Gareth: Lord of Rakes (7 page)

Though seven pins would not hold the mass of her hair in place for long.

“I don’t think anyone aspires to become blasé about sex, Felicity. It just happens. You go through such a variety of partners, you play with all the toys, explore all the games and drugs, and in the end, it comes back to a pleasurable bodily sensation. You asked if being full of fireworks is a good thing, and my answer is you will have to decide for yourself.”

He pulled her against him, so her back rested against his chest and his arms linked across her waist, and blathered on. While he held forth about jaded palates and bodily humors, he ignored the creeping suspicion that the woman in his arms was near tears—again.

“The skillful prostitute knows how to appear aroused without actually becoming aroused, or only mildly so. She is hired to please her clients, not herself, and so her own satisfaction is not a priority. In your case, your sensuality makes my task easier. You may find, though, having had your passions awakened, it is inconvenient, as a madam, to seek relief from them with clients.”

And why was he bringing this up now, when relatively tame play inspired the woman nearly to tears?

“You think I will need a male mistress?” she asked, clearly horrified by the very notion.

“A gallant of some sort. Society women often develop liaisons with discreet admirers for mutual pleasure. It isn’t something you need to concern yourself with now.”

Though she would. She would worry about it, and that made him angry. With himself.

The idea of her hair unbound in some other man’s presence also made him angry, which had to be a function of an empty belly and the certain knowledge Brenner had at least eighteen reports for him to read.

Or something.

And yet, Gareth continued holding Felicity around the waist with one arm. With his free hand, he stroked her arm, her shoulders, her hands, because she wasn’t ready to pop up and face the world.

“You have a mistress,” Felicity stated, as if confirming a suspicion.

“I do.” One he hadn’t seen in several weeks, come to that. Worse yet, he hadn’t
wanted
to see the woman, or given a thought to missing her company or her charms. “I enjoy regular sexual activity, and from all accounts, the ladies enjoy my attentions as well.”

Though he wasn’t in the habit of asking them if they were pleased, which realization he shoved to the back of his mind.

“I could hate you, you know.” Felicity curled up against his chest. “You and all the sophisticated lovelies you’ll meet tonight while I’m playing backgammon with Astrid. Merciful saints.” She fell silent and tucked herself more closely to him. He wasn’t inclined to argue her out of her disgust of him, but neither would he deny her the comfort of his embrace while she nursed her hurt feelings.

“What was the sigh about?” Foolish question without any good answer.

“You are patient with me, Gareth. I appreciate that.”

Not appreciation, not thanks, pray God. He kissed her temple and waited.

“But you, my lord, are no use at all in helping me to sort out my emotions. You have touched me in ways I would never touch myself, and I can only assume things in this regard are only getting started. I have never been
aroused
before, you see. This changes me, and not in ways I was looking to be changed. I am not well pleased by what I am learning from you.”

Women were hopelessly compelled to complicate what ought to be kept simple, and yet, Gareth offered the reply he suspected she sought.

“Felicity, any time you decide this course is not for you, you need only tell me to stop. You would make an excellent housekeeper, governess, or companion.”

She stood abruptly and looked down on him as he sprawled on the divan. The perspective likely did not flatter him, because from her vantage point, he would look dark, decadent, and disheveled.

Spoiled, and yet to stand and loom over her merely because he could would be spoiled and cowardly.

“You are wrong, Gareth. I would be adequate at those things, just as I would be adequate at being some honest fellow’s wife. I am excellent, however, at being a spinster. You are excellent at being a rake, and I’d wish you the joy of it, except I cannot escape the notion you are deserving of my pity.”

Gareth watched her go, knowing it was rude not to see her out, but telling himself she needed the grand exit. Needed it, and deserved it.

“What are you in such a brown study about?’ Astrid asked as she bounced into the breakfast room.

“I’m slow to wake up today. You’re looking quite presentable,” Felicity replied. Astrid had been more consistent about putting her hair up in a coiffure lately, not a simple bun, and the result was fetching—and disconcertingly mature.

“I thought we might go for a stroll about the park today, Sister mine. You’ve been so busy learning your wicked business that you have neglected me and Crabbie shamelessly.”

A swallow of porridge lodged halfway to Felicity’s belly.
Her
wicked
business?

Astrid gamboled on, oblivious to her sister’s distress. “When are you going to teach me something besides how to bet on whist or vingt-et-un?”

Felicity passed her sister the teapot. “Running a gaming house involves a bit more than playing the games, Astrid.”

Lie upon fib upon fabrication upon deceit. The tea in Felicity’s belly joined the general alimentary rebellion—strong tea, now that the marquess had arranged for some revenue to come their way.

“What do you do with Lord Heathgate when you’re not playing cards?” Astrid asked with the blunt tenacity of the adolescent.

I
complain
about
allowing
him
to
touch
my
hair, then melt when he touches my breast.

“I learn the menus, the guest list, the preferences of each particular guest and how to meet them. I learn from whom I can buy good brandy at a reasonable price, and which musicians don’t mind working later when the guests linger. I learn which footmen have quick tempers, and which are likely to bother the maids. I learn what it costs to cook those fancy menus, and what all the dishes and cutlery and glassware cost… In short, I learn to run the business, Astrid, and the fact that we will make money while others enjoy themselves doesn’t mean I will have any fun at it.”

Felicity delivered her little lecture with a credible dose of long-suffering condescension, all the while hating that she was lying to her sister. If Astrid ever found out the truth, she’d be so disappointed… Young people could be so idealistic. Idealistic and intolerant.

She poured herself more tea, wishing Crabbie wasn’t brewing it quite so strong.

“You sigh too much, Felicity. I’m supposed to be the young girl afflicted with silly romantic notions.” Astrid stuck her nose in the air with mock drama before cramming another bite of sweet bun into her maw.

“You are seventeen, and that is too young to have romantic notions, silly or otherwise. I, on the other hand, am five-and-twenty years of age, and that is too old for any notions whatsoever.”

Though eight short years didn’t seem like enough time to explore, realize, and then discard
all
of one’s interest in romance.

Astrid looked poised to score a riposte on that bit of sororal pomposity, when Mr. Crabble bustled into the dining room.

“Letter for you, Miss Felicity,” he said, setting a missive down beside her. “Hit’s got that marquess fellow’s seal on it too, looks like.”

“So it does!” Astrid cried, snatching up the letter and peering at the fine linen stationery and red wax seal. “Aren’t you going to open it, Felicity? We’re dying to know what it says.”

Felicity grabbed the envelope out of Astrid’s hand—a marquess could afford the extra paper, just as Felicity could now afford fresh tea leaves—and broke the seal. “And you conceal your curiosity so nicely.”

Madam,

If you find it suits your schedule tonight, I should enjoy escorting you to Drury Lane. Appropriate attire will be delivered this afternoon.

Until tonight,
G.

“It seems I’m to go out.” Were they really going to the theatre, or was this Heathgate’s subterfuge for some less savory outing? She did not trust him—look at how his attentions to her hair had gone awry.

“Out where?” Astrid all but shrieked.

“Hush, Astrid,” Felicity said. “Eat up, and I’ll go change into a walking gown. We have plenty of time for a turn about the park and some browsing along the shop windows before the morning is spent. I am to go to the theatre with Heathgate, that’s all. I’m sure we’ll see something unremarkable, but I promise to bring you all the details.”

Astrid was bouncing around the room at that.

“Oh, yes, details! Those I must have. May we buy you opera glasses this morning, so you might peer about the theatre and remark on the doings of Polite Society? I need ideas for my hair, Felicity, you can bring those back too…” Astrid trumpeted on a while longer, but by the time they were at the gates of the park, she had quieted down.

In fact, in the sudden mood changes for which her age was notorious, Astrid had grown downright serious.

“You know, Felicity, I appreciate the risk you are running to ensure our future,” she said as they tossed some stale bread to the ducks.

Around Felicity’s feet, ducks flapped and honked in an avian display of pique. “Whatever does that mean?”

“For a single young lady to run a gambling establishment is beyond the pale, and even I know that. You are hoping you can learn this business, as Callista required, then sell it with no one the wiser. You are trusting Heathgate’s discretion and hoping not one word of scandal attaches to your name. That is quite a risk,” Astrid concluded, throwing a small crust to a particularly tenacious gander.

“You are growing up too quickly, little Sister.” To this extent, at least, Felicity could be honest with Astrid. “I am glad you see the need for extreme discretion regarding the time I spend with Heathgate. I believe we can trust his silence, but people will talk, and you are right: if word of this situation reached the wrong ears, I would be ruined in the eyes of good Society, though at five-and-twenty, that hardly matters.”

They would both be ruined, though, and that
did
matter.

“I shouldn’t like to see that,” Astrid said, firing a chunk of bread down the bank with the kind of steady aim no young lady ought to display in public. “You say you are five-and-twenty, Lissy, like it’s some geological tragedy, but you aren’t so old. You could still find true love. Besides, if you are ruined, I should insist on being ruined right along with you.”

“Let’s hope it never comes to that.” Felicity dusted her gloved hands and hiked her skirts a few inches to allow her to scramble the several yards back up the embankment to the gravel pathway. Astrid was still tossing bread crumbs to the waterfowl, which she could do while chattering at a great rate.

“Felicity, have you noticed that the brown duck to my left bears a striking resemblance—Felicity!”

Felicity’s mind was slow to add up what her senses screamed at her. That pounding sensation beneath her feet, the dull tattoo in her ear, came from a horse tearing across the green, its hoofbeats muffled in the damp grass. Though the rider sawed brutally at the reins, the animal bore directly down on Felicity.

Astrid was screaming in earnest when Felicity felt a pair of strong arms scoop her off the path and drag her behind the nearest tree just as the horse thundered past, inches from where her rescuer shielded her.

“Felicity! Are you all right? Lissy!?” Astrid clambered up the bank and threw her arms around her sister. The gentleman obliged by wrapping an arm around Astrid too, while his words floated through the fog in Felicity’s mind.

“Steady on, ladies. Catch your breath for a bit.” He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to release them, but stood with an arm around each sister. Unable to speak, Felicity closed the circle by wrapping her free arm around Astrid.

“Oh, Felicity, I’ve never been so frightened in all my life. That horse must have been mad.” Astrid gulped back tears, and her voice became small and hesitant. “Are you all right?”

Felicity took one more slow, deep breath and pulled out of the stranger’s arms.

“I am fine, Astrid, if a bit rattled. We must thank this fine gentleman for his timely appearance.” She drew Astrid back with her as she stepped away from the man who had been holding them both. “Sir, I don’t know why I exhibited such an inconvenient sense of indecision, but I do owe you my thanks.”

Her voice shook, her knees felt unreliable, and she had the odd wish that Gareth were there to cling to.

“No thanks needed, ladies. Some fool trying to impress the world with his blood stock, no doubt.”

The gentleman—his dress proclaimed him as such, as did his diction—was blond, tall, and handsome in a severe, Nordic way. Felicity guessed his age as a bit older than her own. He was at that time in life when a man passes from being merely handsome into the realm of true attractiveness.

“Miss Felicity Worthington.” She introduced herself with a curtsy, though it was not strictly proper. Being nearly run down by a horse rather put proper somewhere in the middle of the pond. “And this is my sister, Miss Astrid.” Astrid followed suit with a polite bob of her head.

“David Holbrook, at your service. I would gladly escort you to either your carriage or your residence, if you could suffer the company.” Mr. Holbrook’s smile did not make him more handsome so much as it made him wonderfully human, suggesting bottomless depths of benevolence and charm, all the more startling for the otherwise stern aspects of his countenance.

Felicity spoke at the same time as Astrid.

“I don’t think that would be necessary…” from Felicity, but hardly audible over Astrid’s “That would be most appreciated!”

As Mr. Holbrook offered them each an arm, Felicity tried to puzzle out what in his expression was so remarkable. She would certainly know if she had seen him somewhere before, and yet, he looked familiar.

“You are noticing my mismatched eyes,” Holbrook said. “I’ve been told that in more superstitious times, having one blue eye and one green eye might have cost me my life, being a mark of the devil and so forth.”

“If they are a mark of the devil,” Astrid cut in, “they are quite beautiful nonetheless. I should die for one gorgeous blue eye and one delectable green eye.”

“Astrid, you do
not
comment on the appearance of a gentleman of recent acquaintance!” Felicity admonished, though Astrid’s lamentable audacity routed the last of Felicity’s physical unsteadiness.

“Oh, Miss Worthington, can’t we allow her to comment just a bit, particularly when she’s being so complimentary? It isn’t my usual experience, I can assure you.” Holbrook offered a tolerant smile, and Felicity had the sense he sympathized with both Astrid’s youth and the challenge it created for Felicity.

“The damage is done, I suppose,” Felicity said as they moved away from the honking, flapping waterfowl. “And Astrid is nothing if not honest. You may be assured you are now in possession of her sincere opinion regarding your appearance.”

“I am pleased beyond measure, Miss Astrid, to have your assessment. Will you ladies journey safely from this point? I can accompany you farther, but you seem to have suffered no ill effects from your mishap.”

“Oh, Felicity will bear up fine,” Astrid said. “She always does, but I declare I shall feel faint if you leave us now.”

Holbrook unlinked his arms from theirs.

“Miss Worthington, I cannot be sure, due to my inchoate decrepitude, but I believe this brazen child is attempting to flirt with me. I confess myself almost as flattered as I am… amused.” He lifted a sardonic eyebrow at Astrid, and she smiled right back, then spoiled the effect utterly by sticking her tongue out at him.

“You’re not that old, sir.”

“No, but you are that young, Miss Astrid, and you should have a care for your sister. Your liveliness could land you in a deal of trouble if you aren’t careful, and that would aggrieve her, unless I miss my guess.” The rebuke was delivered with a smile. Watching the exchange, Felicity was pleased some other adult had taken Astrid’s high spirits to task.

The girl was only seventeen, God help her, but many a young lady became betrothed—or compromised—at that age.

“Sir, thank you for your escort and your company,” Felicity said, offering another curtsy.

He bowed in response and studied the head of a walking stick carved into the shape of a crouching dragon. “Perhaps we might encounter one another enjoying the park in future,” he said, touching the dragon to the brim of his hat.

Felicity waited until they were out of the gentleman’s hearing. “Astrid, what could you have been thinking, telling him you might feel faint?”

“I know I overstepped a little, but I felt as if with him, it was safe to carry on a bit. His eyes are beautiful.”

“You aren’t going to develop a tendresse for him, are you?”

“No,” Astrid answered, a frown puckering her brow. “I like him, Felicity, but he feels more like… a potential brother-in-law? A man whose company I can trust.”

Astrid had chosen a fine time to have a grown-up moment. Felicity herself had had the same sense from Holbrook. He seemed absolutely steady to her. Completely beyond frivolousness or flirtatiousness. A serious, decent man. Not a fellow trolling for anything.

“He was very charming,” Astrid volunteered earnestly, “and he did rescue you from that odious horse.”

“Yes, he did,” Felicity said as they reached their doorstep. “I’ve never felt so helpless in my life, Astrid. I knew I had to move, but my limbs wouldn’t obey my mind. I could hear you calling my name, but it was as if I were dreaming. I still don’t feel completely myself.”

“You must have…”

Felicity joined in, laughing with her sister as they chorused together, “a nice hot cup of tea!”

They went into the house, arms linked, exuding the good humor of sisters in charity with each other.

***

“Please don’t hang over the balcony, Felicity.” Gareth passed her a pair of opera glasses. “I doubt you want all of Society to see you with your skirts over your head when I have to haul you back by your heels.”

The lady had merely peered about at the assemblage, like any sophisticate would peruse the crowd, and yet, after the day’s events, Gareth needed to scold her on general principles.