Dancing with a Rogue (46 page)

He had hoped for more than thirty-five thousand pounds, but he would take it. And rid himself of a possible embarrassment as well.

He only wished he had more information about Manchester, and who and what he had been before the solicitor found him. He had tried to discourage Pickwick from notifying Manchester that he was the last legal heir. But Pickwick was a timid man, who feared an investigation. He had claimed that he would phrase the letter in such a way that Manchester would stay in America. Unfortunately, he had been wrong.

Hang it all, his troubles had deepened since Manchester arrived, but he couldn't blame it on him. Stammel's gaming had worsened, and he had obviously become desperate for money. The theft at his residence. The theft at Daven's home. It could have been no one but Stammel. No one else could have gotten inside his safe.

And now Stammel was dead.

He was surprised at how much regret that caused.

It was after dark.

Nonetheless, Gabriel decided to visit his forger. Time was of the essence now. He had to finish this before Monique and others were hurt.

Perhaps if she knew it would be just a few days, she would leave with the Smythes.

The thought of her waiting for him in America was a sweet one.

And most likely, he admitted to himself, highly unlikely knowing the lady's determination.

Specter was obviously eager for the outing, and Gabriel did not have time to return him to the baron's stable before finding the printer. Gabriel went through a park and several backstreets to insure he was not being followed. By the time he reached the dock area, most of the shops were closed and most of the taverns were noisy.

Still cautious, he found a public stable and left Specter there. He did not intend to have the horse stolen, something altogether likely in this part of London. Then he walked by foot through the area, his cloak concealing the fine clothes he wore to see Stanhope.

To his surprise, and gratification, a light shone through the window of the printing shop. The door was locked but soon opened at his knock.

Winsley had his glasses perched on his nose as he opened the door for him.

“You are late tonight,” he said.

“I have what you requested,” Gabriel said. He pulled out the list of items to be shipped along with the personal correspondence he'd purloined. “I have his signature, a sample of his handwriting, and a copy of a manifest of goods supposedly to be delivered to the army in Ireland.”

“Come to the back,” Winsley said, leading the way to the back room. He perched on his stool, pulled an oil lamp closer, and studied the documents.

“What do you want me to say?”

“This is a manifest for five-thousand muskets and a thousand uniforms along with other equipment. I am sure the boxes will be filled with weights and the ship sabotaged in some way. He is quite insistent that I accompany the cargo to prevent any pilfering in Ireland.”

“And Lord Stanhope can claim the insurance without paying for the cargo?”

Gabriel nodded.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Create a bill of sale to show that Stanhope purchased only a thousand muskets to be delivered to the ship.”

“And the uniforms?”

“We might need some help with that. Do you know someone who sells shoddy materials?”

“Aye.”

“Then create a bill of sale showing the purchase of uniforms to Stanhope at a price well below that shown on this list.”

Winsley smiled for the first time since Gabriel had met him. “When do you need them?”

“Tomorrow at noon. No longer.”

“You will have them.”

“And the price?”

“Stanhope's ruin is price enough,” Winsley said.

“Nonetheless, there will be two hundred pounds for you.”

Winsley's smile broadened. “Can't say that would be refused.”

“Wednesday night, then?”

“It will be ready.”

How long would it be before word reached Stanhope that she had heard something she should not have heard?

The question hammered at Monique prior to her performance. But once she went on stage, she turned that part of her mind off and became the wronged wife. The audience was even more boisterous and approving than usual, perhaps because she had returned to the stage tonight. She instinctively reacted to its approval and knew the performance was one of her best.

She felt the usual glow of pleasure as flowers rather than fruit were thrown on the stage.

Lynch beamed as he met her when she and her leading man left the stage. “Magnificent, mademoiselle.”

“
Merci
,” she replied. Then, “Have you seen Lord Stanhope?”

“No,” he said.

“And you have said nothing, of course?”

Red started to creep into his cheeks. She knew at that moment that he had told someone. “I … of course not.… You told me not to say anything, but I did ask a gentleman to keep an eye on you. You are very important to me, and …”

“What gentleman?”

“A patron of the theater. A man in the government. He was here tonight, his third time. He does not care for Lord Stanhope, and I thought—”

“You might well have signed my death warrant,” Monique said.

“No, no. He said he would be very discreet. He said he will investigate Stammel's death. Lord Stanhope would not dare to harm you if people suspect … I am only looking out for you.”

He was stumbling over his words now. Whether it was his sincere desire to help her, to get his license for serious drama, or his love of gossip, it made no difference. The rumor was out now.

She looked at him with approbation. “What is done is done. If anything happens to me, or if I must leave London, it lies at your door.”

He wrung his hands together. “I … I …”

“I will never confide in you again, Monsieur Lynch,” she said righteously. She turned away from him and marched to her dressing room.

The third and final act was about to begin.

Chapter Twenty-six

Monique knew Manchester would return to her rooms tonight despite the fact it was already near midnight.

She knew it as well as she knew she would be waiting.

They were like thunder and lightning together.

She wanted to see him. More than she knew it was possible to want to see someone.

At the same time she hoped
not
to see him. Because every time she did, he became more essential to her.

She also knew that if she did what she was contemplating, Manchester would be lost to her. It would end any hope of a future with him.

But
his
life was more important than
her
future. She kept telling herself that perhaps she could have both. But she couldn't. All those years of fear would not go away. As long as Stanhope was free, she could never be free.

And the more she saw of what Stanhope was doing with Pamela the more she realized that running would be an act of cowardice. Perhaps if it had just been herself, she could forget it. But it wasn't. She had a half sister, and Pamela would never be free if her father had the power to manipulate and use her. Stanhope's disgrace might well be her sister's only deliverance. Only then could she go with her young man without destroying his family.

She had to bring it about. And she had to do it without Manchester. She had to protect both him and her sister. And that meant making sure he was on a ship to America. He would be where he belonged, where he had people who cared about him, and whom he cared about.

A sea captain. That image was far more attractive to her than that of a marquess. It required little character to become the latter. It was an accident of birth. She supposed it required a great deal of character and competence to captain a ship.

At the time he'd admitted to being a sailor, his eyes had lit and his lips had had a slight wistful smile. She realized he missed the sea, and she instinctively felt he
loved
it. She, on the other hand, responded to the approval of an audience. She lived fictional lives and became those people during the length of her contract. It had been a matter of escape years ago. Then it had become a way of life. Who was Merry Anders? Who was Monique Fremont? Once upon a time, it had been very clear. Now she no longer knew.

She was nothing but a shadow. Someone who took the forms of her parts.

And, dear Mother in Heaven, she loved him. He filled the empty places in her heart, places she kept hidden since she was a child. She hadn't admitted that void to anyone. Not even to Dani. She had never acknowledged those barren landscapes before.

She had never expected them to be filled. Her distrust of men had been too strong. She had lived most of her life shadowed by her mother's fear and the succession of her mother's “protectors.” None of them had proved themselves to be that. Monique had, in truth, barely escaped their advances more times than she wanted to count.

Now Manchester was like a hurricane sweeping through her life, washing away all the fears, the loneliness. Washing away everything but determination to put an evil to rest.

She looked outside. No fog tonight, and the gas lamps lit the street. A carriage passed but did not stop. Then she saw a lone horseman.

The rider passed her lodgings and she realized he must be taking the animal to a mews around the corner. He would unsaddle his horse and water and feed him before arriving at her door.

Dani had already gone to bed. Monique brushed her hair for several moments, then sat at the window waiting. She saw the figure, dressed in a cloak and a beaver hat pulled down over his head, walk toward her residence. She sped downstairs to open the door as he reached the top step.

He took off his hat and stood there with a smile on his lips. “I've missed you,” he said.

“It has not been that long.”

“You are supposed to say you missed me also.”

“Am I?”

“It is only polite.”

“I have never been polite.”

“Perhaps that is why I like you so much.”

She realized she was standing in the open door in only her night robe. She moved inside, and he followed.

“Would you like a brandy?”

“Yes.”

He followed her to the sitting room, where a bottle of fine brandy was kept. She was very aware of his eyes on her as she poured two glasses of brandy. She made his much larger.

“Are you trying to get me intoxicated?” he asked as he took it. “You do not have to, you know. I am already intoxicated. You are much too beautiful.”

She'd been told that many times, but it had never meant anything to her. Beauty could be a curse as much as a boon. But now she felt a catch in her throat.

“Somehow I do not think you are a man to overindulge.”

He took a sip of brandy. “Have you heard the news?”

“About Lord Stammel?”

“Aye.”

She nodded.

“It had to be Stanhope.”

She was silent. Waiting.

“I talked to him today. He is willing to take me on as a partner despite the fact I do not have the funds he demanded. He plans a shipment of arms and supplies to Ireland. He wants me to accompany them aboard the ship. To make sure he is not cheated.”

“His trust in you is touching,” she said.

“Except I believe we are all meant to go to the bottom of the sea.”

“Why?”

“He would receive insurance on goods that do not exist. And the added bonus of my money. That, I believe, is what happened with my father. Stanhope substituted empty crates for good and planned for the ship to sink, whereby he could claim insurance for the goods that did not exist. But some seamen unexpectedly escaped, and they had noticed the boxes were lighter than they should be. It was then Stanhope reluctantly said he had left all purchases to my father and produced documents to prove it. Unfortunately they had been forged.”

“And do you plan to go to the bottom of the sea?”

“I have a little surprise. A little reverse process.”

“And if you miscalculate?”

“I've stayed alive by not miscalculating.”

“So has Stanhope.”

“True enough,” he said. “But he has no idea of what I am about. And I know exactly what he is about.”

“He killed Lord Stammel.”

“We do not know that.”

“Do we not?”

He was silent this time.

“If he would kill his friend for stealing from him, what would he do to you?” she continued. She looked up at his face, pleading with him. “I think Lord Daven might turn on him without your risking your life. I plan to see him tomorrow night. Plant a few seeds in his mind. If he believes Stanhope killed Stammel, he might think he is next.”

“He is no match for Stanhope.”

“I am not so sure of that,” she said softly.

“I want you out of this,” he said. “I have bought passage for Smythe and his family to America. And for you and Dani.”

“When?”

“It is after midnight now. The ship leaves in about thirty hours.”

“And the one that is to carry you?”

“Another day.”

Apprehension ran down her spine. “Go with us,” she said suddenly.

“He will be suspicious if I disappear suddenly. All this will be for naught. I will make sure Pamela is all right. Then I will follow you.”

“Pamela is my responsibility.”

“Why?”

She almost told him, then stopped herself. She was the daughter of his father's betrayer.

“She's my friend.”

“She's
my
almost betrothed.”

Monique sipped her own brandy. “You have already told me that was only a pretense.”

“Still … as a marquess I can protect her. She will not suffer as much when the truth is revealed.”

He was right. He had a weapon she did not. His title. Though most of London did not like the man, they could do nothing about the title. That gave him power and influence, regardless of the state of his properties.