Redeeming a Rake

by Cari Hislop

  Chapter 17

  Geoffrey’s laughter faded into a moan. The throbbing pain in his head made him feel sea sick. Opening his eyes he was relieved to see a familiar face. “Howard, what the devil is going on? Why do you look so old? Where the blazes is my Queen Anne bed and who the devil is that woman?”

  Howard looked at Tolerance with an incredulous expression before gulping down his disbelief, “You ordered us to chop up and burn that bed two years ago Your Grace. You’ve exchanged frequent letters over the past two years with Mrs Spencer. She is your friend Your Grace.”

  “Two years…what’s the importance of two years? I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.” He shivered as he realised the words weren’t true, he had seen those eyes stunned with pain somewhere, but where? The thought made him angry. “Next you’ll be telling me I’ve given up gambling and started taking communion.” Fear chilled his heart. “I have no recollection of becoming friends with this woman or ordering you to burn my bed. What the devil is going on? Do you take me for a blockhead? What bloody year is this anyway?” The woman covered her face with her hands and burst into sobs as if her life was somehow more difficult than waking up to find the world had changed without her.

  “1817 Your Grace.”

  Geoffrey’s lower lip trembled as his eyes glittered with rage. “Impossible! Yesterday I was living in 1813. What the devil are you crying for woman? You’re not the one living a nightmare. Friend indeed; I may be hideous, but I can still afford to buy ‘friends’ who are at least passably pretty, unless… Howard, have I’ve lost all my money?”

  “I don’t believe so Your Grace.”

  “Then why the devil do I have a plain woman nursing me?” Geoffrey moaned as nausea made his painful head spin, making him more enraged. “Get me something to eat and bring me a pretty wench before I burst. I don’t care what she charges. I don’t know what feels worse; my head, my stomach or my…”

  “Your Grace…” Howard glanced at the immobilised Mrs Spencer crying into her hands. “…I’ll arrange for a woman to visit you as soon as Mrs Spencer has departed.”

  “I don’t give a damn for Mrs Spencer’s sensibilities, bring me a whore!”

  “As you wish Your Grace.” Howard reluctantly shuffled from the room leaving the crying widow alone with his randy employer.

  Geoffrey couldn’t wait an hour. He needed relief and there was a woman only a few feet away. Tiptoeing up to her, he wrapped his arms around her ready to hold her against her will until he could persuade her into his bed, but she relaxed into his embrace and pressed her tears into his shoulder. Geoffrey’s senses were swamped with a new pleasure. His chest tightened as chivalrous thoughts emerged from the dark shadows of his heart. Through the painful haze of need he felt warmth penetrate his skin, as if he’d stepped out of freezing shadows into strong summer sunlight. Feathering kisses over her cheek, he was amazed to find she didn’t cringe or stiffen in disgust. Was she pressing her face into his kisses because she enjoyed them? It was an exhilarating thought. “Who ever you are, you’ll more than do.” Geoffrey was too absorbed with thoughts of imminent pleasure to notice her stiffening spine. “I’ll pay you five hundred pounds for an hour of your time. All you have to do is enjoy my touch…”

  “I’m your friend not a whore. Please don’t talk like that, it hurts.”

  Feeling rejected, Geoffrey’s tender embrace tightened into angry manacle. “What kind of man did you think I was? Did you think I’d put a ring on your finger?” He snarled as her body convulsed with distress. “Have you been holding out your kisses in hopes that I’d make you my Duchess? Is that your price Madam?”

  “You’re hurting me…” The woman broke free and rushed from the room.

  “Come back here! I need you. I’ll pay you five thousand pounds. You’ll never have another offer like it. Come back!” He listened as she ran down the stairs to his parlour, her heartbroken sobs more infuriating than a thousand curses. Left standing in the middle of an empty room, Geoffrey felt light-headed, lonely, confused and suddenly cold as if the sunlight had departed with the plain woman. His weak legs stumbled back to an unfamiliar bed and crawled under the covers, his head throbbing in time with his other aches and pains. Who was the tolerant woman? Why couldn’t he remember her?

  Howard’s pretty whore was sent away having earned five pounds without setting eyes on her customer. Geoffrey didn’t want a whore, he wanted the woman refusing his summons. After eating he spent the rest of his energy haranguing nervous servants to fetch Mrs Spencer back to his room, but without success. He fell asleep exhausted, the pain in his head forced to compete with a strange new ache in his chest. He slept through the rest of the day, but his eyes flickered open in the middle of the night. Was he dreaming? Several bright candles outlined the tolerant woman sitting on a chair next to his bedside without her ridiculous cap. Long white-blonde hair was coiled at the nape of her neck, escaping tendrils draping her throat. She was asleep, her arms folded underneath her bosom covered by a voluminous pale pink apron, her head falling forward. She looked like an angel. He felt that odd warm feeling again as if the sun was shining in the middle of the night. Comforted, he watched her until his eyes grew heavy and he fell back to sleep.

  ***

  Over the next week Tolerance continued to check with the servants to make sure the invalid was asleep before entering his room. She could almost pretend as she watched his chest rise and fall that he’d roll over and wink at her, magically returned to his old self. She nearly jumped out of her skin when his voice, gruff with sleep, reached out of the darkness one night and caressed her. “Angel?”

  Her old Geoffrey was back. Excited she picked up a candle and sat on the edge of his bed, beaming a smile down at her friend. “Geoffrey?” The invalid stared in shock as the plain woman’s smile somehow transformed her into a beauty. “How is your head?” Her concerned whisper skimmed over his cheek as her fingers on his forehead sent tingles of pleasure over his scalp. He’d never known anyone to care whether he was in pain or not.

  “It hurts.”

  “Shall I prepare a dose of laudanum?”

  “You only come when I’m asleep. Do you think I’ll drag you into my bed and force myself on you?”

  There was a long pause as her smiled faded and the candle was lowered to her lap. “No.” It was a small constricted word.

  “Do you love me?” It was an imperious command tinged with curiosity.

  “Yes…” He could hear the tears in her voice.

  “Why?”

  “Because I do.”

  “Why? Do you love my money? Do you love my title? Do you love men who look like corpses? There must be a reason you love me.”

  The woman sighed and stared off into the darkness. “I love your voice, your eyes, your smile, how you make me laugh, your hands, your kindness. There’s just something about you I find…”

  “What; attractive, fascinating, irresistible…?”

  “All of them.” Geoffrey flushed with pleasure and leered at his companion, but she’d turned away to trim the candlewick.

  “How did we meet?”

  She paused as if needing to weigh her reply. “At one of your mother’s balls…”

  “Now I know you’re a lying slut; I’d rather hang myself than attend one of her functions.”

  “There’s no need to shout; your servants are trying to sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep, why should they?”

  “They get up early and stay up late. The least you can do is let them sleep.”

  “I don’t pay them to sleep.”

  “And they don’t work for you so they can die from exhaustion.”

  “I thought you said I was kind.”

  “You can be very kind if you choose to be and nearly a thousand people saw you enter the ballroom, you needn’t take my word. It’s late, I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”

  “I’m sick to death of rest!” His voice dropped to a soft seductive whisper. “Plea
se let me hold you.”

  “I’ll hold your hand.”

  “I need you in my arms. I haven’t felt like this since I was nineteen. I need you so much it hurts.”

  “If you need company I’ll hold your hand.”

  “I don’t want you to hold my hand, I want to be pleasured!”

  “Shouting will only convince me to leave the room.”

  “No, please don’t leave Angel; I don’t want to be alone.”

  The woman gingerly sat back down on the edge of the bed. “You won’t be lonely if you hold my hand.”

  “Are you always so blasted stubborn?” Geoffrey managed to caress her thigh before it was out of reach off the bed. “Come back…I was just reaching for your hand.”

  “That is a pitiful lie.”

  She sounded out of breath. Was she affected by his touch? The thought made him want her even more. “Do you expect me to believe that I’ve never tried to touch you? Are you here to serve me or torment me? You may as well pleasure me; the world will assume you already have.”

  “I had to try to help. I couldn’t let you die…I love you.”

  “How noble. Are you sure you didn’t simply wish to ensure that I’d live to feel obligated to marry you? Perhaps the lure of being a Duchess is greater than the horror of being bedded nightly by the Devil?” She avoided his gaze as she snuffed out all the candles except the one in her hand. She held it up high and looked down at him as he stared at her with frustrated lust.

  “You’re so like my friend, but there’s something ugly in your eyes that makes me feel sick. He never looked at me like that.”

  Geoffrey winced in pain at the words. “Just because you didn’t see my tongue hanging out doesn’t mean I wasn’t counting the hours until you’d lift your skirts. I’m Geoffrey Lindsey Grayson; the man you idolised because you thought I’d offer for you out of desperation. Well I don’t need a wife, pity or friendship. Pleasure me or be damned!”

  “Cursing me is hardly going to make me think better of you.”

  “I don’t care what you think of me. Take off your clothes.”

  “I think you should go to sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep, my head hurts…”

  “I’ll put a few drops of laudanum in some water.”

  “I don’t want laudanum, I want you.”

  “Goodnight Geoffrey.”

  The words had a finality that made Geoffrey panic. He didn’t want to be alone, he wanted the smiling woman to hold him and love him. “Don’t leave…Angel…come back here!” He held his breath as she stopped in the doorway. She loved him. She’d come back and ease his need. She’d hold him as he succumbed to the sweetest sleep and when he awoke…

  “I’m your friend, not your servant. Friends have the option of choosing not to be abused. Goodnight Geoffrey.”

  Listening to her walk away Geoffrey noticed the room chill again, as if her kindness had been warming the air. After fifteen minutes feeling cold and unloved, he swung his weak legs out of bed and wobbled to the door. He made it as far as the top of the stairs where his aching head, spinning in dizzy circles, nearly sent him tumbling to his death. He collapsed on the top step and clutched the railings. “Angel…” He moaned as the pain in his head overshadowed his tormenting lust. “Help me!”

  The words echoed through the small entry hall into the parlour where Tolerance was sitting in the yellow armchair contemplating an awful future. Her beloved friend was dead, but he wasn’t dead. Her stomach churned at the thought of tearing herself from his life. She wanted to lie in his arms and feel him breathe. She wanted to have his children. She wanted to be his wife, but the man upstairs was a stranger, a thoughtless rake-hell who’d use and discard her without hesitation. She was mentally listing all the reasons why it would be best to send for her carriage when she heard him call for her. Leaping to her feet she ran out into the hall and looked up to see him sitting at the top of the stairs with his sickly pale face pressed against the railings of the bannister. “Angel!” The whimper pierced her heart as she wiped away her tears and rushed up the stairs to help him. After getting the tall man back to his bed he obediently drank a dose of laudanum and closed his eyes. She held his hand until he fell into a drug induced sleep. Knowing she might never see him again, she gave into temptation. Kicking off her shoes, she crawled under the covers fully clothed and snuggled up against the remains of her friend. Her eyes filled with tears as he unconsciously turned in his sleep and draped a possessive arm over her waist. She lay there waiting for first light to tell her it was time to break her heart.

  ***

  Geoffrey woke late in the afternoon feeling refreshed after a pleasurable dream of spending the night held in the Angel’s arms. He could almost smell her orange blossom scent on his pillow. Wanting to look his best for the smiling woman, he sent for his barber. His face shaved and his hair trimmed, he was shocked to learn he’d had short hair for over a year. What had made him cut his hair? There was only a blank darkness in his head, but the biggest shock was seeing his reflection. He barely recognised himself. He looked like an ill but handsome aged version of his youth. The Devil’s Corpse had been buried under healthy layers of flesh. No wonder the angel loved him, but how had it happened? Feeling awkward in clothes he couldn’t remember having fitted, he put on an old dressing gown and sat in a chair by his fire. He was ready to receive the angel. “Howard, tell Mrs Spencer that I wish her to join me for luncheon. Tell her I give my word I’ll be a gentleman.”

  “Mrs Spencer returned home first light Your Grace.”

  The news made him scowl in irritation. Now he’d have to wait that much longer. “Then send my carriage for the woman. I don’t want to wait all day, I’m hungry.”

  “I’m sorry Your Grace, but she took all her belongings with her.”

  “I don’t care what she took with her, fetch the woman!”

  Howard took a deep calming breath and squared his shoulders. “Mrs Spencer informed me she would not be returning Your Grace. She said that as you were out of danger and you should consult the doctor.”

  Geoffrey felt deathly cold as the blood drain from his face. “What the devil do you mean she’s not returning? What sort of friend leaves at first light without saying goodbye? I suppose she asked you to wish me good health. Does she expect my servants to tell me that she loves me?”

  The old man stared respectfully at the wall. “She left no message Your Grace.”

  Silence thundered through the room as an invisible fist punched Geoffrey in the chest. He turned his head away from his servant and closed his eyes hoping to contain the threatening storm. “Go tell that stubborn woman that I wish to see her immediately. Inform her that if she doesn’t call on me today I’ll never speak to her again.” His pain filled roar bounced off the walls and back into his head like a lead ball through his ears.

  “Mrs Spencer looked ill Your Grace. She’s not had a proper night’s sleep since your attack. She may have taken to her…”

  “I don’t care if she has the black plague. Fetch her!” Geoffrey’s waiting was in vain. He finally gave up and returned to his bed where he muttered curses on heartless angels. He couldn’t think through the heavy pain in his scull or see through the rain falling in his bedchamber. Weeks passed as he waited for his plain beautiful friend to return and beg his forgiveness, but she didn’t come. The loneliness ate away at him until one morning he woke up knowing if he didn’t breathe the same air as someone who loved him the hellish sensation in his chest would eat him alive. Crawling out of bed he rang the bell with force and clenched his teeth in defiance. He’d see the woman before the day had ended or die trying.