Dancing with a Rogue

by Potter, Patricia;

  Satisfaction coursed through Gabriel. He stepped inside what was obviously a game room. His gaze wandered about the room as if he had heard nothing. A huge mahogany billiard table dominated the room. Other tables, including one with a magnificent chess set, were artfully scattered around.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to interrupt. I hope you do not mind my wandering about, but I was looking for Lady Pamela. I thought perhaps a stroll …”

  Stanhope immediately dropped his cue and approached Gabriel, his hand outstretched. “So good of you to come to our little weekend,” he said heartily. “Have you seen my daughter yet?”

  “Very briefly as I arrived,” Gabriel said. “She looked charming.” He looked around the room. “Your home is magnificent.”

  “Thank you,” Stanhope said with pride. “I have restored it since my father died. As for my daughter, I hope you will see much of her this weekend.”

  “It will be my great delight,” Gabriel replied extravagantly.

  “Would you like to join us for a game of billiards?”

  Stammel shot Gabriel a baleful glance.

  “I have little experience with billiards,” Gabriel said.

  “I will teach you,” Stanhope said. “Every gentleman should know the game.”

  “Then I am your pupil,” Gabriel agreed.

  “And perhaps, a game of cards after. I understand you enjoy a game of chance.”

  “I do not have much coin with me.”

  “Your note is good,” Stanhope said.

  Gabriel nodded, allowing a pleased smile to spread across his face.

  Stanhope handed him a cue.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Monique desired a bath. It had been a long, bumpy ride, and she felt dusty and stale. Mother in Heaven but she needed to relax after the long journey and particularly after seeing the detestable Manchester again.

  After a parade of footmen filled the small tub with hot water, she slid into it. It was, unfortunately, not of the size and convenience of the one in her rooms.

  But the hot water felt good. She wanted to wash away Manchester’s scent, which she imagined still clung to her. And she had business to do tonight.

  The water cooled only too quickly, and she accepted the wrap Dani offered her.

  She had to prepare for supper. It would be difficult with Manchester there. She would ignore him as he deserved to be ignored. Tonight she would be charming for Stanhope and his friends.

  Dani helped her dress. Her gown was a deep red velvet with a low neck and long sleeves. It was a heavy garment, and not one of her favorites to wear, but it could hardly be missed.

  A bell rang throughout the manor. Thirty minutes before supper. The maid who’d shown her to the rooms had explained that a bell would precede the actual call to supper.

  Dani worked with her hair, pulling it to the back with combs and pins and allowing tendrils to fall to the left of her face. Then a touch of rouge made from red sandalwood. “You will put all the other women to shame,” Dani said.

  “Rubbish,” Monique said. “I will look like the courtesan, the fashionably unpure.” And, she reminded herself, she was exactly that now, thanks to Manchester.

  Minutes later, she was ready.

  “Why do you not go downstairs and talk to the servants? We must know which room is Stanhope’s,” she said.

  Dani nodded.

  Monique took her hand. “Be very careful.”

  “I always am,” Dani replied.

  Monique opened the door, took a deep breath. Hopefully, this would be one of her last performances.

  Dani waited until she left, then started down to the servant’s quarters, where she had been told she could fetch something to eat. She also wanted to pick up any gossip she could.

  She left the room only to find herself grabbed by a well-dressed portly gentleman. “Well, what do we have here?” he asked. His breath was foul with whiskey.

  She wrenched herself free and fled down the hall toward the back stairs. She ran straight into a body.

  She looked up and saw a large man with red hair. His hands caught her and kept her from falling. He wore a plain dark suit, obviously a valet to one of the guests.

  She backed away. “I am sorry, mon … sir.”

  A spare smile broke a plain, honest face and she remembered him from the inn. He had been with Manchester.

  “No need, miss,” he said, “I had something on my mind.”

  There was something about the earnest smile on the man’s face. “I did also. An errand for my mistress.”

  He paused and then said in a tone that seemed almost painfully delivered, “And I am looking for my lord.”

  Dani knew she should hurry on, but there was something about the man’s steady brown eyes that kept her from moving. He was very tall. She was smaller than most women. His hands were big, his shoulders very wide.

  His face was serious, his eyes concerned. His hands had been gentle when they had righted her. Yet there was nothing weak about him. She realized that immediately.

  “The Marquess of Manchester?” she asked.

  He looked at her curiously, then recognition lit them. “You were at the inn.”

  She nodded. “He has called on my mistress.”

  “I know little about his acquaintances,” the man said. “I was employed by him a few weeks ago.” He shifted awkwardly on his feet.

  “You do not look like a valet,” she said.

  “I was a soldier, but there is little need for them today. Lord Manchester hired me though I had little experience.”

  “You miss the army?”

  “I miss doing something I knew,” he said. “I make a poor valet. My lord had to teach me how to tie a cravat. I know I irritate him because I am always there. But I need the position and I am not sure how to please him.”

  She smiled up at his earnestness and the way he seemed to be surprised at his own words, that he was even uttering them. She told herself she only wanted more information for Monique, but there was something about him that made her feel comfortable. “You are happy with him?”

  “Yes,” he said simply. “He has been kind to my family. He gave my mother a position and allowed my young sister to move in. But he is not used to having a servant and I am not used to being one. We both struggle with that problem.”

  Dani was fascinated with him. “You fought in France?”

  “Yes,” he said simply, obviously realizing that she was French.

  She smiled to let him know she understood. Then she moved away. “I have an errand for my mistress.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “Monique Fremont. She is an actress.”

  “And you like your employment?”

  “Oui,” she said, suddenly almost speechless. Dani knew she should hurry on. She had never dithered like this before. She had never even been tempted to stay a moment in a man’s company.

  “I must go,” she said.

  “I hope we will meet again.”

  Dani was surprised by the fact that she hoped the same thing. Not only that, she wished she had combed her hair more neatly, that she wore something other than the black-and-white maid’s dress that she wore by her own choosing.

  She could only nod and dart around him, heading for the stairs.

  She forced herself not to look back. She didn’t have to. How could she forget his shy smile, which oddly complimented the large, formidable body.

  Gabriel lost badly at billiards, but recouped at several games of whist prior to supper. Guests had trickled into the room, one by one, and by supper time money flowed at the gaming tables.

  Stanhope had been the consistent winner at the tables, and Gabriel suspected he was cheating. Gabriel’s gaze would catch the earl running his fingers over the cards as he dealt. At the call for supper Stanhope had won several thousand pounds. As they parted, his host offered to keep the winnings in his safe upstairs. Games would resume later, he announced.

  Gabri
el followed his host up the stairs to dress for supper, noting that Stanhope continued to the end of the hall. He watched until Stanhope entered a room, then went to his own room.

  Smythe was waiting for him. He looked odd, almost as if he were in a trance, but Gabriel had no time to question him. It took all their efforts to get him into snug-fitting pantaloons and a waistcoat that was so tight he thought he would choke.

  When he returned to the great hall, where the guests were congregating, Stanhope was already there, Pamela by his side.

  “Manchester,” Stanhope said. “You will sit next to my daughter.”

  Gabriel bowed to Pamela, who was dressed simply in a white muslin dress with a high waist. Her hair was dressed only with a ribbon holding back curls. “Enchanted,” he said.

  She gave him a shy, grateful smile.

  He heard a loud gasp and turned around to see Monique enter the room. Everyone in the room had turned with him.

  She was magnificent. Her head was held high and she walked in like a queen. The dress fell in simple elegant folds around her, and its color contrasted with the pale colors the other women wore. Her eyes flashed and her lips parted in a smile both seductive and secretive.

  Several women waved their fans in disapproval, but the gaze of every man was fixed on her. Gabriel felt heat rise in his groin. Damn but his pants were tight enough already; he wondered if the sudden arousal showed. Then he noticed other men were having the same problem.

  But only he had held her, had touched her intimately. Only he had heard her sigh with wonder.

  He forced himself to turn his gaze back to his companion.

  “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Pamela said in a small voice.

  “Yes,” he said honestly. “But you too are quite lovely.”

  Her eyes held his, seeking the truth of it.

  “There is a fortunate young man, somewhere,” he said.

  She smiled and it truly did take his breath away.

  The rest of the meal was lost in trying to conquer the unruly emotions he felt. Desire coursed through him every time he glanced at Monique. So did anger. Despite all his warnings, she did not appear to realize she was clutching the tale of a tiger. He wanted to shake her. Hell, he wanted to put her on a horse and ride away.

  She certainly wouldn’t listen to him now. She despised him. And with reason. If only he had realized …

  He tried to make conversation with Pamela, but she was shy even now. “Your manor is exceptional,” he said.

  “It is not mine,” she said. “I live with my aunt some miles from here. Papa says he is gone too much and that I needed a woman’s influence. But I know he doesn’t like me.”

  He could not force himself to disagree, to lie. Stanhope did not care for another living thing. That was obvious. And he suspected she knew it and would detect a lie.

  “What do you enjoy in the country?”

  “I enjoy riding,” she said. “And read—” She stopped suddenly.

  “Do not stop,” he said.

  “Papa said everyone will consider me a bluestocking. He disapproves.”

  “I consider reading an asset,” he said. “I admire intelligence.”

  “So does Ro—” She stopped again.

  “So his name is Robert?” he said in a low enough voice that their neighbors could not hear.

  Her cheeks reddened. “You will not say anything …”

  “No,” he reassured her.

  Still, her hand trembled slightly.

  “I swear it,” he said.

  They were like a small island at the table. The gentleman next to him totally ignored him, and the guests across the table glanced at him as one would look at a zoo animal and then glanced at Pamela with sympathy. Monique had not once looked his way, and he noticed her deep in conversation with Stanhope. Too frequently her light laughter drifted down to him, and he wanted to …

  Hell, he wanted her in bed again. He wanted her hands running over his back. He wanted …

  “She is so vivacious,” Pamela said softly.

  “Aye,” he said.

  “I wish I could be like her.”

  He looked down at her again, her earnestness was reflected in blue eyes that were not quite as dark as Monique’s. Once again, he was struck by vague resemblances in their faces.

  “I like you the way you are,” he said.

  “You are nothing like they …” Again, she stopped.

  “And what do they say?”

  Her face flushed, and she went silent.

  He turned back to his food. There were innumerable offerings of beef and quail, venison and salmon. The sight of so much food killed what appetite he had.

  But he ate as his mind turned to more important matters, mainly the safe Stanhope mentioned. He wondered whether it had the same combination as the one in his town home. He had to find a way to get to it. The only time, he knew, would be at supper tomorrow night.

  Gabriel had one day to find it. He and the others would be leaving the day after tomorrow. That meant he had to find a way to miss supper tomorrow night. He needed an excuse that would eliminate him as a suspect.

  “Manchester,” Stanhope said loudly from the front of the table. “How do you find the English countryside?”

  “I find your part of it very amiable,” he replied.

  “You have not been to your holdings yet?”

  “I have,” he said, realizing everyone at the table was listening. Stanhope was deliberately baiting him. He had to know, as everyone had to know, that his holdings were poor.

  His eyes met Monique’s. Her expression was masked.

  Stammel spoke up. “Of course, your father’s name is a problem. Everyone remembers—”

  Gabriel bit back what he wanted to say. Instead, he said mildly, “That is history, my lord, and has nothing to do with me.”

  “We have just been at war with America,” said another. “Where were your sympathies?”

  “I have made my choice,” he said.

  “Oh, posh,” Monique said with a soft laughter. “Such dull conversation. I prefer to hear more about the prince and the ball that has all London talking.”

  In seconds everyone was talking about the upcoming ball that the Prince of Wales had announced. He was surprised at Monique’s assistance and, indeed, how neatly she had accomplished turning attention away from him.

  The rest of the supper was interminable. He engaged Pamela as much as he could, drawing out the fact that she also painted. Her eyes lit as she talked about it and her mare. She was obviously a gentle and sensitive soul, and he liked her tremendously. He hoped that the demise of Stanhope would make it possible for her to have her own life. He certainly did not want her hurt by his actions.

  Did she love her father as well as fear him?

  The meal finally drew to an end after plates of various desserts were offered to the guests.

  They stood, and Pamela said, “Thank you, my lord. I will join the ladies.”

  “Perhaps you will show me the gardens tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, then added mischievously, “Or perhaps Miss Fremont will.”

  “I think she is occupied,” he replied.

  “I think not,” she said, then turned and left before he could say anything more.

  “Join us for brandy and cigars,” Stanhope said, appearing at his side.

  “Of course,” Gabriel said. “And perhaps another game of whist.”

  As Monique had left the table, Stanhope bent over and kissed her hand.

  “I must entertain my guests,” he said. “But perhaps we can have a word later.”

  “I have had a long day, my lord,” she said. “I plan to retire shortly.”

  She saw anger in his eyes, and the effort he made to conceal it. He held her hand possessively. “It is time to make your choice, Miss Fremont.”

  “Two more weeks,” she reminded him. “You promised …”

  “I promised nothing. I thought only to humor you for a w
hile.”

  She looked up at him with an expression that usually won whatever she wanted.

  He would have none of it. “Do not play with me, Monique.”

  She felt a chill run through her, even terror. She forced herself to look up at him. “I made a bargain with the other two. I cannot break it.”

  “We will see about that,” he said in a low voice.

  Then he turned around with a smile and accepted a compliment over the supper.

  She recalled Manchester’s warning.

  “Miss Fremont.”

  She turned around. One of the wives was standing there. “We are retiring to the music room. Will you join us?”

  It was the last thing she wanted, but she had no choice. She wanted to retire to her room. She wanted to sort out impressions. She wanted to wash away the memory of Manchester smiling so easily at Pamela.

  “Merci. That would be very pleasant,” she said.

  Aware that she was asked only out of politeness to the host and most certainly not for herself, she obediently followed the other ladies into a room dominated by a pianoforte. A young woman was asked to play and sat down at the pianoforte. She played well enough and had a pleasant voice, but the song had little appeal for Monique.

  She wanted to leave and would have were it not for the presence of Pamela Kane. Monique found it hard to keep her eyes from her half sister, from the unhappiness in her eyes.

  Just moments ago, Pamela had conversed with Manchester with lively interest. She had smiled.

  Was her sister falling in love with a man Monique knew to be a rogue?

  And what could she do about it? What should she do?

  Manchester was only using Pamela to get to her father.

  Just, she feared, as he had used her.

  His leaving that morning remained a festering wound, but she had no intention of letting him know it. That was one reason she’d stepped in tonight when he’d obviously been a baited bear. She did not want to see anyone humiliated that way, particularly when she remembered the pain in his voice when he had spoken of his father.

  Or was that too only an act?

  Pamela rose, declared she had a headache. It was all that Monique needed. She too, stood. “I am feeling a bit ill,” she said.