Dancing with a Rogue

by Potter, Patricia;

  “I would like to ride him,” he told the groom, who had been sent out to assist them.

  The groom quickly saddled the horse, and Gabriel mounted. He was a good horseman, not a superb one. After his mother’s death, the sea had been his life. Though the sea gave him a natural balance, he had not been riding all his life as had many Englishmen.

  The horse was more than mannerly. The gelding took several prancing steps, obviously eager for an outing and exercise. He responded well to the slightest touch on the reins.

  “His name?” he asked the groom.

  “Specter.”

  “Specter.” Gabriel liked that. He left the stable and urged the horse into an easy canter. He didn’t need more. He returned to the stable and dismounted, looking at his valet. “You are right. He is a fine horse.” He turned to the groom. “I would like to purchase him.”

  The groom shuffled his feet. “The baron will wish to talk to ye. He … the ’orse, ’e means a lot to ’im.”

  Gabriel was amused at the idea of being approved, but he liked the owner the better for it.

  “Lead on,” he said.

  The groom stabled the horse, then looked down at the ground. “I will miss ’im, I will.”

  Gabriel looked around the small stable as they exited. The groom suggested he go to the front of the house while the groom went through the servant’s entrance with Smythe.

  Gabriel was admitted to a library. A man of approximately sixty years sat in a chair and rose with obvious effort. His feet were in loose footwear and Gabriel realized he suffered from painful gout.

  “Lord Tolvery,” Gabriel said, bowing slightly.

  “And you are the famous Marquess of Manchester,” his host said.

  “I am flattered you have heard of me.”

  “Do not be,” the baron said in blunt tones. “The notices were not favorable and I am particular regarding Specter’s new master. He was my son’s horse for eight years. I do not want to part with him, but he needs riding. As you can see, I can no longer ride.”

  He sat back down in the chair with great weariness.

  Gabriel wanted Specter.

  “I have no place to stable him,” he said. “You seem reluctant to part with him, and my residence has no stables. Your groom said perhaps I can stable him here until I find more suitable lodgings. I will, of course, pay you and your groom to care for the horse, and in the meantime you can assure yourself that I am the right owner for Specter.”

  The baron’s eyes rested on him.

  “You are a military man,” he said unexpectedly. “You have the bearing, the look about you.”

  Gabriel did not want to lie to him. He said nothing.

  “You are not the fool the newspapers say.”

  Again he simply stood there.

  “Do not be concerned,” the baron continued. “Not many others would see it, but I was in the navy for twenty years and the admiralty office five. I have been with military men all my life. You have the rolling, balanced look of a naval officer.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you fight in the last war?”

  “Yes,” Gabriel said simply.

  “Against England?”

  “Yes.” Gabriel wasn’t sure why he was answering the questions. The answers could destroy everything he worked for. Yet there was something about this man—perhaps a memory—that told him he could be an ally. But not if he lied.

  “I knew your father,” the baron said. “He was a friend. I met you once. A bright lad. I hardly think you would have changed so much despite what you would have others believe.”

  Gabriel summoned up the images from his childhood, trying to remember the man who sat before him.

  “I was younger and slimmer then. My own lad was your age. He came late to us in life and he was a blessing.”

  He looked away and his eyes filled with tears. “I should have done more to help you and your mother then. It will be to my everlasting shame that I did not, but I had a commission in the navy, and the scandal threatened it. I knew your father was innocent. I couldn’t prove it, but I knew him … and I knew Stanhope.”

  His hand shook in his lap. “I had my own family to protect, you see.” Gabriel maintained his silence.

  “And now I do not. My wife died, and Reggie was killed last year. I have nothing left but memories and regrets. I did not honor my name.”

  His gaze met Gabriel’s. “I saw in the news sheets that you had returned. I had thought about contacting you and offering my apologies. But then …”

  “You thought I did not care.”

  “A possibility.”

  Gabriel was reluctant to continue the conversation. He’d already revealed too much to a man he did not know and whose backbone was admittedly less than Gabriel thought acceptable. “The horse?” he said.

  But the baron was not going to let go. “You are going after Stanhope and his friends.” A statement, not a query.

  “How could I do that? It was a long time ago.”

  “Things like that brand a boy. And a man.” Tolvery leaned forward. “I will not ask any more questions, but I have a debt to pay. Specter is yours, and if I can help in any way …”

  “No,” Gabriel said, his voice hardening. “I will not accept a gift in lieu of loyalty. My mother needed friends.”

  “Yes,” Tolvery whispered. “Then ask what you will.”

  “The same as when I entered. I will pay for the horse. I would like to board him here. And I would like to occasionally use the phaeton and carriages, but only if I pay for them.”

  The baron nodded. “It is done. Just let young Jock know when you need him. He is a reliable lad, and he loves Specter, as he loved my son.” His gaze moved to a portrait. “Everyone did, you see. He was everything I was not. He lived for honor.”

  Gabriel nodded. He could not do more.

  How many other friends of his father had betrayed him?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monique put off her suitors for several days. Rejection, she found, increased desirability.

  She had sent her regrets to Stanhope and he had not yet answered. Daven called at her home daily and attended the play yet another time. Stammel had sent imported chocolates and said he hoped she would go riding with him soon.

  She finally accepted when he appeared at noon and begged her to go riding that afternoon. She started to refuse. It was, after all, deplorably late notice, and she truly needed a respite from her masquerade.

  But the day was glorious, and she had heard much about Hyde Park. A ritual for the nobility in London. A place to see and be seen. She liked the idea. It was bound to raise the betting to a feverish pitch.

  And Stammel had been the least forceful of the three. Perhaps she needed to charm him into being more of a competitor.

  “Thank you, Lord Stammel,” she said. “You may pick me up at three, and I must be at the theater in time for my performance.”

  Stammel beamed. Whether it was because he really cared for her company or the fact he would be seen as successful in the contest, she didn’t know. She didn’t care as long as it incensed Stanhope.

  She had thought that the two men—Stammel and Daven—would fear Stanhope enough to back away. But all three seemed intent on seeing the wager to its end.

  She selected a gown carefully. She would not be outrageous this afternoon as she met more of the ton. The dress was of a light blue muslin with a minimal amount of decoration, unlike the many flourishes on so many gowns today. It did have long sleeves and a high neck and was eminently respectable. Dani helped her into it, and perched a hat on top of gathered curls.

  Monique looked in a box of jewelry and selected a simple bead bracelet, the only piece of jewelry her mother had. She had been given other pieces by protectors in France, but those had been sold off as her mother grew older and protectors became more stingy.

  Monique had collected other pieces since then, mostly good replicas. But today she wanted something that connected her with her mother, and this particular br
acelet was all she had. She had not worn it when she thought she might meet Stanhope. He might have recognized it, since her mother had always worn it.

  She waited for Stammel’s arrival in the downstairs sitting room. She had a distaste for being even fashionably late, even for the likes of Stammel and his companions.

  He arrived exactly at three with an armful of flowers and imported candy. His face was wreathed in an eager smile.

  “It is a lovely day,” he announced, and for a moment she wondered how he could breathe. His poor valet had probably spent hours stuffing him into clothes meant for a leaner man.

  “At your request?” she said with a smile.

  He looked puzzled, as if wondering what she meant. Then realization flooded his face. “Why … yes,” he replied. “I ordered it just for you. Are you ready to go?”

  “Oui. I have been looking forward to it. I have heard that Hyde Park is quite lovely.”

  “It is. All the beau monde turns out on a day such as today.”

  “Do you not have business?”

  “Nothing is more important than you, mademoiselle,” he said gallantly.

  “That is very kind,” she replied. “I do have one reservation, though. I have heard that there are sometimes ruffians in the park.”

  “Be assured I can protect you,” he said.

  “I will feel very safe then,” she said.

  He was a bore. Insufferable. But she preferred his company to that of her father’s. Stanhope was evil. This man was corrupt. There was a difference.

  She pasted her smile back on her face as he led her to the curricle. Two very fine bay horses were being held by Stammel’s tiger.

  He helped her step up on the seat and took the reins.

  She made several admiring comments about the horses and carriage, and the way he drove, which he did very well. Then she settled back in the seat and enjoyed the drive. It was a warm day for London.

  Heads turned to stare at the stylish carriage, the matched horses, and the occupants. Stammel obviously enjoyed the curiosity.

  He turned into Hyde Park, and she was greeted by the sight of a multitude of phaetons and other types of carriages as well as walkers and horsemen.

  They passed several carriages, and she saw a certain pattern that amused her. Stammel nodded courteously as they passed other carriages, stopping twice to introduce her.

  She tried to remember names. If these were friends of Stammel, no doubt they were also friends of Stanhope’s. There were the Viscount Thayer and his Viscountess; Lord and Lady Russell. If they did not stop, he might well identify the occupants of the passing conveyance.

  As a ritual it was fascinating, and she could not disguise her interest. Hyde Park had the air of unreality. People driving along paths in endless procession.

  “Have you seen Lord Daven recently?” she asked innocently.

  “No,” Stammel said abruptly.

  “Are you not in business together?”

  “We have some interests in common,” he said, obviously reluctant to talk about another man. “But I have others of my own. Daven is not the most cautious of men, and he owes most of the merchants in London.”

  “I thought he was a very wealthy gentleman.”

  Stammel raised an eyebrow, as if questioning that statement.

  Monique did not say anything, just allowed Stammel to feel that he had gotten his point across. Daven had money problems and would not be the best protector for her.

  She would have to find a way to tell Daven that.

  They were turning back to the main path leading out of the park when a man on a gray horse approached them. Her heart tripped and stumbled over itself. The dratted man. Was he everywhere?

  He headed straight for her.

  Gabriel enjoyed the first outing with his new mount, though it was a bittersweet journey. He rode to the Manchester estate, making it there and back in three days.

  He arrived in late afternoon, riding hard and stopping only long enough to rest his mount.

  His grandfather’s—now his—estate was much as described by Pickwick. It was in drastic need of repairs. He walked through drafty halls stained by rainwater leaking through a roof. A few paintings remained. His ancestors, he supposed.

  Everything of value had been stripped away, most likely by his grandfather and father’s brothers. The furniture was even more worn than the overused fields. Carpets had rotted, the roof leaked, and decay was everywhere. Having neither the interest nor funds even to try to restore it, he would do as Pickwick suggested; allow it to revert to the Crown. He made himself a promise that he would provide funds for the few elderly retainers who remained.

  He felt not the slightest jolt of regret at releasing the property, no connection to it. Only relief that nothing here drew him to it. His life was in America.

  However, no one else was to know that yet.

  He hadn’t seen his shadow upon returning home late on the third day, but there was a man in a wagon sitting not far down the road. Changed tactics? He was too tired to care. Tomorrow he would take up the game again.

  He had accomplished one thing. He had seen the estate and it had no emotional power over him. No sense of obligation or heritage. Now he could concentrate on the reason that had drawn him to London.

  The wagon was gone when he woke the next day. He did not see his follower, but he suspected the man—or someone else—was lurking around. Gabriel intended to lose whoever it might be. He wanted to see Stammel’s residence, and he wanted privacy to accomplish it.

  He arrived at the baron’s home in the afternoon and watched as the groom saddled Specter. He’d given the lad a few shillings last night, and the lad grinned at him. “He is like ’is old self. Frisky, he is.”

  “Because he has a fine groom,” Gabriel observed.

  The lad beamed as Gabriel mounted and settled into the saddle. Leaving the stable, he looked around the street. No one. But then if the man was any good at his calling, he wouldn’t be easily seen, especially if he thought he had once been sighted.

  Gabriel had always enjoyed walking, but Specter gave him the freedom he needed. He wished he had considered obtaining a horse earlier, and not just as a way to keep Smythe occupied. But he hadn’t planned on staying in London that long, and he hadn’t wanted a responsibility. The arrangement he had now with Baron Tolvery was perfect.

  He nudged the horse into a fast walk, wanting to look behind to see if he was still being followed but, heeding his better sense, he did not. Instead he walked the horse for several blocks, finding himself going in the direction of Monique Fremont’s rooms. He was turning a corner as he saw a carriage pull away. A very fashionable carriage. Lord Stammel and Monique.

  Gabriel decided to follow at a distance.

  Mademoiselle Fremont was certainly doing very well for herself.

  When it was obvious that they were going to Hyde Park, he pulled away and turned down a different lane. He wanted his meeting with Stammel and Monique Fremont to appear accidental.

  As he reached the park, he saw a young girl selling flowers and on a whim purchased a bouquet of rather motley blooms, tossed her two shillings, and earned a brilliant smile as she looked at the coins with disbelieving eyes.

  “Thank ye, milord,” she said.

  He nodded and continued.

  He felt the fool with the bouquet tucked on the saddle, but he moved on, watching curiously as the lords and ladies drove around in handsome carriages. He inclined his head now and then when he recognized someone. Not many. His acquaintances had been limited to the gaming hells, Stanhope’s soiree, and the ball.

  Specter drew appreciative glances. He drew curious ones.

  Then he saw Stammel’s carriage in front of him. He urged his mount forward as it approached. Stammel had no choice but to stop and acknowledge him.

  Gabriel bowed slightly from his position on the horse. “I understand we might soon be business partners.”

  “I look forward to it,” Stammel said.
“Stanhope says you are an astute businessman.”

  “I have done quite well in Boston,” Gabriel admitted. “But I would not like to bore Mademoiselle Fremont.” He offered the flowers to Monique. “A young girl was selling these and she was quite charming. I could not resist and now I am delighted I could not. They are not as lovely as you, but I hope you will accept them.”

  “And if I had not come into your path, my lord?”

  “I would have found them another home, but none, I think, as suitable as yours.”

  “Charmingly said,” she returned. “I would not like to see them orphaned.”

  He grinned at her quip as Stammel glared.

  “Ah,” she said. “A flower girl, you say.”

  “She had only a few left and she looked weary.” He immediately knew he shouldn’t have added the last.

  “Ah,” she said. “The American marquess has a heart?”

  “A whim,” he insisted again.

  She reached out to take the flowers, and Gabriel saw the flash of resentment in Stammel’s eyes.

  As she took them in her arms, he saw something fall from her wrist onto the ground. He knew he should mention it to her, but instead he backed the horse slightly and gave a bow of his head. “Good afternoon, my lord. Mademoiselle.”

  She gave him a smile that lit her eyes this time. “Merci, monsieur.”

  “Lord Manchester,” Stammel said and flicked the reins. The horses moved forward.

  Gabriel waited several moments, then saw another carriage coming. He quickly dismounted and took up a single bead bracelet, then mounted again.

  Now he had a very good reason to visit Monique Fremont. He hadn’t thought a personal visit from him would have been accepted now that he was calling on Lady Pamela.

  He looked forward to a few private moments with Monique. Perhaps he could discover more about her and why she had focused on the three men who had also drawn his attention.

  He looked at the simple bracelet. It did not look like something she would wear. Her clothes were all expensive, elegant in their simplicity. They were designed to compliment her, not to take attention away from her. There were no bows, little lace, few flounces. No ribbons.