A Lady's Guide to Rakes (8 page)

From the corner of her eye, she could see Chillton notice Lansing’s poorly timed entrance as well. His golden brows rose before he politely returned his attention to his sister’s song. But now the muscles beneath his high cheekbones were repeatedly tensing and releasing, making the pale skin of his handsome face ripple like a pond on a windy day.

Oh perdition!
Everything had been going so splendidly this eve, too. Meredith turned and narrowed her eyes at Lansing, making sure he saw her. The rogue had absolutely destroyed Chiflton’s earlier buoyant mood. Anyone could see that he’d ruined everything!

Worse still, she was going to have to spend the entire musicale attached to the rogue’s side. There was no help for it. If she did not keep Chillton and Lansing on opposite sides of the room, her lie—that she was already affianced to Chillton—might slip out. What a twist she would be in then.

So she had no other choice. Once Hannah finished her set, Meredith knew she simply would have to excuse herself from Mr. Chillton and greet the rake.

Blast Lord Lansing.

Blast, blast… blast him!

A rake knows it is easier to steal another’s lady than to keep his own.

Bloody hell. What kind of look is that?

Alexander blinked his eyes and refocused his gaze on the pert Miss Merriweather, who, quite inexplicably, was dressed as a simpering young miss just out. She had even gone so far as to top her frothy white confection of a gown with a staid lace fichu, making her look a bit like a frosted tea cake.

Not her usual dress. At least he didn’t think so. On the last two occasions of their meeting, she had worn vibrant jewel tones, which were entirely more complementary, given her flaming hair and flashing blue eyes. Alexander raised his gaze from her ridiculous gown to her lovely face.
Damn me,
her
daggered
blue eyes.
Why in bloody hell is she looking at me that way?

He’d only arrived, what, maybe thirty minutes later than the invitation had suggested? And half an hour was not nearly so tardy as to warrant a glare like that. Why, her icy stare was enough to chase a lesser man’s jewels up inside his body for protection.

Alexander hadn’t missed the perturbed glance from
the
gentleman beside her either.

As he reluctantly studied him, to Alexander’s surprise, the man reached out his hand and set it atop Miss Merriweather’s. Alexander straightened his back and stretched out his neck for a better view over the annoying sway of feathered heads between him and the gentleman.

There, he had them in his sights again.
Damn it all
He was still doing it—
touching her
, in plain view of her aunts, no less. Alexander bristled as he watched the man’s thumb gently caress the side of her gloved hand.

Well, he’d been a bit too hasty in labeling the man a gentleman, hadn’t he? For, indeed, it was clear the man was not.

And just where had he found that coat, anyway—in a dustbin?

As the tinkling of piano ivories ended and the songstress rose to acknowledge her audience, Alexander studied the coat’s too wide lapel and coarsely woven wool.

No, not a gentleman at all, or at least not of the level that belonged in the upper reaches of Society, that was for certain.

Oh, how dull of me.
Must be some poof relation the Feathertons were compelled to invite to their musicale.

Yes, that had to be it, Alexander decided, for this particular man surely could not be Miss Merriweather’s supposed…
betrothed.

There was a shuffle of feet, and Alexander fought to regain his view through the tight crowd of shifting frocks and cutaways. Then, much to his frustration, someone blocked his view entirely. “I say, madam, would you please step to the left, I cannot see—”

The woman before him cleared her throat.

Damnation.
“How can I assist you, madam?” Alexander tamed his gaze to her face and belatedly realized that it was none other than the sapphire-eyed Miss Merriweather standing directly before him.

How delightfully perfect.
She had come to
him
. Well, that made his task this eve all the easier, didn’t it?

A pleased smile started to pull at the comers of his mouth, but then it skidded and faltered.

For though Miss Merriweather was smiling warmly at him, the look in her eyes was still as frosty as icicles.

Suddenly a high-pitched cry erupted from somewhere behind him. He tamed his head slowly to see a past-her-prime miss, who looked damned familiar too, standing shoulder to shoulder with an older woman with gray-streaked hair piled high atop her box-shaped head.

“Mama, ‘tis
him
.” The dark-haired chit raised a finger and pointed, in the most rude fashion, directly at him. “Oh, take me home, take me home at once. I cannot bear seeing him.”

The milling throng seemed to take notice exactly then and pivoted, almost as if they were one, to look at Alexander in anticipation of a scandal.

Instead of hustling the young lady from the house, as Alexander truly had hoped the older woman might do— given the worried look in her eyes—she plowed forward through the crowd. Alexander tamed his body to face her, ready for an attack.

The older woman poked him hard in the chest and spoke in low, fierce tones. “You, sir, are no gentleman, breaking my gel’s heart the way you did. Did you ever care for her?”

Alexander looked over the crone’s shoulder at the dark-haired woman standing several feet behind her. He had to admit, something about her face looked vaguely familiar.

“Ah! I thought not. Well, it doesn’t matter, anyway. She is married now. Always deserved better than the likes of a London gallant, anyway.” At the conclusion of her words, she poked his chest one more time for good measure, then spun around and quit the house with her daughter.

“Wait! You need not leave, Lady Delphine.” Lady Letitia, followed closely by her sister, forced her way through the crowd in pursuit of the distraught pair of guests.

Alexander exhaled; then, belatedly remembering that Miss Merriweather stood behind him, he whirled around.

“Dreadfully sorry about that” He shook his head. “Obviously had me confused with some other chap.”

“Obviously.” Miss Merriweather lashed him a wry smile, but her voice sounded strangely high and strangled, almost as though an invisible hand had wrapped around her throat and squeezed. “Lord Lansing, my aunts had not mentioned that you, sir, would be our guest this eve.”

“Didn’t they?” Alexander looked over Miss Merriweather’s shoulder at the two old ladies who had just reentered the parlor and were now peering at them over matched lavender fans.

Well, that was certainly interesting. Had a couple of allies, did he?

He glanced at the blond gentleman who’d been sitting beside Miss Merriweather earlier, and saw him chatting with the songstress.

Yes, this eve was suddenly becoming most intriguing indeed.

———

Heavens, the rake was staring right at Chillton—
right at him!

Most unwisely, Meredith ventured a glance at Chillton too. He returned a bright smile, and then—oh no—he started for her. She had to get the rake out of here, even if only for a few moments, so she could redirect Chillton.

“Lord Lansing, I do not see a footman anywhere. Would you be ever so kind and bring me a .glass of sherry?” She batted her lashes, in fair approximation-—at least so she hoped—of Giselle, the French courtesan. “I confess, the room has grown rather stuffy and I have become unsteady on my feet.”

The rake peered down at her.

Gracious me, he’s tall.

“As you wish, Miss Merriweather.” He tipped his head, excusing himself, then set out in search of refreshments.

And it was none too soon, for the instant Meredith turned around, Chillton was upon her.

“Who was that you were speaking with?” he asked. Suspicion was keen in his eyes. “I don’t believe I’ve made his acquaintance.”

“What, that gentleman who was just here a moment ago?” Meredith scrabbled for more time to come up with an answer that would please Chillton—rather than cause him to doubt her intentions toward him. Though it couldn’t hurt to share his name now, could it? “That was Lord Lansing.”

“Lansing?” A deep scowl etched all sorts of lines, ones she’d never seen before, in Chillton’s otherwise handsome face. “Why he’s a… Well, I shall just come out and say it—a scoundrel. Your aunts surely were completely unaware of his dark reputation when they made their invitation to him. For otherwise, I daresay, they would not have extended their hospitality to such a man.”

Oh, this is not going well at all.
“Dear Mr. Chillton, then you have not heard.”

“Heard? Heard what?”

Meredith surveyed the music room quickly, to be absolutely sure Lord Lansing was not yet about. “He has
reformed
. Yes, it is the talk of Society. Lord Lansing has
completely reformed.
“

Clearly dubious—as well he should be—Chillton opened his mouth… no doubt to argue Meredith’s claim. She raised her hand. “Now, now, I was not inclined to believe it either, yet from all tearoom reports, he has not set foot inside White’s, frequented a racetrack or dined with an… actress for nigh on three months. It’s true, I tell you.”

The tenseness in Chillton’s face seemed to break, for the smocked lines at the comers of his eyes became suddenly smooth again. “Why the sudden change? There has to be a reason.”

“Oh, there is, there is.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Word is that his father is ailing, and Lord Lansing is due to inherit the earldom very, very soon. This, I believe, is the reason for his sudden change in behavior.”

Chillton nodded his head as he listened. “Makes sense. If he isn’t just having everyone on.”

“I am certain his change is true. In fact, it has been rumored that he is looking for a wife.” Why, that sounded jolly good. So good that she almost believed her own words.

“A wife? And he’s got plenty of money, you say?”

Meredith nodded as Chillton’s gaze drifted to his sister, and a slow smile turned his lips.

“Miss Merriweather, do you think Lansing might fancy my dear sister, Hannah? I own, it would be a weight from my shoulders to see her wed, what with her always getting up to some mischief or another. And though the man does sport a bit of a reputation, he is quite well-off, if I have heard correctly.” He tapped the tip of his tongue to his upper lip as he pinned Meredith with his questioning gaze.

“I… believe he does stand to inherit a goodly f-for-tune,” Meredith stammered.

“A man of fortune, and obvious breeding… Why, I am convinced all he needs is the influence of a good woman, like my Hannah, for instance, to prevent him from any possible moral lapse.”

Dear Lord.
If Chillton thought he stood even a chance of matching his sister with the worldly Lord Lansing, he was utterly mad. From the corner of Meredith’s eye, she saw Lord Lansing step over the threshold into the music room, carrying a brandy and a sherry in his hands. Her chest constricted.

Still, she had to separate the two men and this oddball scheme of Chillton’s provided just the means.

“Dear Mr. Chillton,” Meredith said brightly, “I shall make it my mission to learn just that this eve.” She turned her gaze toward the door. Perdition, the rake was nearly upon them! “Best leave me alone with him, though, for I do not believe he will share any information with me if you are at my side.”

“You are good, Miss Merriweather. Very, very
good
.” He licked his lips as he seemed to study her just a moment overlong. “I thank you for your assistance in this matter, and shan’t forget your willingness to do my bidding.”

“You are very welcome, sir, but you must go. Hurry along now.”

Meredith spun around just as the rake reached her side.

“Why, thank you, my lord. You are too kind.”

“Please, Miss Merriweather, do call me Alexander. All my lady friends do.”

Did he just say—no, surely not. Oh Lord, he did!
He actually likened her to one of his actress friends! Meredith struggled to prevent the shock from contorting her features.

“I shall not, Lord Lansing. I… I mean
my betrothed
would find such familiarity inappropriate.”

The rake glanced about the room until he spotted Chillton. “So is that the man?”

“My lord?” Of course, she knew he was asking if Chillton was her betrothed, though it made her head twirl just to think about answering.

“That gentleman over there. The one conversing with our delightful songstress.”

She had no choice now but to follow his gaze to where Chillton stood. “Oh yes. I see who you mean now.”

The rake lifted a single brow. “And?”

Meredith swallowed deeply. Lud, he’d forced her into a corner. “Y-yes. That is he—Mr. Chillton.”

At her reply, the strangest look of disappointment came over his face—
Alexander’s face.

Oh, she’d never speak his Christian name, though it could not hurt to think of him that way, could it? After all, he
looked
much more like an Alexander than a Lansing, anyway.

His gaze studied Chillton for several long moments before he spoke again. “My dear, I fear he is not the one for you.”

“Whatever can you mean? We are perfectly suited. Everyone agrees.”

“That I seriously doubt. Just look at the man.” He inclined his chin, compelling her to redirect her gaze to Chillton. “He’s become old beyond his years. Stodgy even.”

“My lord, you forget yourself. And more than that, you are completely wrong.”

“I daresay I am not. Just look at him. Hardly the gallant. And were you to ask my advice, I would counsel you to choose a mate as handsome and vibrant as yourself.” He snared her gaze with his own, then took up her hand and drew it before his lips as if… as if he were about to kiss it. Her insides turned a little flip in anticipation. “Someone like
me
, for instance.”

A whoosh of warmth swirled around her body like a great woolen cloak. Meredith’s breath snagged in her throat, making her exhale a barely concealed cough. “Well, thankfully, my lord, I did not seek your counsel.” Meredith yanked her hand from his grip. “And… and furthermore, I do wish you would keep such horrid thoughts to yourself.”