Dancing with a Rogue (9 page)

“Mademoiselle, I was hoping you may consent to supper with me,” the young man said in deplorable French.

“
Merci
, but I cannot,” she replied in perfect English.

He looked surprised. Several others started to crowd in around her. Dani tried to move closer but was blocked.

“Please let my friend through,” she said.

Instead Dani was pushed backward and Monique's unwelcomed suitor pressed closer to her.

She looked around, and toward the back she saw a tall familiar figure. It was the marquess she had met at the gaming hell, the one that eerily reminded her of the man who had attracted her attention at the harbor.

But now, as before, he had none of the presence she'd seen in the man who had dominated the deck of the ship, standing as if he owned all he surveyed. A quizzing glass was in one eye and he languidly held a walking stick. He remained in the back of the group, but his gaze on her was intelligent and searching just before his expression went blank.

“Pardon me,” she said to the man blocking her as the rented coach clattered toward her. She made a move for it, but the buck who had asked that she accompany him to supper stood in front of her.

“I am sure you would not regret it,” he said. He grasped her elbow.

“Release me,” she demanded, but by then the group of men had closed in.

“She said ‘release' her,” a familiar voice said. It seemed lightly spoken, but an edge of menace lay underneath. She looked up, startled to see the Marquess of Manchester slicing his way through the crowd like Moses through the Red Sea. Oddly enough others parted for him.

She wondered why. He looked like such a dandy.

“Miss Fremont,” he said. “I must apologize for my tardiness.”

He looked at the man who still had his hand on her arm. “I believe the lady asked you to release her,” he said.

The man holding her arm hesitated, then dropped his hand to his side and backed away. Silently, Manchester watched. He
knew
her assailant would back away.

Despite appearances to the contrary, she once more had the impression of strength.

“
Merci
, my lord,” she said. “You
are
late,” she scolded, taking his cue.

The words made the crowd back away even farther.

She looked around for Dani and saw her fighting to get back to her.

“Monsieur,” she said. “My friend …”

Before she could blink, he gathered Dani to his side and brushed away any more would-be suitors. In seconds, he had cleared the way to the carriage and helped her and Dani inside. Without asking her consent, he joined them, taking his place on the opposite seat. “They could follow,” he said blandly.

She didn't know what to say. She knew she should tell him to leave despite the fact that he had come to her aid. She wasn't sure at all that she wanted to share the intimacy of the carriage with him.

The carriage driver hesitated before closing the door. “To your residence?” he asked her.

“
Oui
,” she said. “And then you can take this gentleman where he wants to go.”

She waited for him to give a location, but he didn't. Instead, he lounged against the back of the seat, his long legs stretched out comfortably. His quizzing glass was still in his eye, and she wondered how he controlled it.

He had taken off the tall beaver hat he wore and now he tucked it next to him. “Infernal thing,” he said. “Hot as hell.”

“Then why wear it?”

“Do not all the well-dressed gentlemen in London?” he asked.

She looked at his clothes, which were not quite right. She couldn't quite understand why. They were of good material, and the fit was right, but …

“I do not know, monsieur. I have not seen all the well-dressed gentlemen in London.”

He grinned at that. “Now that is a surprise, considering the number of admirers waiting outside the theater.”

“Why were you there?”

“I'm an admirer also,” he said. “Like the others, I hoped to lure you out to supper.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You do not look like a man who loiters around theaters.”

“Why not?” he said.

She studied him for a long time. “How did you manage to make those men back away?”

He shrugged. “They are of little consequence,” he said dismissively.

Monique didn't care for that answer. It had a haughty indifference for others, even rude others. “I still don't know why you were there.”

“I was thunderstruck the other night upon meeting you. And now look at how fortunate I am.” He turned his attention to Dani. “And who is this young lady?”

“Danielle,” Monique said. “She is my friend.”

Dani gave her a quick glance, then glowered at the man sitting across from them. It didn't seem to bother him.

Monique narrowed her eyes. Something didn't ring true. He was not the type of man to lurk in doorways, looking for a woman. He was the kind to storm inside.

She wasn't sure how she knew that. His manner—except for those brief moments when he'd come to her assistance—was bold but not particularly attractive. He was overdressed and she abhorred such pretensions as quizzing glasses, not to mention the elaborate cravat he wore. She liked simplicity in a man.

The image of the man on the ship returned. She hadn't really seen the sailor's face. This man's thick sandy hair seemed darker.

He seemed intent on keeping the silly quizzing glass in his eye.

“You were not, perhaps, on a ship a few days ago? An American ship?” She surprised herself by asking the question. She'd meant to daunt him with silence.

He unfolded his legs and she noticed how long and well-formed they were. She forced her gaze upward even as a surge of heat flooded her.

“Monsieur?”

“You have good eyesight, mademoiselle. I was on the
Cynthia
,” he finally replied after obviously weighing his words.

“You are newly come to London then. How is it you have a title?”

It was a rude question, but she was fascinated with him. And she had never been averse to asking what she wanted to know.

His accent
had
been odd, and she was usually good at accents.

He smiled. “My uncle died without heirs and his title came to me, the son of the black sheep of the family. I do not think the ton is pleased.”

A twinkle flashed in his eyes, as if he were sharing a small humorous secret. Then it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and he seemed to mold his face into indifference as a sculptor might do with clay.

“You are from America?”

“Since I was ten.”

“You do not have much of an accent.”

“My mother was a Londoner,” he said. His smile faded as he said it.

He was as unlike the man she'd met at the gambling hell as an actor was often different from his roles.

“Do you miss your home?” Her intended snub had all but disappeared. He interested her as no man had in a long time, silly quizzing glass notwithstanding.

As if he fathomed her thoughts, he took it from his eye and dropped it carelessly into a pocket. “Bloody uncomfortable things,” he explained.

“Then why wear it?”

He gave her an arch look. “It is fashionable, I am told.”

“If it were fashionable to jump in front of a carriage, would you do it?” There was the slightest bite in her voice. She didn't want to be disappointed with the man across from her.

Or maybe she did.

“Perhaps,” he said, his lips twisting in a wry smile that belied the word.

He was confusing. As if he was slipping in and out of roles.

Knowing she should turn away and look out the window as the carriage paused in the crowded street, she still couldn't take her gaze from him. A hank of gold hair fell rakishly over his forehead, ruining the well-groomed look, and it made him look more appealing, more approachable. His eyes were a startling green, a color more vivid once he'd stopped squinting to keep the quizzing glass in his right eye.

The carriage started moving again, and she looked out. For some odd reason she really didn't want the short journey to end. She was enjoying the mystery. Worse, she was enjoying him.

That didn't happen often. Nor did the expectancy that hung in the air between them. Her heart beat just a little faster, her blood flowed just a little warmer. She felt alive in his presence. Challenged. She hadn't ever felt quite that way before.

Then, thank the saints, the carriage drew to a stop in front of her town house. “I am staying here,” she said, breaking the almost palpable tension between them. “I do appreciate your assistance.”

“May I walk you and Danielle to the door?”

She liked the way he included Danielle. And the fact that he remembered the name of a servant. Be careful, she warned herself. “Would it matter if I said no?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

Again he surprised her. Perhaps that was the challenge. He wasn't doing or saying what she'd anticipated.

She nodded her head in response.

“I would still like to take you to supper.” He glanced quickly at Dani, who eyed him suspiciously. “You and your maid.”

She was tempted. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to know why he was wearing the garments of a dandy when he was obviously so much more at home with simplicity.

Once again he didn't fit the image of someone who cared about what others thought.

But the warmth flowing through her body, the unexpected tug in a place that usually did not respond in such a manner warned her off. She had a mission. She had to keep her head clear.

“Thank you, but no,” she said. “I am tired, and so is Dani. We plan to retire early.”

“Would you consider some other time?”

“I have none until the play opens, monsieur,” she said, effectively cutting him. She waited for an angry reaction.

There was none. Only the barest shrug, indicating he had tried and was not devastated that he'd not been accepted.

“Then I will accompany you to the door and return to my own lodgings.”

“No gambling tonight?” The question surprised her as much as it appeared to startle him. She was prolonging the meeting. She knew it and couldn't help it.

“No, I have lost too much,” he said. But again there was something wrong. There was no regret. No worry. Just an offhand comment.

“I am sorry,” she said.

He grinned. “You need not be sorry for my faults, mademoiselle, and meeting you made it a small price to pay. But I hear you are lucky in cards. Perhaps you would teach me a little about the games.”

A twinkle lit his eyes again and she sensed in that moment he didn't need help.

Before she could ask any more, the coachman had opened the door and the marquess stepped out. He offered his hand to Dani first, then held out his hand to her and caught her with the other hand as she stepped down.

Her face was within inches of his as he looked down at her. She felt his breath, heard the quickened beat of his heart. She suddenly noticed that his hands were no longer gloved and his skin burned her arm as her cloak fell behind.

Fire whipped through her as she looked up at him, her own gaze lost in his. They were deep and impenetrable. So full of secrets and shadows that a knot of apprehension twisted her stomach.

Yet she couldn't step away, could hardly breathe at the unexpected need stabbing at her.

He leaned closer and she smelled some elusive male scent. She thought he was going to kiss her, and she was startled at how much she wanted exactly that. His lips passed her cheek with a feather touch, then he took a step back and dropped her hand.

“You are beautiful, mademoiselle. Much too beautiful.” His eyes glittered with intensity. They were no longer coolly amused. Instead they were like small green flickers of flame.

“Who are you?” she whispered. Her legs were barely holding her up. She felt weak and stunned, and that had never happened to her before.

“I told you. I am merely a man claiming an old and honorable title.”

“I don't think so,” she said. “You are not what you want people to believe.”

“Am I not?” he said. “Or perhaps you just inspire me to be more.”

She felt Dani's arm on hers. “We must go,” Dani said.

Monique caught her breath, then nodded. She took an experimental step. Her legs did not fail her, as she thought they might seconds earlier.

She nodded to the Marquess of Manchester and forced herself to turn and mount the steps of the town house without looking back.

She didn't have to look back. Everything about him was engraved in her mind.

Chapter Six

After leaving Monique's rooms, Gabriel refused the offer of the coachman to take him to a place of his choosing. Instead, he retrieved his beaver hat from the seat and walked away from the town house.

He knew the location.

If he had any integrity, he would not return.

Damn, but she sent his head whirling. He had never met a woman who intrigued him so. He liked her directness, her lack of usual feminine wiles. He liked her wry sense of humor when she'd asked if he would step in front of a carriage.

An actress. He'd never met one before in person, but he had always enjoyed the theater when he'd had time. Which wasn't often. He enjoyed Shakespeare and dramas rather than farces. Darkness had always suited him more than light.

That had been true even at sea. He was attracted by sunsets and evenings and even the deepest night when all that one saw was the white tips of rushing waves, and the stars and moon above. He even liked the storms that tested him, his command, and his ships.

His purpose now was dark, and if he had honor, he would not bring anyone else into it. He had been aware from the beginning that he risked imprisonment, even death.

His father's honor, that last plea he'd made, was worth his sacrifice. He didn't have the right, though, to bring anyone else into his battle and risk their life and livelihood.