Chapter Ten

Monique sipped on champagne offered by several admirers who surrounded her, including the Earl of Daven and Lord Robert Stammel. She took turns being a coquette, fluttering her fan first at one, then the other.

All in all, it had been a successful evening. She had an opportunity to see Stanhope’s sleeping quarters, had even quickly searched the area. She found diamond cravat pins, jewel-encrusted snuffboxes, and a safe. Unfortunately, she did not know how to open it, but Dani would.

As a small token she picked up a diamond cravat pin.

No more. Not yet. She wanted things to disappear slowly. She wanted to spread distrust between him and his partners. She wanted them to turn on one another.

The stain on her dress had disappeared. She’d worn that particular gown purely because stains did not show. She had not wanted to leave the house, only the public rooms.

She glanced between two of her admirers. Stanhope was returning to the room and heading straight for her. She had seen the marquess and earl leave together.

She licked her lips. It was a nervous mannerism she tried to control, but she also knew slightly moistened lips were seductive to many men.

The other men stood aside for Stanhope. It was clear he dominated any gathering. “My dear, would you care to join me in the library for the music?”

“Of course,” she said, accepting the arm he offered. “These gentlemen were kind enough to bring me champagne. My … escort appears to have abandoned me.” She pouted slightly.

“He and I had some business,” Stanhope said. “He asked me to look after you.”

“It’s very kind of you.”

“He just asked to call on my daughter,” Stanhope said, stopping to watch her face.

She kept it motionless. She had seen Manchester and her … half sister enter together. Pamela’s face had been flushed, and one of the buttons on Manchester’s evening coat was undone. Pamela had given him a hesitant, sideways look, as if they shared some kind of secret.

Monique’s heart had dropped. Not for herself, she quickly assured herself. It was Pamela she worried about.

Manchester had told her he hoped to do business with Stanhope. Was he going to use Pamela to do it? For some reason, she had not thought him that kind of man, but what really did she know about him?

He seemed to be a chameleon.

She wondered whether she should warn the girl, but with what excuse? It was none of her affair, or shouldn’t be.

Drat him. No, damn him!

She was aware of Stanhope’s eyes still on her. She gave him a brilliant smile. “And what did you say?”

“He is a marquess,” Stanhope said. “It would be a fine match. He insists that his intentions are entirely honorable.”

She said nothing, just fluttered her fan.

“You seem to know him, my dear. Do you think he is an honorable man?”

“I have no idea, my lord. He did help me at the theater, but I barely know him and certainly have no interest in him. He is not worldly enough for my tastes. Too much the American bumpkin. Isn’t that what people said? That is why I considered him the perfect escort for tonight. He would not be … possessive.”

“That is good to hear, mademoiselle.”

“Oh, posh. You surely did not think …”

“In truth, I did not know what to think, and I would not want him playing with my daughter’s heart.”

Neither did Monique, but she thought her concern was far more sincere than his own. He was ready to throw Pamela to the wolves—or wolf—for some reason of his own. She decided she would try to warn Pamela some way.

She wondered where the Marquess of Manchester was at this moment. He appeared to have completely disappeared, and she certainly couldn’t ask her companion. She quietly fumed even as she heard the lovely notes of a sonatina.

She looked around the room and saw Pamela sitting with two older ladies, her fan clutched tightly in her hands. The flush in her cheeks was gone, and she looked pale again. Her eyes were fastened on the musicians, but Monique wondered whether she was really listening. She seemed to be in a world of her own.

Manchester was an attractive man when he took the dratted quizzing glass from his left eye and removed the ridiculous beaver hat …

Stop thinking of him.

“I would like to see more of you,” Stanhope said as the sonata came to an end.

“I will be very busy when the play opens,” she said.

“I have the date marked.”

“I hear British audiences can be very critical.”

“I do not believe you have anything to worry about, my dear. They will love you.”

“You are kind, my lord.”

“To those I like,” he said with a patently false smile on his face. She wondered whether he really believed it was not obvious.

“I thought I would have a country party this weekend,” he continued. “You can rest before the play opens. I already checked with Lynch. He also thinks you need a diversion.”

“You just arrived in London, oui?”

“Yes. But my country home is less than a day’s journey, and I would like you to see it.”

She did want to see it. But she would be in his territory then.

“I cannot,” she said. “I have other commitments this weekend.”

His face mottled with anger. She saw him struggle with it, saw his one hand clench his cane until his fingers were white.

“But,” she said after a moment’s silence, “I too would like to see you again. Perhaps a supper.”

His face cleared slightly.

“I truly would like to see your home. But the play opens next week and I do need the rehearsals. I want to stay here in London and I cannot do that unless the audiences like me.”

Her eyes pled with him.

He nodded and moved closer to her, obviously completely oblivious to the other people in the room, including his daughter. “You would not have to act,” he said. “I can take care of you.”

“And then you would grow tired of me, and what would I do?”

“I cannot imagine anyone growing tired of you.”

“Ah, sweet words now.”

“You do not believe me?”

“I believe no man, my lord. My mother was deserted by one. That is why I have learned to care for myself.”

“Then what are your terms?”

She looked at him for a long time. “Your two friends have also made offers,” she said.

“I will better either one.”

“Ah but money is not everything,” she said. “I like to know the man.”

“I’m one of the most powerful men in England,” he boasted.

She raised an eyebrow, which she knew how to do very dramatically.

He gave her a small smile. “You are not impressed?”

“As I said, my lord, I believe no man.”

“What do you want?”

“Time to decide among you.”

He seemed to weigh her words even as she watched him struggle with anger, lust, and pride. A potent combination, and a dangerous one.

Yet he was also a competitive man. She’d noticed that, too.

“How long?” he finally asked.

“A month, and I expect no demands during that time.” She held her breath.

“And if you do not need a month?” he asked. The challenge won, as she’d hoped it would.

She smiled. “I am promising everyone a full month.”

“And they have agreed?”

“No, I have not asked them yet.”

“What if they do not wish to play your game?”

“Then it will be none,” she said. It was a game of chance. She had thrown the dice. The question was whether or not he would accept the wager.

“Done,” he said.

She gave him her most brilliant smile.

She had done well tonight.

Monique looked across the room at her half sister. And the feeling of triumph was short-lived.

In truth, her stomach twisted at the thought of Pamela with Manchester. Together.

Because of Pamela?

Or because of her own disappointment?

That was a truly disturbing thought.

The journey back to her lodgings was tense.

Manchester acted as if nothing had happened. When it had been time to leave Stanhope’s home, he’d suddenly appeared at her side.

Ever the excellent escort.

An American oaf? Why did that ring increasingly false?

And where had he been during much of the evening?

Unfortunately—even amazingly—she-felt the tiniest sensation in her lower stomach when his leg brushed hers as he entered the carriage.

“Did you accomplish what you wished?” she asked.

“Yes, and you?”

Drat, but his eyes were intense.

“Oui.”

“I noticed you and the earl seemed to enjoy one another.”

“He is a wealthy and powerful man.”

“Yes.”

There was an uncommon amount of agreement between them.

“What did you think of Pamela?” She could have kicked herself for asking the question. It just came out.

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes clear in the light of the lantern hanging inside. “She is pretty enough.”

She wanted to slap him. “Enough for what?”

He yawned.

She wanted to murder him.

“Lord Stanhope said you asked permission to call on her.”

“Yes.”

She really hated those one-word sentences.

“Why?”

“Because it is a good alliance,” he explained patiently, as to a child, as if surprised that she should even ask. “You should know about alliances,” he added. “I noticed that you were paying a great amount of attention to the good earl.” The latter sentence had the least bit of bite to it.

“He was our host.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged once more with that maddening agreeability.

She turned away and looked out the window as the carriage clattered down the road.

She wanted that thrill back, that moment when she sensed victory. She wanted to revel in thoughts of Stanhope’s downfall. Instead, she only saw Manchester looking down at Pamela.

“She’s very young,” she suddenly said.

“Who?”

He was being deliberately obtuse.

“Pamela.”

“Young wives are the best wives.”

“She’s an innocent and you don’t care anything about her.”

“And you do?”

She started to respond and stopped. Some new note had entered his voice. Curiosity, yes. But something else.

“I just met her,” she said.

“She reminds me of you.”

Shock ran through her body, and she stiffened. “She looks nothing like me.”

“No,” he agreed, putting the quizzing glass in his eye and ogling her. “It’s something … more subtle. Your bodies, the way you tilt your heads …”

“I do not see any similarities at all,” she said huffily, hoping he would think she just didn’t care for the comparison.

“My imagination, perhaps,” he agreed again.

“Does she … agree to you calling on her?” she asked.

“Now that is a personal question, mademoiselle. But I would think my suit would be welcomed. I have resources. I have a title.”

“She’s a child.”

“Oh, she’s much more than that,” he said.

The carriage came to a stop in front of her town house. She waited for him to move. He didn’t.

“You did not take my warning about the earl, mademoiselle. I don’t think you should be lecturing me.” There was an anger in his voice she hadn’t expected.

She started to move, but his arm pinned her down. “You are playing with fire.”

“It is my concern, not yours.”

“You are right there,” he said, “but for some reason …”

Their voices had lowered to little more than husky whispers. The air in the closed carriage was sparking, hissing, crackling. Threatening to ignite.

He suddenly leaned over and kissed her. But it wasn’t like the other time. His lips pressed roughly against hers and she felt his teeth nibbling at them. There was a wildness about the kiss, an anger she hadn’t anticipated.

She fought it for a moment. He was obviously a cad, ready to exploit a young girl for his own financial benefit.

And yet …

And yet fire started building in her belly and she felt herself respond to the sizzling hunger that he roused in her. One of his fingers traced the lines of her face as if he were memorizing each one of them, then his hand moved down. It snaked inside her cloak and caressed her left breast. She felt it tighten and swell in reaction to the merest brush of his skin.

She wondered only for a fraction of a second when he’d taken off his gloves.

His hand left her breast, and she knew a longing ache that was stunning. How could she want someone like this? Especially someone like him. She’d spent a lifetime avoiding men like him. Men who used women.

She started to move, but his mouth wouldn’t release her. Instead his tongue made its way into her mouth and teased her until she was mad with longing.

She had thought the fireworks always between them would have been quenched by his behavior tonight. Perhaps even her own. Instead the air was explosive, filled with the hot expectancy of a pending lethal storm.

Breathlessly, she found herself waiting for his next overture, for the next seduction. She found herself opening her mouth to him as she heard a low moan rumbling through his body.

Then he let her go, almost as if he were pushing away something distasteful.

She felt humiliated beyond belief that she had just permitted what had happened, and even wanted more.

His face looked as startled as she knew hers must.

Then he rapped the carriage box with his cane.

And she slapped him as hard as she possibly could.

Gabriel felt the blow, and it was more powerful than he thought could come from such a feminine young woman.

For a moment he’d almost succumbed to her. God knew there had never been a woman who so attracted him before. He’d known she was as unwilling a participant as he in the damnable attraction that always flamed between them, though he didn’t quite understand why she was seducing the much older Stanhope and his friends rather than what appeared to be a wealthy lord with a title.

He was more than a little perturbed by her choice.

His face stung as he heard the coachman, summoned by his rap, descend from the box.

He made his voice cool. “Have a good evening, mademoiselle.”

She sat as still as any stone creation, looking as surprised at her own actions as he had been.

Monique Fremont totally befuddled him. Unmanned him.

He wanted to despise her. She was obviously playing one lord against another. The reason could only be wealth.

Yet each time he found himself alone with her, he could barely control his body, which had always been so disciplined.

Always before he had paid for love, or it had been given freely but without emotional attachments. Never had he felt this gut-wrenching desire that nearly overwhelmed every other thought.

The door opened. The coachman stood aside for him to descend, then help his lady out.

Instead, he sat there.

She gave him an odd little smile and climbed over him. “Thank you for your courtesy tonight.” The words were poisoned with irony.

He took off his beaver hat. “Any time, mademoiselle. I enjoy small plots.”

Her lips tightened and she turned away.

He still felt the imprint of her hand against his face.

Gabriel stepped out of the coach, watched as the coachman escorted her to the door. It opened almost the very instant they reached the top of the steps.

She didn’t look back at him. Her body was stiff, her head high, as if she were a queen. Arrogant and proud. Dismissive.

He knew he had been an oaf for not accompanying her to the door. But he feared that if he did, he might well not be able to stop what he barely stopped a moment ago.

He turned away and looked at the fog-misted road. He wanted to walk home, hell, he had to walk home. London was encased in fog now, and he needed the cool mysterious mist to cleanse him of a fire he did not want. He forced himself to turn away from the town house. He paid the carriage driver liberally and shook his head as the man asked where he wanted to go.

“Be careful, gov’nor,” the driver said as Gabriel headed toward his own lodgings.

The theater was packed. Outside, vendors were hawking their usual wares of tomatoes and other gross objects often used to demonstrate displeasure with a performance.

Gabriel sat in a box next to Pamela. Her father and the two other men that Gabriel now thought of as “The Group” accompanied them.

He’d known she was good. He’d stood in the back of the theater and watched her rehearse.

But that didn’t prepare him for the illumination of her presence when she walked on the stage, nor the way she captivated every man and woman in the theater.

She was, in a word, breathtaking. The stage makeup made her face almost translucent. Her eyes sparkled and her quick witty repartee was delivered with a charming confidence that was irresistible.

Within two minutes of being on stage, she’d stolen the heart of every man and made every woman envious.

“She truly is remarkable,” Pamela whispered to him.

“Yes,” he said.

“She is the most sought after woman in London,” Henry Worth, the Earl of Daven said, “and she has consented to have supper with me tomorrow night after the performance.” He shot a triumphant look at Stanhope.

The last line of the play was uttered, and the theater erupted in applause. No rotten fruit tonight. The audience stood and waited until Monique Fremont and her leading man returned four times, each time bringing the other cast members to the front of the stage with them.

Someone handed her a bouquet of flowers. She took them and curtsied.

“Thank you,” she told the audience, with the slightest hint of a French accent. “Thank you for making me so welcome and giving me a new home.”

The audience erupted again.

“She is a very fine actress,” Stanhope said, making it plain he really didn’t consider her graciousness anything but an act.

“I hope she visits us again,” Pamela said wistfully. Her comment surprised Gabriel. She had been very quiet. In fact the only words he recalled her saying other than the greeting upon his arrival at the Stanhope home was that about Monique Fremont being “a remarkable woman.”

“She will,” Stanhope said and looked down at his daughter distastefully. “But I will not have you bothering her.”

Pamela’s face tightened, the fleeting pleasure gone. Her hands in her skirt clenched together.

Gabriel leaned over and whispered into her ear. “I think she liked you,” he said in a voice too low for her father’s ear. He thought—hoped—it looked more like an endearment.

For a moment Pamela smiled slightly. Then she turned her eyes back to the stage.

So did he.

Monique Fremont’s eyes seemed to be gazing in their direction. Gabriel saw a slight tightening of her lips before she once more flashed that brilliant smile and swept off the stage.

“I think I will go backstage and give her my personal congratulations for a magnificent performance,” Lord Daven said. He turned to Stanhope. “Would you join me?”

Gabriel looked about with an air of complete indifference. Daven had been invited to accompany them, and he despised the man every bit as much as he despised Stanhope. Greed oozed out of his every pore; so—every time the man looked at Monique—did pure lust.

But taking young Pamela home fit his plans, and he had no doubt now that Monique could take care of herself. He had done everything he could in warning her. She had decided to ignore his warnings.

Now he had to take care of Pamela, and in doing so he would have access to Stanhope’s home.

Stanhope said “I must accompany my daughter and Manchester home. I would not like the ton to be talking about them.”

“Your consideration toward your daughter is touching,” Manchester said courteously. “Your coachman can vouch for the fact I will take her straight home.”

“I do not believe you would dishonor Pamela,” Stanhope said. “It is only appearances. Obviously no one cares about those in the colonies, but …”

Gabriel wanted to thrust his fist in the man’s face.

The colonies were colonies no longer and yet the British seemed intent not to accept that reality. Stanhope was also very careless with the well-being of his daughter. He obviously was ready to sell her to anyone to profit his own pockets. That filled Gabriel with a ferocity even greater than he had anticipated.

He’d never considered whether Stanhope had a family, much less an innocent daughter.

The sudden need to protect her was a complication. And an opportunity, he admitted to himself.

He wanted to get into the house again. Perhaps tonight. But if not, he would visit a few gambling hells and try his luck. He needed funds. He would need a great deal shortly. He’d hoped to steal what he needed from Stanhope, but then there had always been the other option.

He had to win, though at different places. He did not want anyone to know he had the skill to win large amounts of money, or that he could best an aristocracy that spent so much time gambling away nearly everything they had inherited.

Gabriel tried to keep his contempt from showing. Instead, he summoned a foolish smile. “I would not dishonor a future bride,” he said again.

“Make up your mind, Thomas,” Lord Daven said. “I am leaving now. I have a slight bauble to give the lovely Miss Fremont in celebration of her great success.”

Gabriel looked at Pamela and saw none of the pleasure that had been there just seconds earlier. “I will be safe, Papa,” she said.

Stanhope looked at her for a long time. “I will tell Garvey to look after you.”

“Oh, yes, Papa. He will.”

Stanhope turned to Gabriel. “I trust you as a man of honor.”

Man of honor, indeed. Stanhope didn’t know the meaning of the word. Well, Gabriel did. At least as far as Lady Pamela Kane was concerned.

Gabriel helped Pamela on with her cloak. Then he ushered her through the crowd to where he knew Stanhope’s carriage would be waiting.

He didn’t say anything to his young companion until they were inside, and the coach was winding its way down a London street. He watched her visibly relax.

“I am sorry you missed going backstage,” she said in a small voice.

“I would rather be with you,” he said.

She looked at him with wary blue eyes. “I would have liked to have seen her tonight,” she said shyly. “She is everything I would like to be. She is so … confident. I do not think she would allow anyone to …”

“To what?” Gabriel asked after a moment’s silence.

Pamela seemed to back into herself, as if to make herself invisible. Her lips trembled slightly.

Damn Stanhope. How many lives had he destroyed?

“You promised to tell me about the ton,” he said gently.

“I … I only know the gossip from the country. He brought me here only because of you.” She swallowed hard. “I led you to believe I could help you. I cannot.”

Her voice trembled and her hands shook slightly.

“I still think it is a good bargain,” he said. “Yours and mine.”

“Why?”

“Because you are a very appealing young lady and I enjoy your company. I do not wish to be pursued by other women. It serves my purposes to allow everyone to believe I am your devoted slave.”

“You would be no woman’s slave,” she said with more insight than he’d expected, but then she had surprised him several times. Still, it was disconcerting. How many times had his mask slipped?

He chose not to answer, and she fell into silence. He wondered whether she would ask him inside. It would be highly improper, particularly with no woman family member in attendance.

Gabriel wondered again why Pamela was being dangled in front of his eyes, like a newly killed goose at Christmastime.

Did Stanhope believe it would blind him to the particulars of a business arrangement or that his influence would keep Gabriel quiet if he’d sought information about that long-ago partnership which ended with a suicide?

“Tell me about your young man,” he finally said.

She glanced up toward the bench. The driver couldn’t hear their voices over the sound of wheels against cobbled streets, but he sensed the fear in her. She said nothing.

He waited.

“My father would destroy him if he knew,” she finally said. “He already …” She stopped in midsentence again.

He could not pry further. She was obviously terrified of her father, and he knew she would not tell him of her father’s threats. She was too afraid, though she showed signs of spirit long battered.

“If you ever need a friend,” he said, “I am available.”

“Why? I heard my father talk about you.”

“He believes I am a worthless fool.”

She was kind enough not to answer, but her silence was just as convincing.

“And what do you think?” he asked.

“I think you like Miss Fremont and you wish to make her jealous.”

“And you think that is why I am calling on you?”

“Why else? You suggested the bargain.”

“Yes.” He wanted to say she looked as if she needed someone. But that would be too far out of his role.

Instead, he sat back and looked out at the homes they passed. Lights flickered through the night.

London.

It had been such an adventure for a boy.

His father coming home, his big voice booming. His mother’s delighted laughter …

He shook off the memories as the coach rolled to a stop.

He recalled the last time he was in a carriage alone with a woman, and how he had kissed her, thinking that one kiss might tell him Monique Fremont was nothing but the conniving courtesan she appeared to be. But it hadn’t.

It had only made him want her more.

He felt nothing but sympathy for the young girl next to him.

When the coachman opened the door, he helped her down and walked her to the door. He knew he should ask to come in. It was an opportunity to reach Stanhope’s safe.

She would say yes.

But as he looked into her vulnerable face and eyes, which seemed to search for the truth, he couldn’t do it.

Not now. Not tonight.

Instead, he bowed. “It was a delightful evening, Lady Pamela.”

He turned around and walked quickly down the street before he could change his mind.

He would spend the rest of the night in a gambling hell. Maybe there he could forget lovely gray eyes.