A Rake's Redemption

by Cynthia Breeding

  “I am sure your father holds out hope that someone will catch your eye.”

  “That is a kind way to put it,” Caroline answered drily. “What my father cares about is making a good match and producing an heir. Preferably a male one, since I am an only child. Even though George hadn’t inherited the title yet, my father was delighted when your brother started paying attention to me.”

  “George and his damn title.”

  “I don’t think my father has forgiven me for letting that slip.” Caroline gave Alex a wry smile as she reached for the coat she’d slung over the chair. “Imagine a knight’s daughter becoming a duchess.”

  “George is an ass,” Alex said. “So are his cronies. If I were a woman and had to marry one of them, I’d probably run for the hills.”

  Caroline gave him a rueful look. “Maybe you should book passage on that ship to America for Inis and me.”

  Alex frowned and helped her on with her coat. “What do you mean?”

  “Lately, my father has been remarking that I am not getting any younger. I was not jesting that he wants a grandchild, one whose father has a title.”

  “Well, the Marquis of Kendrick is available,” Alex said with a grin. “I could ask him—”

  “No. Don’t dare humiliate me like that.”

  Alex blinked, surprised at the angry flush on Caroline’s cheeks. “I was attempting a bit of humor. Your father would be caught between the proverbial rock and hard place…a son-in-law with a lofty title, but not well received by Prinny’s set.”

  “I do not give a bloody fig about the Prince Regent and his hangers on,” Caroline said. “They can all go straight to perdition.”

  Alex blinked again, wondering at the vehemence in her tone. He knew Caroline had spent time at Court and also the Prince Regent’s summer home in Brighton since her father served in some capacity of the Prince’s entourage, but she rarely mentioned it. If there was a woman of Alex’s acquaintance who was more unimpressed with aristocrats than Caroline, he would be hard put to name her.

  Except for Inis. What a strange afterthought. She was not even English.

  “I doubt your father expects you to marry the Prince,” Alex said, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Only because the Prince already has a wife and a mistress,” Caroline replied and then looked over Alex’s shoulder at the wall. “But there are others.”

  “Others?”

  “My father has mentioned several of the Prince’s set that might agree to marry me. I do have a considerable dowry since I have no siblings.” Caroline shrugged cynically. “And the Prince’s friends are fond of spending money.”

  “I would wager, pardon the expression, that a lot of gaming halls hold the aristocrats’ vowels.” When Caroline didn’t smile at his attempt at a jest, Alex frowned. “Has your father mentioned anyone specifically?”

  “Not yet, but they are all doddering old fools. I will not marry any of them.” Evans appeared as they entered the foyer, and Caroline lowered her voice. “America might not be so bad. I could take Inis’s place if you decide to woo and keep her here.”

  Alex didn’t have a chance to respond since his butler had opened the door, but as he walked back toward the library, his thoughts were more jumbled than ever.

  Wooing Inis was impossible. Out of the question. He had no right to take advantage. But she had felt so good in his arms.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Dancing? Dancing?” Miranda couldn’t believe what Fern had just told her moments ago when Leah had brought her to the drawing room. “Obviously, the girl is recovered from the ague.”

  Fern snickered. “That was a ruse, my lady. Inis has not been ill.”

  Miranda narrowed her eyes. Why would Caroline Nash have told them such a thing? The obvious reason was to keep inquisitive people away from the Irish slut. But why? And how well did Caroline know the little bitch anyhow? Miranda had not been concerned with Caroline before. All of Society knew she’d been besotted with George Ashley and he’d rejected her and that she still pined for him. But maybe Caroline had decided to set her cap for Alex instead? Although that did not make sense, either. Misery might love company, but why involve Inis O’Brien?

  “What was the purpose of this dancing lesson?” Miranda asked.

  Fern gave her a coy look. “I think there is a plot afoot.”

  Miranda didn’t hide her irritation. “I am paying you to keep me informed, am I not?”

  Fern’s face grew impassive. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Then what is this plan that is afoot?”

  Fern lowered her voice even thought they were the only two in the room. “I think Lord Ashley is preparing Inis for something.”

  “For what, precisely?”

  “I…I am not sure. But…I think his lordship is training Inis to act like a lady.”

  “And Caroline Nash is helping him?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s given Inis lessons in eating proper and walking proper and talking proper—”

  “But why?”

  Fern faltered, looking uncertain. “I only know what I see and can overhear.”

  Miranda smiled at Fern. “But what do you think all these lessons are leading to?”

  The maid practically preened at being asked her opinion. Miranda had found that sometimes there were small seeds of fact buried in opinions. And sometimes it was the smallest, seemingly unimportant comment that told it all. “Go ahead. Tell me what you think.”

  Fern raised her chin and gave a little sniff that hinted she might have thoughts of aspiring to higher status herself. Miranda managed not to grimace. Stupid woman. Servants did not advance to upper class.

  “As I was leaving the room, I happened to hear Miss Nash ask Lord Ashley something about taking Inis to his brother’s ball,” Fern said.

  “Was there anything else you might have heard?”

  Fern hesitated.

  “Well, is there? Just come out with it.”

  Fern took a breath before she answered. “Miss Nash asked Lord Ashley if he was going to take Inis to the ball as a visiting lady or someone he was courting.”

  “What?” Miranda’s former elation was short lived. Damn it. The little bitch… Miranda took a deep breath herself and managed to sound calm. “And what was Lord Ashley’s response?”

  “I…I don’t know, my lady,” Fern replied. “Elsie came down the hall and I had to move.”

  Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Why couldn’t the stupid maid have remained a moment longer? This was unacceptable. The only mistress Alexander Ashley would be having in the future was Miranda.

  The Duke of Dansworth’s ball was in less than a month, but Inis would not be attending. Miranda directed another smile at Fern.

  “I will have one more assignment for you.”

  …

  “I really doona like a sidesaddle,” Inis said two afternoons later as she and Alex rode toward Hyde Park.

  Alex gave her a muted look, and she supposed she shouldn’t be grumbling. He had, after all, finally agreed to let her take Goldie back to the park. But the blasted saddle with its high horn meant to keep her leg in place was uncomfortable and unbalanced her. Goldie was also sidling sideways, unused to the uneven weight.

  “As I mentioned several days ago, I am trying to establish you as a lady. And ladies ride sidesaddle in proper habits with divided skirts.”

  The divided skirt was another thing Inis didn’t like, but she held her tongue. It was bulky compared to the breeches that hugged her legs. Not only did the extra material get in her way, but she was constantly having to tug the hem down so her half boot or—heaven forbid—her calf would not show.

  “We could have come early this morning when the ton was still lolling abed,” Inis said. “No one would have seen us.”

  “But that’s precisely the point,” Alex answered. “I want you seen in public several times before the ball, albeit under carefully controlled conditions.”

  What he meant was guarded conditions, a
lthough Inis wasn’t about to argue. The fewer times she had to mingle or interact with the ton, the better. The short exchange at the theatre had given her an idea of the kind of interrogation she would face at a whole evening of exposure. She’d already started considering which far-flung O’Briens who had vague claim to old titles she might use to cast a red herring across the path of inquiry, but she would still have to be careful not to give away too much information.

  “You do agree with me that your image should be improved in time for George’s ball? And that we are on a short schedule?” Alex asked as they rode through the Alexandra Gate.

  “I suppose,” Inis said and then widened her eyes as she looked to her right. “Is that a race track? I dinna see it the last time we were here.”

  “That’s Rotten Row, not a sanctioned track,” he answered as two young hellions galloped by. How many times had his father berated him for doing the same thing? Too many to count.

  “I want to try,” Inis said.

  “Try what?”

  “Racing. Well, galloping. If Caroline and your friend are going to spread it about that I rode in breeches on a dare, I canna just change into a meek bit of fluff, can I? Besides, I want to see how Goldie handles the sidesaddle.” Inis tapped the filly’s flanks. “Come on.”

  “Wait. You cannot…” Alex found himself talking to the wind. He nudged his gelding forward and, unlike his stallion, the horse broke into a frustrating, slow canter.

  His scalp prickled a split second before he saw the catastrophe about to take place. A carriage entering through Albert Gate began to cross the track. He saw Inis attempt to rein in, but Goldie shied, leaping sideways. Inis swayed in the sidesaddle, and Alex could see her fighting for balance. He cursed as he kicked the gelding to a gallop, but he was too late. Inis flew forward over the filly’s withers and landed with a solid thud on the ground. Goldie halted and hung her head.

  Alex slid off his horse before it came to a complete stop beside the filly and dropped to the ground beside Inis. She looked dazed and then grimaced at him.

  “Don’t move,” Alex said as he slid his hands over her shoulders and arms and checked her ribs. His fingers wanted to linger there, but he made himself slide his hands along her legs to check for broken bones.

  A part of his brain reminded him he’d done a similar examination of her body when she fell down the stairs. It seemed the only times he could touch her the way he really wanted to were times when those thoughts shouldn’t even be intruding. But he couldn’t deny his desire for her was growing.

  A crowd was gathering as Inis sat up, attempting to untangle her skirts. One side had hiked up, and Alex tugged the hemline down. It was an improper move on his part—much too intimate—but he was not about to leave nearly her whole leg uncovered for the gapers in the group. He helped her stand, felt her wobble a bit, and put a supporting arm around her waist. Another highly inappropriate move, but he didn’t really care.

  “We can take her home in the carriage,” the woman whose husband caused the accident called out.

  Alex turned, for the first time recognizing the man as the Earl of Pickford, one of George’s cronies whose wife Alex had thankfully not seduced.

  “She will ride with me,” Alex said, lifting Inis before she could protest and putting her on the gelding’s back, then vaulting up behind her. The countess gasped.

  At any other time, Alex would have grinned as he leaned over to catch Goldie’s reins. Within the hour, the gossip would be spreading about his mysterious houseguest and his totally improper behavior, but for now all Alex wanted to do was get Inis home and tucked safely into his—her—bed. To rest, of course.

  As they rode away, he realized what he really wanted was Inis in his bed.

  …

  “I really am fine,” Inis muttered to Elsie as the maid plumped up some pillows behind Inis an hour later. “There was no need to call the doctor…again.”

  “His lordship insisted,” Elsie said.

  “I have a little bump on my head.” Inis shoved the sheet back and started to get out of bed. “I have to tend to Goldie.”

  Elsie grasped the sheet and pulled it over her. “The doctor said to rest.”

  “I have rested. For a whole hour. I’m fine.”

  “Lord Ashley gave orders.”

  Inis raised a brow. “Orders? What kind of orders?”

  “You are to stay in bed the rest of the day.”

  “But Goldie…” Inis attempted to get out of bed once more, but Elsie pushed her back.

  “Jameson will take care of the horse,” Elsie said.

  “But ye doona understand. The filly will think she did a bad thing today.”

  “Horses do not think.”

  “But they do,” Inis exclaimed. “Ye should have seen her, hanging her head when Alex—Mr. Ashley—led her back riderless. She was ashamed.”

  Elsie rolled her eyes. “Horses do not feel such things.”

  It probably was useless to argue. Elsie was not a horsewoman. Inis doubted the maid had ever ridden. “Still. I want to go out to the stables and talk to her.”

  “No.”

  Inis raised her brow again. “No?”

  Elsie placed her hands on her hips. “His lordship gave me orders, too. I’m to make sure you spend the rest of the day in bed.”

  “But that’s silly.”

  Elsie’s mouth pursed. “Do you want me to lose my job?”

  Frustrated, Inis flopped back on the pillows. She doubted very much that Alex would set the maid out on the streets simply because Inis had decided to disobey his order. She didn’t like being ordered about, which was precisely the reason she was here in London and not back in Dublin. However, there was no sense in having Elsie have to answer to Alex or be reprimanded by him. But Inis was going to have a word with him tomorrow morning.

  “All right. Ye win.”

  The maid looked relieved. “It is almost dark anyway.”

  There were at least two hours of daylight left, but Inis refrained from pointing that out.

  Elsie pointed to a slim book lying on the table next to the bed. “Are you learning to read that?”

  “Yes.” Inis reached over and picked up the small volume of poetry by Lord Byron. Caroline had mentioned he was quite popular with the ton, especially since he was also a baron and a peer of the realm. She’d also pointed out one or two short poems Inis might mention in conversation. It probably wouldn’t hurt to look them over again and try to remember some worthy comment. Besides, it would help pass the time since Elsie looked determined to stay.

  “Would ye like me to read some of it to ye?”

  “Please.” Elsie pulled up the one chair in the room and sat down expectantly.

  Inis opened the book and began with “She Walks in Beauty,” careful not to read too quickly or too well. But even with stumbling over a few words, Elsie still smiled and sighed when she finished.

  “Lord Byron makes his love sound so beautiful. I wish a man would describe me like that.”

  Inis held back a disdainful snort. Flowery words and empty compliments meant nothing. She’d heard too many of them at Dublin’s society events, not that they had been directed at her. Inis was quite aware she was not the type that poets waxed eloquently about. She couldn’t understand why someone would want to be compared to flowers or starry skies in the first place.

  Inis flipped the pages. “Here’s one about saying goodbye to your lover.”

  Elsie’s eyes grew round and she giggled. “What’s it called?”

  “‘Maid of Athens,’” Inis replied and began to read. She didn’t have to pretend to stumble as the words sunk in. It happened naturally. Byron was describing wanting to kiss his lady’s cheeks and lips and encircle her waist and, left unsaid, make her his before he left…

  Her mind drifted back to the afternoon when Alex had knelt beside her and examined her for broken bones. She might have had the air knocked out of her, but she’d been all too aware of his hands roaming
over her body. Even in her dazed state—or maybe because of it—the parts of her he hadn’t touched had ached for him to do so. When his fingers skimmed her ribs, her breasts had suddenly felt tender. When his hands had touched her legs, the juncture between them had grown warm and moist. And when he’d mounted his horse behind her and his warm breath tickled her ear, she’d wanted to turn her face for his kiss. She’d settled instead for leaning back against him, a gesture he no doubt thought had to do with her feeling woozy. And maybe she did, but not from the fall.

  She’d never desired a man before. She’d not known the want—the need—to couple with a man could be so strong. And now, when the realization finally struck of what all these strange feelings she’d been having were about, she was going to leave without fulfillment.

  Or maybe not. Alex was a self-professed rake. Rakes were notorious for seducing women, especially willing ones. Perhaps…

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Fern’s appearance in the doorway with a dinner tray.

  “Mrs. Olsen was about to bring this up,” Fern said as she came into the room and set the tray on the small table, “but since I was going to my room, I said I would.”

  “Thank ye,” Inis replied as Fern nodded and left. Inis eyed Elsie. “Am I allowed to get up to eat?”

  “I’ll bring it over to you,” she said.

  “Surely I can sit at the table.”

  Elsie looked mulish. “His lordship said to stay in bed.”

  Inis sighed. Obviously, Elsie was taking Alex’s orders literally. No sense in arguing with her. Besides, the soup did smell delicious, as did the aroma of freshly baked bread.

  “Oh, look,” Elsie said, lifting a napkin from a smaller plate. “A chocolate truffle. A big one!”

  Inis frowned. “Why would Mrs. Olsen be making truffles? ’Tis nae a holiday.”

  “I saw Lord Ashley leave earlier as I came up. I would guess his lordship went to that little candy shop near Gunter’s and bought this for you.” Elsie smiled. “He is a generous lord.”

  Which was why Elsie didn’t want to lose her job. Had Alex bought the truffle because he was kind? Truffles were expensive treats. Inis didn’t have any grandiose ideas that Alex wanted to court her, but did he maybe…maybe…feel some desire? Could this gift be meant as the beginning of a seduction?