To Recapture a Rake: A Hephaestus Club Novella

by Christine Merrill

  “Why would you think that?” he asked, wondering if it was true.

  “Because I never saw you bring her here.”

  “Because it was an embarrassment.”

  “To be seen in public with a mistress? It does not bother the other men here,” his mother gave a lighthearted wave of her fan. “Nor did it bother you to bring opera dancers here, in her stead.”

  “Only when I wanted to see the performance,” he said hurriedly. “There was nothing between me and those young ladies.”

  “I was not asking you,” his mother added. “I simply find it strange that you did not bring Caro to share a thing that you so obviously enjoy.”

  He had done. Once. It had been early in their relationship, and he had been foolish, and in love, unwilling to be parted from her for even a moment. Then, he had seen the reactions of the other theater goers. Girls who had been Caro’s friends, only weeks before, had cut her dead. Matrons whispered behind their fans and nodded in disapproval. Quizzing glasses and lorgnettes had been raised, just as they were now, to examine the new mistress of the Earl of Blackthorne.

  He had burned with shame on her behalf. He had turned her from a respectable young lady into an object of curiosity. He should have offered properly, when he’d had the chance. Perhaps she would have rebuffed him again. If she’d accepted, she’d have been sitting at his side in a place of honor, the envy of her friends. In a moment of thoughtlessness, he had reduced her to a curiosity in the eyes of the ton.

  “I did not think she would enjoy it,” he muttered, feeling like a petulant child. After the first, disastrous public appearance, he had vowed to be more careful with what was left of her reputation.

  “Well, she is happy with tonight’s play. She is smiling.”

  He did not need a glass to see that it was true. Caro leaned forward, watching the action on the stage with rabid interest, ignoring the glances of the curious.

  Now, his mother would not stop speaking of it. “It is a pity that her companion does not. He appears to be asleep.”

  How dare he?

  Vincent could not decide which annoyed him more: that the man could not stay awake to appreciate what he had taken, or the possibility that he was enjoying a well earned rest after bedding Caro. The last thought made him a little sick. Had she forgotten him so soon? She was not even looking in his direction, as she might have been, had this been an attempt to make him jealous.

  She leaned closer, to whisper something in Howard’s ear, and realized his state. But instead of pouting or slapping him to consciousness, as she should have, she smiled and stroked his sleeve. Such obvious fondness was even more annoying. It was clear that, though she might have seemed to be forced into desperate straits by her actions, she was quite happy with her current circumstances.

  Leave well enough alone.

  That was what a sensible man would have done. Recognize that the woman no longer wants you. The reason did not matter. He was not owed an explanation for it. If he was honest with himself, their relationship had never been more than temporary.

  But he was not a sensible man. He was a proud one. The same pride that had landed them in this impossible situation drove him forward now. She was rising, to exit the box.

  In less than a heartbeat, he was on his feet as well, ready to seek her out.

  The stress was unbearable. For the better part of an hour, Caro had managed to keep her eyes pointed forward, and all she had to show for it was a stiff neck. She had missed these trips to the theater, in the months with Blackthorne. But never had she simultaneously attended a performance and given one. Although the man was unfailingly kind, it was a challenge to pretend that she was Aubrey Howard’s light-of-love when he put no returning effort into his role.

  Currently, Mr. Howard was asleep, or at least pretending to be so. It was possible he was shamming to avoid her whispered questions about what was occurring in the Blackthorne box.

  She had murmured that, if he’d meant to sleep, she could have left him at home. At least, she could have saved herself the extra money for a box, and bought them tickets for the pit.

  With a smile and a sigh, he had assured her that the money was an investment against the future. While it was enjoyable to watch the performance from any seat, the object was to be seen. There was no better way to do this than renting a box.

  Then, he’d informed her that Vincent was escorting his mother this evening, which should have been a comfort. At least he had not already chosen a new mistress.

  That had only replaced one fear with another. She had not seen that woman since Vincent’s unsuccessful attempt at courtship. Was the Dowager gloating now? Reminding him of it, and telling him that it had been most fortunate that there had been no marriage? Remarking that she had grown old, and making a joke about the wages of sin?

  If Caro’d had the courage to look into those particular eyes, what would she have seen? They were the only ones she really feared. To that particular woman, how would she ever be worthy?

  Caro had worked herself into such a state worrying over it that she had broken the handle of her fan. In frustration, she’d quit the box to seek out the lady’s retiring room, to repair the thing, and soothe her nerves.

  She had forgotten that the hall that ran the length of the dress circle was as open to her lover as it was to her. Here was Vincent, rounding the curve in front of her, ready for a confrontation. For a moment, she considered darting into the nearest box and trying to come up with a polite explanation for it. But he was the sort of man likely to follow her, should the mood take him, and create a proper scene.

  The mood certainly seemed to be taking him. His eyes blazed, his body was tense and his stride long and quickening, as though he suspected she might bolt and meant to run her down like a dog with a hare.

  Very well, then. She would maintain her dignity. She greeted him with distant courtesy. “Good evening, my Lord.”

  “Madam.” He gave a stiff bow from the waist, as though it were possible to pretend this was a casual meeting.

  She made to go around.

  He stepped into her path again.

  She looked up at him. “If you mean to detain me, you had best tell me the reason, or we shall be dancing in the hall all night. You remember what happened the last time we played this particular game.”

  There was a long, hot pause, as they each thought of the incident in the cloakroom. Then he spoke. “I merely wish to know why you are here, making a public spectacle of yourself.”

  “Public spectacle?” Now she laughed. “I was doing nothing of the kind.”

  “People were staring. I do not like it.”

  “Of course they look at you,” she said patiently. “You are notorious and have made no effort to be otherwise. If I have added to that notoriety, I am sorry. I will not allow you to make a list of the places that I may and may not go, to save you embarrassment.”

  “That is not what I meant at all. They are staring at you,” he said, with a frustrated growl.

  “I had not noticed,” she said. It was a relief to find, after all this time in virtual seclusion, that society’s opinion did not bother her. But then, if she had doubted the rightness of her decision, she would not have been able to face herself in the mirror, much less face others.

  “But I do not like the way they look at you.” Apparently, Vincent was less certain on the matter.

  “I fail to see what concern it is of yours,” she said, honestly frustrated.

  “It is my concern because I caused it,” he replied. His expression changed from simple annoyance to a dark mix of emotions. To see the desire in his eyes was no surprise. But was that regret? Before she could ask what troubled him, he had grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, into his arms. And then, he was kissing her.

  In her rush to control him, on their last meeting, she had forgotten the simple pleasure of his lips on hers. Warm and wet, gentle, but firm. He knew her mouth, as he knew her body. The languid touches of his tongue w
armed her heart, and she leaned into him, twining her arms around his neck, wanting nothing more than to be near him.

  “Caro.” His voice was a breathless sigh. “Darling, how I have missed this. And missed you.”

  And I, you. She stifled the answer before it escaped.

  “Enough of this foolishness. Let me take you home.”

  Then, she remembered why she had not kissed him before. She almost agreed. To go home with him now meant she had gained nothing at all. She pushed him away. “Certainly not.” He was still holding her wrist, and she jerked it out of his grasp. “Do not touch me again, my Lord. I did not give you leave to.”

  “You cannot mean it.” He smiled and reached for her again.

  She stepped clear of his arms. “The contact is unwelcome. You no longer have the right to manhandle me, at a whim.”

  He looked at her, as surprised as a little boy who had been scolded. “You used to enjoy my kisses.”

  She nodded. “That was when we had an arrangement. That time is over. To accost me in public, you are treating me as a common whore.”

  She could see by the pained look in his eyes that it had not been his intent. Then he turned sullen. “If you do not want people to think thus about you, you should not publically flaunt your new favorite.”

  “Flaunt?” She laughed. “Is it really so scandalous to attend a play with Mr. Howard?”

  His mouth flapped in a way that was most undignified, before he settled on an argument. “People knew of our relationship.”

  “Of course they did. It was of some duration, and no secret.”

  “They knew of the end of it, as well.” He was glaring at her.

  She hid her smile. “I made no effort to keep that a secret, either.”

  “And now, you have taken up with this… this…” He gave a vague gesture in the direction of the box were Mr. Howard slept. “He is nothing like me.”

  “Perhaps there is a reason for that,” she said.

  Now he did not simply look confused, he looked wounded. The idea that she would not seek some pale imitation of the love they’d shared did not seem to occur to him. He shook his head. “You cannot mean it. We were perfect together. We were happy. Then it was over, and I still do not understand why.” He stared at her, waiting for an answer.

  “That is why it ended,” she said, softly. “Because you did not understand that happiness would not be enough.”

  “You are talking rot,” he said, trying to cover his confusion with contempt. “You might blame me for my ignorance. But at least I am certainly not the novice with women that Howard is. He will never satisfy you.”

  If all she had wanted was to see him jealous, it would have been enough, for Blackthorne was burning with it. Mr. Howard had assured her that there was a greater reward in store, if she could be strong just a little longer. “Perhaps, Aubrey is a trifle naïve,” she said, with a cat’s smile. “But one thing is certain, he will not be ignorant of women, once I am through with him.” She gathered her skirts and swept around the speechless earl and continued down the hall to the retiring room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Vauxhall Gardens was a marvelous mix of the magical and the tawdry. If Caro were to be honest, it suited her well. She had not seen it in over a year, since the night her future had been decided for her in the dark walks at the back. When Mr. Howard had suggested it, she’d feared that the memory of that night would have spoiled it for her. Perhaps Vincent had assumed so as well, for he had been adamant that they would never set foot in the place again.

  It had been but one more place that Vincent had not taken her, in the time they’d shared. Now that she was here, the encounter with Mr. Worthington faded to insignificance. It could not compete with the lights and laughter, the jugglers, and the lady performing acrobatics on the back of a prancing horse.

  She smiled up at Mr. Howard, almost forgetting the purpose of the visit. “Thank you for bringing me here. It is a most delightful evening.”

  “I am glad you are enjoying it,” he said, then noticed her interest in the couples crowding the floor in front of the pavilion. “Would you like to dance?”

  She nodded eagerly.

  “That is a shame,” he said. “For I am not very good at it.” He saw her face fall, and smiled. “Still, if you wish it, I shall attempt it.” In a few moments, he had proved that his opinion of his abilities was accurate, by treading on her toes.

  It hardly mattered. At least they were dancing. It had been so long that she had forgotten how much she enjoyed it. It was yet another pastime that she had been denied while with Vincent. She frowned. If he truly wanted to marry her, things would need to change. Perhaps they would not be welcome in some homes. But that was no reason to quit society altogether.

  But she must not take it out on her current escort. She smiled in encouragement at Mr. Howard. In response, he flushed pink and stumbled again. It was a shame that he was not searching for a woman of his own, who might admire his better qualities. Though he was kind, and pleasant company, he truly was not the right man for her.

  Perhaps, if he’d had money, she might have felt differently. The thought shocked her. Were wives and mistresses really so different, if both chose their men based not on character but on the size of their purse?

  He seemed to sense her scrutiny, and flushed even more. “I am sorry you had to pay for the tickets. It was such a small sum, and yet…” he shuffled his feet in a way that was more embarrassment than dancing. Then he laughed. “That is why I am yet unmarried. A sensible woman would not so much as talk to me. What would be the point of cultivating an attachment to a man devoid of poetry, looks and money?”

  “It is all right,” she said. “You possess kindness, which is a quality much rarer than gold. And intelligence,” she added, as an afterthought. “That is important as well, for it will sometimes lead to money.”

  “I can but hope so,” he agreed.

  “You have time on your side,” she said, giving his arm an encouraging squeeze as he led her from the dance floor. “With age, a man grows more dignified and desirable. But an unmarried woman with a dubious reputation is called a stale.”

  He laughed. “As if you were made of bread. How ridiculous.”

  “I am on the shelf already,” she reminded him. “Nearly two and twenty, but with enough scandal for a woman twice my age.”

  “Nonsense,” said Mr. Howard. “You will be married in no time. It will do you good, and put me one step closer to solving my problems. Our association is driving Blackthorne near to madness. I suspect, should we see him tonight, it will be the end of it.” He glanced into the crowd. “And there he is.”

  She gave a guilty start before remembering that it had been their object to meet him. “However did he find us here?”

  “It should not have been difficult. Today, at the club, I remarked on my intention to bring you here.”

  “You told him?”

  “Not in so many words. I did not mention you, of course. That would have been most disrespectful.”

  She wanted to correct him. There was no reason that a man could not talk about his mistress when with other men. If that was not to be her future? She smiled. “That was most kind of you.”

  In response, he shrugged. “But I am sure, when I described my plans for the evening he knew who I intended to escort. Thus, we find him here, looking most foreboding. If you will excuse me, I will leave you alone, under the guise of procuring a pair of those miserably sparse ham sandwiches they sell here. If you would please stray a trifle too close to the dark walks so Blackthorne may meet with you, the matter will be settled in no time.” As if by afterthought, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Mr. Howard!” She could not help herself. She blushed, and giggled like a school girl. Despite all that she had done with Vincent, this kiss from another was most unexpected.

  She might have been mistaken, but there was a deeper flush of pink in his cheeks, when he responded, “Miss S
ydney.” Then he gave an awkward half bow, and went off to seek refreshments.

  She did as he suggested and purposefully wandered away from the crowds, in the direction of the back of the park. The bustle and gaiety of the entertainments gave way to a more natural and romantic setting. The water of the canal ran dark beneath the little cast iron bridge she crossed. The sound of a waterfall muffled the sounds of the dance music, and the sighs of lovers stealing kisses in the dark.

  Perhaps it muffled the sound of footsteps as well. Blackthorne was beside her, before she heard him approach. “You should not be here,” he said, taking her arm though she had given him no invitation to do so.

  “It is not your decision to make,” she said, pulling her arm away. “But since you seem to know so well, just where do you think I should go?”

  There was a pause as he tried to come up with an answer. “Well, not here.”

  She sighed. “Not here, or the theater, or your club… I will admit, entering a gentleman’s club was a mistake. The other locations are unexceptional.”

  “But to come here, of all places…” he said again.

  “It is a public venue, is it not? And I do enjoy the entertainments. There was a man, near the gate, walking on a wire, ten feet above the ground.” She glanced back, over her shoulder, as though wanting to go back.

  He took her arm again, and pulled her further down a serpentine path and into the darkness. “You have not been here since that night, with Worthington. I made sure of it,” he said, firmly.

  “London has all but forgotten that particular incident,” she said. “They are far more interested in what has happened to me since.”

  “That is why you must take care when you are in public.” He sounded surprisingly sanctimonious for a rake.

  “My reputation was forfeit the moment I took to your bed,” she said. “Because you wished to avoid scandal when it was already too late to do so, I was near to a prisoner in my own home.” She had not noticed how it had annoyed her, until it had stopped. At one time, it had seemed a fair trade to give up dancing at balls and going to the theater for Vincent’s attention. But no longer. She scoffed. “You had the nerve to talk to me of love, when it was clear that you were ashamed to be seen with me. That was why I put you out, Vincent. I could not bear it another moment.”