As if to prove the truth of her thoughts, he held her gaze and smiled. A slow, cruel smile. A vicious taunt that left no doubt he was doing this for her.
Indeed, his focus seemed to be entirely on her. He barely seemed aware of the woman on his lap who was bouncing against him in the throes of pleasure, her gasps increasing in urgency and frequency. He hardly seemed a participant at all.
But he was, and to drive the final nail into her heart, he threw his head back and groaned his pleasure. The deep, primal sound cut like a dull knife eviscerating her heart from its protective cage. The pain was excruciating. She felt as though her soul was bleeding through her skin, the very essence of her being collecting in a pool of heartache at her feet.
She must have made a sound because in the throes of his release, their eyes met for the final time. She looked into the black, flat eyes of a stranger.
This is who I am.
She believed him. The man she thought she loved didn’t exist.
He’d never valued or loved her. Like Lady Alice, Gina was just another conquest who foolishly had fallen into his depraved clutches. And this was the bitter proof. But did it need to hurt so much?
“Are you just going to stand there watching or do you want to join us?” he taunted. “There is always room for one more.”
Her heart twisted. With his lewd invitation, her sense of desolation and utter heartbreak was complete.
It was over. The fight had left her. She was done trying to love the unloveable. Coventry was a rake through and through. Irredeemable. A man whose instinct at the first sign of difficulty was to indulge in an endless stream of debauchery and vice.
What she’d done was wrong, and she knew she’d hurt him. But that didn’t excuse this. Even if she could find it in her heart to forgive him, she wouldn’t. This was who he was. Who he would always be. And God knew, she wasn’t perfect. Someday soon she would disappoint him again. And when she did, he would turn on her again, striking with deadly precision like the coldhearted snake his eyes proclaimed him to be.
She straightened her back, calling on the inner fortitude and resilience that had always been her source of strength. She’d had enough. She didn’t want to live with the fear of his retribution every time she did something wrong. She wasn’t going to chase him down to whatever gaming hell or whorehouse he’d run to to drown his pain.
It almost seemed as if he was waiting for her to fail him. As if this were the only resolution he believed was possible. A self-fulfilling prophecy of disappointment and failure.
She’d tried, but she’d failed. A rake could not be tamed, even by love.
Mustering up her remaining shred of pride, she looked him straight in the eye. “No, thank you.” But the pain was too much—the heartbreak too complete—and her voice broke. “I believe I’ve had enough.”
She’d given her heart to a man who could not love.
With one last look of regret, and tears burning down her cheeks, she turned and walked away.
He didn’t come after her. Not that she thought he would.
Tears blurred her vision. Furious for wasting any further emotion on him, Gina wiped the offending tears away with the back of her hand and made her way back to the banqueting hall.
She deeply regretted coming here in the first place, and her only concern right now was to find Cecelia and leave. Before any further damage was done. Before her emotions shattered into a million pieces.
Doing her best to remain inconspicuous, she wove her way through the revelers, carefully avoiding contact with anyone, vigilantly searching for Cecelia all the while.
Relieved to have made it to the opposite tunnel without harm, Gina breathed a premature sigh of relief, only to trip over a rock and stumble into the arms of a waiting stranger.
“Hey, what’s this? A gift from the Gods, perhaps?” He reached out to steady her. Like many of the others he wore a robe, so at first she didn’t recognize him.
Their eyes met. Gina drew in her breath. She’d fallen right into the arms of Lord Rockingham.
The twinkle of playfulness disappeared in an instant. Apparently, her disguise was not as good as she’d hoped. “Lady Georgina?” he asked disbelievingly.
Gina nodded.
Without another word, he steered her toward the closest empty cell. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Despite the circumstances, she was taken aback at his unusually harsh tone. “I… I…” She didn’t know what to say.
Gently, he tipped her chin back. Perhaps noticing her red, swollen eyes behind the mask, he asked in a softer voice, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
His obvious concern, in contrast with the cold dispassion she’d met with earlier, broke the dam of control she’d fought so hard to contain. She burst into tears, sobbing and choking out a jumbled account of the events that had transpired tonight. Though she didn’t tell him all of the ugly details, he obviously filled in the blanks.
He studied her with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Am I right to believe that you have some cause to think that Coventry would offer for you?”
She guessed what he was asking. She owed it to him to be honest with him. She took a deep breath and said unflinchingly, “Yes.”
“Bastard.” His face darkened. He was silent for a long time.
Finally, he seemed to have come to a decision. “You have to get out of here before anyone sees you.”
She shook her head. “I can’t leave without Cecelia.”
“Is she dressed in a similar fashion?”
Gina nodded.
He swore. “I saw her earlier. And if she is where I think she is, you won’t be able to help her.”
At her gasp of alarm, he reached out to take her hand to comfort her. “I do not believe she is in any danger. Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything.”
“But I can’t leave without her.” Did he hear the rising hysteria in her voice?
“I’m afraid I must insist. You’ll have to trust me. You’ll take my carriage. I’ll find her and see her home safely. You have my word on it.”
This was a different side of Rockingham. A decisive, take-charge side that was so different from the carefree rogue she’d known in Newmarket.
With no other choice, Gina nodded and gave herself over to his direction, too heartbroken to do anything else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Damned whisky.” Coventry hurled the empty piece of crystal against the wood-paneled wall, watching with churlish satisfaction as it splintered and burst into thousands of tiny shards.
It was useless. The whisky didn’t work. Nor did the Madeira, claret, port, or ale for that matter. There wasn’t a drink yet invented that was strong enough to make him forget. One week after the events at Wycombe, and he’d begun to think he never would.
He sat in the darkened study of Coventry House, face buried in his hands, fingers clenching his shaggy hair. God, he was tired. Weary to the bone from a week of struggle and torment.
A soft knock at the door startled him from his dark musings. He heard some mumbling before a hesitant, clearly concerned Jennings asked, “My lord”—he cleared his throat—“we heard a noise.”
“I do not wish to be disturbed,” Coventry barked. But he was disturbed. Constantly. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t do anything. The state of cold apathy he’d counted on eluded him.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. For years he’d closed himself off, avoiding the entanglements that would make him susceptible to the vulnerability he hoped to never feel again. He’d thought that by turning his back on his feelings he could prevent the pain.
But then why was he still hurting?
Because no matter what he did, he couldn’t block her out.
She’d invaded his soul. Perhaps he should exchange the whisky for a priest. But he doubted even exorcism would work. He didn’t think he’d ever be rid of her. Those eyes, unwavering in their contempt, would haunt him forever.
/>
Besieged by the constant guilt and the memories of her stricken gaze, Coventry had started to question whether he’d made a mistake. Inevitably the burning, lashing anger had faded, and with it went his righteous justification for the destruction that he’d wrought.
Too late, in the clear light of day, he’d recognized the wager for what it was: a girl’s prank. Not unlike some of the not-quite-so-honorable things he’d done in his own past.
He should have given her the opportunity to explain, instead he’d simply reacted. Cruelly. Contemptibly. He couldn’t shake the sense of shame, or the knowledge that he’d acted quite beyond the bounds of honor and decency—even for him.
He racked his brain for answers. Had she really betrayed him? Had it all been just an elaborate ruse to bring him up to snuff?
Now he didn’t think so.
Georgina had betrayed him with a silly game, yes, but he’d allowed his pride to get in the way of the truth. She loved him. Or had loved him. Before he’d fulfilled all of her worst beliefs about his character. He’d deliberately wanted to hurt her as badly as she had him. And Coventry knew only too well how to hurt.
He’d let another woman touch him intimately and pretended to swive her right in front of Gina. Worse, he knew it wouldn’t have been acting at all had his body cooperated. A limp prick was hardly the best defense. The intention—at least initially—to lose himself in drink and sexual abandon had been real.
Georgina would never forgive him. Never trust him. Indeed, why should she? He’d never given her any reason to.
He rubbed his temples. Damn, his head hurt. He knew he must look as wretched as he felt, but he couldn’t shut himself away in here forever. Augusta’s engagement party was only hours away.
She would be there. He was going to have to face her.
The knowledge surrounded him, booming like a sentinel of awareness hovering over him.
What in Hades was he going to do?
He didn’t know, but clearly he had to do something. He couldn’t go on like this. His eye caught the spray of broken glass glittering on the carpet. Damned childish. Just like everything else he did lately, it seemed.
Coventry dragged himself out of his chair and yanked open the door, calling for a servant to clean up the mess. If only his other messes were as easily swept away.
Coventry had envisioned her face so many times in the past week it took him a moment to realize that Georgina was actually there, and wasn’t just a breathtakingly beautiful figment of his imagination.
The dull throb in his chest sharpened. Regret, remorse, guilt. All banding together in a poignant reminder of what he’d so carelessly tossed away.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked regal, proud, and impossibly graceful. The quintessential sophisticated lady of the ton. Not the heartbroken girl he remembered from the caves. He suffered a sharp twinge. What had he expected? That she would be in mourning for him?
In truth, yes.
He’d selfishly hoped that she would be just as affected as he was. But if she was suffering, it didn’t show.
She’d recovered from her disappointment beautifully. Too beautifully. She wore a curve-hugging, soft-green gown of some diaphanous fabric that perfectly complemented her eyes. Her silky hair was twisted up in another mind-bogglingly complicated arrangement at the back of her head, with tiny ringlets enchantingly framing her elfin face. Her red pouty mouth with those soft, lush lips taunted him with the remembrance of passion he would never forget.
Painstakingly, he looked for subtle changes to her expression, signs that she was as conflicted as he. But her skin was as smooth and soft as always, her complexion a delicious confection of cream tinged with peaches that tasted of honey and felt like velvet.
He couldn’t deny the blistering disappointment. He’d half-expected to see her pale and wan with white lines of strain around her mouth and eyes red and shadowed from lack of sleep. A mirror to his own face.
Had he been wrong? Had he only imagined her feelings?
Not until this moment had he realized how important the answer was to him.
Their eyes met, knocking the very breath from him as he waited for a reaction. Any reaction. A wait that proved agonizing. Finally, he thought he saw a flicker before her gaze shuttered once again and the connection was snapped.
But then the impossible happened.
The impossible that caused his heart first to skip, then soar to the heavens. She was heading directly toward him with a look on her face that he recognized well. A look of determination. Relief crashed over him. She hadn’t given up on him. Sweet, tenacious, little Georgina hadn’t given up. She was going to give him a chance to explain. She, too, recognized the ties that bound them together.
He took a step toward her and stopped with an abrupt jolt as she changed directions. He’d erred. She wasn’t coming to him. She was with Rockingham—who he hadn’t noticed until this moment—and they were making their way toward Augusta.
Not toward him.
He bit back the crush of disappointment, realizing he’d been a fool. She wouldn’t come after him again.
The game was over.
Or was it?
His mouth twisted in a grimace. He had to find out.
Gina had just finished offering her felicitations to the happy couple when the tiny hairs at the back of her neck stood up.
She didn’t need to turn around to know that Coventry approached.
She braced herself, able to control everything but the fierce pounding of her heart. She’d sensed his eyes on her the moment she walked into the room. Why, she couldn’t guess. He’d made his disdain for her perfectly clear at Wycombe. Still, she’d known that they were bound to cross paths tonight at some point. Apparently, the time for confrontation had arrived.
Her legs jiggled like jelly, but she forced herself to stand tall. She would get through this. She refused to allow this man to hurt her ever again.
A week of reflection had done nothing to dull the whiplash of shock and pain that she’d experienced in those ghastly caves.
The long journey back to London in Lord Rockingham’s carriage was largely a blur, but thankfully, he’d kept his promise. Cecelia had returned not long after Gina crept her way back into Cecelia’s chambers. Apparently, they both had much to thank Lord Rockingham for. It was only due to his intervention that they’d narrowly escaped disaster. When Cecelia had gone back to check the hack, it and its crooked driver had disappeared. Without Rockingham, they would have been stranded at Wycombe, and their secret journey would surely have been discovered.
Gina frowned. Other than to assure Gina that she was unhurt, Cecelia had been unusually recalcitrant about discussing what had happened after they were separated. Indeed, as if by some unspoken understanding, neither of them seemed inclined to share their accounts of the events of that evening.
Events. A rather innocuous way of putting it. An unwanted image assailed her of the woman on his lap throwing her head back in pleasure as their bodies moved together. Gina felt the blow as if it had just happened. Would she never purge the image from her mind?
He’d known it was her and had deliberately wanted to hurt her. In one vicious act he’d slain her love.
Without ever giving her the opportunity to explain.
In not confiding in him about the wager, Gina had made a mistake—she knew that—but it did not excuse his reaction. Would he regress to his old habits every time she erred? Would she have to chase him down and pull him from the clutches of another woman each time she disappointed him?
She couldn’t live like that.
Even if Coventry were to regret his actions, it wouldn’t matter. She deserved a man who valued her, and clearly, by his own words and actions, Coventry did not.
She thought she’d seen something deeper in him. A vulnerable boy hiding beneath a bitter, cynical man. She hadn’t imagined the kindness to his sister and his tenderness with her… had she? She’d thought he’d needed her. Maybe sh
e’d been blinded by his handsome face. Maybe she’d seen what she wanted to see, and he was in fact, as he appeared. A hard, cruel man bent on finding pleasure whatever way he could.
Still, a small part of her shattered heart went out to him. To the man who chose a life of isolation over the richness of the life that could be his. She understood him, understood the pain that prevented him from accepting her love. He was a hard man, forged by the unpleasantness of his past. But she would not make excuses for him any longer. Compassion and understanding would not make her his whipping post.
He’d gone too far.
She pushed the image from her mind and felt a reassuring squeeze on her arm. She looked up into the worried, though undeniably striking, blue eyes of Lord Rockingham.
“Be forewarned”—he bent down to whisper in her ear—“There is a gentleman making his way toward us.”
She might argue about the word gentleman, but she gave him a grateful smile. Despite his rakish proclivity, Gina had discovered that Lord Rockingham was a genuinely kind man. Not for the first time she wondered why she couldn’t have fallen in love with someone like him.
With the end of the season approaching, Gina knew her time for a decision was running out. Her father would return from the country at any time, and when he did, he’d expect an answer. The man she’d fallen in love with was lost to her; it no longer made a difference whom she married. Why not the man her father had chosen for her? She would never love him, but she liked him, and he seemed to admire her. Perhaps that was enough.
“Thank you for the warning, but that is all in the past,” she said firmly.
He quirked his mouth, disbelieving. “As you say. But say the word…”
She shook her head. “It won’t be necessary.” She didn’t need Lord Rockingham to rescue her. She wasn’t in any danger from Lord Coventry. He no longer had the power to hurt her.
She chanced a glance in Coventry’s direction only to see his face cloud with anger. Steeling herself for the coming storm, she wondered what other punishment he sought to inflict on her.
Taming the Rake Page 28