Chapter Seventeen

Gabriel took his frustration out on Henry Worth, the Earl of Daven.

He would have rather visited Stammel, but Dani’s intrusion might well have made the baron more careful.

Daven did not gamble as recklessly as Stammel did, but he did have his weaknesses. One that probably drew both him and Stanhope together. They apparently were quite fond of establishments said to cater to rather bizarre interests of their patrons.

Gabriel spent part of the day with the forger, making certain changes in documents he had taken from Stanhope’s safe along with the money. Contracts with various shippers. He had gone over each of them carefully.

The contracts would be rewritten, amounts altered to make it appear that Stanhope had cheated his partners. He probably had, but Stanhope was a careful man.

Gabriel would then replace them in the safe and hope that Stanhope wouldn’t look too closely. When an investigation opened, they would be found in Stanhope’s possession. Another rope around his neck.

Part of his plan depended on a falling out between thieves. He wanted them all scampering for safety. He wanted them to know the despair that his father felt before he pulled the trigger of a pistol.

Monique Fremont and her challenge to the three partners had assisted him in that. Perhaps not immediately, but he’d seen tempers shorten. It wasn’t Monique, he knew. To the three men, a woman was mostly something to be used and discarded. No, it wasn’t Monique. It was the challenge itself.

Gabriel prayed that Monique knew exactly what she was doing.

He was tempted to act like Don Quixote and tilt at windmills. How could you save someone who did not want to be saved?

Instead, he tried to get her out of his mind by tending to his own business …

That business was finding out more about Stanhope’s business dealings and enlarging his meager stake. He had far less than the sum Stanhope had required as his investment. Still, he thought Stanhope would accept a lower amount if necessary.

The earl was a man who would take something rather than nothing, particularly if he wished to rid himself of what could become an embarrassment.

Gabriel attended his tailor and ordered a riding coat for Stanhope’s country party. He stopped in at a fashionable restaurant and made an ass of himself by trying to join a party which obviously did not want his presence.

Finally, he ended the evening at a gambling hell where he appeared to indulge in a great many glasses of brandy. He lurched home, not trying to avoid anyone who might be following him. He noticed, though, that rather than the bulky man, a young lad shadowed his progress.

The lad was good. Careful. But Gabriel was aware now. Probably no one else would have noticed, particularly the careless heir everyone thought him to be.

He returned to his lodgings. For once Smythe was not waiting for him. He had suggested that the man take a rare night off, perhaps to see old army friends. He’d also told Mrs. Smythe he would not need her this night.

Gabriel quickly changed into serviceable black clothes that would be worn by a servant. He rubbed coal in his sandy hair and tucked it under a dark cap. In a pocket was a black silk scarf. Then he added a dark gray cloak.

It had started misting, and he knew fortune was with him. He took an umbrella, left through the servants’ entrance, then hurried down an alley as if he were on an errand.

He walked three blocks, then found an alcove in which to wait. No footsteps sounded nearby. He stepped out. Mist had turned into fog. This city was made, he thought, for intrigue.

Gabriel walked to Daven’s residence. Most of the lights had been quenched.

At the servants’ entrance in the back, he tried the door. It was unlocked. Apparently Daven did not hold to the same standards as did his business partner.

He entered, keeping to the dark corners, listening for any footstep. He had more risky work to do here than at Stanhope’s. He had explored that residence when no one was inside. He had no idea how many lived here, but he knew there was at least one groom. There would also be a housekeeper, maid, and valet. That was the minimum of servants for a home like this.

The hall was silent, as it should be in the pre-dawn hours. Servants were usually up and busy at dawn, lighting fires, preparing the morning meals. The valet might well be preparing Daven’s clothes for the next day.

He quickly traversed through the lower level of the town house. It was not nearly as splendid as Stanhope’s. It was, in truth, fairly threadbare. Perhaps he had overestimated the number of servants.

One reception room had little furniture.

He found the study. He didn’t light the oil lamp but relied on dim light filtering in from the hall. The desk was piled high with papers and bills, totally unlike Stanhope’s. Gabriel glanced through them. Many of the bills were overdue.

He smiled to himself. Daven might not be the gambler Stammel was, but he certainly must have other vices. It appeared he owed practically every merchant in London.

The desk wasn’t locked. Inside were more bills. Then an envelope filled with banknotes.

He wondered why so many banknotes when a mountain of bills remained unpaid.

But then Gabriel’s tailor, who had demanded his fees in advance, had explained that some peers were notoriously lax in paying bills. The law protected them in matters of debt, and they could defraud creditors with impunity. The merchant’s only recourse was to decline to provide services or goods to that particular individual. Staring at the pile of bills, Gabriel wondered how Daven obtained any services at all.

But at least Gabriel had found what he wanted. He pocketed the banknotes, then closed the desk. One thing about Daven’s desk: he would not know if someone had prowled through it. He would realize soon enough, however, that his banknotes were missing.

Gabriel moved swiftly out the door, down the hall, and out the back. He moved around the side of the house and ducked when he saw a carriage pull up. Daven alighted.

Breathing again, Gabriel waited until the door opened, then left the property.

He hummed a sailor’s tune as he strolled down the street.

Unfortunately, now that the danger was gone, his thoughts returned to Monique. He never would have tried to seduce her if he had known she was a virgin, God help him. He never would have gone up to her bedroom.

The fact that she had been a virgin complicated things. He needed time to evaluate exactly what had happened.

Why was she acting the courtesan when at twenty-five she’d never been bedded before? What he’d thought to be coquettishness was inexperience. But she had been as eager as he. She had not wanted him to stop. She had been as much the aggressor as he.

Why? She had made it very plain she was after a fortune, that she did not object to pitting three men against each other for her favors.

What if Stanhope won? The thought sent a sharp pain through him. Then why had she given herself to him last night? Perhaps she’d just wanted to use him to prepare for whoever won her game.

He could not quite believe that.

Bloody hell. She tied him up in knots.

He knew he could not draw her into his own intrigue. It was too dangerous. He had intended a brief liaison with her, something that would mean little to either of them, and perhaps even put another thorn into Stanhope’s hide.

What he’d found instead was something he’d never expected. She made inroads into his heart. That was dangerous.

He assuaged his conscience with the knowledge that she had used him as much as he’d used her. She had never expressed any deeper emotion than their mutual attraction.

He tried to forget the wonder in her eyes, the way her fingers had loved him. He’d lost himself in both of them, but in the gray glimmers of dawn, he’d realized Monique traveled a path different from his.

Gabriel wanted to make it easier for both of them. Hell, nothing would make it easier. Not now. He wanted her. God how he wanted her. He knew he was failing miserably in avoiding thoughts of a woman with dark hair and an enchanting smile.

At least she wouldn’t be at Stanhope’s weekend. She had the play. She had a contract.

He could suffer through the weekend. He would appear to court Pamela, and he would finalize the business opportunity with Stanhope. He only hoped it was the same kind of opportunity Stanhope offered his father. The switching of a few signatures and it would be Stanhope who stood accused.

Monique Fremont. He only wished …

Several days after her unfortunate lapse in control and judgement Monique and Dani rode in Stanhope’s coach, alone except for the driver above and a groom.

She’d been told the journey would take most of the day but would not require an overnight stay at an inn.

Dani was drably dressed as usual. Monique had selected a midnight-blue dress with a low neck. She wore a cloak against the chill that permeated the morning.

Monique had second thoughts about taking Dani with her, but her friend had no intention of staying behind. “If you have trouble with the safe, then I can help,” she said. Months earlier she had introduced Monique to a thief who had taught her some useful skills.

But Dani had been far more adept than Monique. She had been a pickpocket, and her fingers were more facile than Monique’s. “I can also help secret whatever you find. No one sees a servant.”

“A very attractive servant,” Monique said, “if you would but let people notice.”

Dani humphed. “And why should I do that, only to have someone leave me a note the next morning?”

Dani had become more and more angry on Monique’s behalf in the last few days. She felt responsible because she’d thought Manchester kind and decent. Now she vocally wished him to hell more than a few times.

“He knows I am after Stanhope,” Monique said, excusing him, though the ache of rejection ran deep. “He knows I have promised myself to one of three men. How could he ever think well of me?” She paused. “It does not matter, in any event. I have other more important things to accomplish.”

Dani gave her a skeptical stare. She had been as angry as Monique. For some reason she had raised Manchester to heroic proportions.

“No man is trustworthy,” she said. “When this is done, you and I will return to France.”

“You should have told him about Lord Stanhope,” Dani said unexpectedly.

“Told him what? That Stanhope is my father? And what if he decided to use that information?”

“If he knew everything …” Dani tried again.

“That my father is a completely ruthless man. Manchester is aware of all that. He said as much. But he is still willing to deal with the man.”

“I think he has some honor,” Dani persisted.

“You would make a good advocate, Dani,” Monique observed with a sigh. “But he is obviously faithless. While paying court to my half sister, he seeks out my bed. Then he leaves without so much as a farewell. What kind of honor is that?” She paused, then added sadly, “And what kind of woman does that make me?”

Dani fell into silence. Monique stared out at the passing countryside. Everything was impossibly green, sparkling with the dew of early morning. Peaceful. Deceptive.

She prayed Manchester would not be attending this weekend. She did not know how she would face him again. Nor did she need interference with what she had to do.

She only wished that her detective had discovered more about Manchester.

Why did she care? He obviously did not care about her, other than for a night’s pleasure. That stung. More than stung. The pain went deeper than she wanted to admit, even to herself.

She should avoid him from now on, and concentrate on the task to date.

And yet he was paying suit to her sister. How could she ignore him? Should she warn Pamela that he was a bounder? How could she explain her interference?

Everything had become far more complicated than she had ever imagined.

And it had started from the first moment she had seen Manchester on that dratted ship. She wished with all her heart he had never come to London.

They stopped at an inn to rest the horses and for her and Dani to dine. After the first glance at the Stanhope coach with its elaborate crest, the innkeeper and grooms could not do enough for them. It was obvious that Stanhope was a frequent and valued—or feared—patron. She and Dani were served in a private room, although the innkeeper had asked whether the maid should dine in the kitchen.

“Of course not,” she had replied.

The food was plain, but tasty. Slices of beef with potatoes, cheese, and fruit. A good wine accompanied the meal.

Following supper, they were told by the coachman it would be another few moments before they could leave.

Thankful for the respite of the jolting of the coach, Monique tried to relax. She expected the next few days were going to be more than a bit complicated.

It had been less than a day since she had seen Manchester, and her body still pulsed with her newfound knowledge of lovemaking. It pulsed even stronger when she thought of him, though she despised herself for it.

Restlessly, Monique rose and went to the window, watching as another coach rolled into the courtyard. There was no crest and it appeared to be a hired coach. A fine gray horse was tied to the back of it.

Her blood went cold, then hot, as she recognized the gelding. It was the same one Manchester had ridden in the park. She couldn’t take her gaze from the door as Manchester stepped down, followed by a large man in somber clothes.

Manchester said something to him, then they disappeared inside the tavern.

She wondered whether he had noticed Stanhope’s coach, which was to the side of his, whether he thought Stanhope was inside.

Then the door to the private room opened, and the coachman appeared. “We are ready to go.”

She had no choice but to follow him out the door to the main room. Manchester stood just inside the main door of the tavern. He wore skintight tan pantaloons, a white linen shirt, and a dark brown riding coat. He had not bothered with a cravat. Behind him was the man she had seen alight from the coach with him.

Manchester looked stunned, then frowned deeply as his gaze met hers. “The innkeeper said other members of the earl’s party were here. I did not realize you had been …” His brows snapped together in an expression of utter consternation.

“Invited?” Monique asked. She wanted to throw a tankard of wine at him.

Silence.

“I truly did not intend to intrude,” he added, “but the horses needed rest.”

“It is of no matter. We are ready to depart, in any case,” Monique said with as much dignity as she could muster.

Some emotion flicked across his face. It disappeared so quickly she wasn’t sure she’d even seen it.

“I do not want to …”

“I do not care what you want, my lord,” she said sharply. “I did not realize you had been invited to Lord Stanhope’s home.”

“Nor I you,” he said. “But I am …”

“Delighted? I think not.”

Their eyes met and, to her dismay, whatever existed between them—passion, need, lust—still radiated between them. Heat puddled in her stomach. She detested him. He was everything she had always avoided: a man who used women, then left them.

But fate—or the devil—seemed determined to throw them together. She wanted to rail against whichever it was.

She looked at Dani, who stared at the tall man who stood silently at Manchester’s side.

“Come, Dani,” Monique said. She walked to the door, waited for Dani to go before her, then turned back and tossed Manchester a gaze of contempt before retreating.

Her legs did not want to carry her as she walked through the door. She forced herself not to look back as she climbed in, followed by Dani. Against her judgement, she glanced up at the window of the small private dining room. She saw his face looking down. Watching.

Dear God. She wanted to tell the coachman to turn around and return to London. Yet she had come too far to allow such a mistake to cancel all her plans. She should have known Manchester would be invited. Perhaps she had. She just had not expected that her reactions to him would still be so strong.

Three days.

She had only three days to turn Stanhope against the others. Three days to avoid the Marquess of Manchester.

She wondered how she would endure it.

Stanhope’s estate was magnificent.

Gabriel regarded the country manor with grudging admiration, especially in comparison to his own poor property. Then he reminded himself that it did not matter. He wanted a deck beneath him, and the sky above. He wanted to return to America as soon as possible.

He was finding himself very uncomfortable with the trappings of the English aristocracy. He longed for the sea and the honest companionship of fellow sailors.

The manor in front of him was glaring evidence of the excess that had killed his father.

He alighted from the coach. A footman opened the door as he approached. Several other servants—grooms—emerged from the stable to take care of the horses.

Smythe had tied his cravat in the coach and replaced his riding coat with a waistcoat, one that was not in the best of taste. He added a beaver hat and put his quizzing glass in place.

He had lost his amusement in his role. He had seen the shock and disdain in Monique’s face. Because she was repulsed by what had passed between them? He had not wanted to wake her that morning, and he’d had business …

Hell, he hadn’t only been confused. He’d been befuddled. He’d needed to gather his wits about him, and he couldn’t do that with her in the room. In the same residence.

She had never said anything about love, or affection. She’d never hid the fact that she was pursuing a wealthy protector. She was obviously an opportunist. A woman on the make.

And a virgin, damn it.

It simply did not make sense.

He should have contacted her, but he’d had business …

Bloody hell, he had thought … to hell what he had thought.

In that moment at the inn he’d suddenly seen himself through her eyes and did not like what he saw there. He’d always thought of himself an honorable man with women. He had never led one to believe a liaison was anything more than that.

He had not planned to seduce Monique Fremont. He’d wanted information, but then … that bloody attraction between them got in the way and one thing led to another. He’d even hoped that it might get her out of his bloody mind.

Instead, she had insinuated herself in his heart. He’d been trying to deny it for the last two days. He’d been telling himself she had been using him, that the only thing she cared about was money and power. Why else would she instigate such a contest between three wealthy and even dangerous men? Why would she sell herself?

And yet he had seen flickers of hurt in her eyes despite the haughty cut.

That led him back to the question as to why she was doing what she was doing. She must do well as an actress. Her clothes were expensive, her home respectable and pleasant. She had a maid.

He had never seen her wear expensive jewelry, though.

That had surprised him, since she had so many admirers.

What if she had reasons of her own to go after the same three men he sought? He knew his father hadn’t been Stanhope’s only victim. Rumors abounded in London’s gambling hells about his ruthlessness in business.

All those questions haunted him on the drive from the inn to Stanhope’s estate.

She would already be there.

He followed a footman inside and was met by the butler, who requested his name, then instructed the servant to take him and Smythe to the blue room.

Gabriel noted the magnificent hall on the right, the marble flooring, the grand staircase leading to the next floor. He’d started to mount the steps behind the servant when he saw Pamela.

Her solemn face lit when she saw him, and he felt like a fraud. She trusted him.

“Lady Pamela,” he said.

“My lord, I am so glad you came.” She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “I do not like many of these people.”

“Miss Fremont?” he asked. “I saw her at the inn about midway.”

“Oh, she arrived an hour ago, and yes, she is very pleasant, but I do not care for my father’s business friends. One is always looking at me in a … greedy way. He will not dare to do so with you here.”

So much faith. Faith he didn’t deserve. He had offered to act her suitor for his own selfish reasons. A rational part of his mind reminded him that it suited her purposes as well, that there were no illusions for either of them. That had not been the case with Monique. She had deceived him by implication, if not actual words. She played the role of experienced woman well.

“I will be delighted to be your protector,” he said.

She gave him the shy smile that was so appealing to him. “I will see you at supper then,” she said.

He bowed. “I look forward to it.”

He followed the footman up the stairs, then down a long hall to a room on the left. He wondered where Monique had been placed.

Get her out of your head. He could not appear to have an interest in her, not if he had declared his intention to form an alliance with Pamela. He had done enough damage already.

Smythe efficiently unpacked his clothes, then followed the footman to his quarters. He would return immediately to see to Gabriel’s needs, he said.

Gabriel went to the window and looked out. Manicured gardens stretched out directly beneath the window. He looked beyond the flower beds and saw well-tended green hedges that looked impenetrable.

A maze? He had heard of them but had never actually seen one.

He pulled on a waistcoat of questionable cut and taste. His cravat was looking a little worse for wear, but that didn’t matter. In fact, he liked that small touch.

Unwillingly, he thought of Monique and wondered whether she was with Stanhope or Stammel.

Damn, the thought curdled his blood.

He decided to do a little reconnaissance. He walked the full length of the hall and wondered which room was occupied by Monique if, indeed, she was on the floor at all. Then he went to the next floor. More rooms. He saw what was obviously a woman’s maid back out of one, and disappointment struck him as he saw it was not Dani.

An older well-dressed couple left a room down the corridor and nodded to him as they passed. They did not introduce themselves. It was definitely what he’d heard termed as the cut indirect. He thought it an amusing term.

He finished his walk on that floor, then descended the staircase. Others were coming down from the second floor. Some he recognized, others he did not.

The women were all in magnificent dresses, the men far more formally dressed than he.

One man with whom he’d played whist stopped to exchange a word. “Manchester. Did not know I would see you here.” His puzzlement was only too obvious.

“I hope to press my suit for Lady Pamela,” he explained.

The gentleman—a baron, Gabriel thought—arched an eyebrow. “You do say?”

“Yes. And it has Lord Stanhope’s approval.”

“Humph,” the man said. “We all thought you would be returning to America when you saw the state of …”

Gabriel shrugged. “My ancestral home? I visited briefly but I find London more entertaining.”

“One should take care of one’s business,” the baron said. His name was Blackshear or something of that nature.

“I am doing that,” Gabriel boasted. “Lord Stanhope is bringing me on as a partner in one of his businesses.”

The eyebrow arched even higher. Amusement seemed to play in his eyes, then he bowed slightly. “I must join my wife,” he said.

“Indeed,” Gabriel said. “I hope to have one of my own soon.”

“Pamela is a sweet girl.”

“Yes,” he said. “She is.”

“Well then maybe we could enjoy a game of whist later. Or billiards. You will have to tell me more about this business with Stanhope.”

Gabriel bowed slightly in return. “It will be my pleasure.”

The baron turned and continued his descent down the stairs.

Gabriel watched him, wondering what he knew about Stanhope’s business dealings. Perhaps over that game of billiards …

A large group of gentlemen were gathered in a library on the left. Cigar smoke filled the room. He went past it and investigated the rest of the main floor, finding a smaller dining room and what appeared to be a withdrawing room or parlor that was more feminine in appearance.

Like Stanhope’s town house, the walls were lined with portraits, apparently more of his ancestors. They too wore grim expressions, but then many of the portraits from earlier years bore that same appearance, including those of his own ancestors. Apparently frivolity had been frowned upon.

He paused at the sound of a loud voice. “Are you accusing me?”

He recognized Stammel’s drink-blurred voice coming from a room. The door was open.

Then he heard a lower reply. “I am not accusing anyone. I am merely saying that money is missing from my safe and Daven has also lost a large sum. You seem to be the only …”

“Damn you, Stanhope, you have no right. We have been partners for more than twenty years. I would never …”

Stanhope faced the door with a cue stick in his hand, giving Stammel a look that stopped his words in midsentence.

Satisfaction coursed through Gabriel. He stepped inside what was obviously a game room. His gaze wandered about the room as if he had heard nothing. A huge mahogany billiard table dominated the room. Other tables, including one with a magnificent chess set, were artfully scattered around.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to interrupt. I hope you do not mind my wandering about, but I was looking for Lady Pamela. I thought perhaps a stroll …”

Stanhope immediately dropped his cue and approached Gabriel, his hand outstretched. “So good of you to come to our little weekend,” he said heartily. “Have you seen my daughter yet?”

“Very briefly as I arrived,” Gabriel said. “She looked charming.” He looked around the room. “Your home is magnificent.”

“Thank you,” Stanhope said with pride. “I have restored it since my father died. As for my daughter, I hope you will see much of her this weekend.”

“It will be my great delight,” Gabriel replied extravagantly.

“Would you like to join us for a game of billiards?”

Stammel shot Gabriel a baleful glance.

“I have little experience with billiards,” Gabriel said.

“I will teach you,” Stanhope said. “Every gentleman should know the game.”

“Then I am your pupil,” Gabriel agreed.

“And perhaps, a game of cards after. I understand you enjoy a game of chance.”

“I do not have much coin with me.”

“Your note is good,” Stanhope said.

Gabriel nodded, allowing a pleased smile to spread across his face.

Stanhope handed him a cue.