Dancing with a Rogue

by Potter, Patricia;

  She felt the usual glow of pleasure as flowers rather than fruit were thrown on the stage.

  Lynch beamed as he met her when she and her leading man left the stage. “Magnificent, mademoiselle.”

  “Merci,” she replied. Then, “Have you seen Lord Stanhope?”

  “No,” he said.

  “And you have said nothing, of course?”

  Red started to creep into his cheeks. She knew at that moment that he had told someone. “I … of course not.… You told me not to say anything, but I did ask a gentleman to keep an eye on you. You are very important to me, and …”

  “What gentleman?”

  “A patron of the theater. A man in the government. He was here tonight, his third time. He does not care for Lord Stanhope, and I thought—”

  “You might well have signed my death warrant,” Monique said.

  “No, no. He said he would be very discreet. He said he will investigate Stammel’s death. Lord Stanhope would not dare to harm you if people suspect … I am only looking out for you.”

  He was stumbling over his words now. Whether it was his sincere desire to help her, to get his license for serious drama, or his love of gossip, it made no difference. The rumor was out now.

  She looked at him with approbation. “What is done is done. If anything happens to me, or if I must leave London, it lies at your door.”

  He wrung his hands together. “I … I …”

  “I will never confide in you again, Monsieur Lynch,” she said righteously. She turned away from him and marched to her dressing room.

  The third and final act was about to begin.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Monique knew Manchester would return to her rooms tonight despite the fact it was already near midnight.

  She knew it as well as she knew she would be waiting.

  They were like thunder and lightning together.

  She wanted to see him. More than she knew it was possible to want to see someone.

  At the same time she hoped not to see him. Because every time she did, he became more essential to her.

  She also knew that if she did what she was contemplating, Manchester would be lost to her. It would end any hope of a future with him.

  But his life was more important than her future. She kept telling herself that perhaps she could have both. But she couldn’t. All those years of fear would not go away. As long as Stanhope was free, she could never be free.

  And the more she saw of what Stanhope was doing with Pamela the more she realized that running would be an act of cowardice. Perhaps if it had just been herself, she could forget it. But it wasn’t. She had a half sister, and Pamela would never be free if her father had the power to manipulate and use her. Stanhope’s disgrace might well be her sister’s only deliverance. Only then could she go with her young man without destroying his family.

  She had to bring it about. And she had to do it without Manchester. She had to protect both him and her sister. And that meant making sure he was on a ship to America. He would be where he belonged, where he had people who cared about him, and whom he cared about.

  A sea captain. That image was far more attractive to her than that of a marquess. It required little character to become the latter. It was an accident of birth. She supposed it required a great deal of character and competence to captain a ship.

  At the time he’d admitted to being a sailor, his eyes had lit and his lips had had a slight wistful smile. She realized he missed the sea, and she instinctively felt he loved it. She, on the other hand, responded to the approval of an audience. She lived fictional lives and became those people during the length of her contract. It had been a matter of escape years ago. Then it had become a way of life. Who was Merry Anders? Who was Monique Fremont? Once upon a time, it had been very clear. Now she no longer knew.

  She was nothing but a shadow. Someone who took the forms of her parts.

  And, dear Mother in Heaven, she loved him. He filled the empty places in her heart, places she kept hidden since she was a child. She hadn’t admitted that void to anyone. Not even to Dani. She had never acknowledged those barren landscapes before.

  She had never expected them to be filled. Her distrust of men had been too strong. She had lived most of her life shadowed by her mother’s fear and the succession of her mother’s “protectors.” None of them had proved themselves to be that. Monique had, in truth, barely escaped their advances more times than she wanted to count.

  Now Manchester was like a hurricane sweeping through her life, washing away all the fears, the loneliness. Washing away everything but determination to put an evil to rest.

  She looked outside. No fog tonight, and the gas lamps lit the street. A carriage passed but did not stop. Then she saw a lone horseman.

  The rider passed her lodgings and she realized he must be taking the animal to a mews around the corner. He would unsaddle his horse and water and feed him before arriving at her door.

  Dani had already gone to bed. Monique brushed her hair for several moments, then sat at the window waiting. She saw the figure, dressed in a cloak and a beaver hat pulled down over his head, walk toward her residence. She sped downstairs to open the door as he reached the top step.

  He took off his hat and stood there with a smile on his lips. “I’ve missed you,” he said.

  “It has not been that long.”

  “You are supposed to say you missed me also.”

  “Am I?”

  “It is only polite.”

  “I have never been polite.”

  “Perhaps that is why I like you so much.”

  She realized she was standing in the open door in only her night robe. She moved inside, and he followed.

  “Would you like a brandy?”

  “Yes.”

  He followed her to the sitting room, where a bottle of fine brandy was kept. She was very aware of his eyes on her as she poured two glasses of brandy. She made his much larger.

  “Are you trying to get me intoxicated?” he asked as he took it. “You do not have to, you know. I am already intoxicated. You are much too beautiful.”

  She’d been told that many times, but it had never meant anything to her. Beauty could be a curse as much as a boon. But now she felt a catch in her throat.

  “Somehow I do not think you are a man to overindulge.”

  He took a sip of brandy. “Have you heard the news?”

  “About Lord Stammel?”

  “Aye.”

  She nodded.

  “It had to be Stanhope.”

  She was silent. Waiting.

  “I talked to him today. He is willing to take me on as a partner despite the fact I do not have the funds he demanded. He plans a shipment of arms and supplies to Ireland. He wants me to accompany them aboard the ship. To make sure he is not cheated.”

  “His trust in you is touching,” she said.

  “Except I believe we are all meant to go to the bottom of the sea.”

  “Why?”

  “He would receive insurance on goods that do not exist. And the added bonus of my money. That, I believe, is what happened with my father. Stanhope substituted empty crates for good and planned for the ship to sink, whereby he could claim insurance for the goods that did not exist. But some seamen unexpectedly escaped, and they had noticed the boxes were lighter than they should be. It was then Stanhope reluctantly said he had left all purchases to my father and produced documents to prove it. Unfortunately they had been forged.”

  “And do you plan to go to the bottom of the sea?”

  “I have a little surprise. A little reverse process.”

  “And if you miscalculate?”

  “I’ve stayed alive by not miscalculating.”

  “So has Stanhope.”

  “True enough,” he said. “But he has no idea of what I am about. And I know exactly what he is about.”

  “He killed Lord Stammel.”

  “We do not know that.”

  “Do w
e not?”

  He was silent this time.

  “If he would kill his friend for stealing from him, what would he do to you?” she continued. She looked up at his face, pleading with him. “I think Lord Daven might turn on him without your risking your life. I plan to see him tomorrow night. Plant a few seeds in his mind. If he believes Stanhope killed Stammel, he might think he is next.”

  “He is no match for Stanhope.”

  “I am not so sure of that,” she said softly.

  “I want you out of this,” he said. “I have bought passage for Smythe and his family to America. And for you and Dani.”

  “When?”

  “It is after midnight now. The ship leaves in about thirty hours.”

  “And the one that is to carry you?”

  “Another day.”

  Apprehension ran down her spine. “Go with us,” she said suddenly.

  “He will be suspicious if I disappear suddenly. All this will be for naught. I will make sure Pamela is all right. Then I will follow you.”

  “Pamela is my responsibility.”

  “Why?”

  She almost told him, then stopped herself. She was the daughter of his father’s betrayer.

  “She’s my friend.”

  “She’s my almost betrothed.”

  Monique sipped her own brandy. “You have already told me that was only a pretense.”

  “Still … as a marquess I can protect her. She will not suffer as much when the truth is revealed.”

  He was right. He had a weapon she did not. His title. Though most of London did not like the man, they could do nothing about the title. That gave him power and influence, regardless of the state of his properties.

  She on the other hand had little with which to protect Pamela.

  Still, it did not sit well with her that he was taking on something that was her responsibility.

  She thought about the bottle of laudanum she had upstairs.

  “I will think about it,” she said. “Will you go to the ship, too, to see everyone off?”

  “I expect so.” His gaze pierced through her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “How did the play go tonight?” he asked.

  “Well.”

  “No sign of Stanhope or Daven?”

  “No, but Mr. Lynch had news. He believes he will receive a license to perform serious drama.”

  He looked puzzled.

  She laughed. “Only a few theaters can perform Shakespeare and other serious drama. They are licensed by the Crown. Other theaters are limited to farces and lighter entertainment. It is an honor to be licensed. Mr. Lynch has craved such an honor for years.”

  “And this is because of you?”

  “He believes so.”

  “And if you leave?”

  “I do not know.”

  “There are theaters in America. They do not have to be licensed by a king.”

  “Is it as wild as I have heard? Full of bandits and savages?”

  “At the moment I believe London has more of both,” he said. “The cities are safe. So is most of the countryside.”

  She filled his glass again. “Are you hungry? I believe there is bread and cheeses and some fruit.”

  He put the glass down and his fingers touched her shoulder, then a ringlet of hair. “I must go, Monique. But I wanted to tell you about Stammel’s death. And the ship.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “Will you consider the journey to America?”

  “I will think about it.”

  “I can have an answer later this morning?”

  “I have errands. Perhaps at four?”

  “I will look forward to it.”

  She wanted to ask him to stay, but she was not going to beg him. It was best, anyway. They had already risked the possibility of a child.

  Suddenly the thought was attractive. Compelling. A small version of Gabriel Manning. She was charmed by the thought.

  She took a step closer, until their bodies nearly touched. She felt his control in the rigid posture of his body. She lifted her face, inviting a kiss.

  His lips touched hers and the world rumbled, shook.

  Her hand touched his cheek, where she felt a roughness. His scent was enticing. Soap and leather and the hint of the sea.

  She thought about standing next to him on the deck of a ship as a setting sun traced gold across the sea and a clean breeze brushed their bodies. No more loneliness. No more ugliness. All swept clean.

  His lips lingered a moment, then released hers. He stepped away as if burned, a muscle playing in his cheek. His hand touched her face as if memorizing it. “I must go, love.”

  She gave him a long, steady stare, then nodded. “Tomorrow.”

  “Think about what I said.”

  “I will,” she agreed.

  Without another word, he turned and strode to the door, never looking back.

  She hadn’t even had the chance to tell him of the rumor she had started.

  Leaving her had been the most difficult thing Gabriel had ever done.

  He did not want to leave her with child, though. He might well die in the next week. And he was no longer sure he could control himself. She was intoxicating to him, making him forget everything he’d learned, ignore the discipline of years.

  Nor did he want to lie in her arms and her in his when he planned to betray her tonight. She would never understand it as anything else.

  He needed the rest of tonight to firm his plans.

  He had to make payment today for her passage as well as finish preparations to make sure she would be aboard. She had to be on the ship tomorrow. She had to be safe.

  Gabriel also planned to visit the Peregrine. A survey would demonstrate his loyalty to the project. No one need know he was a hell of a lot more familiar with ships than anyone expected. Then there were the documents at the forger’s and a visit to the baron who had sold him Specter.

  He had to make some kind of provisions for Pamela, or Monique would never stay away from London. He had seen the intensity of her expression.

  Why? He’d asked that question over and over again.

  Then something in his brain clicked. It should have earlier, but the idea was absurd. Impossible. Mentally, he pictured both women. Although Monique was probably seven years older, their faces bore more than a passing resemblance. Monique’s eyes were gray, not blue; she stood taller, and her hair was darker. But he had seen siblings with dark and blond hair.

  What had Monique said about Stanhope? He had hurt her mother.

  Could Monique and Pamela possibly be related?

  Impossible. Stanhope would know.

  But the thought would not leave him as he fetched his horse.

  Pamela reached her father’s town house at dusk. She and her maid had left his country home just after dawn.

  She’d been surprised at the note summoning her to London.

  She had not expected to return there for another several days. Her father had left abruptly. No explanation. She’d heard later from the servants that his friend—Lord Stammel—had been attacked and killed on the road.

  She regretted any man’s death, but she had not liked Lord Stammel. He drank too much and had always stared at her in a way that had made her uncomfortable.

  Surprisingly enough, she did want to return to London, despite the presence of her father there. She had a friend now. Two of them.

  Manchester and Monique made her think of Robert, the afternoons they had spent discussing books, then the kiss they had shared. Promises made. Until one of the servants told her aunt, who had warned her what would happen

  Fear had clouded her life since then. Not for herself but for the pain he could bring to Robert and his family. But in the last few days Lord Manchester and Monique Fremont had given her unexpected courage. Perhaps they could help her be more than a pawn.

  The footman—Boothe—welcomed her with a smile. “I will take your trunks to your room,” he said. “Would you care for some refreshment?”

&nbs
p; “Yes,” she said. “Thank you. Is my father here?”

  “No, Lady Pamela.”

  “Do you know when he is to return?”

  “He did not say,” Boothe said regretfully.

  “I would like you to send a note, to Lord Manchester,” she said. “He asked me to do so when I arrived in London.” She paused. “Do you know his address?”

  “Yes, my lady. He lives on New Bridge Street. Your father has had us deliver several invitations to his residence.”

  She looked at him for a moment. “It is a private note.” The inference was obviously that her father was not to learn of it. But Boothe was one of the servants she’d come to trust in the past week, and her maid also liked him.

  “I understand,” the footman said simply.

  She went upstairs to the room. Her father was not someone to defy. She knew she was taking a risk. Yet she felt she had to take it. If punishment came, then so be it.

  She quickly wrote the note, then placed it on the table. Tish helped her change from the traveling gown to a more comfortable one, then Pamela dismissed her.

  Though she wasn’t hungry, she forced herself to eat. She’d had little to eat today, and she needed her strength and wits about her. Manchester had land. He had influence. Perhaps he could find another position for Robert’s father and provide some protection.

  Although Manchester was apparently involved in a business proposition, there was something about him that told her he was not just another lackey for her father. She sensed strength in him. And integrity.

  He was, in truth, her only hope. Because of that, perhaps she was giving him qualities he didn’t have. It was worth the risk, however.

  She sipped the tea that accompanied fruit and pastries, then looked out the window. Her father’s carriage stopped, and he stepped out. That meant he would be here for supper. It was not something she looked forward to.

  She was right. In moments Boothe was at her door. “Lord Stanhope has asked for you.”

  “You did not …”