Dancing with a Rogue

by Potter, Patricia;

  “And who did you wager with?”

  He looked away. “A friend. He will not say anything.”

  She stared at him, then turned back to the mirror and hid a smile. Better and better. Every gambler in the city would be betting on who might win the honor of becoming the protector of Monique Fremont. It would become public very quickly.

  Stanhope could not withdraw now, not without losing face. Nor could he harm her. Too many eyes would be on the four of them.

  He had gotten away with attempted murder nearly twenty-five years ago. He had probably gotten away with the murder of his wife.

  This would be one time he would have an enormous audience.

  “I will see them in ten minutes,” she said.

  After he backed out, she wondered whether Manchester was still with them. And her half sister.

  If he was, well, then she would have to endure the wastrel.

  If he wasn’t, where in Hades was he? What were his intentions toward Pamela?

  And why did she care so much?

  It was at the second gaming hell that Gabriel heard of the competition. Betting was frantic.

  He’d learned that London aristocrats bet on everything. This was a natural.

  Tongues wagged.

  The odds, of course, were on Stanhope. He was the wealthiest and most powerful of them all. Yet some said that Daven had charm and was not saddled with the suspicion of killing his wife.

  Gabriel listened. Apparently, Monique Fremont agreed to take one of three men as her protector within a month.

  He was apparently out of the running. Because he was not rich enough? Not powerful enough?

  She had not even given him a chance to enter the bidding. Not that he would have accepted if she had. He’d never wanted, or needed, a woman so much he would humiliate himself to become part of a public contest.

  He didn’t think Stanhope would have, either. Unless he had been maneuvered into the competition.

  Even he—a newcomer to London—realized that Stanhope couldn’t retire from the field now.

  He’d been neatly trapped.

  To what purpose? He had not suspected that Monique Fremont would so blatantly play men against each other. Still, he couldn’t help but appreciate how well she had manipulated Stanhope.

  If that was her purpose?

  But Stanhope’s romantic problems were none of Gabriel’s concerns this night. He needed funds and he needed them quickly.

  He needed to get Monique Fremont out of his mind.

  Gabriel turned his attention to the cards. He won steadily. Amounts small enough not to attract attention. First one hell, then another.

  He emerged with nearly a thousand pounds. A fortune for some. Not nearly enough for him.

  He knew Stanhope had money. He had jewels as well. Since Gabriel had recklessly let his conscience keep him from using Pamela, he would have to indulge in a bit of burglary.

  It was dawn before he reached his lodgings. Sydney was patiently waiting for him, giving nothing away as he took Gabriel’s cloak.

  “Have a good night, sir?”

  “Yes. How is your sister?”

  “She is happier than anytime I can remember. She lives in your library.”

  “I wish there was more there.”

  “There is plenty. Do you require anything, sir?”

  “Have you been awake all night waiting for me?”

  “You pay me to do that.”

  “No,” Gabriel said. “I pay you to take care of my clothes and to serve meals and to help your sister, and occasionally tie my cravat, though neither of us is very good at that. I do not pay you to stay awake all night.”

  “I thought you might wish a bath, or some food.”

  “I wish only bed, Sydney. But my thanks for your efforts.”

  Sydney looked disappointed. “Yes sir.”

  Gabriel almost relented and asked for some food. But he had taken food at the gaming establishments and he needed rest more than he needed sustenance.

  He suspected he would get very little sleep in the next few days.

  Stanhope could barely control his rage when he read the London newspapers the next morning.

  He didn’t know whether a servant had overheard something, or whether either Robert or Henry had mentioned something they should not. It might have even been Monique Fremont herself.

  In any case, the damage was done. He was as trapped now as some of his victims had been. He did not appreciate the irony.

  If he did not continue with the challenge, he would be laughed out of London. That was one consequence he could ill afford. He had too many enemies. Only his reputation for power and ruthlessness held them at bay.

  The prime minister’s people were awaiting their chance to ruin him. He had enough on them to send them to Australia or some other dismal godforsaken place. But if they suspected a weakness …

  “Where’s my daughter?” he demanded of a maid who had, unfortunately, stepped into the dining room to replenish the chafing dishes. It mattered little that there was only one master to eat, and a daughter who seldom appeared for breakfast.

  “I do not know, milord,” the maid said.

  “Fetch her. Tell her I expect her here in no more than ten minutes.”

  She curtsied. “Yes, milord.”

  She sped away as if the devil were after her. He was slightly mollified by the idea. He was the devil. He had worked hard at cultivating that image.

  He looked at his pocket watch, then set it down next to his plate and listened to it tick.

  His daughter appeared in nine minutes. Her hair was combed into a single long braid, and she was dressed in a morning gown. Her gaze wandered around the room, avoiding him.

  “Sit down, Pamela,” he said.

  She sat.

  “Tell me about last night.”

  “There is nothing to tell, Papa. Lord Manchester brought me home and left after seeing me to the door. Did not Garvey tell you?”

  “What did you talk about in the carriage?”

  “Just the play.”

  “Nothing else? Nothing about his background, or his family?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ask to see you again?”

  “No,” she said again.

  He frowned. “I want you to be pleasant to him.”

  “Why?”

  “That is of no concern of yours. Just do as I tell you.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “You look pale,” he said, glaring at her.

  “I did not get much sleep.”

  He continued to look at her. Something was different. Perhaps her eyes. The fear wasn’t as evident. Her back was straighter. There was the slightest hint of defiance. She had never asked him why before.

  He didn’t like that one bit.

  “Are you lying to me?”

  “About what, Papa?” Her eyes were wide and innocent.

  “Your ride home last night. You are positive he said nothing about his family or me?”

  “Just that he admires you.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “You are successful at business.”

  “Do you want to continue to see him?”

  Surprise flitted across her face. Then something like dismay. He didn’t like that, either.

  “Answer me, gel.”

  “No,” she said. “I do not. He is not … sophisticated.”

  Stanhope relaxed. “You will do as you are told.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “You may go. I do not want you to spoil my meal.”

  She backed away and disappeared quickly out the door.

  He started to eat again.…

  He would ask Ames to watch Pamela. For a moment tonight he had sensed something between—but no—Manchester was a fool. Not even his naive daughter could be interested in him.

  Today he would get together with old Pickwick and a friend of his who was trying to sell an old ship. It was barely floating, but that would suit his purposes w
ell.

  He would purchase it, give it the name of another more respectable ship and send it out to sea. With just a little help, it would sink, along with the cargo. He could claim the insurance.

  And his new partner? Well, he would be aboard. One way or another. He would be lulled by a new relationship with Pamela and with the Stanhope family. He would never suspect he was a sheep to be sheared.

  He smiled as he took another piece of ham. It would be a fine day.

  Gabriel slept for several hours, then rang for Smythe and ordered a bath, then breakfast.

  He had many things to do today.

  He finished both, then looked at his wardrobe. Most of his clothes were brightly colored. And expensive looking, even if they were not tasteful. He needed a disguise, and the problem was coming and going from his lodgings without the other occupants of the area taking notice of changes in his appearance.

  Gabriel felt he could probably trust Smythe, yet their acquaintance was too short for him to be really sure, and much depended on maintaining what everyone thought he was. And then there was the child.

  The only solution was another room. Somewhere he wouldn’t be noticed going in and out. He did not want any gossip that could lead to the new marquess.

  He’d looked at the two papers that Smythe had brought with his meal of fresh-baked rolls, ham, and eggs. He made a mental list of available lodgings, several of which were in the waterfront area. He would purchase some additional items of clothing he would need along with the theatrical kit that his friend in Boston had provided.

  He finished dressing, this time toning down his clothes to a pair of trousers, a plain shirt, and a black cloak. Thank God, it was cold and misting outside. He left his quizzing glass in a drawer and the cane in a corner. He did not want to draw attention to himself.

  He nodded to Smythe as he approached the door. A flicker of surprise crossed the man’s face at his appearance.

  “Shall I call a carriage, sir? ’Tis cold and wet.”

  Sir was a hell of a lot better than “my lord.”

  “No,” he said. “Thank you. I am just taking a stroll.”

  Smythe had the discretion not to look surprised at the idea of his master taking a stroll in the rain. He was obviously adapting to his new master’s strange habits. “I will see to your clothes while you are gone.”

  Gabriel nodded. God, he wished he could confide in the man. He needed an ally.

  He dismissed the idea as he walked down the steps to the street.

  A number of carriages passed and splashed water on him as he walked quickly down the street, then turned onto a less traveled lane. He wanted as few people as possible to notice him.

  He increased his pace, ducking his head against the wind. He didn’t mind the weather. He was well used to storms at sea, to rain that felt like ice.

  Gabriel knew the way. He had a mind that could readily memorize maps and charts. He knew exactly where he was going.

  He discarded the idea of taking the first lodging he saw. The neighborhood was too respectable. He would be noticed going in and coming out in different clothes.

  The second was not acceptable, either, but for the opposite reason. It was in a neighborhood where nothing would be safe. He suspected everything he left there would disappear in a matter of moments.

  The third came closest to meeting his needs.

  It was a plain but clean room located over a tavern. Patrons would be going in and out. No one would notice what he wore. There was a back stairway.

  The tavern owner lived above the tavern and rented out three rooms. Two of them were to ladies, he announced.

  More likely, prostitutes, he thought. Better and better.

  “I have some … a friend,” Gabriel explained without explaining. “Discretion is important.”

  “Ah, a lady.”

  He did not say anything, letting his silence confirm it.

  The man studied his plain but obviously good clothes. “How long will you be needing it?”

  Gabriel grinned. “I am not sure. As long as the lady’s husband …”

  Greed shone in the tavern owner’s eyes. “Ten pounds a month.”

  It was robbery. The landlord might as well be wearing a mask and carrying a gun.

  “Seven,” he bargained, knowing it was expected.

  “In advance?”

  “Yes.”

  “Done,” the man said.

  “As I said, I want discretion,” Gabriel pressed. “It will be worth an extra five pounds at the end of two weeks.”

  The man brightened. “Yes, Mr.—?”

  “Mr. Brown,” Gabriel said.

  “Mr. Brown, it is. I am John Bailey. When can you pay?”

  Gabriel took out a small pouch of coins and counted out fifteen pounds.

  “When do you want to use it?”

  “I will be bringing some of my belongings over later today,” he said.

  Bailey nodded.

  It was done.

  Monique looked at the cards collecting in the bowl on the front table, along with a growing collection of gifts and flowers.

  Poor Mrs. Miller. She was harried. Monique had her returning gifts as quickly as they came, particularly to Stanhope, Stammel, and Daven.

  She wanted to make it clear to all of them that she did not care for money. Then when the thefts began, no one would look in her direction. Hopefully, they would look at each other.

  Back went a silver comb and a pearl necklace and a silk shawl. Flowers were refused as the number threatened to overtake the small town house. Candy was given to the poor and a note sent to givers thanking them for a donation to the unfortunate.

  In the meantime she dined with Stammel at London’s most fashionable restaurant. Every head turned as they entered. In hours, the odds would change in the contest.

  She knew how to win his heart. Let him talk.

  So she listened as he bragged on his business prowess.

  “I understand you and Daven are partners with Lord Stanhope,” she said, widening her eyes with admiration. “I believe you must be the one with the ideas.”

  He visibly preened. “I would not say that, although my advice is always heeded,” he said.

  “I hear that you have the largest shipping company in London.”

  “Not quite, mademoiselle, but we are getting there. Of course, most gentlemen do not dabble in business, but when you have talent …”

  “You should use it,” she finished. “I admire people who lead useful lives.”

  “And your family?” she asked after a short pause.

  His face flushed. “A wife, mademoiselle, but she stays in the country.”

  She gave him a Gallic shrug. “Most men have wives. It is of no matter. What of Lord Stanhope?”

  He frowned at the conversation turning to another man. “His wife died,” he said shortly.

  “Hmm,” she said.

  “He has vowed to never marry again,” he added, as if afraid she might think a widower a better prospect. It was not unheard of for a member of the nobility to marry an actress. “And there is …” He stopped himself.

  “Ah,” she said, “you cannot stop there. What did you intend to say?”

  “Only that he is not … interested in serious alliances.”

  He is already thinking of betraying his partner by saying too much.

  She was well aware of what he had started to say. There were rumors.

  She smiled. “Are you saying you are?”

  “I would make a contract. You would be a wealthy woman,” he rushed on, obviously feeling he had an opportunity.

  “I do not care about wealth,” she said.

  “What do you care about?”

  “I will be clear,” she said. “I enjoy the company of men. But I am not a loose woman. I do not want or need an entourage of admirers.”

  “Then what …?”

  “I want a companion whom I can trust and who trusts me, who is willing to talk to me about important
matters. I want a friend as well as a lover.”

  He looked startled. Not quite sure what to say. It was quite obvious he had never considered a woman in that way. He squinted his eyes as he tried to understand.

  “But of course,” he said, obviously intent upon doing or saying anything that might win him this challenge.

  “I have never done this before,” she said, “but the three of you are all so charming.”

  He looked confused.

  She starting eating again. The fowl was quite exceptional.

  Gabriel walked down the street outside of Stanhope’s town house and collapsed on a corner like the beggar he pretended to be. He buried his head in his arms. He had been here for the last three evenings. No one paid any attention to him now.

  He wore the same ragged clothes he’d been wearing these past few days after a visit to his tavern room, and a cap that came down over the dark wig he wore. The clothes were loose enough to conceal a pistol. And a knife. He was proficient in the use of both.

  It was late evening. Lights shone from five rooms of the Stanhope home. He saw other figures in the library.

  Excellent. He hoped it was Stammel and Daven. The fact that the three business partners were now pitted against each other in seeking the favor of an actress made the contest all the more interesting.

  For Gabriel’s plan to succeed, he needed to visit Stanhope’s safe after the other two men had been at the residence. They had to be the only two to have had access to the safe.

  So, as he had the past few nights, he hunched down inside his coat and waited.

  Pamela sat on a window seat and stared out of the window at the park across the way. The streetlamps shone down on the green lawn beneath, and she was reminded of the green lawns at home.

  Her gaze was drawn to a beggar sitting on the grass down the street. He’d been there several days, but he was always gone in the morning. One afternoon she’d started out to take him a farthing, but her father had stopped her.

  “We do not want him here,” he said. “I forbid you from encouraging him. If he is not gone soon, I’ll call the runners on him.”

  She’d not tried again, because she was afraid the servants would tell her father, and he would have the beggar hurt. But it wounded her heart to see such misery.

  She counted the minutes until her father left on his usual nightly rounds. Tonight it was later than usual, but he had those terrible friends with him. She hated the way they looked at her, as if she were a filly to be sold.