“No, my lady. It is on the way. A boy in the street. It cost me a shilling.”
She went to her small pouch of coins and gave him two shillings. “My thanks.”
He bowed his way out, a smile on his face.
She glanced in the mirror. Her hair was unkempt from the trip, her face was pale, her dress plain. She decided not to call Tish.
Instead she smoothed her hair, then went down the stairs. She knocked, and he bade her enter.
He was pacing the floor, his face tight and angry. She wondered whether she had done something to offend him or whether it was someone else. He gave her a piercing look that was obviously meant to quell her.
She refused to be quelled. “You called me?”
“You look like a servant,” he said. “Or a farm girl.”
She met his gaze directly. “I see nothing wrong with that.”
He slapped her. “You are a Stanhope. Remember that.”
Her face stung with the blow. She felt tears gathering behind her eyes. Not from his action, but the humiliation. She swore to herself he would never do it again.
She lifted her chin and saw his mouth tightening, his fingers twitching. She knew he wanted to hit her again.
She suspected he would have if there was not a knock on the door. The butler announced Lord Daven.
“We will continue this discussion after supper,” he said. “Along with your impertinence. We can dispense with your presence at the table.”
She left with her head held high as Lord Daven entered. He greeted her, then turned away. She closed the door behind her as she exited the room but not quite all the way.
The butler disappeared, apparently going after refreshments. She hovered at the door, listening to the voices.
“Have you heard the rumors?” Daven asked.
“Just an hour ago. That I had a terrible row with Stammel. I did not. Someone is lying.”
“Nonetheless the rumor is spreading through London that Stammel stole from you and you threatened him.”
“Only a few people left early enough to spread such a tale. Mademoiselle Fremont and Manchester among them.”
“Why would Manchester say anything when he is courting your daughter and joining you in our little venture?”
“He is not to know you are in it,” Stanhope said.
“Why?”
“He is taking the voyage to ‘look’ after our cargo. If you were involved he might wonder why you weren’t taking that role, since you would know our business far better.”
“Ah,” Daven said. “And where will the ship go down?”
“Somewhere off the coast of Ireland.”
“With no survivors, of course.”
“Well, no known survivors.”
“Then if he’s the one who has been spreading rumors—”
“We will be shed of him.”
“And your daughter?” Daven asked.
“I will find someone else for her. Manchester is nothing but a fool. And so is my daughter.”
“What about Monique?”
“I have people looking into the source of the rumor. If she is involved, well I will decide then. I do not want too many accidents, but neither can I allow …”
Pamela could delay no longer. The butler was her father’s man. He must not find her listening at the door.
She could barely breathe as she sped for the steps, mounting them just as the butler entered the room beneath her. She could see him but doubted whether he had seen her.
Pamela made for her room. Her heart was beating so rapidly she could barely breathe. She knew about her mother. Other rumors. And now she had heard her father plotting murder.
Manchester. Possibly Monique. And now she felt certain that he had arranged for Stammel’s murder. Too many accidents. The words kept repeating themselves in her head.
She had to warn them.
Did Manchester get the note she had sent him? Would he come?
Or would she have to find him?
Before it was too late.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Gabriel had a fruitful morning, and now he had two more stops to make.
He had picked up the forged papers, and he could not tell the difference from Stanhope’s signature on the original and on the forgery. He also visited the Peregrine, which was being loaded. Crates were being stored in the hold.
He badly wanted to look into one of them, but that might alarm the captain, who might warn Stanhope.
The captain was an older man of hefty girth. The ship looked sloppy, the crew more like brigands than sailors, and they eyed him suspiciously. He was shown the cabin he would have, and it was no more than a mate’s closet. The captain was obviously not pleased to have one of the owners aboard, and Stanhope had not told him to pretend otherwise.
But he dutifully showed him around the ship, and Gabriel inspected the timbers that lined the bottom of the hold. They were rotting, but not enough to make it unseaworthy.
He thanked the captain profusely despite the man’s lack of hospitality. He had also visited the Amelia. The difference between the two ships was like day and night. He was comforted. Monique, Dani, and the Smythes would be safe aboard the latter.
He had one last stop before going back to his lodgings, sending the Smythes to the ship, and finally making sure Monique was aboard.
He rode Specter to Baron Tolvery’s home, gave the horse over to the care of the groom, and asked if the baron was inside.
“Yes, my lord. ’E seldom leaves these days. ’E will be pleased to see ye an’ hear about the ’orse.”
Gabriel climbed the steps leading to the front door and used the door knocker.
A moment, then two, passed before a footman opened the door. Recognition flashed across his face. “My lord,” he acknowledged.
“Is the baron in?”
The footman stood aside. “If you will wait, I will inquire if he can see you.”
Gabriel nodded and allowed himself to be led into a small drawing room. In a matter of seconds the servant was back. “He will see you, my lord. If you would follow me.”
Gabriel followed him into the room where he had met the baron before.
The man struggled to his feet, grabbing a desk as he did so.
“Please do not rise,” Gabriel said.
The man sank back into his chair, a grateful smile on his face. “There is no problem with the horse?” he asked.
“He is everything the groom and you told me he was. And more. I think I received the best of that arrangement.”
“Then sit and tell me to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit.”
“I am not sure it will be a pleasure,” Gabriel said slowly. “I have some information about the Earl of Stanhope, and I do not know where to take it.”
Tolvery’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of information?”
“I am involved with a business arrangement with him, a shipment of muskets and other supplies to troops in Ireland.”
“Is that wise?”
Gabriel stood. “You once asked if there was anything you could do to help.”
“Aye, and you refused.”
“I have changed my mind.”
“Why?” the baron asked bluntly.
“Because you said you had been with the admiralty. You might know people I cannot reach. I do not know who to trust. You might.”
Tolvery’s eyes narrowed.
“I believe Stanhope has sold faulty goods to the army and plans to sink a ship to hide the corruption and receive the insurance on poor or nonexistent goods. I am intended to be on that ship when it goes down.”
“A very serious charge, young Manning.”
“I know that.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Probably only after I am dead. I wanted someone to know what is happening in the event … I am right.”
Tolvery’s eyes gleamed. “Then how …”
“I overheard a conversation between him and Lord Stammel …”
/>
“Stammel is dead. I heard about it today.”
“After an argument with Stanhope.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was there. I overhead everything.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Have someone inspect the crates on the Peregrine. It is the ship contracted by Stanhope to ship supplies to troops. And,” he added, “you might inspect the ship itself.”
“When does it sail?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“And it is being loaded now?”
“Aye.”
Gabriel watched as the man considered all the information. A gleam enlivened dull blue eyes.
Gabriel reached in the pocket of the cloak he was wearing. “This is what the ship should be carrying. It is the manifest Stanhope gave me. I doubt whether it matches the cargo.”
“And you are sure the ship is not carrying these items.”
“I am betting my life on it. I am also risking it just talking to you about this.”
“You are sure he killed Stammel?”
“They quarreled. Items were missing from rooms and found in Stammel’s. He died hours later.”
Tolvery’s eyes, earlier dulled with pain and age, glinted with new life. “Convenient for you.”
Gabriel permitted himself a small smile. “Thieves cannot help being what they are.” He paused, then added, “I saw Stanhope after it happened. There was no regret. Only a certain eagerness to ensnare a new and obviously temporary business partner.”
“You are playing a dangerous game.”
“Perhaps. You will help?”
“I told you before I owed your father.”
“As you warned me, it could be dangerous. A whisper in the wrong ears.”
“I am an old man with few pleasures and many regrets, young Manning. Perhaps a new battle is what I need.”
“There is someone you can trust?”
“I think so. I cannot guarantee it. Stanhope has information on many ministers who fear him. But there is one man I believe I can trust. I will send a note to an old friend tonight and invite him to join me in the morning.”
“My thanks. Time is of the essence.”
“Should I mention your name?”
“I think it wise not to. Just that someone—perhaps a sailor who once served with you—noted something strange.”
Gabriel wondered how much more he could say. He had the forged documents tucked on the inside of his cloak. He planned to get them inside Stanhope’s home tonight. That was essential. They would show that Stanhope purchased far fewer goods than showed on the ship’s manifest.
“There is a safe in his home where he keeps all his private papers,” Gabriel finally said. “I have seen them there. If there is anything … that invites suspicion on the ship, then you might well find something in that safe.”
“You, of course, would have no idea of what someone might find?”
“Stanhope is arrogant. He believes he is smarter than anyone else. He would not think to destroy papers.”
“Let us hope you are right, Manning. Or is it Manchester?”
“It is Manning,” Gabriel said. “I detest the title.”
“You are a rarity then,” Tolvery said.
Gabriel shrugged. “You will let me know what happens?”
“I will have Jock, my groom, find you as soon as I know.”
Gabriel stood. “My thanks.”
“It is little enough to compensate for what I should have done years ago.”
“Nonetheless, it is dangerous to cross Stanhope.”
Tolvery started to stand as well.
“It is not necessary,” Gabriel said.
“Yes, it is,” Tolvery said as he struggled to his feet, reached for a cane, and balanced himself on it. “I wish you and my son had been friends. I think you would have liked each other.”
“One thing more,” Gabriel said.
Tolvery waited.
“Stanhope has a daughter. Her name is Pamela. She is an innocent. Wise and kind. She has a young man, a medical student. If anything happens to me, will you look after her? Make sure she can get to her young man, that his family is not harmed.”
The baron nodded. “I will do that for the lad I did not assist so many years ago.”
“It is over,” Gabriel said. “Any debt has been paid.”
There was nothing more to say. Tolvery limped to the door. He offered his hand, and Gabriel took it, then took his leave.
He retrieved his horse and looked at his pocket watch. Three. He was to see Monique at four and get his answer. He had never been a religious man, but now he prayed she had decided to go to America with the Smythes, even though his brain told him the woman he knew would not surrender so easily.
Despite the complications, his heart quickened at the thought of seeing her. He mounted Specter, and the horse seemed to capture his anticipation.
He wondered what she had been doing this day, whether she planned to go to the theater tonight. A last performance, one way or another. Either by her choice or by his. The thought saddened him. He was asking her to give up something she loved, something at which she excelled. As he excelled at the sea. Could he give up the sea for her?
He did not know. His stomach churned at the decisions they both would be making this night.
The two bulky men sent by the detective were exactly what Monique wanted. They were polite. Their eyes were intelligent, not cruel, and they listened intently.
She was not sure she would use them, but she wanted them available.
She’d given them instructions earlier. They were to wait across from her home this evening. She wanted them there when she returned from the theater.
When she needed them, she would place a light in the window. Then they were to come to the back door. The door would be open. She gave them ten pounds each, and told them there would be another ten pounds later. She emphasized that she wanted no one hurt, just carried to a ship.
One looked shocked. “You ain’t wanting us to have ’im impressed?”
“No,” she said. “Nothing like that. He has booked passage for friends. I am afraid he might be in danger here, but he is like every other man. He believes he can conquer anything and everyone.” She gave them a soulful look. “I plan to meet him in America. I love him. You understand, do you not? I only wish him to be safe.”
They looked at each other, then seemed to exchange some unsaid message. “We will be waiting.”
That was several hours ago, and she had faith they would be in position tonight.
She checked the small bottle of laudanum she had tucked inside a drawer in her bedroom. It should be easy to pour a few drops into his wine. All she had to do was convince him to share that wine tonight, and to linger awhile.
She looked at the clock in the room. She said she would give him an answer this afternoon at four. She would lie and tell him yes, she would go with him. That was the one way she could bring him back tonight.
The prospect was agonizing. She had become quite proficient at lying. In truth, they had been lying to each other since they’d first met. But now they had shared truths. Not all of them to be sure, but some. She understood much about him, but she knew he did not—could not—share all her truths.
Which was the greatest lie? That to make him safe, or that to make herself safe from his contempt? For how could he not have contempt for the blood of the man who had destroyed his father? She wondered even now whether that was another reason for tonight’s act.
He would never know that he had made love to the daughter of his enemy.
She looked in the mirror, felt the hot pull of tears behind her eyes. She did not cry. She had not cried since her mother’s death. She had been stoic most of her life, accepting what had to be accepted and making the best of what came.
But then she had a goal. What would she do when her goal had been reached? When Stanhope was dead or in prison? When the need to avenge her mother no
longer crowded away every other emotion?
How very empty she would be without Manchester, with his amused eyes and slow smile and gentle yet very passionate touch.
A solitary tear fell.
Gabriel paused at Monique’s residence. He had not had time to return to his own.
He could only hope that the Smythes were prepared to leave for the voyage to America.
He knew he was cutting everything too close. But the murder of Stammel—and Stanhope’s offer—had speeded everything. He was simply running out of time.
If only Monique—Merry—had decided to leave with the Smythes.
The door opened before he used the door knocker, and Monique stood in front of him.
Her gray eyes were smoky, her lips curved in a tentative smile. She wore a simple gown that he’d learned she preferred when at home. Her hair was pulled back with a ribbon. She looked delectable.
He stepped inside, closed the door behind them, then lowered his head until his lips met hers. They courted, teased, demanded. His blood quickened and he felt her leaning against him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she snuggled into them.
Gabriel felt as if he had just returned after a lonely and endless journey. With sudden realization, he knew that Stanhope’s destruction was no longer landfall. Monique was.
How to make her safe? And keep her?
Give up something less important now. Convince her to give it up as well.
Her arms tightened around him, her fingers tangling in his hair. His heart was racing and he thought hers must be, too. His lips left hers and trailed along her cheek to her neck. His blood turned into lava flow.
Her hands played with the back of his neck, and he felt the same urgency in them that he had.
Move away.
His legs had other instructions, perhaps from his heart rather than his brain.
“Gabriel,” she whispered in a broken voice.
He knew by the hurting edge in her voice that she would not leave.
He wanted to wipe away the desolation. He wanted to be convincing. He wanted her to trust him enough to leave London. They had each set certain things in motion. He needed to visit Stanhope’s home tonight and find a way to place the forged documents in his safe. Or even his desk.
They reached her room and once inside a touch led to an embrace, the embrace to raw desperate hunger. He wanted her. He wanted her to want him enough to give up her plan.
Dancing with a Rogue Page 37
