Dancing with a Rogue (40 page)

She had thought their presence might bring some balance to the interior of the coach, but she was feeling a warmth from that side of the coach as well.

“Since we're sharing the same coach, perhaps you would call me Gabriel.”

Gabriel.
She knew his name, of course, but somehow on his lips it seemed intimate, as enticing and seductive as everything about him.

The air seemed charged. She felt as if a storm were brewing, one over which she had no control.

His green eyes reflected that storm. They were usually clear, unemotional, like pieces of glass. Now they flashed with something like desire. Or perhaps challenge.

But then he had always challenged her.

Challenged and intrigued and fascinated.

He was doing the same now.

She wanted to look away. She wanted to ask questions, but she did not know how much his valet knew.

She felt like a butterfly on a pin, pressed against a very hot board. She hated that feeling of helplessness.

“How is your horse?” she finally asked. It was a foolish question but she needed something to break the explosiveness of the air.

“He is better now that I am off him,” he said.

“He is quite handsome. Where did you find him?”

“A baron. The horse belonged to his son, who was killed in France.”

“You will keep him.”

“Until I leave England.”

“And when will that be?” She noticed that Smythe shifted slightly in his seat, and his eyes went to Dani. Dani, she noted, looked prettier than anytime since she had known her. Her checks were flushed and her eyes full of life.

“When my business is completed.”

“You do not plan to stay, then?”

He did not answer. “Do you?”

“I am an actress. I go where I can obtain employment.”

“I would think you could find employment anywhere.”

“But the part is not always right.”

“And it is now?”

He did not mean the play, and she knew it.

“Yes,” she said.

“Some parts are more … perilous than others. It might be wise to find another.”

“And how would I do that?”

“Any city would welcome you. You might even travel to America.”

She narrowed her eyes. It was the first time he had mentioned his country. Or expressed any interest in her future. Did he just want her out of the way? Or something more? And why did he speak in riddles? “Are there many theaters there?”

“In Boston certainly.”

“I could not violate a contract.”

“The American climate is healthier than the one in London,” he said with sudden intensity.

“I like this climate. It is … bracing.”

“It is dangerous,” he said again. “Think about it.”

“I know no one there.”

“I can give you names. References.”

“And when do you suppose I should go?”

“Now,” he said.

“I have not completed my business.”

“I will finish it,” he said shortly.

So that was what he wanted. A clear field to do what he wanted.

The devil with that.

Stanhope stared at the jewels hidden in a box of cravats in Stammel's trunk. They were not all there, but enough to convict the man. At least in Stanhope's mind.

He'd watched all day as his guests left, some with curt words. The country weekend, designed to impress Manchester, Monique, and several other potential investors and government officials, had ended in disaster.

Now he stood in Stammel's room after one of the footmen, charged with searching while the guests were at breakfast this morning, had found some of the missing jewels in Stammel's belongings.

He recalled the events of these past few weeks. Banknotes missing from his London town house. Daven's missing funds. Stammel's gambling debts, including the note he owed Manchester. The burr under a saddle that could have resulted in Manchester's death.

The marquess's death would be no great blow, but Stanhope wanted his money first. He wanted no questions. He did not want “accidents” at his home. The marquess needed to be caught with his hand in the king's purse as his father had been.

And Stammel had nearly destroyed his plan, casting suspicion on all of them.

The most egregious act had been that damned burr. It had made Manchester suspicious. And causing a mishap on his estate would revive the old scandal concerning Manchester's father.

Stanhope gritted his teeth. There was no question now. He had to get rid of Stammel.

Stammel had been his partner for thirty years. He had done most of the more unsavory work, but now his gambling had made him unreliable. If Stammel were arrested and threatened with a noose, then he would implicate Stanhope.

Stammel had to die, and sooner rather than later.

The question was whether he should tell Daven. After several moments of thought, he decided not. Daven did not particularly care for Stammel, but he might well feel his own future could be in jeopardy.

No, he had to do it himself and in a way it would not be linked to him or his properties.

The jewels
. He would leave them where they had been discovered in Stammel's belongings. He would suggest some business in London and request that Stammel return to the city late this afternoon. He would be on the road at night.

Stanhope replaced the jewels where they were mixed with the neck cloths. He could retrieve them when Stammel's coach was accosted by highwaymen, then return them to their owners, saying a servant had been apprehended with them.

With those details worked out, he strode into the dining room, greeting the guests who remained. He looked at Stammel, who was sitting to his left, his face red and mottled from drinking. A rare pang of regret struck him.

Until lately, Stammel had been the perfect partner. He did what was asked of him, and usually efficiently. And without qualms of conscience.

But Stanhope could not take chances. Not now. Not with Manchester in London.

He smiled at his partner and saw Stammel's eager recognition. He wouldn't mention his leaving until late this afternoon. A special message from London perhaps. He would have some very competent men waiting for Stammel beyond the inn.

Stanhope went to the sideboard and piled a plate with food. He'd planned another hunt today for those who planned to stay. There were not many. Coaches and riders had been leaving all morning. One who remained was Charles Chase, a high government official who approved government contracts.

“I can promise you a good day of hunting,” he said.

“I have been thinking I should be returning to London,” said Chase. “My office …”

“One more day,” Stanhope said. “The hunting will be fine today and we can forget the unpleasantness of last night.”

Chase looked dubious. One of the attractions this weekend had been the presence of the famous Monique Fremont. Now she was gone, and he'd had only a brief time with her.

“I was hoping Miss Fremont would change her mind and remain.”

“Ah, you know women. They frighten easily. Not like us.”

The man straightened in his chair. “Perhaps until tomorrow,” he said.

“We will begin the hunt at noon. You can select your mount.”

Stanhope sat at the table with a full plate. He did like good food, and his cooks were quite excellent.

Mrs. Miller opened the door as if she had been sitting next to it for days awaiting their return.

The front of the hall was filled with flowers.

“They have been arriving steadily,” she said. “A messenger said you had left Lord Stanhope's home and to be ready for your arrival.”

“How nice,” Monique said with cool indifference.

The housekeeper looked beyond Monique and saw the two men. “Lord Manchester.” She fluttered. She drew back when she saw Smythe's sizeable bulk behind Manchester.

Monique tried to contain her smile. No telling what the worthy Mrs. Miller thought about her male … acquaintances.

“We were traveling at night,” Monique explained. “Lord Stanhope seemed to believe we needed protection. Lord Manchester and his valet kindly offered to accompany us and will stay for supper.”

Mrs. Miller looked ruffled as Dani directed Smythe as to where to take their trunk, and the two disappeared. “I did not expect company.”

“Anything will do. Bread, cheese, cold meat if there is any, and ale for the gentlemen.”

Mrs. Miller's face relaxed slightly. “I can find something.”

“I knew you could, Mrs. Miller. You are a treasure.”

The housekeeper gave her a suspicious look, then retreated to the kitchen.

“A gracious invitation,” Gabriel said to Monique, apparently choosing to ignore the tension that had continued throughout the ride.

“It is the least I can do. And I have some articles that belong to you.”

He gave her an enigmatic smile. “Does that mean you will consider leaving London?”

“Only if you do.”

He seemed to search her face, then shrugged. “How did you hide the jewels? The search started immediately.”

There was no reason not to tell him. He was as guilty as she. “Dani cut a piece of upholstery on one side of a cushion, then tacked it back. She is a very good seamstress.”

“Can Stanhope find it?”

“
Non
,” she said, reverting back to the French that was more familiar to her. “Dani repaired it while we were at the inn.”

“How many more talents do you two have?” he asked, his eyes creasing with amusement.

“As many as you have, my lord,” she countered. “I am still exploring the extent of them.”

“I am a simple marquess.”

“You may be many things, but never simple, my lord.”

He arched an eyebrow, but she ignored it. “You may wait in the sitting room,” she said.

“And you?”

“I plan to get more comfortable,” she said. With that she turned away from him and left the room.

Gabriel decided not to ask how “comfortable.” He tried not to envision comfortable.

Instead, he turned toward the street and looked out. The gas lamplight cast eerie glows on the cobblestones glazed by a light mist.

He studied the sitting room until the housekeeper reappeared.

“Miss Fremont said that if you would like some spirits, there is brandy and glasses in the cabinet,” she said before backing out the door.

He wandered over to the cabinet. Did Monique keep it here for her gentleman callers? For Stanhope?

Gabriel poured himself a full portion.

Why had she wanted him to wait? She had been curt with him during the journey, even angry yesterday, though she had saved his hide in Stanhope's room.

The truth was he did not understand her. He did not know what she wanted. She was unlike any woman he had ever met. She had a daring that scared the bloody wits out of him. He worried about another person, something he'd not done in years.

Not true, some inner voice reminded him. He'd worried about his sailors, the men under his command, but that had been duty. These feelings went beyond duty.

He took a large gulp of brandy even as he knew he needed to retain his senses. She obviously wanted to talk to him. She must want something from him.

Hell, he wanted something from her.

Where in the hell was Smythe? He'd had more than enough time to take up the trunks. Now he needed a diversion. Any kind of diversion. He went to the window and looked outside. The coach was gone. Back to Stanhope's country manor, he expected.

He also noticed that his horse was gone. No doubt Smythe's doing. He had probably taken Specter to the mews that was around the corner. He should have been the one to do that. Specter was his mount.

Bloody hell, but he had lost all his senses, all his well-honed discipline.

He heard a noise at the door and he whirled around. Monique stood there. She wore a simple blue dress. Her dark hair tumbled down her shoulders and back. Her gray eyes were smoky.

God help him, but she was desirable.

And what made it worse, he liked her. Blazes, he liked her. More than liked her.

Lusted after her.

Unfortunately, that was not all. He knew that every time he thought about her leaving London. He thought about it every time he considered returning to America. Returning home, then to sea, was once what he wanted most after Stanhope's fall. Now it seemed a very lonely prospect.

He had never felt lonely before. He had been too fixed on goals. To accumulate enough money to ruin his father's accuser, then to defeat the British, now—with victory in sight—to end the game.

Gabriel had expected to feel triumphant. Instead he felt empty.

“Monsieur?” Her voice was huskier than usual.

He felt his body stiffen, the core of him turning molten. He had to force himself to stand still, not to stride over to her and take her in his arms. Control, he told himself. Control.

“You do look … comfortable,” he managed in an even tone.

She had a hand behind her. Now she held it out. A necklace and earrings shimmered in her palm.

“Here,” she said. “I do not know how to go about selling them. Not here in London.”

“And you think I do.”

“
Oui
.”

He made no movement to take them. “You trust me?”

Her face did not show any emotion as she gave a slight shrug. “As much as I can trust anyone.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

“I have never trusted a man before, my lord. It is new to me. Do not ask too much.”

He reached out and took the jewelry. “I will find a buyer and return your share.”

“I do not want it,” she said. “I do not want anything that has his taint about it.”

“But you …”

“I wanted to know what you would suggest. I said I did not trust easily.” She paused, then added, “I have been saving money for years,” she said. “I have what I need. For both Dani and myself.”