Dancing with a Rogue

by Potter, Patricia;

  She was silent, shifting through the words. Bitter words. As bitter as her own had been. They were both here for the same reason. It astounded her. And it broke her heart.

  And the past few hours she realized she loved him. She loved the gentleness that was counterpart to the hardness she also saw in him. She loved his quiet competence and grace.

  “What are you really?” she asked.

  The severity of his face eased slightly. “When I am not an impoverished lord?”

  “Oui.”

  “A sailor,” he said simply.

  “More than that, I think. A captain, perhaps?”

  He hesitated, and she knew that he wondered whether he was saying too much. He must have some secrets left of his own. Just as she did. And if she pried into his, he might well pry into hers. What would he think if he knew she was Stanhope’s daughter? The daughter of a whore and a murderer?

  She shuddered and he pulled her back down next to her, holding her tightly in his arms.

  Despite his warmth, though, she felt a chill. She loved him. But she did not altogether trust his ability to accept her. They had made love, but they had been brought together by hatred. What kind of future could that possibly bring?

  I can forget about my mother.

  But she could not. She had started something that had taken on a life of its own. She had worked toward justice since her mother died years ago. And then there was Pamela. What would happen to her if she left?

  Manchester’s hand turned her face so he could see it. “Will you leave? Go to Boston and wait for me there? I can make the arrangements.”

  “And you?”

  “I will take care of Stanhope.”

  “No,” she said. “It is my battle. You can leave and I will join you later.”

  “Do you really believe I will leave you to finish what I started? Leave you in danger?”

  “Then we are at a stalemate,” she said.

  “What if we left together, leave Stanhope to his own fate?”

  “What about Pamela?”

  “We can take her with us.”

  Her eyes glowed for a moment, then the brightness faded. “I do not think she will come. Her young man …”

  “As long as Stanhope lives, she will never have him. Not if she stays here,” he said. “And what would you say to her? Run off to America with us. She does not really know either of us. We can offer her little.”

  She bit her lip. “We can … work together here, you and I. We did well at Stanhope’s manor.” She had summoned all her courage to make that offer.

  “There is too much risk.” There was no give in his statement. It was a denial plain and simple.

  “Then I will do what I have been doing,” she said defiantly. “With you or without you.”

  His finger traced the bones in her cheek, then went her neck and rested there. “It is a lovely neck,” he said. “I do not want to see it hurt.”

  “You cannot frighten me. I have considered all the consequences.”

  “Has Dani? If she had been caught the other night, neither of us could have saved her.”

  He had found the one consequence that concerned her the most. “I did not want her to come.”

  “My Smythe is quite taken with her,” he said.

  She wondered why he was changing the subject.

  “She likes him,” she replied cautiously.

  “They could get a new start in America.”

  “And his family?”

  “They, too. I am associated with a shipping company. I can arrange passage for them all. There are many opportunities there for willing hands. He would do well.”

  She shivered slightly and his right arm went back around her. “Think about it,” he said. “Think about leaving with them. I will be there soon after.”

  He pulled her to him and his lips met hers and reason fled. Tomorrow. There would be time tomorrow to make decisions.

  That was her last rational thought before their bodies met again, and his lips rained kisses on the nape of her neck. Her body started tingling again, and she felt the complete wanton as she wrapped her arms around him and brought him even closer to her.

  Her fingers ran around the back of his neck, and she heard the soft groan. “Ah, Monique,” he said.

  “Merry,” she corrected softly.

  His lips left hers, and he nuzzled her earlobes a moment. She wondered whether he had even heard her.

  Then he looked at her, a half smile on his lips. “Merry.” It was as if he were rolling it on his tongue. “A pretty name.”

  “A whimsical name,” she said. “My mother always yearned for things she could not have, but she had high hopes for me.” She heard the sadness in her own voice. For a moment she was back in the dark, cold room where her mother had died.

  Then Gabriel ran his tongue along the back of her neck and the momentary melancholy faded. She needed his warmth, his comfort, his strength. She’d never realized how lonely she’d been until these past few days.

  But so many words were still impossible between them. Her secret had been held so deeply all these years that it was locked inside. Her mother had told her over and over again that revelation and discovery would mean death. She had lived with a fear that had been so locked into her soul that she did not think she could ever share it.

  She had told Dani, only to make her understand how dangerous this journey was, and why she’d needed certain skills that Dani and her acquaintances had.

  And now Manchester had asked her to go to America. But he’d said nothing of love, or marriage. He had kept a part of him detached from her just as she had done.

  For a moment an iciness in her soul counteracted the heat kindled by his body. Then his lips captured her mouth again in a long, smothering kiss, and she felt the same tormenting need that had racked her body earlier. It was painful, yet so exquisitely new and compelling and wonderful that she felt she couldn’t breathe.

  “Merry?” She noticed he was still tasting the name on his lips.

  She raised her eyes to meet his. They were intense and brooding.

  She had never seen them like that before. In the past they had been clear, revealing little, or amused.

  He was asking her a question. Should he continue? She wondered why he was asking now.

  But then she felt desperation of her own. Uncertainty. Would she—could she—forgive herself if she left undone a goal she’d had nearly all her life? Could she ever live in peace knowing Stanhope was alive and probably seeking new victims?

  He was waiting for an answer to the unspoken question. It hovered in the air.

  She swallowed hard, then touched his face with her hand. This might be one of the last times she saw him. He would not like what she was considering.

  “Do not leave me,” she said. “Not now.”

  He leaned toward her and kissed her with a tender violence. Every movement of his body made hers hum with feelings. His breathing was ragged against her hair, and her body moved toward his, hungry, so very hungry.

  This time their bodies merged with a violence and need that eclipsed everything else.

  “Gabriel,” she cried out.

  His lips quieted her but she felt the fierce hunger in both of them, the need that neither could control. He drove deeper inside her as if claiming her for his very own. Her body pulsed with his, danced in his, each giving in a way they had not before.

  And then there was a shattering burst of ecstasy, a pleasure so strong she wanted to remain in his arms forever. They lay there together, their hearts beating in rapid tandem, their bodies damp with sweat.

  Her body shuddered with the marvels of aftermath, ripples of sensation continuing to flow through her as she relaxed in his arms, trying not to think it could be the last time.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  They had a late supper. A very late supper.

  Gabriel had quietly risen after he thought she was asleep. He had no intention of leaving her this time. He would never l
eave her the way he had before. Not without a word, without explanation.

  But he was hungry and wondered about poor Smythe.

  Gabriel pulled on his shirt, which came to his thighs, and got as far as opening the door. Outside was a tray laden with a platter of fruit and bread, cheese and chicken, a bottle of wine, and two glasses.

  The very capable Smythe, he thought with a smile. He wondered where his valet was at the moment but deduced that he was well looked after.

  He lifted the tray and took it to the bed.

  Monique was lying still, her eyes closed, yet there was a stiffness that told him she was not sleeping.

  He leaned down and kissed her. “I am not leaving, love,” he said.

  She opened her eyes slowly, fluttering them as if she had just awakened. The actress in her again.

  “I was sleeping,” she protested.

  “You look beautiful,” he said. “Too beautiful. I was afraid I would ravish you all over again.”

  “I like being ravished,” she replied lazily.

  “I hope you do not tell all the gentlemen that,” he said.

  “Non,” she said. “I do not tell any gentlemen that.”

  “That was a cruel blow,” he said.

  “I do not care for gentlemen,” she said.

  “Good.” He handed her a grape and watched as she daintily ate around the seeds and the juice colored her lips. Her tongue reached out and licked them.

  She was more delectable than any tidbit of food. But now he had to keep his senses about him. He had to find a way to get her safely out of London.

  She pulled off a piece of cheese and popped it in his mouth.

  He ate the cheese, pulled off a piece of chicken, and offered it to her. She took it in her teeth and watched as he did the same. There was something erotically sensual about feeding each other. He fought against the desire rising in him again.

  He poured a glass of wine and took a sip. She leaned over and took a sip of her own.

  “You have good taste,” he said even as he knew his eyes were probably saying something else altogether.

  “I truly do not know where that wine came from,” she said.

  “Smythe. He has turned out to be a rather inventive valet.”

  “I think Dani believes so,” she replied, nibbling on another grape.

  He had to force himself not to take her again, then and there.

  Instead he rose, well aware of his near nakedness, and went to the pitcher and bowl on the dressing table. He poured water into the bowl and rinsed himself. Then he returned to the side of the bed where his breeches lay crumpled in a pile. He pulled them on and fastened them. Then turned back to her.

  She watched him as she sipped the glass of wine. Damn, but he wanted her. But every time he succumbed to the want inside him, he feared he might be endangering both of them. They both needed their wits to leave this game with their lives.

  He had to think, and the simple truth was he could not think with her in the room. Hell, in the same city. He had to find a way to get her out of it.

  She sat up, the sheet covering most of her body. Her gray eyes looked sleepy but questioning.

  He leaned over and kissed her. “I must get back to my lodgings, love, I will get no sleep with you next to me and I have business in the morning.” He paused. “I will be back later today,” he said.

  Her eyes darkened slightly but she only said mildly, “That is just as well. I have to be back to the theater.”

  Gabriel did not want to go. Everything in him wanted to lie next to her, but he knew neither of them would get much sleep. They were like gunpowder and fire together.

  “Will you have supper with me after the play?”

  “Oui,” she said simply.

  He touched her cheek, caressing it with a longing that would not go away. “Later then?”

  She had burrowed back deeper in the bed. He took the tray and put it on a table. He hesitated again, then pulled on his shirt and coat. He paused at the door, then forced himself to open it.

  He didn’t look back as he walked swiftly down the hall.

  Monique couldn’t quell a feeling of abandonment again, even as she understood his reasons. She also needed some time of her own. She could not reason with him in proximity. There was too much attraction, too much emotion, too much desire.

  And she did have to be back to the theater tonight.

  The jewelry. The few pieces they had kept. She suddenly remembered them. Had Manchester taken them with him? She had offered them to him, but then the two of them had been swept away into madness. Had he remembered them? She did not want Mrs. Miller to find them.

  She reluctantly rose. Her body still felt warm inside. She found her nightdress, then the night robe, and put them on. She went to the window and saw him walk down the street with his valet. They looked more like two friends than master and servant.

  Carrying the oil lamp, she went down the steps to the drawing room, to where he had picked her up, to where she thought she might have dropped the jewelry.

  The floor was empty.

  Smythe was uncanny. He’d appeared as Gabriel had found his cloak laid neatly on a table.

  “Bloody hell, how do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Know my every move?” Gabriel asked. “I thought you might well have gone to our lodgings.”

  “And miss a few hours with Miss Dani?” Smythe asked.

  It was another confidence.

  “My lord?” he said then, his tone suddenly uncertain, “Sir?”

  Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

  “I … I found some jewelry in the living room.”

  Gabriel felt as if the air had just been sucked from the room. Damn but now he remembered …

  “Where is it?” he asked.

  Smythe held out his hand and emptied its contents into Gabriel’s. “I feared someone … might find it.”

  Gabriel took it. “Does Dani know you found it?”

  “I did not wish to involve her,” he said. “I heard one piece of jewelry described before we left.” His voice was agonized. “I did not know what to do.”

  “Come,” Gabriel said. “We will find a hackney to return to our lodgings. I will get Specter later.”

  Gabriel knew he would discover how right he had been about Smythe’s loyalty.

  Once they had found a hackney, they climbed inside.

  There was no lantern inside, and Smythe’s face was hidden in the shadows.

  “I stole them,” Gabriel said in response to the unspoken question that had hovered between them.

  Silence. A kind of agonized silence, and Gabriel sensed that Smythe was feeling betrayed. He had given his loyalty and, even more than that, to someone who was a thief.

  “I want you to know why,” he continued. Smythe held his life in his hands now.

  Smythe’s silence continued.

  “Lord Stanhope was in business with my father twenty years ago. My father owned a shipping company. Stanhope provided government contracts. A ship carrying supplies sank. Only a few men survived. They returned with a story of rotten food and empty boxes that should contain muskets. The ship was unseaworthy and apparently meant to sink. My father was accused of treason.”

  Smythe was listening intently.

  “My father was innocent. He knew it was his word against Stanhope’s, and Stanhope had influence, even then. My father did not want to see my mother and myself subjected to a long trial. He killed himself just as he was to be arrested.

  “Seconds before he shot himself he gave me the names of three men he realized were responsible. He asked me to obtain justice.”

  “Forgive me, my lord, but how do you know he told the truth?” Smythe’s voice was steady. The fact that he said “my lord” was very telling.

  “You would have to know my father,” Gabriel said slowly. “He lived for honor. He never would have charged me to seek justice if he had been guilty. There would be no reason once he had died. W
hen I was old enough, I had Stanhope and his friends investigated. They leave a wake of ruined partners and unexpected deaths. The only way to expose them is to turn them against one another. Taking the jewels is one part of that plan.” He consciously avoided any mention of Monique and Dani.

  Smythe was silent for several moments, then said, “His servants fear him. Dani trusts you.” Another silence. He was obviously considering his mother and sister.

  Then he nodded, the movement visible in the dark interior. “If I can help you …?”

  It was the ultimate in trust. “My thanks,” Gabriel said simply. “But I will not let you or yours be involved.”

  “Is that why you would pay our way to America?”

  “I did not want any … actions to affect you.”

  “Is it true about opportunities there …?”

  “Yes. It is a big land, much of it unsettled. There is much room to grow and land for the taking.”

  “My sister can go to school?”

  “Aye.”

  Smythe stood straighter “Then I say yes.”

  “Your mother?”

  “She will go.”

  “I will make arrangements later today.”

  “May I give you some assistance now? I … that is the reason I picked up the jewels. I thought you might be in some difficulty.”

  “I knew there was a reason I selected you that day,” Gabriel said. “But no, I think not. I would rather …”

  “No one has helped us before. You have been kind to Elizabeth. I want to help now.”

  Touched, Gabriel did not say anything for several moments. He had come to England to steal, to cheat, to betray, to do anything necessary to fulfill an oath he’d once made. He had not expected to fall victim to emotions.

  He had. He truly liked Pamela. He admired Smythe. And Monique—or Merry—well, he … he—drat it—he loved her.

  The hard shell that he’d constructed that day outside his father’s office was slowly crumbling. Which could make him careless.

  Maybe he should leave. Kidnap Monique if necessary. Take her to America. He suspected she would like the vibrant, exciting country that was building a new society. America would love her.