It wasn’t.
Nolan hadn’t gone farther than the bottom step. By the steaming light of a gas lamppost, Gabby saw two burly men flanking Nolan with menacing closeness. Benjamin and Nadia, of the London Alliance, stood on the sidewalk in front of the steps.
“Miss Waverly,” Benjamin said, his greeting accompanied by an arched brow. It somehow managed to chastise her.
“What is going on?” she asked. Nolan turned and started to climb the few steps toward her. One of the burly men restrained him. Nolan glanced down at the sausage-link fingers clamped around his forearm.
“Release my arm immediately or you’ll be nursing five bloody stumps,” Nolan said, his voice soft yet murderous.
The man let him go and Nolan continued up the steps to Gabby’s side.
“We had a communication from the Paris faction yesterday,” Benjamin said. “Hans suspected Mr. Quinn might have fled to our city with something that doesn’t belong to him. Said if he did come here, he’d start by looking for you, Miss Waverly.”
Her breath came back to her, but only in little gasps. She stayed quiet, uncertain about what she should and should not say. Nolan was in trouble here. Real trouble. However, flicking her eyes up to see his face, she wouldn’t have known it. He wore his arrogant smirk as comfortably as he might an old hat.
“Where is the blood?” Nadia asked, her voice gruff. It went well with the men’s clothing she wore.
“What blood?” Nolan returned. He startled Gabby by taking her hand and threading his fingers through hers. “I’ve only come to London to make amends with my lady love.” He raised Gabby’s hand to his lips. She wasn’t wearing gloves, or one of her veiled hats, allowing Benjamin and Nadia and their two muscled goons to look fully upon her scars. Right then, for the first time, she realized she didn’t care. The scars were insignificant compared to what was at stake. Nolan had risked everything to come here: his name, his safety, his future. He’d followed his instinct and it had led him true. As he lowered her hand from his mouth, she had never admired him more.
“You choose to kiss and make up at the Daicrypta?” Nadia asked. “How romantic.”
“It’s private, at least. And protected,” Nolan replied, his fingers still twined with Gabby’s. He flashed one of his easy, charming smiles. “Just try to get inside. I don’t think you’ll have much success.”
Gabby had left the front door open, but looking back now, she saw Rory and Carver blocking the entrance.
“I’ll ask you one last time for the blood,” Benjamin said.
“And I’ll tell you one last time that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hugh appeared in the doorway, between Carver and Rory, and to Gabby’s surprise, his diminutive stature didn’t make him any less intimidating. Even his false smile appeared ominous.
“So many Alliance on my doorstep.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Why, this is even more enjoyable than carolers at Christmastime.” Hugh pouted. “However, I’m afraid I cannot extend you an invitation inside at the moment.”
Benjamin and Nadia’s men both started up the steps. Nolan released Gabby’s hand and took a step down.
“I doubt you came here solely for this blood you keep insisting I have.” Nolan held up a hand and extended it behind him, motioning for Carver and Rory to halt. They had come forward, ready to meet the two bruisers.
Benjamin shifted his weight, as if bored rather than irritated. “You’re coming with us, Mr. Quinn. Hans wants you back in Paris. Draw your weapon and I assure you, I’ll bypass Paris and take you straight to Rome instead.”
“No,” Gabby said. It slipped out like a plea. She descended to the same step as Nolan and took his arm. “Come back inside. Carver won’t let them in.”
She hadn’t wanted him to leave, and she certainly didn’t want him leaving like this. Not when she knew there was a very real chance—more real than even before—that she wouldn’t see him again.
Nolan pulled her into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his mouth buried in her hair. She felt his breath warm her scalp when he spoke.
“I won’t hide behind a gargoyle.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” she said, even though she knew it might return them to their earlier argument about Paris and vengeful gargoyles.
It didn’t, however. Nolan only nuzzled her closer, dipping his mouth close to her ear and whispering so low that no one else would be able to make out his words.
“The net is more important, Gabby. Have Rory bring it to Paris as soon as it’s finished.” He pressed his lips to the skin just south of her earlobe and gripped her arms. “Stay with Hugh and Carver. I don’t want you in Paris. Do you hear me, lass?”