by Sara Bennett
He’d walked straight out into a soaking rainstorm.
As he stood, drenched, staring up at the gray sky, he felt as if his whole world was disintegrating around him. His father believed he wasn’t his father, his mother insisted he was, and Appleby was punishing him either way. Well, he wasn’t taking it lying down. He’d force His Lordship to return his house and land, and at this moment—he clenched his fists—he was quite capable of violence.
Gabriel set off in the direction of the Mayfair home of Lord Rudyard Appleby, a man he’d never heard of until a few moments ago. A man who might possibly be his father.
He knew the sensible thing to do would be to turn around and go back to his home until he cooled down. But he wasn’t feeling sensible; he kept walking. By the time he reached the prestigious Mayfair address, the rain had slowed to a miserable drizzle. He stood, staring up at the house, his clothes soaked and heavy, his fair hair plastered to his head while trickles of water ran down his face and into his eyes. In contrast to his personal hell, bright light spilled from the windows and the open door, and the happy chatter of voices flowed out into the evening.
Lord Appleby was holding a party for his fashionable friends. Well, he thought darkly, let them enjoy themselves while they might. He would have it out with him.
As he crossed the threshold a liveried footman blocked his path, but one glance at Gabriel’s expression sent the young man backing up. Satisfied, Gabriel strode on, his sodden shoes leaving wet patches on the priceless rugs, through dazzling halls and rooms heavy with the scent of flowers and expensive perfume. The brilliance of gaslight was everywhere, replacing the now outdated candles and lamps, as if Lord Appleby was determined to show everyone he was a modern and progressive man.
One room held a large model of the Great Exhibition building, nicknamed the Crystal Palace because it was built of glass and metal. He paused to stare, and then he remembered what his mother had said, and realized that he’d heard of Lord Appleby after all. He was one of the manufacturers who’d won a contract to help construct the already famous building.
“Sir? I must ask you to leave.”
He turned. Another footman, this one older and more officious-looking, his mouth pursed, his censorious gaze taking in the state of Gabriel’s clothes. There was a knot of startled-looking guests hovering in a doorway behind him.
“I want to see Lord Appleby,” Gabriel said.
The footman gaped at him. “I’m sorry, sir, but that is quite impossible.”
Impatiently Gabriel pushed past him and into the stunned group, grasping the arm of an elderly gentleman with a red-veined face. “Tell me where I can find Lord Appleby,” he demanded, in a way that made it clear his patience was ending. The old gentleman pointed a shaky finger diagonally across the room, toward a closed door.
As Gabriel walked toward it, leaving muddy tracks on the fine Turkish carpet, he heard a low hum of disapproval and didn’t care. The servant was hurrying behind him, bleating something about “not yet!” but no one could stop him from flinging open the door.
The scene inside was not what he’d expected.
They were clasped in each other’s arms. The man, his dark hair turning to gray, his stocky body made elegant by perfectly fitting evening wear. The woman, half turned away, dressed in white. She was bowed backward in the clasp of his arms, her throat arched, curls of her glossy brown hair tangled with pearls. From this angle there was something very erotic in the creamy line of her throat and the swell of her breasts above the low, beaded bodice.
Just for a moment Gabriel forgot why he was there.
And then he heard the shocked silence behind him turn into a roar of excited chatter. Too late the couple realized they were being observed. The woman gasped and pushed her companion away. With her back still turned, she ran from her ruin, exiting through a farther door.
The man didn’t run. He smoothed his cravat, a little smile playing about his lips, as if he wasn’t in the least sorry. His gaze, so dark as to be almost black, passed over the shocked faces to the footman. He raised an eyebrow.
Was this his father? Was there some resemblance?
“I’m sorry, sir,” the servant gabbled, “I was waiting until the signal, but this gentleman burst in before I could—”
Appleby held up a hand to stop him. His gaze fixed on Gabriel. “Do you want something?” he demanded in a voice that still held more than a hint of Northern England.
Gabriel stepped inside the room and slammed the door behind him. Lord Appleby looked faintly alarmed.
“You aren’t one of my guests,” Appleby said, frowning now. “I’ll ask you again: What do you want?”
“I want to know why you’ve stolen my inheritance.”
Lord Appleby’s alarm turned to surprise, and then amusement. Somehow that was more shocking to Gabriel than downright anger. Appleby reached for a box on a small table and found a cigar inside, lighting it. “Gabriel, I presume.”
“Yes.” Gabriel towered over Appleby, but it didn’t feel like an advantage.
Appleby watched him, eyes narrowed through the smoke. “You don’t resemble me, boy, although you’ve a look of my mother’s family.”
Gabriel held his temper with difficulty.
“Sir Adam cast you out without a penny, has he?” Appleby continued, still smiling. “Never mind. You can get a job, a real job. I have plenty of mills you can graft in.” His black gaze slid over Gabriel with scorn. “That’s real work.”
“I don’t need a lecture, just give me back what belongs to me.”
Appleby took a puff on his cigar. “No.”
“You have no right—”
“And you do? Because of an accident of birth? No, you can’t have your inheritance back. I have plans for it. Now you’ve had your answer, get out of my house before I throw you out.”
“I’m not your son.”
“No? If you’re not you should be. Your mother was a good bedmate, always ready to give as good as she got. I’d be very surprised if I didn’t impregnate her.”
Gabriel hit him, plumb on the nose.
After that everything turned to madness. Appleby started roaring, calling for his servants, blood spilling onto his expensive clothes. Again the door was flung open, the guests crowding in behind the officious footman. And Gabriel took off.
“Come back, you damned pup!” Appleby shouted. “I’ll ruin you. You can be sure of that. I’ll see you ruined!”
Gabriel supposed he was already ruined. A man like Appleby would have powerful friends, and he’d use them. As he ran into the rain outside he wondered where he could go. Not to his father, that was certain, and he no longer had the manor house in Devon.
But there was one place he’d always felt welcome, despite the identity of the woman who owned it and the relationship she’d once had with Sir Adam. And, he remembered belatedly, she had also lost something she loved. Besides, when he was a callow seventeen-year-old, in the throes of his first love, she had offered him good advice. Advice for which he was still grateful.
Gabriel set off for London’s most infamous brothel: Aphrodite’s Club.
The chiming of a clock brought him back from the past. Gabriel was sitting in the darkness, staring at nothing, but in his mind the image of Appleby and the woman in his arms lingered.
He hadn’t realized it at the time but now he did. That sweet curve of throat and bosom, the dancing brown curls—they belonged to Antoinette Dupre. Any doubts he might have had that she was Appleby’s mistress evaporated.
Chapter 7
Antoinette propped her chin on her hand and stared into the night, her long hair tumbling over her back and shoulders, her bare feet curling on the threadbare carpet. Her body was alive and on fire, full of sensations she’d never imagined, let alone experienced before. The stranger had done this to her, and she didn’t know whether to give herself over to it wholeheartedly, or fight like hell.
It didn’t help that she was alone and confused. Without Cecilia and her househ
old around her—the only family she had—she felt truly abandoned.
And of course that was what Lord Appleby wanted.
To bring her to her knees. To tear her reputation to shreds so that he could do as he liked and no one would believe a word against him. That was why he had lured her to London, to his Mayfair house, to ask her to marry him, and, when she refused, to arrange to have them seen together in a position so compromising, it was impossible to dispute it.
She still shuddered at the memory.
The heavy weight of his fingers on her shoulders, his wet mouth on her throat, as he bent her backward over his arm. Unable to move, she’d been his prisoner. At first her mind was frozen, too shocked to know what was happening. And then the door opened, and the guests crowded toward her, their faces…The memory made her queasy. Running away was her only option. Even if she’d been brave enough to stay, they would never have believed her.
After a sleepless night she had been ready to confront him.
“Never mind,” he’d replied mildly, “you’ll enjoy being my wife, Antoinette. I am very generous to those who please me well.”
The look in his eyes, the curl of his mouth…Antoinette was sickened by what he was suggesting. Not that she was a prude, she had never been that, but this man had stolen her reputation and was set on taking her fortune. And now it seemed he wanted her body, too, if she let him.
“It’s my money you covet, isn’t it? That’s why you want to force me to marry you.”
“‘Force’ is such an ugly word, Antoinette, but, yes, you will marry me. If you don’t, I’ll turn my attentions to your sister.”
Her heart gave a hard thud. “I will never allow you to harm Cecilia!”
“How can you stop me?” His eyes narrowed. “Who will believe you over me? I dine with lords and ladies and members of Parliament; Her Majesty the Queen asks my advice on Northern England, as if it’s a foreign country. Your struggles are pointless.”
Antoinette wondered how she could have believed him to be a kindly man. Of course, he had invited her to London to attend the opening of the Great Exhibition, and she had enjoyed it very much, and it was only when she began to notice she was attracting smiling looks and overheard comments of her soon-to-be-announced nuptials with Lord Appleby that she realized what was happening.
Surprised, she’d tried to refute the rumors, but no one seemed to believe her. And then he did ask her to marry him. She refused, as gently as she could, explaining that she had no plans to marry yet. “My sister needs me,” she’d said. “And strange as it sounds I have always held the hope that if I ever marry it will be for love.”
Whatever he thought of her naïveté, he appeared to accept her decision, which was the only reason she’d reluctantly agreed to stay on in London to help him host his soiree. And all the time he’d been planning to set her up in a compromising position. To ruin her reputation and force her to marry him whether she wanted to or not.
“I think you’re despicable. Whatever you do or say, I will never give you what you want.”
He yawned at her brave words. “You may as well; everyone believes you already have.”
“I know the truth.”
Suddenly he seemed to tire of the argument. “You will do as I say,” he said harshly.
“I won’t.”
He smiled, but there was something so calculating in it that she was chilled to the marrow. “Let me put it this way, Antoinette. Imagine you were to meet with an unfortunate accident. Cecilia would be your heir, the Dupre fortune would be hers. I’m quite sure the poor girl would be overcome with grief, and so grateful for my help and support. Who could blame her if affection soon turned to love and wedding bells rang?”
Sickened, furious, and frightened, nevertheless Antoinette kept her back straight and her chin up. If her voice shook then, she hoped he would think it was due to rage.
“Why are you doing this?”
Appleby stood up and moved to the sideboard with its array of breakfast dishes. He lifted a cover and greedily eyed the contents of the silver plate. “I need money, Antoinette. I am on the verge of an abyss. If my manufacturing business is to remain soluble, I need funds. The contract for the Great Exhibition and the new customers who will be coming to me must believe I am perfectly sound. Appearance, you see, is everything. If I can hold on, then the future will be bright, but if it is discovered I am nearly bankrupt, then I am finished.” He helped himself to sausage and bacon. “You see I am doing you the honor of being frank.”
“So you want to steal my fortune for your own benefit?”
“I have far greater need of it than you. Men rule the world, Antoinette. Women are there for our pleasure and to give us children, nothing more.”
And with that he sat down and began to eat.
But he knew her too well, she realized. He knew she would do anything, bear anything, for the sake of her younger sister. And now she was a prisoner in his Mayfair house, with no way of convincing those surrounding her of the truth.
Even the highwayman believed Lord Appleby’s lies; he’d said as much. He’d treated her like a woman who knew the ways of men, and still she’d fallen under his spell.
Antoinette hugged her arms around herself. Why did she find him so attractive? Why did the feel of his body against hers, the brush of his fingers, the taste of his lips, make her want to surrender? Was it some sort of chemical reaction? Yes, that must be it; there was a scientific reason for what she was feeling. She must look at it coolly and calmly and see it for what it was. The man was not a magician; he could not control her against her will. She would find out who he was and expose him to a magistrate. What was the punishment for holding up a coach and molesting its occupant? Transportation to New South Wales, probably, if not worse.
Antoinette put a fingertip to her lips, feeling their softness, remembering the way he had kissed her. It was a shame, really. She would have liked to experience more of his kisses.
If circumstances had been different.
Gabriel woke, bleary-eyed, to someone shaking him. For a moment he didn’t know where he was, but then he became aware of Mary Cooper’s soft, urgent voice, and groaned. It felt as if he’d only just gotten to sleep. If he wasn’t dreaming of Appleby’s sneering face, he was slowly undressing Antoinette Dupre, and he was wrung out.
“Master Gabriel? You must wake up!”
He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to gather his wandering wits. “What is it, Mary?”
“Oh, thank goodness! Master, she’s gone to the magistrate’s house! Mr. Wonicot says you must stop her.”
Gabriel wished he hadn’t brought the brandy back with him last night. He sat up. And instantly regretted it. Trying not to stagger, he swung himself to his feet and made his way carefully to the washbasin and splashed cold water onto his face until his head began to clear.
“Explain yourself,” he ordered.
Mary, who had been waiting impatiently, rushed into speech. “Miss Dupre was asking who the magistrate was and where he lived. She went on and on. Mrs. Wonicot tried to put her off but she wouldn’t be put off. ‘You haven’t answered my question,’ she kept saying, all hoity-toity like. I don’t think someone like her has the right to be so bossy, master, not when she’s no better than she should be.”
Gabriel was sorry he’d missed the scene Mary was describing. He found the thought of Antoinette being bossy strangely exciting.
“Master?”
Mary was watching him with narrowed eyes, and Gabriel realized he was smiling to himself. He wiped the smile from his face, assuming a serious demeanor. “Yes, yes, I heard you. Go on. What happened when Sally told her where to find Sir James Trevalen?”
“Well, master, there and then she ordered Mr. Wonicot to saddle a horse! Of course he said that saddling horses was Coombe’s job, so she straightaway told him to fetch Coombe to do it. Well, he told her that he didn’t know where Coombe was. And do you know what she did then?”
Clearly he
was meant to guess, but Gabriel had lost what patience he had. Mary must have seen the glint in his eyes because she hastily answered her own question.
“She saddled the horse herself! That tells you she’s no lady, don’t it, Master Gabriel?”
“So where is she now…?”
“She set off to visit Sir James. We all tried to talk her into waiting for you…eh, for Coombe, to ride with her. To make it proper, like. But she wouldn’t listen to a word we said. She’s gone to tell Sir James all about the highwayman and have you…him arrested and locked up. Oh, master, what will you do?”
Her pretty, worried face might have stirred him once to gentlemanly concern, with a good dose of lust. It occurred to him that he felt neither. These days he was more interested in pocket Venuses with glossy brown curls and eyes that gazed into his with a mixture of curiosity and courage. Who would have thought it? He still didn’t understand it himself.
But now was no time to dwell on the peculiarities of his attraction for Antoinette Dupre.
“So she’s ridden off alone?” he said.
“Aye, master.” Mary waited breathlessly for his instructions, eyes bright.
“Then she’s either very brave or very foolish. Sir James is a friend of my father; he won’t take her side against me. And he despises Lord Appleby as much as we do. As long as his position isn’t compromised and he’s forced to act, then I am safe.”
He looked around for a towel, and Mary handed him one. He dried his face and hands.
“When did she set out?”
“Not long since.” Mary seemed deflated, as if he hadn’t done as she’d expected. “You could still ride after her and stop her,” she added hopefully.
Gabriel shook his head. “No point,” he said. Let her go off to Sir James and exhaust herself running around in a fruitless effort to have him arrested. It would avail her of nothing. Then, tonight, when she slept restlessly in her bed, she would receive another visit from her highwayman. If Miss Dupre thought she was getting rid of him that easily, then she was very much mistaken, and he would enjoy telling her so.