Dancing with a Rogue (24 page)

The reason for the two latter invitations, she realized, was curiosity. Her presence at an affair would probably guarantee the presence of others. She knew that all of London was talking about the competition between three business partners.

The invitation from Stanhope was intriguing. Of course, she could not attend. She had performances.

Mrs. Miller's eyes had lit as she saw the seals on the envelopes. Servants—including housekeepers—were judged by the social acceptability of their employers.

Her prestige had just increased several notches.

Monique had been amused at the reaction. She was nothing but a curiosity and an obsession. Her acceptance in London society was based entirely on that, quickly gained and just as quickly withdrawn. And if the ton discovered she was a thief as well …

Her thoughts went to Stanhope, then to Manchester. Two self-indulgent men. She knew what Stanhope was. Murderer. Defiler of women. She did not know exactly what Manchester was. A womanizer, certainly. A thief and cheat, probably.

Why did she care?

She hoped the runner would give her some answers.

In the meantime she would accept the invitation to Lady Isolde's salon. She would send her regrets for Lord Stanhope's weekend. His reaction would be interesting. She doubted he took refusals well.

She sank deeper into the bathtub.

Gabriel wasn't sure of the moment he became aware that someone was following him.

He had reached the waterfront when the hackles on his neck rose. It had happened before in ports throughout the world. He had learned to heed their warning.

He ducked into a seamen's tavern. As he usually did when going to this part of town, he wore more casual clothes. Breeches. Plain boots. A linen shirt and a cloak that hid the fact he wore no waistcoat or cravat. He could always claim he knew the dangers of being too obviously the dandy in a dangerous part of London.

He chose a table in the back and a chair that had a full view of the door and the interior of the tavern and ordered an ale.

Patience, he told himself.

He sat there for a long time, watching as sailors and workmen came in for their one pleasure. He drank one glass of ale, then another.

A heavy man dressed differently than the others finally entered. Sharp eyes darted around the interior, obviously trying to determine whether there was another way out.

Then his gaze swept over the tavern, lazily, as if looking for a friend. They did not hesitate on Gabriel.

He took a seat, facing the opposite direction, but Gabriel knew the man would be aware if he stood and left.

He was being watched, followed. He'd expected no less, though he had expected it to take more time for suspicions about him to be raised.

So much for meeting with the forger for the next few hours.

He sat back in his chair. He would spend the afternoon here, then walk around London. Perhaps he would even visit Hyde Park and enjoy the spectacle of the bulky man trying to follow him on the paths. He would be as obvious as a donkey among horses.

He ordered a meat pie and another ale. He ate slowly. Not very appreciatively. Mrs. Smythe's cooking was far better.

Gabriel paid the bill, rose, and made for the door. He walked unsteadily, as if befuddled by drink. He paused once and leaned against a fence, which gave him the opportunity to glance behind him.

No one. His imagination perhaps.

Still he intended to be careful. He flagged down a hackney and gave directions to the town house he had rented. If the man was following him, he might have an interesting time catching up with him. But today demonstrated how much he needed a mount.

A gentleman simply did not walk everywhere, though Gabriel was well used to doing just that. There were few carriages for hire.

The coach halted in front of his residence and he stepped down. He looked around. No sign of the person he believed to be following him. He had an impulse to take the carriage back to where he had originally been headed, but a small bribe to the driver would undoubtedly reveal where he had been taken. He wanted no connection between himself and the small print shop.

He took the steps quickly and used the door knocker. Mrs. Smythe answered. Her eyes narrowed at the whiff of the bad ale he'd been drinking. She stepped aside to allow him to pass her.

“Sydney has compiled a list of some likely mounts for you, my lord,” she said, taking his cloak. “He could not make appointments because he did not know when you would be back.”

“I am ready now,” he said.

She nodded. “There was one offered just two lanes away,” she said. “He went to inspect it.”

As if the very words had summoned him, Smythe appeared from the back. “Sir.”

His face had more life than Gabriel had ever seen before. “I found a horse,” he said. “A very fine horse.”

“You said you do not know anything about horses,” Gabriel reminded him.

Smythe's face fell slightly. “I believe it to be a fine horse,” he corrected himself. “It is gray. Tall. The owner said he was well mannered.”

“Did he say why he was selling him?”

“It was his son's horse. The son died in France.”

So that was why it was a very fine horse. Gabriel had discovered his valet had sympathy for everyone who fought for Britain.

“And how much is this fine horse?”

“Three hundred pounds,” Smythe said. “I know that is a large sum, my … sir … but it did look like a …”

“Fine horse,” Gabriel finished for him. “Well we shall go and inspect this paragon before someone snatches him from under our very noses.”

“I also found a mews,” Smythe said with an eagerness that Gabriel thought was part pride in fulfilling his master's desires and at the same time joy in helping the family of a fallen comrade.

Gabriel reached for his cloak again. Three hundred pounds was more than he wanted to spend, but he did need an adequate—even flashy—mount.

Tomorrow would be a good day to inspect his estates. He could foil the man hired to follow him without raising suspicions. Visiting one's estate would be expected of anyone.

“Smythe, I am in your hands.”

Smythe looked a bit uncertain about that. But he opened the door for Gabriel and followed him down the five steps to the street. Gabriel saw his shadow at the end of the street, reading a newspaper.

Gabriel ignored him, and ten minutes later he was running his hands over a large gray gelding. He was a handsome fellow, and obviously well treated. He eyed Gabriel inquisitively, as if he knew he might be looking at his new master. He playfully reached out and muzzled Gabriel's hand.

“I would like to ride him,” he told the groom, who had been sent out to assist them.

The groom quickly saddled the horse, and Gabriel mounted. He was a good horseman, not a superb one. After his mother's death, the sea had been his life. Though the sea gave him a natural balance, he had not been riding all his life as had many Englishmen.

The horse was more than mannerly. The gelding took several prancing steps, obviously eager for an outing and exercise. He responded well to the slightest touch on the reins.

“His name?” he asked the groom.

“Specter.”

“Specter.” Gabriel liked that. He left the stable and urged the horse into an easy canter. He didn't need more. He returned to the stable and dismounted, looking at his valet. “You are right. He is a fine horse.” He turned to the groom. “I would like to purchase him.”

The groom shuffled his feet. “The baron will wish to talk to ye. He … the 'orse, 'e means a lot to 'im.”

Gabriel was amused at the idea of being approved, but he liked the owner the better for it.

“Lead on,” he said.

The groom stabled the horse, then looked down at the ground. “I will miss 'im, I will.”

Gabriel looked around the small stable as they exited. The groom suggested he go to the front of the house while the groom went through the servant's entrance with Smythe.

Gabriel was admitted to a library. A man of approximately sixty years sat in a chair and rose with obvious effort. His feet were in loose footwear and Gabriel realized he suffered from painful gout.

“Lord Tolvery,” Gabriel said, bowing slightly.

“And you are the famous Marquess of Manchester,” his host said.

“I am flattered you have heard of me.”

“Do not be,” the baron said in blunt tones. “The notices were not favorable and I am particular regarding Specter's new master. He was my son's horse for eight years. I do not want to part with him, but he needs riding. As you can see, I can no longer ride.”

He sat back down in the chair with great weariness.

Gabriel wanted Specter.

“I have no place to stable him,” he said. “You seem reluctant to part with him, and my residence has no stables. Your groom said perhaps I can stable him here until I find more suitable lodgings. I will, of course, pay you and your groom to care for the horse, and in the meantime you can assure yourself that I am the right owner for Specter.”

The baron's eyes rested on him.

“You are a military man,” he said unexpectedly. “You have the bearing, the look about you.”

Gabriel did not want to lie to him. He said nothing.

“You are not the fool the newspapers say.”

Again he simply stood there.

“Do not be concerned,” the baron continued. “Not many others would see it, but I was in the navy for twenty years and the admiralty office five. I have been with military men all my life. You have the rolling, balanced look of a naval officer.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you fight in the last war?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said simply.

“Against England?”

“Yes.” Gabriel wasn't sure why he was answering the questions. The answers could destroy everything he worked for. Yet there was something about this man—perhaps a memory—that told him he could be an ally. But not if he lied.

“I knew your father,” the baron said. “He was a friend. I met you once. A bright lad. I hardly think you would have changed so much despite what you would have others believe.”

Gabriel summoned up the images from his childhood, trying to remember the man who sat before him.

“I was younger and slimmer then. My own lad was your age. He came late to us in life and he was a blessing.”

He looked away and his eyes filled with tears. “I should have done more to help you and your mother then. It will be to my everlasting shame that I did not, but I had a commission in the navy, and the scandal threatened it. I knew your father was innocent. I couldn't prove it, but I knew him … and I knew Stanhope.”

His hand shook in his lap. “I had my own family to protect, you see.” Gabriel maintained his silence.

“And now I do not. My wife died, and Reggie was killed last year. I have nothing left but memories and regrets. I did not honor my name.”

His gaze met Gabriel's. “I saw in the news sheets that you had returned. I had thought about contacting you and offering my apologies. But then …”

“You thought I did not care.”

“A possibility.”

Gabriel was reluctant to continue the conversation. He'd already revealed too much to a man he did not know and whose backbone was admittedly less than Gabriel thought acceptable. “The horse?” he said.

But the baron was not going to let go. “You are going after Stanhope and his friends.” A statement, not a query.

“How could I do that? It was a long time ago.”

“Things like that brand a boy. And a man.” Tolvery leaned forward. “I will not ask any more questions, but I have a debt to pay. Specter is yours, and if I can help in any way …”

“No,” Gabriel said, his voice hardening. “I will not accept a gift in lieu of loyalty. My mother needed friends.”

“Yes,” Tolvery whispered. “Then ask what you will.”

“The same as when I entered. I will pay for the horse. I would like to board him here. And I would like to occasionally use the phaeton and carriages, but only if I pay for them.”

The baron nodded. “It is done. Just let young Jock know when you need him. He is a reliable lad, and he loves Specter, as he loved my son.” His gaze moved to a portrait. “Everyone did, you see. He was everything I was not. He lived for honor.”

Gabriel nodded. He could not do more.

How many other friends of his father had betrayed him?

Chapter Fourteen

Monique put off her suitors for several days. Rejection, she found, increased desirability.

She had sent her regrets to Stanhope and he had not yet answered. Daven called at her home daily and attended the play yet another time. Stammel had sent imported chocolates and said he hoped she would go riding with him soon.

She finally accepted when he appeared at noon and begged her to go riding that afternoon. She started to refuse. It was, after all, deplorably late notice, and she truly needed a respite from her masquerade.

But the day was glorious, and she had heard much about Hyde Park. A ritual for the nobility in London. A place to see and be seen. She liked the idea. It was bound to raise the betting to a feverish pitch.

And Stammel had been the least forceful of the three. Perhaps she needed to charm him into being more of a competitor.

“Thank you, Lord Stammel,” she said. “You may pick me up at three, and I must be at the theater in time for my performance.”

Stammel beamed. Whether it was because he really cared for her company or the fact he would be seen as successful in the contest, she didn't know. She didn't care as long as it incensed Stanhope.

She had thought that the two men—Stammel and Daven—would fear Stanhope enough to back away. But all three seemed intent on seeing the wager to its end.

She selected a gown carefully. She would not be outrageous this afternoon as she met more of the ton. The dress was of a light blue muslin with a minimal amount of decoration, unlike the many flourishes on so many gowns today. It did have long sleeves and a high neck and was eminently respectable. Dani helped her into it, and perched a hat on top of gathered curls.