Dancing with a Rogue (39 page)

By doing that, he had placed his life in her hands, and she had done the same with hers.

It was still difficult to understand exactly how that had happened.

He did not want to be responsible for her neck.

Apparently, she had the same goal as he did. The question was how to get her out of the way so he could do what needed to be done without more interference. He did not want his own actions to rebound on them.

That meant getting Monique and Dani out of his life, and that thought was surprisingly painful. The thought of never seeing her again left a huge jagged hole in him. He wouldn't admit it was his heart. But the only way he would rid himself of nightmares was fulfilling his father's charge. He knew his father would never rest until he did.

Neither would—could—he.

He had spent hours on his horse in nearly pitch dark except for the thin light coming from the lanterns on the coach. He could, in truth, have traveled in more comfort inside the coach, but he did not want that proximity to Monique. He'd already made mistakes. He wanted her far too much for both of their sakes.

And so he had shivered in the cold English morning and had welcomed the light of dawn and the sign for the inn used earlier to rest the horses.

A few hours' sleep, some food, and daylight would revive his senses and take his thoughts from a lady who could be nothing but trouble.

When they stopped at the inn where they had rested the horses two days earlier, Monique suggested that she and Dani stay inside the coach while Smythe went in to query whether they could obtain rooms at this unearthly hour in the morning.

Gabriel, she suggested, might want to inquire as to the horses.

It was only too obvious to Gabriel that they wanted to be inside the coach alone.

He agreed and took the coach driver to rouse a stableman while Smythe went into the inn to request a room for Monique and a separate one for Gabriel.

It took them some time to rouse a sleepy lad, then he unsaddled Specter himself, looking carefully at the sore caused by the burr while the driver negotiated for feed for the other horses. Gabriel left orders to give them all the best oats the stable had, then returned to the coach, wondering whether the ladies had had time to extract what they wished to extract from wherever they had hid the valuables.

They apparently had. Monique winked at him. It had been mischievous and approving, and he found his heart pounding a little harder.

Several minutes later Smythe reappeared. He had secured several rooms for the ladies in which to rest, bathe, and dine. Monique and Dani alighted from the coach, a reticule clutched tightly in Dani's hands. She refused Smythe's attempt to take it from her.

Poor Smythe looked crestfallen, but Dani looked up at him with a breathless smile, and he had returned one of those rare shy smiles.

Gabriel and Smythe shared another room, but Gabriel did not take the few hours to sleep. He often returned to the window, thinking at any time that Stanhope would come to the conclusion that only two people could be the thieves.

Having not eaten the night before, he shared a cold chicken and some ale with Smythe. Gabriel wondered how far he could trust Smythe. He was an Englishman and a soldier trained to obey orders and that meant to protect the king and his subjects against such lawbreakers as himself. And Gabriel suspected his valet was far more astute and aware than he ever indicated.

After filling his stomach, Gabriel rose and went to the window.

“I can keep watch,” Smythe said as he rose from the table and joined him at the window. “You need some rest. I had some in the coach.”

“I do not trust Stanhope,” Gabriel said. “He might try to blame either Miss Fremont or myself.”

“You need not explain, my lord,” Smythe said. In that one second, Gabriel knew that Smythe was far more aware of what was occurring than Gabriel had hoped. He might not know exactly why or what, but he knew that the Marquess of Manchester was not entirely what Gabriel had wanted the world to believe.

Gabriel gave him a searching look. “I will allow nothing to touch you,” he said. “I will make sure you and your family have what you need.”

Smythe returned his look. “You have already given us much,” he said. “I did not even hope to get employment. Neither did my mother. And my sister is happier than I have ever seen her. School. And books. I never thought we could give her those.”

“Would you consider leaving London?” Gabriel knew once again he was trusting someone who could betray him.

“But where, sir?” No “my lord” this time. Smythe was learning.

“To America. There are opportunities for a man like you. I know … a shipbuilder who is looking for good reliable men. I think it would suit you far better than being a valet.”

“You are disappointed with my employment, sir?” His face fell practically to his shoes.

“To the contrary, I have been delighted with you and your family. But I suspect I will be leaving soon, and I would like to know that you all are secure.”

“But you are a marquess. Why would you leave?”

“I am afraid my estates are entailed and I am penniless. I would just as soon leave them to the Crown to do with what they may. I have never aspired to being a gentleman.”

“You were a soldier.” It was more statement than question and the first personal observation Smythe had ever made, but then neither had Gabriel ever invited confidences before.

“Why would you think that?”

“You are decisive, sir. You have the assurance of an officer, of a man who knows what he is about. And there is a look in your eyes, one that is hard to disguise. You understand more than you let people know.”

“And I imagine you were a very good sergeant.”

Smythe did not reply. Instead, he waited for an answer or a rebuke.

“I was a sailor, not a soldier,” Gabriel finally admitted. “I fought England.”

He awaited a reaction. There was none.

“You have the walk of a sailor,” Smythe said, as if Gabriel had only confirmed what he already knew.

“That does not bother you? That I fought with the Americans?”

Smythe looked surprised as if the thought had never occurred to him. “You employed me, sir, when no one else would.”

Gabriel knew the man had just pledged his full loyalty. “Will you consider the trip?”

Smythe looked stricken and Gabriel realized that he had suggested the impossible. “I will pay for the voyage,” he said. “For the three of you.”

“I could not …” Smythe started.

“I value loyalty above all else,” Gabriel said. “It is not a quality easily found. Nor is an excellent cook. I know of a man who has been complaining for years about such a lack. I can guarantee both of you jobs and, if you must, you can repay me for the voyage.”

Astonishment spread across Smythe's face. Even disbelief. Then a smile. The broadest smile that Gabriel had seen, even broader than the one that had flashed when he talked about Dani.

That thought apparently struck him at the same time, and the smile dissolved into uncertainty.

“Miss Fremont?”

“I expect Miss Fremont will be leaving London soon, also.”

“But they have an engagement.”

“They are in danger,” Gabriel said.

Smythe looked at him for a very long time, searching his face.

“The jewels,” he finally said.

It was not Gabriel's secret to reveal. “No,” he lied. “But Miss Fremont is playing a dangerous game with Lord Stanhope and his friends. Stanhope is a ruthless man.”

“I have heard rumors about him,” Smythe said. “They say he shipped rotten meat to the troops in France. I heard more talk about him at the manor. His servants hate him but they need the work. I would not allow our Elizabeth to be in his employ.”

Nor would Gabriel.

“I think it would be best for Miss Fremont and Dani to return to France,” he said.

“Perhaps they would like America, too?” Smythe said hopefully.

It was a thought, one that had not entered his mind yet. Or perhaps it had, and he had dismissed it. Monique was a celebrated actress. While there were theaters in America, they did not have the sophistication of those in Paris and London. Could he ask her to give up the theater when he knew he could not give up the sea?

And that was supposing that she cared at all.

A horseman rode into the courtyard and he stiffened. He did not believe Stanhope would call the authorities on him. He had too much to hide, himself. Gabriel could cause Stammel problems, and therefore his host problems, if anything came out about the burr under the saddle blanket.

But then Gabriel imagined Stanhope's groom could be bribed or threatened into denying the wound on Specter's back, the blood-speckled burr that did not belong where it was found.

How many rumors could Stanhope continue to juggle without damaging his support in the government? How much scandal?

“Perhaps,” he finally answered Smythe's hopeful question. “But their home is in Paris.”

“Dani does not like Paris,” Smythe said.

He was looking at Gabriel as if he could solve that problem, and every other problem in the world. Damn it, he couldn't solve his own problems.

“I will ask Miss Fremont,” he said. “And if Dani wishes to go without her, I will pay her voyage as well.”

“She would not leave without her mistress,” Smythe said with absolute certainty.

Gabriel wondered exactly how much Smythe knew about the two women. But he also knew Smythe's loyalty was not to be bought or traded with another.

“Perhaps I
will
get some rest,” he said after the rider dismounted and minutes went by. There was no pounding at his door, no constable demanding entrance. Just another traveler.

“I'll wake you if anyone approaches,” Smythe promised.

Most of England was probably at bed. Gabriel was used to a bustling Boston where everyone rose at dawn and the streets were busy early in the morning. London on the other hand seemed to sleep most of the day and awaken at night. At least the English gentry.

He must have been far more tired than he thought for he fell asleep immediately. He was still tired when Smythe wakened him. “The innkeeper said we should leave if we wish to reach London by dusk,” Smythe said.

He rose and went over to the mirror in the room. His face looked older, more lined. His eyes were dull, and bristle darkened his cheeks. Smythe, on the other hand, looked clean shaven and fresh, even eager. Damn the man.

“You might see whether the ladies are ready,” Gabriel said, “and have the horses hitched. I'll see to Specter myself.”

“Yes, my … yes sir,” Smythe said.

Miraculously there was hot water, fetched no doubt by Smythe. Gabriel appreciated him more and more.

He shaved quickly, then pulled on his boots. Then Smythe was back. “The horses are ready. The ladies are, too,” he said.

Gabriel left the room and went down, paid the innkeeper, then hurried to the stable and looked at Specter's wound.

It looked no worse, but he decided there was no reason to ride apart from the coach during daylight. Neither highwaymen nor Stanhope would strike in broad daylight.

And the prospect of hours with Monique was, unfortunately, an irresistible one.

Chapter Twenty-two

Monique felt a jolt in her heart as Manchester tied his horse behind the coach, then helped her inside and entered behind her.

It was more crowded now with two men. They sat opposite her and Dani, and Manchester's long legs brushed hers.

He had shaved in the last few hours. His hair was damp. He had unbuttoned his waistcoat and his coat was open. He still wore a rumpled cravat.

He was the most unconsciously masculine man she had ever seen, and her heart lurched as he lounged in the seat across from her. Her body tingled where his knee touched hers, even through the cloth.

“Did you rest, mademoiselle?”

“
Oui
, my lord,” she said. If he was going to be formal, then so would she be.

“And you accomplished everything you meant to accomplish?”

“I believe so,” she said coolly, knowing full well what he meant.

He gave her a lazy grin. “I regret that you lost something dear to you.”

“And you, my lord, did you lose something dear to you?”

“There is very little dear to me.”

“Not even Lord Stanhope's daughter? Will she not be wounded at your desertion?” The question was unreasonable. Pamela had already explained everything. But for some reason Monique didn't entirely understand, she was spoiling for a fight. Perhaps because his proximity aroused those same aching, hurting, longing feelings inside. They had caused her to do something foolish earlier, and she feared they would do the same again.

She could not bear being deserted again, left like the questionable lady she'd portrayed herself to be.

“It is no desertion to assist a lady in distress,” he replied.

“Have you pressed your suit further?” she continued. She knew she was being obvious. She wanted to trust him. She had trusted him earlier.

The fact is she did not trust him with herself. Not again. He was poor, she knew that from what he'd said. Perhaps the greatest revenge would be marrying Pamela. He would certainly inherit enough to put his estates to right.

“No,” he said. “I think she is perfectly comfortable with my lack of ambition in that regard.”

She lifted her gaze and met his eyes, and she hated the amusement in them, as if he knew exactly what she was doing, and thinking. Why did he have such a rough attractiveness?

Drat him.

He crossed his legs, and one of them brushed her knee again.

“My apologies,” he said lazily, but she saw his body stiffen as if he too felt the heat of the flame licking at her from that mere touch.

Dani and Manchester's valet were both looking out the window, isolating themselves from the tension inside the carriage.