Dancing with a Rogue (19 page)

It had only made him want her more.

He felt nothing but sympathy for the young girl next to him.

When the coachman opened the door, he helped her down and walked her to the door. He knew he should ask to come in. It was an opportunity to reach Stanhope's safe.

She would say yes.

But as he looked into her vulnerable face and eyes, which seemed to search for the truth, he couldn't do it.

Not now. Not tonight.

Instead, he bowed. “It was a delightful evening, Lady Pamela.”

He turned around and walked quickly down the street before he could change his mind.

He would spend the rest of the night in a gambling hell. Maybe there he could forget lovely gray eyes.

Chapter Eleven

Monique felt the usual exhilaration after the performance. It had gone better than she had hoped. Opening night had made the entire cast glitter. They were better—she was better—than they had ever been in rehearsal.

She was enough of a professional to take satisfaction in that, even as her gaze had traveled during the performance to the first box.

She had known they would be there. She had arranged the seats. What she had not been prepared for was seeing Manchester and Pamela, their heads bent together as if they were telling secrets.

As for Stanhope, her plan was working. At least she hoped so. She had received more flowers from him—perfect roses again—and an invitation to supper Saturday night.

Daven and Lord Stammel had also called, each of them bearing gifts. Lord Stammel's had been fine French chocolates, which she gave to Dani. Daven had sent an exquisite fan.

And tonight she had told Lynch about the competition among the three close friends.

She had warned him not to tell anyone, though she knew he would.

A story like that would increase ticket sales and the life of the play. She'd made very sure that she told him she would leave if he said anything to anyone. He would make sure none of it could be traced back to him. And, ultimately, to her.

She should have received satisfaction from the success thus far of her grand plan. It had proceeded exactly as designed. Except, of course, for one unexpected wild card.

Manchester.

He had sent everything into a spin.

She just didn't know where he fit. She would have sworn that the unholy attraction that sparked between them would die when she discovered exactly what kind of man he was. Instead, it had grown stronger.

Forbidden fruit, she told herself. That's all it was. Nature was contrary. You always wanted what was unavailable. Like Eve's apple.

But even knowing that, realization of his presence in the box had hit her like a pair of runaway horses.

She sat at her dressing table as Dani carefully removed the rouge from her face. It was the best rouge, from Portugal, but Monique was well aware of the damage powders did to the face. Once it was removed, her eyes appeared larger, highlighted by the dye that darkened her eyebrows and lashes. Only a trace of lip salve remained.

Dani helped her change from the elaborate stage gowns, which required a long corset, to a simple muslin gown that did not. A shorter, much looser corset worked quite well, and the gown was without the many frills and trim that embellished the fashionable lady today. Simplicity flattered her slim form.

Just as Dani removed the jeweled combs from her hair, a knock sounded at the door. Lynch asked permission to enter.

Monique did not move from her seat before the mirror.

“I did not give you permission to enter,” she said.

“I do not need permission in my own theater.”

“You do, if you wish me to stay.”

“We have a contract, you and I.”

“And it does not give you the right to invade my privacy,” she said. She knew she had leverage she didn't have a week ago, or even last night. In the past several hours, she had become a valuable commodity.

“There is a crowd outside waiting for you. The Earls of Stanhope and Daven have asked for the pleasure of a few moments of your company. I was not sure what to tell them.” Lynch's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

“Did you let them know you knew about the arrangement?”

“Certainly not,” he said, obviously offended. “Nor did I tell anyone with the newspapers,” he added too quickly.

“But …”

“A slight wager. That's all. Just a wager on who might win.”

“And who did you wager with?”

He looked away. “A friend. He will not say anything.”

She stared at him, then turned back to the mirror and hid a smile. Better and better. Every gambler in the city would be betting on who might win the honor of becoming the protector of Monique Fremont. It would become public very quickly.

Stanhope could not withdraw now, not without losing face. Nor could he harm her. Too many eyes would be on the four of them.

He had gotten away with attempted murder nearly twenty-five years ago. He had probably gotten away with the murder of his wife.

This would be one time he would have an enormous audience.

“I will see them in ten minutes,” she said.

After he backed out, she wondered whether Manchester was still with them. And her half sister.

If he was, well, then she would have to endure the wastrel.

If he wasn't, where in Hades was he? What were his intentions toward Pamela?

And why did she care so much?

It was at the second gaming hell that Gabriel heard of the competition. Betting was frantic.

He'd learned that London aristocrats bet on everything. This was a natural.

Tongues wagged.

The odds, of course, were on Stanhope. He was the wealthiest and most powerful of them all. Yet some said that Daven had charm and was not saddled with the suspicion of killing his wife.

Gabriel listened. Apparently, Monique Fremont agreed to take one of three men as her protector within a month.

He was apparently out of the running. Because he was not rich enough? Not powerful enough?

She had not even given him a chance to enter the bidding. Not that he would have accepted if she had. He'd never wanted, or needed, a woman so much he would humiliate himself to become part of a public contest.

He didn't think Stanhope would have, either. Unless he had been maneuvered into the competition.

Even he—a newcomer to London—realized that Stanhope couldn't retire from the field now.

He'd been neatly trapped.

To what purpose? He had not suspected that Monique Fremont would so blatantly play men against each other. Still, he couldn't help but appreciate how well she had manipulated Stanhope.

If that was her purpose?

But Stanhope's romantic problems were none of Gabriel's concerns this night. He needed funds and he needed them quickly.

He needed to get Monique Fremont out of his mind.

Gabriel turned his attention to the cards. He won steadily. Amounts small enough not to attract attention. First one hell, then another.

He emerged with nearly a thousand pounds. A fortune for some. Not nearly enough for him.

He knew Stanhope had money. He had jewels as well. Since Gabriel had recklessly let his conscience keep him from using Pamela, he would have to indulge in a bit of burglary.

It was dawn before he reached his lodgings. Sydney was patiently waiting for him, giving nothing away as he took Gabriel's cloak.

“Have a good night, sir?”

“Yes. How is your sister?”

“She is happier than anytime I can remember. She lives in your library.”

“I wish there was more there.”

“There is plenty. Do you require anything, sir?”

“Have you been awake all night waiting for me?”

“You pay me to do that.”

“No,” Gabriel said. “I pay you to take care of my clothes and to serve meals and to help your sister, and occasionally tie my cravat, though neither of us is very good at that. I do not pay you to stay awake all night.”

“I thought you might wish a bath, or some food.”

“I wish only bed, Sydney. But my thanks for your efforts.”

Sydney looked disappointed. “Yes sir.”

Gabriel almost relented and asked for some food. But he had taken food at the gaming establishments and he needed rest more than he needed sustenance.

He suspected he would get very little sleep in the next few days.

Stanhope could barely control his rage when he read the London newspapers the next morning.

He didn't know whether a servant had overheard something, or whether either Robert or Henry had mentioned something they should not. It might have even been Monique Fremont herself.

In any case, the damage was done. He was as trapped now as some of his victims had been. He did not appreciate the irony.

If he did not continue with the challenge, he would be laughed out of London. That was one consequence he could ill afford. He had too many enemies. Only his reputation for power and ruthlessness held them at bay.

The prime minister's people were awaiting their chance to ruin him. He had enough on them to send them to Australia or some other dismal godforsaken place. But if they suspected a weakness …

“Where's my daughter?” he demanded of a maid who had, unfortunately, stepped into the dining room to replenish the chafing dishes. It mattered little that there was only one master to eat, and a daughter who seldom appeared for breakfast.

“I do not know, milord,” the maid said.

“Fetch her. Tell her I expect her here in no more than ten minutes.”

She curtsied. “Yes, milord.”

She sped away as if the devil were after her. He was slightly mollified by the idea. He
was
the devil. He had worked hard at cultivating that image.

He looked at his pocket watch, then set it down next to his plate and listened to it tick.

His daughter appeared in nine minutes. Her hair was combed into a single long braid, and she was dressed in a morning gown. Her gaze wandered around the room, avoiding him.

“Sit down, Pamela,” he said.

She sat.

“Tell me about last night.”

“There is nothing to tell, Papa. Lord Manchester brought me home and left after seeing me to the door. Did not Garvey tell you?”

“What did you talk about in the carriage?”

“Just the play.”

“Nothing else? Nothing about his background, or his family?”

“No.”

“Did he ask to see you again?”

“No,” she said again.

He frowned. “I want you to be pleasant to him.”

“Why?”

“That is of no concern of yours. Just do as I tell you.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“You look pale,” he said, glaring at her.

“I did not get much sleep.”

He continued to look at her. Something was different. Perhaps her eyes. The fear wasn't as evident. Her back was straighter. There was the slightest hint of defiance. She had never asked him why before.

He didn't like that one bit.

“Are you lying to me?”

“About what, Papa?” Her eyes were wide and innocent.

“Your ride home last night. You are positive he said nothing about his family or me?”

“Just that he admires you.”

“Did he say why?”

“You are successful at business.”

“Do you want to continue to see him?”

Surprise flitted across her face. Then something like dismay. He didn't like that, either.

“Answer me, gel.”

“No,” she said. “I do not. He is not … sophisticated.”

Stanhope relaxed. “You will do as you are told.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“You may go. I do not want you to spoil my meal.”

She backed away and disappeared quickly out the door.

He started to eat again.…

He would ask Ames to watch Pamela. For a moment tonight he had sensed something between—but no—Manchester was a fool. Not even his naive daughter could be interested in him.

Today he would get together with old Pickwick and a friend of his who was trying to sell an old ship. It was barely floating, but that would suit his purposes well.

He would purchase it, give it the name of another more respectable ship and send it out to sea. With just a little help, it would sink, along with the cargo. He could claim the insurance.

And his new partner? Well, he would be aboard. One way or another. He would be lulled by a new relationship with Pamela and with the Stanhope family. He would never suspect he was a sheep to be sheared.

He smiled as he took another piece of ham. It would be a fine day.

Gabriel slept for several hours, then rang for Smythe and ordered a bath, then breakfast.

He had many things to do today.

He finished both, then looked at his wardrobe. Most of his clothes were brightly colored. And expensive looking, even if they were not tasteful. He needed a disguise, and the problem was coming and going from his lodgings without the other occupants of the area taking notice of changes in his appearance.

Gabriel felt he could probably trust Smythe, yet their acquaintance was too short for him to be really sure, and much depended on maintaining what everyone thought he was. And then there was the child.

The only solution was another room. Somewhere he wouldn't be noticed going in and out. He did not want any gossip that could lead to the new marquess.

He'd looked at the two papers that Smythe had brought with his meal of fresh-baked rolls, ham, and eggs. He made a mental list of available lodgings, several of which were in the waterfront area. He would purchase some additional items of clothing he would need along with the theatrical kit that his friend in Boston had provided.

He finished dressing, this time toning down his clothes to a pair of trousers, a plain shirt, and a black cloak. Thank God, it was cold and misting outside. He left his quizzing glass in a drawer and the cane in a corner. He did not want to draw attention to himself.