50 Ways to Ruin a Rake (3 page)

“All the seasons are spectacular in some way or another,” she answered more quietly. He was pleased the bite had disappeared from her tone. “And this is not the visiting parlor, but my own sanctuary.”

“So you arranged things to please yourself. I quite understand. I recall trying to do that with my bedroom once as a boy.”

She tilted her head to look more closely at him. “What did you do?”

“Put my bed under the window, my toys within easy reach, and a chair to block the door.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, it was that last one that ended any wish to move furniture again.”

“Well, at least you got to move your bed to the window.”

“Oh no. It was all returned to proper order.”

“Proper?” She tilted her head as she looked at him, and another one of her curls escaped her pins. It bounced quite distractingly against her cheek. “Is there an improper way to set furniture?”

“Oh yes. And as my father's heir I was to set everything in the darkest corner on a raised dais, and not have any toys at all to hand. Honestly, I didn't care about the window. I just wanted my toys.”

“Did they belong in the nursery?”

“Naturally.”

“And little boys—”

“Were not allowed to barricade themselves in their bedrooms. I was set to eat gruel for a month as punishment.”

“Surely not.”

“Surely so. That was always the punishment in our home.” It was, in fact, his mother's way of saving on the food bill, but it was some time before he realized the truth. “It worked, by the way. To this day, I cannot contemplate gruel without total horror.”

“And you never again rearranged the furniture?”

“Never.” He was silent a moment, running through what he wanted to say. Was it smart? Was it his best option? He had no answers for those questions—only a burning need to find a solution to his difficulties. If it also aided her, then why not give in to the unusual idea? But first he had to have an answer to one very specific question.

“Miss Smithson, I have a question for you. A truly impertinent one, I might add, but I pray you answer it honestly.”

She shifted in her seat, her gaze and her body disconcertingly direct. She faced him, she watched him, and she waited with an air of a scientific study. It most forcibly reminded him of her father when he dissected beetles in their various stages of development.

“Er,” he began, pulling his thoughts together as quickly as possible. “I wish to know…do you intend to marry your cousin?”

She blinked…once. “I already told you that I don't love him. Most times I don't even
like
him.”

He nodded. “Yes, yes, but do you intend to marry him?”

He watched her purse her lips in thought as her gaze turned toward the window again. “That is the question, is it not? Everyone seems to wish for the union. Even my father. His health is not the best, you know, and he worries what will become of me.”

Yes, he had noted her father's pallor. “He did not cough overmuch today.”

She nodded. “Five times this day. But then it mostly troubles him at night when he tries to sleep. And that prevents him from resting as he ought.”

He nodded, his concern for his mentor momentarily overriding his other thoughts. But a minute later, he returned to her. “You have no other suitors, then? No gentlemen whom you fancy?”

He watched her jaw tighten as if she bit back an acerbic comment, and no wonder. His questions were highly impertinent.

“No, Mr. Anaedsley, there is no other gentleman whom I could reasonably expect to marry.” Then she sighed, and her gaze focused on the night scene beyond her window. There was nothing there. Even the moonlight had deserted it, but she gazed out and her words drifted between them. “As a child I dreamt of love and thought of princes who would carry me away to my castle. It was ridiculous, of course, because we had so little money, and you were the only male of my acquaintance even close to a prince.”

Her tone of voice indicated he was a preposterous choice, and though his vanity was pricked, his mind agreed completely with her assessment. As a boy, he'd thought her gawky and completely untutored in the ways of what a real girl should do. Real females, in his young opinion, should wear ribbons and pretty dresses. They should not read books, and certainly not be better at his lessons than he was.

“I was a complete idiot as a boy,” he said, “and so you are forgiven for not wanting me to carry you off.”

She might have snorted in response, but as she was sipping her brandy, he couldn't be sure of her response.

“So you have not met any other princes?”

“Worse,” she said in a dry tone. “Ronnie is determined to become my prince.”

Yes, he could see that her cousin's romantic nature would attach to her childhood desire.

“And even more than that,” she continued. “We made all this money. Suddenly I am managing a big house, we have all these servants, and we live here in the country.”

“I like it here.” In truth, he loved it here away from the bustle of London. A man could study science in peace without constantly being badgered to choose a bride and continue the family line.

“But no one here will marry up to a woman like me, and none of your set will marry down.”

“That's not true,” he said, thinking through her difficulty. “There are many who would marry a well-dowered girl.”

“But you are the only aristocrat who comes here.” Her tone said quite clearly that he was still completely off her list as a potential husband. “And I haven't the money to go elsewhere.”

“That can't be right. You have gads of money.” Her uncle ran a mill that brought in thousands of pounds a year.

She turned to glare at him. “My father has money. My uncle has money. I have nothing.”

It took him only a moment to assemble the pieces, to fit the cogs into the wheels that turned this situation. She had been furious with him this morning for interrupting her demonstration of a new cosmetic, one that would garner them money. Or more accurately: garner
her
money.

“That's why you won't give over the formula unless you earn the money. You wish to travel then, in the way of Lady Stanhope?”

Her mouth opened in surprise as if she couldn't believe he'd guessed her plans. But her next words contradicted his guess. “Nothing so grand as an archeological expedition.”

She was looking away from him then, curling her fingers about her brandy glass though she didn't drink. Clearly she had a plan, although she was loathe to tell him. But he had a very curious mind, especially when people didn't act as he expected. “Come, come. You must tell me what you want. Otherwise how can I help?”

“Why would you help me?” she challenged.

“Because I suspect we can help one another.” She looked up sharply, but before she could ask, he held her off. “I will explain my thoughts in a moment. First, you must tell me—specifically—what you want.”

“A lot of money.”

“Why?”

“So I can travel. So…” She drained her brandy glass. “So I can meet men.”

Ah. So it was as he suspected. She was desperate for a means to find someone other than Ronnie. “What kind of men, exactly?”

She shook her head. “Not men in general. I am looking for one man.” Then she looked at him, and for a moment he saw the little girl he remembered from a decade ago. One who loved spending time with her father and hated that he was the not-as-bright interloper student her father adored. One who wore her heart on her sleeve and apparently wished for something all little girls dream of. And then, lest he miss it, she said the words out loud. “I want to fall in love with a man and him with me. I want children and a happy home. I want to live happily ever after.”

“Well, you definitely won't get that with Ronnie.”

She nodded morosely as her gaze went back out the window. Not just out the window, he realized, but in the direction of London. “Your father won't let you go to London? To have a Season?”

She lifted her chin, slid pretend glasses down her nose, and looked at him in exactly the manner that her father would take. “As a wealthy cit on display? You would hate it, my dear. All of them are gamblers and whoremongers. Best to marry Ronnie. At least poetry will not burn through your dowry.”

His eyebrows rose. “Your father does not have a very flattering opinion of my set.”

“Don't most gentlemen of your set spend their time gambling and womanizing? Discussing the cut of their clothing and planning elaborate amusements out of boredom?”

A true hit. “Not all gentlemen do such. Some run the country or the Exchange. Some are diplomats and scholars.”

“And so I told him, but…” She shrugged. “He wants me to marry Ronnie. It will keep the money in the family.”

“But you want to have money so you can go on your own?”

“I want my own money to go anywhere, Mr. Anaedsley. Anywhere at all that has men who might love me.”

“London has all the best men,” he said, seeing how he could get her to fall exactly into his plans.

She dropped her head back against her chair. “But I have no sponsor. Even if I had the money of my own, I have no
entre
into society.”

“On the contrary,” he said. “You know me.”

“You are hardly an appropriate chaperone.”

“Quite true, but I have friends who would help if I asked.” He flashed her his most charming smile. “I can be rather persuasive when I want.”

She turned to frown at him, but hope sparked in her eyes. “You would do that for me? You would be persuasive on my behalf?”

“Of course I would,” he said, excitement bright in his heart.

“But why?”

He grinned. If he was to do this thing, then he should by all rights do it completely. And so he dropped to one knee before her, imitating the exact pose her cousin had been in not twelve hours before.

“I would do it,” he said, “if you would become my affianced bride.”

Rakes are tricky beasts who always have a plan.

Mellie stared at the man at her feet, and her mind refused to comprehend. Mr. Anaedsley, the future Duke of Timby, was on his knees before her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. It made no sense. What he'd said… He couldn't be serious, and yet some part of her understood exactly what was happening and was beyond thrilled. Her heart beat in her throat, and the joy that tingled in her stomach was going to make her ill.

Lord Charming was asking her to be his bride.

“But…but…” she babbled.

“Yes?” he prompted, his grin widening. He had the attitude of a man making a joke, but this was no joke. Not to her.

“But you don't like me!”

“I know,” he said. His eyes were definitely dancing now. “And you don't like me.”

Well, that wasn't exactly true. She thought him mischievous and unfocused and…well, and an aristocrat. Which meant he was generally a useless person living a life of selfish pleasure. He didn't study. He didn't lead. He simply gadded about doing whatever struck his fancy.

Useless. He was useless, and yet for the first time in her life, she thought that useless might not be so bad. Not when it came with a smile and a twinkle. Not when he could make her laugh and offered to save her from her cousin. Given that, useless might look like chivalry.

“Mr. Anaedsley…” she began, but she didn't know what to say. She didn't want him to sacrifice himself to rescue her. And yet, part of her did. Part of her wanted it most desperately.

He laughed, then lightly jumped back onto his seat. “Sorry. Couldn't stay down there long. It's too hard on the knee.”

She blinked and nodded. She didn't want him hurting his knee. But…

He had just proposed to her! Her mind finally latched onto that one fact. Marriage. To Mr. Anaedsley.

“I—” she began, not knowing in the least what she wanted to say.

“Don't answer. Not until you've heard me out.”

She closed her mouth. That was the least she could do.

“You suffer from a lack of options. You have not met enough gentlemen to attract the right man.”

She barely heard his words. She kept thinking. He was the grandson of a duke. Why would he propose to her? Especially since he just said he didn't like her. It made no sense, and so she set her free hand to her mouth, pushing her lips hard against her teeth to prevent any sound from escaping.

“What you don't know,” he said, “because I have taken great pains to hide the fact, is that I am woefully short on funds.” He still held her right hand, and he began to idly rub her knuckles as he spoke. It seemed a casual gesture, one he did without thought, and yet she felt every pass of his thumb as if he were scraping against her open heart. “Do you remember my favorite mare? The chestnut one that I usually ride when coming to visit?”

She nodded, barely able to follow his conversation. “You said your father requested it for some hunt.”

“I lied. I sold her. Broke my heart to do it, but she went to a good home.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“Yes,” he said mournfully. Clearly the loss of his horse affected him more deeply than the request for her hand. “My carriage went too, though I didn't mind so much. Always thought it a waste in the city anyway. I much prefer to ride.”

Again, she bobbed her head as if she knew what he was talking about. Then it hit her. Her dowry. Of course! And how stupid of her. Many gentlemen would condescend to marry a cit if the dowry were large enough. She just never thought he would be one of them.

“So the dukedom has fallen onto hard times?” She could barely fathom it. Certainly many titles were struggling, but he always seemed so flush.

“Not a bit. The family coffers are quite full, truth be told. It's just that my grandfather has cut me off.”

She blinked. Cut him off? “But why?” Was it gambling? That was the normal way of things, but he'd never spoken of gambling. And when he visited, his conversation was all about science and engineering.

He sighed, the sound coming from deep inside him. “Grandfather is all up in the boughs about me marrying. Have to carry on the title and all that rot. My father's as healthy as a horse, but as I don't have a brother, it's up to me to marry and produce a number three in line for the dukedom.” He leaned forward. “My grandfather would die of apoplexy if he thought the title might go to my French cousin. That's something you and I have in common, by the way.”

“What?”

“Difficult cousins. Though in my case, my cousin really is off in the head. Can barely tie his shoes. They've got a nurse on him and all that, so he's comfortable enough, but his brain never progressed to the point of…well, of a normal boy, much less a duke. Broke my aunt's heart, but there was a problem with the birth and he was hurt somehow.”

“Oh,” she said, her head feeling light. “How very sad for her. For your family.”

Mr. Anaedsley shrugged. It was not important, apparently, except in that the duke would die of apoplexy if the boy stood in line to inherit.

“Please,” she said, her voice very small. “If you would explain—”

“Oh yes. Of course.” He was still rubbing her fingers, but this time he added a squeeze. “Grandfather's cut off all my money unless I find a bride. No allowance, no bills paid, not even the tab at our club. Not a penny unless I hitch myself to a woman.”

Her mouth went very dry. Did he want her? Of all the ladies he knew, he picked her? A cit? She was certainly wealthy enough, but it sounded like his grandfather would start paying his bills again the moment he married. It made no sense.

“I thought I had it worked out,” he continued. “Got an investment in an emerald mine. A friend of mine from school found the place, and together we worked out a new way to get them out of the earth. I thought we'd be seeing a profit already, but it's deuced expensive to begin and has taken three times as long as I expected.”

“Oh. That must be most awkward.”

He rolled his eyes. “It's been terribly awkward. I've survived by going to parties and the like, but a man can live off society for only so long before some enterprising mama snares him. I am set to inherit a dukedom, you know. Stirs female minds everywhere into heights of devious treachery.”

Her patience was wearing thin, so she jerked her hand back from his distracting caress and glared at him. “Yes, well, I am not so devious, and you are the one who just proposed to me. So…so, what are you about, Mr. Anaedsley? I cannot believe you have suddenly tumbled into love with me.”

“Certainly not!” he said with an insulting amount of shock.

“Then I fail to see—”

“I need time,” he answered, “for my investment to come in. And you need a sponsor to meet other gentlemen. Second sons and the like. Ones who would be more than happy to wed you without writing poetry.”

She wished she didn't feel so stupid around him. “And how does that lead to you on your knee before me?”

“Because we should get engaged. My grandfather will open the coffers, giving me time for my investment to profit. I know of just the person to sponsor you, and so you will be going to rounds, meeting all sorts of eligible men.”

“But as your fiancée!”

“Well, naturally. But Lady Eleanor won't take you under her wing any other way but as a favor to me.”

She frowned. Lady Eleanor? As in the daughter of the Duke of Bucklynde. Even Mellie had heard of that august personage. It had been in all the papers that her male relations had died of some fever, and a nobody seaman had inherited the title. “But why would she help me?”

“As a favor to me. And because she needs a spot of cash herself. So if we offer to pay her and bring her in on the secret—”

“What secret?” she nearly screamed.

“That you're going to cry off at the end of the Season. Don't you see how perfect it is? You and I become engaged. Grandfather allows me enough money to survive until my investments come in. You go round to the parties, meeting all sorts of gentlemen, while I remain completely safe from those nefarious females. And at the end—when my money arrives—you cry off, marry the gentleman of your choice, and I can finally tell the duke to go to the devil. That I'll marry when and where I choose and not before.”

She understood it now. This had not been a true proposal, he had no wish to marry her, and it was all a trick. That the trick was on his family and not on her made not the least bit of difference to her heart. She didn't even like the man, and yet she felt humiliated to be used in such a fashion. To receive a proposal and then be gleefully informed that it was a sham. As if she were of no more importance than his horse. Less importance, in fact, because she was simply a tool to evade matchmaking mamas and foil his father's plans.

“You are an odious man,” she hissed out. “Absolutely odious.”

He reared back, obviously shocked by her disgust. And that, of course, damned him even more in her eyes.

“But…but don't you see how it works? It is a perfect fitting—you and me.”

“Not as an engaged couple!”

“But you don't like me and I don't like you. The two of us will never suit, and we have both said as much to one another. Repeatedly!”

Of course that was true. She had said as much and often. If not out loud, then at least in her thoughts.

“So that makes us the perfect pair for this,” he continued. “I cannot do this with a woman who might develop a tendre for me. That would be too cruel, and I couldn't be sure that she would cry off at the end of the Season.”

“Well, there is no need to fear. I will certainly not develop any tendre for you. I'd rather kiss a snake.”

“Exactly!” he said as if she finally understood. “There is no fear of softer feelings between us. And as far as the scandal, my family will be in alt when you cry off.”

“In alt!”

“Well, you are a bit of a step down for me. We'll have to claim a passionate love affair, overcome by our emotions and some such rot, but all they'll see is the mésalliance. So when you cry off, they will be so relieved as to not care about the scandal.”

“And what about me? What about the scandal attached to my name? I will have cried off from a future duke.”

He shrugged. “And how could a scandal bother you? You don't travel in the social rounds. Whatever man you choose will be thrilled to have a wealthy bride no matter the scandal. And won't that be a grand romantic gesture? You throwing off a duke's heir to marry a second son. Bound to stroke any man's ego.”

She stared at him, appalled that his words were beginning to make sense. Setting aside the insult, he did have the right of it. She could meet scores of eligible gentlemen, ones that she could never touch any other way. It would allow her to find an alternative to Ronnie. And if they were all useless fribbles as she feared, then she could easily turn her back on Lord Charming and give herself to Ronnie. Her cousin would certainly take her back and likely see it as just the grand romantic gesture that he adored.

Mr. Anaedsley grinned. “You are thinking of it. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You can see nothing but revulsion.” She was speaking too harshly to him, but she couldn't stop herself. Her heart had been twisted about too much for her to speak civilly just yet.

“Miss Smithson. Mellie…” He reached for her hand again, but she snatched it away. She couldn't think with his hands on her, so she stood to pace about her parlor. This was her sanctuary, the place where she came to be at peace. And now, as she walked back and forth by the settee, all she could see was Lord Charming sitting there like a veritable prince, his body calm and his expression animated. He was excited and obviously had no doubt as to her agreement to his mad plan.

Well, he was far out on that. She was an honest woman and a deception like this…

“Your only other choice is Ronnie. Do you really wish to chain yourself to him without even looking at other men? You could fall in love, Mellie. You might meet another man of science. I do know a few. One who might allow you to study and work however you want. I swear, I shall introduce you to every one.”

Her steps slowed as her mind started churning. He was right, damn his eyes. This was exactly why she'd wanted her own money—so she could stop being a recluse with her father and meet eligible gentlemen. He was offering her the chance to go to London. And not just travel to the great city but to have a Season on the marriage mart, where ladies and gentlemen were thrown together with the hope of making an excellent connection.

But could she do it? It was all so devious. “What would my father say?” she wondered aloud.

“I'd think he'd be in the boughs with delight. Not every day a daughter gets engaged to a future duke.”

She shot him a glare. “And when I cry off?”

“Then you shall introduce him to your true choice in husband and convince him that the new man is the better match. He will be, you know. A better choice for you. And your father is a man of logic. He'll see that you and I would never fit.”

“Stop saying it that way.” It made her feel like a toad, the way he so gleefully dismissed her.

Then he stood up and came around the settee. She would have resumed pacing away from him, but what was the point? He was here, and she was despicably aware of him no matter where she stood in the room. Which is why she didn't argue when he possessed her hands again.

“I see that I shouldn't have proposed like that, on one knee like Ronnie did. It put you too much in mind of him.”

That wasn't it at all, but she didn't argue.

“I should have outlined the scheme logically. Shown you the advantage of it first, and then done the pretty as a nice touch at the end. But I couldn't resist the jest, you know. I thought you'd laugh when you understood it.”