Rogues Gallery Read online

  A heartbeat later, the darkness erased him from her sight. Marisa was once more racing to Westbrook Hall, certain she had imagined the entire escapade. She wiped away a tear before Bernard could see her in a rare weak moment, and report on it to their father.

  Why had the Fates dangled the hope of escape in front of her, only to wrench it away in such a cruel, heartless fashion?

  ***

  Gabriel DeVault adjusted the leather strip around his eyes as he glanced down at Westbrook Hall. He had viewed the estate from this promontory many times over the years, memorizing every detail. It was an impressive home of Palladian design, with curved staircases of York stone flanking the main entrance, and statues from antiquity balancing atop Corinthian columns. The house was surrounded by acres of parkland, as well as parterres, and gardens of every variety, all designed to reflect the family's wealth and status.

  Tonight, Gabriel saw Westbrook Hall in a completely different light, thanks to a chance encounter on the king's highways.

  "Gilbey, I must thank you for preventing my demise this evening." He tugged at the knot of his cape, not quite able to find a comfortable spot. "Though your rough manner calls to mind a hangman's noose about my throat."

  "I noticed you were a mite distracted," Gilbey answered, a wide grin covering his freckled face. "And that kiss you stole. I thought I might need help from the lads, to wrench you away from the young beauty."

  "I paid her scarce more attention than the other ladies we encounter during a night's work," Gabriel retorted. "It was a mere kiss."

  In truth, the angel's pulse had throbbed under his lips in a most entrancing fashion, creating an answering ache in his loins. Her rosewater-scented skin, and the gossamer curls, elicited the most delicious thoughts.

  "Aye, a mere kiss. I can see you scarce remember her."

  Gilbey's grin widened, but Gabriel chose to ignore him. His attention was centered on something a great deal more important.

  Lord Westbrook's carriage rolled to a stop in the pea gravel driveway. Liveried footmen rushed out with torches to usher the passengers into the grand entryway.

  Gabriel's breath caught at the sight of the blonde woman descending from the traveling coach, albeit in a more decorous fashion than when she had landed in his arms earlier that evening. His body reacted at that delectable memory, and he shifted in his saddle, disturbing his horse's grazing. The inky-black animal reared its head, snorting its displeasure. Its heated breath mingled with the crisp night air, creating a swirling fog around them.

  "Come, Eclipse," Gabriel said, smoothing his gloved hand over the stallion's sleek muscled neck. "Surely you can permit me one more glimpse of Lord Westbrook's betrothed."

  She was possessed of such an angelic demeanor, yet it was paired with an unexpectedly devilish manner. He could not help but be enchanted by her beauty. The pale blonde curls, unwilling to remain confined in the topknot she wore, coupled with the cobalt-blue eyes, were enough to distract any man from rational thought. The first time she smiled, his heart had ceased beating for several long seconds.

  Yet it was the mischievous sparkle in those innocent eyes, and the utterly bold manner in which she had inspected his costume, which made him smile now. She had not swooned or fainted when he kissed her. Instead she had accused him of distracting her from her purpose. He laughed at the unexpected notion.

  What could such a spirited miss want from a highwayman?

  Gabriel reached into his boot for the jewel case. He opened it, catching his breath once more at the display of rubies, the pigeon's-blood-red gems given to the Westbrook brides for numerous generations.

  The jewels brought an answering flood of memories: the carriage accident, his parents' lifeless bodies, the hands around his throat, choking the life from his ten-year-old body.

  He returned his attention to Westbrook Hall. The carriage was leaving the driveway, heading for the mews. The bold miss was safely inside the foyer, most likely on her way to meet with her betrothed.

  "Gilbey, return to the abbey. I shall meet up with you later."

  The gap-toothed lad did not try to hide his skepticism. "You do not want to seek out another coach this evening?"

  Gabriel shook his head, dislodging a blond strand. He tucked it back inside the leather queue.

  "I have something else I must do first," he replied.

  Gilbey chuckled. "The lengths you go to in order to steal more kisses."

  Gabriel tightened his grip on the reins while Eclipse pranced and pawed at the ground, mirroring Gabriel's excitement. "I can assure you I have more in mind than stealing kisses."

  Gilbey held his gaze, clearly wanting to say more. Finally his lips tilted up in a wry fashion. "The better part of valor is not questioning your actions any further?"

  "Something like that," Gabriel said, returning the smile. "Say nothing to Jamie of what has transpired this night. I shall tell him upon my return."

  Gilbey nodded, and shot him a quick salute. "Godspeed then."

  Gabriel touched his heels to the stallion's flanks, and galloped off toward Westbrook Hall.

  ***

  Lord Westbrook reclined on the rumpled bedcovers with his arm across his closed eyes. Although he was just past forty, he knew his unlined face exhibited the innocence of a man nearly half his age. His trim athletic body, the envy of his peers, also belied the march of time afflicting his contemporaries.

  He stroked the thigh of the woman laying facedown next to him. He considered indulging himself once more, pretending as he did each time that the witless female was someone else, but his body had no interest in cooperating. Her hair was light brown, not blonde. She was common, and fleshy, rather than elegant, and slender.

  She was Daphne, a housemaid, not Marisa, the future Lady Westbrook.

  "Come, Daphne, you lazy slut." He gave her buttocks a resounding slap. "Time for you to leave. Your mistress will be here soon, and you must prepare for her arrival."

  She squealed her protest.

  He pinched her, not a trace of affection in the gesture. "Off with you. I've more than had my fill of you."

  Her dismayed response was interrupted by a circumspect knock at the door.

  "Come in," Lord Westbrook said, patting back a yawn.

  The butler entered, his eyes averted as Daphne scrambled to cover herself. The man's oft-broken nose twitched at the overpowering scent of opium and recent sexual activity, although this was not the burly man's first encounter with the potent combination.

  He had seen, and done, much worse in service to Lord Westbrook over the years.

  "Pardon me, my lord," the faithful servant said. "There has been a bit of trouble this evening."

  "Trouble?" Lord Westbrook vaulted from the canopied bed, his nakedness forgotten. "What sort of trouble?"

  "Miss Dunsmore and her brother were set upon by highwaymen."

  "Is she quite all right?" Lord Westbrook grabbed a maroon silk robe and thrust his arms inside, nearly tearing the delicate fabric. "Where is she now?"

  The lavishly decorated bedchamber was a blur as he paced, gulping one rapid breath after another.

  If anything were to happen to his betrothed, before she produced his heirs—how could this be happening to him?

  "They are both quite fine, my lord," the butler replied. "They have been shown to their rooms, and wish to rest for the remainder of the evening."

  "Understandable." Lord Westbrook's heartbeat resumed its normal pattern. "It can be quite an unsettling experience."

  "Quite, my lord."

  "Make sure a posset is sent up to her. Something calming, and restorative."

  "I have taken the liberty of doing so already, my lord."

  The man paused, then cleared his throat.

  "There is something else?"

  Lord Westbrook felt the sharp edges of his anxiety returning, much as he tried to quell it. He could not allow his plans to be thwarted now. He had such an important task ahead of him: the founding of a dynasty. He w
ould not let anything get in his way.

  Not after he'd removed all the other obstacles.

  The butler nodded toward Daphne.

  Lord Westbrook cursed. He had completely forgotten her presence. He turned to see her peering at him with unabashed curiosity. She was not the woman he wanted in his bed. She was a convenient vessel, nothing more. The woman he craved, the one who would beget his heirs, was forbidden until the vows were spoken.

  And he had come so close to losing her this night.

  "Did I not say to get out?" he cried. "Be gone!"

  "Oh, my lord," Daphne said, her voice breaking. She bit her lower lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. "Please, my lord—"

  Lord Westbrook ambled to where she sat on the bed, the sheet clutched to her breast. She watched his advance, a crooked smile on her lips, and her hopeful expression was just what he desired.

  He leaned forward, until his lips brushed against her ear. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You sicken me."

  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.

  Chapter 2

  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 whis
pered, "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.