Chapter Seven

The day following the concert Gabriel left his town house for the waterfront.

He left dressed in some plain but warm garments he had purchased in Boston. Within an hour he’d found a disreputable drunk who didn’t blink when asked for an exchange of clothing. Alcohol, no doubt, convinced the man that Gabriel was a fool.

The clothes were soiled, but Gabriel had dressed in dirty clothes before. Working in the wet hold of a ship taught one not to be overly concerned with niceties. A down-on-his-luck sailor wouldn’t own even the least of Gabriel’s wardrobe.

He wanted to know more about Stanhope’s shipping company. The shipping company that once belonged to Gabriel’s father.

He had purposely not shaved that morning, and he’d rubbed a bit of dirt on his face. He knew sailors. Hell, he’d been one much of his life. He knew how to talk to them, how to become one of them.

His first stop was a riverfront tavern.

He quickly discovered that the sailors had no love for Stanhope’s company. Despite the fact that the company initially offered sailors a higher than ordinary salary, life, apparently, was hell on the ships. The food was usually rotten, the discipline harsh, the ships kept in poor repair.

Many sailors had been drugged, then taken to the ships.

Yet nothing seemed to touch Stanhope. There were rumors of important connections, but no one could identify exactly who that protection was.

Gabriel wondered whether the earl had the same connections twenty years ago.

In one tavern that appeared to be patronized by a particularly villainous looking group of ruffians, he broached the subject of duplicating a seal. After bargaining, he promised to pay twenty pounds for a duplicate.

It was a fortune in this part of London.

“’Ow do I know ye can pay?”

The man had a patch over one eye, and the other one had larceny in it.

Gabriel shrugged.

“’Ow did someone like ye get that much blunt?”

“None of your affair.”

The man eyed with him a malevolent glare, then held out his hand for the Stanhope seal.

Gabriel shook his head. “I want to meet with the … artist.”

“’Ow do I know ye won’t cut me out?”

“Faith, my good fellow. Faith.”

“I am not yer good fellow.”

“I can see that, which is why I chose you,” Gabriel said with a grin he knew was as fearsome as his companion’s. He had learned from the best. “Now do you wish to earn a fee or not? If not, I will find someone who will.”

“Who are ye?”

Gabriel just looked at him. “I need a seal. Nothing more. And you should know that if you tell anyone about me, I’ll be forced to protect my privacy.” He made his voice as brittle and hard as hail striking cobblestones.

“Ye play fair wi’ me, I will do the same,” the man said, obviously making up his mind. “Come wi’ me.”

They left the tavern together. Gabriel followed the man through some alleys. Then he stopped. “Put this over yer eyes.”

It was a dirty scarf. Gabriel wasn’t enough of a fool to be led around London’s dark allies blindfolded.

“No,” he said.

“He’ll kill me if I take ye to him.”

Gabriel didn’t like the looks of the area, nor the shadows. He grabbed the bandit by his rough jacket. “Then tell him I can be trusted. I can find out who you are. Where you live. You betray me and I will kill you. If you do not, I will make it worth your while. I will have more work for you.”

The man barely nodded his head.

“Your name?” Gabriel asked.

“Jack.”

“Just Jack?”

“Jack Pryor.”

“And if I ask around, what will I learn about Jack Pryor?”

Jack didn’t say anything.

“Are you married, Jack?”

“Do I look the nodcock?”

Gabriel arched an eyebrow. “Let’s get on with it.”

The man didn’t move. “You talk strangely.”

“I’ve been a sailor fifteen years,” Gabriel said.

“Let me see your hands.”

Gabriel held them out. Calluses were quite evident. That was why he usually wore gloves.

Jack nodded with satisfaction. “Follow me.”

Gabriel did so, marking streets as he went. It was a good exercise for a mind plagued since last night with the sight of Monique and Stanhope.

He had not known who the man was until he heard someone in the crowd whispering his name—and not in a complimentary way.

Monique Fremont and Thomas Kane, the Earl of Stanhope. The very image of the two together had made him queasy. So queasy that he had hustled his guests to the side of the park with the excuse that he was thirsty. He had brought them all punch before their journey home and he had listened to Elizabeth chatter with excitement.

For once, she’d lost her shyness in her excitement. The outing had been worth every pence and every moment for the joy that transformed her face into something truly remarkable.

But he couldn’t get Monique Fremont’s elegant face, graceful bearing, and cool gray eyes from his head. He had not last night. He couldn’t do it today. Not even this trip into the bowels of London’s dark side darkened the brightness of the mental image he had of her.

Not even the memory of her smiling up at the man he hated most in the world.

He had vowed to erase that image by taking the next step in the ruination of Stanhope.

He wondered whether it would be the ruination of himself as well.

He shook the notion away as they arrived at a print shop. Jack went in, stayed several moments, then emerged and motioned for Gabriel to accompany him inside.

The space was completely filled with tables, where broadsheets of one sort or another were filed high. There was a workbench with trays of type scattered over it. There was a bench in front of it.

An elderly, frail-looking man with glasses perched on his nose sat in the midst of what looked like chaos. He looked as if a wind might blow him over, but then as Gabriel studied him closer he saw that what looked thin was actually wiry. There was strength in that small body. The glasses and face made him look benevolent until Gabriel looked closer into his eyes.

They were like mirrors. They studied him like he was a bug on the wall. Then, “You want Stanhope.” No question was in the statement.

Gabriel did not reply for a slice of a moment.

The man seemed to force himself to take his eyes from him. He turned to Jack. “Go and watch outside.”

Surprisingly, Jack immediately did as he was told.

Once he was gone, the printer looked at him for a long time. “Why?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Why what?”

“Jack recognized the seal. You want something from Stanhope. What and why?”

“I am doing a favor for someone.”

“The only reason someone would want another’s seal is to forge a document.”

“I could think of other reasons.”

“You dress like a common seaman. You don’t talk like one.”

“I could, but then I would be insulting you.”

“You’re Manchester. You look like your father and I heard you were in London.”

“Yes.” There was no reason to hide it.

“Stanhope framed your father and stole the company.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “How did you know that?”

“I know everything that happens on the London docks,” the printer said flatly.

“Did you know my father?”

The man nodded and fixed an unblinking stare on Manchester. “Why do you want the seal?”

“I have a use for it.”

“I hear you gamble. Why should I trust you with something that could bring the runners to my business?”

“Do you think I’m a fool?”

“To come here alone with Jack, yes.”

“He and I came to an understanding.”

“An understanding like that can get you killed.”

“I can take care of myself,” Gabriel said.

“I think you can,” the printer said slowly. “So why play the fool?”

Gabriel didn’t reply.

“You look like your father but you are not like him. He trusted people.”

“And it killed him.”

“I will make your seal.”

“I might also need some documents forged.”

The printer nodded. “I can do that.” He stood, and his head came to Gabriel’s chest. “I’m Winsley,” he said slowly. “Your father helped me start this business. Stanhope has ruined more people than your father. I would like to see him destroyed. You might be the person who can do it.”

“It’s said he might have important friends,” Gabriel said.

“No one claims him as such,” Winsley said. “But no one seems to be able to call him to accounts, either.”

“Can you sell stones for me?”

“Stolen stones?”

“Found stones,” Gabriel said.

“Don’t be too ambitious, young Manning.”

“I haven’t been young since I saw my father on the floor, blood pouring from his head.”

“I will do what I can for you. When do you need the seal?”

“As soon as possible. I hope to return it before it is missed.”

“A few days then,” Winsley said.

“Should I come here?”

“No. Someone will bring it to you.”

Gabriel nodded. “I will have your money then.”

“I am pleased to see you were not foolish enough to bring it with you.”

“I have been at sea a long time. I know seaports.”

“You are not an ordinary seaman.”

“I was for a number of years. I captain a ship now.”

“Ah. I suspected as much. Even in those clothes, you have the look of a leader.”

“I hope to hell not.”

“You let your guard down.”

“I will have to watch that.”

“You put me at risk, too.”

Gabriel looked around the shop. It was covered with dust. “Then why are you a forger?”

“I asked some questions about Stanhope. He nearly destroyed my business, warning away people. Some people he couldn’t warn away.”

Luck or coincidence? Or did Stanhope’s business dealings affect far more people than he’d thought?

Or could it be a trap? Perhaps Stanhope had missed the seal and sent Jack to spy on him.

Perhaps.…

He wondered whether his eyes showed what he was feeling.

But the man only turned away, effectively dismissing him.

Gabriel went into the front of the shop. Jack was there, waiting.

“I can find my own way back,” Gabriel said, handing him a half of a crown.

“Did ye get what ye wanted?”

Gabriel shrugged. “My thanks for your help.”

“I don’t want yer thanks. I want yer blunt.”

Gabriel looked at him. “I suspect you will have a great deal more.”

He headed for the door, then the street, glancing around him as any sane man would do in the immediate area.

But even as he did, he was thinking ahead. Tomorrow would be Stanhope’s soiree.

First he must go back to his lodgings and change clothes. Hopefully no one would see him, but if they did he would explain he’d been attacked. Then a trip to the tailor’s to pick up the new doeskin trousers and waistcoat he had ordered for Stanhope’s affair. He had ordered the best. Perhaps he would attend a hell tonight, this time to win. He’d learned in the past few weeks which were the honest houses. A stroke of luck would not be noticed in light of his losses.

Then the soiree tomorrow and a slight bit of larceny.

He wondered whether Monique Fremont would be present.

He tried to tell himself she would be a distraction to Stanhope and that was all to the good.

He also wondered if she knew Stanhope’s reputation, whether she knew that some believed he had killed his wife. He wondered whether he should warn her.

It was her business, not his.

Still … he was a gentleman, and he would not want harm to come to her.

Monique wondered who she could get to take her to the soiree at Stanhope’s home. She needed someone who would not keep a very close eye on her.

There was Mr. Lynch, of course, but he would take her offer as an invitation. So would the would-be suitors that hovered around the theater.

All the way through the rehearsal, she considered the actor that played her husband. That would, she knew, displease Stanhope, yet instinct told her that it would be a wrong move. It would humiliate Stanhope. She didn’t want to do that. Not until all was ready for the final humiliation.

Her mind ran over possibilities. Lynch or Richard?

Lynch was unusually critical during the rehearsal. “Where is that sparkle, that zest?”

She tried to brighten her smile.

Richard leaned over after Lynch left them. “I think he had a bad night. You should see his wife. And hear her. She always suspects all the actresses of being after him. He must have arrived home late last night. She might even show up today.”

She smiled back. “I am warned.”

“There’s someone else in the theater,” he said.

She turned her head quickly and saw a man standing in the shadows toward the back of the theater. For a moment she thought it was Stanhope, then she noted he was taller, leaner.

She turned back to Richard and recited her next line.

She had not forgotten the contempt on the marquess’s face last night when he saw her with Stanhope, nor the sickness in her belly when she saw the child.

For a moment she wanted to flee. Instead, she looked at Richard as he said something.

“Bloody hell,” Lynch shouted. When she looked at Richard, she saw puzzlement in his eyes as well.

“Sorry,” she said. “Give me the cue again.”

He did, and she responded as she always had before, the words coming out. The anger she felt fueled her. She saw from Richard’s face that she had seldom acted better as she exchanged repartee.

She concentrated on every line. The dress rehearsal would be in three days, then the play would open three days later. Dear God, it had to be good. She had to be the darling of London, wanted by everyone, not a flop colored by rotten food.

Even Lynch was silent as they came to the end.

The house was filled with lights.

She turned toward the curtains. She would make it clear to the stagehands that no one was to be allowed near her dressing room.

Dani was in the wings. Her gaze was fixed on the back of the theater. “The marquess. He is here.”

“Oui,” Monique said. “I saw him. I do not want to see any more of him.”

“But did you not say you needed an escort?”

Monique narrowed her eyes. Dani looked innocent, but there was a gleam in her eyes.

If Monique didn’t know better, she would believe Dani was turning her hand toward matchmaking. But Dani distrusted men every bit as much as she did.

“He would make a good protector,” Dani said.

“He had a child with him,” Monique said. “He must be married.”

Dani shrugged. “Perhaps the child is not his.”

“What man escorts a child not his own?”

“You do not need to stay with him, but I … I think he would make you safe.” Dani’s eyes pleaded with her.

“He may not wish to go. He has not made any attempt to see me, and he did not look approachable last night.”

“Perhaps he did not like seeing you with that man.”

Jealous? Unlikely. He had not called on her again, nor tried to see her again. It was an unusual feeling for her, wanting someone who did not want her.

Wanting someone. That was unique in itself. She had vowed long enough never to be dependent on a man. Yet she didn’t seem able to slow the quickening beat of her heart, nor cool the blood that turned warm when she saw him.

A gambler, Stanhope had said. So he knew of him, even if he had not made Manchester’s acquaintance. But a marquess would be welcomed in nearly everyone’s home. As for the gaming, she’d learned since arriving here that every young lord gambled.

“Shall I bring him?” Dani asked.

“Lynch has probably ejected him from the theater,” she said.

“Not if he has funds,” Dani said with a disdain that amused Monique.

“I suppose he bribed some of the guards outside.”

“Oui.”

Monique considered Dani’s proposal. Maybe Manchester would be the perfect foil. A marquess would no doubt excite Stanhope’s obvious competitiveness. And she’d already discovered that despite the fop appearance, he could handle problems.

And you really want to see him again. She hated that little voice inside her.

She hated the way she felt.

But maybe if she saw more of him, she would realize he was nothing more than another useless aristocrat who felt it his right to gamble away his heritage and perhaps destroy the people who depended on him.

“Oui,” she said.

Dani gave her a triumphant smile and slipped out the door.

Monique brushed her hair and placed a bonnet on it to keep from piling it up with pins. At the last moment she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to bring more color into her face.

Her eyes, she noticed, were not their usual gray calm but more like that of the thunderheads prior to a storm.

“Drat the man.”

She stood when the knock came and she took the few steps to the door. When she opened it, he stood there, his hat in one hand while he whirled a cane with the other.

No flowers. No candy. No extravagant gift.

He was even taller than she remembered. His green eyes danced with curiosity.

His hair was properly dressed, and she didn’t like it. She liked it more when it looked tousled and wild.

For a moment they just stared at each other, the attraction vibrating in the air, the electricity a palpable thing.

Then he broke it with a bow that was more mocking than respectful. “Mademoiselle. I did not know if you would be here after a late night”

“I might say the same, my lord. I thought you might be gambling tonight.”

“I expect to do that,” he replied. “But I felt it my duty to warn you about your companion last night.”

“Warn?”

“He has not the best of reputations.”

“Neither do you, my lord.”

“But I have never been accused of murder.”

“And Lord Stanhope has?”

“Privately.”

“I am sure you have been called things that are not true.” Drat but his eyes were green. They were not dancing any longer, but instead intense, almost willing her to bend to his will.

She would bend to no man’s will.

“Merci,” she said, then eyed him speculatively. “Perhaps you can be of some assistance to me.”

He looked surprised. “If I may.”

“I have been invited to the Lord Stanhope’s home. A social … occasion, I believe. But I would like an escort.”

His mouth crooked on one side. A strange smile. Oddly pleasant. “I too have been invited. It would be my honor to accompany you.”

Relief flooded her. And anticipation. And something else not quite as benevolent. She shrugged away the latter.

The relief was real. She had not wanted to be alone in Stanhope’s town house. The anticipation was there because she would have an opportunity to study the house.

And another kind of opportunity.

And the something else. She sensed this man could be dangerous. Not to her physically. But certainly in other ways.

She ignored the warning. “You are very kind, my lord.”

“It will do my reputation no harm to have you on my arm,” he said. “I do not know about your own.”

“An American bumpkin, you mean.”

“You read the newspapers.”

“I hear gossip.”

“They can think what they like. They sneered at Americans in 1776 and again a few years ago. They discovered a strength they hadn’t understood.”

“And do you have a strength they wouldn’t understand?”

His expression was enigmatic. He didn’t reply. Or perhaps he had.

“How long do you plan to stay in London?” she asked after a moment.

He didn’t answer immediately. She realized their voices had lowered and become husky. She was not only warm now. She felt as if her skin was sizzling. Where was Dani?

He leaned closer and she smelled the clean scent of soap, not the heavy perfume so many men affected. His eyes were as startling green as emeralds, and his mouth …

His mouth touched hers with a firmness combined with gentleness, more of an exploration than a conquest. She found herself responding, rising on her tiptoes. He moved closer and their bodies stretched against each other and she felt her own begin to ache in sensuous and unfamiliar ways.

His kiss deepened, and then she heard a purr come from deep in her throat and felt, rather than saw, him smile. She looked up, and he was smiling with those eyes she once thought so aloof.

His arms went around her and drew her even closer to him. She felt the heat of his aroused body, the steady drumbeat of his heart, and the whispered promise of his breath.

It’s a lie.

She pulled away and looked up at him. Her lips felt swollen, and she knew her cheeks must be rose colored with heat and emotion.

“You take liberties, my lord.”

“Aye,” he said. “It seemed the thing to do. The invitation was there.”

The words were like a dash of freezing water.

“You saw what you wanted to see, not what was there,” she said in as cool a voice as she could imagine.

“I think not.”

“You are arrogant.”

“Are not most lords?”

The heat of passion was being replaced by the heat of anger. His answers were cool and dispassionate, almost as if that electricity had struck only her. And yet when she glanced down at his hands, she saw they trembled slightly as one leaned on an ornate cane.

She moved away to the mirror. Her worst fears were realized as she saw the flush of her face, the hair that had escaped the bonnet and fell down the side of her face. Even worse, the way her breasts thrust against the bodice of her dress, the nipples very obvious through the cloth.

She wanted to tell him he would not be needed tomorrow after all. She wanted to tell him to go to hell.

Revenge on Stanhope. That should supercede any other emotion, even this arrogant man.

She’d always been able to twist them around her fingers. She was very good at manipulation.

She suspected this man could not be manipulated.

“I must go,” she said. “You will still accompany me tomorrow?”

He bowed again. “Most certainly, mademoiselle.”

She nodded.

His eyes were an enigma as he reached the door. He looked back once at her.

“Be careful of Stanhope,” he said. “I came to tell you that.”

But as he disappeared outside, she wondered exactly who she had to be the most careful of.