To Ruin a Rake

by Liana Lefey

  “Well, I suppose I might sit for a moment and see if I can regain my constitution,” she replied, eyeing a bench near the exit.

  “An excellent idea.” He grabbed her hand and placed it over his arm. “I shall keep you company and see to your every comfort.” Instead of heading toward the bench, however, he led her to a cushioned couch off in the corner. She perched on its very edge. With deliberate intent, he sat close to her, causing her to scoot toward the end and deeper into it, effectively trapping her.

  “I don’t suppose you would be so kind as to fetch me a glass of water.”

  He’d seen it coming. “Your wish is my command. You there!” he bellowed to the footman, who’d just returned. “My lady requires a glass of water. See to it at once.” The woman beside him shrank farther into the cushions as the servant rushed to do his bidding, again leaving them alone. “There. It is taken care of.” Inching closer, he peered into her eyes. “Tell me, how are you feeling now? Any better?”

  She nodded, seeming unwilling—or unable, perhaps—to speak.

  He almost felt sorry for her. At that moment, a grandfather clock on the other side of the room struck the hour. The sound of distant cheering filtered in from the hallway leading to the ballroom. “It is midnight, and yet we still wear our masks.”

  “Oh, let us keep them on,” she said, bringing a protective hand up to her face. “It heightens the excitement, don’t you think?”

  No. He did not. But he played along. “As you wish,” he said, giving her a toothy grin. “Believe me, I won’t argue. If anything, I should like nothing more than to indulge your penchant for excitement.” Giving her no other warning of his intent, he bent and captured her mouth.

  ~ * ~

  Harriett couldn’t breathe for the riot of sensation running through her as his lips came down over hers, as he trapped her beneath his heavy warmth. Part of her wanted to shove him away and bolt for the door. Another part of her, the stronger part, wanted quite the opposite.

  William had always been so cool and courteous, so gentlemanly, so self-controlled and—in retrospect—chaste. He’d kissed her twice, both instances no more than a brief brushing of the lips to seal a commitment. Once, when he’d asked her to marry him and again when they’d made the announcement to her family. He’d certainly never held her thus, all close and tight and...

  She flinched as Manchester ran the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip. When she opened her mouth to object, he took advantage and deepened the contact. A low moan rumbled in his chest. Harriett was astonished to hear the sound echoed by her own, ragged voice as he began...tasting her. Even more astonishing was the unspeakable heat mounting between her legs with every slow stroke of his tongue against hers.

  How could she have ever made so much of William’s kisses? That she’d sighed and mooned about for days afterward seemed ridiculous in light of what she was experiencing now. The realization hit her that although she’d loved William deeply, she hadn’t felt any passion for him. Theirs had been a logical, amiable pairing based on a deep friendship and shared ideals—not passion.

  Is that what I feel now? For William’s brother?

  The thought was as effective as a bucketful of icy water. Shoving hard, she wrested free of his embrace. In doing so, her mask came askew.

  His eyes did not widen with alarm or narrow with anger. Nor did he utter any exclamation of dismay. Instead, he slowly reached up and pulled the mask down the rest of the way, fully exposing her face. With the same deliberate slowness, he then removed his own. His unwavering leonine gaze held her, pierced her.

  He’d known it was her the entire time.

  “Again, the lady behind the mask turns out to be…you,” he said in a silken voice. “What an interesting night this has been. You knew it was me from the very beginning, didn’t you?”

  She refused to speak, but then she knew he wasn’t really looking for an answer.

  “You play a very dangerous game in baiting me, my lady kitchen maid,” he said, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Tell me, what was the purpose of your little charade? Mm?”

  Now he was looking for an answer. “At first I did not know it was you,” she lied. “I thought you were—”

  “Don’t patronize me,” he grated, coming closer. “I neither look nor sound anything like Lord Russell.”

  With horror, she realized he had been eavesdropping on her conversation with Cat. He’d heard everything. Squaring her shoulders, she wrapped the tatters of her dignity about her like a shield. There was nothing for it but to tell the truth. Well, some of it, anyway. “Fine. Yes. I knew it was you. When you failed to recognize me, I thought it best to allow you to continue in your ignorance. I didn’t want you ruining my evening—as you are now doing.”

  His expression did not change, save that his eyes darkened. “So you again deceived me.”

  Infuriating man! “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” she spat. “You’ve been anything but honest in your dealings with me, Your Grace.”

  “I have never pretended to want anything other than your swift removal from both the Hospital and my life.”

  “Why? Why do you want me gone so much? Have I not managed your responsibilities well enough for you?” She waited, but he said nothing—what could he say to the unvarnished truth? She knew she ought to get up and walk away, but now that she’d started, she didn’t much feel like stopping. “Your opinion of me is quite clear, Your Grace. And it is based largely, if not all, on erroneous assumptions. You think you know me, but you do not. Not at all.”

  “Yes, well, that much became evident tonight,” he said drily. “You put on quite a performance. Rich himself would have been impressed. Had he witnessed it, he probably would have offered you employment on the spot. I would applaud, but I fear the urge has already passed. I confess I didn’t think you had it in you. Though I suppose every woman, even the lowliest kitchen maid, has her moments.”

  Fury lent her reckless courage. “Indeed, my lord footman. I think you’ll find that like everyone else I, too, am quite capable of being dangerous when the need arises.”

  “So you think me dangerous, do you?”

  She froze. Had she implied that? “Are not we all, to some extent?”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “My lady kitchen maid, you have no idea.”

  Alarmed by his intimate tone, she shrank away. Was he about to try to kiss her again? The frightening thing was she almost wanted him to do it. Her lips tingled in anticipation.

  Instead of attempting to take liberties, however, her enemy lounged back against the cushions and stretched out his long legs. “You know, I find this most intriguing,” he said, his manner amused. “I cannot help but wonder which of you is the real Harriett. The saintly spinster or the sinful temptress? It would surely make me reconsider my opinion of my brother, were the true Harriett Dunhaven proven the latter.” He raked her with his eyes. “I begin to suspect I have indeed been wrong—about you and William. Perhaps my brother wasn’t quite the eunuch I thought him after all.”

  Though the horse’s ass beside her couldn’t have known it, the irony of his statement was cruel, considering her recent thoughts on her relationship with William. If William had harbored any passion for her, he’d kept it so well hidden she’d never seen the slightest evidence of it. They’d shared many common goals and had always enjoyed each other’s company, but the physical madness she felt in Roland’s presence had never been a factor in their relationship. The thought stung like spirits poured over a fresh wound.

  “You insult both me and your brother’s memory,” she said in the same icy tone that sent errant staff members scurrying for cover.

  “Oh, I meant no insult to either you or my dearly departed brother, God rest his soul,” he said with mock sincerity. “No indeed. In truth, I should be glad to know William had some red blood in his veins. He was always far too cool and passive.”

  “You mistake grace and forbearance for passivity,” she s
napped. “It doesn’t surprise me that you wouldn’t recognize either of those qualities, much less possess them.”

  His smile was wolf-like. “And you mistake my curiosity for patience.”

  Unwilling to tolerate another moment of his odious presence, she leaped to her feet. Before she could take so much as a step toward the door, however, he caught her and hauled her back down—across his lap. With a squawk of protest, she tried to free herself.

  He wrapped his arms about her middle, preventing her escape. “You’ve put your foot in it now, haven’t you, Harriett?” he purred at her ear.

  A shudder wracked her as his warm breath sent goose bumps racing across her flesh. “I beg to differ, Your Grace,” she hissed, resuming her struggles. “It is you who have made the mistake tonight, not I. Let me go!” She kicked out, but her feet found no purchase.

  “I’ll release you when you’ve answered my questions to my satisfaction,” he countered, hauling her tighter against his chest and squeezing until she lay quiescent. “Why did you play games with me tonight, Harriett?”

  “I did—I did not play games,” she gasped, hardly able to breathe. His arms were like unyielding rock. “I simply did not wish to expose myself to further censure.”

  “Liar,” he murmured, his lips brushing the tip of her ear. “And I would cease my squirming about if I were you. You might not like the result.”

  She stilled, suddenly noticing the hard bulge beneath her rump. Oh, my Lord, he’s…

  “Well, perhaps not at first,” he amended, a smile in his voice as he shattered her thoughts. “Though I’m sure I could change your mind quickly enough.”

  Her cheeks caught fire as he shifted beneath her, seating her to one side of his...his...

  All the words she’d been gathering to fling at him vanished, as did every drop of moisture in her mouth. She fought with every ounce of her strength to maintain her rigid posture in spite of the sudden desire that flashed throughout her body, filling her with liquid heat, making her want to go limp in his arms.

  “Well, there’s one way to silence your troublesome tongue,” he said, a chuckle rumbling through his chest and into her back.

  Spurred to action, Harriett resumed her efforts with renewed vigor. But her laughing enemy held her fast. His forearm lay like an iron bar directly across her breasts. If she could have reached it with her mouth she would have bitten him.

  “Relax, my dear little hellion,” he said, still chuckling. “No doubt a thorough plowing would greatly improve your attitude, but—unfortunately for you—I’ve no interest in becoming entangled with a charlatan.” With no warning, he again shifted, wrapping his hands about her waist. In a single thrust, he shoved her off his lap and stood.

  Rage flooded Harriett as she staggered back on legs that threatened to buckle. “You are despicable!”

  “No more than you,” he shot back, straightening his cuffs. “At least I’m honest about my nature. I am the same man at all times. You, however, are different depending upon the company you keep. How glad I am to have seen it now, before it was too late.”

  To hell with it. Hauling back, she let fly and struck him square upon the cheek so hard it hurt the bones in her hand. The crack of the impact echoed throughout the room.

  Like a mountain struck by a lesser stone, he did not even flinch. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my lady,” he said quietly. “If you’ve the courage to face me.” Bowing low, he turned and strode away.

  Before it was too late for what? came the belated thought as she stood gasping for breath, hating him. Curiosity pricked her—but damned if she would ask him to explain. She turned to see the footman he’d sent for water gaping at her. Her stomach clenched. When had he come back? And how much had he seen? Mortified—but determined not to show it—she walked over, took the forgotten glass from him, and downed its contents. “See if my carriage has arrived,” she commanded frostily, handing him the now empty glass.

  Her heart was galloping and her skin still flushed with heat. Of all the things that could have occurred tonight, this was the worst! She looked back at the couch, marking the cushions all askew. Well, not quite the worst. Another few minutes, though, and...

  A vision of herself given over to lustful abandon in her enemy’s arms flashed in her mind’s eye. Tearing her guilty gaze away from the incriminating couch, she shook herself. Her lips throbbed, along with other parts of her anatomy. Shame boiled up within her.

  She’d rather kiss Lord Russell in full view of everyone here than give herself to Manchester! In fact, her old bête noir was beginning to seem less irritating with each passing moment. Now there’s an idea...

  The footman poked his head back around the door. “Your carriage has arrived, my lady.”

  Ignoring his curious stare, she made a beeline for the safe haven.

  She wouldn’t let him win. She would rise, eat breakfast, and go to the Hospital. And she would behave as though nothing at all had happened between them. It would be business as usual.

  He would expect her to make excuses, to hide from him. But she would do neither. And while he wondered what she was at, she would focus on finding a husband. She was ready to move on. It was time to have a family of her own. Her reaction to Manchester told her that much. The drive to procreate, that’s what it was—all it could be—was experienced by every living creature on earth. She was no different.

  The problem was proximity. She’d kept to herself for so long that Manchester, being the first unattached male she’d encountered in close quarters for several years, had awakened her physical longing for a mate.

  Doubt wormed its way through her reasoning, leaving little holes in its wake. She’d very much wanted to have children with William, but she hadn’t really given a lot of thought to the process of making them with him. It hadn’t seemed very important at the time. One simply got married and babies began appearing soon after. Now, however, that particular step in the process was suddenly vitally important.

  I want someone with whom I can enjoy making love. It was a shocking realization. Again, she was assailed by an image of herself locked in a passionate embrace with Manchester.

  No! There was bound to be another gentleman with whom she was compatible. More important, there had to be one she didn’t utterly despise.

  By the time Papa and Cat clambered into the carriage, she’d decided on a course of action. She need only fully throw herself into the fray as she’d done tonight. Every gentleman she’d danced with had admired her. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find one—another, rather—who inspired passion. Above all, she must avoid any close contact with Manchester.

  “Are you feeling better?” asked Cat.

  Harriett heard the sarcasm in her question and smiled. “Yes. Much better.”

  “Lord Russell inquired after your whereabouts. I told him you’d taken ill. He seemed very concerned.”

  “Perhaps I’ve been too harsh in my rejection of him,” Harriett said, enjoying the startled look on her sister’s face. “I think I shall invite him to call later this week.”

  “I thought you had no liking for the man?” said Papa, cutting off her sister’s gasp of disbelief. “You said he was far too volatile to make a good match.”

  Indeed she had, for indeed he was. Two years ago at the Lambeths’ garden party, Russell, having pursued her most determinedly, had cornered her and proposed. She’d already accepted William’s offer earlier that week, but the official announcement had not yet been made. She’d had no choice but to tell him. Uproar had followed, complete with tears, groans, gnashing of teeth, and threats of suicide. She was, thankfully, the only one to see his display. Her memory of it was quite vivid. Still, he’d genuinely cared for her…

  She shrugged. “I was completely absorbed with William at the time Russell pressed his suit and thus never really gave him a chance to win my affections. Perhaps now it will be different. He’s not a bad sort.”

  Her father’s expression transformed from confusion to del
ight. “I’m glad to see you finally displaying good sense. He’s well connected, has more than adequate means. Yes, he would be an excellent match. Oh,” he added, “By the bye, Lord Manchester also inquired after you.”

  Everything inside her tightened. “Did he?”

  “Yes. He commended you on your excellent work at the Hospital. He was most complimentary.”

  Pleasure and anger warred within her, twisting her gut. Had he meant it? Or was it another one of his tricks? Either way, it was a moot point now. Their quarrel had negated any genuine appreciation he might have had for her efforts. “I am glad to hear it,” she said at last.

  “He caught me just as we were leaving and bade me to be sure and give you his best regards and wishes for a swift recovery, though how he knew you were unwell I don’t quite comprehend. Perhaps he had it from Lord Russell.”

  As they were leaving? Why in heaven’s name would he compliment her after their argument? After she’d struck him?

  “I didn’t know the two of them were friends,” said Cat. “How interesting.”

  Harriett’s heart sank as she caught her sibling’s knowing gaze. Nothing got past Cat. Putting a hand to her head, Harriett moaned, taking care not to sound too dramatic. “Perhaps I spoke too soon about my headache having improved. I’m feeling rather ill again.”

  “The motion of the carriage combined with all the punch and dancing, likely,” said her father with a grunt as he scooted over to clear the space in front of her.

  “Yes,” said Cat, a smirk in her voice. “That’s probably it. I’m sure you’ll feel better the instant we stop.”

  Eleven

  Although his face still stung, Roland whistled a merry tune as he walked back. He wore Harriett’s hand print proudly for all to see and speculate over. Soon all of London would know Harriett Dunhaven for a vicious hellcat and not the tragic figure everyone thought her.