Candice Hern

by The Regency Rakes Trilogy

  "My what?"

  "You know," she said with some impatience, "those qualities you are searching for in a bride. It will help me to identify the proper candidate."

  "I haven't given it much thought," Jack lied. He would be damned before he would enlighten this perfect stranger, delightful though she may be, to his true motives.

  "Don't be ridiculous! Of course you have. Let us start with the obvious. I presume she must be a beauty?"

  Jack shrugged. He really would prefer to change the subject.

  "Well, naturally she must be beautiful," Lady Mary said. "She will be your marchioness, after all. And it is only fitting, since you are quite good-looking yourself." She flashed him a teasing grin.

  "Are your flirting with me, Lady Mary?"

  "Don't be absurd," she said and then once again gave that throaty chuckle. "And so what else, my lord? Besides beauty?"

  "You have already warned me against the too young, the too silly, and the too plump. I obviously do not have your discriminating tastes, my lady. I shall leave the choice to your better judgment."

  "Good heavens, Lord Pemerton, I did not mean to make the selection for you. Only to help steer you through the rocky shoals of the Marriage Mart. To help you from running aground upon the first sandbar you encounter. 'Tis a tricky business, you know. Dangerous waters, indeed."

  "Since you seem to know so much about it," Jack said, arching a significant brow, "then why, if I may ask, have you never married, Lady Mary?"

  The husky laugh once again disarmed him.

  "As I have said, it is tricky business," she said. "Too tricky to be of interest to me. Besides, I am much too old for such nonsense."

  "Too old for games of the heart?" Jack said, lowering his voice seductively. "Come now, my lady. Where is your sense of adventure?"

  "Let us just say, my lord," she replied, matching Jack's tone with her own hoarse whisper, "that I am content to be a spectator in this particular game. I am quite happily and comfortably on the shelf, if you must know."

  "Then why are you so anxious to thrust me into the dangerous waters of the Marriage Mart?"

  "I believe I shall find it excessively diverting, my lord!" The broad grin once again split her face, and her eyes twinkled with merriment. "Besides, you have already plunged into the water. I am merely offering to help you stay afloat. Anyway, now that we are friends, I want you to be happy. I want all my friends to be happy."

  "You are very generous, my lady. And do you make yourself happy by ensuring the happiness of your friends?"

  "I do indeed. It gives me a great deal of satisfaction. But in your case, I believe I shall find a great deal of amusement as well. I do so hate to be bored."

  "So you have said," Jack replied. "Well, Lady Mary, during the last year I have been, if not precisely bored, then certainly not entertained. Like you, my dear, I detest boredom and have in fact spent most of my life in search of diversion. It shall give me the greatest pleasure to have you transform my current task into something more amusing."

  "Ha!" she shouted, clapping her hands together and practically bouncing with glee. "I knew I would like you!"

  "Well, then," he said spreading his arms wide, "what are you waiting for? Let the parade begin!"

  Chapter 2

  "Lord Pemerton? Good heavens, Mary, have you lost your mind?"

  Mary could not hold back her smile, despite the look of horror on her companion's face. Olivia Bannister, hands frozen in mid-stitch as she looked up from her embroidery, had been in Mary's employ for over three years now, and yet apparently Mary still had the ability to shock the woman. Poor dear, Mary thought as she considered that she had likely been responsible for more than a few of those gray hairs sprinkled among Olivia's auburn curls. But she really ought to be accustomed to Mary's somewhat unconventional ways by now.

  "Come now, Olivia." Mary swung her feet up onto the sofa, tucking them under her in an unladylike position, which had more than once brought a disapproving frown to her companion's face. "There is no need to get into such a pelter. I assure you, the situation is quite harmless."

  Olivia glared at her with a look of such outrage that Mary burst out laughing. At last, Olivia cast her eyes toward the heavens, as if seeking guidance from Above, bundled her embroidery into her sewing bag, heaved a resigned sigh, and fixed Mary with a stern look.

  "My dear," she said, "as long as we have been acquainted, have you ever known me to cavil at any behavior of yours?"

  "Well, you do have a certain look—the one you are giving me just now, in fact—which can quite put one off. But, no, Olivia, you have never to my knowledge openly questioned any action of mine."

  "As is only proper," Olivia said with a sniff. "As your employee I am not in a position to object. But... as a friend ..."

  "A very dear friend."

  "As your friend," Olivia continued, "I believe I must take exception this time." She rose from her chair and joined Mary on the sofa. "My dear, I sometimes think you forget that you are an unmarried woman and therefore bound by certain rules of Society."

  "Fustian!" Mary said, brushing away those concerns with a wave of her hand. "Those rules were made for the protection of pretty young innocents straight out of the schoolroom. I am neither pretty nor young, and have no one to answer to but myself. And I have never done anything of which I am ashamed. I do have some scruples, you must know."

  "I know, Mary. But—"

  "And I would never do anything to hurt another human soul."

  "No, of course you would not," Olivia said as she reached out to lay her hand over Mary's. "You are the kindest, most generous person I have every known."

  "Thank you, my dear. Well then, what have I ever done, after all, that was so very shocking?"

  "Well," Olivia said as the corners of her mouth began to curl almost imperceptibly upward, "there was the time you disappeared at Lady Dunholm's rout for over an hour with Lord Erskine."

  "We were playing a private game of piquet in one of the back parlors, as you well know. Anyone could have found us if they had wanted to."

  "And there was the time you blithely waltzed into Harriet Wilson's box at the opera."

  "I simply wanted to meet her," Mary said, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. "And she was every bit as fascinating as I had expected. Well, she would have to be, would she not? I found her quite charming."

  "And there was the time you went strolling in the gardens at Hatfield on a moonless night with that rake, Sir Rodney Lattimer. And returned with a very interesting tear in your dress."

  It was Mary's turn to roll her eyes heavenward. "Sir Rodney and I were having a very interesting discussion about modern composers," she said in an exasperated tone. "I simply was not paying attention to my surroundings and happened to catch my sleeve on one of the holly bushes. Perfectly harmless."

  "Except," Olivia said in a tone worthy of a starchy governess, "to your reputation."

  "Olivia! When will you get it through your head that people like me do not have reputations? No one cares what a twenty- nine-year-old, ugly, insignificant, unmarried woman does. No one pays me the least attention, I assure you. Society does not care tuppence for women like me. I am perfectly safe, Olivia, even if I do prefer to associate with rakes, rogues, and the occasional courtesan. I only want to make interesting new friends, you know."

  "But you already have so many friends, my dear ..."

  "Yes," Mary said wistfully. "It is quite wonderful, is it not? How fortunate I am!"

  "Yes, but... Lord Pemerton, Mary?"

  "Oh!" Mary said, excited to discuss her newest friend. "Wait 'til you meet him, Olivia. I am persuaded you cannot dislike him. He is most amusing—and quite handsome."

  "Mary!"

  "Well, one can look, cannot one?"

  As long as one doesn't dream, thought Mary as she recalled the darkly handsome marquess. He did not have the fresh good looks of youth, nor the classical perfection of someone like Lord Bradleigh, the stunningly h
andsome husband of her friend Emily. And, to be sure, there were certain signs of dissipation in the lines about Lord Pemerton's mouth and eyes. But for all that, his face had a character that appealed to Mary more than many others. Yes, she could look. But she must take care that the piercing blue eyes, unruly black hair, and sensuous smile of the marquess did not too often invade her thoughts.

  But then, Mary had always been very sensible about such matters. She accepted her situation without complaint, and almost never dared to cherish foolish dreams. She had certainly been around her fair share of attractive men, and even called some of them friend. Why, then, should this particular man give her cause to worry?

  "But he is a rake!" Olivia exclaimed, drawing Mary's attention back to their conversation.

  "So I am told," Mary said as she arched a teasing brow.

  "But, my dear, I am sure you know that he is quite ... well.. . notorious. A shameless womanizer. Why, I believe I have heard that he has fought several duels. The man is dangerous, Mary!"

  "I promise you," Mary said with a grin, "that Lord Pemerton and I will not resort to pistols at dawn."

  "But—"

  "Olivia, I like him," Mary said. And she meant it. She really did like him. Quite a lot, actually. "You know that I have a soft spot in my heart for rogues," she continued. "They are so much more honest in their approach to life than the usual paragons of propriety. Those sober, proper gentlemen more often than not harbor cold hearts and dark secrets."

  Only consider my own father, Mary added silently to herself.

  "And most of those fine, upstanding fellows," she continued, "routinely deceive their wives with a string of ladybirds on the sly. I have no patience with such hypocrisy, Olivia. I much prefer the man who is open and straightforward in his dealings with people, even if he does not often stay strictly within the rules of Society. You can trust a man like that."

  "That is all well and good," Olivia said, "and might have something to say to the matter ... if you were another man. But as an unmarried female—"

  "Oh, bother!" Mary said. "Must we go over this again and again? I hold no interest in that way for such a man. They can be comfortable with me. That is why we can be friends. And I am convinced Lord Pemerton and I will become great friends. I liked him at once. He has such a way with a quizzing glass! I wonder if he could teach me how to wield one with such aplomb?"

  Olivia let out a long, slow breath and gazed at Mary with furrowed brows. "And so you are to help him find a bride?" she asked.

  "Yes! Imagine, helping to select a bride for a notorious rake! This will be such fun!"

  "But why you? Why can he not find his own bride?"

  "Because the poor man has no idea how to go about it properly," Mary said. "He would settle for just about anyone, you must know, just to get the thing over with. I could not stand by and watch such a fascinating man tie himself to some giggly young fool, just for the sake of the succession. She would either lead him a merry dance or bore him to death. In either case, he would probably ignore her completely or abandon her at the first opportunity, and then two lives would have been made miserable. How much more preferable to find a woman who could accept him for what he is, and with whom he could be comfortable. I can think of many such women. In fact, I have been making a list."

  "You haven't!"

  "I have." Mary pulled a folded piece of foolscap out of her pocket. "Perhaps you would like to review it with me? I might have overlooked someone."

  "Good heavens," Olivia groaned as she reached for the list.

  * * *

  Jack was stretched out comfortably on the bed. Hands propped behind his head, he stared up at the elaborate tented canopy while running numbers through his brain. He was mentally calculating how the rents from Pemworth might be used to offset the cost of draining the west pasture at Crutchley. Such thoughts were never far from his mind at any time these days. Was it only a year ago that his only concern, aside from the constant search for new pleasures to be experienced, had been the smooth running of his small estate in Herefordshire? Indeed, Broadhurst had never been a cause for much concern, as Jack had a very competent steward who ensured that the estate was run efficiently and profitably.

  Yet now, here he was, saddled with no fewer than six large estates inherited from his father and brothers, and not a one of them profitable. In fact, not a one of them was free of debt. Jack had always understood that his father, though a charming raconteur and sportsman, had no head for business. Never, however, in his wildest imaginings would he have expected the man's affairs— now Jack's affairs—to be in such disarray. And all a result, as far as Jack was able to determine, of gross mismanagement.

  He mentally ticked off rows of figures until he was convinced that by taking a bit from here and putting a bit over there that he could somehow finance the required drainage project. He breathed a sigh of relief. He must remember to contact Godolphin, his man of business, first thing in the morning to review the plan.

  Good Lord, but he seemed to be spending all his waking hours dealing with his blasted, unwanted, unsought inheritance. Well, maybe not all his waking hours, he thought as his eyes drifted to the soft, white, naked body curled up at his side. As he watched her sleep, Jack decided that although Phoebe was deliciously voluptuous and incredibly responsive—but of course she was an actress, so one could never be sure about those things—that he really ought to let her go. She was already an expense he could ill afford; and lately she had been tossing out hints about diamond bracelets and high-perch phaetons that caused him to break out in a cold sweat.

  Perhaps tomorrow he would buy her some small bauble as a parting gift, and give her her congé. He doubted she would have difficulty finding another protector. Dalrymple had frequently shown an interest. Perhaps he would take her on.

  Jack wasn't going to waste any time worrying about her. Phoebe, he thought as he brushed a hand lightly along her hip, would take care of herself. She made a small purring sound and curled up closer against his side. He never gave a second thought to what became of women such as Phoebe.

  The sounds of movement in the adjoining dressing room alerted him to the presence of Jessop, his valet. For a moment he had forgotten that he was not comfortably ensconced in his love nest on Half Moon Street. The small town house—the scene of many wild and passionate evenings over the years—had been sold some months ago. He could no longer afford the luxury of a separate house kept solely for the purpose of assignations. It galled him to have to bring his ladybirds to his own town house. It was simply not done. The fourth marquess, his grandfather, who had built the spacious Hanover Square house, was probably turning over in his grave at the thought of such women being brought into his home.

  Jack gave Phoebe one last lingering look and slipped carefully out of bed. She stirred and made a soft whimpering sound before curling more tightly around the down pillow. He padded across the room and silently entered the dressing room, leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar. Jessop was busy tidying up the various garments strewn about the room. He looked up when he heard Jack enter, stopped what he was doing, and quickly retrieved a dressing gown from a hook on the wardrobe door. He held it out for Jack, who shrugged into it and sank down into a nearby wing chair.

  "I will need you in a few hours, Jessop, to get Phoebe out of here before the household wakens."

  "Of course, my lord."

  "God, how I hate bringing them here." Jack nestled his head back into a corner of the chair and sighed deeply. He had no qualms about speaking so frankly to Jessop. They had known one another for years. Jessop was the son of the head gamekeeper at Pemworth, the seat of the Marquess of Pemerton. Less than a year separated them in age, and as a somewhat ignored younger son, Jack had found a friend in the young Tom Jessop. The two boys had spent many years romping the grounds and shoreline of Pemworth together, getting into all manner of scrapes.

  Jack had lost touch with his young friend when he had left home to attend Eton and then Cambridge.
It wasn't until many years later that their boyhood bond had been resurrected. Jack had returned to Pemworth for a visit when, one evening, the local prevention men showed up at the Hall looking for Jessop, whom they claimed had been involved that evening with a group of smugglers who had received a shipment of illegal goods in one of the nearby sheltered coves. Jack's father had begun to make some concerned remark when, almost without thinking, Jack had piped up, "Not Tom Jessop."

  Suddenly, all eyes had turned to him. Remembering how many times young Tom had taken the blame for some mischief or other, Jack quickly equivocated that Jessop had been with him all evening, playing cards. Jack's father's steely glare had dared the prevention men to question the word of his son, and they had been forced to leave. Later that evening Jessop had presented himself to Jack, pledging his eternal thanks and placing himself entirely at Jack's service. As it happened, Jack had been in need of a valet, and thus a new chapter of their strange companionship had begun.

  It had not been long before Jack had discovered that his boyhood friend had become an equally mischievous young man, always game for new adventures, new schemes, or new women. Since Jack had himself, by then, already fallen into a somewhat dissipated way of life, Jessop suited his needs precisely. Yet, through all the years of fast living, gaming, drinking, and womanizing, Jessop had remained steadfast, loyal—and extremely useful.

  Jack stretched his arms and shoulders like a cat and burrowed deeper into the chair. "After I let this one go," he said, arching a thumb in the direction of the bedroom door, "perhaps I should take to patronizing Covent Garden nunneries instead of bringing them home."

  Jessop, who had resumed brushing and folding the discarded clothing, stopped in midfold and raised his brows in question.

  "I know, I know," Jack said. "It has been years since I have frequented such places. I honestly do not think I am up to it. I much prefer to be in full control of the situation—the surroundings, the timing, everything. Can't do that in someone else's establishment."