all her thoughts return to him? When she had risen from her chair in the parlour she thought her heart might stop at the sight of him. She’d forgotten how grand he was, how formidable, a man who could do anything, even come through a battle unscathed to return her son to her.
And here she was, asking him to do it again, to find Claude against nearly impossible odds, to again snatch him from the jaws of death. She had no doubt that Gabriel could do it.
If he would agree.
Emmaline entered her hotel and told the hall servant to send her dinner to her room. She’d procured the most inexpensive room available, trying to conserve her funds so that she could pay Gabriel all she possessed to help her find Claude. Instead he’d been insulted by her offer of money.
Emmaline climbed three sets of stairs to her room and immediately took off her bonnet and gloves. She undid the buttons of the blue spencer she’d sewn to match her blue muslin dress. She was still French enough to take pride in her appearance.
When Claude had been recuperating, he’d wanted to learn English. She’d had plenty of time to sew while drilling him in English words and phrases.
If she’d only known why he wanted to speak the language.
She had sewn clothes for him, because he had outgrown his old ones, and next for herself, using as inspiration the gowns of the most fashionable English ladies who came into the lace shop. She’d been glad to see her clothes were not out of place in London.
Had Gabriel admired her appearance? She wished for his admiration of her ensemble as strongly as she detested the attention it had brought from the three drunken soldiers.
She lay upon the bed and stared at the ceiling, but her mind’s eye saw only Gabriel: his dark unruly hair; his chocolate brown eyes; the expressive mouth that had once pressed against her own lips.
She groaned.
She ached for him. Seeing Gabriel this day made her yearn for those glorious nights when he shared her bed. She’d been happy with him. Even with Claude in the army and Napoleon on the march again, those days with Gabriel had been the happiest she had ever known and she’d missed him every day thereafter. She pulled out the ring she still wore on a chain under her dress. This reminder of him rested always against her heart and kept him near to her, even after two years’ absence.
Finding Gabriel when she came to London had been far easier than she expected. One of the hotel maids here had told her to ask for him at Stephen’s Hotel.
“If he’s an officer and he’s in London, then he will be staying at the Stephen’s Hotel. Mark my words,” the girl had said.
She’d been correct. Emmaline arrived in London that morning and by afternoon she had found him. And lost him again.
Now what was she to do?
An idea occurred to her. If Gabriel was at the Stephen’s Hotel, maybe Edwin Tranville was there, as well. Non, if that were so, surely Gabriel would have told her. Besides, if Tranville were so easy to find, Claude would have killed him already and her strong, handsome son might already have hung by the neck for it.
Claude had grown strong again, even though it had taken him two years to fully recover from his wounds at Waterloo. As his strength grew, so did his restlessness. He finally asked to travel to Paris to visit her parents. Emmaline had agreed, hoping a change in scene would be good for him.
But he had never arrived in Paris. Instead a letter came, explaining his true destination and his avowed intent.
That had been a month ago. Where was he now? And how would she find him?
She came back to Gabriel.
She must think of a way to make him agree, though why should he help her when she had rejected him so cruelly?
She flung an arm across her face, trying to hold off the despair that threatened to completely overwhelm her.
She’d give anything to keep her son from throwing his life away. Anything. But what did she possess that would entice Gabriel to help her?
Emmaline sat up.
She had said she would give anything to save Claude.
Well, she would do more. She would give Gabriel everything.
Everything.
He would not refuse.
Gabe descended the stairway to the hotel’s dining room, deciding he might as well distract himself and eat. Staying alone in his room had been no help. One minute he had surged with anger at Emmaline for coming back into his life and re-igniting his need for her, the next minute he knew he must help her. It would require no effort on his part, after all.
He knew where to find Edwin Tranville.
Mere weeks ago he’d been thrown into Edwin’s company. He’d run into Allan Landon, his friend since Allan had been his lieutenant in Spain. Allan was no longer in the army, but was working for Lord Sidmouth and the Home Office, as was, astonishingly, Edwin Tranville. They were charged with combating seditious acts. Allan had learned that a group of soldiers planned to gather to protest against unemployment and high prices. He wanted to stop the protest before the soldiers risked arrest. Gabe had run into Allan when Allan was searching for Edwin, who knew where the gathering was to take place. Gabe helped him search. They found Edwin in a tavern, drunk as usual. Allan quickly left to stop the march and Gabe wound up playing nursemaid to Edwin.
No mention of the soldiers’ march ever reached a newspaper, so Gabe surmised Allan must have been successful.
Luckily Edwin had apparently been too drunk to remember Gabe’s interference. Gabe had no wish for Lord Tranville, Edwin’s father, to learn he was in London seeking a new commission. Lord Tranville would certainly foil any chances Gabe possessed.
Gabe approached the door of the dining room. The Stephen’s Hotel was a popular place to dine and almost like a club for officers who could not gain admittance to White’s or Brooks’s.
No sooner had Gabe entered the dining room than he was hailed by the three officers who accosted Emmaline. They waved him over to sit with them. Gabe shrugged. They’d done her no real harm, nothing any man with a little drink would not have done when encountering a beautiful, unaccompanied woman. Besides, it would be advantageous for him not to be alone with his own thoughts.
“We are making a wager,” Irishman said, “with Webberly’s timepiece—how many minutes until the fried soles are served? Are you in?”
“I never wager.” Gabe lowered himself into a chair.
Hanson immediately poured Gabe a glass of wine. “There’s the pity of it. We could have a game of whist after dinner if you were a gambling man.”
Gabe scanned the room. “I trust someone here would accept.”
Irishman drummed his fingers on the table. “We sat down not more than ten minutes ago, and the servant brought the wine immediately—”
“And
