Nothing But a Rakehell (A Series of Unconventional Courtships Book 2)

by Deb Marlowe

  “Wait,” she interjected. “You are a titled peer of the realm. Marriage and procreation are practically the reason for your existence.”

  “Spite and my father’s ruthless determination are the reason for my existence.” He shook his head. “But enough of that. I am jaded and unbending—while the very idea of marriage requires a certain resiliency of spirit and a wide dollop of steady faith—in oneself and in other people. And despite your varied experiences, you still have both.”

  She tried to protest, but he stopped her. “Pointy chin and all, you are an enchanting conundrum, my dear, and you’ll have to face it.” And he’d always been drawn to a puzzle, and to the new and interesting. And he’d been right about her having mettle. It all set his inner alarms to screeching, in fact. Careful. Careful. But this girl deserved to know the truth.

  She didn’t care to hear it. “Stop it,” she ordered. Her mobile expression had gone flat.

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop complimenting me.”

  He threw back his head, chuckling. “Another first for you, Lady Glory. I know no woman has ever given me that particular command.” She would make a magnificent partner for some lucky bastard—and he doubted she would be happy until she had. But it was going to take more than words to convince her of the truth—to make her begin to see her own worth.

  He leaned in. Careful.

  He was being careful, damn it. He was kissing her for her sake, not for his own. Not because her aged cognac eyes were intoxicating him. Not because the sun danced like fire amongst her curls. His gaze followed the sun’s path down a little and settled on her fine, plump lips. He wasn’t kissing her because the thought of being first to taste that smart, funny, lush mouth made his heart race.

  That was just a surprising side effect.

  He moved closer still. Too close. She lifted a hand and placed it on his chest. She must feel his heart beat. It pounded as if he’d walked up to this height himself.

  He moved to distract her with a touch. A delicate brush of his finger across her cheek.

  She stared up at him, her gaze dancing lightly across his face. Her lips parted.

  “No,” she said.

  He stopped.

  “No?”

  “No.” She said it firmly.

  He sighed. Fine. Words, then.

  When he spoke, his tone sounded low and rough. “You are more than just an injured leg, my lady.”

  He braced himself. Perhaps she would slap him. Or cry.

  He probably deserved both.

  But she merely shrugged. “Fine. Thank you. But stop . . . that.” She waved her hand again as if she was chasing away a pesky insect. “That tone. The flirting. The . . . rest of it. I’ve already told you, I don’t like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t believe in all of that.”

  He waited.

  “Flirtation. Attachment. Romance.”

  ‘Of course you believe in it,” he told her. “Your sister and Tensford have it. In spades. It stares at you across the dinner table every night.”

  She lifted a conceding shoulder. “Have you ever seen it before? Love? Real love?”

  He looked away. “Once. My cousin found it, I once thought. At least, he and his wife appeared to be deliriously happy with each other.” The last time he’d seen his the pair of lovebirds, though, they’d been harried and distracted, chasing after their passel of young children. Picking up a pebble, he tossed it over the edge and into the abyss. “But then, everything has always seemed to come easier for him.”

  “I say the same thing about Hope.” They stared out at the expanse. Keswick became absorbed in watching the shadows of the clouds overhead move across the land below.”

  “It does exist, I suppose,” she said at last.

  “For some people,” he agreed.

  “But not for me,” they said in unison.

  They shared a long look, then. A moment of perfect communion. Something inside of him let loose a long breath, like a relieved sigh—and relaxed.

  “I’ll tell you a truth, Lady Glory.”

  “How refreshing.”

  He chuckled. “I was not excited at the prospect of attending this house party. In general, I prefer London and its amusements and variety of people. But I’m glad I came. I’m glad I met you.”

  Her color rose, but some of the tightness around her eyes softened. “I’m glad we met, as well.”

  “I think we should make a pact. You are not looking forward to the onset of this party any more than I am. What say we help each other through it?”

  She nodded. Her gaze turned toward the distant estate. “Yes. I suspect I won’t be nearly as helpful to you, but I’ll do whatever I can.” She held out her hand and they shook to seal the bargain. “Here’s to both of us making it through this, unscathed.”

  Chapter 6

  The first guest for the house party arrived the next morning. Fortunately for Glory, it was only Mr. Barrett Sterne. An old friend of Tensford’s, he was already well acquainted with her and her limp—and he always teased her like a little sister. Teased her about everything but her limp—and she both appreciated the fact and cringed a bit over it.

  Mr. Sterne was good natured and funny—and also a good friend of Lord Keswick’s. They all had a grand day while the men caught up and they all set up wickets and netting for lawn games and partook of a dinner al fresco on the terrace. The evening shadows grew long as the friends told stories about each other, each more outrageous than the last, while Hope and Glory laughed until their sides hurt.

  She’d been right to stop him, she told herself over and over, as the day went on. She’d been right to stop the viscount before he kissed her. Even though her brain kept dragging the images forth, reliving the moment when those blue eyes had held hers, when he’d touched her cheek and leaned in, his wide shoulders blocking the sun. She’d shivered, but it hadn’t been from lack of heat. She’d been practically boiling over with conflicting emotions. Longing, curiosity, nerves, and yes, fear. Fear of the unknown, of appearing foolish—and of appearing to be just another besotted girl, like all the rest.

  So, she’d stopped him. And they had made a pact. A friendly pact. That’s what she and Keswick would be . . . friendly. Real friends, perhaps. That moment when they’d connected . . . They were similar, in some elemental way. She didn’t quite understand it, yet, but surely it must be better than being just another girl that he’d kissed.

  By the end of the day, she’d convinced herself it was true. They would be friends—and no more. And that would be both different and enough. When they all retired, Glory went to her room with a lighter heart, and the hope that she might survive this party, after all.

  Her hopes wavered the next morning, when a mob of guests arrived all at once—all strangers. The courtyard was a buzz of greetings and laughter and servants running to and fro to see to the unpacking. Glory hung back, but Keswick caught her at it. With a stern look, he pulled her forward, right into the thick of the confusion.

  Her leg dragged, but nerves danced to life in her wrist, where he gripped her. His touch sent tingles all along her arm. She could feel the heat rising in her face. Surely the newcomers would notice that. She was too busy noticing how lovely Keswick smelled to worry overmuch, however. It was her sister’s doing, she told herself sternly—and yet she couldn’t help but take another, deeper breath.

  The air came sputtering back out when a pair of young ladies noticed her limping gait and exchanged glances. One merely looked startled, the other wore a familiar frown of distaste.

  “Lady Glory,” Keswick said, pulling her to a stop before them. “Allow me to introduce these lovely ladies, whom I have only just met myself. Miss Parscate and Miss Redsmock, may I make you known to Lady Glory Brightley, who is sister to Lady Tensford?”

  Glory dropped a curtsy.

  One of the girls flushed. “Actually, my lady, it is Miss Ruddock.”

  “Oh, do forgive me!” Keswic
k smiled, all charm. “I will make it up to you by presenting my very dear friend, Mr. Spurn.”

  His friend rolled his eyes. “Ladies. I am Mr. Barrett Sterne. A pleasure.”

  “Miss Ruddock,” the girl repeated.

  “And Miss Parsonbait,” Keswick said smoothly.

  The second girl laughed right out loud. “It is Parscate, sir. We are delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  “My pleasure, and do forgive Lord Westlick,” Sterne said with a raised brow. “He truly is terrible.”

  “At names,” Keswick prodded.

  “That too,” Sterne agreed.

  They all laughed and went into the house where guests were being sorted into rooms.

  “You appear to be injured, Lady Glory,” Miss Ruddock said. “I hope you will recover quickly.”

  Glory gritted her teeth, then smiled. “It was a childhood injury, I fear.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Miss Ruddock said it with sympathy, but her friend looked horrified.

  “I fear Lady Glory has so many sterling qualities, fate felt it necessary to balance the scales in favor of the rest of us,” Keswick announced. He bowed over her hand and excused himself. The two girls exchanged glances and followed.

  Glory sighed and turned as her sister called her once more.

  More guests arrived as the day progressed and Glory was expected to be present and presented. The viscount largely left her alone after that, but he kept true to his word. He and Sterne lingered, separate, but near, and they treated the fact of her limp so casually that everyone else was forced to follow their cue and do the same.

  Grateful for their efforts, she stiffened her spine, smiled, exchanged pleasantries, greeted everyone and watched her sister beam at her in approval.

  She also kept a close watch on the viscount. No hardship, there. Lord Keswick stood just a tad taller than the other men in the room. The sharp angles in his face gave him the edge in masculine beauty.

  That was not why she watched him, of course. She was looking for ways to return the favor, trying to discover how she could help him in turn. She wasn’t alone in staring after him, though—and she knew it was more than his title that drew so many female gazes.

  Some watched him with caution and disdain. Clearly, his reputation as a rakehell was well established. Several women watched him with wary eyes and tried to keep out of his way. Some watched with a knowing, speculative manner. And quite a few others gazed after him in fascination. Glory could scarcely fault any of them. Keswick gave off the most intriguing aura—danger and allure wrapped in tight smiles and just-slightly-distant charm.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally escaped upstairs to change for dinner. She needed peace. She didn’t find it, however. Instead she stared at herself in the mirror and wondered how she could have been so wrong. She wasn’t similar to Lord Keswick. He wasn’t going to need her help. He was entirely at ease in company and able to turn the mood of an entire room. He was everything she was not. Everything Hope and others wished her to be.

  The thought exhausted her. But she would not give up so soon. His interventions had made a difference. She’d been treated with the same deference as the other young ladies, for the most part. There was still the odd stare and whisper, but they were less numerous and open than usual.

  She allowed Hope’s maid to assist with her hair and she wore a new gown of soft green with gold trimmings that darkened her eyes and made them look less . . . odd. She forced herself to join the company again, taking the servant’s stairs so that she wouldn’t be seen carefully maneuvering her way down.

  She timed it perfectly, arriving just as dinner was called—but then she had to fight to keep her shoulders from slumping when she saw she was to be seated at dinner between Miss Myland and Mr. Lycett.

  The elderly lady was companion to Tensford’s aunt. Glory summoned a smile for her. “How are you enjoying the new arrangements at Brockweir?” she asked.

  Miss Myland shrugged. “The food is decent, even if the company is not,” she said. She addressed herself to the soup, slurping it with haste. She finished before Glory had managed more than a couple of spoonfuls, then dropped her chin to her chest and appeared to doze as she awaited the next course.

  With a sigh, Glory turned to Mr. Lycett. She knew he was an enthusiastic hunter. She asked him about his mount, thinking they could converse about training.

  “I’m not surprised that you ask, my lady. My Apollo is the best-trained horse in the north of England. Such stamina he has—and it is only surpassed by the steadiness of his temperament. I don’t think he’s ever flinched at a horn at his ear or a hound at his heel.”

  “That is wonderful in a horse trained for the hunt, I’m sure. My own Poppy is steady and stalwart as well. She—”

  But Mr. Lycett was not interested in hearing about her experiences. Instead, she was treated to an enthusiastic monologue about the superiority of his horse, his dogs, the many thrilling hunt days his local club got up to and the time he’d been invited to join the famous Quorn for one of theirs. Her spirits grew lower as he talked over her comments and ignored her attempts to change the subject.

  So much for Keswick’s theory that the man had been making up to her, she thought acidly. Worse, she could see the viscount over Mr. Lycett’s shoulder, seated between Miss Munroe and Miss Ruddock, looking irritatingly handsome and apparently enjoying an amiable conversation with each lady in turn.

  When Hope stood and called the ladies to withdraw, Glory was the first out of the door.

  She settled in a dark corner and let the women chatter on without her. Blessed silence held in her hideaway and she hid away for nearly a quarter of an hour before Miss Munroe pulled a chair over and took a seat beside her.

  “Forgive me for disturbing you,” she said with real feeling. “I saw you with my cousin at dinner and felt I owed you an apology. I surmise, from his fervor, that he got started on his favorite topic.”

  Glory shot her a sour look and the girl laughed.

  “Oh, dear. I have tried to convince him that conversation should be a shared endeavor, but the lesson does not seem to take root. I am sorry.”

  “You should not take on the burden of his crimes.”

  “Crimes? Was it so bad?”

  “It was definitely an assault on both my appetite and my ears.”

  The girl laughed. “Curse him. He does go on. It drives my mother mad. She’s so grateful to have him included in the festivities over here.”

  “And out of her hair?” Glory asked with a grin.

  “Well, yes. I did hope he would behave better in company. But no, it seems he must go overboard, and just when I was hoping to get on your good side.”

  “My good side? But, why?”

  Miss Munroe hesitated and Glory asked, “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “You already have, which makes me feel that much more presumptuous. I so appreciated you sharing your dancing lessons.” She leaned in. “And thank you for continuing them, although I know you have no real wish to.”

  “It does seem a waste, when the last thing I would want to do is to get up and dance in front of a crowd. Did you see Lady Tresham’s face when I limped in here, in front of everyone else? I delayed her entrance by a brace of seconds and she looked as if I should be taken out back and given the mercy of a bullet.”

  “No!” Miss Munroe looked outraged.

  “That’s exactly why I asked that the lessons be moved to so early in the mornings. Mr. Thorpe is less than thrilled, but if we practice early, then there is no chance of being discovered by Lady Tresham or the rest of the late-rising London crowd.”

  “Ignore her. She’s odious. I heard my mother tell my father that she is somewhat of a scandal, and has been turned away from some of the best houses in London.”

  Surprised, Glory looked over at the lady. “Truly?” The baroness was a widow who had lived near their family estate in Sussex. She’d suddenly shown a renewed interest in the
ir company after news of Hope’s substantial inheritance and her engagement to Lord Tensford became public knowledge.

  “Speaking of Town, I know your sister hopes to take you to be presented next spring—and I know that you are not excited about the prospect.” She gave a little shrug. “But I do hope you will go. It’s purely a selfish notion, you understand, for I’m to make my debut as well. It would be nice to have someone there.” She cast a dark look at the knot of giggling girls by the pianoforte. “Someone with sense and the ability to converse about more than balls, beaux and bonnets.” She raised a brow. “There is so much more of London that I would like to see.”

  “It would be easier with a like-minded companion,” Glory said, gratified. “And Lord Keswick has already told me about some of the other attractions in Town.”

  Miss Munroe leaned in. “I confess, I am interested in the natural sciences and so I’m looking forward to the British Museum, and Kew Gardens, and perhaps a lecture or two. Is there something you wish to see?”

  Glory hesitated. “Astley’s Ampitheatre,” she confessed at last, hoping she wouldn’t seem like a child.

  “Oh, yes, it sounds so exciting. And Vauxhall, as well.”

  Glory breathed a sigh of relief. “You almost make me excited for the Season.” She broke off as the parlor door opened and the gentlemen began to stream in. Keswick, she noticed, was instantly bookended by Miss Ruddock and Miss Parscate.

  “Now there is a man who could give my cousin lessons in charming the ladies. How have you found Lord Keswick, since he arrived?”

  The speculation—and appreciation—in Miss Munroe’s tone put Glory’s back up.

  “Is he as naughty as the gossips say? Lady Tresham keeps looking at him as if she’d like to find out.”

  Perhaps this, at last, might be a way she could help the viscount. “I find him quite pleasant. A true gentleman in word and deed.”

  “They say he does know how to treat a woman. Any woman,” Miss Munroe said with raised brows. “I heard that the tavern maid at the Crown and Cock is quite taken with him.”