Dancing with a Rogue (2 page)

A knife sliced through Gabriel. He knew a command was his. Samuel had talked about it for several years. He had not known about a part ownership in the company. It had been a dream, not reality.

Gabriel handed the letter he'd received from England to Samuel, who read it quickly, then searched Gabriel's face. “What are you going to do?”

“I have to return to England,” Gabriel said. “I have to clear my father's name.”

“I cannot postpone the sailing of the
Cecilia
to Japan. It must leave in two weeks.”

“John Garrett, my first mate, is available and qualified to captain her,” Gabriel said, the knife turning ever so painfully. But he had no choice. A voyage to Japan would take months. He could not wait that long.

“Do you plan to stay in England?” Samuel asked.

“I have no desire to make it my home.”

Barker nodded. He knew something of Gabriel's background. Gabriel had told him during a drunken conversation years ago. “I do not want to lose you. I missed you this past year, but your record is outstanding. You will be of great benefit to this firm.”

Samuel strode to the window of his office that overlooked the Boston harbor. “I'll give the
Cecilia
to Garrett for this voyage. And find a ship for you when you return.”

Gabriel swallowed hard. Samuel had become a second father to him these last ten years. Now he saw the disappointment on the man's face. He'd been so uncharacteristically eager to relate the news.

Yet Gabriel knew he could never really proceed with his life until he had accomplished the one thing his father had requested—no, bade—him to do. And now he'd been handed the means through which he could accomplish it. He could not give up this one chance.

Samuel turned to him. “Do you need money?”

“No, I have prize money left.”

“If you need anything …”

“Only your friendship.”

“You will always have that, Gabriel. I never had a son. If I did, I would want him to be like you.”

No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't want a son of his blood to be obsessed with revenge.
Not revenge, he reminded himself.
Justice.
Yet he knew the difference, and the recurring nightmare of that night so long ago made it revenge.

He felt humbled by Samuel's faith, and yet even that would not deter him.

“Do what you have to do, and return to us,” Samuel said.

Gabriel nodded and left the room, feeling the affection following him. But he wouldn't dwell on it. He had too many other things to do.

He would need more funds, and he would not take them from Samuel. He knew exactly the man who could help him.

The best thief in Boston.

Paris

1815

“It's so dangerous,
ma chère amie
.”

“I know,” Monique said, “but I will never rest until I meet him. And destroy him.”

Monique Fremont applied the final touches of theatrical paint for her last performance in France as Danielle, her friend and hairdresser, completed the elaborate coiffure, which took two hours to complete.

Monique bore the ritual patiently. Tomorrow she would begin a new performance, one she'd planned for years. The masquerade would begin in earnest and end, she prayed, in a denouement that would destroy an English earl.

She'd had an excellent offer from an English theatrical company in London. It was an offer she'd hungered after, and, more importantly, it was the means to an end.

When Danielle finished positioning the last of the cascading curls and nodded with satisfaction, Monique took one last look in the mirror. She adjusted the dress, which just barely covered her nipples.

No sign of Merry Anders remained. No sign of the thin waif who'd taken care of her mother after her beauty faded and her protectors disappeared. No sign of the English child who had taken the name of Monique Fremont when she'd entered the theater.

She wondered whether she resembled her father at all. Her mother said not. Monique prayed not, for that might ruin everything.

She did look like her mother. Black hair. Gray eyes that her mother's lovers had called luminous. She was taller, her mouth wider, her cheekbones not as pronounced. Her chin was more determined.

Her mother had once been a classic beauty. On the other hand, Merry had been called “fascinating” rather than pretty. It had not been her looks, she knew, that had made her one of Paris's most famous actresses. It was her vitality, critics proclaimed, the way she projected herself that made beauties beside her look pale and dull. One critic said she was radiant with life.

They didn't know it was not life.

It was the need for revenge.

Those same scribes had been moaning because she had accepted an offer to join a theater in London. How could she possibly leave French connoisseurs for English bores who could never appreciate the subtleties of her performances, the wit that crouched within every word?

The house was a sell-out tonight. Every hopeful suitor would be in attendance as well as the older cavaliers who had tried so hard to seduce her. She'd had more offers than she could count from would-be “protectors.”

No one would suspect that the worldly Monique Fremont, who had appeared from virtually nowhere, was still a virgin, that she looked upon most men as fools and the others as libertines. It was an opinion honestly reached after watching a series of protectors use, then discard, her mother.

No one she had met in Paris had changed that opinion. She saw lust, not love, in their eyes despite their declarations. She saw greed and jealousy and arrogance and condescension and stupidity.

And she'd earned the title of Ice Queen because she'd fended off so many proposals. She knew that most supposed she had a secret lover or a tragic lost love. It certainly couldn't be the admirers' own lack of attractiveness.

Though she had not consciously intended it, her wariness of men had protected her these past years. The mystery surrounding her had drawn reluctant respect and made her appear even more desirable.

Men always wanted what they couldn't have. Women, on the other hand, managed on what they
did
have.

She'd never heard her mother complain, or yearn for a different life. What was, was.

Monique had a completely different philosophy, developed through years of staving off her mother's protectors and learning the tricks of a thief during those lean times her mother had no one but her.

It hadn't been until one of her mother's “friends” saw her mimic several famous personalities that she had been trained and nurtured as an actress, first as a bit player, then as an ingenue, and finally as a leading lady.

But her mother never lived to see that triumph. She'd died of consumption four years earlier, having never seen London again, as she'd longed to do. Lack of money—and fear—always stopped her. She'd lived in fear, in truth, which was mainly why she had taken protectors, each succeeding one a little less attractive, a little less generous, a little less kind.

Men had used her all her life, yet she'd still hoped for her knight to appear.

In Monique's opinion there were no knights to be found. She'd decided long ago that a woman must make her own way, determine her own future, and never, ever, depend on a man. After her mother's death, Monique saved most of her earnings, choosing to live in small but safe lodgings and investing in English ventures through an
avocat.
She didn't trust French investments. French politics were too volatile.

“There,” Dani said. “You look
magnifique
.”

“
Merci
,” Monique said, knowing that she must stop thinking of herself as Merry Anders. She must be Monique Fremont through and through. “We will leave immediately after the performance.”

“
Oui
, all is ready. The coach will be waiting.”

Monique nodded, then looked closely. “Are you sure you want to go with me? It could be dangerous.”

“I am sure,” Dani said in accented English. “I've been practicing my
Anglais
.”

Monique had her reservations about thrusting Dani into harm's way, but the young woman had served as maid, dresser, friend, and confidant for seven years. They had met when Dani, a slight fourteen-year-old thief, was caught picking pockets inside a theater. She looked starved, abused, and terrified. Monique had convinced the theater owner not to turn her in to the police and had asked her if she'd wanted a position. Dani had been reluctant, obviously expecting Monique to take advantage of her in some way. In the end, Monique had employed her and taken her under her protection, teaching her to read and write and then to speak well.

It had taken months to earn her trust, but Dani eventually told her that she had been raped repeatedly by her stepfather and that she'd fled to the streets and joined a group of young thieves, stealing to survive.

Over the next seven years, they had become friends as well as mistress and servant. Slowly, over time, Monique had told Dani of her own dismal background and some of her plans.

Dani had no intention of being left behind. She had skills that might be helpful.

A knock came at the door five minutes before she was to go on stage. Dani straightened out the wrinkles in Monique's costume, an indigo-blue gown that highlighted her gray eyes and flattered her less-than-rounded body.

She took one last glance in the mirror. Her cheeks hadn't needed paint. They were already flushed from anticipation. One life would be ending and another beginning. At long last she had the money, influence, and reputation to repay a debt.

She lifted her cheek and glided out the door Dani held open to the standing applause of an overbooked house.

Chapter Two

London

Gabriel stood on deck of the ship as it wended its way down the Thames. The first buildings of London loomed before him.

London.

Good memories. Ugly memories.

Unfortunately, the latter overshadowed the former.

Captain Adams strolled over to him as the ship passed. “Remember anything?”

“Some,” Gabriel replied neutrally. Adams knew he had been a boy here. Little else. He didn't know about the scandal or the pain that followed it. To Adams, he was the representative of an important Boston shipping company.

“I enjoyed having you aboard.”

Gabriel nodded. It wasn't a compliment. It was a duty. Gabriel was known to be a favorite of Samuel Barker, the owner of this ship, and Gabriel hadn't been the world's most compatible companion. He'd been preoccupied and impatient.

“I thank you for the courtesy you've shown me,” he said. “It has been a pleasant voyage.”

And except for the reason he was making the voyage, it had been. The summer weather had held, the seas had been calm, the wind fair. They had made record time.

Unfortunately, he'd not been in the mood to enjoy it.

Instead, he had prowled along the decks at night and sharpened his newly honed skills in his cabin.

He could open any door with a picklock. He played at opening locks constantly, as well as practicing sleight of hand.

Riley, an Irishman who now owned his own disreputable tavern on the Boston waterfront, had taught him the finer points of being a gentleman thief, including disguises and opening safes. He'd also taught him to climb the walls of buildings, something that came easily to a sailor.

Gabriel watched as the anchor dropped, and a boat was lowered to take the captain into London. Once the formalities were through, he planned to visit the solicitor who had contacted him. He would find out from him how to insinuate himself into the ton.

And whether an American, even with a British title, would be welcome.

But he already knew he would be received where he wanted most to be received. He knew the arrogance of his opponents. He had engaged a solicitor before the war to work with a counterpart in London to obtain information. The London solicitor had given him a very lengthy report on the three men who interested him.

They were all on the fringes of the ton. Not quite accepted, yet tolerated because of their titles and pedigree. And power. No one knew the exact source of their power or their wealth. The solicitor added that any queries into their business were squelched and that those who openly spoke against them recanted or disappeared. Their fellow peers feared them. No one dared touch them.

Only one was currently married. Another—the Earl of Stanhope—was a widower twice over, and rumor had it that he'd killed at least one wife.

Gabriel would feel no hesitation in bringing these men down.

His title would admit him to many homes. Others wouldn't resist the temptation to host an American barbarian. At the very least, he would prove a curiosity to the jaded members of society.

They had no idea of how much of a barbarian he was.

Paul Lynch, the manager of the London theater group that had lured Monique there, had been waiting on the dock as she disembarked from one of the smaller ships. Others, she noticed, anchored along the river, dependent on longboats to take crew and passengers ashore.

Dani followed her with a hatbox. A seaman easily carried her heavy trunk.

She turned back to the sea. A ship under an American flag was anchoring not far from them. Her gaze swept over the deck, skimming past a man at the rail, then returning to him.

His hands were clasped behind him, a stance she associated with captains and officers, yet he wore no uniform. Not even a coat despite the cold wind sweeping the harbor.

Instead, he was clad in only a shirt that billowed out in the wind. His dark blond hair was short and windblown, his stance tall and straight with confidence. She couldn't see the color of his eyes from where she stood but for some reason she thought they would be green.

Ridiculous thought.
She wasn't even sure why he'd captured her attention. Yet even as she turned to her escort, the figure remained in her mind.