by Darcy Burke
Then finally, her body wilted. Spent, she worked to catch her breath. His hand was gone from her flesh, and her skirts dropped down around her legs. He took a step back and bent to pick something up from the ground. His glove, she realized. She hadn’t even noticed him taking it off. And then his hat. That she remembered.
“That was rather ill-advised,” he said, his voice sounding rather tight.
“Perhaps.” Lavinia straightened her bonnet, her glasses, and her dress. Her face was probably flushed, but there was no help for that. Hopefully, a breeze would cool her off. “I won’t regret it however, and I hope you don’t either.” She winced. “Unless… I shouldn’t have urged you to do that.” She hadn’t urged. She’d begged. She was completely shameless.
He came back toward her and took her hand, pulling her away from the tree. “My dear Lavinia, if I hadn’t wanted to do it, I wouldn’t have. But now you must go. We’ve been gone too long, and I can only hope our absence—at the same time—hasn’t been noted. You go back, and I’ll follow later. I’ll be the last to leave with Felix anyway.”
What he said made sense. And also filled her with a bit of dread. What if their absence had been noticed? They hadn’t been here that long, but apparently long enough…
“I really did want to thank you for today, and now I’ve even more reason to.” She gave him a saucy smile, then kissed his cheek. “You are a kindhearted gentleman, just as Fanny and Sarah thought about the Duke of Seduction. I’m sorry I presumed you were anything else.”
A storm gathered in his eyes. “I’m still a rake, Lavinia. Lest you forget, just consider what happened here. Kindhearted gentlemen don’t seduce unmarried women in the forest.”
“Is that what you did? I’m the one who asked you to go on. Perhaps I’m the one who seduced you.” She lifted her shoulder, then turned and walked away, feeling supremely satisfied.
Yes, from her perspective, the seducer had just become the seduced.
* * *
A light drizzle began to fall as Beck and Felix rode back to London in Felix’s coach. “Glad I didn’t drive the phaeton,” Felix said, glancing out the window.
Beck barely nodded in response. His brain was stuck on Lavinia and his transgression and the unfulfilled desire still teeming in his body.
“I still can’t believe they were fucking in front of everyone.”
Blinking across the coach at Felix, Beck tensed. “What?”
Felix had crossed his arms over his chest as he stretched his legs out as far as he could. “That finally snagged your attention.”
“Who was fucking?” Beck was afraid to ask—what if someone had seen them? But no, Felix would have said something immediately, and they’d already been in the coach nearly a quarter hour.
“No one. I was trying to see if you were listening.” Felix narrowed his eyes at Beck. “What the devil is wrong with you today? You’ve been brooding all afternoon.”
“Not all afternoon.” Really, not until he’d spoken with the Duchess of Kendal.
“Don’t be a dolt. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Beck inwardly winced, thinking that it might be nice to unburden himself and Felix was someone—one of the only people, really—he could trust.
Felix’s lips flattened into a straight line. “You’ve become rather secretive of late. And I noticed you disappeared for a while. As did Lady Lavinia.”
Shit. If Felix had noticed, who else had done so?
“Don’t worry,” Felix said. “I doubt anyone else was paying attention. The only reason I put it together is because I’ve seen you with her the past few weeks. There’s something going on there.” He unfolded his arms and waved his hand. “Oh, you can deny it or ignore it or pretend there’s nothing, but I’m not stupid. And if I see it, you must ask yourself who else does.”
“Her parents.”
Felix stared at him. “What?”
“Her parents will notice. That’s the point. I’m supposed to be courting her.”
Felix’s eyes widened, and his jaw loosened. “You plan to wed? That seems an important thing you might share with your closest friend.”
“I do not plan to wed. I am being extorted.” Beck exhaled and scrubbed a hand over his face. He sank back against the squab and let his legs sprawl in front of him. “I have a secret, and her parents are using it against me. I’m to pretend to court her to encourage others to step up their suit.”
“What’s this secret?”
“I should have told you before now. I’m the Duke of Seduction.”
Felix blew out a whistle. “I’ll be damned. I knew you could write, but I never would’ve imagined you’d do that.” He leaned forward slightly. “Why did you?”
Beck turned his head and stared at the window, where slender rivulets of water sluiced down the glass. “I wanted to help those young ladies who are overlooked, who deserve a chance at happiness.”
“On the Marriage Mart. Which you despise.” His tone was heavy with disbelief. “I still don’t understand.”
“I don’t think I ever told you why I hate the Marriage Mart.”
“I assumed it was because of Priscilla. Because she broke your heart. You swore off marrying anyone.”
“That was sort of true. However, there was more to my bitterness. My sister Helen failed on the Mart.” He moved his gaze back to Felix’s as darkness moved through him. “It was more than that, however. People were cruel, and I’m starting to wonder if she was pursued by a knave who drove her to the unthinkable.”
Felix paled. “Your sister died. You’re saying she—?”
Beck hesitated, even though it seemed Felix had deduced the truth, which he should have after what Beck had said. Still, it wasn’t something his family discussed, and to say it out loud brought his family’s shame into the light. Beck hadn’t even known what had really happened until after his mother had died a few years later. Then, in a fit of despair, his father had revealed everything.
“Yes, she was poisoned and likely by her own hand. Or so it seemed to my parents. She’d spoken of not wanting to endure another Season and of an end to her loneliness and suffering. She’d always possessed a dark nature, and it seemed to engulf her.” Beck’s throat tightened. He recognized that feeling of loneliness, of helplessness, of utter darkness. But it didn’t swallow him. Not yet, anyway. Not as long as he had music and words to keep himself from the abyss.
“She killed herself.” Felix wiped his hand over his brow. “I’d no idea. And why should I—you wouldn’t want that getting out.” He leaned back against the seat. “You think a man pushed her to do it?”
Beck rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know what to believe. I only know two women told her she’d be better off dead, some man was pursuing her, and then she died of poison. It never sat right with my father.”
“You’d like to know what happened,” Felix said softly.
Beck lifted his head slightly and peered over at his friend. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. How can I help?”
Exhaling, Beck dropped his head back to his hands. “I don’t know. Today, I found out who those women were. I’d like to ask them what they know. I want to know who this man was.”
“I would too,” Felix said. “Who are these women, and how can we get information from them?”
Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Beck tipped his head back against the squab. “I’ve been thinking about that—hence my broodiness.” He said the last with a wry tone, provoking a brief smile from Felix. “I think I’m going to write a poem addressed to them.”
“Hell, that’s brilliant.” Felix sat straighter. “Not your typical poem, of course.”
“No. This one will carry a far different purpose.”
“How will that get them to talk to you?” Felix asked. “You’ve kept your identity secret, and I can’t imagine you’d want to reveal yourself over this.”
“No. That’s the part I’m
trying to work out.”
Felix cocked his head to the side. “What if you use the poem as leverage? Threaten to continue to write them unless they tell you what they know about Helen.”
It wasn’t a terrible idea. “And how will I communicate that? I can’t put that in the newspaper.”
“No, but you can send them a letter via the newspaper—so they won’t know who wrote it.”
It also wasn’t a great idea. “If I ask about Helen, don’t you think they’ll puzzle it out?”
“Damn. Of course they will.” Felix banged his head back against the cushion. “You need an intermediary—someone who can ask them what they know without leading back to you.”
“Well, if you think of something, let me know. In the meantime, I wrote to my sister Margaret and asked if she recalled a gentleman who may have been paying attention to Helen. They corresponded regularly, and I’m hoping Helen might have told her.”
“I shall hope so too.” Quiet reigned for a moment before Felix asked, “Then what will you do?”
Once he found out who had wooed his sister and perhaps driven her to kill herself? He didn’t know. “I want the truth. Until I have that, I can’t say what I’ll do.”
Felix nodded slowly. “I’ll stand at your side no matter what.” He said this with such ferocity that it warmed Beck’s chest.
“Thank you.”
“Now, about Lady Lavinia,” Felix said, abruptly turning the conversation in a far lighter direction. Or was it? Beck had overstepped propriety in spectacular fashion and feared he would eagerly do so again. Which meant he should stay away from her. Hell, he should stay away from her anyway. Sir Martin was going to call on her, and a week from now, she could bloody well be betrothed. Their faux courtship was no longer necessary.
“There’s nothing about Lady Lavinia. I told you—it was a fake courtship.”
“There’s nothing fake about disappearing with someone for a quarter hour,” Felix said with a sardonic arch of his brow.
Beck scowled. “I think I’m done revealing things today.”
“Fair enough.” Felix fell mercifully silent for quite a while. However, as they neared the city, he spoke up again. “Perhaps it’s time you gave love another chance. Priscilla was an awfully long time ago.”
It wasn’t that Beck hadn’t given it a chance. He’d simply never encountered it. And the desire he felt for Lavinia wasn’t love. He wanted her—desperately—but love?
Beck eyed his friend. “You might take your own advice. But then I don’t think you’ve ever given it a first chance.”
Felix’s gaze iced over, and Beck felt the chill. “No, I haven’t, nor do I plan to.”
Beck knew that, of course, but Felix had pushed, and dammit, Beck would push back. He wasn’t foolish enough to continue, however. For all his good nature and ability to create amusement wherever he went, there was a wall around Felix’s heart that no one penetrated. Not even his closest friend.
Settling back for the remainder of the ride, Beck focused his mind on what he would write. He’d draft the poem as soon as he got home—what better way to channel his anger and frustration?
And his unsatisfied lust.
Chapter 12
Wicked are those that wound with words,
Lashing at grace like flies on curds.
Lies in their mouths, sitting in wait,
Ugly, soiled, rancid with hate.
* * *
-The Evisceration of a Pair of Vicious Parrots
by Anonymous
* * *
“I thought that went exceedingly well!” Lavinia’s mother exclaimed with a bright smile as soon as Sir Martin had left. She’d sat in the corner, her hawk-eyed gaze trained on Lavinia and Sir Martin as they’d talked. After a quarter hour, Lavinia had asked him to take a turn in the garden in order to alleviate the constancy of her mother’s attention.
“Yes,” was all Lavinia would say.
“What did you discuss in the garden?” the countess asked as Lavinia stood from the settee.
“Science.” That would ensure Mother wouldn’t ask for details. And really, they had discussed science—astronomy mostly, although Sir Martin did ask some questions about the Charlton Sand Pit. He asked her where else she’d like to visit and seemed interested in accompanying her. That should have filled her with happiness, if not excitement, for it seemed a union with him would allow her to pursue her passion for geology.
And yet, she felt a bit…empty. She’d thought of almost nothing but Beck since yesterday. The way he flirted with her. The way his stare seemed to bore straight into her soul. The way he touched her—with an intoxicating combination of reverence and need. The way her body came alive in his embrace.
“You’d accept him, then?” Mother asked.
“Oh yes,” Lavinia said, her mind wholly focused on the blond-haired, gray-green-eyed rake who’d stolen her heart.
Her heart? Had he done that?
“Lavinia!”
She blinked, drawing her head from the clouds. “Yes?”
“You need to get ready to go to the park.” Her mother rolled her eyes. “Goodness, girl, sometimes I think you live in another world.”
Because sometimes it is preferable to living in yours.
Lavinia offered her a sweet smile and dashed upstairs to change into a walking gown for the park. Would Beck be there? She hoped so.
After choosing her gown with far more care than usual, she met her mother downstairs and they walked to Hyde Park. Sir Martin would not be there and had apologized for his absence. Lavinia expected another gentleman or two to approach her, but only watched for Beck.
She didn’t immediately see him, but then she was without her glasses, so most people were a blur. Still, she’d come to recognize his stature and stance, even with her myopia, and it seemed he wasn’t there.
Ah well, it was early yet. She did, however, see Jane Pemberton, who approached her with a smile. “Good afternoon, Lady Lavinia. Can we take a short walk?” She shot a glance toward Lavinia’s mother.
Lavinia didn’t care what her mother thought. In any case, the countess was still riding a wave of giddiness from Sir Martin’s call, so Lavinia would take advantage of it. “Yes.” She looped her arm through Jane’s, and they started along the path.
“You’ve become quite popular,” Jane said. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about yesterday’s picnic excursion. I’m sorry I missed it.”
“I am too. It was great fun.” Her mind drifted toward the best part, and she quickly reined it back lest she fall completely and irretrievably down the rabbit hole.
“Still, most people are talking about that poem in the Chronicle this morning.”
“What poem?” Lavinia hadn’t read it, and her mother hadn’t mentioned anything. So she doubted it was one of Beck’s. And yet, who else published poetry in the Morning Chronicle?
Jane’s eyes widened. “You didn’t read it?”
“I rarely read the Morning Chronicle.”
“Not even since you were the subject of the duke’s poems? I check every day to make sure he hasn’t written about me again. It’s so peculiar that he wrote about me only that one time. I think I’m the only one who only had one poem, not that I mind, of course. In fact, it’s almost as if he realized I didn’t like the attention and stopped.”
Lavinia kept her expression from revealing that Jane had the right of it. “Wouldn’t that be enterprising of him?” She diverted the topic away from the Duke of Seduction. “Was today’s poem about someone new?”
“Most assuredly. It was a new sort of poem altogether. In fact, it may not have been written by the Duke of Seduction, for the author didn’t sign it.” She sent Lavinia a knowing glance. “However, I have to think it was. The cadence and word usage are too similar.”
What had Beck written? She wanted to rush home and read the newspaper for herself. “Who was it about?”
“The author didn’t make that entirely clear, but the use o
f initials and the description of the subjects’ behavior has led most to believe it was written about Lady Abercrombie and Lady Kipp-Landon.”
They were close friends and two of the worst gossips with the nastiest tongues in London. Lady Kipp-Landon could be pleasant, especially in the absence of Lady Abercrombie, but Lavinia sought to steer clear of them.
She was still confused. He—if it was Beck—obviously hadn’t written about them to help them find husbands. Both women were married with children and in their middle thirties. “You said it was a different sort of poem.”
“It’s called The Evisceration of a Pair of Vicious Parrots.”
Lavinia’s breath stalled in her chest.
Evisceration. Her word. That was most certainly Beck. Why had he written it? She glanced about, wondering if she’d see him today—hoping she’d see him.
“Well, that sounds rather unpleasant.”
Jane’s lip curled. “They deserve it, in my opinion. They are two of the most judgmental harpies in all of Society. Lady Abercrombie doesn’t even pretend to be nice in most cases. She’d sooner give someone the cut direct. Two years ago, I saw her trip a young lady who was deemed one of the Season’s brightest jewels. I tried to go and call her out for it, but my mother wouldn’t allow me.” Jane waved her hand. “Anyway, we shouldn’t waste time talking about them, even if it is to revel in their well-deserved public humiliation.” She turned her head toward Lavinia. “What we should discuss is Phoebe Lennox.”
Lavinia was glad for the change of subject even though her brain was likely to hold on to that poem—at least until she had a chance to talk to Beck about it. “Oh? Isn’t her wedding tomorrow?”