A Good Rake is Hard to Find

by Manda Collins

  Freddy was suspicious, but played along and expressed pleasure at the notion while Leonora told a story about the first time she saw the sea. When they reached the narrow hallway their rooms led off from, he realized what his cousin’s mirth was about.

  He’d given them adjoining rooms.

  “You’re here, Miss Craven,” Lady Melisande said, flinging open the first door to reveal a prettily decorated room in rose tones. “And Lord Frederick, if you’ll follow my husband, you’re the next room down.”

  “Is my aunt’s room on this hall, as well?” Freddy heard Leonora ask before she disappeared into her room.

  “She is in the other wing,” Gerard said, elbowing Freddy in his still sore ribs.

  He hissed and Gerard made a face. “Don’t tell me you’re still smarting from that little episode the other day. I thought your man was supposed to be a dab hand at easing bruises and bumps.”

  Since his valet was a former prizefighter, it was the truth, but Chester wasn’t a miracle worker. Freddy didn’t know of any tincture or cream that could erase a bruised rib. Aloud he said, “He does well enough, but I reinjured it.”

  Gerard paused and then winked. Freddy really wished that his cousin would remove that particular action from his physical vocabulary. It was quite offputting.

  “I’ll bet I can guess how,” he said with no attempt to hide his insinuation.

  A week in this man’s company was going to leave him with either a thirst for blood or sore knuckles again from planting his cousin a facer. Either way, the outcome would not be good. Reminding himself that he and Leonora were here for reasons more important than his vendetta against his cousin, he reined in his temper.

  Chuckling, he said, “I’ll bet you can guess. Still, it doesn’t make them hurt any less. So the less you poke at me the better, if you don’t mind, old chap.”

  Gerard laughed rather more than the situation warranted. “Say no more, coz. I’ll refrain from touching you, though I can’t speak for the other guests. There are some ladies I asked Melisande to add to the guest list who would be quite willing to rub soothing ointment where it hurts.”

  Wondering how many women his cousin expected him to be bedding at a time, Freddy laughed along, vowing to warn Leonora not to think the worst if she saw him in a compromising position with another guest. He had a feeling that his cousin would think it endlessly amusing to set him up for all manner of embarrassing situations in an effort to sabotage his betrothal to Jonathan’s sister. Anything to keep them from further investigating his death.

  “My thanks for showing me to my room, Gerry,” he said aloud now, wanting to talk with Leonora before they were dragged into the party activities. “I think I’ll wash off the travel dirt before dinner.”

  Accepting his dismissal with surprising good grace, Gerard left him with a reminder that dinner was at eight so he’d better not let his “rest” last beyond that.

  After a quick wash and a change of clothes, during which Freddy noted the location of the door joining his own dressing room to Leonora’s, he stepped back out into the hallway and knocked on the door to her bedchamber, like the civilized person he was.

  * * *

  “I cannot believe they gave us adjoining rooms!” Leonora hissed when they were safe in the back garden where they wouldn’t be overheard. “I know I’m a poet with a rather liberal reputation,” she went on, “but am I considered so bold that I would really embark upon an affair with my betrothed while we’re at a house party?”

  She’d thought it surprising that their rooms were side by side, while her chaperone was in a whole other wing, but when Leonora had discovered the doors that joined their rooms, she’d been aghast. “It’s shocking, Frederick. Quite shocking.”

  But he didn’t seem nearly as overset by the situation as she was. Which was, in her experience, typical.

  “I hate to be the one to disabuse you of the notion that house parties are always entirely proper, Leonora,” he said with raised brows, “but house parties are not always entirely proper.”

  “I know some are improper,” Leonora protested with a moue of distaste. “But I never thought that I would be invited to such a one. I’m an unmarried lady, for goodness’ sake. I brought a chaperone!”

  “Yes, an elderly aunt who does not have the most sterling reputation for propriety herself. Or are you forgetting that she left you to attend my cousin’s soiree alone with me?”

  “That was different,” Leonora said dismissively. Aunt Hortense was perhaps not the highest stickler, but she wasn’t entirely lost to all notions of proper behavior. She simply detested soirees. It was understandable that she would avoid them—even those where she was expected to chaperone—at all costs. Still, she did wonder just how scrupulous her aunt would be during their stay at South Haven. She had retired to her rooms immediately upon arriving. That didn’t mean anything.

  Did it?

  “My aunt’s chaperonage or lack thereof notwithstanding, I suppose I didn’t have a choice.” She sobered, thinking of their true reason for being there. “I came to learn more about what happened to my brother. To see if there is some way to glean information from the rest of the club members. So, if my reputation is ruined in the process, I will gladly endure it so that I can tell my father who it was that killed his only son.”

  At the mention of Jonathan, Freddy’s expression grew serious. “I won’t let them ruin your reputation,” he said with a frown. “If anyone speaks a word about any impropriety between us, I’ll just make him regret it.”

  “And what if that doesn’t help?” she asked, her mind thinking about the connecting doors upstairs. “What if we are compromised?”

  “Leonora,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “I said I’d marry you and I will. We are betrothed to be married, and though it began as a sham, it’s quite real to me. If something happens that makes it necessary for us to marry sooner rather than later, I will certainly do it.”

  At his declaration she tried to pull away, but Freddy refused to let her go. She wasn’t prepared to argue about the truth or falseness of their betrothal just now. Talking that out would mean telling him the truth about her inability to conceive. Something she had to keep from him lest he decide to marry her out of some misguided desire to see her taken care of, to marry her anyway.

  “Listen to me,” Freddy said, his voice low, his eyes intent on hers. “I won’t let you martyr yourself on your brother’s grave. We will work to find out who killed him. Because that’s what Jonathan would have wanted. He’d want his killer brought to justice. But he would not want his only sister to sacrifice her name and reputation in an effort to do so.”

  When she would have spoken, he stopped her with a finger to her lips. “I know you feel on some level that you are obligated to find out who did him in. And I understand that. But let me do what I can to protect you. He was one of my dearest friends and I was unable to save him. Let me, if possible, save you in his stead.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” she protested, jerking away from him. And this time, he let her go. She walked a short distance to the edge of the garden, which overlooked a stand of trees. “You have done quite enough for us both,” she said, shaking her head, as if trying to free her mind from some invisible tether. “I cannot trap you into marriage in addition to leading you into danger.”

  “You’re too damned noble for your own good,” he said in exasperation. “Perhaps you have forgot it’s my cousin we are trying to prove is a killer. And that twice now he’s threatened you, and perhaps even attempted to kill you by throwing an explosive at you.”

  He swore and ran a restless hand over the back of his neck. “Let me protect you, Leonora. I’m a grown man. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. Or worse, shield me from myself lest I do something you see as recklessly noble.”

  She stared at him for a moment. He was right about protecting him. He just didn’t know what it was she was actually shielding him from.

  “And if at
the end of this madness we decide that it would be best if we went our separate ways?” she asked, half hoping, half dreading what his answer would be.

  But she should have known that he’d evade the question.

  “If we get to the end of this party without some evidence to prove my cousin killed your brother,” he said firmly, “then I promise that I will not force you to marry me.”

  There was much that was left unsaid in his declaration. He didn’t promise not to use persuasion to win her over—only force. And he had already proven himself too honorable for that. And what if they found evidence against Gerard, but it wasn’t enough to bring him before the magistrate?

  She rather thought his promise was merely a sop to calm her before she brought the suspicions of the house down around their ears.

  And, to her shame, he wasn’t wrong to offer it.

  “Very well,” she said with a nod, hoping she conveyed more poise than she felt. “I think now we should go in search of the rest of the party.”

  She began to walk back the way they’d come, but Freddy stopped her. “I think you should know,” he said, “that I believe the reason we’ve been given adjoining rooms is not necessarily because this party is particularly unseemly—though it certainly does appear that way. I believe the true reason, however, is that my cousin wishes to ascertain just how real our pretend betrothal is.”

  As his words sank in, Leonora felt a wave of anger sweep through her. “So, it’s a test? I thought it was uncommon for betrothed couples to…” She waved her hand in the air to fill in the verbal blank. “Is it not?”

  “Having only been betrothed to one lady in my life,” he said with a raised brow, “I cannot speak to that. I do know that my cousin knows my reputation as…”—he coughed and Leonora saw that his ears were turning red—“a rake, and has determined that I am the sort of man who would insist upon anticipating my marriage vows.”

  It made a certain kind of sense, she thought. Freddy did have a reputation for consorting with ladies. She’d heard enough rumors about his time on the Continent to last a lifetime. Though he swore he’d been faithful to her. But hadn’t she herself experienced his skill as a lover only yesterday in her father’s drawing room?

  There was some truth to the rumors about his skill.

  “So, your cousin believes that if our betrothal is real we will use the adjoining door and if it isn’t we won’t?” she asked, trying to convey a worldliness she did not feel.

  “In short, yes.” He spent an inordinate amount of time examining his fingernails as he waited for her response. Leonora was silent.

  “How will they know?” she finally asked.

  “Know what?”

  “Whether we use the door or not.”

  He frowned. “I suspect they’ve worked out some way of checking to see if the door has been opened. Or maybe they’ll attempt to bribe our servants. Or perhaps it will be their own housemaids they ask. Does it matter?”

  Tilting her head to the side, she looked at him for a moment. Had she realized how complicated this would become when she embarked on this quest with him? Maybe she had. What she knew for certain was that her brother’s death had changed both of their lives irrevocably. And there was no turning back.

  Slipping her arm through his, she led him back through the garden toward the French doors they’d exited from.

  “Are you not angry?” he asked diffidently when they reached the house. “I thought you’d be offended beyond measure.”

  “I can’t say that I’m shocked. It is your cousin, after all. He’s no angel.” She glanced around to make sure that no one was watching, then kissed him full on the lips. “But if your cousin needs to know how real our betrothal is, then we will simply have to prove it to him.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Leonora,” Frederick said fiercely, holding on to her when she would have pulled away.

  “It’s my decision,” she replied. “My choice.”

  His blue eyes gazed into hers for a moment, then he sighed and let her step away.

  “Ah, Lord Frederick and Miss Craven.”

  She wasn’t sure how long Sir Gerard had been standing there, but Leonora hoped it had been long enough to see their kiss. She wanted desperately to prove this man had killed her brother. Not only for her brother’s sake, but for her own, as well.

  “I hope you’ll join the rest of my guests for drinks before dinner,” he said with that knowing look that so infuriated her. “Let me show you to the drawing room.”

  Aware that the game was truly begun now, Leonora held tight to Freddy’s arm, and they followed him.

  Seventeen

  The first person Freddy saw when they entered his cousin’s drawing room was, unfortunately, Lord Payne.

  “Quite an eye you’ve got there, my lord,” he said with a sneer, his own face showing the marks that Freddy had left on him during their match. “Thought you’d be laid up in your bed with a beefsteak, if you must know.”

  Unsurprised by the other man’s bluster, Freddy did not give him the pleasure of rising to his bait. “Not at all, Lord Payne. I find that the best thing after a satisfying win is to get out and about as much as possible.” Truth be told, he was rather surprised at Payne’s presence here. He’d been unconscious the last time Freddy had seen him.

  “I know from experience that my cousin is a seasoned fighter, Payne,” said Sir Gerard as he handed glasses of brandy round to the gentlemen. “He nearly killed a man on our estate when we were growing up, didn’t you, Fred?”

  He might have known Gerard would bring that up. He had most definitely not almost killed the other boy. He’d been defending one of the local girls from the farm lad’s advances, and had landed a lucky shot that knocked the boy out cold.

  “There was never any question the boy might die,” he said with studied indifference, knowing that responding to the taunt would only make Gerard happy. “Do not paint my exploits larger than they actually are.”

  It came out a bit more censorious than he wished, but Freddy was pleased to see a flare of anger behind his cousin’s eyes before he concealed it.

  “Not at all, cousin,” Gerard said coolly. “I was just complimenting your skills. That is all.”

  Then he turned his attention to Leonora with a smarmy grin that set Freddy’s skin crawling. “Miss Craven, I must say it’s a delight to have you in our home. Isn’t it, Melisande?” He slid an arm around his wife’s waist and Freddy got the distinct impression that she would rather have been molested by an adder. Even so, she smiled politely. “Yes, indeed. Welcome to South Haven, Miss Craven. I hope you’ve found everything in your rooms to your liking?”

  Freddy watched their hostess for some sign that she was fishing for their reaction to the adjoining rooms, but could discern nothing from her.

  Before he could respond, however, Leonora spoke up. “My room is quite lovely, Lady Fincher. I am quite pleased that it opens onto the gardens below. I do appreciate a lovely view.”

  Unable to resist, he said, “Mine does as well, Miss Craven.” Then to his cousin’s wife, he said, “I must thank you for giving us rooms on the same hall, Lady Fincher. How thoughtful of you to guess that after my dear fiancée’s accident in Hyde Park I would wish to keep a careful watch over her.”

  Lady Darleigh, who, along with her husband, had come closer when they heard the first stirrings of conversation, interjected. “What incident is that, Lord Frederick? I don’t believe I’ve heard anything about an accident in the park. Surely it wasn’t during the fashionable hour or it would have been talked about incessantly.”

  “I was riding with my friend Lady Hermione, my lady,” Leonora said cautiously, “and someone threw an incendiary device at our carriage.”

  “A…” Lady Darleigh looked helpless. “A what? I’m sorry, I must sound terribly ignorant next to a learned lady like yourself, but what is an incendiary device?”

  “A bomb,” her husband said sharply. “Like Guy Fawkes and that business.
”

  A collective gasp went up among the other guests, who’d been listening in.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Lady Payne asked with a hand to her throat. “You both might have been killed.”

  “Ladies oughtn’t to be driving coaches,” one of the other men—Lord Colburn—said with a frown. “That’s a good reason why. What lady can keep hold of the reins in a situation like that? She shouldn’t be expected to. Upperton should know better than to let that daughter of his run wild. Driving carriages like a man. What’s it to be next? Wearing trousers?”

  “It would certainly be less confining than skirts, you must admit, Lord Colburn,” Leonora said, and Freddy was relieved that it generated a few laughs from the rest of the guests. Continuing, she said, “I am quite proud of my friend, my lord. And she is an excellent driver. Indeed, I think if she were allowed to join a club such as yours, she would put many of you to shame.”

  That did not please her audience nearly as much as her earlier words.

  “Was not her name associated with your brother’s last season, Miss Craven?” asked Colburn, a dark tone in his voice. “Perhaps she was teaching him bad habits. Bad habits that maybe got him killed?”

  There was a collective gasp from the other guests. Even his fellow club members thought Colburn a boor, Freddy thought.

  “Lord Colburn,” Gerard cut in sharply. “I must remind you that Miss Craven is a guest and is to be treated with the utmost respect. Her brother has only recently died. Have some manners.”

  Colburn looked angry, but mumbled an apology. That was followed closely by Lady Fincher’s announcement that dinner was served.

  As he led Leonora into dinner—Freddy was relieved to note that his cousin did not have a high regard for the rules of precedence at his table—he overheard one of the other men admonishing Colburn for his behavior. “Better watch out, Colly. That chit is betrothed to Sir Gerard’s cousin. And he looks after what’s his.”

  But to his surprise, Colburn didn’t seem to take the other man seriously at all. “Gerry’s got no love for that versifying ape-leader. Didn’t you see how he looked at her when she walked in on Freddy Lisle’s arm? Like he wanted to strangle her in the bath. I ain’t worried about Gerry on that score. He’s got a temper, don’t get me wrong. But it ain’t gonna be over her.”