Rogues Gallery (18 page)

His lips turned down in a pout.

"I promise," she said with her most winning expression.

"Ah, she smiles," he teased. "Does this mean my headstrong sister is at last happy about her wedding? Or is it more likely she is busily plotting something?"

Marisa gave him a mock glare, giddy with her newfound revelations about Lord Midnight, and what it presaged for her future. Still, she could not escape the irony that the one she had trusted for so many years no longer deserved her faith, while the one deemed untrustworthy was the only one on whom she could rely.

"Honestly, Bernard. What notions you have."

She stepped past him once more.

"Is that the magistrate there, next to that highwayman?"

Marisa's heart lurched to a halt. She prayed the man would be one of the many rotund gentlemen with whom she had danced earlier, and not Lord Midnight. There indeed was a rotund gentleman, but to her dismay, it was the magistrate, and he was deep in conversation with Lord Midnight.

"It almost seems as though the man is not in costume," Bernard mused.

Marisa laughed, but it was a brittle sound. "How fanciful you are!"

"Does he not appear quite like the fellow who accosted our carriage, and took Lord Westbrook's rubies?"

"I don't see much of a resemblance at all," Marisa said, hoping her voice remained noncommittal.

"If he is a highwayman, rather than a cleverly-costumed guest," Bernard answered in his lazy fashion, "there could be a reward. A sizable one."

A chill ran down Marisa's spine. Her brother would not likely utilize any financial gain to rescue her from her nuptials. No, if he planned to hand over her highwayman to the magistrate, he had his own selfish motives for doing so.

Had Lord Midnight known of the hazards he faced with this reckless appearance? Surely he did, yet he continued to converse with the magistrate, not knowing his life was in danger.

And all because he awaited her answer.

Her love for him nearly made her cry out, for he risked so much, his only aim to make her happy. She had never experienced such devotion, and fear snaked up her spine at it being taken away before she could confess her feelings.

"Excuse me, Bernard," she said with haste, "but I must—"

"Ah, Marisa," Edmund crooned as he joined them. "I have been looking for you a very long while."

"My lord."

"And I'll have no more of your catering to the guests." He grasped her arm with such determination, Marisa knew her skin would sport bruises on the morrow. "Come, it is past time we made the announcement."

She bit back her distress, her eyes seeking her highwayman once more, but he was nowhere to be seen. She had waited too long. Lord Midnight had eluded capture, thankfully, but the loving future she had envisioned for them was lost forever.

Gabriel raised his hand, signaling the passing tavern wench for another round. She set the mugs of ale on the rough wooden table, her impressive bosom inches from Gilbey's awestruck face. The lad flushed a deep shade of red and then turned, pretending interest in several kegs stacked at the back of the darkened alehouse.

She chucked Gilbey under the chin. "You're powerful 'andsome."

He opened his mouth to reply, but Gabriel witnessed an unexpected miracle. For the first time since Gilbey had joined Gabriel's band of thieves, the impudent lad was bereft of speech.

The woman winked as she gave her long black tresses a shake. She sashayed to another table, her skirts twitching across her broad hips.

"It's quite all right to speak now, Gilbey. She's across the room, at a safe distance," Gabriel teased. "And here I thought you would be stealing kisses from all of the London maids today."

Gilbey grumbled before gulping down a sizable amount of the frothy ale, shrugging as though he had little interest in the pretty tart. His eyes followed her progress though.

Before Gabriel could persuade the young man to gather the necessary courage, Gilbey reached inside his coat, handing a packet to Gabriel. "You will be needing this."

"The name?"

"Not a flicker of recognition," Gilbey said, his mouth puckering with obvious disapproval.

Gabriel blew out a sigh of relief, tucking the parcel in his breast pocket. "While I was waiting for you, I discovered a most amazing thing."

Gilbey raised his eyebrows, his mug halfway to his mouth.

"There are actual shops here, in London." Gabriel looked from side to side, before dropping his voice to a whisper. "Where people go to buy jewels, rather than steal them."

An impudent grin spread across Gilbey's face. "There cannot be much sport in that."

"Aye," Gabriel laughed, "but neither is there a need for disguise."

A snippet of conversation from an adjoining table caught his attention. This was not the typical alehouse discussion, to be sure. Most of the patrons spoke in hushed tones, intent on concealing their less-than-legal transactions.

Gabriel turned toward the pair of young men discoursing with loud voices. They were aristocrats mingling with the lower class for the sport of it, their grubby attire meticulously arranged as though they wore costumes. Their valets no doubt had a fit of vapors preparing their masters for this particular adventure.

"Lord Westbrook is the most estimable of creatures," one of the gentlemen said, clearly meaning to impress his companion with his knowledge of the man.

"You don't say," the other drawled with obvious envy. "I have never had the privilege of making his acquaintance, unfortunately." He frowned, fussing with the spotted kerchief knotted about his throat. He cast a furtive glance at the tavern patrons, gauging their reaction to him. "Though I saw him in a gaming hell recently, fleecing a greenhorn."

"Well, I shall see to it that you meet up with him," his friend reassured. "Though it won't occur until after his wedding. I daresay he won't be making any more trips to Town in the near future." He nudged his friend. "Nor would he appreciate any visitors anytime too soon neither."

"She's a lucky one then, to connect up with a man of his fine reputation."

"I would say so!" He took a noisy gulp of ale. "It's not every female that finds herself wed to the most trusted man in the realm." He patted his lips with a delicate touch before remembering his surroundings. Grinning, he wiped his sleeve across his mouth, leaving a stain on the fabric.

Gabriel took a swig from his mug, swallowing his disgust at the young men's hero worship of the monster named Lord Westbrook. Edmund wore the appellation of "most trusted man of the realm", while his innocent victim was forced to bear the label of criminal in order to survive.

He dismissed the line of thought, having pondered it times without number, and with no hope of resolution. Instead he thanked whatever fickle deity had placed this unexpected opportunity in his lap. He shifted his chair to face the young men.

"I cannot help but envy your acquaintance with the esteemed Lord Westbrook," Gabriel said, wearing what he hoped was a covetous expression.

As expected, the young men's chests puffed with pride.

"Can you tell me more of him?"

"Lord help us," Gilbey muttered, quaffing the rest of his ale and signaling the tavern wench for another.

***

"J
amie, surely you can see how well this fits in with our scheme."

Gabriel stopped his pacing in front of Jamie's pallet.

"Och, lad, all I can see is that ye are up to your trickery again." He fumbled with the rough woolen blanket covering him. "I have to say it has appeal," he admitted.

Gabriel knelt close to his friend's prone form. "It will not impede the heists, of course."

"And what of Mistress Dunsmore?" Jamie asked in a quiet voice. "How will this affect her?"

"That's the absolute beauty of it. This will force Edmund's hand, so Marisa shall benefit from our efforts most of all."

Jamie grumbled, his forehead wrinkled with concern.

"Jamie, I have relinquished that scheme to seduce her, you know that."

"Aye, but ye have never told me why."

"It was no longer feasible," Gabriel answered. "I have a much better plan."

In truth, it seemed the answer to every one of his heartfelt desires.

He held his breath, waiting for Jamie's approval. Jamie studied Gabriel for what seemed like hours. He did not want Jamie's continued approbation, yet he knew this plot was an ingenious one. He could only hope Jamie saw it in the same light.

"Marisa's wellbeing depends upon us, Jamie."

Jamie's face finally lit up. "Ye need say no more then, lad."

***

G
abriel swung wide the carriage door with an elegant flourish. "Come, my lovelies," he cajoled. "Join me under the stars this beautiful night."

He graciously assisted the pair of portly matrons from the carriage. Despite Marisa's belief to the contrary, Gabriel's gallantry was more often bestowed on ladies such as these, rather than youthful beauties.

Still, the women would suit his purpose just as well. He smiled in his most flirtatious manner, ensuring the moonlight caught his features. It was important they remember the daring man who accosted their carriage, with only a strip of leather covering his eyes.

"Charlotte, this is not the Irish highwayman you said has been plaguing the countryside. This is another one entirely."

Gabriel hid his amusement at the patent disappointment in her voice. "Ah, but he was a bit of a rough fellow," he said, "so I sent him off to parts unknown."

Even to his own ears, Gabriel had to admit his voice sounded just like the urbane, well-modulated one of his uncle Edmund.

"I had so hoped to see him one day," the woman named Charlotte lamented. "Now it seems we have missed our opportunity, Harriet."

Harriet fixed Gabriel with a baleful stare, giving him a thorough examination.

Gabriel executed a magnificent bow, winking at her when he righted himself. "I trust I shall prove to be an admirable substitution."

Charlotte pressed a hand to her throat as if to keep her words to herself. Yet there was no mistaking the appreciative gleam in her eye. Nor was there a prayer of misinterpreting the bold glance Harriet shot him.

Gabriel could not contain his laughter this time. "I am fortunate to have won your approval, ladies."

"He is quite obviously well-bred," Harriet confided to her companion as if certain Gabriel could not hear her. "I detect a lordly air about him."

Gilbey burst forth from the shadows, capitalizing on the opportunity. "You've won the wager, Lord Wes—oh, sorry, guvnor."

Harriet and Charlotte gasped in unison. Their mouths dropped open and they stared at Gabriel.

Gilbey sidled back into the darkness. Only Gabriel was able to see his shoulders shaking with silent amusement.

Gabriel bowed his head. "I apologize for the unfortunate intrusion, yet I have other, er, engagements this evening. Before I depart, I must request your jewelry, much as it grieves me to do so."

"It's quite a civilized demand for our worldly goods," Harriet commented. She removed several strands of pearls from her stout neck and deposited them, lovingly, in Gabriel's hand.

"Indeed," Charlotte said, extending her plump hand so Gabriel could pry the diamond ring from her finger. After several tries, most of them designed by Charlotte to prolong Gabriel's need to hold her hand, he had the jewelry in his pocket.

Gabriel wanted them to pass the word to their friends about this new highwayman. So, lest there be any doubt as to his identity, he apologized profusely—or rather, Edmund's voice did.

"I pray you can find it in your generous hearts to forgive me for these dastardly deeds. I deplore my actions, but I am forced by circumstances outside my control." He placed a hand to his heart—even knowing Edmund would not have done so, having no heart to speak of.

Charlotte and Harriet gaped at each other, unsure how to respond to the tale of woe, for it could not be reconciled with what they knew of Lord Westbrook.

Gabriel tossed them a conspiratorial wink, his spirits soaring at how Edmund's vaunted reputation would soon be in tatters. Edmund would then know what it was to be viewed as a criminal, to live under constant suspicion—something that had eluded him during his evil reign.

But it was fast coming to an end. Edmund would have nothing for which he had schemed, not even the woman he sought to marry. Edmund could not escape justice much longer.

Invincibility surged through Gabriel's veins. For the first time in fifteen years, he controlled the course of his future, and Edmund's fate finally rested in Gabriel's hands.

Most exhilarating of all, this latest scheme would hasten Edmund's demise in a much more satisfying fashion than the one Gabriel had plotted at the outset.

He swaggered as he approached the matrons once more. He raised Harriet's fleshy hand to his lips. At Charlotte's pout, he repeated the gallant gesture with her, lingering a fraction longer.

Gabriel led them to their carriage, and took his time ensuring they were comfortable inside. He closed the door, congratulating himself on a good night's work. He could barely wait to hear Marisa's reaction to this latest performance.

"Farewell, ladies." He could not keep the irony from his voice as he delivered his parting words. "When you say your prayers this night, lovelies, I trust you will offer up a fervent entreaty that I, Lord W., will one day receive the punishment I so truly merit."

Gabriel halted inside the French doors, watching as Marisa caressed the poetry book he had left to reassure her during his absence. His heart thundered at the beatific expression on her face as she read yet another of the poems. Was it the one he favored, too?

He didn't realize at first he had spoken the question aloud. But at once there was a gasp, a book clattering to the floor, and then a mischievous angel covering his face with welcoming kisses.

"Cease," he protested, but only half-heartedly. When she stopped, he added with a smile, "Until I am more comfortably seated."