Redeeming a Rake Read online

  Her front door closed behind him, the thought of lying in her naked arms, wrapped in her sunlight made him light-headed. The nothingness had been eroded from another small portion of his heart. Setting his hat at an angle, he headed back to the narrow medieval house he called home, his thoughts haunted by his sister’s acidic words. He couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to find his new friend’s smile on his pillow every morning. The mental image caused another surge of bitter-sweet pleasure. He barely resisted the temptation to run back to the smiling woman.

  Finding an invitation waiting for him from a woman he remembered standing near Tolerance the night before gave him hope. The possibility of seeing his friend a second time that day was too tempting. Most of the company would give him the cut direct, but he didn’t care how he was received as long as they let him in the door. “I’ll be going out this evening Howard. Have the maids prepare another bath and impress upon the kitchen staff that I wish to see steam rising off the water. They boil water for tea; I dare say they can boil water for my bath.”

  “Very good Your Grace.”

  “Didn’t I move here with several boxes of books?”

  “They’re in the attic Your Grace.”

  “Have the boxes brought to my bedchamber.”

  “As you wish Your Grace.” Howard raised both eyebrows as soon as his master’s back was turned. He hadn’t seen the Duke read anything longer than broadsheet for years, but his master’s despotic tone was reassuring. The Duke was back to his old tyrannical self.

  Geoffrey was in his shirtsleeves when the dust covered boxes were set down near his feet. He wasn’t surprised by the lurid contents, but had he really thought them entertaining? He thumbed through the lot before finding on the bottom of the second box the seven volumes of Clarissa. He set them aside and threw all the other lurid manuscripts back into the boxes. The thought of the angel learning he owned such things made him feel embarrassed. When the servants returned with more water he ordered the boxes to be carried away and burned in the garden. The door closed, the fire lit, his bath waiting; he started undressing. Holding the ribbon in his hands he pressed it to his lips mentally reliving her fingers brushing his leg. Pleasantly frustrated, he reverently rolled up the ribbon and tucked it among his rubies before settling into tepid water with the fourth volume of Clarissa. Had his new friend ever read it? He started skipping through various letters of the long story only half reading the words on the pages. He didn’t deserve Tolerance any more than the villain Lovelace deserved to own the heroine Clarissa, but he couldn’t imagine ever hurting his new friend. Men like Lovelace thought women were countries to conquer and divide; objects to possess and break at will, but of course it was all a cover for their own sense of worthlessness. Once upon a time Geoffrey had found the company of unrelated females enjoyable. Unfortunately he was in the unhappy position of being despised and repulsed by the female sex. Flinging the book to the floor he closed his eyes and wiggled his toes in ecstasy. No, there was one beautiful exception.

  Chapter 5

  The clock on the mantel of her dressing room seemed to be running fast. Nine o’clock had come and gone; she was late for the ball. Holding his heavy little body close she let him take his time. She brushed long wispy blonde curls off his forehead and smiled at his reassuring hand on her breast. It was scandalous to feed her own baby, but she couldn’t farm her son out to a wet nurse, she loved being the person he needed when he was tired and hungry and it would have enraged her dead husband.

  “Alex, you’re going to make your mamma unfashionably late for the ball. Whatever will people think?” Her baby blissfully ignored her. “I think your mamma is losing her mind. That man you met today has been haunting my thoughts, but Dukes don’t marry commoners unless they’re rich, beautiful or both. It’s obvious he needs a woman in his life. He smells musty, as if his rooms haven’t been aired in years. His servants are clearly inadequate. They probably serve him the meat they won’t eat. They’re probably thieving him blind. He wouldn’t be ugly if he ate three meals a day and spent time in the sunshine. Oh this is stupid! He wants to share his bed not his family jewels. Your Father was a heartless rake, a truly horrid man. I want to believe the Duke of Lyndhurst is different. There’s something about him that I like. Who am I trying to fool? The man makes me feel like a giddy girl. Every time he touches me I feel…I don’t know. It’s so silly. No it’s mad. How can I feel pleasure from the man’s touch? It should make me sick. I shouldn’t enjoy his company or his gaze…I wish he were here right now. I know you’re a little young for tales of unrequited love, but who else can I talk to? Imagine the look on people’s faces if I told them I didn’t want to remarry, but that I’d make an exception for the Duke of Lyndhurst. His sister’s right. I’d be damned as one of those sad women who’d do anything to be a duchess. Why did she have to say that? It very unkind. I thought my face would catch fire…” She looked down to see that baby Alex had fallen asleep. She looked at the clock. She had to hurry if she wanted to dance. With her baby safely placed in his nurse’s arms she threw on the first gown that came to hand, a new icy pink silk with a transparent pink overdress woven with elaborate silver stripes that shimmered in the candlelight. A simple silver chain with a pink coral cross around her neck, her hair piled in becoming loops on top of her head held fast by pink coral combs, her favourite fan and her gloves shoved into her reticule; she almost forgot to put on her pink dancing slippers before running down the stairs and climbing into the waiting carriage.

  ***

  Standing in the open double doors to the ballroom, Tolerance smiled as the swirling dancers and chatting friends energised her spirits. Snapping open her fan, her eyes found the sickly man before she realised she’d been looking for him. The music and dancing feet pounding the floorboards faded as she focused on the poisonous wallflower sitting alone. The six chairs to either side of him were the only unoccupied seats in the room. With his arms and legs loosely folded, his face was a study of haughty boredom. He appeared impervious to his unpopularity. The excitement of the crowd was forgotten as the master puppeteer took control of her limbs. She had to remind herself to be polite and greet those she knew instead of rushing straight for her new friend. Reaching his side, she stood there watching him watch the dancers with disinterest. He looked like he’d taken pains to look unobtrusive. His waistcoat was the de rigueur white silk made brighter against his black breeches, coat and stockings and the only visible ruby was the ring on his right hand. The only other colour was a pink ribbon wrapped around his long braid. Her cheeks burned with pleasure as she recognised the ribbon she’d tied around his leg. It was a silent declaration of attachment. He might as well have pinned a note to his chest stating he wished to be her lover. “Is the seat next to you taken my Lord?” Pale blue eyes lit up with pleasure bringing his face alive, but he got to his feet before she could sit.

  “Good evening Mrs Spencer…” He paused as if trying to think of something to say. “…may I fetch you a drink?”

  “Lend me your arm and I’ll come with you.”

  He blinked at her in shock. “You want to take my arm?” He looked around at the staring company. “In public?”

  “If it makes you uncomfortable…”

  “No, please…” She tucked her gloved fingers around his sleeve and smiled as he drew them so close she could feel the back of her hand lightly pressing against his ribs. He appeared dazed as they slowly strolled down the room. Several people stepped forward to be introduced or make polite conversation, but his replies were stiff, discouraging the curious to linger. She had no idea what she was saying or to whom she was speaking. With the Duke’s musty soapy scent in her nostrils and the heat of his arm melting her insides it was easy to pretend that if she made a wish, it would come true. She didn’t look directly into his eyes until they reached the refreshment tables where she withdrew her hand from his arm. “You’re looking very beautiful this evening Mrs Spencer.”

  The soft husky
whisper sent chills down her spine as she flushed at the sincerity in his eyes. “As I’ve said before Your Grace, you really are too kind…” His contemptuous eyebrow demanded a mischievous response. “…though being a well known rake hell I suspect you may be going blind from too much drink.”

  “You suspect wrong.”

  She smiled at his scowl. “Speaking of looks, if we appear in public for a third evening looking like we’ve planned matching ensembles people are going to think I’m trying to ensnare you.” She blushed at the hopeful look on his face and hurriedly changed the subject. “So, how did you spend the rest of your day or is that an impertinent question to ask a Duke?”

  “Tolerably impertinent; I read a book.”

  “Exodus?”

  “It’ll take longer than twenty-four hours for your goodness to work such a miracle. Nothing so biblical, I skimmed through Clarissa. It’s been years since I read the whole thing.”

  “You read Clarissa?”

  Her wide eyed astonishment appeared to embarrass him. “Obviously not all of it; just the…er…interesting parts.”

  “And which parts of Clarissa do find interesting my Lord?”

  “If you’re going to laugh at me Madam, I’m not going to tell you.”

  “Forgive me. I’m always surprised to hear someone enjoyed that book if one can call all those volumes a book. Personally, I think Clarissa should have poisoned herself by letter 92 and saved Lovelace for a woman who’d have hit him over the head with a large heavy vase and dragged him off to a church. If Clarissa had demanded he marry her immediately he wouldn’t have needed to resort to his devil-tactics. Her life would have been far less traumatic.”

  “What a shocking thing to say. Don’t tell me you’re one of those admirers of Lovelace? The man is a…a…” He paused as if trying to think of an adjective that wouldn’t be autobiographical.

  “He’s a scoundrel, but at least he’s amusing. Clarissa just comes across as an idiot. Of course she had to elope with Lovelace, the alternative was far more repulsive, but she didn’t insist he marry her and that was stupid. He was a selfish toad, but he was falling in love with her and she was half in love with him. If she’d let her heart rule her head she could have wound him around her finger and he wouldn’t have been the wiser. They would have both lived longer if not always happily.”

  “I think Clarissa is amazing for putting up with her evil family and then that…toad Lovelace. I found her death scene…”

  She raised both eyebrows and pursed her lips. “Sentimental?”

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  The horrified look on his face made her shake with silent laughter. It was too absurd; a world-weary rake-hell defending the idiot Clarissa. “I’m afraid so Your Grace. Perhaps I’ve misjudged her, but I still think the author could have interviewed a few virtuous women and asked them what they’d have done in her place. I’m a virtuous woman. How do you think I’d react if I found myself in Clarissa’s position; abandon my virtue, marry a scheming libertine or pray I catch typhus and waste into the grave?”

  “I don’t know…you’d convert to Catholicism and become a nun?”

  “You have much to learn about virtuous women…” She was about to illuminate him when a sneering voice intruded.

  “Well, well, can this be the virtuous Mrs Spencer chatting so amiably with The Devil’s Corpse or is the word virtuous no longer an appropriate adjective? I dare say had I been born to a Duchess I’d be similarly honoured with saintly company.”

  She unconsciously reached out for the security of her friend’s arm. “Apologise to the lady Mr Grayson, or I’ll kill you for insulting my friend.”

  “I don’t know which revelation is more far-fetched; that you have a friend or that any decent woman could stomach your repulsive company. Call me out Geoffrey, and this time I’ll skewer your bloodless heart with Grandfather’s rapier. If you don’t have a sword of your own I’m sure you’ll find a suitable weapon at your local pawn shop. If I’ve given Mrs Spencer offence, I’m sure I beg her pardon. Your Servant, Madam.” Thomas Grayson insolently raked her generous curves with a lustful eye, gave a sharp bow and walked away.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard your brother say a word without sneering. He must be bitterly disappointed with his lot in life.”

  Geoffrey’s eyes followed the retreating large masculine back with burning hatred. “He should have been the thirteenth Duke of Lyndhurst. He would have been, but his mother refused to marry our father and then she choked to death stuffing her face with cherries. I’m sure he thinks his lot his hard.”

  “He doesn’t look anything like you.”

  “No, he looks like our father. I shouldn’t have come. He only insulted you because he hates me.”

  Hearing the musicians tune their instruments for the next dance Tolerance let her heart speak before her head could dissuade her. “Do rakes waltz?”

  “Some do, though I usually have to purchase a dancing partner.”

  “Even at a masquerade? I don’t believe you.”

  “Are you inferring that I’m so ugly I frighten away dancing partners?”

  “Yes, but that’s a good thing.”

  Underneath the frigid scowl, he looked upset. “How?”

  “It leaves more dances for me…if, that is, you wish to dance with me. I know I’m not the best looking woman in the room, but I can keep time and it won’t cost you a ruby.”

  The blue eyes thawed, filling with amusement. “My angel is a sauce box in disguise.”

  “I never claimed to be an angel.” He muttered something about angels under his breath and turned to face the dance floor like it was a battlefield littered with dying soldiers.

  Chapter 6

  Geoffrey dropped his voice to an agonised whisper. “You don’t want to be seen dancing with me. Walking the length of the room with me will have damaged your reputation. As your friend I can’t recommend such a public display of faith. It’ll ruin you.”

  Her smile made him forget why he was protesting. “If waltzing in public with a friend ruins my reputation; I can not possibly care for the opinions of those whose minds swim in the gutter.”

  “If I were good and kind I’d refuse to dance with you, but I’m afraid I’m neither.” Leading her out, he bowed to her curtsey. Taking her place at his side for the first step she placed her left hand behind his neck and her right hand in his left. With his arm around her shoulders she was almost in his arms. Geoffrey was relieved she’d fixated her eyes on his throat. He didn’t want her peering into the unshuttered windows of his soul. Leading her into the dance, it seemed barely more than half a dozen heartbeats before he felt her shiver with pleasure as they leaned too far towards each other and momentarily collided. He tried to guess how many days he’d have to wait before he held her naked in his arms, but her innocent delight at his nearness spilled burning shame into his soul. The acid dripped down through layers of filth to the core of his being allowing sunlight to penetrate the darkness revealing the selfish fiend he’d become.

  Before he knew it, the music had faded into muffled clapping of appreciation and it was time to step apart. With a whirlwind of emotions blowing away the remains of numbness, he clenched his teeth and silently waited for her attention to move from his chin to his eyes. Would she see the shy boy so hungry for kindness he’d steal the scraps meant for orphans? With the deepest corners of his soul exposed, he cringed in fear that she’d smell the decay and guess what sort of man he’d become. He sighed in relief as she smiled. She hadn’t seen. Leading her off the dance floor he was tempted to stay and lick up a few more drops of kindness, but the longer he remained the more likely she’d guess his desperation.

  People scattered to avoid him as they stopped near the door. Geoffrey reluctantly allowed her to pull her arm free and made another bow. “Forgive me…” His voice was barely audible. “I must go.” He resumed an almost normal tone, “Thank you for the dance Mrs Spencer, you are as ever far too tolerant
.” He turned and walked away before she could persuade him to stay.