The Rake's Rainbow

by Allison Lane

  Caroline was also aware the moment Thomas led Alicia into the dance. She had feared this meeting, not knowing how adept Thomas was at controlling his emotions, but he conducted himself well and she offered up a prayer of thanks. Few would guess that his every nerve strained in Alicia’s direction. But she knew. Even as they had twirled through the supper dance and engaged in light social chatter, his mind and his eyes had strained toward her.

  A pang pierced the rampart surrounding her heart, and she thrust it down, deliberately thickening the barrier and distancing her mind. Don’t worry, she assured her conscience. Her interest was only lest he lose control and disgrace them all. He made it through the evening without any overt slip, and she sighed in relief. None but George and Jeremy suspected his state of mind.

  But he did not come to her that night as she had hoped he would. If only they had not shared that week of passion and friendship. His experienced ministrations had awakened needs she had not previously known, leaving an unfulfilled ache behind. She had never expected much for herself from life. But having once glimpsed Eden, she could no longer be content with the mundane world. Repressing a sigh, she finally dropped off to sleep.

  * * * *

  The following week differed from the previous fortnight only in increased tension. Thomas still hovered, waiting for her to shame him. And she felt his turmoil each time he encountered Alicia. He played the social game well, spending his days in male pursuits and accompanying her to some but not all of her evening engagements. Nor did he attend every function Alicia graced. He carefully walked the line between acceptable behavior and personal desire, never betraying a hint that his infatuation still burned. But despite his demonstrated control, she never completely relaxed. Please, don’t let him disgrace himself.

  Her senses strained toward him as much as his gravitated toward Alicia. Caroline always knew where he was. And she was amazed by some of his behavior. No matter how many friends he chatted with, and no matter what other activities he pursued, he always found time to dance with several of the less popular young ladies who were making bows to society. She watched him use his charm to relax them and draw them into conversation. The effect of his attentions often lasted after his set, many of the girls delighting their subsequent partners with lighthearted quips. Even acid-tongued Miss Gumpley improved under his ministrations. Caroline never asked him what he said to them, but she had to applaud his kindness. In the same way, she watched him rein in excess spirits in some of the younger cubs, always doing it without bruising any feelings. If only he would return to caring for her in so tender a fashion.

  Always conscious of Eleanor’s reputation, Thomas fought to control his eyes, his voice, his yearning whenever Alicia appeared. And he succeeded in masking his feelings – except with his wife. Caroline was the only dance partner with whom he could never relax. She imperceptibly stiffened whenever he glanced toward Alicia. He had been a fool to think she would not have learned of his love. Any number of tabbies would have been itching to tell her. And it was hardly surprising that a chit from a vicarage would disapprove of his roving eyes. His anger stirred. She had no right to condemn him. Her own actions were not blameless, her very public flirtation with Wroxleigh far more blatant than his own painful encounters. He was so circumspect that no one else even suspected that his love remained true. Would that she would behave so well. His irritation surfaced as cold hauteur and an increased tendency to find fault with all she did.

  Darnley never appeared in public, though rumor reported that he was no longer bedridden. Alicia accepted escort from any number of gentlemen, favoring none. If her flirting with Thomas was more blatant than with others, society did not comment. Her behavior had already placed her beyond the pale, but Thomas’s unexceptionable conduct convinced observers that he had outgrown his infatuation. Marriage had settled him. His wife was well-received. No evidence of continued raking surfaced, so he was again accepted everywhere. It gave him a new grievance: Caroline’s credit had rescued his own tattered reputation. His anger bumped up another notch. How long could he continue this travesty of a marriage? Something had to change.

  Chapter 11

  Thomas’s mental state continued to deteriorate, plaguing him with unbearable discontent and frustration. Each day drew him further into an escalating emotional war. Bedlam seemed inviting.

  His greatest battles still revolved around his passion for Alicia. Maintaining his distance grew harder each time he saw her. As did disguising his interest. He suspected that he might be happier if he did not love her. Certainly, life would be easier. But love was not an emotion that could be summoned or banished at will.

  Her continued attentions undermined his effort to remain aloof, though he refused to cast blame on her enticing shoulders. Barely nineteen, she lacked the experience that would have enabled her to hide her love. And she was too young to understand that even the strongest emotional attachment could not excuse dishonor. Daily he cursed himself for losing control at Graystone, degrading her and hinting that wanton behavior was acceptable where there was love. But never would he admit that part of his unease stemmed from the unpalatable fact that her attentions were cloying. He preferred the role of aggressor in his dealings with the fair sex. With Alicia, he felt like prey.

  Indicative of his dilemma was the night he attended a card party at Lady Beatrice’s. Caroline had accompanied Eleanor to a ball which Alicia was also to attend, and he looked forward to a relaxing evening by himself. After several hours of whist, he wandered into the garden, seeking cool air to counter the dowager’s overheated rooms.

  Without warning, a soft hand caressed his arm, and that beloved husky voice filled the darkness.

  “Thomas, my love, I have missed you so. It has been two days since I last saw you. Surely you cannot have been avoiding me.”

  He froze. She was even lovelier than usual tonight, her blue gown pressed tightly against her by a cooling breeze, leaving the impression that she wore nothing beneath, though he discounted the thought. Only courtesans were so lost to propriety. He had long since convinced himself that overwhelming passion had erased all memory of removing the usual undergarments at Graystone.

  “Of course not, Lady Darnley,” he managed, removing her hand from his sleeve and stepping back a pace. Fortunately they were in full view of the door which tipped his emotional balance in favor of honor.

  “The air is wondrously fresh. Can you believe how stuffy Lady Beatrice keeps her house? Though I suppose those ancient bones of hers can no longer tolerate chills.” She glided down the steps into the garden and paused expectantly so he could join her.

  “It is cool enough here,” he declared, refusing to move away from the door.

  “I expect you are as relieved as I to get away from home for an evening,” she purred, sending him a melting glance through her lashes. “You cannot enjoy being tied to an insipid wife any more than I like catering to Darnley. He is too decrepit to be considered a man. Walk with me a while.”

  “No, my lady,” he refused again, though his voice revealed his desire. If he left the light, nothing would keep him from ravishing her.

  “But I need you.” She pouted. “Life is so utterly dreary.” Her tone conveyed exactly what she wanted. He banished a picture of the hordes of prostitutes that routinely accosted him outside the theater.

  “Never again, my lady,” he stated, keeping his voice firm. “You belong to Darnley.”

  “But what about Graystone?”

  “That was a grievous mistake, as you well know. All I can do is plead forgiveness for dishonoring you so. But I will never again betray my honor or demean your integrity by ignoring your marriage vows.”

  He had returned immediately to the house, cursing fate. At times he thought this struggle between honor and desire would drive him mad, yet he was incapable of cutting her from his heart and his life. Perhaps he was already mad. Surely this mindless longing could not be normal. He tried to concentrate on his sworn duty to respect and care
for his wife, but the thought only raised more guilt.

  If he had glanced back, he might have received help in his dilemma. Anger suffused Alicia’s face. “Damn the man’s scruples!” she fumed. “And damn all honor!” Several minutes elapsed before anger abated and a new plan formed in her mind. He may disdain bedding a wife, but what would he do when Darnley died? She knew of several widows who had enjoyed his favors in the past.

  Caroline also haunted Thomas’s mind, providing constant irritation. Everything she did annoyed him. Her friends were not those he would have chosen for her – despite the uncomfortable fact that two of her closest were his own best friends, and one was his sister. As in her redecoration of Crawley, her new wardrobe demonstrated a flair for color and design. Admitting she was elegant, and had become more attractive than he had thought possible, triggered new comparisons with Alicia that he had trouble suppressing. Guilt was his constant companion – for demeaning her charms, for approving her looks, for failing to support her, for wasting time worrying about her. George and Jeremy continued to sing her praises.

  She was aware of his obsession, stiffening imperceptibly whenever he looked at Alicia or vice versa. Each glance at his love drove a wedge deeper into his marriage. The fact pained him, but he could do nothing about it except fume at Caroline for her awareness. A true lady would have remained ignorant, and no damage would be done.

  But her worst offense was her determined dalliance with Wroxleigh. Thomas saw red every time he considered it, his fury stronger than he could explain away by citing her disregard for honor. Nor was it a matter of his eventual heir, though she had a duty to provide a son who was indisputably his. Perhaps his anger arose from sorrow that a basically decent woman was being taken in by so unscrupulous a libertine. But that explained nothing – certainly not the pain that generally accompanied his thoughts. And he had no proof. She and Wroxleigh were being unusually circumspect. Not once had they disappeared into a garden together, or driven without her maid, or used even one of the dozens of excuses he knew firsthand could cover a clandestine meeting. Nor was there any rumor of their liaison, not even from the lowest-minded devotee of scandalous gossip. Yet he was convinced they were more than casual friends. And pictures of them in each other’s arms rose before his eyes at unpredictable moments, even invading his dreams.

  Nor could he be sure she met only with Wroxleigh. Alicia’s observations echoed through his ears at unpredictable times.

  “I see Harris has broken with Lady Tudbury,” she commented during a country dance, nodding toward that gentleman who was deep in conversation with Caroline.

  “Lord Ashby must be relieved that Hazelton is no longer pursuing his wife,” she observed in passing an hour later. Hazelton was twirling Caroline through a waltz at the time.

  Was Caroline following in Lady Shelby’s footsteps? She had been a virgin that night at the Blue Boar. But what about later? Unbidden, the glowing faces of Vicar Stokes and Squire Perkins rose before his eyes as they hung on her every word at Crawley. Their names had occurred often in her dinner conversation. Had their relationship ripened into something beyond friendship?

  The third antagonist in his internal struggle was Crawley. For the first time in his life he was doing something truly worthwhile. But Jacobs’s accident threatened his progress. Richards seemed to be a talented horseman, but Thomas chafed at being away at this critical time. His active imagination conjured any number of possible disasters, each causing hours of trepidation before he managed to explain it away. Even the daily reports he received from Talbert could not relieve his anxiety. Nor was he likely to be home any time soon. Whenever he mentioned leaving, his mother found a more compelling reason for him to remain. She feared that society would misconstrue his departure. Finally he admitted that she would never countenance him returning before the Season ended. And having just regained his reputation, he could not risk tarnishing it again. He resigned himself to staying in town.

  Another struggle arose from the rumors that abounded about Alicia. Not that anyone repeated them to his face. They all knew of his recent infatuation, and though he appeared recovered, few were willing to test that theory. But at the clubs and at Tatt’s he overheard several conversations in which she figured.

  Or did she?

  It had started at White’s two days after his return to London. Tired of yet another round of congratulations on his marriage he settled into a high-backed wing chair and pretended to read the Morning Post. Nearby conversations did not intrude on his thoughts until two newcomers entered the room.

  “I hear she’s insatiable,” said a deep voice he did not recognize.

  “Planning to try your luck, Robby?” queried a second man Thomas recognized as Ashton. “Don’t do it. Stay away from wives. You’ll live longer.”

  “Ah, but apoplexy has confined this husband to bed – alone – so he could hardly call me out. And I would be only one of many, after all.”

  Ashton laughed and turned the discussion to the upcoming races.

  Thomas froze. They could not be discussing Darnley, could they? Of course not. Many husbands were bedridden. Apoplexy was common. And rumor had Darnley on his feet. He dismissed the notion and returned to his paper.

  But two days later the suspicion returned. He was again at White’s, again anonymously ensconced behind a paper.

  “I heard she accepted Dobson’s protection.”

  “Hardly protection. But she did invite him into her bed.”

  “Is she as hungry as rumor implies?”

  “More so, I think. But what would you expect of one so young who takes an ailing husband old enough to be her grandfather?”

  Thomas’s hands balled into fists, crinkling the newspaper, but the speakers had already disappeared into the card room and did not notice. Again he assured himself that they were not discussing Alicia, but the effort was more difficult. Nor did it help that his body recalled every exquisite detail of just how insatiable she could be. Memory also played havoc with his image of her sweet purity, reminding him at inconvenient times that he recalled nothing beneath her gown but a thin shift, reveling in her sensuality, feeling again her stiffened nipples brushing against his arm ... her questing hand sliding between his legs and...

  He thrust the memory brutally aside and indulged in a brisk walk home through a heavy downpour. Rumors were bound to circulate about so exquisite a diamond, undoubtedly begun in a fit of jealousy by some spoiled chit who resented the competition. Or an envious cub who coveted her for himself. He failed to note that something deep in his mind accepted the idea that it was Alicia the rumor discussed.

  The conversation at Tattersall’s nearly destroyed him. He was examining a mare, with an eye to purchasing it for Caroline’s use, when Devereaux and Millhouse entered. Both were long-standing libertines, without scruples, who often competed with each other for the favors of society wives.

  “I’ll leave you a clear field on this one, Bertie.” Devereaux chuckled. “The lady does not appeal to me. I like my lovers willing and impressed, not insatiable and critical. Did you know she derided Atherton last week, claiming that only Mannering could satisfy her?”

  Thomas stiffened in shock. Which courtesan dared banter his name about in such a fashion?

  “What about her husband?”

  “Maybe in his salad days,” quipped Devereaux. “But that was long before that tease was born. Well, what should I do, Bertie? Do you agree this great beast was made for me?”

  Thomas fought down nausea. The only married lady he had ever bedded was Alicia. No! screamed his mind. You misunderstood. Someone had tossed his name out in a fit of pique. Or perhaps the man in question was one of his cousins. He could think of several who weren’t very particular. Or had one of his widowed liaisons remarried? By stretching his imagination, he produced half a dozen situations that could have generated that bit of conversation. But he did not find sleep until after dawn.

  Nor did he buy the horse.

  But by far
his worst problem was guilt. He was very close to hating himself. For most of his life he had taken pride in upholding honor, feeding that pride every time he sidestepped temptation or another man faltered. Honor required loyalty to one’s friends, fidelity to one’s vows, and performing one’s obligations without resentment. It was this last point that bedeviled him now. What were his obligations?

  One was caring for his estate – for five years he had ignored it, wresting money from it without putting anything back and allowing his tenants to live in deplorable conditions. Another was caring for his wife – he had all but ignored her for months, then thrust her into society unprepared, providing no help or support. The most important duty was conducting himself properly at all times – yet he had assaulted Alicia, ignoring both her vows and his own.

  He must regain control of his life before he brought disaster down on all their heads. It was yet another reason he longed to return to Crawley. Perhaps there he could build rapport with Caroline. Somehow, he must set aside his love for Alicia. It was the only way he could find any peace.

  In the meantime, he was cursed with a very short temper. Cramer began to look back on the days of his debauch as utopian and even considered seeking other employment. The earl chastised him, particularly when he exploded at Caroline in the drawing room one night for the unpardonable sin of crying off a series of three routs in favor of accompanying Cissy to a musical evening. Even he had to admit that his reaction had been unjust and that shouting in front of the servants betrayed a lack of manners that was not to be tolerated. But an afternoon at Manton’s listening to George extol Caroline’s virtues and Jeremy bemoan again how lucky he was to have her to wife had finally sent his temper over the edge. Nor had a month of celibacy helped. He still refused to satisfy himself elsewhere, but his frustrations and his uncertainty over Wroxleigh kept him out of Caroline’s bed.

  * * * *

  An excited Thomas entered Tattersall’s auction ring, grateful for a chance to concentrate on business. A matched pair of chestnuts was up for sale and he hoped to purchase them for Caroline.