Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,128

He flexed his hands and felt a thousand sharp needles stabbing into his fingers.

Ignoring the pain, he worked at the ropes around each boot, each second lasting a year. By the time he freed the second knot, his hands had regained most of their mobility. He stood and stretched, working circulation into his feet and hands.

“What is outside this door?”

“It’s the warehouse where they store the rope-making supplies. Er, would you untie me?”

“I didn’t hear him locking anything,” Gabriel said, ignoring the question. “Is there a lock on this door?”

“No, he’s an arrogant bastard. He told me he could handle a toff with one hand tied behind his back.”

Gabriel’s lips curved into a smile. He hoped to use that arrogance to his benefit. “What about the warehouse—which side are the doors on?”

“You’ll see them straight ahead. A big rolling door with a smaller one cut in it. It’s the only way in. They won’t be waiting in the warehouse; they’re in the pawnbroker’s next door—they keep an eye on the street from there. They saw you come with Byer earlier and watched him leave. They knocked him on the head before he could find a hackney.”

Sudden and severe sickness almost crippled him. Good God—Byer. “Is he dead?” He had to force the words through clenched teeth.

“No, Paul said he looked like he might be worth something, so I think they have plans to ransom him.”

Thank God!

Gabriel put his friend from his mind and concentrated on the here and now. He was good with his fists—he’d trained at Jackson’s and with his stepfather—but he could hardly take on two men at once.

“Can you untie me now?”

Gabriel pressed his face against the rough wood and squinted through the crack. He couldn’t see much—although he did see something that might be a door straight ahead. He needed to get out of here before they came back. He reached for the latch.

“You can’t leave me here.” Rowland’s voice reminded Gabriel of a pig’s squeal.

“I’ll knock you on the head if you don’t shut your mouth,” Gabriel whispered furiously.

“I swear, Marlington. I swear on my life that I’ll help.”

Gabriel snorted and pushed down the latch. “That’s not worth much right now, is it?”

“I brought a pistol.”

His hand froze, and he half turned. “Where is it?”

“Not until you untie me. I swear on my honor as a gentleman.”

A pistol would make all the difference. If he could get his hands on it, that was.

“Tell me where it is, and I’ll let you out.”

“But—”

“That is all I will offer. Take it or stay here.”

There was a long pause and then: “There is a barrel near the entrance; it has bits of rope ends that are frayed or worn. The pistol is tucked in with the rope.”

Gabriel wanted to leave the scoundrel here, but he’d given his word. He huffed out a breath, grabbed the much smaller man under his arms, and lifted him onto the chair, untying his hands. It was less of an ordeal than his had been; Gabriel got the distinct impression the thug had considered Rowland even less of a threat than Gabriel.

He turned to the door and let Rowland untie his own feet. He checked to see if anyone had entered, but it looked the same. The door gave a shrill squeak he didn’t recall from before, and he grimaced, expecting to hear the sound of footsteps. But nobody came. They’d left a lantern hanging on a hook near the door. A big barrel stood not too far away. Gabriel ran to the barrel and began pushing through the rope.

“I lied.”

When he turned, Rowland was holding the pistol in his hand. He hadn’t wasted time to free his ankles and they were still tied, meaning he had to hop. His mouth was set in an ugly line.

Gabriel laughed—a sound with no humor in it.

“What?” Rowland asked when he saw Gabriel’s expression. “Did you expect the honor of a gentleman?” He snorted, gesturing with the pistol to the door of the smaller room. “Honor and other lofty ideas tend to fall by the wayside when one is facing debtor’s prison and public humiliation.”

“You’d do better to worry about saving your life just now.”

“Shut up. If not for you, I’d be married to that bossy harpy and have no worries except how many mistresses to keep—just like yourself. Now, put your hands where I can see them, and get back into this room and onto your chair.” His voice had gotten louder and his hand