The Love of a Rake

by Linda Rae Sande

  By the time he made it down the stairs, he was smiling broadly. When he burst into his study to find his brother already ensconced in one of the upholstered chairs holding a brandy balloon in one hand and a cheroot in the other, he was downright giddy. “I have news, brother,” he announced happily.

  Arthur regarded Charles as if his older brother might be a candidate for Bedlam. “Indeed?” he replied dryly. “And to think, I thought my news would be the only news of the day.”

  Charles took an adjacent chair and cringed at the thought of a brandy before breakfast. It wasn’t like his brother to imbibe during the daylight hours. Then he wondered if Arthur had even gone to bed. Perhaps he was just ending his evening, despite the clock showing it was nearly eleven in the morning. “I do hope I am about to hear I’m to gain a sister in the form of a viscount’s daughter,” he said in a voice filled with warning. “While you are about to gain a sister in the form of ...” He paused then, not actually positive Eleanor Merriweather was Lord Middleton’s offspring. “A probable earl’s daughter,” he finished rather proudly.

  Arthur blinked. And then he blinked again as he shook his head. How did Charles already know his good news? Arthur hadn’t shared it with anyone, nor had he been to White’s in the past week.

  And then the rest of the statement hit him.

  “Who did you get a child on?” Arthur asked in disgust.

  It was Charles’ turn to blink. “No one,” he replied, rather proud of the fact that he regularly employed French letters, although he had not done so the night before.

  Or this morning.

  He frowned when he realized his brother was staring in disbelief at him. “At least, not yet,” he amended, the thought of having possibly impregnating Eleanor not as scary as it should have been.

  Perhaps he would have a brandy.

  He was about to reach for the bottle when he stilled himself. “But I should think I will do so immediately. I plan to marry before tonight.”

  Arthur stared at the earl for a long time. Who was this man and what had he done with his brother? “Do I need to contact someone about having you admitted to Bedlam?” Arthur wondered aloud, his brandy all but forgotten and his cheroot burning so the ash was about to drop onto the Axminster carpet below their feet.

  Charles frowned at the obvious cut direct. “I am perfectly sane, I’ll have you know,” he responded, his chin angling up. At least he didn’t have to be concerned about a double chin appearing like it sometimes did on Lord Reading.

  “Who’s the probable earl’s daughter? I take it you haven’t actually proposed yet?” Arthur added with an arched eyebrow.

  The question had Charles frowning again. Well, he hadn’t exactly asked Eleanor for her hand in marriage, but he had made it perfectly clear he was going to make it right. Certainly she understood his meaning.

  Charles was about to respond when a light knock sounded at the door. Thinking Chester was delivering the coffee service, he called out, “Come.”

  The door slowly opened to reveal Eleanor staring at him— or was she staring at Arthur? Charles was on his feet in an instant, surprised to see the girl looking nearly as prim and proper as she had the night before. Only her hair seemed a bit out of place, still pinned up as it was in the messy bun he had seen her sporting in the tub—a rather charming look for her, he decided. Otherwise, she was completely dressed in the gown he had helped remove the night before.

  He was about to wonder whether or not she had managed to put on her corset when he realized he couldn’t think of such things just then. His arousal was about to become rather evident behind the placket of his doeskin breeches.

  “Miss Merriweather!” he said as he moved to join her at the door. He performed a bow as he took her hand and kissed the back of it. When he straightened, he couldn’t help but notice her attention was on his brother. Attention that made her appear as if she might faint. He leaned over and kissed her on the temple, which had the young woman suddenly glaring at him.

  “Lord Wakefield!” she admonished him, her widened eyes displaying her dissatisfaction with him.

  Charles continued to hold her hand and turned toward his brother. “Eleanor Merriweather, I would like you to meet my brother, Sir Arthur Goodwin,” he said as he used his other hand to wave toward his brother.

  The knight made his way to stand in front of Eleanor.

  “We’ve met,” the two said in unison.

  “My lady,” Arthur managed to get out before he took her other hand and brushed his lips over the back of it. He straightened and angled his head. “What’s ... going on?” he asked, his attention never leaving the young woman.

  Her pulse suddenly pounding in her ears, Eleanor afforded the knight a curtsy, sure her face was splotched in bright red. Although she had only been formally introduced to Arthur Goodwin the one time, she had admired him from afar ever since his return from France. Wounded by a bullet, he had been granted his knighthood for his bravery during one of the last conflicts against Napoleon. And then she had been seated directly across from him during a dinner at the Earl of Torrington’s residence. “It’s very good to see you again, Sir Arthur,” she said with a nod, rather glad her gown hid her knees, which had suddenly become rather rubbery.

  “And you, my lady,” the knight answered with a bit of uncertainty. He turned his attention back to Charles. “I sent you a note about my good news, but I have to admit I am rather ... surprised at yours.”

  Faith! What the hell was the woman doing here in his brother’s townhouse? Had his brother ruined her? The thought was barely formed in his mind when he realized the explanation had to be something of the sort.

  Charles nodded, tempted to say something like, “So am I.” Instead, he said, “I couldn’t have my younger brother beat me to the altar.” He glanced nervously in Eleanor’s direction as he made the claim. “Sweeting, I must speak with my brother for a few more minutes. Perhaps you can start breakfast in the parlor without me?” he suggested, hoping she wouldn’t protest having to leave what he was sure would be an uncomfortable exchange with his brother.

  Eleanor was about to protest—she had silently wished to be in Arthur’s presence for at least a year now—but Charles’ fierce expression had her realizing she needed to take her leave of the men. “Of course,” she replied with a nod, her attention flitting to Sir Arthur before she took her leave of the study with a quick curtsy and yet another moon-eyed glance in the knight’s direction.

  Charles watched as Eleanor departed, wondering at how she gazed at his brother. What the ...? He was about to put voice to a question about the circumstances of how Arthur and Eleanor had previously met when his brother took the chair in front of the desk and said, “What the hell is going on here? And why is the Earl of Middleton’s daughter in your house?” This last came out a bit harsh, leaving a frown on the knight’s face.

  Charles took a deep breath. Well, that confirmed it, he supposed. Eleanor Merriweather was indeed the Earl of Middleton’s daughter. But what could he say to explain the young woman’s presence in his house? Arthur would eventually figure it out if Charles didn’t tell him something close to the truth. “Would you believe me if I told you she was sent by Lucy Gibbons and arrived on my doorstep at midnight last night?”

  Arthur blinked. “No,” he answered with a shake of his head.

  So much for the truth.

  “Well, she did. And I ruined her.” Charles didn’t allow his brother to interrupt as he continued, “Quite by accident, I assure you, but nevertheless, I have done so.”

  Blinking, Arthur shook his head. “As I recall, sexual intercourse with a woman isn’t exactly something that can be an accident,” he said in measured words. “But the fact that you recognize what you did was wrong at least prevents me from suggesting you check yourself into Bedlam.”

  It was Charles’ turn to blink. For years, he had thought his brother a molly, a man more interested in other men than the fairer sex, although he didn’t have any co
mpelling proof or reason to believe such a theory—being in the company of a known molly certainly wasn’t enough of a reason.

  Now that he had confirmed Arthur was engaged to be married, albeit to a bluestocking, Charles wondered if perhaps his brother wasn’t a homosexual but merely late to the party. “She was kidnapped by Lucy and sent here last night as my birthday present,” Charles stated, allowing a hint of anger to color his voice.

  Arthur stared at Charles for several seconds, as if the words were spoken in a foreign language and he was attempting to decipher their meaning. “Good God!” he finally replied. “What is she? Seventeen? I don’t think she’s even had her come-out,” he said with a shake of his head. “Have you spoken with Lord Middleton?”

  Charles stared at his brother, rather surprised he would know more about Eleanor than he did. Enough more that he felt a bit of jealousy. “Of course not. I rather imagine I’ll be drawn and quartered should I tell him what actually happened.”

  His brother shook his head again. “Why would he find you at fault for what that despicable madame has done? Although, in her defense, I should think you should have recognized Lady Eleanor, but something tells me you were too inebriated to do so.” He spread out his hands, his head continuing to shake as he did so. “Am I right?”

  Sighing, Charles gave a slight nod, realizing his brother wasn’t going to provide any solutions—nor solace. “Except, I don’t know why you would think I should have recognized Eleanor. I don’t recall ever having met her,” he answered in his own defense.

  Arthur gave him a quelling glance. He couldn’t help but notice his brother’s use of the girl’s given name, and the hint of intimacy when he had kissed her at the door. “We attended a dinner party at Worthington House. Right after Grandby married Lady Worthington. Although, to be fair, you were seated rather far from Lady Eleanor whilst I was seated directly across from her.” An image from that night suddenly filled his mind’s eye. He had caught the doe-eyed young woman staring at him more than once that evening, her porcelain complexion taking on a rather telling blush both times he had caught her.

  She couldn’t have been more than fifteen at the time, which had him wondering why she would even be seated at a table of lords and ladies. The last thing he had wanted that night was a young lady to develop a crush on him. Not when he had finally accepted that he would never be attracted to a woman. Deciding to marry Lady Priscilla Sinclair was merely a way to deflect rumors of his homosexuality. Given the prevailing laws, he couldn’t afford to have his secret revealed any more than last week’s The Tattler had already intimated it.

  “How old is she really? All of sixteen?” he asked rhetorically.

  “Seventeen, actually,” Charles countered. “She came to London for her come-out. Seems she expected her father to help her with arranging her introduction to the queen and whatever else it is chits do their first Season.”

  Arthur shook his head. “Rather early for her to make her way to London, seeing as how Parliament won’t convene until November,” he chided.

  Charles frowned. “I suppose,” he replied, not really sure of her other motives for coming to London. What did he know of Seasons and such? The Goodwin boys didn’t have a sister, although if they did, Charles would have summoned her to help before speaking with his brother on the topic. He knew what he had to do; he just wanted to be sure he went about it the right way.

  “Anyway, I will marry her, of course—”

  “Of course,” Arthur agreed.

  “But I wonder how I should proceed with the announcement of the impending nuptials.”

  Arthur blinked. “I should think a letter to her father informing him of your intentions should precede a trip to the bishop’s office for a special license. She’s too young, of course, so you’ll have to have his permission to marry her. Unless you wish to take a trip to Scotland.”

  Charles stared at his brother for a moment. The thought of simply taking Eleanor to Gretna Green suddenly seemed the easiest approach to marrying the chit. They would have days and days together in his coach, time they could spend bouncing about ...

  He had to stop thinking of Eleanor. If his brother noticed the growing bulge in his nether region ...

  “Really, brother, is sexual intercourse all you can think about?” Arthur asked rhetorically.

  Charles gave up and shrugged. “I cannot help myself. I ... I feel affection for her ladyship.” The admission was rather freeing just then, for the idea of facing Lord Middleton wasn’t exactly something he wished to do, even though the man was also a fellow earl. And at some point, the earl would discover his daughter had traveled to London and didn’t make it to his townhouse. Perhaps the man already had Bow Street Runners searching for her. The ten days it would take to get to Scotland and back would no doubt have her parents in knots with worry. No, better he send a note to her father post-haste. And probably by way of a footman rather than a postman.

  “Lust is probably a more appropriate term for what you feel. Have you even proposed?” Arthur asked, one eyebrow arching up in amusement. From Eleanor’s earlier behavior, he could swear the chit recoiled at Charles’ kiss, and not just because he had paid witness to it.

  “Not exactly,” Charles answered carefully. “I suppose I can give the lady that courtesy,” he added sadly. “I will, in fact, after I have everything sorted.”

  Arthur allowed a sigh. For probably the first time in his life, he felt sorry for his brother. “Do you have a ring?”

  Charles dared a glance at his signet ring. Although it was gold and featured a rather large onyx gem, it certainly wasn’t suitable to the occasion. “No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I’ll have to pay a call on a goldsmith,” he added, deciding he didn’t wish to raid his mother’s extensive jewelry collection to search for an appropriate bauble.

  Sighing, Arthur cocked his head to one side. “A trip to Ludgate Hill is in your immediate future. I suppose I should go with you to help you pick out something appropriate. God knows, you won’t know a wedding ring from a cock ring.”

  Frowning, Charles regarded his brother. “I’ll have you know, I have never worn a ...” Before he could finish, there was a knock on the study door. He gave a ‘humph’ and called out, “Come!”

  Chester appeared with a tray on which was perched a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “Lady Eleanor requested I deliver this,” the majordomo stated when he noticed the look of surprise on his master’s face.

  “Rather sporting of her, don’t you think, brother?” Arthur asked with an arched eyebrow. “Unless she poisoned it,” he murmured under his breath as he took the glass of whiskey the majordomo offered and lifted it in his brother’s direction. “Congratulations on your impending marriage, Charles.” And then he downed the entire contents of his glass in one gulp.

  Charles stared at his brother for a long time, finally taking a sip from his own glass. “Same to you, of course,” he replied, realizing after a moment that he meant the comment. He would soon have a sister in the form of Lady Priscilla.

  Although the viscount’s daughter preferred to spend her days with her nose in a book, she wouldn’t be a demanding chit. Nor would she drain his brother’s accounts with frequent trips to modistes or gaming hells. Now, his brother’s money would be spent at The Temple of Muses. Or Hatchett’s, perhaps.

  His thoughts turned to his own future wife. Eleanor could have spent the morning crying. She could have spent the morning in denial, lamenting the loss of her maidenhood.

  Her innocence.

  She could have been angry, yelling at him with a series of cruel words and crueler actions. But the woman had seemed rather calm. Rather collected. As if she accepted her fate, which surely she realized included a marriage to him.

  Charles couldn’t help but wonder at her reaction to his brother, however. Is she attracted to Arthur? he wondered. Had they met just the one time? And what had they talked about? A pang of jealousy had him imagining one of his fists impacting
Arthur’s impressive jaw line. Blinking at the image, Charles gave his head a slight shake, and he tossed back the rest of the whiskey in his glass.

  Charles saw his brother out to the vestibule and watched while Arthur climbed up onto his sporty yellow phaeton and took his leave of Mayfair.

  When Charles turned around, he found Eleanor staring daggers at him.

  Chapter 16

  A Marquess Wonders About a Woman

  Meanwhile, back in the park

  Remembering he was trying to reform his rakish ways, Randall quickly sobered and took his leave of Hyde Park, his thoughts scattered as he made his way along the path he had followed earlier that morning to get to the bench on which he had read the letter from Lady Lily.

  He blinked back a tear, stunned at how the former maid’s letter had affected him. I am happy for her, he thought stubbornly. I am. In reality, he felt a good deal of jealousy toward the young man who had captured her heart—and her hand in marriage. I am old enough to be her father, he reminded himself. Jesus! She was the same age as his oldest bastard son!

  His thoughts drifted back to the maid he had just met. A rather comely woman. Confident and proud, her speech suggesting she was an aristocrat rather than a servant or the paid companion she probably was.

  A moment of daydreaming had him imagining her in a red satin ball gown, her brown curls piled atop her head in an arrangement he would take great delight in watching fall down in a cascade around her shoulders when he pulled the pins from her hair. A cascade of curls he would see on his pillows as he bedded her.

  Christ! If he wasn’t careful, he wouldn’t make it the rest of the way home given how uncomfortably tight his buckskin breeches had become in the last few minutes! It was time he think of something else. Something less ... arousing.