“And for that you sell me?”
“It is your decision, mademoiselle. I am merely giving you the opportunity. Take it or not.” He turned to leave.
Monique relented. She had pushed him to introduce her to Stanhope and his friends.
But she did wonder what he had been offered to give her permission to miss several performances. It was not due to ego but realism that she knew she had been responsible for the steady crowds. He would have some disappointed patrons. So Stanhope must have dangled a substantial plum in front of his eyes, the prospect that the theater would be licensed by the Crown. She wondered just how Stanhope would do that, since it was very rare indeed.
Did he really have that kind of power? Did his influence reach into the royal family and Parliament?
“Thank you,” she said. “I will accept your offer.” In truth, it was what she had wanted. It was dangerous, yes. But it might well end the game sooner.
He nodded, looking relieved.
Just as he left someone else rapped at the door.
Lynch again, probably.
She went to the door herself and opened it, only to find the Marquess of Manchester lounging outside, overdressed and wearing that foolish quizzing glass. But by now she knew he did it only to deceive.
He gave her an exaggerated bow. “Mademoiselle Fremont.”
Her heart speeded, even at the travesty he made of himself. She told herself it was only because of last night. She wanted to know whether he had recognized Dani or not. Apparently he had or he would not have been here.
Despite the intimacy of the waltz, the kiss they had exchanged, he had made no effort whatsoever to pursue any romantic course with her. He had not called on her. He had not even asked her to have supper with him. Despite the heat in his eyes and the amused smile on his lips, he’d never gone beyond a seductive look and a kiss that apparently meant nothing to him.
And yet she could not help but feel they were locked in some complex dance that neither of them understood. At least, she did not. She wondered whether he did.
“My lord,” she acknowledged. “I must leave for the theater shortly.”
“I will not stay long then,” he said. “I believe I might have found something that belongs to you.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out the bead bracelet. “A pretty trifle,” he added.
She stared up at him. “But how …”
“I saw it after your carriage had pulled away. I thought about catching up with it, but then I was not entirely sure it belonged to you.”
But he was. She saw it in his eyes. So why hadn’t he approached her then?
Did he sense she didn’t want Stammel to see it? Or did he just want an excuse of a visit? But he didn’t need an excuse. Other men had paid visits without one.
She reached for it. “Merci, my lord, but the visit wasn’t necessary. It means little to me.”
“Oh, in that case, I will keep it as a token.” His eyes held that infernal amusement, as if everything was a game.
“Non,” she said sharply. “As meaningless as it is, it is mine.” Her hand was still stretched forward.
He hesitated, then dropped it into her hand. “To the contrary, mademoiselle, it must mean a great deal to you if you sent out your maid like a thief in the night to retrieve it.”
“I am not sure what you mean.”
“An excellent attempt, but I recognized your Danielle trying to escape a groom who was chasing her.” He paused. “It does mean something to you?”
“Why do you care? It is none of your affair.”
“Because we continue to see each other in somewhat … odd circumstances.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to continue as her fingers closed around her bracelet.
“You have an interest in three gentlemen who also interest me. I wonder why?”
“Is it so strange? I can tell you my interest. They are powerful and wealthy. I would be delighted to hear yours, if I but had the time. As it is, I can discuss nothing at the moment. I will be late for tonight’s performance.”
“A midnight supper?” he asked.
It was obvious he was not going to let her go without a commitment. It was blackmail plain and simple. He was holding Dani’s life hostage.
“Where?” she asked.
“Here,” he said. “It would be more … private that way. If, that is, you have discreet servants.”
“Dani is completely trustworthy. I believe my cook also to be reliable.”
“I am being followed,” he said with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. “You should probably know that.”
She hoped her eyes did not reveal anything. “Why should I care?”
“It could be a jealous admirer.”
“I cannot imagine why. I have not accepted anyone as a protector.”
His eyes were hypnotic. For a second she thought he might suspect her, but how?
“I wondered whether you might have heard something,” he said. “I cannot imagine why anyone would be interested in my movements.”
“No, my lord. I have heard nothing.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes again, as if he knew she was lying.
“Then tonight,” he said.
“After the performance.”
“Yes.”
He reached out and took her hand and leaned down with exaggerated politeness and kissed it. She wore no gloves and the sensation shot through her body.
She nodded, then stepped back and shut the door on him.
She leaned against the door—and said a small prayer. How did he anger her, amuse her, challenge her, attract her all at the same time?
More importantly, what did he want from her? What would he do with the knowledge that Dani had been on Stammel’s property?
The bracelet had been far more important to her than Gabriel had thought.
She’d tried to school her face, but he’d seen the flash of relief and even joy when she saw it.
It was—as she said—a trifle. Probably not worth more than a pound. But it was more than a decoration to her. A gift from a lover? A family member?
Who was she?
She spoke perfect English. He had seen few people who could speak both French and English flawlessly, without even a hint of an accent. She was an actress. She studied voices and accents, but even then … he would have sworn that she had an English background.
He would find out later this evening.
He also saw the slightest flicker in her eyes when he mentioned he was being followed. Or was it the absence of surprise? Either way, he believed she knew something about it.
But in the event he was mistaken, he would lead his shadow on another merry chase tomorrow. Or maybe he would even stop him and demand an answer. But if he was wrong, then he would be exposing a part of him. The man he was pretending to be would not notice such a thing.
He put his beaver hat back on his head and walked down the steps and down the street. He would retrieve Specter, take care of a few errands, including a visit to Pickwick, the solicitor. And then he would lose Mr. Black, the name he had given his shadow because he dressed in that somber color.
He would pay a visit to Lady Pamela to soothe her father, then be at Monique’s door again.
He could barely wait to hear her story this time.
How much to tell him?
Monique’s mind wondered through that problem as she performed a role she knew so very well.
What if their interests merged? What if they did not?
He could be an ally. He could also be an enemy.
Dani was the only person on earth she had trusted with her secrets.
Yet something in her felt an odd connection to him. They shot lightning off each other. Which meant nothing, of course. It did not mean she could trust him with even the smallest bit of information.
Especially the fact she was Stanhope’s daughter. His bastard daughter.
That information could be fatal to them both. She
had no illusions that the man who fathered her would hesitate to kill her or anyone else who got in his way. Especially if he thought they had any information that would further harm his reputation, information that he had tried to have her mother and herself killed.
She had a few hours to invent a story the marquess would believe.
He had the same.
Now why did she think that?
Despite her personal distractions, the applause was as strong as it had been every night. If she was not as luminous as in past performances, no one seemed to notice.
Or maybe they had noticed a sparkle of battle in her eyes. Perhaps the very light that he seemed to awaken in her.
Several times her eyes had swept the audience. He—the marquess—was not there. Neither was Stanhope or Stammel.
After the play she and Dani took the carriage home, her heart racing as she did so. She had prepared some lies. She had prepared part of the truth. She wasn’t sure which she would use. Manchester would demand answers, and so would she. She could only hope that she would be better at controlling the unwanted reactions he usually ignited in her than in previous meetings.
“What are you going to tell him?” Dani asked.
“I do not know. But I want you to stay out of sight.”
Dani nodded. “I do not feel he wants to do you harm,” she said. “I like him. Even for a lord. He does not give much away, but I feel there is something good about him.”
Monique was not convinced about the “good” part. He was a gambler. He was paying court to a young woman he obviously did not care about, and the only reason could be her fortune. He made it his business to seek the company of scoundrels and cheats and killers.
He was obviously ruthless if not the fool he sometimes played.
He was most definitely not a fool.
Nor a bumbler.
Could he be an imposter? She’d considered several explanations to his chameleonlike shell. Could he have taken on the identity of the real marquess who had been in America for so many years?
And why were his efforts directed toward Stanhope? Because he was wealthy and powerful and looked like a good target?
She hoped she would know in the next few hours.
She truly hoped she would know more about him than he learned about her.
They arrived at her lodgings, and the driver put down the steps and helped them alight, then waited until they were inside.
Mrs. Miller met them there. “You have a visitor, miss,” she said.
So he was here already. She turned to Dani. “You might want to leave.”
“Too late,” came a voice from the direction of the small sitting room to her right.
She whirled around. “You are early, Lord Manchester. Are you not aware it is poor manners?”
“I am not particularly known for my manners, Miss Fremont.” He smiled. “And why not include … Danielle, is it?… in our discussion about last night?”
Dani looked startled, a little like a trapped rabbit.
“Because she is tired and deserves some consideration,” Monique said as smoothly as her racing heart allowed. “She was indeed up late last night trying to retrieve something that was mine.”
“Such loyalty,” he noted.
It could have been mockery, but Monique considered it more praise. “Dani has been with me a long time.”
“You should not send her on dangerous errands.”
“She did not send me, sir,” Dani said. “I went on my own because I knew she was worried about—” She stopped abruptly.
“The bracelet, I know. Is that worth Newgate Prison?”
“I would have explained,” Dani said. “I did not need your assistance.”
“I don’t think Stammel is the type of man who listens to servants,” he said. “Much could have happened between the time she was taken until the time you could find her.”
A warning. And it struck at her like a hammer. He was right. She had tacitly approved Dani’s mission. It had been a mistake.
She nodded. “You are right, monsieur.”
“My name is Gabriel,” he said. “It is friendlier.”
“You are not my friend.”
“No?”
“Neither is it proper.”
“I didn’t think you were overly concerned with what is proper.”
Of course, he didn’t. He had seen her first at a gaming hell, then in the company of a notorious man. And he was right. She had never cared about proprieties. They were for people who could afford them.
“There are good reasons for proprieties,” she said stiffly.
“To keep people at a distance, you mean,” he replied with amusement. “But you and I have gone beyond that, have we not?”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do,” he said. “There is something between us, something that neither of us wants.” He turned to Dani. “And I will keep your nighttime activities to myself.”
Monique felt the heat rising in the room, just as it always did when he was near. She wanted Dani here, and yet …
“Dani, will you tell Mrs. Miller to prepare a meal for us?”
“Yes, mademoiselle,” she said, using the formality she usually did with outsiders present and escaped from the tension in the room. Dani couldn’t help but have felt it.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“You are an attractive woman. Why should I want anything but your company?”
“You have the company of Pamela Kane.”
“A mutual agreement between the two of us,” he said. “She has a young man back home. An unsuitable one, I think. If I act the suitor, then her father will not push her off on someone else.”
“An act of kindness, my lord?”
“It benefits both of us,” he said.
“Because it brings you closer to the Earl of Stanhope?”
“He is a wealthy man. I am in need of funds. He is someone who can help me invest.”
“You would not be in need of funds, if you did not gamble.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I read the newspapers.”
“Every member of the nobility gambles,” he said.
“Is that why you do it?”
“I must admit I also enjoy a wager.”
“You talk in riddles, my lord. Or are you really the Marquess of Manchester?”
He looked at her closely. “You doubt that?”
“I think something is not as it seems.”
“Not that, Miss Fremont. I am truly the Marquess of Manchester through some macabre progression of circumstances. I did not ask for it. I did not particularly want it. But here I am. Nobility. From poverty to estates, even if it is bankrupt.” His voice was filled with irony and amusement.
It was an oddly attractive combination, but then everything about him attracted her. Everything except that infernal quizzing glass that was gratefully absent at the moment.
His green eyes attracted her. The emerald-green gaze seemed to see everything, to peer inside the heart she’d always kept guarded. The unruly sandy hair that could never quite be tamed. The lean hard body that did not belong to a fool or gambler. He had the kind of muscles that came from activity, from hard work. He radiated confidence, at least when he wasn’t acting the fool.
He wasn’t doing that now.
“What do you really want?” she said in a low voice.
“What do you want? What game are you playing?”
They were dancing again. Whirling around and around and never getting anywhere.
“I only want security,” she lied. She wanted to tell him everything. How she wanted to tell him. But she still was not sure of his character. Still not sure he would not use it for some ploy of his own. She also worried that it would put him in danger.
“You can have security. You can probably have any man you want. Why Stanhope? Why someone who might have murdered his wife?”
She went still. “You a
pparently still want to do business with him.”
“And you still want to play games with him.” He shot the words back at her. “He is a dangerous man to cross.”
“How do you know?”
He hesitated too long. Now she knew that it was not only wealth he wanted from Stanhope.
Just then Dani returned. “Mrs. Miller wants to know whether to serve supper in the dining room or here.”
“In the dining room,” Monique said hurriedly. She was too close to him now. The slightly musky scent of him was intoxicating. His closeness raised the heat in the room.
She backed away a few steps, then turned. “My lord, the supper I promised you is ready.”
“You promised something else as well.”
“Supper will have to do for now. I am always hungry after a performance. I seldom eat dinner beforehand.”
He bowed. “Then I will wait.” He started to follow her. “But not for long,” he added in a low voice.
She tried to ignore his words as she led the way to the small, much too intimate dining room. Strange she had never realized how small it was until now. Probably because she had seldom dined here. She usually ate in her bedroom with Dani.
The table gleamed with china and crystal glasses. Mrs. Miller seemed very pleased with herself as she satisfied herself that all was prepared. There was chicken. Bread. Cheese. Grapes and other fruits. A bottle of wine was uncorked.
Because of a marquess? Or had he worked magic while he had waited for her?
She started to give him a sideways glance and saw that he had no such reservations. His perusal of her was bold and open and intense.
She took a piece of chicken and nibbled. Her usual appetite had faded.
He watched her even more intently.
“Are you not hungry?” she asked. She immediately regretted the statement. Hunger was in his eyes but it was not the kind of hunger she meant.
She hoped her own desire did not show as obviously. She was using food to disguise it when really her stomach churned inside. Or was it just that deep, internal ache that occurred every time she was in his presence, and never so much as at this very moment?
She’d wondered from the beginning what about this loutish American marquess attracted her. Now she knew. The façade cloaked a very complex and obviously intelligent man. What she did not know was his intent. And what he would do to accomplish whatever it was he was after.
Dancing with a Rogue Page 21
