Rogues Gallery (6 page)

Jamie stared at Gabriel. "Lad, it is not what ye seek."

Gabriel returned the stare, certain Jamie would yield once he realized the depth of his resolve. "I have evidence of my parentage, but if I re-appear, we know Edmund will exert himself to murder me for certain this time. I shall never know peace once he learns I am alive."

"There must be some other possibility," Jamie said, his shoulders sagging. "It is justice ye want, lad. Not revenge."

"But I will never have justice. And I cannot regain my former life. Revenge is all that is left to me."

Jamie paced in front of the fire, grumbling, as though arguing with himself. He threw a few baleful glances in Gabriel's direction and then continued his stilted stride. Gabriel felt dread gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Jamie had to see the necessity of this plan. Once this opportunity was gone, there would be no other.

Finally, Jamie halted in front of Gabriel. He let the jewel case drop from his hands, and Gabriel scrambled to catch it before it could land in the dust.

"I will ask ye one last time," Jamie said, his bearded chin jutting out. "Give up this plot."

"I cannot," Gabriel said, unwilling to bend. "Edmund's demise must be complete."

"Ye can only do that if you despoil his bride?"

"I want Edmund to feel, to the depths of his blackened soul, what it is like to be robbed of everything. He wants an heir more than anything. And once he discovers another man has claimed his bride before him, he can never be certain of his heir's parentage."

Jamie stared at Gabriel, his expression puzzled, as though he had never seen him before. Gabriel nearly squirmed under his scrutiny, feeling like the young boy he had been when Jamie had rescued him. He pushed the emotion away, unwilling to relinquish his plans to avenge that same young boy, who had had so much stolen from him, and who deserved vengeance.

"I guess I cannot dissuade ye, lad," Jamie said, his voice defeated. "And I am too old to stop ye." He limped away, his body stiff with anger.

"Jamie, wait," Gabriel pleaded. "If you will but listen."

Jamie stopped, and turned back toward Gabriel. "I have listened. And what I hear is ye plan to take the lass by deception, and possibly plant your seed in her womb. Then ye will desert her, to face whatever punishment Edmund devises for being your unwitting accomplice."

"But—"

"So instead of trying to change my mind, which cannae happen, ask yourself, lad. Is this truly the sort of man ye want to be?"

Gabriel jumped to his feet. In the next instant he strode to the cloister, craving solitude, as well as an easy answer to Jamie's unsettling question.

Daphne fastened the collar of Marisa's Pomona green riding habit, and then stepped back to admire her efforts. "There, ma'am, I think that should do."

"It will do just fine," Marisa answered, smiling at her reflection in the pier mirror.

The ensemble was a bit too fine for anything other than a smart ride about the grounds, particularly the green beaver hat with the fanciful black ostrich feather curving around her face. Yet it was necessary to continue the deception that escape was the last thing occupying her mind. Still, she had to admit she enjoyed how the close-fitting wool jacket showed her figure to advantage, and the cuffs embroidered in black,
à la militaire
, were the first stare in fashion.

Her father had ensured her trousseau included numerous morning dresses, afternoon dresses, evening gowns, and riding habits, as well as every possible accessory a young miss could desire, from kid slippers to clocked stockings to buttery soft gloves. Yet Marisa knew the lavish wardrobe was not a show of affection on his part. It was designed to advertise to the world how impressive his own personal wealth was.

And she was happy to leave every bit of it behind.

"I cannot understand why you want to go riding in this weather."

Marisa glanced at Daphne in the mirror, not entirely surprised when the pretty maid did not lower her eyes. Though a mobcap concealed the majority of Daphne's hair, the contours of her plump figure were more difficult to obscure, and Marisa suspected it was a deliberate choice. An unmistakable aura of disapproval emanated from the young woman, from her creased forehead to the tight set of her lips.

Apparently even the servants found her behavior disappointing.

"I love riding in this weather," Marisa replied, tugging on her kid gloves. "In truth, I love riding in any weather."

She had hoped for a bright sunny morning in which to make her escape from Westbrook Hall. It seemed more fitting somehow, more victorious. But it was much more practical to leave during a gloomy misty day when no one else was out of doors. No one would ever suspect she was galloping all the way to London to fetch her aunt.

"Lord Westbrook will be worried about you," Daphne insisted.

"I cannot think why he should be," Marisa said, tamping down her impatience. It seemed the maid was as intent on preventing her departure as Marisa was to commence it. She ambled to the dressing table, searching for items to take which would not arouse suspicion as to her actual plans that morning.

She reached for her reticule, which held little more than some pin money, a lone handkerchief, and all her hopes for success. She also picked up her watercolors, not only because they served as an excellent ruse, but because she could not bear to leave them behind.

"Lord Westbrook will be displeased when he learns of your plans."

Marisa started, until she realized Daphne referred to her morning ride.

"I am confident I can dissuade my betrothed from any feelings of annoyance," she said, knowing she would be well on her way to London instead. "Truly, there is no need for concern. I am an excellent horsewoman."

She flushed, realizing she had uttered the same words to the highwayman the previous evening. Though she had lain awake for several hours, reliving their kisses, she had finally concluded it was best he had refused her request to take her with him.

She need not rely on anyone but herself, as was always the case. Aunt Althea's future could not be entrusted to just anyone, especially a handsome highwayman who made Marisa's stomach flutter so inexplicably, even hours after his departure.

Daphne snorted, not even trying to mask her disapproval. "The last Lady Westbrook was an excellent horsewoman, too."

Marisa spun to look at the maid. "What do you mean?"

Daphne refused to look up from the linen she was folding and putting away in the mahogany clothes press. "Even excellent horsewomen can still have accidents."

Marisa could not halt the chill racing up her spine. "I assumed she had contracted a disease. I had not heard she died from a riding accident."

She ached to learn more, but even her willful curiosity would not permit her to be drawn deeper into Daphne's enigmatic conversation. Instead, she glanced into the mirror, adjusting the tilt of her hat, hoping it would withstand the trek to London.

"Maybe it wasn't an accident."

Marisa's heart pounded. Were Daphne's words a warning?

Yet that made little sense. Lord Westbrook made Marisa uneasy, but her disquiet was more a result of how Edmund had been forced on her as a husband, after one formal meeting in London. He could not be blamed for her father's heartless method in coercing her cooperation.

Marisa shook off the unsettling memory, as well as the unease brought on by Daphne's odd discussion. She had only to think of Aunt Althea, the sweet simple soul that had been a perfect childhood companion. Indeed, for several years, Marisa had believed her aunt to be the same age as herself. It was only as she grew older that she realized how Aunt Althea was less quick to respond as other adults, hurt and confused by Mister Dunsmore's palpable disdain.

Marisa's spine stiffened with resolve. "I can assure you, Daphne. No accident will befall me."

"Of course it won't, ma'am," Daphne answered, though it seemed her lips turned up into a secretive smile. "Will you be needing anything else?"

She needed a valise stuffed with Lord Westbrook's valuables. But she knew that was out of the question, for it would draw too much unwanted attention. It appeared she might have to resort to highway robbery to finance her sojourn to London.

"Thank you, Daphne. That will be all."

To Marisa's relief, the maid bobbed a curtsey, and returned to her own room. If only she had another posset, to ensure Daphne would nap for the next several hours, arising long after Marisa had disappeared into the surrounding countryside.

She glanced for the last time at the room that had been her temporary prison. Compared to what awaited Aunt Althea, this cell was a comfortable one. A fire blazed constantly, keeping the chill at bay. That morning she had even danced, barefoot as a heathen, on the lush Wilton carpet.

But, no matter how comfortably appointed, it was still a prison. Any fond memories it held were from last evening, when a dashing highwayman had kissed her.

If only it were possible to see him once more.

She brushed away the preposterous notion. It was time to make good her escape while Edmund believed her lying abed, prostrate from last night's perilous encounter with a highwayman.

At least, the encounter of which Edmund was aware.

Marisa strode to the door, her heart skittering with excitement. Soon she would see Aunt Althea, and be enveloped once more in her reassuring embrace. Once they had settled elsewhere, neither of them would ever again have cause to worry about Mister Dunsmore's unspeakable cruelty.

***

G
abriel maneuvered Eclipse through the dense woods ringing Westbrook Hall, aided in his quest by the fact that his quarry was preoccupied during her early morning ride. He carefully, and of longstanding habit, checked the surrounding countryside. Thankfully there were no patrols, or sentries, to mar the solitude of the moment.

He and the angelic miss were quite alone.

What an unexpected pleasure it was. He had ridden away from the abbey to escape Jamie's unrelenting disapproval, as well as the uncomfortable questions raised by his mentor. He had not anticipated another encounter so soon with the spirited young woman.

He urged Eclipse forward, planning to warn Mistress Angel she should not be travelling about the estate without her groom. Surely Lord Westbrook was unaware of that propensity. Gabriel's grin widened at the further evidence of her fearlessness.

When she halted in the midst of a field of pure-white snowdrops, Gabriel also stopped. For several minutes, he merely watched, comparing her radiant innocence with the purity of the blooms surrounding her. The flowers fell far short, he decided, though the thought of her virtue reminded him of his purpose.

Gabriel retrieved the leather strip, quickly tying the mask in place. He cupped his hand around his mouth. "Stand and deliver!"

Her hand fluttered to her lips. At the same time, she twisted in her saddle to see what villain dared to accost her in this secluded spot of the huge estate. Her eyes lighted with recognition, and she sagged in obvious relief.

"As you can see," she answered, "I am seated sidesaddle. I cannot stand."

Gabriel nudged Eclipse forward, sidling the black animal next to hers. "Then you must pray for deliverance."

He tilted her chin up for a kiss. He had intended a quick brush of his mouth against hers, before she could utter a protest at his audacity. But she surprised him by leaning toward him, and her lack of resistance proved his undoing.

He deepened the kiss, grasping her by the shoulders to steady himself against the burst of passion coursing through him. That proved not enough, either. With a soft growl, he tugged her off her horse and onto his lap.

She blinked several times.

"You
are
a different sort of highwayman," she marveled, arranging the skirts of her riding habit.

"Alas, 'tis why I cannot seem to make a go of the profession."

Her eyes twinkled. "You have chosen another then?"

"I have a certain propensity for stealing kisses."

To prove his point, he held her face in both of his hands and kissed her lush lips. The cushiony flesh moved beneath his mouth, following his lead with brave innocence. He opened his mouth further, and she moaned, emulating his every reckless move.

At last, Gabriel gave way to good sense and released her lips. She could easily tempt a saint, and Lord knew he was nowhere close to saintly.

He ran his thumb over her pouting lips. Here was a woman who matched his recklessness stride for stride. He nearly succumbed to her subtle invitation yet he knew it was past time to leave. He had tarried longer than he should, for he had merely meant to take advantage of the opportunity to commence the seduction. Anything further was pure indulgence.

"Come, Mistress Angel," Gabriel said.

He gripped her by the arms and removed her from his lap, grateful, yet also bereft, by her body's departure. Once her half-booted feet were upon solid ground, Gabriel dismounted. He scanned the terrain for interlopers that might have arrived during his moment of passionate weakness. Though they were at the edge of the estate's boundaries, quite a distance from the house, he could not afford to lose his lifelong caution at this point, not when all he wanted was nearly his at last.

Frowning at his inexcusable lapse, he picked up the reins of their mounts. Before he departed, he needed to know a bit more about Edmund, and the upcoming nuptials.

He took her hand, and, leading the horses, motioned for her to walk with him further into the forest, away from the Hall—and anyone who might see them.

She turned her head briefly toward his former home. "I can accompany you for a short while," she said, facing him again. "As I was headed in this direction anyway."

Gabriel didn't know whether to be unsettled or gratified by her genuine lack of alarm. Was it just where he was concerned? It would not do for her to trust all and sundry. She had little reason to trust him.

"You seem as little frightened by my arrival this morning as you did last night," Gabriel commented.