed bed.

Lord Mannering seemed to comprehend the situation. He promptly delivered her to the Belwoods’ door, stopping only long enough to explain the situation to her ladyship.

Effie didn’t remain to hear their conversation. She headed straight upstairs to her room. The lamp had been left on low for Franc at her insistence. He was curled up on her pillow, having put himself to bed for the night. He appeared so small and helpless. Just a tiny black ball of fluff with his little black nose and diminutive paw pads.