Taming the Rake

by Monica McCarty

  Gina breathed a heavy sigh of relief. At last she’d caught sight of him. In the vestibule. Shifting impatiently near the door like a man bursting to escape. A footman approached with his cloak. Her heart skipped. He was leaving. Didn’t he intend to speak with her? She’d held on to Augusta’s words like a precious lifeline. One that was quickly sinking beneath the crushing waves of reality.

  She couldn’t let him leave without having the opportunity to explain. She quickened her step, pushing through the crowd, hastening toward him.

  Something about his stance gave her pause. The wispy hairs on her arms flared. He seemed different. Dangerous. Radiating hostility. As if every muscle in his body strained to tell her not to approach.

  It was a warning she chose not to heed.

  He turned and caught her eye. At first she didn’t think he’d seen her. He held his expression impassive, without a flicker of recollection in the fathomless cerulean sea of his gaze. She held up her hand. Pointedly, he turned back toward the door.

  Gina felt the cut direct deep in her soul. For the first time, she truly realized that she might have misjudged his intentions. “Lord Coventry,” she called out.

  His back stiffened. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned around.

  “You’re here,” she said dumbly, stating the obvious.

  “Briefly,” he replied. “As you can see, I’m leaving. I have a meeting to attend.”

  She twisted her brisé fan in her fists so tightly, the delicately carved sticks of horn crunched. “But”—she hesitated, looking around and noticing only a few footmen—“Augusta said you intended to speak to me tonight?”

  His eyes bore into her like hot coals. “Augusta was mistaken. I have nothing to say to you.”

  His animosity took her aback. “But your promise?”

  His lips curled in a harsh semblance of a smile. “Did I promise you something?” A devious twist curled his lip at her sudden gasp. “Oh, yes. Now I recall. Our little agreement.” His eyes slithered down the length of her, with all the emotion of a cobra. “I’m afraid we won’t suit,” he said flatly. “Once, I’ve decided, was quite enough.”

  His words hit like tiny arrows in her heart. This cold, uncompromising man wasn’t the same person to whom she’d given her body and soul. This was the man she’d heard about. The ruthless man who ruined ladies for sport. Ladies like Lady Alice. And me, a tiny voice whispered.

  Where was the man she’d fallen in love with? The Coventry she loved had withdrawn to the point where she wondered if he’d ever really existed.

  She refused to believe that this cold, emotionless stranger was the man who’d made love to her with such wild, uncontrollable passion. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. He was angry, coiled, and ready to strike.

  “You must forgive me. I never intended to put Augusta in any danger. Please,” she begged. “I love you.”

  Her plea seemed to only further infuriate him. “That, I’m afraid, is your misfortune.”

  The sharp pang in her chest would not go away. “You can’t be so dishonorable!”

  He held her gaze. “Dishonorable? I hardly think you are in any position to discuss the vagaries of honor, Lady Georgina. Is my conduct any less honorable than coercing an offer of marriage with every intention of refusing?”

  The blood drained from her face. Her heart stopped short.

  He noticed. “You’re shocked? Yes, I heard about your little game and I decided to teach you a lesson.”

  No. He couldn’t have found out. They’d been so careful. “My game?” she croaked.

  He laughed, a harsh sound that sent icy shards of fear shooting through her. “What do you call yourselves? The Rake Slayers?” He looked down his nose at her in that arrogant way she remembered. The arrogance and disdain that had always made him seem so distant and untouchable. “Quaint,” he continued. “But did you and your friends really think you had any chance of bringing experienced, sophisticated men up to scratch? An army of inexperienced, silly girls is hardly very threatening.” A devious grin turned his lips. “Though, I admit inexperience has its benefits.”

  Her chest squeezed so tight with fear and horror, she could barely find her voice. “You know?”

  His jaw locked. “Of course. You didn’t think I truly cared?” He studied her stricken expression. “Oh, I see you did.”

  Gina couldn’t believe this was happening. Had he known all along? It wasn’t possible. He did care for her. She couldn’t have been so horribly wrong. “When?”

  He shrugged, as if it held no importance. “Some time ago. I wanted to see how far you would go to win. You were laced up so tight, so nauseatingly prim and proper, the challenge to make you succumb was irresistible. I was pleased when my initial estimation of you proved true. You’re so certain of your own opinion you’ll risk everything just to prove you are right—even your so-called virtue. But when I think of what your inflated sense of your judgment nearly cost my sister…” His voice dropped off menacingly. “A silly, puffed-up-with-your-own-importance chit like you could never hold my interest.”

  Her voice strangled in her throat. She felt beaten. Stunned into rare silence by his cruel rejoinder.

  Their eyes met. Donning his hat and cloak, he held her gaze as he delivered his parting blow. “What do you really have to offer a man, Lady Georgina, except for the prize between your legs?” He laughed harshly. “But now you don’t even have that, do you?”

  And with that harsh reminder, he was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  His cruelty took her breath away, leaving her sputtering with slack-jawed disbelief. Gina felt as if he’d struck her. How could he speak to her so crudely? He’d seduced her for game? Her heart squeezed. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it.

  But if he didn’t, why did his words sting with the cruel edge of truth?

  Yes, she’d lost her “prize” virginity to him, but not her virtue. She’d given herself to a man she loved. What could be sinful about that?

  Reality lodged in her gut. Everything.

  Love wouldn’t matter. To society, she was ruined. A fallen woman.

  A woman without worth.

  Still, stubbornly, perhaps illogically, she would not concede his point. She was worth far more than her virginity, even if society did not agree.

  Yet, beyond the superficial taunt, his words held a far deeper element of truth that cut her to the core. As he knew it would. What indeed did she have to offer?

  What did a sheltered lady of the ton have to interest a self-indulgent rake? Why would he fall in love with her? She must seem naïvely silly to him. Her accomplishments narrow. She’d tried so hard to prove her worth to him, but nothing had worked out the way she’d planned. He’d taunted her with the truth from the beginning. She could help run an estate and sing passably well, but he could hire someone for the former and buy a ticket for the latter.

  She had nothing to commend her that couldn’t be replaced—hadn’t her stepmother proved that?

  No! The vehemence of the reaction took her aback. She couldn’t accept that she was as valueless as society believed, no matter what he said. She had so much to offer. If only he would give her a chance.

  But the frustrating man wouldn’t even allow her to speak in her own defense. He was judge, jury, and executioner all rolled together in one arrogant package. After all that they’d shared, to spew his venom and simply walk away without giving her a chance to explain! Her temper flared. It was simply unconscionable.

  Uncaring of her surroundings, or how she might appear to the footmen or anyone else passing by, she started to pace.

  How like him to give her no opportunity to explain before taking aim with his well-placed insults. Her hands went to her hips. Well, he wouldn’t walk away from her. She wouldn’t allow him to treat her the way he did everyone else in his life. She’d track him down and make him see the truth. If only she knew where the blasted man was going.

  She squared her shoulders and marched
toward the ballroom. She’d find Augusta and see if she knew.

  Gina wouldn’t let him go without a fight. This time, he would listen to her. He owed her that, at least. She’d apologize again for her role in Augusta’s misfortune and explain about the wager. It might have started out as a game, but surely he could see that she loved him?

  That stupid, silly wager. She should have confessed long ago. Especially after witnessing his reaction to the public lashing by his mother, and after what she’d learned about his history with his wife. She’d learned how sensitive he must be to any kind of public humiliation. And a ploy to bring him up to scratch simply for the purposes of refusal would certainly qualify. Without realizing it, their game had been well-conceived to extract the utmost in retribution. A perfect pound of flesh.

  She wouldn’t believe that nonsense about him concocting a devious plan to seduce her. There was something in his eyes when he spoke to her. It was cold anger, but fresh anger.

  She stopped suddenly and took a deep breath, relief wafting over her. It was anger that was speaking.

  A silly grin spread across her face, supremely satisfied that she’d figured everything out.

  Of course. That explained everything. He didn’t mean it. She knew him. This is what he did. He slipped back into his old behavior, closing himself off, detaching from his emotions and retreating to the cold comfort of his gaming hells and whores.

  The smile slid from her face.

  Whores. Her heart fell to her feet. He wouldn’t… would he?

  “I have a meeting to attend.” His words sprang to mind like a lightning rod.

  A cold hand gripped her chest. No.

  But she knew where he was going: Wycombe.

  Everything inside her leapt to attention and started churning at a frenzied speed. Her head pounded, her pulse raced, her breath quickened. The need to resolve this misunderstanding took on a frantic urgency. She had to find him and explain, to make him understand. Now. Immediately.

  She lifted her skirts and practically sprinted into the ballroom, oblivious to the strange glances cast in her direction. Where was Cecelia? Where was her stepmother? She looked around the room and didn’t see them. Oh, where could they be? Each minute of delay was slowly killing her. She had to find him before—unlike his cruel words—he did something she might not be able to forgive.

  Cecelia looked at Gina as if she’d just escaped from Bedlam. “Surely, you jest?”

  “I assure you, I’m quite in earnest,” Gina replied calmly, despite the frantic speed of her pulse. With each passing second, she was losing precious time. It had already taken her a few minutes to track down Cecelia and drag her away from her ever-present circle of admirers. But she needed Cecelia’s cooperation—Cecelia would be her alibi. Gina had just told her stepmother—thank goodness her father was out of town for a few days—that Cecelia was feeling a bit under the weather and that Gina had offered to accompany her home. She’d arrange for a note to be sent later informing the duchess that she’d decided to stay for the night.

  “So let me get this straight. You intend to follow Lord Coventry to Wycombe for a Hellfire meeting?” Cecelia shook her head. “Why don’t you just strip and run naked through Almack’s instead? The result will be the same.”

  “Very funny. But I have every intention of returning with my reputation intact.”

  Cecelia’s eyes narrowed. “Well, if you aren’t joking, I fear you may have lost your mind. You did look quite flushed and wild-eyed in the ballroom.” She shook her head. “You can’t go to Wycombe. What if someone recognizes you? You would be ruined.”

  I already am. Though Cecelia was right, it was foolish. But Gina didn’t have any other choice. “I’ll be extremely careful. I have to find him and explain.”

  “This very minute? Why can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  Because tomorrow would be too late. Gina knew it in her bones. “It just can’t. You see, he found out about the wager.”

  Cecelia’s eyes rounded. “Oh, no! He must have been furious.”

  Gina nodded. “To put it mildly.” Her composure faltered from the memory of his cold scorn and harsh words. “It was horrible.” Hot tears prickled behind her eyes. “I’m afraid of what he might do, Cece. I love him.”

  “Oh, Gina.” She sighed.

  Gina hated the pity on her friend’s face. It made her feel defensive.

  “It’s not what you think. I know he cares about me, but he’s angry about the wager and I’m scared that he’ll do something reckless.”

  Cecelia shook her head, still not convinced. “But still. Wycombe?”

  Gina lowered her gaze and felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “You don’t understand. I have to marry him.” Her hands clenched her broken fan until her knuckles turned white. “There might be consequences.”

  Gina’s cheeks burned as she waited for understanding to dawn. It didn’t take long. “A child?” Cecelia gasped. “Oh, Gina, no. You didn’t?”

  Silence was her confirmation.

  “This is all my fault,” Cecelia moaned. “I never should have suggested this ridiculous game in the first place.”

  Gina grasped her hand. “I’m glad you did. If you hadn’t, I never would have known him, and no matter what else happens, I’ll never be sorry for that.”

  Cecelia thought for a minute, steely determination hardening her gaze. “Very well. If you insist on doing this, I’m going with you.”

  Gina heaved a big sigh of relief. “Thank you. I have a plan, but we’ll need to hurry.” Gina wouldn’t have asked it of her, but she must admit she had hoped Cecelia would offer. The thought of going into the tunnels of Wycombe alone was terrifying. She had no idea what to expect, but she knew it would be scandalous and unlike anything she’d ever seen.

  It was well after midnight when the hack finally clattered past West Wycombe Park, the grand Palladian mansion that had been the seat of the Dashwood family since the turn of the last century, to begin its climb up the hill toward the Church of St. Lawrence. Despite the lull created by the long journey from London, Gina’s pulse quickened as they neared their destination.

  She forced herself to remain calm. They’d made it this far, now was not the time for second thoughts.

  Despite the impetuousness of her initial decision to follow Coventry to Wycombe, slipping out of London had not been as difficult as she’d anticipated. They’d made a short stop at Stafford House in part to fulfill the ruse of Cecelia’s illness, but also to pick up dominoes, masks, and coin. Quite a bit of coin. Gina frowned. They’d been forced to pay the hack driver the outrageous some of five guineas before he would agree to take them so far from town at this time of night, and then all of the money up front. It was probably more than the beastly man made in a month—or two!

  But they’d had no choice. Though they’d sworn Cecelia’s maid to secrecy (and if Gina knew Cecelia, there had likely been a bit of blackmail involved), and snuck out of the house without anyone seeing them, they could hardly take one of the Marquess’s carriages without alerting a slew of other servants. A hack had seemed the only alternative, and as there was a stand nearby on Cleveland Place, a simple—if uncomfortable—one.

  She rubbed her aching lower back. The threadbare cushions were as hard as a slab of granite and had provided little relief from the bumps and turns of the road.

  “Can you see anything yet?” Cecelia asked.

  Gina shook her head, then offered, “Here”—she moved to the side—“We can both try.”

  They peered out the small window into the darkness, anxious to see the infamous church with its strange tower topped with an enormous gold ball, and murmured their disappointment when the insufficient sliver of moon failed to accommodate them.

  A few minutes later, the coach slowed to a stop.

  “Is this it?” Cecelia asked, clearly unimpressed.

  Gina looked out the window and shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Nonetheless, it was obvious their journey in the coach had
come to an end. They adjusted their dominoes and masks right as the door opened. One-by-one, the driver helped them down. Although they’d managed to find a coach that wasn’t too shabby or dirty, the driver couldn’t claim the same. He’d given Gina a moment’s hesitation, one that she’d quickly discarded out of necessity rather than caution, as he’d claimed to know where to find the caves.

  “This is as far as I can go,” he said. “You’ll have to walk the rest.” His licentious grin revealed a decaying mess of blackened stubs, toothless gaps, and yellowed gums—an altogether revolting combination. He moved a little closer and Gina recoiled from the pungent stench of gin. “Unless you ladies would care for a little company?”

  Repulsed, Gina thought that it was unfortunate that Cecelia did not have something to blackmail a coachman with as well—they might have avoided this altogether. The driver had seemed gracious at first, but they’d lost quite a bit of respectability when they’d provided their destination. He’d only snickered when Gina claimed to be Cecelia’s lady’s maid. No doubt he thought they were a couple of well-spoken prostitutes. It was likely only the promise of further blunt that kept him at bay.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said in her most patrician tone. “You can wait for us right here. We won’t be long.”

  He cackled. “As you wish, my lady,” he exaggerated the last and topped it with a mocking bow.

  Gina glanced up the steep hill and could just make out the shadow of a building at the very top. It had to be St. Lawrence’s. Why anyone would put a church up at the top of a steep hill was beyond her comprehension. About halfway up the hill, she could just make out the lines of another structure.

  “Is that it?” She pointed with a sharp look to the driver.

  He nodded and grinned again. She wished he’d stop that.

  “Come on, Gina,” Cecelia said with a haughty turn of her chin to the driver. “Let’s go.”

  Though there wasn’t much light, the night was pleasantly cool as they started the climb up the hill. Every now and again, they’d turn to check on their progress and to make sure the hack was still there. A few times Gina thought he waved and appeared to be laughing. She hoped the hint of further recompense would keep him waiting, as relying upon his honor seemed far-fetched.