Dancing with a Rogue

by Potter, Patricia;

  Pamela’s declaration drew sympathy. Hers obviously did not. She was an outsider, a curiosity, an oddity, and not particularly a welcomed one after the way all the male eyes had followed her tonight.

  Pamela waited for her at the door and they left together.

  Monique wanted to say something. In truth, she wanted to put her arms around Pamela and tell her someone cared about her. She wanted to warn her sister against Manchester, but how could she do that when she herself had made the same error?

  Was it protectiveness or jealousy? If the latter, why?

  Manchester was despicable.

  “Thank you for what you did,” Pamela said shyly as they reached the second floor. “What Papa and his friend did was … unfair.”

  Monique stopped. Her chance. “Be cautious of them all,” she said.

  “But Lord Manchester is kind,” Pamela said.

  Manchester was many things, but kind was not a term Monique would apply. A chameleon was a more apt description. A man who changed constantly, according to his environment and his purposes.

  “He wants something from your father.”

  “I know that,” Pamela said.

  Monique was surprised at the confidence in her tone.

  Pamela drew her over to the side of the hall and looked around, obviously assuring herself that no one was listening. “Can I tell you a secret? Will you keep it for me?”

  Monique was startled. “You would trust me?”

  “I saw the looks between you and Lord Manchester,” Pamela said. “I do not want you to believe he is faithless.”

  Pamela was not the shy unworldly girl everyone thought. And now she was searching Monique’s face for confirmation of trust.

  “I will keep your confidence,” she replied simply.

  “I … care about a man back home. My father will not even consider him. Lord Manchester sensed that. He offered me a bargain. I will accept his suit and he will give me his protection. As long as he appears interested, my father will not try to marry me to someone … I do not like. I know he does not care about me in a romantic way and I can be at ease with him.”

  “And if it comes to marriage?”

  “He will back out. I will be discarded. My reputation ruined. No other man will want me. Perhaps then I will be free …”

  Monique was stunned. She suspected Manchester did not care about Pamela. Yet to spell out his intentions to Pamela was so foreign to what she had expected of him. He was a man who kept explanations to a minimum, who guarded his secrets as well as she guarded hers.

  What other secrets did he have?

  She tried again. “You looked as if you enjoyed each other.”

  “Because we do not need to pretend with each other,” Pamela said. “He seems interested in me simply because of me.” It was said with such humble surprise in her voice that Monique’s heart went out to her.

  “Do you know your father well?”

  “No. I cannot remember ever seeing him much as a child. It has just been lately that he has shown any interest in me, and I think that is to advance some plans he has.” Pamela reached out. “Be careful, Miss Fremont. I have heard … stories.”

  Monique was touched. Pamela was risking much to warn her. She wanted to tell Pamela everything, but she feared she might be putting her sister in danger. If Pamela told Stanhope who she was, or let anything slip, they both would be at risk.

  “Thank you,” she said instead, “I will heed your warning.”

  “You and Lord Manchester … you are in love.”

  “No,” Monique said, sharper than she should.

  Pamela shook her head. “It was in your eyes, Miss Fremont, and in his.”

  “Nonsense,” Monique said. “I care nothing for him. He is impertinent and a rogue.”

  “Some women like rogues.”

  “I am not among them.”

  Pamela shifted uncomfortably. “I just want you to know. You are so pretty and Lord Manchester is handsome …”

  “I appreciate your advice more than you will ever know, Lady Pamela,” she said.

  Pamela blushed. “You will not tell my father?” she asked again anxiously.

  “Of course not.” Monique hesitated a moment, then added, “I should like us to be friends.”

  Pamela’s face lit.

  “And I would like to hear about the man who has stolen your heart.”

  “I would like that, too,” Pamela said, her eyes sparkling.

  “Perhaps we may have lunch together.”

  “I can ask the cook to prepare a picnic,” Pamela said. “There are ruins not far away, and we can take horses. You do ride?” she added.

  “Yes, but not well.”

  “Then we will choose a mannered horse.”

  “And you? Do you ride well?”

  “Yes,” Pamela said. “I like riding. And painting. I would like to sketch you if I may.”

  “I would be honored,” Monique said, eager to spend time with her sister. Thievery could wait.

  “Then I shall see you at noon?”

  “Yes.”

  “You may have breakfast in your room, you know,” Pamela said. “I asked. I do not care for most of the guests. They are rude.”

  “Except for Lord Manchester,” Monique said.

  “Yes, except for him. He is different.” She frowned. “Most of the men are going hunting tomorrow. I am afraid …”

  “Do not be afraid for Manchester,” she said. “He is a superb rider.”

  Relief spread over her face. “That is good. I do not trust Lord Stammel. He does not like Manchester. He owes him money. I heard him complaining to my father about it.”

  Monique didn’t know if she concealed her surprise. She knew, of course, that Manchester gambled. That much was in the London sheets. But she was under the impression he lost, not won.

  Different sides of the complicated Manchester continued emerging.

  But now at least she knew he was not serious about marrying her sister.

  She was relieved for Pamela’s sake, and that was all.

  “Tomorrow then,” Pamela said.

  “Yes. I would not miss it.”

  Pamela continued up another flight of steps.

  Monique watched her go up, a lightness to her steps. For the first time she seemed a girl of twenty. A happy girl.

  Monique was five years older. She felt eons older.

  In just a few days there had been a change in her, at least partially because of Manchester.

  Monique looked around the hall. No one there, not even servants. The men were smoking, drinking, gambling, the women listening to their younger members playing the pianoforte. She’d been such a misfit.

  She did not want to be one of them. She never wanted to be one of them. Yet she’d felt such an odd sense of loneliness, of belonging nowhere. For the first time she wondered what it would be like to feel secure like those women did, to know exactly one’s place.

  Monique opened the door, hoping Dani would be there with the information she needed.

  Dani was there, curled up in a chair, reading a book by an oil lamp. She put it down on the floor as Monique came in. “I discovered where Lord Stanhope’s rooms are.”

  “Where?”

  “At the end of the hall,” she said.

  Monique saw an odd expression on her face, something like wistfulness. She knew Dani well and had never seen it there before.

  “Did something happen?”

  Dani shrugged her shoulders. “I met a valet. He works for Manchester. He claims that the marquess is a kind employer, that he took in his mother and sister.”

  Dani had always been sympathetic to Manchester, ever since that first ride in the carriage. Her attitude had changed after his desertion of her the other night, but now …

  Monique pieced that together with what Pamela had said.

  Manchester most certainly was an extraordinarily complicated man. She was also bemused by what Dani was not saying. There was a look on her f
ace that told Monique she was holding something back.

  “Tell me about the valet.”

  “He kept me from falling when I was rushing down the hall,” she said. “Then I saw him later in the servants’ hall. He is a former soldier, not a valet by trade. He needed employment to feed his mother and sister, and Manchester selected him over a large number of more qualified applicants. He did not even know how to tie a cravat, he said. Then when Lord Manchester discovered he had a young sister, he employed the mother and allowed the child to move in with him.”

  The tumble of words was far more than Monique had ever heard from Dani before. Amused but still a bit wary, she asked, “What does this ex-soldier look like?”

  “He was a sergeant and he is very large. But shy. His hands are huge but they were … gentle.”

  Monique stared at her friend. Dani had never, ever used the word gentle before. Nor had she ever expressed the slightest interest in a man.

  She did not know whether to be delighted or afraid for Dani.

  Just as she did not know whether she should be afraid for herself.

  She no longer knew what was true and right.

  And of what to be most afraid.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As he always did, Gabriel woke at the first glimmer of dawn. He had slept restlessly after a late evening of gaming. He’d lost on purpose, but not badly.

  Memories haunted his sleep … his father’s face when he had handed him the envelope, the desperate plea in his voice minutes before he killed himself. Monique’s clear, sharp voice when she had defended him earlier tonight when he could not defend himself. Pamela’s face as she smiled.

  If he ruined Stanhope, would she be as devastated as he had been? Stanhope was still her father, and scandal could haunt her as it had haunted Gabriel’s mother.

  But could he allow Stanhope to continue to plunder?

  Or was that only an excuse for revenge? Was he his brother’s keeper, or an obsessed man out for vengeance, regardless of who was hurt?

  He’d never been plagued before by doubts.

  He would have to decide soon. Stanhope had asked him to join a hunt at eleven, then wanted to see him at five this afternoon. He did not look forward to the hunt. He had never enjoyed hunting for sport. He’d seen too much death to consider it as entertainment.

  He decided to clear his head by a ride this morning before the other guests rose. It would not be as fine as dawn at sea, but it would do.

  He pulled on a pair of riding breeches and shaved himself as he always did. Smythe would be at his door in minutes.

  As predicted, his light knock came just as Gabriel was wiping his face. His face was, as usual, anxious to be of service. “May I help you with your clothes? Or a bath?” he asked hopefully, though he obviously had been perplexed by Gabriel’s frequent bathing habits.

  “I think you sleep with your ears open to the moment I wake,” Gabriel said.

  “I try, my lord.”

  “There you go with the ‘my lord’ nonsense again.”

  “It is best to do so here.”

  Gabriel considered that for a moment. Then he looked at Smythe closely. He wondered if Smythe knew—or suspected—far more than he’d thought.

  “Did you see Dani last night?” It was none of his business. He realized that, but he wanted to know more about Monique and wondered whether Dani had confided in Smythe in any way.

  Smythe looked uncomfortable and yet there was a slight smile on his face. “Yes, sir.”

  He wanted to continue but found he could not use Smythe in that way. It would not be fair to ask.

  “I am taking Specter for a ride this morning,” he said. “Then there is a hunt and a meeting with my host. I will not need you hovering around until just before five. Perhaps you can find something to do with Miss Fremont’s Dani.”

  He watched as a smile played on Smythe’s lips. By God, but his man was smitten.

  “I will be here to help you prepare for supper,” Smythe said.

  “That will be more than adequate. And now you can help find my riding coat and a clean shirt. Since you’ve become so adept at cravats, I can use your help there.”

  In minutes he had dressed in a riding coat and breeches and struggled with pulling on his boots. Even with boot hooks, it took longer than he liked. The damn things came to his knee. But they were fashionable, and the Marquess of Manchester needed to be fashionable.

  He stopped by the dining room. Plates already covered the sideboard. He took ham, eggs, and cold fowl from the offerings and sat alone. Apparently few rose at this hour.

  Halfway through the meal, Lady Pamela entered. She gave him the usual shy smile, then busied herself at the table. She was dressed in a riding costume.

  She looked at him, at his clothing.

  “You are going riding?” she asked.

  “Aye. I hate to waste a good morning.”

  “So do I,” she said with a grin. “May I accompany you?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  “My father does not like me to ride. He does not like me to do anything alone, so I leave long before he rises,” she confided. She stole a quick glance at him. “I plan to ride with Miss Freemont later. I don’t think my father will object to that.”

  She had changed in the past few days. She was still obviously afraid of her father but more willing to defy him. Perhaps because she felt she had an ally now.

  They both finished their meal quickly, then went out to the stable.

  He’d been surprised at her announcement that she planned to ride with Miss Fremont later in the day. He had noted Monique’s quick glances toward Pamela, but he had not thought she would try to befriend the girl. Was Lady Pamela part of whatever plan she had?

  He would not have thought that of her. And yet what common interest could there be between a young country-bred aristocrat and an actress?

  He planned to ask that question. He did not want Lady Pamela hurt.

  Yet he was planning to destroy Pamela’s father. Hypocrisy? Bloody hell, he hated questioning himself.

  They reached the stables and a sleepy lad saddled two horses, his Specter and a pretty mare for Pamela.

  He helped Pamela mount, then mounted himself. He noted immediately that she was a fine horsewoman. She led the way, moving from a walk into a trot, then a canter. “There are ruins nearby,” she called to him.

  Gabriel followed, enjoying the bite of the morning chill. He did not have to act with Pamela. She accepted everything he said he was, and liked him anyway.

  They rode for thirty minutes or so, then drew up at old stone ruins.

  “This was the first Stanhope hold,” she said. “I was told about it two days ago when I first arrived, and rode to see it. There is such an air of desolation here. Sadness.” Her lips pursed in concentration. “I believe two lovers died here.”

  She slid down from the sidesaddle and tied the reins to a tree. He did the same and followed her into the ruins. Then she stood there.

  “I can almost hear them,” she said.

  “You are a romantic, Lady Pamela.”

  “Yes, I am,” she said. “For years I had little to do but read, and I loved romantic stories. Then a neighbor taught me to ride, and I found something I was good at.”

  “And painting,” he said.

  “I said I liked it,” she said. “I did not say I was good at it.”

  “I imagine you are very good at it.”

  “I am going to sketch Miss Fremont when we come here this afternoon,” Pamela said. “She said I could.” A gleam danced in her eyes.

  “Are you trying to tell me something, Lady Pamela?”

  “Whatever would that be, my lord?”

  “You are a minx,” he said. “And you look so …”

  “Malleable?” she said disdainfully.

  He stared at her for a long time. “I thought that at first, but now I think there is a great deal more strength than you believe.”

  The wist
ful look returned. “I have always wanted to be strong. I always dreamed myself as brave and independent. But then my father comes, and I … all that courage leaves me.”

  He remembered what Pamela had said about her young man. Her father would destroy his father. How could they have any happiness based on misery and destruction?

  She looked into his eyes. “But you and Miss Fremont do not have that problem.”

  “I believe we have many problems, Lady Pamela.”

  “Call me Pamela,” she said. “Why? I saw the way you looked at her, and the way she looked at you. She called you impertinent and a rogue.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And you believe that means she is interested in me?”

  “It was the way she said it.”

  “And you decided to try to unite us,” he concluded.

  “I thought you might like to know she will be here this afternoon. We will have a picnic, and I … we would very much like to have you join us.”

  “How could I resist such a charming invitation?”

  “You are laughing at me.”

  “Never, my lady.”

  “Then you will come?”

  “I will try,” he said, once more wondering why she was so much Monique’s champion. Because of the faint resemblance? But that meant nothing.

  “Tell me more about the ruins,” he said, changing the subject.

  “They date back to the tenth century,” she said. “They are said to be haunted and no one comes here.”

  “Except you?”

  “I think they are kind ghosts who are looking for each other.”

  He was beginning to understand a little. She did not think she and her love would ever be together. So she was trying to unite two other people.

  He felt the terrible fraud. “I think we should go,” he said.

  “I wish to stay.”

  “Then what kind of gentleman would I be to leave you alone to fend for yourself? Your father would horsewhip me.”

  “I think not,” she said with a small sigh.

  He stood there waiting. He would not leave her here alone.

  In a moment she surrendered with a small sigh. “All right.”

  He helped her mount. “You see,” he said. “It is a good thing I stayed to help you mount.”

  She gave him a heartbreaking twist of the lips that was meant to be a smile.