The Harlow Hoyden

by Lynn Messina

  “What should I tell her?” asked Philip when charged with this task. “She’s going to ask what happened to you, and I’m going to look like a queer fellow if I don’t know.”

  Trent was too bored to think of a creative excuse. “Tell her whatever you want.”

  Philip tried to think of something. “Nope, my head’s empty. You better give me an excuse to pass along.”

  “All right, tell her I’ve got the headache,” he said, thinking it wasn’t very far from the truth.

  “Can’t do that,” protested Philip. “Only girls get headaches. Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. Not very good at lying but clearly I am better than you. A headache! Might as well tell her you had a fainting spell.” Philip left in disgust.

  As he watched his cousin walk away, Trent decided it was time he got going. The hour was still early, early enough to salvage something from this evening. He got into his carriage and told the coachman to take him to a gambling hell along St. James. There was a young widow he was flirting with, one he hoped to set up a liaison with, and he knew she was a fan of the baize. Perhaps tonight he would press his suit. He could think of nothing else of interest to do.

  Upon entering the hell, he found the widow Enderling at the faro table, just as he’d expected. His entrance did not pass unnoticed, and he saw the lady in question casting lures at him out of the corner of her eye. Yes, he thought, she’s ripe for the plucking. Somehow the prospect didn’t please him as it ought. Perhaps it was because the challenge had gone out of the game.

  He was making his way over to the widow when he caught sight of Everett Carson at the poker table. Without thinking, Trent changed directions and laid out his counters next to the peer. “Deal me in,” he said, taking out his snuffbox.

  “Trent, this is a surprise,” said Carson. “From the look of it, you seemed determined in your pursuit of the lovely Mrs. Enderling. I did not expect you to be playing poker when there were other…games to be played. What does this mean?”

  Although Carson had said nothing less than the truth, the duke’s lip curled in disgust. “That things are seldom what they seem.”

  “Wise words,” answered Carson before looking at his cards. “Very wise words indeed. Why, just take the Harlow Hoyden, for example.”

  In the process of taking a pinch of snuff, the duke halted his movement for a split second. “Yes?” he asked with deceptive indifference.

  “When you meet her, she seems like a gently bred, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth young lady, the sort you want your sister to be, but we all know the truth.”

  “The truth?” asked Trent.

  “The truth. That she’s wild and fast.”

  He was almost positive that the man was merely speculating, but it wouldn’t do to lose his temper before confirming it. “I take it you’ve sampled the lady’s charms?” he asked, dampening down the bile that rose in his throat. How dare this bounder call Emma fast!

  Carson smirked. “No, not yet. We’ve only had one dance, but I expect it is only a matter of time. She has a passionate nature, and I, like you, enjoy other…games.”

  At this intelligence, Trent couldn’t find an acceptable course of action. As much as he wanted to, he could not very well plant a facer on the scoundrel. To do so would be to bring scandal down on them all, for surely such behavior would only lead to a duel. Trent could think of nothing more pleasant than running Sir Everett Carson through, but he would resist the impulse. The last thing the Harlow Hoyden needed was a duel fought over her honor.

  With no satisfying recourse available to him, the duke finished out the hand in dark, brooding silence and left the hell.

  First thing the next morning, Alexander Keswick, Duke of Trent, presented himself at 21 Grosvenor Square. Momentarily disconcerted by the hour of the call and the consequence of the visitor, Ludlow belatedly showed him to the drawing room. A few minutes later, Emma walked in.

  “Your grace,” she said, “this is an unexpected surprise.”

  The duke bowed stiffly in welcome. “Miss Harlow, there’s some matter of considerable importance that I would like to discuss with you.”

  Emma waved her hand in response. “Don’t say it. I know what’s going on. You’ve had a change of heart and want your flower back. I’m sorry to report that it’s too late. It has been successfully cross-bred with one of my sister’s Altensteinia nubigena. But I’m sure she’ll let you have one of the blossoms when they’re ready.”

  The duke, distracted, looked behind her toward the door. “Are you here alone?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Will no one else be joining us?”

  “You did ask to speak with me, did you not?”

  “Yes, but I assumed you’d have the sense to bring along Sarah or at least an abigail. You should not be meeting alone with men. It’s not proper.”

  “Pooh,” she dismissed, “we’re perfectly safe from wagging tongues here. No one else is home.”

  “It’s not your reputation that you should be concerned with when you meet a man alone but your virtue.”

  Emma laughed. “My virtue is safe from you, is it not, your grace. Surely you have no designs on it.”

  A wry smile played along his lips. “I’m not speaking of myself but of other men.”

  “But I’m not meeting with other men,” she said, taking a seat and indicating that he should follow suit. “I’m meeting with you.”

  Somewhat appeased by this communication, the duke sat down. “I want to talk about your scheme, Miss Harlow. You must cease and desist right now. Everett Carson is not a boy to be toyed with. He is in fact a very dangerous man.”

  Emma pictured the handsome man she had danced with a few nights before. Although a libertine who fit the bill in many ways, he was not to be trusted. Emma had already decided he wouldn’t do, but she nevertheless resented the duke’s interference. “Really, your grace, that’s not very sporting of you. You have the right to refuse to help me—that’s your prerogative and I respect that—but that you should come in here and insist that I not consider a perfectly good libertine is insupportable. I wouldn’t have expected such dog-in-the-manger behavior from you.”

  “Miss Harlow, I fear you do not understand the danger you court,” he said, ignoring her ridiculous speech in an attempt to remained reasonable. “Carson is not a gentleman. He’ll give you cause to regret your actions.”

  This grave warning did not perturb her. “I seriously doubt that, but if what you say is true, then I will just have to accept that. There are no rewards without risks.”

  “As someone who knows more about this than you,” he said waspishly, feeling the first threads of his temper getting away from him, “I must most strongly urge you to forget this rash plan. The risks are too great.”

  Because Trent seemed so genuinely worried about her, Miss Harlow sought to put him at ease. “Really, your grace, you have no cause to worry. I have not decided on Carson and indeed it seems now that I will not use him. I have other prospects.”

  The relief Trent felt at the beginning of the speech evaporated by the end of it. “Other prospects?” he echoed.

  “Yes, so there’s no cause for alarm.”

  The duke could not agree. “Who are these other prospects?”

  “I do not know yet, but I’m sure they will be infinitely more satisfying than Mr. Carson.”

  “What do you mean by you do not know yet?”

  “A dear friend is drawing up a list of possible candidates,” she explained. “She has promised to provide me with at least five. I’m confident that one will meet all my requirements.”

  “No,” said the duke in his sternest ducal voice, the one he used to quiet his interfering mother and sister.

  “No?” she repeated, puzzled.

  “No, you will not do this, drawing up a list of libertines and selecting one as though you were choosing a book at the lending library,” he commanded, expecting to be obeyed. Nobody defied the Duke of Trent when
he made a command. “It’s unacceptable.”

  Emma didn’t recognize these words as the dictate they were and protested. “Really, your grace, I cannot see what it has to do with you. You’re not my father or brother to be telling me what is and isn’t acceptable.”

  “It seems that I must be the one to tell you since neither has seen fit to do his duty,” he said with more vehemence than he intended. He was now struggling to hold on to his temper. He hadn’t planned on discussing this with Miss Harlow. He expected her to obey his order and leave the matter alone. That he had to pursue it further angered him. “If either had, we would not be having this discussion. You would know that it’s not the thing to go around drawing up lists of libertines with the expectation of interviewing them to find the one most suitable for seducing your sister.” Trent realized that Emma was not listening to him and jumped to his feet. He stood over her, looking his most intimidating with his dark eyebrows drawn in a harsh line. It was a stance that had not only quelled his mother and schoolfellows but members of Parliament as well. “Never in my life have I seen such ramshack—”

  “Would you like some tea, your grace?” she asked calmly, seemingly oblivious to his intimidation tactic.

  “Tea?” the Duke of Trent echoed, his brows dropping.

  “Yes, tea. I have been remiss in my duties as hostess. I should have offered you some the minute I entered the room. Do have a seat and let me rectify my oversight.”

  The duke didn’t appreciate the interruption. He had more to say on the topic of her conduct and refused to let the wind be taken out of his sails. “As I was saying, never in my life—”

  “Well, I’m quite parched. Do hold that thought.” She got up, stuck her head out the door and began calling for Dobson.

  The duke watched this odd behavior with wry amusement. Little wonder the mindless chit was tumbling headlong into scandal and ruin; she had no sense of decorum at all.

  Emma returned to the sofa and smiled encouragingly at the duke. “You were saying…” Trent straightened his shoulders and tried to recall where he left off. Seeing this, she said, “Never in your life…”

  The duke’s sense of humor got the best of him. “Very good, Miss Harlow. I see now why your papa has never managed to teach you manners. Do you always confuse and fluster your opponents like this?”

  Shaking her head, she leaned forward on the cushion. “It was not my intention of confuse you, your grace, and I doubt very much that the Duke of Trent is ever flustered. ’Twas only that you had worked yourself into such a temper I thought surely you must be thirsty. I myself am always thirsty when riled up.”

  “No matter,” he said, not convinced but abandoning the point anyway. “Let me be clear on this, Miss Harlow. You will not approach another libertine and ask him to seduce your sister. It’s not how ladies behave.”

  Emma realized that the duke was not going to leave until he got what he wanted. Rather than lose a whole day to argument, she gave it to him. “All right, your grace, I’ll cease and desist at once. Oh, lovely. Tea is here. Set it on the table. Very good. Thank you, Dobson.”

  This answer no more pleased the duke. His brows drew together again in a dark line. “That is it? You agree? Just like that?”

  “Yes, the force of your arguments has quite done me in. One lump or two?”

  Busy trying to make sense of the girl’s sudden capitulation, the duke didn’t hear the question. “Excuse me?”

  “I asked if you wanted sugar in your tea. One lump or two?”

  “One is fine.” He took a deep breath and considered his hostess with suspicion. “Why have you suddenly agreed with me?”

  “As I said, I’m quite overcome by the force of your logic,” Emma said, not a hint of condescension in her tone. “Clearly no one has ever explained things to me quite as plainly as you have. I’m in wholehearted agreement. Drawing up lists and propositioning libertines is not how ladies behave.”

  Although they’d met less than a week before, he knew better than to accept her words at face value. “You’re only telling me what I want to hear.”

  Emma smiled, dimples in prominence. “And it’s a wonder that you’re no more happy getting what you want than not getting it. Tell me, your grace, what should I do to satisfy you?”

  “Say what you mean.”

  “I tried that approach, but it only seemed to anger you more.”

  He began to understand her tactic. “Then you have no intention of abandoning your scheme?”

  Her eyes were as wide and innocent as a newborn kitten’s. “But why should I? I respect you and sincerely appreciate the concern you seem to feel for me and my family, but my sister’s happiness cannot rest on your autocratic and unreasonable demands.”

  Angry words flitted through Trent’s head, but he held his tongue. A wise man always knew when he had been beaten by a skillful opponent. Miss Harlow had maneuvered him nicely. If his mother or sister knew how to handle him half so well, he would have been married to that Hedgley chit with a brat on the way by now. “Very well, I accept,” he said, not as disturbed by the forthcoming task as he ought to be.

  Emma looked at him in surprise. “Accept what, your grace?”

  “Your offer of employment. I will play the part of seducer.”

  “But you won’t do at all,” she exclaimed.

  His expression turned black. “I won’t do?”

  Fearful that she might have hurt his feelings, she added, “If was very kind of you to offer, but you’re not suited to the task. Of course, I’m well aware the honor you do me, as you’re extremely handsome and a fine figure of a man and would turn the head of any sensible girl.”

  “I won’t do?” he asked again, seemingly incapable of understanding the prospect that he was unsuitable for any project.

  “The scheme calls for a libertine,” she said gently.

  “I’m a libertine.”

  The Harlow Hoyden laughed.

  The duke took offense at her easy dismissal of him. “I am a libertine. You said so yourself.”

  “That was a week ago,” she explained, taking a sip of tea. “I have since learned the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “That you’re a true gentleman.”

  “The devil you say!” he cried out, much offended by this claim.

  “Look at the evidence,” said Miss Harlow and listed his finer points on her fingers. “You refused to help me. You take me to task for meeting with you alone. You offer to help me with my scheme when you realize you cannot deter me from my path. These are not the actions of a libertine.”

  “I keep a dancer in Chelsea.”

  “So does my father.”

  “I’m in pursuit of a lovely widow.”

  “Lady Enderling is old enough to make her own decisions.”

  “I bet one hundred pounds at my club that I could seduce the wife of a viscount.”

  “That is the way gentlemen behave.”

  “The Savoy keeps a supply of garnet broaches on hand for me so that I may give one to whichever lady I am dining with.”

  “Pooh. You are a sheep in wolf’s clothing, your grace.” She held up the pot. “More tea?”

  Trent didn’t want more tea, and almost seething with anger, he regarded the Harlow Hoyden. As he’d listened to her defend his character, he’d grown more and more enraged. The way she dismissed his transgressions out of hand was intolerable. The way gentlemen behave! A sheep in wolf’s clothing!

  He sat down on the couch next to her, so close he could feel her breathing. Then he grabbed the teapot from her fingers and placed it on the table with so much force that the silver rattled. He pulled her toward him. “I am a hardened rake!” he insisted, before his lips covered her.

  It was a rough kiss at first, and Emma didn’t know how to respond. She’d never been kissed before, and although she had many times imagined what the pastime would be like, she’d never expected it to be anything like this, with Trent’s lips pressed so hard agains
t hers that she could scarcely move. But then everything changed. Trent’s lips relaxed and became gentle. He laid soft kisses on the side of her mouth, and his tongue delicately traced her lips until she opened them in response. Before she knew what she was about, Emma was wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him toward her.

  At one point, the duke sought to end the embrace, but Emma moaned in distress and pulled him closer, leaning back on the cushions and taking him with her. She ran her fingers through his hair, along his neck and down his back. The sensations he was creating with his lips were so overwhelming and unexpected and lovely that she couldn’t think of anything but creating more of them. His hand trailed a slow path down her cheek to her shoulder. Then she felt his hand slip under the soft lawn of her morning gown. She sighed in response and pressed her lips harder against his. What else she wanted she didn’t know, but she was eager for more. She suddenly realized there was a whole host of wonderful sensations waiting to be discovered and could barely wait to start the adventure.

  The Duke of Trent freed himself from her embrace, pulled away and stood up. He walked toward the fireplace and rested one arm on the mantle. “There, I believe that should put an end to the debate.”

  For the first time in her life, the Harlow Hoyden was at a loss for words. She stared at the duke in wonder.

  “I will begin my seduction of your sister right away. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish,” he said, thinking, And the sooner my life will return to normal! “I trust the Harlow sisters will be at the Kenelm ball?”

  Emma could barely think over the loud beating of her heart, but she tried anyway to pull herself together. What a ninnyhammer she was to be so affected by a kiss. The duke seemed unmoved by the experience, and she sought to emulate his indifference. She took a deep breath and focused on his question. Oh, what was it that he’d asked? Something about the Kenelm ball. “I do not know if we will be in attendance. My brother, Roger, has had a mishap, and Sarah has not been herself ever since. We’ll only go if she is up to chaperoning us.”

  “I hope your brother’s mishap wasn’t too serious,” the duke said, marveling at how fast she’d recovered from that kiss. It seemed unlikely that he, the experienced one, would ever recover from it. Who knew that a lady with so much innocence could be capable of so much passion? Just thinking about it sent his blood soaring again.