Chapter Six

After leaving Monique’s rooms, Gabriel refused the offer of the coachman to take him to a place of his choosing. Instead, he retrieved his beaver hat from the seat and walked away from the town house.

He knew the location.

If he had any integrity, he would not return.

Damn, but she sent his head whirling. He had never met a woman who intrigued him so. He liked her directness, her lack of usual feminine wiles. He liked her wry sense of humor when she’d asked if he would step in front of a carriage.

An actress. He’d never met one before in person, but he had always enjoyed the theater when he’d had time. Which wasn’t often. He enjoyed Shakespeare and dramas rather than farces. Darkness had always suited him more than light.

That had been true even at sea. He was attracted by sunsets and evenings and even the deepest night when all that one saw was the white tips of rushing waves, and the stars and moon above. He even liked the storms that tested him, his command, and his ships.

His purpose now was dark, and if he had honor, he would not bring anyone else into it. He had been aware from the beginning that he risked imprisonment, even death.

His father’s honor, that last plea he’d made, was worth his sacrifice. He didn’t have the right, though, to bring anyone else into his battle and risk their life and livelihood.

How close he had come to kissing her. He restrained himself only because something told him that once he took that step, he couldn’t turn back, that it would be the beginning of a long journey he couldn’t take.

He walked the mile easily, enjoying the brisk London air. He wondered whether it was because he’d been a lad here; part of him felt as if he was returning home. The streets were dirtier than those of Boston but cleaner than many of the ports he’d visited.

Yet while the city streets were familiar, the strictures of society were not. Perhaps he hadn’t been so aware as a lad, or perhaps his father’s own connection to a titled family had protected him. But he truly disdained a system that valued name above deed, gamesmanship above industry.

He had to admit that his impressions were driven by three men, three men who had thieved their way to riches and were protected by their name and titles.

He reached his rooms and went up the steps. The door opened before he reached it, and Smythe, resplendent in new dark clothes, opened it and bowed as he came in.

“If you do that again, I might have to discharge you,” Gabriel said. He had told Smythe several times not to bow, but the man insisted on doing it anyway.

The man’s face paled.

“No, Smythe,” Gabriel said. “I will not discharge you, but I wanted to make a point. No more bowing. No more curtsies from your mother or sister. I am not royalty.”

“But my lord …”

Gabriel surrendered. Smythe was a soldier through and through, and used to courtesies that embarrassed Gabriel.

Smythe took his gaudy waistcoat. Gabriel untied the cravat and pulled it off, handing it to him.

“My lord is not going out again tonight?”

“I think not,” he said.

“A letter arrived for you,” Smythe said. “I put it on your desk.”

Gabriel frowned. He hadn’t been in London long enough to be sent a letter. “From America?”

“No, my lord. Delivered by a footman. I did not recognize the livery.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel said.

“Would you be having supper? My sister made a fine supper.”

“I would, indeed,” he said. “I will take it in the study.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Gabriel despaired of ever getting his one manservant to drop the “my lord.” It made him feel bloody uncomfortable. He left Smythe and went into the study. He read the elegant invitation to a soiree at the home of Thomas Kane, the Earl of Stanhope.

He sat down in the chair and stared at the invitation. The event would be in six days. A personal note was at the bottom in tight neat handwriting: “Welcome to London.”

A knock came at the door, and he said “Come.”

Smythe had a bottle of port on a tray. “My lord?”

“Please,” Gabriel said. “Then you can help me with these dratted boots.”

Smythe’s stern face relaxed for the first time since he’d returned. It was clear he was still wondering at his luck in obtaining a post and terrified of losing it. He obviously worried about his skills and removing boots was an easy enough one.

Gabriel suspected that being dismissed was one of the few things that terrified the man.

If he’d fought Napoleon’s armies, he certainly was no coward. Neither did he look like a man impressed by other men who had not earned his respect. Gabriel wanted to engage him about his service, but then he would be giving something of himself away.

And so he waited as Smythe helped remove the Hessian boots that were all the fashion in London.

“Thank you,” he said after Smythe had neatly pulled them off.

“Should I serve your supper now?” Smythe asked.

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “And then you are free the rest of the evening.”

Smythe didn’t move. “I could prepare a bath, your lordship.”

Gabriel realized that Smythe wanted to keep busy, that he probably felt that was the key to continued employment.

“A good suggestion. In an hour. Then I plan to retire.”

Smythe hesitated. “Are my clothes adequate, my lord? Would you prefer a uniform?”

“No, I do not. The clothing is very adequate.”

“I would not wish to embarrass you.”

“If anything, Smythe, I will embarrass you. You are a gentleman’s gentleman, and I am not much of a gentleman. To most of London, at any rate,” he said.

Smythe didn’t say a word, and Gabriel knew he’d probably heard some of the rumors about the bumpkin American.

He took a sip of port. He wanted to ask Smythe to join him, but that would probably really unhinge the man.

He put down the glass. “How are your mother and sister? Is the room adequate?”

“Yes, my lord,” Smythe said. “It is warm and comfortable.”

“Where is your sister?”

“She is reading, my lord.”

“What does she like?”

“Everything,” Smythe said proudly. He hesitated. “I bought her a book with part of the money you gave me for clothes.”

“Has she had any schooling?”

“The rector taught her to read and sums, but then he died, and the replacement did not feel a girl needed any more than that.”

“I have some books I brought with me from America,” he said. “Tell her to see me in the morning and she can borrow some.”

A muscle moved in the man’s throat.

“We did not want her to bother you, sir.”

“Anyone who reads is not a bother, Smythe,” Gabriel said. “I will see about finding her someone to help with lessons.”

“I will pay it out of my salary,” Smythe said.

“We will talk about that later, and now I am well and truly hungry.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Once more, Smythe, I detest this ‘my lord’ business. It’s all right when someone is here, but when I’m alone I would just as soon prefer something less formal.”

Smythe looked puzzled.

Gabriel knew the man would never call him Gabriel. “Mr. Manning will do quite nicely,” he said.

“I will try to remember, my lord.” But this time there was amusement in his voice.

“Thank you, Smythe.”

Monique looked through the bouquets of flowers expressly for one from Manchester. It had been three days since he had accompanied her from the theater.

It was maddening at how much she wished for flowers from him.

Instead, they continued to be delivered from others in astonishing numbers.

There were twelve bouquets in all today, including one from Stanhope. A small box accompanied it.

She opened it to find a fine silver comb with onyx stones. The card said, “I could not resist.” It was expensive, but not overly so.

The first gift from her father. If he but knew.

She handled it gently, then scrawled a note, thanking him but saying she could not accept such an expensive gift.

It was meant, she knew, as a promise. This gift now. Others would follow.

She rang for Dani and showed her the comb.

Dani grimaced. “What are you going to do?”

“Return it.”

“He will not like that. He is not a man to be thwarted.”

“I am aware of that.”

“What about that other gentleman? The one in the carriage?”

Monique shrugged.

“I liked him.”

“He is a dandy,” Monique said dismissively. “Another aristocrat who believes he can take what he wants.”

“I do not think so,” Dani said.

Monique turned toward Dani, who was generally suspicious about men. “Why?”

Dani shrugged. “Small things. His courtesy for me when I meant nothing to him. And the way he listened to you. He did not sit there and tell you how important he was, nor did he try to press you when …”

“I might have allowed him,” Monique said. “Perhaps he is just more clever than most.”

“He is clever,” Dani agreed. “But I do not think in a bad way. Not like Lord Stanhope.”

“Well, he is gone now. And he has not made a call in the last few days. It was just a pleasant flirtation for him.”

“I think not,” Dani said. “His eyes …”

“I never knew you to be a romantic before,” Monique said.

“Non, I am not,” Dani admitted. “Still … he is interesting.”

“He was a distraction,” Monique said. “A momentary entertainment, but now we must concentrate on the matter at hand. Do you suppose Mrs. Miller can find someone to deliver this box?”

“Oui,” Dani said. Then she paused. “There is no rehearsal tonight. Should we stay in?”

“No, I think we will go to Vauxhall Gardens tonight. I hear there will be fireworks tonight, and booths with punch and ham. Many people will be there, I’m told.”

“I think I would like that, too.”

Dani’s reply surprised Monique. Usually Dani hid inside, reluctant to go among strangers. But perhaps the tension was affecting her, too.

“Good, then it is settled. I will wear my gray muslin dress and a cloak. I can always hide under the hood if need be.”

Dani gave a rare laugh. “You can never hide. You float along the ground and every head turns.”

“Well, I shall try. For this night at least,” Monique said gaily, suddenly excited by an adventure that had nothing to do with Stanhope. A few moments of carefree fun. “And you,” she said, “you must wear something pretty, too.”

“I have nothing,” Dani said.

“Yes, you do,” Monique said. “You can wear one of mine. We are much the same size. And you would look very pretty in blue.”

“I do not want to look pretty,” Dani said, her eyes darkening.

Monique hesitated. “I will be with you every moment. You cannot hide forever.”

“I like hiding.”

“Well tonight, we will be together.… Please.”

The rebellion slipped from Dani’s eyes. Then she smiled. “Oui.”

Vauxhall Gardens was like nothing Gabriel had ever seen before. He had never been there as a lad. His father had considered the behavior there licentious, he remembered. He hadn’t known exactly what the word meant, but he’d remembered it.

But tonight there was to be an orchestra and singers and fireworks, and the night was a perfect English evening. No fog, only a cool breeze.

He would not have thought about it if he hadn’t met with Elizabeth Smythe this morning.

Smythe had brought his sister down to him as he ate breakfast. She had shyly presented herself to him. Elizabeth was a thin sprite of a child with huge eyes and a reserved nature. He bade her to sit down and join him for breakfast. She obviously didn’t want to do it, but he was tired of eating by himself at a large table while others served him.

“It would be a kindness,” he said.

She looked as if she wanted to escape.

“Your brother said you like to read,” Gabriel said. “I like people who read and I thought you might share some of my books.”

Her eyes opened wide. “Truly?”

“Truly,” he said.

She finally took a seat as her mother served them, her chin bobbing nervously.

But the moment Elizabeth started talking about books, and geography, her blue eyes lit like a sky filled with stars. They sparkled and glowed. “I want to go around the world,” she said. “But first I want to go to the colonies and see the Indians.”

“Some of them are very fierce,” he said.

She regarded him for a moment. “But do they not have reason?”

“Yes, indeed they do,” he said.

He’d wondered whether his small collection of books would be too difficult for her, but now he realized she had one of those rare minds that soaked up knowledge like a sponge.

“And where would you like to go here in London?”

“Oh,” she said, excitement vibrating her small body. “The fireworks at the Gardens. That would be marvelous. My uncle said he would take me when he had time.”

He looked at Smythe, who had just walked in with a steaming plate of eggs, much too much for him alone, but then Smythe and his mother seemed determined to fatten him.

“When is the next fireworks?”

“Tonight, my lord,” Elizabeth said.

“Then I think you should go.”

Smythe looked stricken, even mortified. Gabriel realized how truly desperate the family must have been.

Suddenly he too wanted to go, and not for the fireworks. God knew he’d seen enough shot streaking through the skies to ever enjoy a fireworks display. But he realized how lonely he was, and the thought of an evening with a family was suddenly very appealing.

“I would like to take you and your mother and Elizabeth,” he said.

“That … would be unseemly, sir.”

“I am an American. I can be unseemly,” he said. “Or anything else I want to be. Smythe, you have no idea how much pleasure it would give me.”

Elizabeth looked up at Smythe with pleading eyes. “Please, Sydney. Oh, please.”

Caught between his sister and employer, Smythe gave a deep sigh and surrendered. “As you wish, my lord.”

“We will leave at seven,” he said. “And Elizabeth can visit my study and borrow any books she wishes.”

Smythe nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Mr. Manning.”

Mr. Manning. Well, he had accomplished something today.

He finished his meal, then stood. “I need your help with that blasted cravat,” he said. “I have some business this morning. I will rent a carriage for tonight.” He glanced at Smythe. “Unless you have a brother or nephew who can help us.”

Smythe allowed his lips the smallest of smiles. “No, sir. I will engage one.”

Vauxhall Gardens was all that he had heard described, and more. There was a fee at the entrance, and he paid for the four of them. They must be an odd group, he thought. He had decided he couldn’t completely discard his new personality, so he wore a gaudy waistcoat of a bright pattern against a green background. He fixed the quizzing glass in his eye and chose his most elaborate cane.

Elizabeth looked surprised when she saw him, but she said nothing. Mrs. Smythe looked uncomfortable as well, but she was dressed in what must be her best dress. An old worn bonnet covered graying hair. She held Elizabeth’s hand tightly and admonished her over and over again not to let go.

The gardens were filled to overflowing with fashionable families as well as groups of ladies and couples.

Gabriel took pleasure in watching shy Elizabeth come to life, her eyes glowing as they moved around. Smythe looked uncomfortable in his new clothes and Gabriel knew he felt uneasy about socializing with his employer. Still, Smythe’s eyes softened as he, too, watched Elizabeth, and Gabriel saw the gratitude in them.

Smythe’s mother looked just as awed. If she felt uncomfortable among the fashionably dressed, she said nothing about it. Since others had servants watching over children, he suspected that many thought the child was his and the Smythes his servants.

In truth, he was enjoying every moment with them. He felt a kinship with Smythe as a soldier, even if the man was unaware of it. He liked Smythe’s mother, who was one of those women who endured without bitterness and even with a bit of humor. He was enchanted by young Elizabeth and her intellectual curiosity.

He’d seldom taken any time to relax, to enjoy the pleasures of a family. After his father’s death, there had been little family life left. His mother had stayed in her room and grown frail and bitter.

This was a respite from the tension of the past few days, the balance between boredom and anticipation as his plan bore fruits. He would be a guest at Stanhope’s home, and then he would be in position to implement his plan.

For these few hours, at least, he intended to enjoy the park, the city, and give a few hours’ pleasure as well. It had been a long time since he had done that, too.

He stopped at a booth and purchased punch and ham for each of them, then found a table for them to sit. He kept a close eye on Elizabeth. He read the London newspapers each day, looking for mentions of the three men who had betrayed his father and mentions of himself. There had been several of the former, one of which mentioned the soiree to which he had been invited and several not so flattering to himself. Among other reports was one about assaults in the Garden, and he was determined that nothing would happen to his young companion.

Her eyes glowed as she ate the ham and gazed at the well-dressed men and women sauntering and parading down the pathways. He noticed the equally watchful looks of her brother and mother and their very carefully phrased remarks and quick sideways glances at him as if afraid he disapproved of something. He was part of them, yet not a part. He knew that he made them uncomfortable, and as he watched Smythe place an arm around his young sister, he felt a raw stab of loneliness. He didn’t know when last he had touched someone with that kind of affectionate intimacy. His mother had for all practical purposes died with her husband. Since then, he’d had no time—or heart—for gentle thoughts or attachments. Love and hate, he’d believed, could not coexist.

Still, he’d never felt the kind of emptiness he did now, nor had he ever wondered whether revenge was worth the toll it required. He had gone too far, though, to leave the path he had taken. He knew every night would be haunted by the face of his father when he had pleaded with an uncomprehending lad.

He finished his meal quickly, a habit he’d formed early, and rose. The others started to do the same, although they had not quite finished.

“Stay and finish,” he said in a voice he suddenly realized was much too harsh, more like the voice in which he issued orders aboard ship. He softened his tone. “I am just taking a short stroll.”

They sank back in the seats, a relieved look on the three faces. He knew regret again. He doubted that he would ever be anything more than “milord” and employer to them.

He fixed the quizzing glass in his left eye and sauntered among the diners. His gaze was abruptly caught by the sight of two women sitting at a table, their backs to him. One had a bonnet over bright red hair. The other’s hair was covered by the hood of a cloak. Heat rushed through him like a burst of electricity. Though he couldn’t see her features, he knew instinctively by the tilt of her head and the animation in every movement that she was the actress who had occupied so many thoughts in the past few days.

He hesitated, wondering whether he should approach, and damned himself for even considering such a move. She had made far too strong an impression on him.

Nor, did he particularly want her to see him with his quizzing glass, and it wouldn’t be wise to discard it just now. He did not know the crowds of men and women, but unquestionably some would be of the ton, and he would invariably meet them in the coming days. He had built his image too carefully to tear it down now. In truth, this outing had been a poor idea, but he’d needed a respite before the next stage of his plan.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away, though, and remained there as he saw her back stiffen slightly as a well-dressed older man approached her. Monique’s back was still toward him, and he studied the face of the man as he bowed, then said something in a low voice.

Gabriel didn’t quite know why but something about the man raised hackles on his back. There was arrogance in every movement, but there was something in his face and in his eyes that gave him pause. It might have been the dark emptiness in those eyes or the way his lips parted in what was obviously meant to be a smile but was more a sneer.

The fellow’s smile changed into one of triumph as he sat down, obviously at the woman’s invitation.

Disappointment settled deep inside him. It was as if he’d just discovered that a gem he treasured had a flaw he had not expected. His reaction was unreasonable. He knew that. He understood that. Gabriel had accompanied her home and had never attempted to call again, although an unspoken invitation had been in her eyes despite her words. He’d sensed that the invitation had been as reluctant as his own momentary lapse of judgment.

She certainly didn’t owe him anything and could speak with whomever she wished. She could also choose her own companions, and yet this man was at least old enough to be her father and there was something about him that …

Was she looking for a protector? A wealthy one?

He waited. Perhaps the man was a patron of the theater. Yet, she flirted with him, using a fan to signal her availability. Then she stood and took his arm, and the two of them walked together toward the concert area, the maid trailing behind the couple.

So, the innocent was not so innocent after all. He had thought—to hell with what he’d thought. He turned back toward the rest of his small party and saw that they had finished with the meal. They too were looking toward Monique, who was disappearing down the pathway.

“Who is that?” Elizabeth said, and he realized she must have seen his face. He’d noticed before that she read moods well. She listened and watched.

“An actress,” he said.

Her mouth formed a perfect O and her eyes were curious. Her mother admonished her by touch. “She did not mean to be impertinent,” her mother said.

“Asking questions is never impertinent,” he replied. “One never learns anything without them.”

Mrs. Smythe looked uncertain about that answer, but merely nodded. Gabriel suspected Elizabeth would receive a lecture later.

“Let us go and hear the music,” he said.

But for some reason, his heart was no longer in it. A light had just inexplicably dimmed.

Monique agreed to accompany the Earl of Stanhope to the concert area.

She’d been startled to see him, and her plans for a relaxing evening fled. Her heart had nearly stopped for a moment as he approached.

But this was a safe place with all the people promenading. She instinctively knew he was a man she could not refuse often. His arrogance would not allow continued refusals. She had to keep his interest.

She gave him a practiced smile that promised nothing, but she saw the flicker in his eyes. Let him think he’d won this round.

He barely glanced at Dani, unlike the marquess who’d saved her from an awkward situation. This man had only disdain for a servant.

She wished she could stop thinking of the marquess. He certainly had shown no more interest in her, and, even if he had, no marquess would be attracted to an actress as anything but a mistress. She would never be any man’s mistress. Never. The memories of her mother were far too painful. Her mother had been forced into prostitution by the very man walking next to her.

“How do you like our gardens?” Stanhope asked.

“C’est si belle,” she said.

“So are you,” he said.

She played with her fan. “You are … most amiable, monsieur.”

“You are the talk of all of London. Every eye is on you.”

“I think not, monsieur.”

“Ah, a modest woman.”

Her stomach was queasy. She’d never imagined she would feel the fear he evoked in her. There was something distinctly evil about him, and it sent quivers up her back.

His blood ran through her. Was she anything at all like him? Was her quest for vengeance as wicked as his actions?

Justice, she told herself. She was seeking justice. How many women other than her mother had he destroyed?

“Do you have a family, monsieur?” she asked.

“A daughter,” he said.

“Oh, is she here in London with you?”

“She stays with her aunt,” he said shortly. “She needs a woman’s influence.”

“But surely the season …”

“Pamela is rather shy.”

“And your wife?” She already knew the answer, but she wanted him to say it. She also wondered about her half sister. What kind of life did she have?

“Mary died ten years ago,” he said shortly.

She ignored the warning in his voice. “You have not remarried?”

He stopped and looked down at her. “I enjoy the company of beautiful women,” he said.

“And that excludes marriage?” she said, fanning herself.

“I like new challenges.” His eyes glittered with a brightness that was frightening.

“And then you discard them?” she asked.

“There are no complaints,” he assured her.

A chill ran through her. She took another step, but his hand stopped her from moving farther. “I pay whatever is necessary to get what I want,” he said.

“Money is not important to me.”

“Money is important to everyone.”

“Truly, monsieur? More important than anything else? Than your daughter?”

“You can do anything if you have money,” he said. “My daughter is fortunate. She has the finest in clothes, in jewelry. I can give the same to you.”

“That is most flattering, monsieur,” she said, ignoring his title. “But for the moment I am most satisfied with my life. I enjoy the theater. I have no need of anything more.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes.

“I would like for you to visit my house,” he said. “You will like it.”

“It would not be … proper, my lord. A visit to your home alone and I would be known as your mistress.”

He seemed to hesitate, then said, “Then will you come if there are others there? I am planning a soiree at the end of the week. I would be most pleased if you could attend.”

She raised an eyebrow. “An actress, my lord?”

He shrugged.

“May I bring an escort?”

“Who?”

“It would be someone respectable,” she assured him.

He hesitated.

“We will make it some other time, then.”

“You may bring whomever you wish,” he said after a momentary pause. “And now will you attend the concert with me? I have a supper box.”

“You like music?”

“Yes,” he replied.

That surprised her. One thing they apparently had in common. She didn’t want anything in common.

They strolled to the concert area, and she realized her hood did not give her the anonymity that she’d wanted. But now she did not care. Her carefree evening with a friend had been destroyed, and now she was playing a role again.

He helped them into the box and started to close the door on Dani.

“If Danielle doesn’t join us, I will not stay,” she said.

Stanhope looked startled, irritated, then reopened the door and placed a chair at the back, as far from the two of them as he could.

A chamber orchestra played Mozart. Music usually enthralled her, but tonight she was too aware of the man next to her and the many sly glances directed their way.

It was what she wanted. Part of her plan.

But with every passing second, she wondered whether she could really do what she had planned all the years she had cared for her mother, watching as desperation and grief and shame ate away at the beauty Monique remembered. She stole a glance around. It caught a man standing not far away with what looked like a family group. A pretty young child. A woman whose clothing spoke of a lower class. The child’s eyes glittered with excitement, and her hair was the same color as the marquess’s. She looked up at Lord Manchester with adoration.

Her blood froze as her gaze met Lord Manchester’s and locked. The warmth of the other day was gone, and yet an emotion burned deep within. He seemed as unable to look away as she did. She didn’t miss a quick flash of contempt, though.

Then she heard a cough next to her.

She turned her attention back to Stanhope.

A lump formed in her throat. Was the child a by-blow of the Marquess of Manchester?

And why should she be surprised if she was?

Still, she felt a sickness deep inside. She knew the pain of being a bastard child.

“Who is that?” Stanhope’s displeasure was clear in the way he emphasized the last word.

“The Marquess of Manchester,” she replied. “He gave me some assistance several days ago.”

Stanhope visibly stiffened, and he turned to study the small family group several aisles away. “An odd group. I did not know he had a child.”

Monique shrugged indifferently. “I did not talk to him at any length. I know nothing of his personal life.”

Stanhope’s eyes questioned her statement, and she wondered how much she had given away in that too-long glance at Manchester. She was slipping. She usually was excellent at hiding emotions.

It was just that she’d thought Manchester, despite his dandy pretensions, had been different from the men she’d known.

“He is a gambler,” Stanhope said, “and not a very lucky one from the rumors.”

“I do not read gossip,” she said.

Someone frowned at them for talking during the music, and she gratefully lapsed into silence. She did not look back again toward the marquess, but she was more than a little aware of his presence.

She tried to lose herself in a Mozart concerto, but her skin tingled with awareness. She used her fan to cool skin too warm for a cool night.

Then the concert was over and the sky exploded with fireworks. Rockets transformed the dark blue velvet of an English night with trails of molten gold, then spectacular bursts of color. She used the distraction to turn around.

The Marquess of Manchester was gone.