A Rake’s Guide to Seduction (21 page)

Anthony raised his eyebrows. “Should I have said something?”

“I would not have faulted you,” she said somberly. “And afterward, I wondered why on earth you would even agree to my request to pretend that we are considering marriage. I was a complete coward. I did nothing to help you or defend you. And when you said you wanted to persuade me…I had to wonder why on earth you would harbor any kind feelings for me at all.” Anthony stared at her. Celia raised her hands helplessly. “I—I know you could have any woman you wanted. I just can’t think of any reason why you would want me.”

No,
he thought.
There’s not one reason, there are a thousand.
He put his back into another stroke of the oars, turning them back toward the shore where they had departed. David Reece would follow them and toss him in the lake if they lingered too long. “I can have any woman I want? What a relief it is to hear that.”

She pressed her lips together in a reluctant, reproving smile. His own grin faded and he shook his head.

“If you were any other woman I would think you were trying to tease compliments from me. But I know you. I have always had a very high regard for you. I have always considered you my friend.”

“A friend,” she repeated slowly.

Anthony winced at his own carelessness.
What words of passion and devotion,
he told himself.
Is it a wonder she’s not swooning at your feet already?
“A very dear, trusted friend,” he tried to clarify. “But also a beautiful woman. And dear to me. And—” He stopped, wondering when he’d become such an imbecile.

“Oh,” she said. “I see.” But he knew she didn’t.

“You think I am not sincere?” he asked, trying to shift the conversation to safer ground. He would much rather hear her thoughts and feelings than try to express his.

Her gaze was pensive, a bit troubled. “No. I don’t know. I know you are sincere in your efforts to help avoid a scandal, and I thought—I hoped—your letters…” She looked away. “I have been thinking about our bargain,” she said. “And I believe—”

A shout from another boat interrupted her. David, rowing his wife, and the Percys had caught up to them, drawing alongside and exchanging good-natured teasing about rowing abilities. Anthony tamped down his urge to row away again and ask Celia to go on with what she was saying, as she laughed and talked with Mrs. Percy and Lady David. Had she decided what she wanted to do? Anthony rather thought any scandal wouldn’t be extreme. They were surrounded by Celia’s family and friends, none of whom would likely wish to tarnish her name, particularly not by linking it with his. If she decided to refuse him, Anthony thought she needn’t suffer much—at least in society’s eyes.

But that meant she must decide whether she wanted him for himself, and not to preserve her reputation.
Why me?
she had asked, as if anyone would need a reason to love her. She was beautiful, exquisitely desirable. She was generous and kind—the kindest person Anthony knew, most likely. She was charming and well-mannered, loyal and passionate, strong and loving. She was even wealthy and well-connected, which didn’t matter much to Anthony but he knew that alone would draw men to her like flies to honey.

Which meant she was nearly everything a man could ask for in a wife, while he…he was nearly everything a woman would
not
want in a husband.

Percy challenged him and David to a race back to shore. David shook his head at once; his wife cradled one hand around her swelling stomach and grinned. But Anthony took up Percy’s offer, relieved to banish his dark thoughts with exertion, even nodding when Percy leaned across the water to murmur something about ten pounds to the winner.

He concentrated on rowing then. Celia and Mrs. Percy cheered them on with much laughter and cries of delight. Celia put down her parasol and held tight to her bonnet as they flew across the water. “Oh, we’re leading,” she exclaimed, looking at him with glowing eyes. Anthony, never one to lose a wager willingly anyway, redoubled his effort, and they reached the shore almost a full boat length ahead of the Percys.

“Well done!” cried Celia, leaping out of the boat and splashing ashore with no regard for her slippers and skirt. Anthony jumped out after her, dragging the punt onto the grass as Percy staggered ashore pulling his own boat.

“Hamilton, you bloody scoundrel,” he panted. His fair hair was plastered to his forehead with perspiration. “I might have had an apoplexy trying to keep up with you.”

Anthony laughed even though it made his chest burn. “More sport, less brandy, Percy.”

His friend groaned, then leaned over to cough violently. His wife hurried up to pat him on the back as David rowed his boat up, shouting with laughter at them. Celia turned to Anthony, tucking her hand through his arm very naturally. “Good show,” she whispered with a sparkling glance.

He grinned at her, his own breathing still harsh. “I like to win.”

She laughed, and they all started back toward the house. Mrs. Percy was clinging devotedly to her husband, and Percy seemed to be soaking up her attention with pleasure, letting her blot his flushed face with her handkerchief. David helped his pregnant wife along with great tenderness, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her across a patch of mud despite her shriek of protest. Celia’s hand nestled in the crook of his arm as if it belonged there, and Anthony, surrounded by happy married couples, began to think it did.

Because this, he thought to himself as they walked leisurely back to the house, this was what it would be like to be married to Celia. Her hand on his arm. Her warm presence at his side. Her face turning toward him, bright with joy over something as silly as a boat race. He had never felt so content and peaceful in all his life. He never wanted this day to end.

When they reached the house, the Percys went upstairs together, still arm in arm. Lady David tried to hide a yawn, but her husband saw and led her off. Anthony and Celia stopped in the wide, airy hall, a bit awkwardly. Of course he couldn’t escort her up to her room, or to his, not in the bright light of day.

“I should change,” she said ruefully, lifting her skirt a few inches to examine her soaked slippers and stockings. “I was so excited to win, I jumped right into the lake.”

“It was a hard-fought battle,” he said, admiring the trim, wet ankles she displayed. She laughed and bid him farewell, and he stood at the bottom of the stairs watching until she had disappeared up them, with one last tiny wave and a smile at the top. He lifted his hand and grinned back at her, but then she was gone, and he was alone again.

As usual. But perhaps…not for long.

Celia tried without success to find another chance to talk to Anthony alone in the next week. A few days of rain kept the party housebound, and someone always seemed to be nearby when she got up her nerve to discuss that topic: why he would want to persuade her to marry him. Celia couldn’t help but think she was a fairly ordinary woman, even before one considered how many more beautiful and sophisticated women Anthony must have known and could have pursued.

She didn’t want him to pursue someone else, of course. She wanted to be the one he wanted above all others. But she was afraid of disappointing him, as she had clearly disappointed Bertie, and Celia thought she would rather have her heart crushed now than later. The fact that Anthony was so charmingly self-deprecating and evasive in their conversation in the boat, when she had tried to ask what he saw in her, only made her wonder more.

He still paid her attentions, although in more subtle ways. A tiny boat, folded of silver tissue paper, was on her breakfast tray one morning. Agnes cheerfully admitted he had given it to her in the hall, and Celia set it on her mantel, smiling every time she saw the little reminder of their triumph on the lake.

Another morning a box with her name on it was delivered from a fashionable London shop. Mystified, Celia opened it to find a pair of sky-blue satin slippers with a small raised heel and ribbons to tie around her ankles. Her mouth dropped open, and she took one slipper out to admire it. What lovely, lovely slippers, embroidered with flowing vines and adorned with tiny beaded flowers.

It was a shockingly personal gift, and one she should refuse. She and Anthony were not even engaged, of course, and it would be highly improper for her to wear them. But she spirited them up to her room anyway, delighted and a little surprised to find they were a perfect fit, and an exact match for her new evening dress. How had he known? she wondered as she studied the shoes in the mirror, holding up her skirts to see them as she turned her feet this way and that. And again, he hadn’t taken credit for it, although no one else could have possibly thought to send her slippers like these. There was no card in the box. It seemed he listened to, and remembered, every word she said. Celia let her skirts fall as she stared at herself.

Was she worthy of such a man?

She began watching him more thoughtfully. No wonder he was an enigma to most of society, she thought, watching one night at dinner as he waded through a barbed conversation with aplomb. Lord William seemed to want to provoke him and was constantly making little comments that seemed innocent, except to Celia. Anthony deflected them all with a slight smile, as if nothing could dent his armor. He ignored comments that probably would have brought David or Mr. Percy to the brink of violence, and Celia realized that he valued control.

After dinner the mood was lazy. The gentlemen joined them early. Several people wandered into the garden to enjoy a warm, clear night after all the rain, and the ones left in the drawing room were enjoying quiet pursuits. Celia sat with Vivian, helping her untangle the embroidery threads she was using in a tiny frock for her baby. Vivian’s pregnancy left her tired and ill much of the time, and she had not joined the guests for most of the party. This was the first time she had stayed after dinner, in fact.

“You needn’t hide away in the corner with me,” Vivian told her as Celia sat near her on the sofa.

“Oh, no! I long to have a quiet bit of conversation. And I’ve hardly seen you at all.”

“For all that there’s a bit much of me to see,” grumbled Vivian, discreetly pressing one hand to the small of her back. “Worse than a broken leg.”

Celia smiled. “David is so certain it will be a son.”

Vivian grimaced. “He is, and the babe kicks a bit harder every time he says it. I can’t decide if it’s a son stretching his legs or a daughter protesting.”

“David will be pleased, no matter which it is. He was always fond of Molly, and quite gentle with her.”

Vivian sighed, poking at the twists of colored floss. “So long as it’s easy to birth, I’ll be pleased, too.” Celia choked back a laugh, stealing another glance at Anthony, who sat nearby reading a book. “It’s been quite a party, I hear,” Vivian remarked. Celia barely heard her, caught by a sudden thought. What did Anthony think of children? He said he wanted to spare any child of his the cruelty of growing up without a father, but what sort of father would he be?

“You really needn’t stay by me,” Vivian said, and Celia jerked her eyes and her thoughts away from him. “You ought to go about with your guests.”

“Oh, no, I am perfectly happy to sit with you.” Celia picked up some tangled threads and began picking at them with great care. From the corner of her eye she saw Vivian glance Anthony’s way, her mouth curved in a knowing little smile. Celia flushed. Vivian didn’t say anything else, though, and bent her head over her work.

For a while it was comfortably quiet, a soft murmur of conversations around the room not distracting anyone from reading or winding thread. But then some gentlemen came back in from outside, and the evening began to disintegrate.

“We need a fourth,” Lord William announced as he and Mr. Percy and Mr. Childress sat down with a deck of cards. “Hamilton, join us.”

Anthony didn’t look up from his book. “Thank you, no.”

“I insist.” Norwood laughed. “I should like a chance to sit at a table with you once.” Anthony’s eyes shifted up to look at him for a long, measured moment. Then his eyes went back to his book. He didn’t say anything. Lord William’s face flushed. “I say, Hamilton, that was rude.”

“Let it go, Norwood,” said Mr. Childress as he shuffled the cards. “Your manners.”

“Manners be damned. The fellow looked right through me, as though I weren’t fit to play with him.”

“It’s penny stakes, Norwood,” Percy said, a bit downcast. “Not much worth a fuss. Billiards?”

“No, I want to play cards. I want to see if his reputation is all it’s cracked up to be.” Lord William drained the rest of his wine and got to his feet. Celia glanced up anxiously. Vivian gave a tiny shake of her head. Rosalind was still on the far side of the room in conversation with Lady Throckmorton. David and Marcus had disappeared somewhere and not yet joined them. The other guests either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Norwood, you’re drunk,” said Mr. Childress in a low, firm voice. “Sit down.”

“But I can beat him!”

“No, you can’t.” Percy yawned and checked his watch. “No one can.”

Celia wished Mr. Percy would keep his mouth closed. Lord William’s face turned scarlet. “The hell you say,” he growled.

There was a soft snap. Anthony rose, putting aside the book he had been reading. “Very well, Norwood.” He strolled across the room to the table, seating himself across from Mr. Percy and leaning back very elegantly in his chair. With a sharp nod and an air of triumph, Lord William dropped back into his seat.

Celia breathed a sigh of guarded relief. It was very bad of Lord William to insist, and Anthony ought not to have been pressed into a game he didn’t want to play. She realized he had done it to avoid a scene, of course. She made herself look away, not wanting to make it any more awkward than it already was.

The gentlemen played for a while. The occasional mild oath and the murmured calls were the only conversation. After a while the mood appeared to ease, and Mr. Percy especially grew quite jolly as a servant brought more wine. Celia stole a glance at the table from time to time, and Anthony seemed perfectly calm. She was feeling rather grateful that he had given in so gracefully and headed off an argument or worse, when Lord William erupted.

“Impossible!”

The room fell quiet. Even Rosalind and Lady Throckmorton looked up. Lord William was breathing hard, his handsome face flushed. He gripped the edges of the table and his eyes, feverishly bright, were fixed on the cards.

“Norwood, it doesn’t matter,” said Mr. Childress as he laid down his own cards. “It’s just a hand of cards.”

“It’s penny stakes,” said Mr. Percy again, as if that were the most important point.

“No!” Lord William lurched to his feet, sending his chair over backward. “It’s impossible! It cannot be allowed!”

Mr. Childress rose as well. “Still up for a round of billiards, Percy?”

“Certainly!” Percy bounded out of his seat with an anxious look at the lone remaining player at the table.

Anthony was as calm and composed as ever. Unhurried, he started to rise. “Then I shall—”

“Stay!” Lord William pointed a shaking finger at him. “Stay where you are, sir, and explain yourself.”

“He had good luck,” said Mr. Childress.

“I told you no one beats him,” said Mr. Percy.

This did not, as it was perhaps intended, console Lord William. With a snort, he lashed out, sweeping all the cards off the table in Anthony’s direction. “Good luck, my arse,” he snarled. “You cheated!”

Celia caught her breath. No one made a sound. Every eye was fastened on him. Anthony gazed at Lord William with unreadable eyes for a long moment, still half-risen from his seat. Then he straightened, gave a little bow, and walked out of the room. Perfect control, Celia thought, even when insulted to his face.

“Let him go,” whispered Vivian, grabbing her hand as Celia made to follow him. Mr. Childress gave Lord William a deeply disgusted look, then turned and walked out. Mr. Percy stood rather aimlessly by the table for a moment, then quickly walked out after Mr. Childress. A murmur of interested conversation had already sprung up.

“How dare that man call him a cheat,” Celia exclaimed to Vivian. “How dare no one else say anything! Let me go!”

“A man’s got pride,” Vivian said, clinging harder to her hand. “If you run after him, how will that look?”

“I don’t care!”

“He might,” said Vivian softly. “Gentlemen are particular about things like that.”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Perhaps. But I think this particular gentleman has endured it for too long. Someone needs to stand up for him.” And this time Vivian let her go.