The Redemption of Lord Rawlings

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Looking for Whitmore?” Rawlings asked.

  She tripped him.

  He cursed.

  She smirked and drifted to the waiting carriage.

  “Must you behave so immaturely?” He tightened his grip on her arm.

  Abigail sighed. “Must you be such an idiot?”

  Rawlings grumbled something under his breath and helped her into the carriage. Dead silence ensued as they sat rigidly straight, staring at nothing save the darkness in front of them.

  Finally, because she was actually feeling quite immature, she threw her reticule at his head and was surprised to see him react in time to miss the blow altogether.

  “What in the blazes was that for?”

  Abigail shrugged. “It slipped.”

  “A likely story! What do you keep in that monstrosity? Rocks? Blades to cut out the souls of each man whom you have eating out of the palm of your hand? Devil take it, Abigail, I am so sick and tired of you—”

  “Stop talking. I bore so of your complaining, Rawlings.” Launching herself from the other side of the carriage to where he sat, she pinned him against the seat and kissed the anger out of him, the hurt out of her, and the pain from them both.

  He appeared to welcome her assault, cursing as he took a breath and pulled at her hair, sending pins flying to the floor. “Do you enjoy torturing me?”

  Panting, she answered. “Do you enjoy torturing yourself?”

  “Apparently.” He growled, reaching for her body again, jerked it hard against his, stealing the air out of her lungs. “I want you. Devil knows I’ve tried to stay away from you.”

  “Don’t.”

  “We cannot marry, Abby.” Rawlings tore off her cloak, sending a pool of fabric to the floor. “You deserve to choose.” His words said one thing, but his body said another entirely as he pushed her down on the seat and covered her with his warmth.

  “What if you are whom I chose?”

  He stopped cold. She grasped his hand, realizing it was shaking. She held it to her lips and kissed it. “Rawlings, what if you are my desire? What if I’m not a debutante out to ruin myself? What if I desire you as my own? As a woman in love with a man. Would you have me believe you are beyond saving?”

  His eyes closed and his forehead rested against hers. “You tell me.”

  “I thought I had.”

  “No. I believe what you did was yell, quite loudly, obscenities about me and my character into the night air.”

  She laughed. “That too.” He was still on top of her, as if having a conversation in the middle of kissing was a normal occurrence for him.

  “I can’t seem to keep myself from pushing you away,” he admitted, looking to the left of her. “However, my mind, my heart, and my body are not in complete agreement.”

  Abigail tugged a piece of his dark silky hair. “And what, pray tell, is your body saying?”

  “To consume you.”

  “And your mind?”

  “To ravish you beyond repair.” He licked her earlobe.

  “And your heart?” she whispered.

  He paused. “To love you, with every breath I take.”

  Heart soaring, Abigail pulled at him until his large body fully covered hers. “Then show me.”

  He smiled, genuinely smiled. It was so blinding, so attractive that she couldn’t help that her eyes widened in astonishment. Welcome back to the land of the living, Lord Rawlings.

  “With pleasure.” He kissed her tenderly on the mouth, and she waited for the moment she had been wanting. He would take her; she was sure of it.

  But instead, she found herself firmly planted on the other side of the carriage. “I…I don’t understand.”

  “Take your virginity in a moving carriage? What type of man do you take me for?”

  Was that a trick question? Did he not know his own identity? This was the man whose bad deeds and womanizing ways were legendary throughout London. Not that she wanted to think of other women at this time, but the thought plagued her. Why, when a woman actually loved him, did he decide to deny his carnal nature?

  “I doubt Sebastian would be pleased to know that I took his infuriating, irritating, calculating brazen—”

  Fire must have flickered in her eyes, for she was ready to lunge for him, but he laughed and continued, “—bold, beautiful, joyful, passionate sister-in-law before the banns were read.”

  The man had a point, although she was ready to burn up with unquenched passion. Once it faded she would regret allowing such things to transpire so soon. She gave him a desperate look, not purposefully, but needing to communicate the swell of emotions.

  “Abigail, if you look at me that way again, I cannot be held responsible for my actions. There is only so much a man can take, and I think we can agree that I’m a flawed one at that. I’ll have you on your back with your skirts lifted before you can utter anything but Please Phillip, and Again, Phillip. So, my suggestion is this, scurry on up to your bedroom, lock your door, and do not…I repeat, do not open it. Unless it is Sebastian or your maid on the other side. Do you understand?”

  “What if it’s Emma?” she teased.

  “Abigail, can I really not scare you away?”

  “You don’t scare me, Rawlings,” she snorted.

  “Right then, shall I torture you as you’ve tortured me? Hmm…yes, I think so.” Rawlings plopped down beside her, taking her hand in his.

  “I would lick every inch of your skin, but very slowly as to burn the memory of your scent into my mind.” He moved to pull off her glove. Throwing it on the ground, he raised her hand to his lips. “Mmm, yes, you taste good even here.” And with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he smiled and extracted one of her fingers into his mouth and sucked.

  Uncontrollable shivers ran up and down her body as he continued his assault on every one of her fingers until she thought she would go mad.

  When he placed her hand on his lap, she prayed he was finished, but seeing his eyes darken, she realized her prayers were in vain. For she was in a carriage alone with the most reckless rake of them all. Stop was not a word he understood. Torture, however, was.

  Offering her a satisfied smile, he said, “But you haven’t a care for the way you taste. Would you like to taste me?”

  Was she nodding her head? Apparently, because his next move was to reach out and touch her lips. Tilting his head, he hovered near her mouth, licking and kissing along her chin until his tongue plunged into her mouth.

  His tongue, his lips—everything tasted of wine, masculine soap, sweat. She grasped at his evening coat, and she pulled at him, eager for more.

  Instead the carriage rumbled to a stop outside the Tempest townhome.

  “I’ll see you inside,” Rawlings said but made no move to exit the carriage. He looked down at her hands. He was grasping them as if they were his entire reason for existence. “Are you sure, Abby? The things I’ve done…”

  “I’m aware of your sordid accomplishments, but I’m also aware of the man behind the reputation. I want you. Do you remember the waterfall?”

  Rawlings twirled a piece of her hair with his finger. “Yes, you nearly drowned and I swore that day to teach you how to swim if it killed me.”

  “Which it almost did.”

  “Agreed.” Rawlings looked away. “Why do you bring that story up, Abby?”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Because it was the same day I saw a glimpse of the man you could become. Do you not remember what else happened that day?”

  He shook his head.

  “Yes, I nearly drowned, but when you helped me back to the house you took the entire blame. You said I was under your care, and you had let me down. You carried all the blame upon your shoulders as well as the punishment, even though I followed you and I fell in. Rawlings, you might be a rake, and I, as well as the entirety of London, know you haven’t made the best choices. But when it counts, you would shoulder the world if it would lighten the load for even your worst enemy.” Abigail laughed. “You’ve al
ways been my hero. Maybe one day, when you look at yourself, you’ll truly see the man you can be, rather than the man you’ve been.”

  “God bless you for seeing something even I don’t.” He chuckled darkly and hopped out of the carriage, his grip on her hand firm. “Thank you, Abby, for your words. I must admit that compliments are unfamiliar to me. Scolding on the other hand…”

  “If you remember correctly, I’ve given both.” Abigail winked.

  “Yes, you have.” Phillip led her to the stairs of the townhome.

  The evening breeze played with her shawl as she fingered the delicate fabric across her shoulders.

  “I’ll make arrangements with your father tomorrow.” Rawlings brought her fingers to his lips and smiled. “Tomorrow, Abby?”

  “Tomorrow.” Abigail couldn’t trust her own voice as it shook with excitement. Tomorrow she would officially be betrothed to Rawlings. It could not come soon enough.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It appears the ton has a late visitor. A certain bronzed man was seen walking around the latest ball. It’s been said he’s a long lost prince in search of his princess. It’s about time this season had a few heroes showing up, what with all of our attention being put onto the villains, aka Lord Rawlings, though this author believes it is possible that the man is cleaning up his act.

  —Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers

  He knew it was ridiculous and unfounded, but Rawlings could not help the nervousness he felt as he knocked on the Gates’ townhome. It was stupid really. He thought he had nerves of steel, and instead he was standing outside the house feeling much like a young man asking a father’s permission to court his daughter for the first time.

  The butler answered with a cool nod, looking him up and down before asking for his card.

  “Is Lord Gates receiving callers?”

  “And whom may I say is inquiring?” the butler narrowed his eyes and frowned. Did butlers have some sort of secret society where they looked down upon the less than holy gentry?

  Rawlings’ reputation was wearing on him, truly. Marriage would be a welcome change; maybe then butlers would answer their doors with smiles instead of scowls and judgmental gazes.

  On second thought, he wasn’t acquainted with any butlers who even knew how to smile. Reluctantly, he pulled out his card and placed it on the silver tray.

  Lifting his eyebrow, the butler examined the card then opened the door wider and allowed him inside the entryway. Rawlings cleared his throat and stepped over the threshold. Within minutes Lord Gates appeared.

  “Rawlings, my boy, what has you visiting so early? Let us adjourn into the sitting room for some tea. The viscountess is out, which means we’ll be able to add some whiskey to that repulsive stuff.”

  “Right.” Phillip exhaled and followed Lord Gates into the room, hoping that the man slipped and poured more alcohol into his tea so he would be foxed enough to accept Phillip into the family.

  The men sat opposite one another and waited for the tea to be served before settling into conversation. As promised Lord Gates poured generous amounts of whiskey into each cup and gave a satisfied huff.

  “So, my boy, how have things been progressing with Abigail? Have you found her a good match?”

  Phillip choked. “Sorry, yes, well it seems, that…” he stopped talking and took a deep breath to begin again. “It seems that Abigail, that is, Miss Gates and I—”

  “Blast it all, boy, spit it out.” Lord Gates chuckled. “I say, what has you so uncomfortable? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so put out.”

  Even better. “I’ve come to ask for her hand in marriage.” Phillip lifted his tea as if to block the shot of a pistol from hitting his face. Yes, because tea of all things would prevent his death. Idiot.

  Silence followed his outburst, and then laughter. “Really, my boy? You aren’t trying to play me for a fool?”

  “Course not, my lord, I wouldn’t dream of pulling such a stunt.” Or lying to my future father-in-law before he agrees to my proposal.

  “Well then, fancy that.” Lord Gates clapped his hands, making Phillip nearly drop his tea in his lap. “It seems a celebration of sorts is in order. Champagne!” He rang for the servants and then gave instructions for them to bring in a bottle of champagne at once.

  “My wife will be pleased. We had so hoped that Abby would make a smart match and it appears she has. An earl no less. And a friend of our family.”

  Phillip wanted to inform Lord Gates that although he was an earl, Abby would be subjected to the same type of reputation it seemed Lord Gates wanted her protected from. Then again, it was Gates. He would marry his daughter off to the worst sort of rake if it somehow solidified him into society even more.

  “Oh no,” Lord Gates’ low voice jerked Phillip out of his thoughts. “Oh no, this won’t do. Oh Rawlings.”

  Was the man dying? “What is it, my lord?”

  “Given your reputation I’m sure you can forgive such a thing as this. After all, you are anything but spotless.”

  Wonderful of him to point out the obvious. “Agreed,” Phillip answered. “But what has you suddenly so upset?”

  “It is Abby. Oh please do not let this reflect on her character. I know my own daughter. I know she can be a bit rash at times.”

  A bit?

  “But you see Rawlings, it wasn’t her fault!”

  Phillip was getting more uncomfortable by the second. “What wasn’t her fault?“ he asked.

  The door opened, and champagne was brought in. The minute it closed Gates shot up from his chair and began pacing. “It was my fault for allowing her so much freedom. It seems that I haven’t been honest about her…reputation.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Phillip wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer. Gates paused in front of the fireplace.

  “She was quite ruined before her first ball.”

  Phillip cursed. “Ruined? However was she ruined? Who was it?” His voice was getting louder by its own accord. If any man touched her, he would rip his hands off. Destroy him until he cried for mercy. He would—

  “In the park, a man kissed her in the park.”

  Pausing, Phillip kept his face impassive. “A man in the park you say?”

  Gates moaned. “Yes, well it seems that this man was dressed as some sort of street urchin.”

  Phillip looked down at his own clothes. “You don’t say?”

  “Oh but I do! For it came from young Abby not myself. She explained to me in horrid detail how this man accosted her.”

  “What else did she say?” Phillip, now calm, was planning his revenge on little Abby as her father spoke. Smiling, Phillip cleared his throat to keep from bursting at the seams with laughter.

  Gates seemed to calm down enough to take his seat again. Most likely the alcohol was slowing his system. “That the man was devilishly handsome, but dangerous. She was so worried he would ruin her. This is why we had you protect her for the last few events. To have this get out would be awful. Nobody would want her if they knew she had shared such a private moment with another man.”

  “So you kept the truth from me? For all you revealed was that she was alone in the park with a man?”

  “My apologies, my lord. I had no idea you would offer for her, but I feel honesty really is the best in this situation. Tell me, will you still want her even though she is soiled goods?” Gates’ eyes looked hopeful.

  Phillip would gladly punch him for calling his own daughter soiled goods when she did nothing but share a kiss with a man. The same man offering for her. The very same man she had splendidly described as a street urchin. Lovely. She would pay for that later.

  “Gates, it seems I shall have to take her off your hands merely to protect her from herself, and to keep her honor intact.” Sarcasm dripped off every delightful word he said.

  “Bless you, my boy, bless you.” Gates reached across and patted him on the hand.

  Phillip kept his smile in check. Rubbing his knuck
les across his jaw, he tried to decide if he should strangle her today or wait until later.

  They drank champagne in silence. Lord Gates had more than his fair share and lit a cheroot before asking Phillip about the marriage settlement. He was astonished to find out that being married would release all of Phillip’s money, making him the third richest man in England.

  “Brilliant match,” Gates muttered as Phillip took his leave. He still had to speak with his solicitor to make arrangements for the marriage. If things ended well, they would be married by the end of the month, just in time for a month-long honeymoon before hunting season.

  Phillip smiled to himself the entire way the offices where his solicitor resided. Within a manner of moments, he was knocking on Theodore Littman’s door.

  If all manners were agreed to, he would in essence not only have his money by the end of the month, but Abigail—infuriating little Abigail—as well.

  Her kisses—no, her mouth–was helping him get through the stressful day. And he could very well imagine how he would ask for his reward upon their next meeting. In fact, his vivid imagination continued to play images of her body writhing with pleasure under his. Marriage would indeed be a welcome distraction. He had half a mind to lock her in their bed chambers after the lies she had told about him. A street urchin? Hardly.

  “Ah, my lord, it’s a surprise to see you here.” Littman rose from his dark oak desk and walked around to give a little bow. “I do hope everything has been set to your satisfaction?”

  “Pardon?” Phillip asked somewhat confused. Had he been speaking without his knowledge? Odd. He took a seat, carefully folding his hands in his lap. The office was just as he would have thought it would be, with the stagnant smell of parchment hanging in the air.

  “Felicitations are in order, I believe, as well. Your mother was so pleased to hear of it.”

  Mother? How in the devil did his mother already hear of his engagement? It hadn’t been finalized until this morning.

  “Yes, well, thank you,” Phillip said. “Now onto business. I should like to see what properties are to be released into my care as well as my overall inheritance once the marriage license is signed.”