Lady and the Rake

by Anders, Annabelle

  Over his dead body.

  He staggered across to his desk, dropped into the wooden chair and blinked several times so that he could see the words he intended to write.

  New York City, Two in the Morning, April 23rd, 1829

  Maggie,

  Good to hear you’re ready to move on without me. Perhaps you’ll find someone else to take you upside down, right side up, and all those other ways you and I never had the opportunity to explore. Tell me his name, and I’ll shove a dagger through his heart.

  Just as you’ve done to me.

  I’ve tried to move on, damn you. I’ve tried to look into the future and imagine it without you. I’ve tried flirting with other women, beautiful women. They even arouse a flicker of indifferent physical response but it’s no good and not once have I ever been tempted to go through with it.

  You and I were good, damnit, Maggie. We were good.

  But I’ve lost you and it’s no one’s fault but my own. I don’t deserve you. I was selfish and a coward and… I hate myself right now.

  For leaving you. For hurting you. For loving you.

  I’ve made my bed, Maggie, and now I’ll have to lie in it. I’ll lie there pathetically, close my eyes, and take care of my needs alone.

  Imagining your face, your scent, the sensation of easing inside your body.

  I’ll stop writing to you. I’ll stop thinking about you. I’ll stop missing you.

  I never wanted to hurt you, god damnit. I only wanted to make you feel good. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.

  I miss you. God knows I’ll never stop missing you.

  Sebastian took another swig from the bottle but had to steady himself when the room swayed and lurched.

  “I beg of you, stop sending them.”

  He picked up his letter and read what he’d written. None of it mattered. He’d had his chance, and he’d squandered it. He’d made his choice.

  The paper crumpled easily in his hand. He paused only a second before tossing it across the room to land in the center of the hearth. The edges darkened and then flared as flames erased his final letter. He wished he’d done things differently. Because he’d been a fool to let her go. He wanted all of it, all the things she’d wanted. Having a family with her might have been the greatest adventure of all.

  And as he stared at the fire, a vague memory taunted him.

  “Someday you won’t fear it anymore.”

  And what had he said in answer?

  “Hell, Maggie, if that were to occur, I’d race across the world to find you.”

  30

  A Ton Ball

  London, May 31st, 1829

  Margaret leaned against the upholstery, knowing she might have several minutes to wait as her carriage lined up in the que outside of Burtis Hall. The Earl and Countess of Ravensdale’s elaborate townhouse was set in the heart of Mayfair, and as this was to be the last ball of the season, the affair would no doubt be talked about all summer long.

  The year before, Margaret had been a guest at the Ravendale’s country estate, but she’d not had many occasions to see the family this Season. Rather than attending all the garden parties and musicales that she had in the past, she’d spent a good deal of her time at three separate foundling hospitals. When she had attended ton events, Margaret had made the most of them by seeking donations for specific charities and donations of used goods for the children.

  She’d quickly discovered that not all of London’s elite were apathetic to the plight of the poor. Some simply did not understand the extent of it, as had been the case for her, but wanted to do something to make a difference through funding if nothing else.

  Margaret smiled to herself as the carriage edged along. It was a wonder anyone invited her anywhere again. She was becoming known as something of a zealot for the poor.

  She even imagined that Sebastian might have been proud of her.

  She’d not received any more letters since she’d asked him not to write and often found herself regretting having done so. The absence of his letters hadn’t done a thing to keep him from dwelling in her heart. She wondered if anything ever would.

  She smoothed her gown and blinked. She and Sebastian hadn’t required elaborate balls to experience romance. Ah, no. He’d managed to make her feel beautiful without the benefit of beautiful dresses and music and chandeliers lit with candles hanging from the ceiling.

  She almost laughed out loud when she remembered him barging into her room while she’d had the fard smeared all over her face. Forgetting him had not become any easier.

  She stared at her hands in her lap and grimaced. She was going to attend the most elaborate ball of the year wearing one of last year’s gowns. It was a high-waisted canary silk with gold overlay and embroidered dandelions along the bodice and hem. Some would most assuredly notice and remark upon it, but she didn’t care.

  She’d been so busy as of late that she’d not had time to visit her favorite dressmaker. She’d considered having a new one made up but in the end, believed the funds could be far better used on new books for one of the schools.

  Even tonight, she intended to make an early exit. She was due at the hospital early in the morning and meant to spend what time she had catching up with friends she’d neglected all Season long.

  She was not planning to dance, nor to flirt, nor listen to any unessential gossip. Last year, her priorities had been so very different, but she would not regret them. If she hadn’t met George, she wouldn’t have met Sebastian. If she hadn’t met Sebastian, she doubted she would have come to know herself so well—her needs—and she wouldn’t have realized that her needs were best met by helping those less fortunate—children and families who assumed they had been forgotten.

  She’d known a warm and comfortable love with her husband. She’d been content and she’d been… safe. She had also been naïve, self-centered, and somewhat selfish.

  Ironically, her time with Sebastian, a younger man, a charming and ambitious man, had made her realize that she could be a better woman. He’d shown her that passion didn’t have to have rules or limits or be stifled. It was something she could experience in the full light of day and without fear or shame.

  He’d shown her how to live. And she loved him for it.

  What was he doing tonight? Had he met a pretty American girl and fallen in love? He’d never lack for female attention. She raised her fist and pressed it to her aching heart. Because it did ache. It ached differently than when she’d lost Lawrence.

  When she’d lost Lawrence, she had lost a very dear friend. When she’d lost Sebastian, she’d lost a part of herself.

  At last, the carriage pulled to a full stop at the entrance to Burtis House and after gathering her reticule and fan, Margaret allowed the footman to assist her to the pavement.

  No one ever attended a ball alone. She had never done it herself nor had she known anyone who had—who wasn’t a male, that was.

  All of it felt different. Set directly across the street from Hyde Park, the mansion resembled more of a country estate than a London townhouse. Iron gates surrounded the landscaped lawn and statues and fountains flanked the entranceway. The mansion was lovely, but it wasn’t magical.

  She’d known magic last autumn and wondered if she’d ever know it again.

  “Lady Asherton.” Margaret turned at the sound of her name and, for an instant, forgot to breathe. The Duchess of Standish had called out her name, but it was the man standing beside her who nearly stole Margaret’s breath.

  Sebastian’s father. Ah, and the younger man, Andrew. He must be Sebastian’s brother. Both had the same dark hair, although the duke’s was peppered with gray, and they had the same sturdy build, the same chiseled profiles. They had different eyes, though, blue instead of silver, and Lord Andrew’s lips seemed fuller

  “Your Grace.” Margaret dipped into a curtsey as she waited for her heart to begin beating again. “Your Grace.” And then she turned to the man who must be Lord Andrew. “My Lord.”


  “Standish, darling, this is the young woman I was telling you about.”

  The duke’s eyebrow cocked, and he smiled. “The young woman who made a lucky escape. I’m pleased to finally meet you, Lady Asherton.” Oh, but his voice sounded so very much like Sebastian’s. His face was longer than Sebastian’s, but his mannerisms were similar, as was his build.

  “The honor is mine, Your Grace.”

  “My brother regards you highly.” Lord Andrew bowed over her hand. “And my uncle is a fool.” If anyone else had brought up her broken engagement, Margaret might have been embarrassed, if not irritated, but Sebastian’s family apparently knew the truth and if nothing else, they seemed to be… happy for her.

  “Have you heard from Lord Rockingham?” She nearly kicked herself for asking.

  “He’s been a most inconsiderate son,” the duchess answered. “I haven’t received even a brief letter for six weeks now. To be honest, I try not to think about it.”

  “He’s fine, Mother.” Lord Andrew’s eyes danced.

  They had been standing in line progressing gradually toward the reception line, where their hosts waited to greet everyone. Just as she moved to be welcomed by the first of their hosts, Lord Andrew touched her elbow. “I’d be honored if you’ll allow me to claim a dance this evening.”

  He was being friendly, kind.

  Staring at him closely now, she realized that he appeared to be of the age she’d initially believed Sebastian. Lord Andrew’s jaw was practically smooth and his physique not quite yet as broad, as hard looking as that of a grown man.

  “But of course, My Lord.”

  He scribbled on her dance card and, with a wink, stepped back so that she could proceed.

  “Margaret!” Rose rushed forward and had taken Margaret into her arms almost before she had even recognized the dark-haired beauty.

  One year ago, her friend had been physically ejected from a ton ball and on this evening, she hosted an even more celebrated affair alongside the Countess of Ravensdale. She’d married the heir, Viscount Darlington, and was a viscountess herself, and a mother as well.

  Margaret’s arms flew around the woman who’d endured so much the Season before—because of Margaret’s bad judgment.

  She then held Rose away from her so that she could see her beautiful friend. “You’re positively glowing. Motherhood obviously suits you!”

  “Margaret.” Lord Darlington stepped up behind his wife. It was absurd when Margaret remembered that at one time, she had thought the two of them might possibly suit. Penelope had confided that once, she too had imagined herself in love with the handsome viscount.

  Margaret couldn’t be happier for Rose.

  “We just arrived in London this week, but Josephine says you’ve kept yourself busy all Season with your charity work.” She lowered her voice. “Glenda told me all about what Mr. Kirkley did at Penelope’s house party. I think you made a lucky escape if I say so myself. I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been doing with your time. Brody was such a good boy all the way over. Wasn’t he, Rome?” Rose gushed, her cheeks bright with excitement.

  The future Viscount Darlington, Broderick Roman Lincoln Spencer, would be over a year old by now. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

  “He was perfect.” Lord Darlington placed a protective hand on Rose’s shoulder and then glanced back to where they’d been greeting the other guests.

  “Oh, of course.” Rose squeezed Margaret’s hand. “We’ll talk later. We’ll bring Brody for a visit tomorrow. And you must meet Wesley as well.” She narrowed her eyes and peeked over a few shoulders. “Unfortunately, he seems to have disappeared with that little blonde chit.” Margaret nearly laughed at how protective Rose sounded.

  Wesley was Rome’s older son that he’d only recently reconciled with. “He’s eight and ten, Love.” But at Rose’s pleading look, he shook his head. “If you’ll excuse me, Margaret?”

  Margaret wanted to cry but also couldn’t help smiling. She missed Penelope, and she had forgotten how much she liked spending time with Rose.

  “I’ll find you later,” Rose promised as a gap appeared between Margaret and those who’d lined up before her.

  She rushed forward then and greeted Natalie, Lord Darlington’s sister, and her husband, Lord Hawthorne, and then Josephine, the Countess of Ravensdale, and then the Earl.

  Margaret was well acquainted with all of them from a long visit the winter before last. They were open and friendly and kind, and Margaret promised to not only find them later that evening and sit with them for the supper dance but to visit later that week.

  She’d tell Rose and Natalie all about the foundling homes. She’d explain what was needed and invite them to join her.

  And they may or may not take her up on it. They had husbands and children.

  As always, when Margaret entered this particular ballroom, she found herself impressed with the three giant chandeliers hanging with hundreds of candles burning brilliantly, and the tasteful arrangements of flowers on every surface, but in contrast to those previous occasions, she was not awed.

  Everything appeared gilded, golden. Pillars rose from the shining parquet floor to majestically prop up the ceiling that was more than three stories high. Arched openings lined a wall leading to a giant dining room and glass terrace doors were propped open, beckoning guests to enjoy the lawn and fountains outside.

  It was magnificent and beautiful but it did not move her the same as it had before.

  Instead, she thought back to one of Sebastian’s letters where he’d discussed with her how disturbed he was that even in America, he was judged by his title and not by his actual person. Her paradigm had shifted.

  She missed the excitement she’d felt when one of his letters arrived. She missed holding the paper in her hands, running her fingertips along the neat letters he’d drawn, imagining him bent over in concentration as he’d shared his thoughts with her.

  She swallowed hard and lifted her chin.

  Years of practice made it easy for her to mingle and make conversation. She renewed some old friendships with the Duchess of Cortland and a few ladies she’d known in the past. In addition to recruiting Natale and Rose to come with her to visit two of the foundling homes later that week, she’d convinced Lady Blankenship, a woman who’d respected her mother greatly, to host a musicale fundraiser.

  Although she’d had no expectations, she’d lined up for dances with both of Lord Darlington’s unmarried younger brothers, Misters Stone and Peter Spencer, as well as the Duke of Cortland, Lord Hawthorne, and Darlington himself. Like any event hosted by the Ravensdales, it was already a resounding success.

  Given a moment to herself, Margaret fluttered her fan. Even with the windows open, the night was warm, and Margaret knew she must be a little flushed. When Lord Andrew arrived at her side for the supper dance, she happily conceded to a walk outside instead despite the mischievous grin he smothered as he tucked her arm in his elbow and strolled in the direction of the terrace doors.

  She did not know him. She did not really know him, and yet she trusted him.

  He was Sebastian’s younger brother.

  “I have a surprise for you, Lady Asherton. I beg your forgiveness ahead of time, but I hope you won’t be angry with me.” He guided her through the doors and along the garden path toward the gazebo.

  “Should I be afraid?” she teased. He was being quite mysterious.

  “Not at all. He said he couldn’t wait. He wanted to surprise you but didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation if…”

  And then he turned the corner into the shadows of the gazebo where a bearded man stood off to one side. He was vaguely familiar—

  “Sebastian?”

  Lord Andrew dropped her arm and then stepped backward. “I’ll be on the terrace if you need me, Lady Asherton.”

  “She won’t be needing you, Drew.” It was his voice. Moonlight reflected off his silver eyes and Margaret caught her breath again.

&nb
sp; It was Sebastian.

  * * *

  Earlier that evening, Sebastian had gone straight to his townhouse to change and been pleased to discover Andrew residing there. By this time tomorrow, his father would know that The Diana had docked and a large fuss from his mother would be unavoidable. All he’d wanted to do that night was locate Maggie.

  He’d written several letters to his brother. He’d shared some of what he’d learned with Andrew and even mentioned a little about Maggie.

  Not all of it.

  Andrew had corresponded with him often, and he’d informed Sebastian that Maggie had returned to London. He’d written that she’d visited Standish House and that their mother had liked her and had wondered aloud why on earth Lady Asherton had even considered marrying Uncle George.

  When Sebastian arrived at his townhouse and discovered his brother preparing to leave for the final ball of the Season, he’d realized that Maggie would not be at her home. Of course, Maggie would be at the ball. She was a highly respected lady of the ton.

  Sebastian could either wait until the next day to go see her, or he could attend the ball himself.

  Would she be happy to see him though?

  Would she speak to him? He’d poured out his heart to her in his letters but aside from the one letter she’d sent to him, he’d not really known her feelings for months.

  With a little help from his younger brother, he’d come up with a solution that would allow him to talk with her privately.

  She’d asked him not to write to her—not to send her any more letters. She’d told him that she could not move on… And so, he’d sent himself instead.

  And just as he’d promised her last autumn, he’d raced across the world.

  He’d been waiting for thirty minutes now but it had felt like hours.

  And when she came into view, he knew that even if he had waited all day, it would have been worth it. Although braided and pinned up, several loose strands of her ebony hair curled around her delicate face. A face he’d dreamt of. Her cheeks held a hint of pink, and her eyes were shining.