Secret Lessons with the Rake

by Julia Justiss

  Rage at the double insult—to Ellie, to his family—so blinded Christopher that he barely restrained himself from punching the Viscount on the spot. Only the fact that the older man was obviously trying to goad him allowed him to keep the fury under control. ‘I find those remarks so insulting,’ he replied, managing an even tone, ‘that I should be pleased to invite you to a round of fisticuffs at Gentleman Jackson’s. Unless you care to apologise?’

  Doubtless realising Christopher could pummel him into a pulp, disquiet flashed in the Viscount’s eyes. ‘No need for violence,’ he replied in a genial tone. ‘Forgive me if I gave offence.’

  Christopher was about to call him on that blatant falsehood, but a glance at Ellie’s strained face had the sharp remark dying on his lips. As much as he’d been angered, how much more humiliating had it been for her to be described as the matron of a brothel—with several carriages close by, their occupants easily able to overhear?

  ‘Mr Lattimar, I believe I am ready to leave,’ she said, only a trembling lip betraying her agitation. ‘There’s a bad odour here.’

  ‘Of course, Miss Parmenter.’ Rising, he offered Ellie his arm.

  ‘But you’ve not finished your refreshment,’ Mountgarcy said, gesturing to the half-empty cups.

  Turning to stare the Viscount straight in the eye, Christopher said, ‘I think we are finished here. All of us.’

  Mountgarcy waved off that warning with a chuckle. After a significant glance at the bouquet Ellie had set on the bench beside her, he said, ‘So it’s to be all sweetness and innocence, is it, Ell—Miss Parmenter? Very well, I can play that game too—when the outcome also promises to be so...sweet.’

  He gave them a nod neither acknowledged as Christopher led Ellie from the square towards the nearby hackney stand. ‘Insufferable man!’ she exploded once they were seated in a carriage. ‘I wish I could meet him at Gentleman Jackson’s! The only good thing about being ruined is not having to be polite to an ass like the Viscount.’

  ‘I’m sorry you were subjected to that. It probably was a mistake for me to insist on taking tea in the open. Mountgarcy was correct in pointing out that being seen with me does not strengthen your claim of having no interest in finding a new protector,’ Christopher said, regretting for perhaps the first time his well-earned reputation as a rake.

  ‘Nor does being seen in public with me give the impression you are ready to abandon your rake’s ways. No young lady would willingly enter a union with a gentleman she suspects is still involved with a courtesan.’ She sighed deeply. ‘Perhaps it would be better after all—’

  Before she could finish the sentence, Christopher interrupted to protest. ‘But I’ll never be successful at pursuing a respectable miss if you don’t finish my training! We’ll be more careful about where we appear in future—to avoid encounters with men of Mountgarcy’s ilk.’ Besides, he needed to continue seeing her to make sure the Viscount refrained from creating any further unpleasantness.

  Looking relieved, as if she were happy he’d found an excuse not to end their association, she nodded. ‘Many men with a well-established rogue’s reputation have been able to convince Society they’ve truly reformed. Once you are fully equipped to begin your quest, we shall end our public association in enough time for such a transformation to be believable.’

  Putting out of mind the unpleasant notion of ending their time together, he concentrated on the part he preferred to hear. ‘Then we shall continue the lessons?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, we will continue them. But...would you mind terribly if I reneged on that offer of brandy? This afternoon has been rather taxing. Would you simply escort me home, and meet me again another day?’

  It might be wise to avoid the temptation of being alone at her home with her—temptation that would take some resisting, despite Summerville’s malevolent spectral presence. ‘Of course. You are doing me the favour, after all. I’ll see you safely home, and wait for you to let me know the place and time for my next lesson.’

  * * *

  A short time later, the hackney halted before her town house in Hans Place. After handing her down, Christopher walked her up the steps. ‘I am very grateful, you know. When I finally launch off into the world of Virtuous Virgins, I’m much more confident of having success.’

  ‘You’d have found your feet eventually, without lessons,’ Ellie replied. ‘However, having some knowledge of what to expect and how to respond will help you achieve your goal of bewitching a suitable bride more quickly.’

  His goal. Yes, he needed to keep reminding himself that what he really wanted was to find the ideal wife. He just needed to keep repeating that until inclination believed what reason kept telling it.

  Tarleton opened the door for her. Christopher was about to reluctantly bid her goodbye when the butler leaned forward, holding out a note. ‘A footman brought this urgent message for you, miss. He’s waiting in the hall for a reply.’

  Christopher halted on the steps. ‘Something...alarming, Tarleton?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. The lad just said “urgent”, and that his mistress had commanded him not to return without an answer.’

  Frowning, Ellie motioned him into the house as she took the note from Tarleton, quickly scanned it, then looked up at Christopher with a grimace. ‘It’s from Aunt Marion, informing me the call on Lady Sayleford is set for tomorrow afternoon. I’m to present myself at my aunt’s town house at three.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Into the lion’s den. I only hope I emerge with a whole skin.’

  She looked so troubled and apprehensive, the words slipped out before he knew what he meant to say. ‘Would you like me be present at Lady Sayleford’s? So you won’t have to beard the lions alone.’

  She paused, looking uncertain. ‘I should refuse. My moth—Lady Wanstead already insinuated she thought I’d taken you as my new protector.’

  ‘But we both know I’m not. I’ll ask Maggie to come, too—as your sponsor at the school, and an added buttress to respectability. With your permission, I’ll acquaint her beforehand with the facts of your background, so she understands the purpose of your call on Lady Sayleford. I know she’ll be as shocked and outraged as I was, and eager to assist in whatever way she can.’

  ‘You may certainly inform her of my background, if you think she would be interested. I hate to bother her, but...it would be helpful to have a few friendly faces on hand when I arrive with Aunt Marion. But wouldn’t Lady Sayleford be annoyed at having extra guests arrive uninvited?’

  Christopher shrugged. ‘It’s an afternoon call, not a dinner at which the numbers need to be even. Being her niece, Maggie is always welcome. And Lady Sayleford likes me. She’s always had a soft spot for a rogue, Maggie says.’

  As he’d hoped, Ellie chuckled at that, looking relieved and more confident. ‘Very well, I gratefully accept reinforcements, and will see you there.’ Her eyes brightened and she laughed. ‘We shall turn it into a lesson! My mother is already suspicious of you. With your reputation to overcome, you’re bound to encounter other matrons, zealously protecting their innocent darlings, who will be equally suspicious. Meeting her and Aunt Marion will be good experience in figuring out how to disarm dubious chaperones.’

  Christopher grimaced. ‘I shall gird myself for the challenge. And be even more grateful to have Maggie at my side. So, assuming she’s free, I’ll collect Maggie tomorrow and see you at Lady Sayleford’s, about half-three?’

  Ellie nodded. ‘Lady Sayleford’s at half-three. And thank you, Christopher. I did enjoy our outing today—except for that last part. And I do think I managed to impart some useful information.’

  ‘Now I just need to memorise it,’ he replied, nodding a farewell. And suck every morsel of delight from being with you before I have to implement it, he thought as he walked out.

  After Christopher’s departure, Ellie dismissed Tarleton
and wandered into her sitting room. Feeling in need of reinforcement, she poured herself some wine before moving on to the sofa.

  She glanced again at the terse missive from her aunt. Grateful as she was for Christopher’s promise of reinforcement, she couldn’t forestall a wave of apprehension at the mere thought of meeting her mother, Aunt Marion and perhaps Sophie at Lady Sayleford’s.

  It was quite possible those Society leaders would subject her to a quick session of stilted introductions, then order her to make herself scarce. There was a good chance Sophie would not even be present.

  In which case, the shorter the meeting, the better. Being around her mother raked up the distressing mix of fear, shame, pain, hurt, abandonment, sorrow, anguish and fury she’d spent a decade burying. Complicating that turmoil was a tiny niggle of compassion that said she ought to forgive her mother. And she wasn’t sure she could.

  As for Aunt Marion—she had no idea what the woman thought of her now.

  As a child, she’d loved going to Enfield Place. With her widowed great-aunt’s own children already grown by the time Ellie and Sophie had come to visit, Aunt Marion had welcomed them with hugs and treats, laughing when Mama chided them for coming in after roaming the grounds with leaves in their hair and grass stains on their gowns. She’d ordered Cook to make their favourite treats, read them stories, and allowed them to peer down from the gallery at the adults dining in their finery.

  Would she be greeted with a kiss for the child she’d been? Or a brief, cold nod for the disgrace she’d become?

  Somehow, it hurt more to envisage her aunt’s coldness than it did to recall her mother’s. She was suddenly, overwhelmingly glad that Christopher and Lady Maggie would be present at Lady Sayleford’s to support her through whatever would come.

  She counted too much on Christopher’s support, though, she thought with a sigh—which was exactly what she needed to stop doing. Fortunately, his next lesson would be conducted in the stifling company of Aunt Marion, her mother and Lady Sayleford—a mix of personalities would surely churn up enough tumult to distract her from his presence.

  Or would it? She was always so acutely conscious of him. The way he moved, his expressions, the whole...aura that he radiated, drew her attention and drew her, the proverbial moth to the flame. As if some invisible force tethered her to him whenever he appeared, like iron fragments pulled to a magnet.

  Was it wise to continue his lessons and subject herself to the temptation of being near him? Much as she tried to convince herself she’d been satisfied by that one kiss, in truth, it had only made her hunger for more.

  Kissing him had been...wonderful. The subtle friction of his mouth against hers, skittering flames of sensation to every extremity of her body. But even more, how wonderful to kiss him and know with absolute certainty that he would press his caresses only as far as she wanted them to go.

  After being pawed by lechers and possessed by a man whose only concern was satisfying his own needs, such assurance was heady. With Christopher, she just knew intimacy would be entirely different. She had this growing yearning to taste more, confident she could experience pleasure at her own pace, stop whenever she willed.

  But she mustn’t. She hadn’t offered this arrangement so she might discover what other courtesans sighed over. She must provide Christopher only the lessons she had promised, immerse herself in the work of her school, and watch him march off into the future for which he was destined—with someone else.

  Since that was both necessary and inevitable, she should dedicate more time to eradicating her romantic imaginings about him.

  Carrying her wine glass to the secretary, she trimmed a pen and took out a sheet of paper. Christopher’s Deficiencies, she wrote at the top, and under it, a number one.

  She took another sip and stared at the blank page. Surely he’d done something today to disturb or annoy her. When, after a few minutes, nothing came to mind, she wrote, He tempts me.

  She let herself envisage him—his handsome face, that tawny-wheat hair she itched to run her fingers through, his tall, solid body, and the warmth and strength and tangy spicy scent that enveloped her when he held her. Desire spiralled within, fierce and strong. Yes, he tempted her—an undesirable trait in a man for a woman who intended to leave the courtesan’s life behind her for good.

  What else?

  Adding a number two, she wrote, He makes me long for things I cannot have.

  She wasn’t an innocent girl any longer, despite how she’d felt while play-acting with him today. There would be no respectable marriage for her, at least not to a man from the class into which she’d been born, and for his career to prosper, he absolutely must have a bride who was his social equal. Allowing herself to dream about anything else was just as great a hazard to her well-being as desiring him.

  Maybe it was the wine, but she didn’t seem able to come up with any other faults. By the time she’d finished the glass, feeling rather desperate, she scrawled, He uses women for pleasure.

  Although it wasn’t really fair to accuse him of that. All men ‘used’ women for pleasure. The telling point was who, and how. Lovingly embracing a wife, or a female who’d freely, eagerly, invited the intimacy, was completely different from taking a woman—or a wife—without her permission or any regard for her needs. Worst of all was a man like Summerville, who considered any woman he wanted ‘available’. Whose conscience hadn’t even been pricked by the knowledge that he was ruining her.

  In contrast, despite meeting her as Summerville’s mistress, Christopher had unfailingly treated her like a lady. She didn’t know any of the Society matrons with whom he’d been involved, but he had a reputation among the demi-mondaine for being a kind, generous, and appreciative lover. There was always a competition among them to win his favour.

  Frowning, she struck out the sentence and thrust the list back into a drawer.

  After tomorrow’s interaction, she surely would discover more faults to add to her list—and make better progress at rooting out of her heart the pesky weed of her infatuation with Christopher Lattimar.

  Chapter Eight

  At three the next afternoon, Ellie arrived at the home of the Dowager Countess of Enfield, and was shown into a small anteroom where she found her mother and her aunt awaiting her.

  Though she looked frailer, and her hair had turned entirely grey, Aunt Marion still had the commanding figure and vital presence Ellie remembered. Nervously, she made her curtsy.

  ‘Miss Parmenter, I believe you’re calling yourself?’ the Countess said.

  Trying not to be disappointed by her aunt’s chilly tone, Ellie chose the most formal reply. ‘Yes, Countess.’

  Her aunt looked over at her mother. ‘She’s presentable enough, thankfully.’

  Apparently, she wasn’t even to be addressed directly. From out of the hurt stabbing her heart, a defiant burst of anger emerged. ‘You expected me to appear in feathers and a bodice cut down to the nipples, like a proper courtesan? So sorry to disappoint.’

  Her mother gasped and the Countess’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Still sharp-witted, I see,’ she said.

  ‘With only myself to rely on, I had to be, didn’t I?’ she shot back, the anger still smouldering.

  To her surprise, her aunt laughed. ‘I suppose you did. Well, let’s not pull caps, shall we? Whoever is at fault for what become of you—and there is a good deal of blame to go around—we can’t change that now. We can, however, ensure that the misfortunes of the past do not continue into the future to ruin Sophie’s chances. I presume you agree?’

  ‘If I did not, I wouldn’t have come.’

  At a nod from her aunt, both ladies rose. ‘I’m pleased you were prompt. The carriage awaits.’

  Once they were seated and on their way, Ellie said, ‘May I ask what you wish to accomplish by calling on Lady Sayleford, Cou
ntess?’

  ‘I expect those vulgar shopkeepers in Burlington Arcade are already sniggering behind their sleeves at discovering Miss Wanstead is the sister of Summerville’s former mistress. Ordinarily, my support would be all that was necessary to see Sophie well launched. But given the...unique circumstances, we shall need reinforcement at the highest level. No one in Society wields more power than the Dowager Countess of Sayleford. If she approves your sister, in the full knowledge of her...unfortunate connection, the rest of Society will do so as well. To be sure, there’s no longer any possibility of her making a grand match, but—’

  ‘And that is my fault?’ Ellie burst out.

  ‘As I said, fault can be apportioned in several places.’ Her aunt gave her an appraising look. ‘The girl I remember would never have interrupted me to defend herself. You’ve grown quite forthright, my dear. And, yes, I suppose you had to, so you needn’t remind me.’

  Ellie’s anger subsided, leaving her feeling drained and empty. ‘What do you want me to do for Sophie?’

  ‘That will be up to Lady Sayleford. I imagine she means to inspect you, and determine the best way forward. She might recommend that you leave London until the Season is over. Would you be prepared to do that?’

  ‘I hardly see how that would assist matters,’ Ellie argued. ‘The shopkeeper has already seen us, and will either gossip about it, or not. I’m perfectly prepared to avoid shopping in the fashionable areas for the duration, but I’m not prepared to leave town. Others here depend on me.’

  ‘That wretched school,’ her mother muttered.

  ‘Yes, the school,’ Ellie said evenly. ‘A place designed to give girls without other resources basic skills and training—so they won’t end up as I did.’