Dancing with a Rogue (32 page)

“Humph,” the man said. “We all thought you would be returning to America when you saw the state of …”

Gabriel shrugged. “My ancestral home? I visited briefly but I find London more entertaining.”

“One should take care of one's business,” the baron said. His name was Blackshear or something of that nature.

“I am doing that,” Gabriel boasted. “Lord Stanhope is bringing me on as a partner in one of his businesses.”

The eyebrow arched even higher. Amusement seemed to play in his eyes, then he bowed slightly. “I must join my wife,” he said.

“Indeed,” Gabriel said. “I hope to have one of my own soon.”

“Pamela is a sweet girl.”

“Yes,” he said. “She is.”

“Well then maybe we could enjoy a game of whist later. Or billiards. You will have to tell me more about this business with Stanhope.”

Gabriel bowed slightly in return. “It will be my pleasure.”

The baron turned and continued his descent down the stairs.

Gabriel watched him, wondering what he knew about Stanhope's business dealings. Perhaps over that game of billiards …

A large group of gentlemen were gathered in a library on the left. Cigar smoke filled the room. He went past it and investigated the rest of the main floor, finding a smaller dining room and what appeared to be a withdrawing room or parlor that was more feminine in appearance.

Like Stanhope's town house, the walls were lined with portraits, apparently more of his ancestors. They too wore grim expressions, but then many of the portraits from earlier years bore that same appearance, including those of his own ancestors. Apparently frivolity had been frowned upon.

He paused at the sound of a loud voice. “Are you accusing me?”

He recognized Stammel's drink-blurred voice coming from a room. The door was open.

Then he heard a lower reply. “I am not accusing anyone. I am merely saying that money is missing from my safe and Daven has also lost a large sum. You seem to be the only …”

“Damn you, Stanhope, you have no right. We have been partners for more than twenty years. I would never …”

Stanhope faced the door with a cue stick in his hand, giving Stammel a look that stopped his words in midsentence.

Satisfaction coursed through Gabriel. He stepped inside what was obviously a game room. His gaze wandered about the room as if he had heard nothing. A huge mahogany billiard table dominated the room. Other tables, including one with a magnificent chess set, were artfully scattered around.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to interrupt. I hope you do not mind my wandering about, but I was looking for Lady Pamela. I thought perhaps a stroll …”

Stanhope immediately dropped his cue and approached Gabriel, his hand outstretched. “So good of you to come to our little weekend,” he said heartily. “Have you seen my daughter yet?”

“Very briefly as I arrived,” Gabriel said. “She looked charming.” He looked around the room. “Your home is magnificent.”

“Thank you,” Stanhope said with pride. “I have restored it since my father died. As for my daughter, I hope you will see much of her this weekend.”

“It will be my great delight,” Gabriel replied extravagantly.

“Would you like to join us for a game of billiards?”

Stammel shot Gabriel a baleful glance.

“I have little experience with billiards,” Gabriel said.

“I will teach you,” Stanhope said. “Every gentleman should know the game.”

“Then I am your pupil,” Gabriel agreed.

“And perhaps, a game of cards after. I understand you enjoy a game of chance.”

“I do not have much coin with me.”

“Your note is good,” Stanhope said.

Gabriel nodded, allowing a pleased smile to spread across his face.

Stanhope handed him a cue.

Chapter Eighteen

Monique desired a bath. It had been a long, bumpy ride, and she felt dusty and stale. Mother in Heaven but she needed to relax after the long journey and particularly after seeing the detestable Manchester again.

After a parade of footmen filled the small tub with hot water, she slid into it. It was, unfortunately, not of the size and convenience of the one in her rooms.

But the hot water felt good. She wanted to wash away Manchester's scent, which she imagined still clung to her. And she had business to do tonight.

The water cooled only too quickly, and she accepted the wrap Dani offered her.

She had to prepare for supper. It would be difficult with Manchester there. She would ignore him as he deserved to be ignored. Tonight she would be charming for Stanhope and his friends.

Dani helped her dress. Her gown was a deep red velvet with a low neck and long sleeves. It was a heavy garment, and not one of her favorites to wear, but it could hardly be missed.

A bell rang throughout the manor. Thirty minutes before supper. The maid who'd shown her to the rooms had explained that a bell would precede the actual call to supper.

Dani worked with her hair, pulling it to the back with combs and pins and allowing tendrils to fall to the left of her face. Then a touch of rouge made from red sandalwood. “You will put all the other women to shame,” Dani said.

“Rubbish,” Monique said. “I will look like the courtesan, the fashionably unpure.” And, she reminded herself, she was exactly that now, thanks to Manchester.

Minutes later, she was ready.

“Why do you not go downstairs and talk to the servants? We must know which room is Stanhope's,” she said.

Dani nodded.

Monique took her hand. “Be very careful.”

“I always am,” Dani replied.

Monique opened the door, took a deep breath. Hopefully, this would be one of her last performances.

Dani waited until she left, then started down to the servant's quarters, where she had been told she could fetch something to eat. She also wanted to pick up any gossip she could.

She left the room only to find herself grabbed by a well-dressed portly gentleman. “Well, what do we have here?” he asked. His breath was foul with whiskey.

She wrenched herself free and fled down the hall toward the back stairs. She ran straight into a body.

She looked up and saw a large man with red hair. His hands caught her and kept her from falling. He wore a plain dark suit, obviously a valet to one of the guests.

She backed away. “I am sorry, mon … sir.”

A spare smile broke a plain, honest face and she remembered him from the inn. He had been with Manchester.

“No need, miss,” he said, “I had something on my mind.”

There was something about the earnest smile on the man's face. “I did also. An errand for my mistress.”

He paused and then said in a tone that seemed almost painfully delivered, “And I am looking for my lord.”

Dani knew she should hurry on, but there was something about the man's steady brown eyes that kept her from moving. He was very tall. She was smaller than most women. His hands were big, his shoulders very wide.

His face was serious, his eyes concerned. His hands had been gentle when they had righted her. Yet there was nothing weak about him. She realized that immediately.

“The Marquess of Manchester?” she asked.

He looked at her curiously, then recognition lit them. “You were at the inn.”

She nodded. “He has called on my mistress.”

“I know little about his acquaintances,” the man said. “I was employed by him a few weeks ago.” He shifted awkwardly on his feet.

“You do not look like a valet,” she said.

“I was a soldier, but there is little need for them today. Lord Manchester hired me though I had little experience.”

“You miss the army?”

“I miss doing something I knew,” he said. “I make a poor valet. My lord had to teach me how to tie a cravat. I know I irritate him because I am always there. But I need the position and I am not sure how to please him.”

She smiled up at his earnestness and the way he seemed to be surprised at his own words, that he was even uttering them. She told herself she only wanted more information for Monique, but there was something about him that made her feel comfortable. “You are happy with him?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “He has been kind to my family. He gave my mother a position and allowed my young sister to move in. But he is not used to having a servant and I am not used to being one. We both struggle with that problem.”

Dani was fascinated with him. “You fought in France?”

“Yes,” he said simply, obviously realizing that she was French.

She smiled to let him know she understood. Then she moved away. “I have an errand for my mistress.”

“And who might that be?”

“Monique Fremont. She is an actress.”

“And you like your employment?”

“
Oui
,” she said, suddenly almost speechless. Dani knew she should hurry on. She had never dithered like this before. She had never even been tempted to stay a moment in a man's company.

“I must go,” she said.

“I hope we will meet again.”

Dani was surprised by the fact that she hoped the same thing. Not only that, she wished she had combed her hair more neatly, that she wore something other than the black-and-white maid's dress that she wore by her own choosing.

She could only nod and dart around him, heading for the stairs.

She forced herself not to look back. She didn't have to. How could she forget his shy smile, which oddly complimented the large, formidable body.

Gabriel lost badly at billiards, but recouped at several games of whist prior to supper. Guests had trickled into the room, one by one, and by supper time money flowed at the gaming tables.

Stanhope had been the consistent winner at the tables, and Gabriel suspected he was cheating. Gabriel's gaze would catch the earl running his fingers over the cards as he dealt. At the call for supper Stanhope had won several thousand pounds. As they parted, his host offered to keep the winnings in his safe upstairs. Games would resume later, he announced.

Gabriel followed his host up the stairs to dress for supper, noting that Stanhope continued to the end of the hall. He watched until Stanhope entered a room, then went to his own room.

Smythe was waiting for him. He looked odd, almost as if he were in a trance, but Gabriel had no time to question him. It took all their efforts to get him into snug-fitting pantaloons and a waistcoat that was so tight he thought he would choke.

When he returned to the great hall, where the guests were congregating, Stanhope was already there, Pamela by his side.

“Manchester,” Stanhope said. “You will sit next to my daughter.”

Gabriel bowed to Pamela, who was dressed simply in a white muslin dress with a high waist. Her hair was dressed only with a ribbon holding back curls. “Enchanted,” he said.

She gave him a shy, grateful smile.

He heard a loud gasp and turned around to see Monique enter the room. Everyone in the room had turned with him.

She was magnificent. Her head was held high and she walked in like a queen. The dress fell in simple elegant folds around her, and its color contrasted with the pale colors the other women wore. Her eyes flashed and her lips parted in a smile both seductive and secretive.

Several women waved their fans in disapproval, but the gaze of every man was fixed on her. Gabriel felt heat rise in his groin. Damn but his pants were tight enough already; he wondered if the sudden arousal showed. Then he noticed other men were having the same problem.

But only he had held her, had touched her intimately. Only he had heard her sigh with wonder.

He forced himself to turn his gaze back to his companion.

“She is beautiful, isn't she?” Pamela said in a small voice.

“Yes,” he said honestly. “But you too are quite lovely.”

Her eyes held his, seeking the truth of it.

“There is a fortunate young man, somewhere,” he said.

She smiled and it truly did take his breath away.

The rest of the meal was lost in trying to conquer the unruly emotions he felt. Desire coursed through him every time he glanced at Monique. So did anger. Despite all his warnings, she did not appear to realize she was clutching the tale of a tiger. He wanted to shake her. Hell, he wanted to put her on a horse and ride away.

She certainly wouldn't listen to him now. She despised him. And with reason. If only he had realized …

He tried to make conversation with Pamela, but she was shy even now. “Your manor is exceptional,” he said.

“It is not mine,” she said. “I live with my aunt some miles from here. Papa says he is gone too much and that I needed a woman's influence. But I know he doesn't like me.”

He could not force himself to disagree, to lie. Stanhope did not care for another living thing. That was obvious. And he suspected she knew it and would detect a lie.

“What do you enjoy in the country?”

“I enjoy riding,” she said. “And read—” She stopped suddenly.

“Do not stop,” he said.

“Papa said everyone will consider me a bluestocking. He disapproves.”

“I consider reading an asset,” he said. “I admire intelligence.”

“So does Ro—” She stopped again.

“So his name is Robert?” he said in a low enough voice that their neighbors could not hear.

Her cheeks reddened. “You will not say anything …”

“No,” he reassured her.

Still, her hand trembled slightly.

“I swear it,” he said.

They were like a small island at the table. The gentleman next to him totally ignored him, and the guests across the table glanced at him as one would look at a zoo animal and then glanced at Pamela with sympathy. Monique had not once looked his way, and he noticed her deep in conversation with Stanhope. Too frequently her light laughter drifted down to him, and he wanted to …