For the Sake of a Scottish Rake

by Anna Bradley

  Which was the very reason she had to refuse him.

  It wasn’t fair to keep him here. Not to him, and not to her.

  “Ciaran.” She laid a tentative hand on his arm. “When we were in Brighton, you told me you’d been waiting for months to return to Scotland. I can’t let you—”

  “No.” He seemed to know what she was going to say. He jerked his arm away from her, and cut her off before she could get the words out. “Scotland can wait.”

  “Perhaps Scotland can wait.” Her gaze held his. “But I’m not certain you can.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know what that means, Lucy.”

  Lucy drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a soft sigh. “The man I knew in Brighton was…unhappy. He wagered too much, slept too little, and was in his cups too often. He ignored his family and neglected his duty to them. I—I don’t want that for you, Ciaran. I don’t want to see you unhappy again.”

  She could see at once it wasn’t what he’d expected her to say. He stared at her, stunned into silence. Then he reached for her hand and cradled it with infinite care in his own. “Listen to me, Lucy. How can you think I’d just jaunt off to Scotland without knowing you’re safe first? Nothing in the world would make me unhappier than that.”

  Lucy’s heart melted in her chest. She gazed up at him, taking in his strong jaw, his dark, silky hair ruffling in the breeze. Emotion rushed over her, so powerful her throat closed. He was such a dear man, and so handsome she could hardly tear her gaze away from him. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve such a friend, but she was tremendously grateful for him.

  How could she refuse such a heartfelt plea? “I—if you’re sure, Ciaran.”

  Relief filled those ocean blue eyes. “I am.”

  Lucy dropped her gaze, afraid he’d see too much in her face. “Very well, then,” she murmured, as casually as she could.

  He took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “That’s better, lass. I’ll call on you tomorrow then, and take you for a drive.”

  Lucy risked a glance up at him. “You will?”

  He grinned. “Yes. That’s what a suitor does, Lucy. He dances with his chosen lady, sends her flowers, and takes her for drives.”

  His chosen lady…

  His words cut through her, because she knew she wasn’t his chosen lady. All the dancing, flowers, drives, and pretend courtships in the world wouldn’t change that.

  She didn’t say it. Instead, she forced her lips into a smile. “Then I’ll expect your call.”

  There wasn’t time for them to say any more. Lord Vale and Eloisa joined them then, with Lady Felicia and Lord Markham close behind, and the six of them made their way back toward the dance academy. When they arrived, they found Uncle Jarvis’s hired carriage at the curb waiting for them, a stone-faced Bexley perched on the box.

  Lord Vale murmured something to Eloisa that made her blush. She tried to withdraw her hand from his, but Lord Vale held on long enough to hand her into the carriage. Ciaran handed Lucy in after her cousin, and then paused by the open carriage window.

  “Tomorrow,” he murmured, when Lucy leaned toward him.

  She shivered. He was so close his warm breath drifted over her ear. “Tomorrow,” she repeated, half in a daze.

  Then Ciaran was gone, and Eloisa and Lucy were on their way back to Portman Square. They didn’t speak. Each of them was lost in her own thoughts, but when the carriage came to a stop in front of the house, Lucy dragged herself back to the present moment.

  They were a trifle late getting back. It was nearly teatime. They’d all been having such a…well, perhaps pleasant wasn’t quite the right word, but certainly an interesting time that the minutes had seemed to fly by.

  “Lord Vale admires you, cousin,” she whispered to Eloisa as they handed their cloaks to the butler.

  “Lord Vale is a terrible tease, just as his sister says he is, and a wicked rake besides.” Eloisa used her sternest, most disapproving voice, but she couldn’t hide the tinge of color that stained her cheeks at mention of Lord Vale.

  Lucy cocked her head, studying the blush drifting from Eloisa’s neck into her face.

  Was Eloisa developing a tendre for the handsome lord? Lucy wasn’t quite sure she liked that. She’d grown quite fond of Lord Vale already, but he was an earl, and a handsome, charming, rakish one at that. Handsome, charming, rakish earls didn’t marry untitled, penniless young ladies with vulgar, grasping fathers.

  She didn’t believe Lord Vale would trifle with Eloisa’s affections, but his sophisticated flirtation might prove too seductive for her innocent cousin. “Not so very wicked, I think, and terribly handsome.” Lucy watched Eloisa closely. “Such lovely blue eyes, just like his sister’s. Don’t say you haven’t noticed how handsome he is, Eloisa.”

  “Hush, Lucy! I haven’t noticed a single thing about Lord Vale.”

  Lucy snorted as she followed Eloisa up the stairway to the drawing room. “Eloisa Jarvis, you’re the most shameless liar I’ve ever—”

  “Well, here you are at last. I expected the two of you home an hour ago.”

  Eloisa came to such a sudden halt Lucy stumbled against her. She peered over her cousin’s shoulder, and what she saw waiting for them in the drawing room made the smile flee her lips.

  Uncle Jarvis was standing in front of the fire, his arms crossed over his barrel of a chest. It was plain to see he was in a towering rage, as he was doing a poor enough job of disguising it. Aunt Jarvis was seated on a settee, a cup of tea balanced on her knee, her pale face pinched with anxiety.

  And across from her, cozily ensconced in the best chair in the room sat Lord Godfrey, like a king presiding over his lowly subjects.

  Eloisa had frozen in the doorway, so Lucy gave her a gentle little push. “I beg your pardon, Uncle. We didn’t realize you were waiting for us.”

  Uncle Jarvis’s lip curled. “It’s teatime, isn’t it? A few weeks in London, and you’re both already so lost to decent manners you no longer appear for tea?”

  Aunt Jarvis reached to place her teacup on the table. Her hands were shaking, and the cup rattled in the saucer. “To be fair, Augustus, we never told them to be back for—”

  “Be quiet, Harriet.” Uncle Jarvis’s watery blue eyes narrowed on Lucy. “Lord Godfrey has been waiting for you this past hour!”

  Lord Godfrey waved a languid hand. “Now, Jarvis, don’t scold the girl. I’m happy enough to wait.”

  “Beg Lord Godfrey’s pardon for your rudeness, Lucinda,” Uncle Jarvis demanded, in the tone that always sent his wife and daughter scurrying to do his bidding. Lucy opened her mouth to refuse, but a glance at her Aunt Jarvis’s white face made her snap it closed again.

  She turned to Lord Godfrey, her jaw tight. “I beg your pardon, my lord, for making you wait. I didn’t realize you were joining us for tea this afternoon.” He’d spent hours with them this morning, for pity’s sake. Wasn’t one call from Lord Godfrey enough misery for a day?

  For all of Lord Godfrey’s gallant protests about being pleased to wait, Lucy could see how gratified he was to watch her grovel before him. “Nonsense, my dear girl. I’d have waited much longer for the chance to see your pretty face.”

  Lucy had nothing to say in response to such gross flattery, so she only nodded, and took the place beside her aunt on the settee. Eloisa seated herself on her mother’s other side. Lucy saw Aunt Jarvis take her daughter’s hand and pat it soothingly under cover of a fold of her skirts.

  All the pleasure Lucy had felt this afternoon, all the joy she felt in Ciaran’s presence drained out of her like air from a balloon, leaving her flat and exhausted. It was clear her uncle wanted this match, and he didn’t much care if Lucy shared his enthusiasm.

  Was this how she’d feel every day, if she were married to Lord Godfrey? As if someone had stomped on her until all the air rushed
from inside her with a sickening whoosh?

  Lord Godfrey, for his part, was far too enthusiastic. Teatime dragged from one hour into two as he held forth on one topic after the next, all the while ogling and smirking at Lucy as if she were one of the sweets on the tea tray. His conversation was appalling—condescending advice to Uncle Jarvis interspersed with flowery, extravagant compliments to Lucy.

  Neither Aunt Jarvis nor Eloisa uttered a single word for the duration of his visit. Lord Godfrey and Uncle Jarvis didn’t seem to notice. By the time Lord Godfrey rose to take his leave, Lucy’s palms were aching from clenching her fists, and her head was pounding.

  “My dear Lady Lucinda. It is, as always, my pleasure to wait on you.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Lucy’s voice was as cool as she could make it without being downright rude, but Lord Godfrey seemed to take this tepid reply as eager encouragement, because he stepped closer and grasped her hands in his. “No, Lady Lucinda. It is I who should be thanking you for your lovely company.”

  Lucy tried to draw her hands away, but his hands went so tight around hers she had to smother a cry of pain as the delicate bones in her fingers ground together. Startled, her gaze rose to Lord Godfrey’s face, and her breath caught in her throat at the gleam of cold triumph she saw in his eyes.

  He’d enjoyed it—enjoyed hurting her.

  She jerked at her hands again, and this time he let her go. “I’m very sorry to leave your charming company so soon, Lady Lucinda. Your uncle and I have some business to discuss now, but I will, of course, call on you again tomorrow.”

  Lucy said nothing. She returned to her seat beside her Aunt Jarvis on the settee. The three ladies watched as Uncle Jarvis led Lord Godfrey from the room, and not one of them said a single word.

  * * * *

  “Spoiled, headstrong, willful little chit.” Lord Godfrey paced from one side of the study to the other, his face a mask of rage.

  Uncle Jarvis watched from behind his desk, his lips twisted in a frown. The flickering fire caught at the beads of sweat on his forehead. “You’ll soon have her well in hand, my lord.”

  “Oh, you can be sure of that. I’ll break her like I did my last horse, and I’ll savor every moment of it.” Lord Godfrey swung around and pointed a finger in Jarvis’s face. “But I won’t be made a fool of in the meantime, Jarvis. It doesn’t look to me as if you’ve got control of her.”

  Jarvis swallowed. “I assure you, my lord, I’ve got all the control I need. The girl’s my ward, after all.”

  “Your ward,” Lord Godfrey repeated with a sneer. “She may be your ward, Jarvis, but that doesn’t mean she’ll obey your every command. I’ll tell you again, I won’t be made a fool of. If I’m going to court that chit in front of all of London, then she damn well better accept me when I ask for her hand. I won’t have the ton laughing at me.”

  “She will! You’ve got nothing to worry about, my lord. I promise you.”

  Jarvis’s voice had disintegrated into a plaintive whine. Lord Godfrey glanced at him, and didn’t try to hide his disgust. He tugged his coat down with a jerk, then went to check his cravat in the looking glass hanging on the wall opposite the fireplace. “I admit I’ll put up with a good deal of trouble to have her.” He smoothed the linen and rearranged the folds to cover the sagging skin under his chin. “She’s perfect. Strong-willed and defiant, just the way I like them. That skin, and her hair…delicious. Perfectly ripe.”

  “Ripe, and not yet plucked.” Jarvis let out a lewd laugh, pleased with his own wit.

  Lord Godfrey’s mouth turned down with distaste. “For God’s sakes, man, she’s your niece.”

  “So she is, but any man would…what I mean is, I’m not blind, my lord. I only wish my own daughter was such a beauty. Perhaps then I could dispose of her as advantageously.”

  “Miss Jarvis doesn’t compare to her cousin, of course, but she’s a pretty little bit, just the same. Pity she hasn’t a decent portion. If she did, I’d wager you could turn her to account.” Lord Godfrey snatched up his hat from Jarvis’s desk. He crossed to the door, but paused and turned to Jarvis before opening it. “You’re fortunate I’m such a patient man, Jarvis.”

  Jarvis scrambled to his feet. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

  “See you get that chit in hand. Don’t break her spirit, mind you—I’m looking forward to doing that myself—but do what you must to bring her to heel, understand? I won’t be patient forever, and it would be a pity if you found yourself unable to meet your obligations, wouldn’t it?”

  Lord Godfrey didn’t wait for an answer. He settled his hat on his head, tossed one last warning look at Jarvis over his shoulder, and disappeared through the door.

  As soon as he was gone, Jarvis fell back into the chair behind his desk. He sat there for a long time, drumming his fingers on the wood surface, thinking. His niece was an obstinate little chit, just as Godfrey had said. He couldn’t frighten or coerce the girl into doing his bidding the way he did with his wife and daughter.

  Despite his promises to Godfrey, Jarvis wasn’t certain he could manage Lucinda at all.

  Not in the usual way, that is.

  He opened a drawer, drew out a blank sheet of paper and dragged the inkwell closer. “Poor, dear Lucinda,” he muttered with a smirk as he dipped the quill into the ink. “Such a pity the girl should be so grievously afflicted.”

  He began to write.

  Dear Dr. Willis,

  I write to you out of a grave concern for my niece, Lady Lucinda Sutcliffe, daughter to the Earl of Bellamy. A gentleman of your profession will, I dare to assume, have heard of the earl’s grievous descent into madness after the tragic death of his wife. Alas, doctor, I’m sure I needn’t tell you the afflictions of the father are often visited upon his innocent children.

  As much as it grieves me to say it, such is the case with my dear niece, Lady Lucinda.…

  Jarvis wrote until he’d reached the bottom of the page, then signed his name with a flourish. He sprinkled it with sand, then folded and sealed it. When he’d finished, he leaned back in the chair, his lips curling with satisfaction.

  Yes, that would do. That would do nicely.

  Chapter Fourteen

  There was nothing shocking in Ciaran’s appearance at Lucy’s door the following morning. It was the season, after all. Hopeful gentlemen were darkening the doorsteps of eligible young ladies all over London, eager to pay their calls and prove their devotion.

  To the casual observer, it was a perfectly ordinary occurrence.

  But Ciaran’s jaw was tight as he grabbed the brass ring hanging from the lion’s mouth, and let it fall with a resounding thud against the door to the Jarvis’s lodgings in Portman Square.

  He knew this visit for what it was.

  A battle of wills.

  He’d told Lucy he’d take her for a drive today. He was determined to do just that, and Jarvis, no doubt, would be just as determined to stop him. Since Ciaran didn’t intend to accept a refusal, odds were high this visit would go the way of Brighton’s bare-knuckle bout. Ugly, that is, if not actually bloody.

  So be it, then. He wouldn’t break a promise to Lucy.

  He rapped again, more insistently this time, and after another brief wait a butler appeared. He ushered Ciaran into the entryway and disappeared up the stairs to present his card.

  Ciaran was fully expecting a large footman or two to descend the staircase and try to toss him onto his arse into the street, so he was surprised when the butler calmly reappeared at his elbow with a polite bow. “This way, sir.”

  Ciaran followed the man up the stairs, his brows drawn together in a suspicious frown. Likely as not, Jarvis was waiting for him in the drawing room with a loaded pistol.

  As it happened, Jarvis wasn’t waiting for him at all. There was no sign of Lucy’s uncle in the small, overheated r
oom into which he was led, but just as Ciaran was about to celebrate this unexpected stroke of good luck, his satisfaction gave way to disgust.

  Jarvis wasn’t here, but Godfrey was.

  Mrs. Jarvis and Eloisa Jarvis were seated on a settee at the far end of the room, their shoulders stiff, their hands clenched in their laps. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ramsey.” Mrs. Jarvis offered Ciaran a polite nod, but her eyes were wide with mute appeal.

  Ah, so that’s what was happening. Mrs. Jarvis had—no doubt against her husband’s orders—instructed the butler to admit Ciaran. He was hardly two steps over the threshold before he realized why she’d done it.

  To save Lucy.

  And not a moment too soon.

  Godfrey and Lucy were seated on the settee opposite. Lucy had squeezed herself into a far corner, but her efforts to escape Godfrey had failed. The scoundrel must have chased after her each time she edged away from him, because he was seated in the middle of the settee, his leg pressed against hers.

  Ciaran took one look at the flush of misery on her face and was instantly furious. He took a step toward Godfrey, his hands clenching into fists, but before he could tear the man’s head off, he caught Lucy’s gaze.

  She shook her head slightly, her dark brown eyes pleading.

  Ciaran sucked in a deep breath and forced a bland smile to his lips. “Mrs. Jarvis, Miss Jarvis.” He offered the two ladies a polite bow, then turned to the other settee. “Lady Lucinda, and…Lord Godfrey.” His teeth ground together as his gaze fell on Godfrey’s smug face.

  Jesus, he couldn’t recall ever despising another man as much as he despised this one. He wanted to snatch Lucy up into his arms and run off with her.

  “Ramsey.” Godfrey swept a contemptuous glance from the top of Ciaran’s head to his boots, then offered him an icy smile. “How do you do? I didn’t realize you were acquainted with the Jarvises.”