Rogues Gallery (27 page)

Gabriel shot him a sympathetic smile. "I suppose you would feel honor-bound to provide for my medical assistance should the blast from your gun merely blow away a portion of my skull. But," he held up one hand as if to ward off any protests, "I could not impose myself in such a fashion, no matter how you insist."

The brave young lad had finally reached his limit. His shaking arm dropped to his side, and he hiccupped, ready to cast up his accounts. Gabriel breathed a silent prayer of gratitude at seeing the gun still pointed at the ground.

He turned, ready to gallop away from the madness of this night and back into his angel's arms. The young man looked toward the coach, startled at the glimpse of Gilbey standing behind him. He shrieked, in a most unheroic fashion, and inadvertently pulled off a shot.

"Sweet Christ!" Gabriel clutched his arm, cursing the sting of the ball singeing his flesh. He pulled his hand away, gritting his teeth. He swore again at the bright blood staining his fingers.

Without another word, he clamped his hand over the wound and ran to Eclipse, managing to throw himself on the impatient animal despite the awkward circumstances. He turned his head back toward the coach. The erstwhile hero gaped at the smoking pistol in his hand before looking up at Gabriel, his eyes wide at the damage he had caused.

Gabriel could not suppress a chuckle. Had the lad truly believed he was shooting Lord Westbrook? Despite the gnawing pain, Gabriel grasped his reins in one hand and gave the youth a jaunty salute with the other. At the answering proud wave, Gabriel whirled around and spurred Eclipse toward home. Gilbey and the other men followed in a cloud of concealing dust.

***

G
abriel slumped forward, holding onto Eclipse's neck as he tried to keep his seat. His vision dimmed, and he felt lightheaded at the loss of blood. He feared he would not make it to the abandoned abbey before he fell to the ground in a heap.

Gilbey rode close beside him, holding onto his uninjured arm and chattering away, no doubt to keep his own fear at bay while he did all he could to keep Gabriel awake.

Gabriel blinked, imagining that the wavering outline ahead was home.
Home
. Marisa would be there, of that he was certain. He had something important to tell her. . . His head dropped to his chest and he could not remember what it was, only that it was vital, something he should have told her long ago.

To his immense relief, Eclipse finally halted, for he could not bear the unending jostling anymore. Someone was reaching for him, pulling him down from the horse. It seemed Jamie was exclaiming in the background, but it all became a blur, even after he closed his eyes, needing to rest for a brief moment.

Soon the darkness became a comfort. He let it enfold him, cushioning him as he reached toward heaven. He had much to do still, many plans to execute, but time had run out at last.

He sorely regretted not dispatching Edmund to hell before he left this earthly existence. He coughed, struggling to regain his strength. Marisa would be a widow, and he could not protect her against Edmund any longer.

"Jamie," he whispered, but no more words came forth.

Surely Jamie could do something to save Marisa, since Gabriel had failed at that task. He nearly cried out at the unfairness of it all, of losing Marisa to Edmund despite his concerted efforts.

Marisa
.

He felt his soul lifting away from his body. Peace was finally at hand, yet he resisted, battling to stay earthbound a while longer. He had committed many a sin in his misspent life, but only one for which he wanted absolution: he had not told Marisa how much he loved her.

He closed his eyes, and breathed in one last time.

Marisa shifted on the seat in front of her dressing table, lost once more in the memory of Gabriel's skillful hands and lips on her body. She barely prevented her groan at the image, for the constant replaying of the memory had brought her to a fever-pitch of excitement. If he did not appear again soon, she might go into a decline of some sort.

Not that she had any idea of what a decline entailed.

"There you are, ma'am," Daphne said, her eyes lit with unmistakable pride.

Marisa touched the curls dangling from the graceful topknot the maid had fashioned. The bandeau of light blue crape set her blonde hair off to perfection; it would also serve to distract anyone from the heated spots of color on her cheeks.

She rose from the dressing table, forcing thoughts of Gabriel to the back of her mind. Though she was a married woman now, and could wear more sober attire if she chose, she had to maintain the illusion that she was still a debutante.

Besides, her trousseau consisted of nothing but maidenly gowns such as this white sarsenet gown draped with a light blue gauze overlay, complete with a short sash tied in a demure bow. She glanced at the neckline, and wrinkled her nose. There was little to disguise her bosom, not without creating havoc with the design.

"I wonder why Lord Westbrook insists on this dinner party," she said, pulling on her white kid gloves. "It seems foolish when it is only the three of us."

"Oh, no, ma'am," Daphne said. "I heard just this morning that there is to be guests."

Marisa blinked. Except for the masquerade ball, Edmund had seemed unwilling to entertain anyone, even from the neighboring houses, ensuring Marisa could not form any alliances whatsoever.

"And Lord Westbrook said you were to wear the diamonds tonight."

"I don't believe that is necessary. Unless—is the Prince Regent himself dining with us this evening?"

"No, ma'am." Daphne's smile faded. "Your father."

***

A
fter Daphne had departed, Marisa stumbled to the chair she had used so often during her visits with Lord Midnight.

Gabriel.

Her husband
.

She sat down and closed her eyes, resting her head against the chair. If her father was here, it could only mean one thing. The wedding date was drawing nigh. Her heart thumped in her chest, uncomfortably so. She placed a hand there in a vain attempt to calm herself.

Though her father had been unable to attend the betrothal ball, he had assured her, as well as Lord Westbrook, that he would not miss the wedding for anything in the world. He obviously meant to reassure himself that his rebellious daughter was no longer his problem. He would only believe she was the responsibility of another man when he saw the evidence for himself.

Too bad he had missed the moment when she had plighted her troth—and her future—to her husband. How she wished to surprise him with the news so that he might wish her happy!

Unfortunately, the news that would send her father into apoplexy would also send Lord Westbrook into a fit of madness. She shivered. After Edmund's recent spells, she feared his reaction far more than her father's.

She could only imagine his response to the news that her diamond necklace had disappeared.

Had Gabriel taken it? No, she would not believe it of him. If he had purloined the jewels, she would not be residing at Westbrook Hall, for she was certain he would have used it to finance a very comfortable existence for her, her aunt, and Gabriel's band of brigands.

Still, no one outside of the participants and the witnesses knew of the wedding. She was still supposed to be wed, to Edmund, and quite soon, judging by the appearance of her father.

"What am I to do?"

The satisfying idea of stealing one of Lord Westbrook's horses while everyone was occupied during dinner was dismissed in an instant. She had no idea where Gabriel resided. A wild ride through the countryside would avail her of nothing but certain admonishment from her father and Lord Westbrook, as well as even more severe strictures on her movements.

She could not trust Bernard with the information about her secret wedding. Her brother made it clear he prized money and position more than he valued his sister. He would have no qualms about turning her husband over to the authorities in order to gain a reward for the missing jewels.

Not for the first time she bemoaned her lack of options, despite her concerted efforts to take control of her destiny. Yet this time she did not feel hopeless, for she trusted her highwayman husband would see fit to make another of his long-overdue midnight visits. Then they could plot a course of action together, foiling Edmund, and her father.

Until then, there was nothing else to do but continue to play her role of frivolous maiden, a task she now relished. There were men awaiting her presence downstairs, men who believed her utterly incapable of thwarting their schemes.

She could scarcely wait to bedevil them.

***

"P
reston! Jonathan!" Marisa rushed into the drawing room, straight into the arms of her eldest brother. He gave her a benign pat on the back before self-consciously removing his arms so that his sibling could be subjected to the same routine.

Marisa grinned at how her displays of affection always netted the same reaction. None of her brothers, except perhaps Bernard, had ever felt comfortable with her genuine fondness for them. Perhaps their discomfort was puzzlement over what to do with such an odd creature as a high-spirited sister, particularly one that provided such anguish to their beloved father.

She turned to the portly gentleman seated in a wing chair by the fire. It was the first time she had seen her father since his cruel taunt that none could love her, that she should never hope for anything but an arranged marriage.

He wore the powdered bagwig popular in his youth, as well as a red coat with gold trim he considered still fashionable. Fortunately he did not continue with the foppish tradition of white maquillage and rouged lips. His pinched mouth and disapproving stare were enough of a fright.

"Papa, how is your gout?"

"The same as always," he grumbled, shifting his outstretched leg. "Painful! And the ride here jounced it about unmercifully." He touched his knee with light fingers, the white silk stockings stretched taut across his skin.

Marisa felt a measure of sympathy for her father. Though he caused her life so much trouble, she did not wish to see him suffering.

Not unless she had provoked him to it.

"Is Aunt Althea resting after the long drive?" Marisa had so much to tell her, so much to prepare her aunt for in the next few days.

"She is not here. I have arranged for her to arrive some days later, with Lawrence and Harry," he said.

Marisa's heart plummeted. She had wanted to settle in for a long comfortable coze with her aunt. She glanced at her father, expecting his face to be beaming with triumph. Instead, his chin tilted up, like a willful child expecting a rebuke.

Marisa nearly laughed aloud. If he truly believed he had the upper hand, he would be taunting Marisa with her aunt's presence. Yet it seemed her father did not consider her incapable of winning this last, most important, battle between them.

Had he always harbored such a fear?

She knelt by his chair and pressed a kiss to his cheek, knowing he had no idea why she was so congenial. Like her brothers, he fussed at the unnecessary display, but without a trace of underlying affection, or even appreciation at her conciliatory gesture.

He waved her away. "Just look at what your clumsiness has done. You have bumped my leg, setting off a riot of pain in the process."

Marisa rose, no longer dismayed by her parent's petulant behavior. She had waited a long time for this day, but she decided to conceal her joyousness a while longer, so that she might savor the moment.

She also had to think what she would do next about her aunt. She sauntered to a nearby settee, and Lord Westbrook appeared instantly by her side, pressing a small glass of sherry into her hand.

"Oh, thank you, my lord."

"You have not worn your betrothal gift."

She looked up, startled by his remark, but not his pursed lips. She rested her hand at her throat. "I completely forgot to wear it. I cannot imagine where my mind is these days."

Lord Westbrook beamed and, as if reading her reaction was second-nature to him, announced to the room, "I fear Miss Dunsmore has had a great deal on her mind with the upcoming wedding."

When there was a murmur of answering chuckles, he continued with genuine concern, "I trust your recent spill is not still affecting you, my dear."

Marisa peeked at her father, wondering if the news of a potential injury would stir any paternal feelings in him.

"She is extremely careless," her father groused, "and always has been. The only surprise is that she did not break her fool neck!"

The remark shocked her, but not because of his patent unconcern that his only daughter might have come to harm.

No, the surprise was in learning how this petty man had deceived her for so many years into believing she was unworthy of love. In truth, he was unable to feel love, or to give it. He was merely interested in exerting his power over her, bending her will in the hopes she would break.

No wonder her mother had never smiled.

Her father would have little reason to smile ever again, once he learned just how thoroughly, and cleverly, his strong-willed daughter had bested him.

Marisa's entire soul lightened at being relieved of the weighty burden her father had deposited on her years ago.

"Oh, I would never do something so foolish as to break my neck, Papa," she said with unrelenting cheerfulness. "Whatever should you do without me on this earth to bedevil you?"

"Marisa," her father sputtered. "You grow more wicked every day. Perhaps marriage will not provide the polishing you so desperately require."

"And," Marisa answered with unmistakable challenge in her voice, "perhaps it will not provide the peace of mind you so desperately require."

Her father's mouth opened and closed several times.

Marisa took a small sip of sherry, flashing a wink to a near-choking Bernard across the room. Preston and Jonathan shook their heads with their customary bewilderment.

"Ah, yes," Lord Westbrook said, attempting to ease the tension overtaking the small parlor. "This talk of marriage reminds me of the betrothal ball which your father unfortunately could not attend."