Rogues Gallery (3 page)

Her face crumpled. She scrambled from the bed, the sheet wrapped around her. She spun to look at him, as if expecting some sort of reprieve or apology.

Lord Westbrook waved his hand, in dismissal, but it made her flinch.

"Aww!" Daphne sobbed. She raced to the door and slammed it behind her.

Lord Westbrook laughed with genuine pleasure. The housemaid always provided a decent amount of entertainment. Lately, though, he wondered what it might be like to have a more worthy opponent.

"My lord," the butler ventured.

"Yes," Lord Westbrook snapped. He did not enjoy being distracted from his lustful reveries of his betrothed. Especially when lustful reveries were all he was permitted.

"The rubies were taken during the robbery."

Edmund's breath caught in his throat. "Those jewels belong to my new bride."

He needed those rubies. They were the visible evidence that he was the rightful Lord Westbrook.

Ever since his first, and only, meeting in London with his betrothed, he had imagined the moment he presented the gems to Marisa, on their wedding night. She would be wearing nothing else while he consummated their union, and commenced his long-delayed dynasty. His loins ached at the thought.

The solicitors had delivered the jewels to Marisa's brother, so Bernard could transport them safely to Westbrook Hall. Yet a highwayman had intercepted them, derailing his plans.

Edmund let loose a blistering oath. Was it possible his luck was taking a turn for the worse? After all these years?

"Have you alerted the constable?"

"Yes, my lord. He told me to assure you he will expend all his energies to see to their return. He also said he will do his best to increase his patrols of the roadways, but in truth he is stretched quite thin, thanks to the legions of robbers haunting the highways of late."

Edmund paced the Axminster carpet. He preferred things to go more smoothly than they were at present. What if—

No, he couldn't even consider failing at this monumental task. He had invested too much not to succeed now.

A discreet cough interrupted his musings. "Will there be anything else, my lord?"

"No, that will be all."

The butler departed without a sound, probably relieved to leave without experiencing the public humiliation suffered by Daphne.

Lord Westbrook shrugged. Her misfortune was bound to be broadcast downstairs as soon as the butler returned to his domain, but it did not matter to him. She would be leaving his bed in the near future, one way or the other, once his bride had plighted her troth.

Yet fear gripped Lord Westbrook's heart for the first time in almost two decades.

Was it possible the child had not died fifteen long years ago? Yet how could he still be alive? Edmund had taken care of the task himself, unwilling to entrust it to anyone else.

He had to put his mind at ease, and he knew of only one way to do so.

Gabriel tiptoed down a darkened hallway of Westbrook Hall. At a sound, he paused in his stealthy advance, pressing himself against the wall. He adjusted the leather mask, grinning at the utter madness of this quest.

He did not worry about encountering a guard or sentry. Westbrook Hall was so vast it would be impossible to guard every wing completely. The house was secure primarily because no one would dare to breach the sanctity of such a place.

Gabriel released his breath. The noise was not anyone approaching; it was merely the sounds of an ancient house settling in for the long dark hours until dawn.

He recommenced his furtive approach to the bedchamber that had meant so much in his dreams. It was the haven he mentally returned to when waiting for justice became unbearable.

He rested his hand on the door latch, his heart racing. Was there any reason to open the door and have his dream shattered? Did he want to confront the dreadful reality—it was a simple room, nothing more, not a child's fanciful sanctuary?

It was situated in a remote wing of the sprawling house, so it was doubtful the room had been used in ages. In all likelihood, any traces of a child's bedchamber—not to mention his very existence—had long ago been locked away.

Surely Edmund would want no further reminders of the nephew he had so cruelly deceived.

Gabriel brushed aside the lingering ache. He pressed the latch, his other hand against the door, and opened it a fraction at a time.

He crept into the room and closed the door behind him, not even a click of the latch betraying his presence. With great stealth, he moved forward into the darkened room.

How much smaller it was than he remembered.

Little seemed familiar, except for the massive bed he had long ago begged his parents to drag down from the attics. It had served as a fortress against the imaginary infidels he had vanquished with a toy sword, as well as a hiding place when his tutor insisted on lessons unpalatable to a young boy.

Gabriel sighed as the memories swamped him. In their wake were fury and resentment at having his life stolen from him as a child. He hadn't expected such a flood of emotions, especially the renewed sensation of pain caused so many years ago by Lord Westbrook.

He inhaled in an effort to restore his calm. In the next instant he caught his breath and held it.

Something had moved in the bed
.

The room should have been empty, but he realized too late it was not. Remnants of a fire glowed in the fireplace against the far wall, and he could see now there were no telltale signs of neglect in the bedchamber.

Gabriel crept forward to see who occupied the bed he still considered his. The embers of the dying fire highlighted a young woman in deep sleep, a froth of blonde hair enveloping her. He reached his hand toward the golden silkiness, so reminiscent of the intrepid beauty earlier that night.

His hand stilled.

It was Lord Westbrook's betrothed.

Gabriel lowered his hand over the sleeping beauty's mouth, simultaneously waking her and stifling her scream. She clawed at his hand, her eyes wide with terror. She struggled to move further away from him.

Gabriel slanted forward to restrain her, pinning her down with his arms. He felt a moment's remorse at causing her such anguish, particularly when she battled him even more fiercely. Yet he had too much at stake should she sound an alarm.

"Ssh, angel. You'll come to no harm at my hand if you cooperate."

He leaned closer, intent on reassuring her further, but the softness of her warm body nearly distracted him. She tugged at his hand once more, trying to get free of his grip.

"I do not mean to harm you."

She raised her eyebrows, and he could swear her expression was an exasperated one. Instead of being frightened by his presence, she was signaling she found his tactics rather clumsy.

He felt the release of tension under his hand, and saw some of the annoyance leave her eyes.

"No coercion is needed, then?"

She shook her head to demonstrate her compliance.

"Why are you here," he whispered, "in this bedchamber?"

He lifted his hand, his eyes warning her of the consequences should she attempt to scream.

"I would ask you the same," she countered.

"I shall tell you my purpose once I learn the reason for your presence," he bargained, though not altogether truthfully.

"I meant to avail myself of some sleep," she muttered. "As you recall, I was beset by highwaymen this evening."

This time he could not halt a chuckle. "Well?" he prompted.

"I am to stay at my betrothed's home until the wedding."

The unexpected reply stopped Gabriel's heart for one beat. He had known she was to wed Lord Westbrook, but he had not realized she would be staying at his home, or rather, Gabriel's rightful home.

He grinned. Would Lord Westbrook find it amusing that Gabriel was comfortably entwined with the man's future bride?

The notion made his heart pound. After so many years wishing he could bring about Edmund's downfall, Gabriel had not expected such an opportunity to present itself. Yet, much as he wanted to, he could not implement his plot just then. He did not want to risk capture before he could commence the delicious scheme, and with the Westbrook rubies still on his person, he risked a great deal more than was wise.

He reached for her flaxen hair. She scarce seemed to breathe, yet he was unable to resist one touch while she remained in his arms. Her hair was as soft as down, and he smoothed the length of it several times. With each caress, he pulled her sweet body closer to his. Too late he realized it was well nigh impossible to rein in his desire for the brave miss.

He released his arms with the greatest of reluctance. "Mistress Angel."

She sighed, the soft hiss filling the now-silent bedchamber.

It was followed by another sound, this time from the hallway.

Footsteps
.

Gabriel scrambled upright, his pulse racing. There was too much at stake should he be discovered here.

The footsteps resonated through the otherwise hushed hallway, tapping out Gabriel's doom. He turned his head toward the door he had entered earlier, gauging his chances of escape. It was too far away, and much too risky.

His eyes darted to the French door across the room. It was impossible to make it there in time.

The footfalls grew louder, more urgent, pounding in the same rhythm as Gabriel's heart. Whoever it was, they were close now, almost to the door. He could try to brazen his way past the visitor, or engage them in some sort of fisticuffs. It would permit him to escape, but it would also alert Edmund to his existence, spoiling Gabriel's newfound plan for revenge.

Seeing no other choice, he rejoined his angelic companion in her bed.

She gasped, although the sound was muffled by his hand once more covering her mouth.

Gabriel pulled her to his side. At that tense moment, he was unable to savor the sensations of her body pressed so intimately to his.

"Angel, do nothing that might give me away," he whispered.

Before she could respond, he dove beneath the silk counterpane.

***

M
arisa straightaway sat up, her heart slamming against her ribcage. The intruder was uncomfortably close to her nearly-bare legs. With trembling hands, she pulled the counterpane to her chin, creating a tent of sorts over her bent knees.

She could not comprehend what to do for a moment. She had not expected to see the highwayman again, and now he was hiding in her bed. She knew she could not sound an alarm, for to do so would end his existence, as well as her only hope of freedom.

Yet how could she possibly explain this man's presence in her bed?

She took a deep breath, her stomach fluttering with rising excitement. Each time she prayed for rescue from the wedding to Lord Westbrook, the dashing highwayman appeared as if summoned.

Her current predicament paled in comparison to waking with a hand clamped over her mouth, certain it was meant to still her screams while Lord Westbrook commenced the wedding night weeks before the ceremony.

How could she feel anything but relief when she realized it was not her betrothed accosting her, but the handsome rogue who had waylaid her carriage earlier that evening?

She stifled a giggle, just as the door was thrown open. Lord Westbrook stood there, clutching a branch of candles in one hand. His light brown hair was disheveled, and it appeared as if he had dragged on his robe with great haste. Not that she knew for certain, never having seen a man dressed so casually before.

Still, he marched forward, as though it were his custom to visit her each night. What had prompted him to violate propriety in this way? She had been assured she would have her own separate wing of Lord Westbrook's house. Her father would not have agreed to the arrangement if he had believed otherwise.

He meant to ensure his daughter was unable to escape the wedding. He did not intend for her to be assailed by her betrothed prior to the wedding vows being uttered.

"Is something amiss, my lord?"

His lordship regarded her with such undisguised longing Marisa felt panic stir once more. She had to dispatch her betrothed before he could act on whatever impulse had sent him scurrying to her bedchamber.

And before he learned another man had found his way into her bed.

"My lord, is there some reason—"

"I was in the hallway and thought I heard a noise," he answered with an air of distraction. "I became quite concerned for you."

At last he tore his gaze away and commenced a thorough search of the room. Marisa barely stifled a shudder. Her betrothed represented a bigger threat to her wellbeing than the interloper hidden beneath the counterpane. If Edmund learned her room had been breached by an intruder, he would place restrictions on her movements, making escape from the upcoming nuptials even more difficult.

"It sounded as if someone were prowling about," he added, whisking the damask draperies aside.

"A prowler?" Marisa gasped. "Here?"

She shifted in an effort to further conceal the intruder's form. Her toe came into contact with what could only be his ear. She squealed when a pair of lips seared the inside of her ankle.

Edmund whirled about, his eyes narrowed. "What is the matter?"

Marisa placed a hand to her wildly beating heart. "You f-f-frightened me with your talk of prowlers. It sent a shiver right through me."

"And well it should," he said, striding across the room until he stood next to her bed. "We could be assaulted in our own beds, what with bloodthirsty highwaymen roaming the roadways."

Marisa inched away until the headboard halted her.

"Surely highwaymen do not enter people's households," she countered, even though she had a highwayman hiding in her bed at that very moment. "I cannot believe they would dare to make such an intimate intrusion—"

A lingering kiss a fraction higher on her leg elicited another shriek. Marisa did not need to disguise it as fear. It was a timely reminder not to encourage her betrothed to linger.

She shivered again, drawing the covers closer to her chin. She also fought off the urge to kick the audacious man concealed in her bed.