Rogues Gallery (14 page)

What utter nonsense! Surely she had not gone so long without love that she would consider a highwayman a likely recipient of her heart. No, he simply made her think of the man she might one day love. A man with many of his qualities was sure to win her heart in the distant future.

With any luck, a man very much like Lord Midnight could return her love someday. Even if Lord Midnight himself was unable to do so.

She set down the figurine with more force than necessary. Even a porcelain female was better able to inspire love than she was.

She refused to dwell on that, for it would have been painful to admit that Lord Midnight's absence proved her Father correct—or it would have, if she had wanted Lord Midnight to love her. Fortunately that was nowhere close to the truth. She had merely needed his aid, and enjoyed his diverting company while she plotted escape. As a result, it should take little effort to banish the man from her mind.

She had only to remember Aunt Althea's warm eyes, the genuine joy on her face, the gentle way she kissed her whenever Marisa visited. Marisa's own joy would be complete knowing Althea was free from her father's continued threats.

Yet everything about the bedchamber called to mind Lord Midnight. She could see his windswept entry through that French door. She could see his smile as he sat in that wing chair, cradling the glass of brandy. She would always see his devil-may-care eyes peering from beneath her counterpane that first night.

Memories were all she would ever have of Lord Midnight.

Her anguished cry filled the bedchamber. There was no other option. She had to take this opportunity to rescue herself and Aunt Althea. She knew without a doubt Lord Westbrook would not absent himself again, not before the wedding vows were spoken. And after having Edmund's flesh pressed against hers, feeling his heated breath on her skin, Marisa knew she could never resign herself to being his wife.

Not after being in Lord Midnight's arms.

Marisa sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed next to the open valise. Could she truly live without her highwayman, without his kisses, his flattering attentions? She would have to, for the only way to continue those attentions was to stay precisely where she was and become Lady Westbrook.

And even then she would have to hope Lord Midnight might decide to visit her on occasion.

Or she could drive about the countryside in her carriage, presenting herself as the next victim for Lord Midnight to bestow his wondrous favors.

And she would definitely have to pray that Aunt Althea would forgive her niece when Bedlam was her new home.

Marisa stood up and began pacing the room, not surprised it managed to shrink with each turn she made. Her thoughts were similarly boxed in. She wanted both her freedom and Lord Midnight, but no matter how she rearranged the options, she could have only one.

Her heart cried out for Lord Midnight, believing that love ultimately lay in that direction, despite her self-deception of mere moments ago. Yet her mind argued that misery was the result of that choice, even if she did not have to fear for Aunt Althea. At best he was a rogue, and at worst an avowed criminal. She could not allow her future to hinge on the whim of a highwayman. It was best she take freedom, and the happiness of knowing she had escaped the grim reality of a loveless marriage.

It provided less comfort than she had hoped, however. For once she had fled, she would stare down each day without the promise of Lord Midnight's dazzling smile, his gentle teasing, his passionate embraces that promised so much more.

Weary all of a sudden, Marisa stowed the valise under her bed, and climbed beneath the counterpane. Unrelenting heartache was to be her future companion, no matter which choice she made.

It was merely up to her to decide, and soon, which heartbreaking existence she could bear the longest.

Gabriel gazed upon Marisa's innocent sleeping figure, amazed that such a wholesome miss could arouse the most improper thoughts. Not to mention the most reckless ones.

More than once he had nearly broken out in a sweat at the rare pleasure it would be to awaken Marisa's passion, stoking her desire until she was pleading for relief, then plunging into her as she cried out his name.

He had even tried to convince himself that depriving his uncle of Marisa's maidenhead would be a charitable act, for surely Edmund would be less than gentle with her. But then he would remember the cruelty of which his uncle was capable. He knew what the man would do upon learning his bride was not pure. Gabriel shivered. Edmund would see blood spilt, only Marisa would not survive the experience.

Gabriel clenched his fists. He could not deliver his angel into his uncle's vile keeping. It was horrible to think of her sweet passion wasted on that man's depraved lusts. Yet what could he do?

Spiriting her away from Edmund's clutches was but a temporary measure. Marisa was not meant to while away her days with a band of rogues. And her father would provide no assistance, for he had instigated the ill-fated match with Edmund.

Yet, despite his growing need for Marisa, Gabriel could not relinquish his quest. He was the only one who could see that justice was not denied. None in the judicial world would believe a notorious highwayman's claim that he was the rightful Lord Westbrook, nearly murdered by his own uncle. A trial for Edmund's crime was out of the question.

And though he wanted Edmund's existence ended, Gabriel knew he was not the cold-blooded killer his uncle was. Even if he was, ending Edmund's life would be but a temporary reprieve for Marisa, for her father was certain to marry her off to another. Gabriel doubted a highwayman with his uncle's blood on his hands was the husband he sought for his daughter.

He groaned at the utter futility of his situation.

Marisa sat bolt upright. "Lord Midnight!"

Gabriel jumped back. "Sweet Christ!"

She clapped her hands over her mouth, smothering her laughter.

Despite his melancholy, Gabriel smiled. He had half expected her to turn away or send him packing after his lengthy absence, yet her entire mien broadcast her joy. He sat on the edge of her bed and reached for a curl dangling on her shoulder. He twisted the silky strand about his gloved finger, unable to believe he had considered relinquishing her forever.

He would have to content himself with these clandestine visits for as long as possible. And pray that he could somehow find a way to bring justice down on Edmund's head, as hopeless as it seemed.

Marisa tilted her head as she watched what must be the myriad emotions flitting across his face.

Gabriel released the blonde curl and looked into Marisa's expectant face, his worries seeming to evaporate. There was no doubt he had made the right decision in coming to see her. In truth, it seemed the anguish of the past sennight had been for naught now that he was near her again.

"I thought to never see you again," Marisa blurted.

Gabriel saw the dismay it had caused her, and regretted being the reason for it. He almost tossed off a carefree denial, but she deserved the truth, as much of it as he could give her. "I thought the same," he admitted. "Yet, at the time, it seemed the wisest course of action."

"Why?"

He lay down across the counterpane, propping his head with his upraised hand. Marisa sat back on her heels, impatient for his answer.

"You are to be wed," Gabriel managed through tight lips.

She raised her eyebrows, anxious for the rest of his answer.

He laughed despite the sadness weighting his heart. "Angel, it is not only reckless for me to visit you, but highly improper as well." He looked directly at her. "I am certain your future husband would not countenance these visits of mine."

She waved a hand. "He knows nothing of them, and never shall."

"He may," Gabriel said, thinking of his uncle's wrath should Gabriel's imprudent visits produce an impure bride, or worse, a bastard. Though that had been his original plan, it was plotted before he had come to care for Marisa, or harbored the vain hope that she could care for him in return.

He was not advancing his cause by reclining on her bed.

"Come, let us sit by the fire." Gabriel reached for Marisa's hand, flicking a glance at the table. "Would it be too much to hope you did not finish the brandy after I left the last time?"

"No, I did not finish the brandy," she said with mock approbation. "In truth, I suffered a headache most of the next day, and do not wish to experience that again. Particularly as I could garner no sympathy without confessing my dissolute behavior."

He clucked his tongue. "I can well imagine. Still, I see no evidence that you did not finish it yourself."

"Surely you must see that I had to hide the bottle or it would have been removed. Or Daphne would have kept it for her own medicinal purposes."

To his surprise, Marisa hiked up her nightclothes and knelt down as she reached behind the massive mahogany wardrobe.

Gabriel groaned at the alluring view of Marisa's bare calves. He dropped his head into his hands to save himself further agony, but was unable to resist peeking through his fingers when he heard her muttering. He almost groaned anew when he saw the agitated wiggling of her delectable backside, taunting him as it moved from side to side while she attempted in vain to reach the hidden container.

Vowing to quaff the bottle in one swallow, Gabriel stood and crossed the room to rescue Marisa from her precarious position. He grasped her by the waist, doing his noble best to ignore her fragile smallness, and pulled her to him. Once her head was safely clear, he stood her on her feet. He couldn't help but grin as she blew a strand of hair from her eyes. He moved the furniture aside slightly and, with palpable relief, latched onto the brandy.

"Sit," he said, motioning to the chairs. "And I won't even ask how you hid the bottle in the first instance."

Her lips curved into a smile that made his heart race. He was in need of the brandy now even more than before. Before he could tilt the bottle into the glass, Marisa asked, "It was you that robbed the Colecroft coach, wasn't it?"

"Colecroft, is it?" He nodded as he considered the name. "A bit too dark to see the crest on the carriage," he added with a playful wink.

"I knew it was you! Please. I must hear all of the details." She wiggled back into her chair, settling herself for the recounting of the terrible deed.

For a mere heartbeat, Gabriel considered demurring. It was unwise to trust anyone with details that could see him hanged. But this was the woman who, on more than one occasion, ensured his safety at all costs, even going so far as to hiding him in her bed. And foregoing her own escape to provide him with freedom.

Any remaining doubts were dispelled by the exuberant expectation on Marisa's face, something he had thought never to see again. He knew he could not deny her, or himself, such pleasure. His absence the past sennight had caused too much anguish as it was. And the future held even more.

He bowed, one arm at his waist. "I must set the scene."

Marisa giggled, but then pressed her lips together at his mock glare.

"It was very dark, with a mere sliver of moon providing illumination, which of course is the very best setting for a hold-up. When my second-in-command heard the jingling harness of the approaching carriage, he gave me the signal."

"What was the signal?"

"Miss Dunsmore," he said with mock reproach. "'Tis a secret."

"I can keep a secret," she said, sparkling with high spirits. "No one knows of you."

"That may be true, but still, I must withhold the information at present."

She pretended to pout, but Gabriel saw the boldness dancing in her eyes, so he continued his tale.

"Once I received the signal—the secret signal," he teased, "I spurred Eclipse forward—"

"Eclipse? What a wonderful name!"

Gabriel cleared his throat. "Mistress Dunsmore, if you persist in interrupting me—"

"I shall not do so again," she vowed, her hand to her heart.

Gabriel sighed at the sight of her small hand atop her breast, wishing it were his own hand resting there. Exhaling a ragged breath, he ran his fingers through his hair, forgetting it was tied in a queue. He yanked the leather ribbon off, letting his hair tumble to his shoulders.

"Oh, Lord Midnight," she breathed, her arm outstretched. "It is so lovely."

Gabriel gulped, wanting nothing more than to feel her fingers combing through his locks. Well, perhaps a bit more. He refastened the tie before he could act on his imprudent ideas.

"I believe I was about to say I had positioned Eclipse into the center of the roadway. When the carriage was within view, I squeezed off a shot and said—"

"Stand and deliver!" Marisa exclaimed, jumping to her feet and brandishing an imaginary pistol.

They both began to laugh, and then Gabriel quickly shushed her. From the guilty look on Marisa's face, it was clear she remembered that they were not alone, although it was not likely Daphne would have been awakened by such a slight noise. Still, just to be certain, Marisa pushed a footstool in front of the connecting door before tiptoeing back to her chair.

Gabriel sauntered across the room as if he were approaching the carriage. He swung wide the imaginary door, announcing in a lilting Irish brogue to the fictitious occupants, "If you would be so kind as to disembark."

Spurred on by her delightful laughter, Gabriel threw himself into the performance. He puffed his chest out in imitation of the self-important Lord Colecroft. "Just what is the meaning of this nonsense?"

Marisa doubled over, one hand clapped over her mouth.

Gabriel grinned at her before continuing in a falsetto, "Oh, my, this is much too distressing. I need my vinaigrette!" He fluttered his eyelashes as if he were the chagrined Lady Colecroft. He clutched at his chest, only his arms were spread wide in imitation of the rather buxom lady in question.

Gabriel spun on his heel, playing himself once more, and bowed gallantly to the anguished Lady Colecroft. He stood upright, announcing with a mischievous lilt to his voice, "Surely I am not the cause for your distress."