Redeeming a Rake Read online

  Geoffrey’s eyes never left the plain woman as she finished dancing and gracefully left the dance floor, the sharp biting jealousy was a sneering reminder that she’d never dance with him. He expected her to take one of the few empty seats lining the walls, but she kept walking, slowly making her way around the edge of the ballroom towards him. When she was only five pillars away his heart started racing, making his hands sweat. She’d pass within a few feet, but he was at the center of a social dead zone. There was no one nearby he could threaten into introducing him to the lady, but even if there had been what could he say that wouldn’t frighten or disgust her?

  The thought paralyzed his tongue as his folded arms knotted tighter across his chest. Seeing her pass the fourth pillar between them Geoffrey gnashed his teeth in envy as she paused to speak to another wallflower. An agonizing eternity passed as the wallflower laughed and chatted with the woman in pale blue, but at last she continued towards him. With only three pillars separating them, he sneered in envy as she stopped to greet an old woman; she wouldn’t stop to greet him, she couldn’t. Society dictated that she could only speak or dance with a man if she’d been introduced by a mutual acquaintance. Who’d introduce an angel to the devil? Geoffrey bit the inside of his cheek drawing blood as disappointment welled up like a giant wave threatening to crush him. Frustration flooded his veins as she passed the last pillar between them. With a few steps he could have reached out and touched her, but he was a stranger. She might as well have been on the other side of the country. Meeting his rude stare with a dazed smile, his heart threatened to burst from his chest as she did the unthinkable and closed the distance between them. Was she mad? To publicly acknowledge him would damn her as his associate. The remains of the good boy he’d once been ordered him to snub her, to turn and walk away to save her being ruined, but he was no longer good or kind. He wanted her and she was nearly within reach. Ugly thoughts of seducing the young woman into his bed vanished as spontaneous warmth enveloped him as if gentle rays of sunlight were emanating from her smile. His rusty heart dredged up the memory of a similar feeling for the angel he’d resisted buying to be his bride as his mental grey sky parted revealing a bright midsummer sun. Friendly eyes and blushing cheeks made him forget he was no longer seventeen or beautiful.

  “Pray forgive me for disturbing Your Grace. I wanted to personally thank you for inviting me. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed a ball so much since my first dance.”

  Geoffrey blinked in shock as the woman’s mask of plainness was transformed by a blinding smile into one of exquisite beauty. He gulped and unfolded his arms hoping she wouldn’t run away before he could find his tongue. Making a formal bow, he ignored his aching back muscles. “You disturb nothing, but the dust collecting in my hair, Miss…?”

  His deep resonating voice brushed her ears like an intimate caress making her shiver with pleasure. Was she dreaming or did she know that voice? Catching her breath she belatedly replied, “Mrs Spencer Your Grace.”

  The cold hand of jealousy reached into Geoffrey’s innards and squeezed hard. The sunlight belonged to another man. She’d probably stopped to speak with him because she felt sorry for him. “Mr Spencer won’t be pleased to learn you’ve introduced yourself to the devil.”

  “Mr Spencer was the devil.”

  “Forgive my impertinence Madam, but you don’t look old enough to be Satan’s widow.” Her laughing eyes made his gulp down another heady dose of desire.

  “Twenty-two years are enough to bury a heartless rake-hell.”

  “At the risk of being slapped, you don’t appear to miss the departed Mr Spencer.”

  “It was a marriage arranged by my parents. He demanded I love him, but there was nothing to love. The best I could do was to pity him. He hated me.”

  “And now? You’re a free woman?”

  “Yes, I think so…” She didn’t feel free as she stared into intelligent pale blue eyes making her say things she’d only ever cried into her pillow.

  “Your dress is the most pleasing colour. It suits you.” He was rewarded with another blinding smile that made his head swim.

  “Pale blue is a vastly superior colour, don’t you think?”

  Geoffrey’s lips twisted into a genuine smile. “Vastly!” Raising his eyeglass he ogled her hair. “And what exquisite little rubies. I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone with such superior taste in dress.” The sound of her soft laughter made him feel giddy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a woman laugh…no he could remember, it was the starving little angel in white who’d made him feel warm and human, like the smiling Mrs Spencer.

  “I’m partial to the combination of rubies and pale blue.” Geoffrey’s eyes widened as the young woman blushed bright pink. “They bring to mind a childhood hero.”

  “Did some ancient squire in pale blue tell you he’d wait for you to grow up so he could give you a ruby and sweep you off to his moated medieval house?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Her smile faded into a serious expression. “I was rescued by a knight in pale blue velvet. He saved my life.”

  “How romantic; did he ride up on a white horse and impale some unchivalrous admirer with his rapier?”

  His envy grew as her cheeks flushed a darker pink. “No, he was kind when I was in need of kindness.” Geoffrey’s heart slumped as she made a shallow curtsey. She was taking her leave and his mind was a frustrating blank. He made a bow to hide his disappointment. “Thank you again for a lovely evening Your Grace.”

  “Thank you for coming Mrs Spencer. Your presence has made it a lovely evening.”

  “You’re too kind.” She sank into a deeper curtsey and upon rising, smiled up at him one last time and then floated away.

  Geoffrey tightly folded his arms and leaned back against the pillar for support as dark clouds rolled back across his inner sky. The warm sunlight faded as the smiling woman left the ballroom. There was only one person who might tell him about the young woman; where was his mother? Looking around the ballroom he caught his sister eyeing him like the contents of her chamber pot. With her black hair piled high and diamonds glittering around her throat, Sophia Grayson was a beautiful ice princess. She could afford to sneer. She wasn’t the one their father had thrown down the front steps by bored footmen and allowed only the servant’s table scraps for three years. Geoffrey was relieved to find the nothingness pressing down on his heart. Ignoring his sister he went in search of his mother. To his surprise, a small number of people acknowledged him as he passed. He tried to concentrate on the warmth and kindness of Mrs Spencer, but being in his family’s townhouse resurrected unpleasant memories of being called to his father’s death bed. His dream of spurning the dying man’s plea for forgiveness had been in vain; there had only been one last hateful curse. He had no pleasant thoughts of his father. Barely more than an infant, he could remember crouching in his mother skirt in terror as the giant blonde man shouted, ‘Twelve generations of strong lusty Lyndhursts and you give me a puny whelp who hides like a coward if anyone looks at him? Get him out of my sight!’

  Geoffrey couldn’t imagine anyone feeling anything, but relief that the large man and his fists were locked away in the family crypt. He found his mother addressing a group of old ladies. He hadn’t seen her in years. It was strange to see her jet black hair streaked with silver and her slender body showing signs of age. As the daughter of the Duke of Strathmore, she’d inherited the Stratton beauty, but her face was as hard as granite. Without waiting for a break in the conversation he rudely interrupted, “I wish to speak with you in private.”

  His mother didn’t even turn to look at him. “Not now Lyndhurst, I’m occupied.”

  He bent over and whispered into her ear, “I require information on a certain young woman. Now!”

  His mother turned in irritation and visibly started in horror as she looked at his face. Stiffly turning back to her companions she excused herself with dignity and frogmarched her repellent offspring to an empty roo
m and firmly closed the door. “Have you been whoring in a graveyard? I thought you were hideous the last time I saw you. How did you become so repulsive?”

  “I haven’t done anything remotely sinful for at least six months.”

  “You look like a corpse. You don’t smell terribly pleasant either. Who ever heard of a duke smelling of soap? For pity sake buy a bottle of scent and drench yourself. It might distract people from your face.”

  “I apologise for being ugly, but I’m not the only debauched rake-hell attending your ball.”

  “Don’t raise your voice at me Lyndhurst. My guests may not be saints, but at least they don’t look like they’ve been sleeping in a mausoleum.”

  “How long suffering of you. What does it matter if your daughter dances with men who beat hapless women for pleasure as long as they make pretty dancing partners? Perhaps she’ll follow your example and marry a monster?”

  “Perhaps you’ll leave your father in the crypt and take a long unpleasant look in the mirror.”

  Geoffrey’s mind flooded with horrific possibilities as he realised these men were free to associate with the kind Mrs Spencer. There were no barriers inhibiting them from pursuing her. “How can you invite evil lecherous worms into the company of good women?”

  “Are you including yourself on the list?” Geoffrey blinked away the pain and snarled in impotent anger. “I thought not.”

  Geoffrey felt anger rising like black bile. “I’ve never hit a woman for pleasure.”

  “I doubt that will give you much consolation when you find yourself in hell alone with your memories. So, who’s the vestal virgin being pursued by a chivalrous rake-hell?”

  “Tell me about the young Widow Spencer.” Geoffrey gritted his teeth as she raised an eye brow in disbelieving scorn. “I need to know where’s she staying. Does she have a chaperone? Does she have any serious suitors?”

  “Find some other victim. Unlike you, she’s not friendless. Ravish her and a crowd of angry men will fight over the right to kill you.”

  “I’m not going to hurt her.” Geoffrey inwardly cringed at the panic in his voice. “I only want to call on her…”

  “Charles Spencer was a heartless brute, like the man in your mirror. Walk away and leave her unmolested for someone decent and kind.”

  Geoffrey felt his throat tighten. “I’m not a brute. I can be kind. I wasn’t always the Devil’s Corpse. I was a good boy once. Remember?”

  His mother raised a single eyebrow. “When was the last time you did something kind? Shock me!”

  “I don’t keep a list.”

  “It’s too late Lyndhurst. You don’t deserve Mrs Spencer. There are plenty of empty-headed debutantes who’ll do their duty as your Duchess if you give them enough incentive.”

  “I’m not going to marry a virgin prostitute with the prefix of Lady to her name like my father.” Geoffrey eyes flared with hatred as he heard the resounding slap seconds before his cheek burned.

  “Go look in a mirror Lyndhurst. Your father looked more alive after two days in his coffin. Choose a sacrificial lamb too dim to know what you are and leave the sunlight for the living.”

  The contempt in her voice skewered the small feeling corner of his heart. Hoping to escape the past he blindly headed home to his bachelor pad, but unpleasant memories tied his stomach into a tight painful knot. Beating furiously against the door with his swordstick until it swung open, he stormed past Howard into the freshly scrubbed parlour dominated by a new wingback chair. Starting on one side of the room he methodically swept souvenirs of the past seventeen years off onto the floor and smashed them to pieces. Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece he froze. After several distressing minutes digesting the fact the reflection was indeed his own, he forced himself closer for a better look. With melancholy horror he stared into the dark glass. There was nothing left of the beautiful boy. Only straight black hair and pale blue eyes remained to testify that the monster in the mirror was Geoffrey Lindsey Grayson. Mrs Spencer would never fall in love with him; she’d never want his company or his kisses. His vision blurred as he smashed the mirror into a thousand shards. His strength sapped, he dropped his swordstick and stared at the glittering fragments on the floor reproducing a cadaverous man in a shattered room.

  Geoffrey sucked in a long breath and forced himself to stand upright. Glutted on darkness, weary of sickening loneliness he longed to know the smiling woman cared whether he lived or died. He’d do anything to win her heart. He’d venture into the sunlight and if his advances were rejected he’d end the whole rotten mess called life. He turned to find all of his servants crowded outside the open door watching him with bewilderment. “Prepare my bed. Awake me at ten. I want a bath ready…” He listened as several pairs of feet ran up the narrow stairs to his room. “…and get me something to eat before I starve to death.” His loud angry demands bounced off the high ceilings as more feet hurried off toward the kitchen. The chaos faded as he remembered the smiling woman’s eyes. His mother could rot in hell. If he had to spend his entire fortune to purchase the information, he’d call on Mrs Spencer in person the next afternoon and hope for a miracle.

  Chapter 3

  At four-thirty it was well past the socially accepted hours for callers. Mrs Spencer was on her hands and knees in her pink drawing room playing with her eleven-month-old son. Piercing squeals of laughter filled the room as she blew another raspberry on the back of his neck. She almost didn’t hear the decorous cough. Mrs Spencer looked up to see the footman holding a silver tray.

  “Are you at home Madam?” He held the tray low so she could reach the calling card without getting up.

  As her eyes focused on the title, she felt a wave of pleasure crash over her making her skin damp with excitement. The man who’d been haunting her thoughts was at her door. The sensible choice was to have him told she wasn’t at home. After half a dozen rebuffs he’d slink away and she’d never see him again. Talking to the man in public was one thing, allowing the Duke of Lyndhurst fifteen innocent minutes of her time alone would damn her as mad or worse. What decent woman would willingly share the hideous man’s company? The servants would talk. People would assume he was blackmailing her. The gossip would be brutal. “Yes, I’m at home.” She hugged her laughing baby until footsteps approached the room.

  “The Duke of Lyndhurst, Madam…”

  Smiling up at her guest she found him staring at her like a starving stray cat expecting a kick in the ribs. “Good afternoon my Lord.”

  She was on one knee when a thin masculine hand wearing a ring set with a large ruby appeared to help her up. The hair on the back of her neck bristled as a fire lit memory flashed through her mind of a similar hand, younger by a decade. The Duke of Lyndhurst couldn’t be the man in the shadows who’d told her she was lovely. It was too absurd.

  “It must be centuries since anyone knelt in homage to a Duke of Lyndhurst. A simple curtsey in future will suffice I assure you.”

  There was a hesitant smile on the man’s lips, but his eyes were sad as if he was having a last meal before an appointment with the gallows. She smiled hoping to put him at ease and accepted his hand. “My knees are relieved to hear it Your Grace.” As pale fingers closed over hers, his touch caused a painful jolt of pleasure as he pulled her to her feet. She stood there unable to move, her heart galloping towards aquamarine eyes until her baby’s irate squeal broke the spell. Picking up her son she held him close relieved that she wasn’t alone with pale blue eyes. “Your Grace may I present my son Alexander?”

  “Your servant Sir!”

  The baby chewed on his hand oblivious to the honour. “I’m sure he’ll be suitably impressed when I tell him he once met you.”

  “No doubt he’ll be suitably relieved not to remember.”

  “I’ll remember…please, won’t you sit down?”

  He flipped his black coat tails out from underneath him and sat opposite her looking like he’d won a treasured prize on a th
row of the dice. “I haven’t seen anything so beautiful since a plain half starved girl-child smiled as she held my hand. With the light falling on you, you look like a Madonna and child.”