Rogues Gallery (12 page)

"'Tis wise to immediately get back upon the steed that has thrown you, that is certain." He reseated himself, resting his chin on his upraised fist, and watched her.

She took a more judicious sip. "Liquid fire," she said with amazement as it slithered through her veins. A moment later she wiggled her toes. "It goes all through me!"

He lifted the glass from her hand before she could take another sip. "I should like to partake before you finish it," he teased.

Marisa blushed, aware the heat in her face wasn't as much from the brandy as from the highwayman's intense regard. When was the last time she had seen esteem rather than approbation for her actions? Of course! When she had hidden this very highwayman in her bed.

"Everything Father has forbidden will have to be thoroughly investigated," she said.

The highwayman took a sample of the liquor and then offered her the glass once more. Marisa thought there was a challenge in his glittering eyes, and she was unable to withstand it. She saw her hand lift itself from her lap and clasp the glass where his hand remained.

His skin was smooth, yet she could feel strength, as well as power. She rubbed her finger across the back of his hand.

His eyes locked with hers. She felt a curious kinship with him at that moment. There was one other person in the world who knew the loneliness of being an outcast. From the flicker in his eyes, she guessed he had experienced the same sensation.

Shaken, she lowered her eyes. When she raised them again, the moment had passed—if it had even occurred. Her heart thudding, Marisa took the proffered glass and ever so slowly raised it to her lips, enthralled at how his eyes followed her every movement. She looked directly at him as she sipped from the glass, shivering even though heat flowed through her.

Brandy, and the highwayman's rapt attention: it was a heady combination.

***

G
abriel gnawed his lower lip. He told himself to gather her into his arms and lead her to the bed before another moment passed. Though his body reacted in a predictable fashion, his brain rebelled. Once he had completed the deed, there would be no further encounters with the spirited miss. And he could not bring himself to call a halt to the delightful visit.

Not just yet.

Still, if the minx continued with her unwitting seduction, he would have her on the mattress, further exploring her propensity for wickedness. He swallowed, not without difficulty. He had to distract himself from such delicious notions, at least for a while longer.

"Mistress Angel," he said, leaning back in his chair. He stretched his legs in front of him with a casual ease he did not at all feel. "Tell me of your day."

"Oh, it is of no consequence," she answered with a blithe wave of her hand. "'Tis a day much like any other."

"Indeed? You are accosted by highwaymen throughout your day?" He pretended to pout. "I had thought myself more singular than that."

She laughed, filling the room—and a hidden corner of Gabriel's heart—with the joyous sound. "Am I to believe you do not spend your days in this fashion then?"

He offered her another sip of brandy. She willingly complied before returning the glass to him. "This is a new enterprise for me," he admitted. For some reason, his words elicited a very satisfied grin from his companion. "So," he continued, "besides entertaining hordes of highwaymen, what else did you find time for this day?"

"I found time for several unpleasant encounters with my betrothed, and an unexpected betrayal by my brother, Bernard." Though she spoke in a lighthearted tone, she could not quite hide the bitterness accompanying her words.

The description perturbed Gabriel, but he did not permit himself to examine his emotions too closely.

Instead, he answered with mock outrage. "What? No watercolor lessons, hours with a dancing master, tutoring on French verbs?"

"I, too, have a need to be more singular than the other ladies of my acquaintance," she said.

"That requires no effort, Angel. I can assure you of that," he said with utter sincerity.

She tilted her head, as if gauging the meaning behind his words.

Before she could ask, he prompted, "After such a singular day, what is left for the morrow?"

"I should much rather hear what you shall do, exalted lord of the highways."

She uttered the last in a dramatic fashion. At his startled response, she could not contain her amusement.

"I have no other name with which to address you. Although I must confess, I have tried to guess your name."

She put her fingers to her lips, attempting to hold back a multitude of giggles.

He shifted in his chair, aroused by her fingers, and her lips, and her genuine delight. "From the laughter it evokes, I daresay you have selected something horrendous."

She bit her lower lip. "Those were the names I had discarded, actually."

"Tell me what you had considered as possibilities."

"I was fairly certain you were not a Joseph or an Edward," she began with confidence. "Nor Thomas."

He nodded, smiling so she would continue her enchanting tale. "Any particular reason?"

"Oh, they are much too ordinary, of course. While you—"

She extended a hand his direction, as if to say he was the pattern card for all things extraordinary.

Gabriel pondered that for a moment. The notion that she saw him as a romantic character filled him with more pleasure than it should. Yet he would have no opportunity to live up to those fanciful ideals.

He nearly sighed. He had always believed revenge to be romantic, and chivalrous, a courtly rite-of-passage designed to restore honor. But now it seemed once he had exacted his revenge, neither of them would believe in romance, or chivalry. Least of all, honor.

"And," she continued, unaware of his musings, "you most certainly could not be a Horatio."

"Horatio?" he squeaked out.

She pressed her lips together, but her eyes sparkled with unmistakable humor.

"I must applaud you for discarding that last," he said.

He could not help but enjoy the joyful laughter that continued to fill the room. Her mirth fascinated him, for it seemed to ripple through her entire body. He shifted at the thought of passion rippling through her instead, wanting to elicit more of it, and not just as a means of seduction.

Gabriel leaned closer, until he was a mere whisper from her lips. "Shall I attempt to guess your name?"

"Marisa," she breathed. "Dunsmore."

He kissed her, relishing the taste of brandy on her lips.

"I had hoped I would have to wrest the information from you," he teased. "I must remember how little resistance you possess."

"Oh," Marisa said, her eyes downcast. "That is why I assumed you could not tell me your name, for if I were ever questioned about you—"

Gabriel raised her hand to his lips. He kissed each fingertip, not wanting her to know how much her genuine concern disconcerted him. "Never fear, Marisa," he said, despite the flicker of guilt in his breast. "I merely meant I shall use the information about your willing nature for my own naughty purposes."

Marisa gasped, but she was unable to disguise the shiver his words produced. Gabriel's own desire rapidly ascended to another level.

"Yet I must call you something," she continued. "Have you a suggestion?"

Gabriel frowned. "I cannot abide Horatio."

Marisa's laugh was a joyous one. "Nor can I."

The gold ormolu clock on the mantel began to chime, a slow peal for each of the twelve hours.

Marisa stood and removed the silver butter knife from the tray. Grasping the knife as if it were a sword, she rested it on one of Gabriel's shoulders and then the other. "I dub thee Lord Midnight," she attempted in a solemn tone. At Gabriel's burst of laughter, Marisa added, "Well, you have to admit 'exalted lord of the highways' can be a bit of a bother. Especially in every-day conversations."

"True," he conceded. Once Marisa had reseated herself, Gabriel stood and executed the most perfect of courtly bows. "Milady, Lord Midnight at your service."

He knelt by her side and took her hand in his. He brought it to his lips, pinning her with his gaze. She inhaled a ragged breath, unable to mask the quivering in her hands. Gabriel had intended to bestow a gallant kiss on the back of her hand, but her reaction caused him to test the limits of her passion.

Continuing to watch her, attuned to every nuance of her desire, he rotated her hand and placed his lips against the tender skin of her wrist. She curled her fingers, and the tensing of the muscles in her hand told him she was debating whether to call a halt to the powerful sensations.

At last, as he had hoped, her curiosity won out. Instead of removing her hand from his lips, she shifted so that he might continue the sensuous delight. Gabriel felt a surging thrill at her forthright gesture.

He pressed a kiss to the throbbing vein in her wrist, encircling her life force with his lips before nipping the delicate skin with his teeth. At her whimper, he nudged the sleeve of her nightrail further up her arm, following it with light kisses until he was at the velvety skin of the inside of her elbow.

Gabriel marveled at the feel of her against his lips. It was almost possible to believe she was an angel descended from heaven, for he had never touched such sweetness in all his born days.

He glanced up to assure himself that Marisa was indeed mortal. She watched his every move with half-open eyes. Resisting the siren pull of her parted lips, he dipped his head and ran his tongue along the crease of her elbow, following it with several deep kisses.

With a low moan, Marisa threw her arms about Gabriel's neck, drawing his kneeling body against hers. The unexpected embrace placed Gabriel's lips against her breast. Startled, both Gabriel and Marisa halted.

Gabriel recovered more quickly, ready to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity. He pushed aside the robe and unerringly found her nipple through the thin nightrail. He circled it with his tongue, and the tender flesh proved as little resistant as the rest of Marisa.

After her initial gasp, Marisa's breath came in erratic bursts as Gabriel continued his slow torment. His own breathing came in fits and starts. When her nipple puckered into a tight little knot, he drew it into his mouth, closing his lips over it as if he had waited all his life for the morsel. Marisa shuddered as the sensations rocked through her. Gabriel moved as if to cease, but she moaned, bringing him back to her breast.

Thrilled by his angel's silent plea, Gabriel continued his suckling, extending one hand to touch her other breast. He lightly revolved his palm over her pliant flesh, not at all surprised when Marisa leaned forward to assist his endeavors.

Yet when he curved his fingers around her breast, he was rocked with an explosion of possessiveness. The shock made him release her. He sat back on his heels, grasping the side of her chair, reminding himself of his purpose.

She is merely a pawn, a beautiful, passionate one, but a pawn nonetheless.

Yet he knew she could be so much more.

Gabriel lifted his head. The moistened cloth of Marisa's nightrail, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest, displayed her tempting nipple to perfection. Gabriel felt a surge of lust that could not be ignored. He shot a quick glance at the bed, gauging its proximity. It was not so far away after all.

Marisa's eyes fluttered open. Gabriel could see how deeply in thrall she was to the passion he had aroused in her. Sweet Christ! He must have her. His jaw clenched. He would have her, and God save anyone that tried to prevent him.

Gabriel clasped her hand, ready to lead her to the bed. She entwined her fingers in his, and Gabriel's excitement raced along every nerve ending. She was more than willing. He could hardly wait to enjoy the delectable moments with her, exploring every single one of her ardent responses throughout the night.

He looked into her eyes once more. And nearly cried out at the trust shining back at him.

Gabriel leaned his forehead against Marisa's thigh. She stroked his hair, offering comfort, or urging him on, he was not certain. He nearly groaned at the unwelcome discovery that some long-dormant scruples had returned, and at such an inopportune moment.

Her willingness should have been a boon, yet he could not help but feel he was betraying her.

Her soft flesh urged him to reconsider, tempting him beyond endurance. Gabriel caressed the side of her thigh, dotting tiny kisses through the thin protection of her clothing. He had waited so long for this moment. He placed another kiss higher, close to her hip. Her moan, the heat of her skin, the scent of her arousal, all of it combined to knock him senseless.

One more kiss, and vengeance was finally within his reach—if he could only keep his conscience at bay a while longer.

"Gilbey! Retreat," Gabriel ordered, his voice harsh even to his own ears.

He backed Eclipse into the shadows, the animal's snort of displeasure loud and distinctive. Despite their mutterings of disbelief, Gilbey and the other rogues obeyed his strange command. They faded into the surrounding thicket of trees, further concealed by the fog swirling through the dark branches that moonless night.

The ornate carriage rolled by unharmed, its wooden wheels rattling along the rutted road to its destination.

Gabriel could not admit to his band of scoundrels he had heard tinkling laughter and seen a glimpse of golden blonde hair and completely lost his nerve. His concentration was sorely lacking, of that there was no doubt. But when every female called to mind Mistress Angel, he knew he was in dire straits indeed.

He spat out a disgusted oath. He had had vengeance in his grasp, and been unable to take it.

Another night
, he consoled himself.

Another night he could complete the task without his conscience intruding in such an inconvenient manner. He could arouse her passions once more and then rob her of her innocence, knowing he had exacted the revenge that was his due.

But despite his pitiful attempts at self-deception, he knew he could not abuse such sweetly-bestowed trust.