A Rake’s Guide to Seduction

by Caroline Linden

  Who sent these notes? she wondered. “No, Agnes, keep bringing them,” she said. But for some reason she didn’t tell the maid to try to find out who sent them.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lady Hillenby finally caught Anthony unawares after luncheon one day in the corridor outside his chamber. He had successfully avoided her for a week since her invitation to visit her bed, but now here she was, pressing up against him as he tried to excuse himself. Where was a man safe if he couldn’t retire to his room for a few minutes unmolested?

  Of course, he had slipped away to write a reply to Celia’s latest note. He could barely keep his mind on conversations now that she had started writing back to his messages; he was constantly composing replies, more replies than he could ever send. And now his inattention had led to this awkward confrontation.

  “We could slip away this very moment,” she was saying, her high, girlish voice making his head hurt. She seemed much too young to be doing this.

  “I have a prior engagement.”

  “Pshaw.” Her fingers walked down his chest until he caught her wrist. “It won’t take long. It never does.”

  “Ah, but if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing right,” he said gently. “I suggest you ask your husband to show you.”

  “I want you to show me.” She pouted, trying to pull free of his grip. “I’d not be the first one you’ve shown, would I?”

  “Lady Hillenby—”

  “Mr. Hamilton.” The voice stopped Lady Hillenby cold. For a moment fear flashed across her face, then disappeared under recognition. Anthony looked over her shoulder to see Celia standing there, watching him try to keep Lady Hillenby’s hands off him.

  “My brother is looking for you,” Celia said. “He would like to have Mr. Beecham show your horse.”

  “I was on my way to the stables just now,” he replied. “Thank you for passing on his message.”

  “I beg your pardon. I hope I did not interrupt.” Celia gazed right at Lady Hillenby, who assumed a small smirk.

  “Oh! Not too much.” Lady Hillenby gave Anthony a look from under her eyelashes. “I must be going, sir. Hillenby will want me.”

  Good, thought Anthony, for I never shall. He bowed his head and she strolled away, brushing past him a little too closely. When she had gone he looked at Celia. “Thank you,” he said again.

  A hint of a smile curved her mouth. “You are most welcome. I hesitated to interrupt, but then I sensed you would not mind.”

  Anthony glanced down the corridor again, to make certain Lady Hillenby was truly gone. “I shall be eternally grateful you interrupted.” Her hint of a smile grew. She had definitely smiled more in the past few days, Anthony was positive of it. He had certainly been watching her closely enough to know. “I was indeed on my way to the stables. Is Reece there waiting on me?”

  “Impatiently,” she confirmed. “I believe Lord William has piqued his temper with claims about his horse, and David wishes to prove him wrong by offering a comparison to a horse from his own stables.” She paused, pink coloring her cheeks. “I believe there may be money riding on the outcome.”

  “Ah,” said Anthony. “Then Percy is there as well.” This time Celia laughed. He felt a ridiculous burst of satisfaction at the sound. Lord, he loved her laugh. “Will you be viewing the contest?”

  “I am to be a judge, along with the other ladies,” she said, and when he offered his arm, she laid one hand on it.

  As they walked she explained what had occurred. Lord William and some other gentlemen had gone for a ride and upon their return had met some of the ladies out walking. Lord William had begun to demonstrate his horse’s fine points, and his actions only grew more extreme as the two Throckmorton girls exclaimed in awe and applauded his every move. But he had unsettled the other horses by doing it, and when Percy’s horse reared and almost threw him, David had called Lord William a buffoon and told him he ought to get a horse he could control—perhaps a pony. Lord William had retorted that he knew as much about breeding horses as David did. Before long, money had been wagered on who kept better horses, and now most of the party was assembled near the stable yard to see. David wished to have Mr. Beecham show off Anthony’s recently purchased mare, Hestia, as a testament to his stables. The gentlemen being involved in the wagering, it was decided the ladies would judge whose horse was superior.

  “Because ladies,” Celia finished dryly, “surely cannot be swayed by affectation and favor.”

  “Are you implying the Throckmorton ladies are not impartial?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “They have already assured Lord William he shall prevail.” Celia sighed and shook her head. “Such silly girls. They are sweet enough, but their heads are so easily turned.”

  “They are young.”

  “They are old enough to make a terrible mistake,” she murmured. “Being young and naive would be small comfort then.”

  Anthony thought there was a world of meaning in that statement. He wondered yet again how unhappy she had been in her marriage, and how deep her regrets might be. But Celia’s brow was clear. The shadows that had clouded her eyes were almost gone. She was still quieter than she had been as a girl, but she no longer seemed sad. Anthony realized they had reached the stable yard, and it was not his place to inquire anyway. David Reece strode up to them.

  “Hamilton, there you are.” He flashed a grin at his sister. “Thank you for offering to fetch him, Celia.”

  “It was my pleasure,” she said, taking her hand off Anthony’s arm. He felt its absence even as he tucked David’s words away in his mind. She had offered to fetch him? She walked over to join the other ladies, and David grew serious.

  “I say, would you mind if Simon took your mare out for a turn? I’m determined to show up that ass, Norwood, and you’ve got my best foal to date.”

  “Of course,” Anthony said. “I shall never hesitate to hand any horse of mine into Mr. Beecham’s hands. I still nourish hope he’ll leave your employ for mine.”

  David laughed. “Not a chance! I only hope you’ve not undone all my good work.”

  “I’ve only owned her a month.”

  “Precisely. A month in your company is enough to ruin any female.”

  Anthony gave him a black look, but David just laughed again and walked off, calling to his groom to fetch Mr. Hamilton’s horse. Anthony knew David spoke in jest, but still…He risked a glance in Celia’s direction. She was standing beside a young girl in a green riding habit; the duchess’s daughter, he remembered. The other ladies were several feet away from them. The men were on the far side of the yard, engaged in fierce debate. He should follow form and join them, at least for a while. Without looking at Celia again, he headed for the gentlemen.

  “But why must Uncle Reece do it now?” Molly kicked at the bottom slat of the fence, her face wrinkled up in a scowl. “I’m supposed to have my riding lesson now.”

  “It shouldn’t take long, Molly,” said Celia with a smile. “Half an hour, no more.”

  The girl rolled her eyes and let out a gusty sigh. “An eternity! If only this house party were almost over. I cannot wait for everything to go back to normal.”

  Celia shook her head, clasping Molly’s hand. She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned down to whisper in Molly’s ear. “I cannot either. But we must both bear up as best we can, hmm?”

  “Aren’t you enjoying it?” Molly’s brown eyes opened wide. “Betty and Miss Parrish said the party was all for you.”

  Celia’s smile grew strained. Betty the nursemaid and Miss Parrish the governess shouldn’t gossip around such keen ears. But then, a small part of her had to admit, in all fairness, she was enjoying the party now. It just wasn’t due to the guests—or rather, one particular guest was responsible for her increased enjoyment of the other guests’ company. Just the sight of the little folded notes on her breakfast tray made Celia happy. Molly hardly needed to know that, however. “It is, in a way. My mother invited several of my friends to we
lcome me back from Cumberland.”

  Molly looked doubtfully across the yard at Lord William, who was turning his horse through tight figures as the Misses Throckmorton giggled and waved their handkerchiefs at him. “Oh. I didn’t realize they were all your friends, Aunt Celia.”

  Celia looked at Lord William, too. She couldn’t guess why her mother had invited him, except that he was handsome, heir to a marquis, and—most important—unmarried. She sincerely hoped her mother didn’t think she would fall in love with the likes of Lord William. “Well, some of them are my dear friends,” she said. “Not all.”

  Her companion thought for a moment, watching the prancing horse and preening rider. “I hope he’s a very good dancer,” she said at last. “He’s certainly not a very good horseman.”

  Celia choked and had to clap one hand over her mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. Trust Molly to speak as she felt.

  “Are you well, Lady Bertram?”

  She jumped and lurched around, almost losing her balance and falling backward. Anthony caught her, his hands at her elbows, and for a moment Celia swayed in his grip. Out of nowhere it occurred to her that she had never realized how strong he was. “Yes,” she said breathlessly, gazing up at him. “Quite.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. For a moment he scrutinized her, and then his expression eased. He released her and his hands fell away. Celia took a step back and looked away, flustered more than she ought to have been.

  “Are they nearly done?” asked Molly in a hopeless tone, still watching Lord William.

  Anthony tore his eyes off Celia, and his mind off what might be making her choke on laughter, and turned to the little girl. “Not quite. I believe Norwood has nearly finished, though.”

  The child turned. “Is the other horse yours?” she asked with more interest. She was charmingly direct.

  Anthony nodded. “Indeed it is.”

  She looked at the horse, which Mr. Beecham had just led out. “She’s a beautiful horse. We saw her in the stable the other day.”

  “Thank you. I am proud to own her.”

  “Molly, have you met Mr. Hamilton?” Celia asked, finally composed again. “Mr. Hamilton, may I present to you Miss Molly Preston, my niece. Miss Preston, may I present Mr. Hamilton, a friend of mine.”

  Anthony bowed, and the little girl dropped a very proper curtsy. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Preston.”

  “And I yours, Mr. Hamilton.” She then ruined her serious demeanor by declaring, “And I hope your horse wins, because it is far better than his!”

  Anthony laughed, and Celia smiled. Their eyes met, and for a moment Anthony forgot everything around him. There was a glow about her face that hadn’t been there even a few days ago.

  “Are you not watching with the other gentlemen?” Celia asked him.

  “Er—no. I have been dismissed on grounds of bias.” Percy had said he must go away and not win all their money. So here he was, far happier to be standing with Celia instead.

  Across the yard, Lord William had finished his performance and leaped off his horse’s back. With an elaborate flourish, he gave a deep bow in the direction of the ladies. As he did so, the tail of his riding whip slapped his horse on the nose. With a loud neighing, the already excited, high-strung stallion reared up. Lord William fell on his face in the dirt, scrambling away like a crab as his horse bucked a few times, then started racing about the yard.

  As the ladies screamed in alarm and the gentlemen came running, Anthony looked to his own horse, vulnerable for being in the same enclosure. Mr. Beecham was ahead of him, though. He tossed Hestia’s reins over the fence to Anthony, then took off after the snorting stallion. The young groom came to a stop in the center of the yard and whistled. The stallion slowed, turned toward him, then charged. Just as Celia gasped and clutched at Anthony’s arm, Mr. Beecham stepped to the side a moment before he would have been trampled, grabbed the stallion’s mane, and swung himself onto the horse’s back. It took him two more circuits of the yard to calm the animal down to a trot, but by the time he did, the men were cheering, the ladies were applauding, and Lord William had crawled through the fence, red-faced and covered with dirt.

  “Bravo, Mr. Beecham!” cried Molly, clapping her hands and stamping one foot. “Bravo!”

  “Good show, Simon!” David shouted, leaping over the fence as two more grooms warily approached the stallion. Anthony looked down at Celia. She gave him a sparkling smile, her eyebrows raised.

  “I believe you won, sir.” Aside from flicking her ears and tossing her head once, Hestia hadn’t stirred during the commotion, not even when the stallion flew by her.

  “Yes, I expect I did.” Her hands were still wrapped around his arm; prize enough, to Anthony’s mind.

  “And now I can have my riding lesson,” said Molly happily. The two grooms were leading Lord William’s sweating, snorting stallion away, and David was shaking Mr. Beecham’s hand. “I should go see that Lucinda is saddled at once.” Without a word of farewell, she ran past them toward the stable.

  Celia released his arm as if she had just realized she was holding it. “Molly loves to ride,” she said, a note of apology in her voice.

  “And she clearly recognizes quality horseflesh.” Anthony nodded. “I believe I like the young lady exceedingly.”

  Celia met his eyes again and burst out laughing. Anthony felt something shift inside him as he gazed into her face, cheeks pink and eyes bright with laughter. Lord help me, he thought, knowing it was useless; he was almost surely long past help.

  The rest of the party converged on them then, in a frenzy of amazement at Mr. Beecham’s bravery and skill. Celia gave him a wry glance and slipped away with the other ladies. Anthony tried not to watch her go, but it was hard. His eyes seemed drawn to her no matter where he was, no matter where they were. He would give himself away if he weren’t more careful.

  That evening was no different. Twice he caught himself looking at her across the room. It was a weakness, he knew, but one he was increasingly helpless to resist. Every time he heard her laugh, or even just her voice, he instinctively looked her way. Each night that he poured out his heart to her on paper, he lost a little more of his protective armor, his ever-present shield of indifference. As long as he didn’t care—as long as he could tell himself it was solely in the name of lifting her spirits for her sake alone—he was invincible.

  The trouble was, her answering letters made him want to care. They made him begin to think impossible things possible. And he didn’t think the impossibility of his hopes would comfort him when they came to naught, no matter what he had once told Celia. There was a growing connection between them, for all that it passed unseen and unspoken, a connection that reached past his affection for her, through his jaded history, and into a heart he had long since ignored. It colored every thought he had of her and was beginning to affect his actions around her. He was dropping his guard far too often.

  It was unnerving. Anthony was not accustomed to losing his head over a woman. Normally he was the one who looked away from her, and he certainly never gazed longingly across a room at a woman. And yet tonight he’d caught himself doing it twice.

  “You look damned pleased with yourself.” Ned had come up beside him and laughed at his startled expression. “Surely not just the triumph of owning a superior horse. What is it, I wonder? A tedious new invention to fund? A new way to double your funds on the Exchange?” Ned cast a glance at the ladies on the other side of the drawing room. “A new woman to warm your bed?”

  He made himself smile negligently. His heart still knocked against his ribs at being caught without his mask in place. “Nothing half so interesting.”

  “That’s a disappointment,” said Ned in disapproval, taking out his watch to check the time. “I expected more of you.”

  “You’ve always assured me I’m a dull fellow. How pleased you must be to find yourself in the right for once.”

  “So you are, so you are. Still
, there’s a number of handsome women about. And I believe…” Ned lowered his voice. “I believe I am making rather good progress with one lady.”

  Anthony glanced down. A ribbon the color of spring daffodils was tied around Ned’s watch fob. “A token from the lady?”

  Ned started, then looked down. He stuffed the ribbon into his pocket, although not before a fleeting expression of satisfaction crossed his face. “Perhaps.”

  He looked away, letting it go. His thoughts churned. It could be from any lady, of course. Ned might have had it for months. But from the way Ned was watching the ladies across the room—including Celia—Anthony suspected he had not. And it was yellow.

  But did it follow that Celia had given him the ribbon? No, he thought, watching her. The words of her last note ran before his mind’s eye: I believe you have known heartbreak and loss as I have, for no one else could understand the despair one suffers from being so mistaken in love. She had had her heart broken; she had been mistaken, and she had suffered for it. Celia would not go about handing out ribbons as tokens of affection to a gentleman who wasn’t even certain of her regard. Even if she had meant that yellow ribbon as a sign for him, she had been answering his letters ever since.

  He wondered if she thought Ned wrote the letters to her, as he sat at his desk later that night to write to her again. The idea was utterly laughable to Anthony, but Celia didn’t know Ned as he did. Ned counted on his face and his manner to win a woman’s affection. He had no fortune of his own, and no title. He also had no scandalous reputation to detract from his charm. He had no need to hide behind anonymous notes.

  Anthony didn’t care, though, as he dipped the pen and began to write. The words Celia wrote were for him and him alone, whether she knew it or not. He might never have more of her than a handful of letters, but it was more than he had had before, and it was enough, for now. If this were the only way he could bare his soul to her, he would do it.