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

by Deb Marlowe

  She didn’t answer, just carefully lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bank.

  He stepped around her, full of remorse, and knelt before her. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I was frightened when you fell.”

  His heart clenched when he caught the faint tracks of tears reflecting the moonlight. He reached out a hand to wipe them away.

  She shifted, turning away. “It’s fine. I am sorry, too. I am only being . . . me.”

  He hated the sadness, the note of defeat in her tone, but she wiped her eyes and looked at him. “‘Scorch and burn it?’” she asked.

  He gave an embarrassed laugh. “Yes. It’s one my mother used to say. I’m pretty sure it comes from an old Irish curse—Scorching and burning upon you!”

  “Bloodthirsty. Final.” She nodded. “I like it. I might borrow it.”

  “Shocking, coming from a young lady.”

  “Better to be denounced for cursing than as a demented sprite.”

  He winced. He had struck a nerve. “Tell me about the dancing.”

  She sighed. “Miss Munroe calls it another arrow in my quiver. I just want to give myself as many chances as possible to appear normal.”

  “Normal.” He snorted.

  “It’s nothing to snort at from the outside.”

  Reaching for her hand, he held it between his. “You are a thousand times better than anyone normal.”

  She pulled in breath and her eyes closed. “Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. She met his gaze, then. “It means so much, hearing you say that, because I believe you mean it.” Her hand slid out of his. “But I think we should go back—back to the place between us where you don’t say such things.”

  He knew she was right.

  “I have to make the best of my situation as it stands. There will be no escaping London, I suppose, much as I would prefer to bury my head in the sand and stay here.” She sighed. “You could be right, though, and someday, some kind man might look past my differences. Maybe he will ask me to dance.”

  Keswick hated him already. He hated all the men in London who were to be given the chance to see her, to choose her.

  “And if he does,” she continued, “then I would like to be able to accept him, for at least one dance.” Her shoulders slumped. “It is difficult, though. Not as difficult as learning to walk again, but still, challenging.”

  “You’ll do it,” he said roughly. He looked back toward the field. “But it’s likely not wise to be hard on yourself, when you are practicing in the dark and on uneven ground.”

  “I didn’t want to be caught at it, in the house. The gentlemen are carousing in the billiards room. They are too close to the ballroom—and I did wish to practice. At first I hated the very idea of lessons, but I’ve got the bit between my teeth now. I refuse to be defeated. If I can perfect this dance, I might even tackle another.”

  She was so endearingly brave and determined—and she was going to need those qualities if she meant to face the outside world. But for now, he reached for a bit of light-heartedness. “Perhaps you should only confess to the one—and then make the gentlemen vie for the honor of your one dance at each ball.”

  She laughed. “Oh, wouldn’t Hope love that? It’s a nice idea, but I’ve not had much luck with even the smoothest, most stately dance.” Sighing, she leaned back to look at the stars. “I’ll keep trying, though. It must be perfect, or I’ll never attempt it in public.”

  “No one dances perfectly,” he objected.

  “I will. Or I won’t dance at all.”

  “Is that your pride speaking? Or your legendary stubbornness?”

  “Both. And fear, as well. And experience.”

  “Experience?”

  Shrugging, she didn’t answer.

  He thought for a moment. “The speaking piece? You said it didn’t go well.”

  “Please, don’t mention it.”

  “It couldn’t have been so bad.”

  “Why?” Her tone sharpened. “Because you are the only one with pain and regret in your past? I assure you, you are not.”

  He shifted. “You are right, of course. I apologize.”

  He sank down and sat with his back against the bank, next to her feet. Neither spoke. He should go. He should go on to the village, back to his carefree, libertine ways. But he couldn’t leave her alone out here. Nor did he want to, really.

  The breeze lifted his hair and caressed his brow. Slowly, slowly, the tension he’d been carrying all day drained away. His shoulders relaxed. He leaned over a little and rested his head on her knee. She sighed and touched the top of his head, briefly.

  How did she do it? She made him feel like she’d created a refuge just for him, where he could say what he thought without guarding every moment, a place of soothing relief, free of the worry and strife that normally dogged his every step.

  He wanted to give something back to her.

  “Would you like for me to partner you, while you practice?”

  “No, thank you. I think I’m done for the evening.”

  “Then, would you care to dance with me, later this week? At the ball your sister has planned to end the house party? I swear, it won’t matter a whit to me if you stumble a bit.”

  “No, thank you,” she said decisively.

  “I can contrive to cover any little misstep. I promise I would never let you tumble or fall.”

  “I cannot.” Her voice had thickened. “I’m not ready.”

  He tilted his head back to look up at her. A lovely halo of moonlight surrounded her profile and shadowed her expression. “It must have been very bad,” he said gently.

  “It was.”

  Grasping her hand, he peeled away her glove. He traced her fingers and along the tender skin of her wrist. Her heartbeat fluttered beneath his fingers and he cradled her hand, wishing he could protect her from harm. “Honestly? My first instinct is to tell you to keep the story to yourself. Don’t make yourself vulnerable,” he said softly. “But my friends are always counseling me otherwise. Sometimes when you share a hurt, it loses some of its power over you. Or so they tell me.”

  “Have you done so? Tried sharing your pain?”

  “Yes.” It had only led him to worse, but he would never let that happen to her, not with him.

  She let out a shaky breath. “Keswick, we can remain friends, can we not? Separated, as you’ve said, but still . . . in harmony?”

  “Of course.”

  “I wish we could keep this—this freedom and ease between us. The ability to say anything.”

  “I would like that,” he whispered. Part of him screamed that it was not enough, would never be enough, but he shushed it.

  “Then I will tell you.” Her head bowed. “But first you must answer my question, or at least a bit of it.”

  “What question?”

  “The girl. The street sweeper. She’s not lost in the filthy maze of Seven Dials, is she?”

  He took a long moment before deciding to answer. “No.”

  “You moved her. Took her somewhere safe?”

  It went against all of his instincts to answer, but for her, he would bend a little. “Yes. Her and her mother.”

  She let out a long sigh. “I’ll tell you, but you understand, it is an act of trust.”

  He did understand, and he would do his damndest to be worthy of it. “It will be an honor to keep your confidence.”

  She pulled her legs up and tucked her gown under her feet. Once, twice, he heard her draw breath as if to begin, but did not. After a moment, she tucked her forehead onto her knees, hiding her face.

  “Here.” Keswick drew his flask from his pocket. He nudged her. “This might help.”

  She took the flask. “What is it?”

  “Some of Tensford’s finest brandy.”

  She sniffed it and reared back a little.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  Cautiously, she sipped it. “It tastes like citrus, and other fruits. And something floral.
” She choked suddenly. “Oh, it’s gone hot. I can feel the heat spreading along my ribs.”

  “Have another.”

  She did, a longer drink this time.

  “There you go,” he said with approval. “It’s not gin, but it will lend you a bit of Dutch courage.”

  She groaned. “It’s foolish, really. You probably won’t think it much at all.”

  “It’s how it makes you feel that matters.”

  Sighing deeply, she nodded. “You’d better take this back.”

  He took the flask and she settled in. “All right.” She squirmed a little, so that she faced away from him and towards the spot where Poppy foraged. “It was a musical evening, held at a neighbor’s house near our home in Sussex. It was just past a year since my father’s death. We were just out of mourning and Hope was preparing for her Season in London. She and some other girls her age got the idea for the evening, so they could practice their drawing room entertainments. I was still under the care of a governess and thrilled to be asked to participate.”

  “Despite not being musical?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t sing or play an instrument, but it was my chance to come up with something else. My governess and I perfected the idea.”

  “A theatrical piece.”

  “Yes. I chose one of Puck’s speeches, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I practiced endlessly. We worked out the blocking and movements so that it was lively and animated, but still within my abilities.” She lifted a shoulder. “Granted, my limp likely was more pronounced then. My foot dragged more noticeably, I believe. I’ve grown a little stronger with time.”

  He nodded, encouraging her to continue.

  “I was breathless with anticipation, and when my turn upon the stage came, I was full of hope and shaky confidence.”

  She stopped. He waited.

  “It was a friend of my brother’s. Mr. James Judson.” Residual bitterness still accompanied his name. “He was a bully when we were children and he is a wastrel now, in my opinion. But he has money and a decent bloodline and so he goes unchecked.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He was already the worse for drink before the entertainments began. He moved restlessly in the audience and occasionally whispered too loudly during a performance, but his behavior was ignored. He’d slumped in his chair by the time my turn came, so I had hope he’d sleep through the rest of it.”

  “He didn’t,” Keswick said flatly.

  “No. He sat up when I came out and said ‘Not the cripple!’”

  “The wicked arse,” he breathed.

  “It wasn’t the first time he called me thusly. I’m sure I turned beet red, but I persevered. I wasn’t going to let him chase me off of the stage. Not after I had worked so hard. So, I continued on. I put my heart and soul into it, too. When I finished, I held my position and waited with bated breath, praying it would be well received.”

  He noticed that his fingers had ceased stroking and he had gripped her wrist tightly. Wordlessly, he loosened his hold and waited.

  “The audience began to applaud. My breath came out in a whoosh and I stood. I’m sure I was grinning like an utter idiot. I made my bow and turned to step off of the stage—but Judson leapt to his feet.”

  “He said . . .” Her voice had begun to shake a little. Stopping, she swallowed and cleared her throat. “He said that it wasn’t right that I should have been allowed to perform before an audience. I was a disgrace and he never understood why I wasn’t kept at home and out of sight. I should never have been allowed to conduct myself as equal with the other young ladies.” Her breath caught. “He said I ruined Shakespeare’s idea of an impish sprite, free and light and airy. He said . . . that just watching me walk was an offense to the senses and ruined his picture of the ideal of womanhood.”

  By the end, her voice sounded tight and strained.

  “I hope your brother killed him,” he said savagely. If not, he would seek his own vengeance. He could happily imagine horsewhipping the bastard until he found himself with permanent wounds that could then be mocked by other bastards.

  “It was all an uproar. The girls were crying. My brother was shouting. Judson and a group of other young men stormed out. My mother fainted, and that put an end to it. We were bundled out and the girls blamed me for the ruin of the evening.” She sighed. “Except for Hope, of course.”

  “What happened afterwards? Did your brother duel with the drunken sot?”

  “They quarreled, but there was no duel. I received far fewer invitations. Mother grew ill and that restricted our social lives for quite a while. Later, after her death, my brother made up his quarrel with Judson. In fact, he married the man’s sister.”

  His jaw dropped. “Do you mean to say that that arse wipe is your brother-in-law?”

  “Yes. And he runs tame in the house.”

  “And your brother allows it?”

  “The three of them are thick as thieves.” Her tone turned wry. “You can see the appeal of hiding away here with Hope, in Gloucestershire.”

  “Hell, yes, I can.” Wild rage was coursing through him—as was the earnest desire to make her see. “But you must not hide away, not under any circumstances.”

  Chapter 14

  Glory jumped a little, in surprise, as Keswick leapt to his feet. He paced back and forth along the water’s edge in front of her.

  “Your mother had a long illness, did she not?”

  “She did.” Bewildered, she watched him pivot and continue, back and forth.

  “And that night was the start of it?”

  “No. It began after my father’s death, I honestly believe. But her decline became more obvious about that time.” She stiffened suddenly. “I didn’t cause it, if that’s what you mean to insinuate.”

  “No! Not at all. I’m just painting the picture in my mind. Two mourning periods. A long illness between them.” He stopped. “I don’t imagine that your new sister-in-law included you in her social activities.”

  She laughed. “No. Not often.”

  He started moving again. “So, you’ve scarcely had a chance at a social life, at all. No wonder you were nervous about the house party—and it’s no wonder you are reluctant to go to London.”

  Suddenly, he was kneeling before her. He took both of her hands in his. “You have the heart of a lioness, Glory. And the will of one, too. And now you tackle dancing?” He squeezed her hand. “I’m proud to witness it. I would be proud to help. I am proud of you.”

  Her heart soared. She wished she could see him clearly. Her hands gripped his. “If I’ve had any success here, it is largely due to you.”

  “It that is true, then it has been my honor.” He moved his grip to her elbows. “You must carry on, Glory. You have been so brave. You cannot falter now. The tyrants in your life cannot be allowed to win. Wherever we encounter them, we must push back.”

  Fervor lived in his statements, along with the ring of truth. “Is that what you are doing?” she asked. “Fighting tyranny?”

  “Every single day.” His tone softened. “You see? We have more in common than we knew.”

  “But you won’t speak of it, will you? No one knows about that particular night. Not even Tensford knows. I asked Hope not to tell him.”

  “I said I would keep your secret and I will. I really do feel the need to help you in some way, though. When are your dancing lessons? Perhaps I could take part, act as your partner?”

  Now she was glad the darkness hid her expression. She didn’t want to think about struggling and stumbling in her lessons while Keswick watched. “No, thank you. Miss Munroe and I are getting on well together and with Mr. Thorpe, our instructor. I wouldn’t want to upset the balance we’ve achieved.”

  He sighed. “And you are sure you won’t allow me to help you tonight?”

  She looked down. “I do appreciate the offer, but no.”

  He sprang away again and walked to the water’s edge. Motionless and silent, he stared out over the water.
Several minutes passed. Glory sat and waited, unsure what to do or say, and wondered if she had made a mistake in telling him.

  “Miss Munroe was right.”

  She started when he spoke, it came so unexpectedly and sounded so sharp and decisive.

  “You do need all the arrows you can find for your quiver. You should collect every weapon you can find to help you fight for your best outcome.” He came back and knelt before her again. “I’m thinking of the bargain you proposed.”

  Her breath caught.

  “We’ve already vowed to continue our friendship. Now I’m considering what you asked of me.”

  The air escaped her on a shaky breath and she began to fiddle with the edge of her sleeve.

  “I think you were right. You should know what occurs between men and women. For one thing, I think it will give you a new confidence, to know what your body is capable of—to know the pleasure you can both give and receive.”

  Her face was on fire—and the heat had begun a leisurely tour of the rest of her, too.

  “Also, when you do begin to entertain suitors, you are going to need to be even more careful than most girls in your situation.” He leaned closer. “I cannot see you in a dynastic marriage, Glory. Not one made for the ton’s usual advancement in titles or bank balances. You’ve seen what a real marriage can be—you’ve lived inside happy walls with one. You deserve to find the same. I hope you will someday know a man who will both cherish and defend you, whenever the need arises. And I think it would be easier to choose, knowing how a man who cares for you can make you feel.”

  He let go of her suddenly and sat back, running a hand through his hair. “Heaven help me, but all of that sounds like something a seducer would say, doesn’t it?”

  She laughed a little. “It does, rather.” She reached for him. “I would be worried about it, perhaps, if I hadn’t been the one to ask first.”

  “Thank God for that,” he said fervently. “I’ll agree to your bargain, if you still wish for it.”