The Redemption of Lord Rawlings

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “And if I choose to hide in the gardens or stomp out the front doors? What’s stopping me? Hmm?”

  Sebastian stopped in his tracks and turned around. “I’ll just have to announce to the morning post that you’ve been holding a secret tender for Lady Fenton.”

  “Churl.”

  “That’s your grace. Do try to remember my station, Phillip.” Sebastian winked and sauntered off, looking quite like a peacock who’d just discovered he had feathers.

  Phillip glowered after him and bit back a curse. He wanted to march after the Angel Duke and give him a piece of his mind, but first he would get a drink. If he was to survive a night with Emma trying to play his matchmaker, he must be somewhat inebriated.

  Chapter Three

  If approached by a certain gentleman with dark features, it is always important to close one’s eyes, for the eyes are the window to the soul, and it might take only one look for that certain gentleman to trap you in a compromising situation. Mark my words, young ladies. This season promises to be one in which devils are allowed to roam about even in the most upright areas of society.

  —Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers

  “Emma, stop fussing over me.” Abigail clenched her teeth but still managed to keep a smile on her otherwise irritated face. Emma, Abigail’s sister, was enceinte and consequently fussing over everything within her grasp. It wouldn’t shock Abigail at all if Emma started crying for no reason other than the flowers weren’t the exact color she envisioned for her ball.

  The afternoon had begun pleasant enough. Abigail had arrived at the Tempest townhome on Mayfair, hours before the ball was to commence and found Emma yelling at the top of her lungs out on the balcony.

  “Emma?” She had laid a tentative hand on her shoulder, fearful that her sister had finally lost her mind. “Are you all right?”

  “The birds! Curse those birds!” Emma stomped her foot and yelled another oath before storming away from Abigail and marching down to the kitchen. Sebastian had just shown up, chuckling to himself.

  “Dare I even ask?”

  Sebastian grinned. “I do believe your sister’s experiencing her first bout of insanity. Either that or her condition is taking its toll on her already frayed wits. The poor thing has been working endlessly to make me proud. It is, after all, the first ball she is to host as the Duchess of Tempest.”

  Abigail shrugged. “It’s just a ball. I don’t understand why it’s so important. It’s not as if everyone still remembers the scandal you two caused. Not with Lord Rawlings scampering about in debt up to his ears.”

  “Ah, so you’ve been reading since your arrival? How refreshing that you’ve been putting your time to good use for something other than spying, like I’ve so often been told. And what was your other vice? Oh yes, manipulation. By the way, how’s your father?”

  “Less irritating than you, I believe,” Abigail muttered and stuck out her tongue. “And he’s fine, thank you. I’ll be certain to keep my sister’s condition in mind next time I see her yelling at birds.”

  “Patience, Abigail. Patience.”

  Abigail snorted. “Patience, right. I am known for having a great handle on the Fruits of the Spirit.”

  “Interesting. I don’t recall manipulation being a Biblical virtue.”

  “So you’re familiar with the Holy Book?” She smiled triumphantly. “Good day, your grace.” Abigail left her sister’s husband by himself on the balcony, laughing. She later found Emma weeping because her dress was not the shade of blue she had imagined for the ball. Needless to say, it had been a trying day for Abigail, so the fact that her sister was pulling at Abigail’s shawl like a nervous mother was enough to drive her to hysterics.

  “Emma!” she snapped. “Why don’t you go greet your guests? I do believe it’s time for a dance.”

  And with that Abigail sashayed away, closing her eyes in reverent prayer the full distance to the dance floor. Surely it was an act of God that she was able to escape her sister.

  A couple on the dance floor caught her eye. They were lovely. She almost mistook the man for Rawlings, but then he smiled. Since she had never seen Rawlings smile, she knew it was a trick of the eyes. But who was the man? He was dressed impeccably. His dark features complimented those of his dance partner. She was unfashionably dark-skinned but had a beautiful smile. It was obvious they were in love.

  “Spying?” A familiar male voice asked from beside her.

  “Ah, your grace. How fortune shines on me this evening. The moment I escape one family member, I find another.”

  “I do hope that witty tongue of yours will be put to good use one of these days, little sister. I fear for your future husband.”

  A sudden shiver scampered up and down Abigail’s arms, for the face of her future husband she already knew. Would he feel the same as she? Or want to muzzle her like the Duke of Tempest seemed to want?

  “I see you’ve noticed Nicholas and Sara,” Sebastian motioned toward the dance floor. “Captivating aren’t they?”

  “Who?”

  “The Earl and Countess of Renwick, your cousins, though I recall you did not attend the wedding,” Sebastian said. “They are approaching. Do try to keep your mouth closed, and…” He rolled his eyes as Abigail purposefully opened her mouth to vex him. “Do I need to blackmail you as well?”

  “Pardon me, your grace?” Confused, Abigail shut her mouth and frowned. Who else did the duke feel the need to blackmail?

  “Tempest!” Renwick held out gloved hands to Sebastian and then pulled him into a tight embrace. Lady Renwick shook her head and slipped around the two to greet Abigail.

  “You must be Emma’s sister. I have heard so much about you, dear cousin.” Without any warning, the countess pulled her into a hug and laid a kiss on her cheek. “You’re absolutely lovely. Has anyone ever told you that? I was telling my husband as we were dancing how striking the color of your hair is. How fortunate for you. And are you going to be here for the remainder of the Season? I do hope we can spend some time together.”

  Unfortunately, she was too nice for Abigail to ignore. In her experience, women were usually extremely competitive and faked their hospitality, or they were insecure and just plain cruel. Sara was neither. Abigail found herself in unfamiliar territory about how to act. Being genuine was not necessarily natural for her. Growing up with parents who were more concerned with appearances than anything else had a way of doing that to a girl.

  Emma was lucky to have fallen from grace at such a young age. At least she couldn’t embarrass the family any more than she already had. And now she was a duchess. No. Life was much harder for Abigail. Her parents relied on her for everything. Duty and an upright marriage. It was her calling—what they expected from her. The confusing part was that although they expected it from her, they already had everything they could ask for. Money and connections. Yet the pressure was still for Abigail to make a smart match.

  She wondered what they would say when they realized she had every intention of setting her cap for Rawlings. He was an earl, which would work in her favor, but if the rumors were true, he was an impoverished one.

  “Ah, so you’re the lovely duchess’s sister.” Renwick reached for her hand and placed a chaste kiss on her fingers as he winked at his wife. “Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Gates?”

  Abigail looked to Sebastian for permission. Her parents were not in attendance, and her sister and brother-in-law were acting as chaperones. He gave a swift nod and began an animated conversation with Sara.

  As Renwick led her onto the dance floor, she felt speculative gazes turn on them. “Ah, the dreaded watch of the ton. I do hope you are ready for the marriage mart, dear Miss Gates. Some of the young pups will be relentless in their pursuit.”

  Abigail laughed. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, and the debutante daughters are just as horrid. No offense intended, but some can be downright cruel. You’ll take care to let any of us know if you encounter a situation you cannot h
andle on your own?”

  The protective talk made Abigail smile. She looked into his piercing blue eyes and felt genuinely content. The similarities between Lord Renwick and Lord Rawlings were almost shocking. But the sensation of being in Renwick’s arms was nothing like being held by Rawlings. Not that she had much experience for the comparison, only memories, mere shades from her past which gave her hope the feeling would be the same as it had been before.

  “Ah, if you’ll excuse me. It seems my wife is in need of me.”

  Renwick led her to the edge of the dance floor where Sara was motioning to them. Her face was flushed with excitement. “Lord Rawlings is here.”

  Abigail gulped. She hadn’t yet seen Lord Rawlings, and her gaze hungrily scanned the room for him.

  Sebastian’s voice interrupted her search. “Of course he’s here, just finished talking with him before I found my dear sister-in-law over here gawking at the two of you. Must have run off to acquire a drink. By the looks of things, he’ll need it.”

  Not one to waste any sort of opportunity to make an impression, Abigail grabbed Sebastian by the hand. “You haven’t yet danced with your sister–in-law.”

  “What’s whirling about in that mind of yours, Abigail? Dare I even guess?”

  “You would do best to avoid guessing, your grace.”

  Sebastian winced. “Right then, shall we?” His outstretched hand was invitation enough. She grasped it purposefully and flashed him a smile she knew her sister was famous for—the one that caused men to swear and women to gossip.

  “Ah, I see Emma’s taught you well. Now, keep those smiles to yourself while I spin you around, and see if you can’t manage to enjoy yourself without manipulating everyone in the room.”

  The rub.

  Abigail twirled and twirled, but her mind hadn’t forgotten that Rawlings was in her vicinity. Awareness prickled down her spine, when suddenly the music stopped. Sebastian escorted her to the side of the room, away from other guests. Bending over her hand, he kissed it and left her to her own devices. Which was an entirely awful idea. He was obviously distracted to a fault. She laughed to herself. What a terrible chaperone the Angel Duke made.

  ****

  Spellbound, Phillip watched. Strangely beautiful, immensely graceful. It seemed that the room had faded. It was her.

  Only her.

  Well, only her and that blasted Whitmore she was dancing with. Carefully, Phillip wove around the crush of bodies, finally stopping mere feet away from her and the dandy she was dancing with.

  Whitmore threw a wolfish grin in Phillip’s direction then whispered something to the girl that caused her to laugh. But, he noted, she did not seem focused on Whitmore one bit. No her gaze scrutinized the crowds, looking for something. Dare he hope to be the object of her search?

  He continued to watch. As her spell began to weave into his soul, he realized he was powerless to stop the feeling of rapture that descended into his chest. Entranced like never before, he took a step and then another. As he edged closer, it was as if the universe was communicating with him in some off-handed way.

  Blonde hair cascaded across her bare shoulders. The siren smiled, a pronounced dimple appearing on one side of her face. Musical laughter poured out of her as she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, lost in the dance.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if this was the girl Whitmore was now betrothed to.

  When the dance ended, she looked up at him. Their gazes locked for a lost moment, nearly stealing the breath from his chest. He held out his hand and waited, for the invitation was obvious even without being spoken. With a brilliant smile, she curtsied to Whitmore and took Phillip’s outstretched hand. He pulled her away from the crowds toward the gardens outside. Once they were away from the crush, she reached out to stop him.

  “So you’ve found me after all? Did I not say we would see each other again soon?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Ah, Rawlings!” Sebastian’s voice interrupted what he was about to say, irritating him to his very core. Could the blasted Angel Duke have timed it any worse? “I see you’ve been reacquainted then?”

  Phillip blanched.

  The siren lifted a haughty eyebrow in his direction.

  So, his assumption was correct. He was going to be called out, and by Tempest no less. It seemed he would be on the opposite end of a pistol after all.

  Sebastian gave him an odd look then addressed the girl in question. “You’ll have to excuse Lord Rawlings, my dear. Seems he was out in the rain this morning. Been out of sorts ever since.”

  What the devil was she about? Had the world suddenly gone mad? Why wasn’t Tempest hitting him, and who was this glorious creature in front of him? The duke had said reacquainted. Phillip had assumed he meant from their previous assignation that morning. He suspected it had somehow gotten out that he and the beautiful temptress had shared a kiss in the rain. But then again, if it had been found out, Tempest wouldn’t be smiling like some idiotic fool.

  It couldn’t get much worse.

  “Tempest, there you are!” Renwick yelled above the crush.

  Brilliant. Proven wrong yet again.

  Lady Renwick followed her husband through the swarms of people and joined Phillip, Tempest, and the siren—for he didn’t know what to call her other than the name his dreams and lust had given her earlier that day.

  “So how have all of you managed to become acquainted?” Phillip inquired, searching the eager faces around him for some hint as to the identity of the woman next to him.

  Nicholas laughed and was the first to answer. “I do say, Phillip, haven’t known you to be such a wit.”

  And yet, Phillip did not smile, nor did he laugh. It seemed impossible, but in that moment his eyebrows furrowed even more.

  “Abigail. There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. How dare you leave your sister on the eve of your first ball.” The duchess rushed to her side and gave her a pinch in the arm before turning her attention to a very stunned and speechless Phillip.

  “Rawlings, I have plans for you. I am sure my husband has shared my desire to see you wed?” Emma gave him a calculating gaze. Waiting, or so it seemed, for him to cower and nod his head.

  Instead, Phillip was unable to speak. He was rendered mute as five curious sets of eyes darted in his direction. Being paralyzed was something out of the ordinary for the normally rakish Phillip Rawlings. Brain clear as mud, he opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Sebastian.

  “Take pity on him, dear. He was out in the rain all morning.”

  Emma grunted. “Why the devil were you in the rain?”

  “Yes, my lord, why were you in the rain?” Abigail spoke up. All doe-eyed and innocent. Every gaze turned to her. What he wouldn’t give for the opportunity to spank that bottom of hers. Unfortunately, the image did nothing but give him a tightening in his groin and an all-around appalling feeling that he was lusting after Abigail, the girl in pigtails he used to tease. Abigail, who was seven years his junior. Abigail, his siren’s call, the woman who had kissed him in the park.

  In that moment, Phillip decided to speak, and said the only thing he could manage without cursing or making an absolute spectacle of himself. “I think I need another drink.”

  Chapter Four

  My dear readers, it has come to my attention that the devil himself was dancing with the beautiful and innocent sister to the Duchess of Tempest. It begs the question, just where was her chaperone and what interest does the wicked man have? Some say they are family friends. Appalled they would even associate with such a heathen. Ladies, since it appears that the lecherous Earl of Rawlings will make a late manifestation this Season, might I suggest taking your prayer books along with you to the rest of the events?

  —Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers

  Abigail could tell Rawlings was more than a little irritated with her. A look of fear seemed to flash across his face as well. It hadn’t occurred to her that he woul
d be so upset. She hated to admit how it pricked her pride that he would be so irritated in her presence. It reminded her of days when she was younger, when she was left out of the games they so often played without her.

  Childhood memories came rushing back. Managing a large smile, she swallowed pride and fear and asked him to escort her. She knew full well that if he said no, he would be inviting more questions, and the others would wonder if he was ill after all that sitting in the rain. Rawlings glowered at her, then offered his arm to her. Triumphantly, she accepted but did not speak until they were out of earshot.

  “That was close,” she said.

  Rawlings stopped abruptly. “Close? What are you trying to do, Abby? Ruin yourself completely before your first real Season on the marriage mart?” She watched, entranced by the way anger flashed in his crystal blue eyes. Men like Rawlings were dangerous. He moved with a panther-like grace unmatched by any man. Broad and muscular shoulders framed his body. Abigail had never seen a pirate, but she guessed they all looked exactly like Rawlings. All he needed was an eye patch and a sword in his belt. Dark hair curled around his ears, not at all in the current style. His appearance gave the casual observer the perception that he was anything but concerned about his manner of dress and his devil-may-care manner.

  Rawlings broke eye contact and looked away. Entranced she watched his long fingers stretch around a crystal glass. Rawlings’ gaze seemed to scour the room, searching for anything and everyone but her.

  “Why won’t you look at me?”

  Cold blue eyes locked with hers, but it wasn’t the way she wanted him to look at her. In fact it was the exact opposite of what she expected. Lust, desire, desperation—that’s what she wanted to see. Instead, his face held no emotion but anger, and dare she suspect, irritation at her presence. Obviously he needed her more than she realized. Muscles tensed across his jaw.