A Beginner's Guide to Rakes

by Suzanne Enoch

  “You’ll see.” He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “I need to dress. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She shook out her fingers as he left the room. If he wished them to be seen together in public, she supposed that would only help the impression that she was both desirable and unavailable. In fact, she couldn’t see how he would benefit at all from taking her about London.

  With the grand opening and then the rest of the night spent in Oliver’s bed, she’d barely eaten in hours, and the toasted bread hadn’t done much to curb her appetite. Glancing toward the open door of his bedchamber, she sat in his vacated chair and quickly ate a slice of ham and the remainder of the eggs.

  “Do you want more?” he asked, stepping back into the room.

  She jumped. “No. Not unless you’ll have us gone until four o’clock in the morning.”

  “I imagine we’ll return to my bed before then,” he drawled. “Button me, will you?”

  Turning around, she saw that he’d donned a pair of black trousers, a black jacket, and a black waistcoat, which currently hung open over his white shirt and black cravat. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “I thought we should match. I can hardly dress more colorfully without looking like a dandy now, can I? Button me.”

  “You don’t need my help.”

  “Neither did you.”

  Diane blew out her breath in feigned annoyance. Or actual annoyance. He drove her so close to madness that she wasn’t certain any longer. How could anyone be so aggravating and so compelling all at the same time? Standing, she stalked up to him and yanked the two sides of his waistcoat forward. It didn’t budge him an inch. Refusing to look up at his face, she swiftly buttoned the half-dozen fastenings running up the black waistcoat and then stepped back again.

  “Do you need me to comb your hair? Shave you?”

  “No. Do you require a reticule?”

  “That depends on whether you intend to abandon me somewhere to make my own way home.”

  He narrowed one eye. “I won’t abandon you anywhere.”

  Ah, an opening. “Hm. Well, that will be a nice change.”

  Muttering something under his breath that sounded very unflattering, he led the way to his front door. When he pulled it open, Jenny stood just two feet away on the landing, already glaring at him. “Good day,” he said, nodding at her. “I’ll have her back before daybreak.”

  “I should hope so,” Genevieve returned stiffly. “Diane, do you wish anything else for breakfast?”

  She could escape if she wanted to, she imagined, but if she did so then Oliver would more than likely withdraw his support and his additional five thousand pounds, and The Tantalus Club would be forced to close before it had truly opened. And if she did escape, she wouldn’t discover what he had planned for the day. “No, I’m fine. But thank you for asking. I’ll be back later.”

  “Very well.”

  Halfway down the stairs it occurred to her that she’d forgotten something rather significant. She stopped. “Jenny, have we received any applications?”

  “Forty as of this morning. Footmen have been bringing them by since just after daybreak.”

  Oh, thank goodness. “Excellent,” she said aloud. “Are you certain you can open the doors without me?”

  “They’ll make do,” Oliver cut in. “And you’re impinging on my time. That’s enough conversation.”

  Diane sent him an annoyed look for Jenny’s benefit, then followed him down to the foyer and out the front door. His high-perch phaeton and pair of jet-black horses stood there, waiting for them. Wherever they were going, then, he meant for them to be seen. Juliet handed over her black bonnet, and Diane tied it over her hair.

  It had been ages since she’d ridden in a phaeton, and despite herself a thrill of excitement ran down her spine. She took his hand as he helped her up to the high seat, then waited as he walked around the back of the carriage and clambered up the other side. Without another word he took the reins, nodded at the groom holding the horses, and flicked the ribbons. In a heartbeat they were off, trotting down the street in the direction of Hyde Park.

  “Will you tell me now where we’re heading?” she asked, holding on to her bonnet with one hand and trying not to smile.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because once I tell you, you’ll begin plotting and planning your response to the setting. You’ll have to tolerate simply … being surprised.”

  She sent him a sideways glance. “Do you know where we’re going?”

  Oliver laughed. The unexpected sound put a responding grin on her face before she could stop it. He didn’t laugh often, she knew; she’d only seen him that amused once or twice in Vienna. And to hear the low, merry chuckle now … she liked it. Except that she didn’t like that she liked it.

  “Yes,” he said. “I know where we’re going.”

  Since her return to London she’d attempted to familiarize herself with the area; Frederick’s family had been anxious for the two of them to marry, so she’d only spent a total of four weeks enjoying her debut season in Town. All she knew for certain at the moment was that they were heading south toward the Thames and that they were west of the shopping on Bond Street.

  They passed a barouche going the opposite way, and the three ladies inside sent her clearly curious stares before they began whispering and giggling together. “If you’re showing me off, shouldn’t we be in Hyde Park?” she ventured.

  “I don’t need to show you off; everyone knows who you are.”

  They turned onto one of the bridges spanning the Thames and crossed to the south bank. Rows of trees and a distant Oriental pagoda came into view as he pulled the phaeton into a large public stable yard, and she abruptly realized where they were.

  “Vauxhall Gardens?”

  The moment a groom appeared to take charge of the horses, Oliver jumped to the ground and came around to her side of the carriage. “Yes,” he said, lifting his arms to her. “It’s a bit shabby and past its prime, but it does have its amusements.”

  She started to take his hands to step down, but he moved closer to grip her about the waist. Before she could complain that she was not some helpless young miss, he lifted her into the air and then set her down in front of him.

  “And what amusements in particular interest you today?” Diane asked, stepping back from the circle of his arms as casually as she could manage. After all, while there weren’t many people about, it only took one gossip to say that Diane had been seen recoiling from her rumored beau. “A deep pond for drownings?”

  “I don’t know why you’ve decided I mean to do you in,” he returned mildly, offering her an arm.

  “Ah. Perhaps I’m confusing my own whimsy with yours.”

  Oliver nodded. “That must be it. This way.”

  They crossed a footbridge and made their way through a pretty if overgrown trellised garden, then around a large grouping of mostly empty private boxes to the central pavilion and fountain. The farther into the pleasure gardens they walked, the more crowded it became, not only with aristocrats but with what looked to be everyone from merchants to brightly dressed lightskirts.

  Everyone stood grouped around a roped-off circle in the adjoining clearing where a large dome towered above them. No, not a dome, she realized as they made their way closer. An orb. A very large one decorated with a horizontal patterning of yellow and red stripes.

  “A balloon?” she commented, falling in behind Oliver as he rather effectively made his way through the crowd to the rope boundary. “You’ve brought me to see a balloon?”

  “No, I haven’t.” He lifted his hand, gesturing at one of the dozen men scurrying about the large woven basket resting on the ground beneath the anchored balloon. A large fire crackled to one side, while a much smaller burning caldron was secured between the basket and the balloon.

  “Yes, monsieur?” the man said, approaching.

  “We two wish to go up,” Oliver returned in flawles
s French.

  Diane’s heart stammered. “No, we don’t,” she hissed.

  Before she could back away, Oliver took her hand in his and drew her up against his side. “Yes, we do,” he muttered.

  “The rides begin tomorrow,” the fellow said. “Today is only for show and to make certain we have patched all the … les trous.”

  “The holes?” Diane squeaked, translating.

  “Yes. Holes.”

  “I am the Marquis of Haybury,” Oliver stated, this time in English, digging into his coat pocket with his free hand. “And I have twenty pounds to give someone in exchange for the privilege of ascending in your aero balloon in the next five minutes.”

  The balloonist repeated Oliver’s request in French to his companions, then lifted the rope barricade as high as he could. Still pulling her along behind him, Oliver ducked beneath the barricade.

  Oh, goodness. If they’d been alone she would have kicked him and fled, but with the vocal and highly interested audience of onlookers surrounding them, she settled for clenching her jaw and following him. She was supposed to be mysterious and fearless—the first for everyone else, and the second for herself. And still she couldn’t help pulling just a little against Oliver’s iron grip. “This is mad,” she whispered. “What are you attempting to prove?”

  Oliver put his hands around her again, this time lifting her into the waist-high basket. “I’m not attempting to prove anything. I want to ride in a balloon and see London from above. And I want you to go with me.” He clambered rather easily into the basket beside her while a single balloonist followed less gracefully a moment later.

  “Why do you want me to ride in a balloon with you?”

  “Because you didn’t expect it.”

  “I wouldn’t have expected a nice diamond necklace, either.”

  “Next time, perhaps.”

  With a command of “Loose!” the other men released all the ropes tied to stakes around the basket. Held by a single long tether wound around a solid wooden crank, they began to rise slowly into the air.

  Chapter Twelve

  London from five hundred feet in the air. Below them the Thames wound through the middle of the city, while to the northwest Oliver could make out the dense green of Hyde Park, and St. James’s Park farther to the east. St. Paul’s Cathedral and its round-topped spire dominated the skyline to the northeast, and directly below them the circle of curious onlookers seemed as small as ants. Well, mice perhaps.

  Spectacular as the aerial view of his city was, however, he was more interested in the reaction of the young woman standing beside him. He doubted she even realized that she had a bruisingly tight grip on his hand, because her gaze remained fixed on the landscape below them. The excited half smile on her face fascinated him even more than the view—though he would never admit that aloud.

  She was so guarded in his presence. He was the same in hers, of course; neither of them wished the other to find a weakness, an unarmored chink to be exploited. But he’d never realized just how careful she was about what she showed him until he glimpsed this wide-eyed, laughing chit leaning out into open space. If he opened himself more to her, risked a wound or two, then perhaps she would do the same for him. He’d begun to think it was worth the risk.

  “I feel like I’m flying!” she exclaimed, then pointed. “Oh, look! I can see my house from here!”

  He had his doubts about that, but given the odd lightheartedness touching him this morning, he didn’t see the need to argue her claim. Instead he twined his fingers with hers and took in the sights above London. And wondered abruptly whether he’d made a very large mistake two years ago. He hadn’t wanted his life upended. Over the past few weeks she’d upended it anyway—and by God, it had been interesting so far.

  A gust of wind canted them a little sideways, and her grip tightened. “We won’t fall out, will we?”

  “That almost never happens, miss,” the balloonist returned.

  “‘Almost’ never?” she repeated.

  “You will address her as Lady Cameron, monsieur,” Oliver corrected.

  The fellow tugged on his forelock. “Beg pardon, my lady.”

  “No harm done,” she replied. “I’m certain Lord Haybury ascends with females of no breeding at least three days every week.”

  Oliver lowered his gaze to hers. “The wonder of floating above London is beginning to fade, then, I assume?” he commented, shaking the soft, pillowy edges of nonsense from his mind. “And I’ve never ridden the air in a balloon before, Diane.”

  A half smile touched her mouth again. “Then I suppose I still feel some wonder. This is rather remarkable.” Her green eyes danced as she gazed across the city once more.

  “Yes, rather remarkable,” he echoed. As was the realization that this woman who had caused him to flee or risk losing … himself after only a fortnight had as many facets as a diamond. And the sparkle of her fascinated him. He’d never expected intrigue to outweigh the drag of entanglement, but as long as it did, he intended to continue both his exploration and his pursuit.

  They spent nearly forty minutes in the air while he pointed out the sights around them and she laughed every time the breeze made them sway. When the crank finally returned them to the ground again, he vaulted over the lip of the basket and lifted her out after him.

  As he set her on her feet, she looked up at the balloon again. “That was quite enjoyable,” she admitted, straightening her black bonnet.

  “Yes, it was. I may hire one this autumn for Haybury Park. It would be interesting to see my lands from above.” He offered his arm, and she slipped her hand around his sleeve.

  “You’ve truly never done this before?” she asked, sending him a dubious look.

  “I never have.”

  “What made you think of it, then?”

  Oliver shrugged. “I remembered reading that the balloon would be here this week, and I thought you would like it.”

  “Well. Thank you. I did.”

  “You’re wel—”

  “I could think of several less pleasant activities you might have decided on while I’m compelled to remain in your company, so this is especially nice.”

  Oliver stilled his expression. For a heartbeat he’d forgotten that while he might be contemplating pursuit, Diane was still attacking and retreating at a full gallop. “Back to being sharp-tongued again, are you? Or was that little statement supposed to convince me to send you on your way?”

  She tilted her head at him. “Did it work?”

  “No. I will give you a choice, though. Shopping, or a drive through Hyde Park.”

  “Oh, now I’m disappointed. You’ve already run out of unexpected jaunts?”

  Good God, she was relentless. “How about luncheon at White’s, then?”

  This time she blinked. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not? You’re a club owner. It behooves you to make a study of your competition.”

  “I would agree, but there are several lamentable rules about no females being allowed at White’s—or any of the other prominent gentlemen’s clubs. And I do not wish to be seen as a crusader for women’s rights. That will drive men away more quickly than anything else. This is about me earning my way, not about me being thrown out of somewhere on my arse.”

  “Leave it to me.”

  “I don’t trust you enough to do that.”

  He helped her up to the phaeton’s seat and strode to the far side of the carriage to join her. “Considering that you’re mine for the next … fourteen hours, you don’t have much of a choice.” As he flicked the reins, he moved a breath closer to her. “You should have chosen shopping.”

  “Then I choose shopping.”

  “Too late.” He glanced sideways at her. “I won’t make things worse for you.”

  “If you do, the ten thousand pounds you’ve lent me becomes mine, along with an additional ten thousand pounds to see me on my way.”

  This was beginning to become expensive. Still,
he did love to wager—and a wager where he would feel the loss came about too rarely these days to be allowed to pass by. “Then what do I get if we’re allowed to eat at White’s and the sun doesn’t fall from the sky as a result?”

  “I don’t make meaningless wagers. I’ve lost more than enough to that nonsense.”

  “Then we’ll also make it something unrelated to money.” He considered for a moment. “If we’re permitted to stay for luncheon, you will allow me to escort you to the Drury Lane theater on Tuesday next.”

  “You go to the theater?” she returned skeptically.

  “I’ve found there is no better place to find young ladies who are bored witless and looking for a distraction.” And he happened to enjoy the theater, but she would never believe that. “Do we have an agreement? With the caveat that if you sabotage us at White’s, I win by default.”

  She pursed her lips. “Very well. I don’t have to spit on my hand and shake yours, do I?”

  “I believe we can forego the spitting.” Shifting his grip on the reins, he held his right hand out to her.

  Diane shook it, making the contact as brief as she could manage. The fact that she’d been touching him quite a bit today, and voluntarily, hadn’t escaped her. And therefore it likely hadn’t escaped his notice, either. Hiding her scowl, she turned her gaze forward again.

  St. James’s Street with its parade of gentlemen’s clubs came into view ahead of them. She was far from fearless, but since Frederick’s death she’d made a vow never to let fear stop her from doing what she needed to ensure her own survival. Luncheon at White’s—while seeing the premises with her own eyes could be very helpful—was not necessary.

  Rather, it was Oliver taking what she wanted and pushing it far past where she felt comfortable treading. But considering that she’d already spent part of the additional five thousand pounds and had plans for the remainder of it, she didn’t seem to have much choice. Mainly, though, she couldn’t help noticing that she’d very much enjoyed the first ten hours of this agreement.

  “You’re being rather quiet,” he observed.