Rogues Gallery (34 page)

When Gabriel crossed his arms, Bernard pulled the diamond necklace from his coat and held it aloft. The moonlight danced off the sparkling gems, and more than one rogue gasped at such unattainable beauty and wealth.

For several moments, Bernard studied the small fortune dangling from his fingers.

"Here you are, then." He tossed the jewelry at Gabriel, as if it were a mere bauble.

Gabriel's hand closed about the necklace in mid-air. "I thank you for your cooperation," he said.

Bernard nodded once, smiling as if they were at a social event.

Gabriel turned and motioned Marisa's eldest brothers to return to the carriage. He had had enough of the Dunsmore clan, wanting nothing more than to return to camp with the one member of the family he held dear. It seemed only the females of this family were blessed with admirable traits.

Once they were seated, he waved his hand to Bernard in the same fashion.

Bernard lingered a moment, opening his mouth, but hesitating.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. The desperate young man was certain to utter a last-minute plea to split the proceeds from the necklace.

Instead, Bernard smiled, the first genuine one Gabriel had seen on his face. "My regards to Marisa, if you will. And my admiration." He succumbed to hearty amusement. "Yes, indeed, please tell her of my sincere esteem."

Gabriel studied the man for a moment before joining him in laughter. He shook Bernard's outstretched hand, reminding himself not to hold any regard for the man, for he had betrayed his sister numerous times—and would have let Gabriel step into eternity for a crime he had not committed.

Gabriel held the carriage door open, and Bernard entered the coach.

"Bernard! You have jostled my aching foot," Mister Dunsmore complained as his son seated himself. "You are as clumsy as that dratted sister of yours!"

Gabriel heard a muffled gasp behind him. He began to close the carriage door so the Dunsmores might be gone from their lives at last. In the next instant a small bundle of rags he recognized as his wife barreled out of the darkness and slammed the carriage door, right against Mister Dunsmore's foot.

A horrendous howl of agony filled the night air.

"That is for the torment you have brought down on Marisa's sweet head," Gabriel informed Mister Dunsmore, amidst the man's torturous cries. "'Tis only the beginning should I ever hear another word spoken against her."

Speechless, the man nodded, unable to contain his nervousness. Gabriel nearly rolled his eyes at the poor excuse for a father. Before Gabriel turned away, Bernard saluted him in a surreptitious manner.

Gabriel acknowledged it with a wry lift of his lips.

He finally called out to the coachman to depart. When the carriage lumbered on its way, Gabriel called out to the rogues, "A grand night's work, wouldn't you agree?"

A chorus of enthusiastic assents greeted him, Marisa's the most joyous of all.

***

"Y
ou have found a new vocation, Lady Midnight," Gabriel commented as they ambled into camp.

"You are much too kind," Marisa demurred, her eyes atwinkle.

"Mister Dunsmore won't be forgettin' this night any too soon," Gilbey teased.

"I would hope not," she answered, her face still alight with pleasure.

"Maybe you should enact this one for Jamie and Miss Althea," Davy insisted.

"A capital idea," Gabriel agreed, knowing the performance was as much for Davy's benefit as those on whose behalf he pleaded.

Gabriel would have agreed to just about anything at that moment, for indeed it had been a grand night. He had retrieved the necklace, though he was not entirely certain what to do with it. If it were found on him, he still could face the gallows for possessing it. At least Marisa, rather than Bernard, would benefit from its theft.

In addition, he had enjoyed the entertaining exchange with Marisa's brother. At another time, in less distressing circumstances, he knew he would enjoy the man's company. He could even imagine becoming fast friends with the young man—once Bernard had eliminated his larcenous tendencies.

Gabriel bit back a laugh. Perhaps the two of them shared more of a bond than he had at first realized.

Last, but not least, there was the immensely satisfying exchange with Marisa's tyrant of a father. It was almost beyond belief that such a despicable man had sired such a beauteous angel. It was almost as incredible that Edmund and Gabriel had sprung from the same family tree.

He was gratified Marisa had had the opportunity to wreak a small bit of vengeance on her father, the man who had made her life an unnecessary hell. Gabriel wished he could have done more for her, wanting to continually assure her of his devotion. As it was, he knew she had delighted in the bit of devilment, and he looked forward to reliving every sweet detail with her.

Gabriel halted Eclipse, looking for Marisa behind him. One of the lads implored Gabriel to tell another of his stories, but Gabriel demurred, waving his hand in a desultory manner. He hid a smile at their disappointment, but he had other plans for that evening, plans that would not wait a great deal longer.

Not after the night's activities had stirred his blood—and Marisa's.

"Please," Davy said. "It has been a long while since we've heard one."

"Yes," Marisa cajoled, "it has been ages since you performed the Colecroft heist for me."

Gabriel slanted a wry glance at her, unsure whether her request was her own delightful form of penance. When she merely returned an encouraging smile, he shifted in the saddle. She was tormenting him, unwittingly or not.

"Another night," he suggested with as much grace as he could muster.

Marisa sagged. She was not at all ready to relinquish the camaraderie she'd shared with the bandits that evening. Gabriel found himself unwilling to cause her even a moment's unhappiness.

"Very well," he conceded. He would cut the story to its essential details so that he might whisk his bride off to bed sooner. "Which tale shall it be then?"

There was a clamor of enthusiastic voices, each of the rogues proposing his favorite tale. Gabriel enjoyed Marisa's spirited gestures as she added her opinions to the spirited debate.

At last, Davy's voice rang out above the others.

"The one when you danced with Marisa in your uncle's house."

Davy clapped a hand over his mouth, but too late.

In the awful silence, Marisa's head snapped toward Gabriel, her eyes piercing him with her unspoken questions. Davy began a hasty apology, but Gabriel waved it off, managing a smile for the stricken lad, despite the sinking sensation in his own chest.

Without a word, Gabriel reached for Marisa's hand. Her brow puckered with a frown, but she placed her fingers in his, trusting him still. He was grateful for that, since there was much he had to explain to his angel, and he could no longer avoid it.

They strolled in silence to a distant perimeter of the camp, a solitary area that was Gabriel's favorite—at least until this moment. In the midst of surrounding birch trees, a shallow stone pool had been carved into the ground by previous inhabitants of the abbey. The moonlight slanted its iridescent rays across the dark water, illuminating the shadowed hideaway.

Gabriel had looked forward to enjoying Marisa's passionate responses in the secluded spot that night, but the Fates had decreed it was not to be, at least not until much later.

Marisa sat down on a large rock at the edge of the pool, her booted foot tapping on the hard ground. Gabriel continued to pace, gnawing on his lip. If only he could dodge Marisa's questions as he had so many times previously. But she deserved to know the entire story of the man she had wed, as well as the treachery of the one she had escaped.

Inhaling deeply, he finally halted in front of her. He opened his mouth to confess his nefarious schemes, as well as the reasons supporting them. Her encouraging expression bottled the words in his throat.

He began to pace again, more cowardly than at any other time in his life. Could he tell her about Edmund without admitting the unholy act he, Gabriel, had once planned for her?

"Gabriel," she insisted, rubbing at her neck. "I would beg you to cease your pacing."

He sat down next to her, his thigh grazing hers. Perhaps his saga would be more easily related if she were nearby, but without having to look directly in her eyes. He picked up a small stone and tossed it into the water, watching it skip several times before it dropped into the black depths.

She caressed his forearm, heating his skin, calming him at the same time.

"Marisa," he began, his voice low. "I have a most fantastical tale to relate."

He turned to look at her, and came close to faltering at the trust shining in her eyes. Sweet Christ, did he deserve such blind faith, before he had even uttered a word? Nay, he did not, but he craved it nonetheless, and would sorely miss its presence if it were ever taken from him.

He tore his gaze away before he found yet another reason to delay reciting the dreaded information. Looking off into the distance, anywhere but into her guileless eyes, Gabriel said, "I believe this shall answer many questions you asked me long ago, which I was unable to answer at the time."

Surprised by her continued silence, Gabriel tilted his head to gauge her reaction. She sat completely still, her manner grave. It was perhaps the first time he had seen his wife so patient, and the thought made him smile.

Gabriel reached into his waistcoat pocket and handed the portrait ring to Marisa.

"This is you," she said, her eyes lit with happiness. "As a boy."

"Yes, and that is my father."

"You look a great deal like him now," she replied, holding the ring with reverence. She slipped it on her thumb as she gazed at him, waiting for further explanations.

Not knowing where else to begin, Gabriel said, "I am the rightful Lord Westbrook."

"Gabriel!" Marisa's hand flew to her lips. "But what of Edmund? Davy called him your uncle."

He reached for her hand, desperate to feel the warmth of her skin against his. He laced his fingers through hers, his thumb tracing the back of her soft hand, as well as the ring he'd given her.

"When I was but ten years old, my parents and I were returning from London," Gabriel recited, his voice dispassionate. "There was—an accident. My parents were killed, but I was thrown from the carriage. Before I could even catch my breath, I was set upon." He rubbed at his throat several times. "I was choked. Strangled."

"Oh, Gabriel." Marisa folded him in her arms, stroking his hair, enveloping him in her heavenly scent. "I had no idea. You said your childhood was a joyous one."

"It was, until that moment," he admitted. "I am forever grateful to Jamie. He stopped the deed from being accomplished, and stole away with me, raising me as his own son."

"You must inform Edmund that you are alive. He believes you are dead, that he has no family." Marisa deposited a light kiss on his lips. "Since you are the rightful earl, you must reclaim the title. It is your birthright."

"Therein lies the difficulty, angel. For Edmund, my uncle," he emphasized, "is the one who tried to murder me."

"No! No!" She clutched both of Gabriel's hands, searching his face for a different answer. "But why?"

"He wanted what was mine from birth," he said simply. "I did not want to believe it of him either. After all, I was a mere lad of ten years, and I worshipped Edmund. I was excited that day to show him my newest arrows, as well as my increased skill with them." Despite the painful memories, he chuckled. "My mother was quite unhappy with the last archery lesson, since her favorite Gainsborough painting suffered a small injury."

"I saw that portrait. With Edmund, in the long gallery." Marisa's eyes welled with tears. "Oh, Gabriel, you have endured so much. More than anyone, especially a child, should have to bear."

She cried so rarely for herself, yet the injustices he had suffered made her weep easily. Gabriel's love for her increased, expanding his heart even more than he believed possible. He cradled her in his arms, dotting kisses along her temple.

"If you were to inform the magistrate," Marisa said, leaning back, her hand resting atop his heart, "Edmund will be punished. And then you shall be restored to your rightful place."

"If only it were that simple," he answered. "I have wrestled with this many times over the years. But who is to believe the word of a common criminal over that of the Prince Regent's trusted adviser?"

"I believe you," she said, without hesitation.

"You are likely the only one," Gabriel teased, kissing the tip of her nose. "For which I am exceedingly grateful."

"What can we do then?"

"I cannot let you live out your days here, presiding over a rogue's camp as Lady Midnight. You are entitled to so much more as Lady Westbrook."

"If I had cared for the trappings of being Lady Westbrook, I could have plighted my troth to Edmund," she retorted. "I am wed to you because it is what I want. I love you, Gabriel."

"And I love you." He fought off a shiver at what Edmund's fury could do to his angel, making him clasp her tighter.

In the next instant, Marisa caught her breath, twisting until she could see into Gabriel's eyes. He felt the dread rising as she finally pieced together the information he had tried to leave unsaid.

"You knew I was your uncle's betrothed," she said, drawing out the words. "From our first encounter."

Gabriel opened his mouth to deliver a lighthearted answer, something to divert her from the facts, as he had done so many times in the past. Yet he could not evade the painful truth any longer.

"Yes," he admitted. "I have known it a long time."

She tugged at his arms to remove herself from his embrace. He did not attempt to stop her, much as he needed her near. She jumped to her feet, not looking at him, and then walked away with faltering steps, her breathing ragged.

Marisa stopped when she was across the pool from Gabriel. The distance separating them was as nothing compared to the chasm his words had opened between them.