How To Build The Perfect Rake (11 page)

He had been musing about
Olympia since he had left her that afternoon, puzzling over her
attitude although he had a guilty notion of why she was not happy
with him and he could hardly blame her. He had hardly seen her this
past week, caught up in the heady discovery that a quiet, slightly
withdrawn fellow was suddenly surprisingly popular. He knew it had
rather gone to his head but he was not used to pretty girls
suddenly casting themselves in his way with flirtatious
deliberation. It hadn’t been that they had ever
ignored
him, exactly. Luc had far
too much money to be invisible in Society but he had always
imagined conversations over the breakfast tables of the debutantes
to run along the lines of:

Debutante’s mama: ‘What about St James? He
is frightfully rich and his address is pleasing.’

Debutante: ‘But he is
so
boring
.’

Mama: ‘That does not matter. A boring man is
a safe husband. And you can have anything you want with all that
money. Why his estate is enormous!’

Debutante: ‘But he is
so
boring
.’

Of course, Luc did not
know if such conversations ever took place but he had his
suspicions. It had made him even more tongue-tied around the girls
that had batted their eyes his way for he really could not believe
that he was anything
but
boring. God knows, with the exception of Olympia,
girls made him feel that he must be. Boring and nice. It was hard
to believe that nice could be a curse, but it seemed to Luc that he
was afflicted with just such a one. Nice, boring St James. And
knowing this to be the case, he’d lived up to it relentlessly for
he could not imagine how to be anything else.

The only female he wasn’t
a green, dimwitted fool around was Olympia. His best friend. Who
was
not
, if their
earlier meeting had been anything to go by, at all happy with him.
It had taken him all of a week to realize that he missed her quite
a lot. There was something refreshingly soothing about the way she
called him a fool, head tilted on one side, brilliant dark eyes
regarding him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. And she
was usually right in her assessment for there were times when
he
was
a fool.
Since coming up to London for the Season he had certainly behaved
like one. The moment he realized that he was twitchy for her
company he had taken himself round to Martin Street, prepared to
grovel to have her forgive him his neglect. He did not want Ollie
to be mad at him. It did not feel in the least bit comfortable. The
knowledge that her emotions were still somewhat bruised had cast
him down considerably so tonight he was determined to find her and
jolly her out of her ill humor.

Kensington Gardens was an enormous place,
covering more than two hundred and sixty acres, some of which was
taken up with the palace, of course. Much of the park was not
generally open to the public but of course Prinny was in charge of
this affair and the main entertainment was to be in the pavilions
next to the Serpentine, a particularly charming area that the
prince himself had helped to create. It was easy enough to find
one’s way for Chinese lanterns had been strung along the trees that
lined the broad path, hundreds of them, giving a clear indication
of where the guests should go. The lanterns were in a myriad of
colors and the effect was singularly charming. Luc, who had come by
himself, was regretting not offering to escort Olympia and her aunt
for he would have enjoyed watching her face as she took in the
sights.

There was quite a crowd of
people moving along the lighted paths; truly it really
did
appear as if all of
London was attending. The woman – and some of the more adventurous
men – looked like brightly colored birds in their finery. He
glanced behind him, wondering if he might catch a glimpse of
Olympia and her aunt but instead, he found himself looking directly
into a pair of celestial blue eyes.

Carisse Houghton.

She was with her mother, of course and he
was momentarily disconcerted to discover two women smiling at him
with enthusiastic approbation. He appreciated being in Mrs.
Houghton’s good graces, of course, but having Carisse shine her
glorious approval on him quite took his breath away.

‘Mr. St James,’ Mrs. Houghton cooed, coming
forward to drop a curtsey, ‘how nice to see you. Isn’t it nice to
see Mr. St James, my dear?’

‘It is very nice to see him.’

That was a lot of nice. Luc blinked,
recovering himself. He had been honing his abilities as far as Mrs.
Houghton was concerned. She could not know too much about his newly
acquired reputation or she might disapprove of his suit, but at the
same time he had to impress his rakish status upon Carisse, who
seemed to find the new Lucien St James to her liking.

‘How charming to see you
both,’ he murmured, smiling at both of them. He was stunned to see
that Carisse was not accompanied by her usual gaggle of admirers.
The previous night she had been hemmed in by a veritable hedge of
them, one of which had been the excruciating Endymion Falstaff,
dressed in a jacket of cerise velvet.
Cerise
! It had been enough to turn
any normal fellow’s stomach. ‘May I escort you ladies to the
festivities?’

‘We would be honored,’ Mrs. Houghton
declared.

Which was why he arrived
at the festivities flanked by Mrs. & Miss Houghton, a
fortuitous event that he could not help but think boded well for
him. Along the way he had managed to acquit himself well, not
saying too much (in the past, nerves had seen him either babble
like the veritable brook, or remain blankly silent), but conveying
– he hoped – a kind of roguish humor that had drawn several laughs
out of both ladies. It had all been singularly gratifying. If he
continued on like this he was almost certain that his suit would be
regarded with some favor and to hell with the duke. What he really
needed to clinch the matter was one or two occasions alone with his
beloved. Then he could turn on the rakish charm he had been
cultivating and hopefully, see those blue eyes warm to an even
darker hue. While he was beginning to sense that his pursuit had a
good chance of success, he wanted Carisse to
want
him. Not just as a suitable
husband but as a man.

To this end, he had occasionally cast her
that sly, sideways smile Howe had taught him, to good effect as he
had discovered with quite a few other young ladies. And she had
smiled back, even blushing a little, unless the flickering light of
the lanterns and the fat moon overhead were lying to him.

Very gratifying indeed.

Naturally, his monopolization of the
Incomparable had come to an end when they reached the festivities
but Luc was not dismayed, having made some excellent progress. When
Mr. Falstaff gravitated towards them Luc gave him a smile of
genuine amusement for the man looked ridiculous, dressed in apricot
and a particularly virulent shade of green.

‘Mr. St James,’ Mr. Falstaff glowered. He
did not like Luc but then, he did not like any male who set off a
coat better than he himself did. Endymion, Luc sensed, took his
wardrobe very seriously even if he did appear utterly ridiculous.
He must heartily detest most of the men in London. ‘I see you are
in the company of the fairest women in all of England.’

‘On the contrary,’ Luc purred, ‘I am here
with the fairest women in the world, Falstaff. For surely no woman
exists that could possible match Miss Houghton’s exquisite
radiance.’

It was a hit. Carisse gave him a look of
glowing approbation whilst Falstaff glared at him.

‘Well… naturally I meant that.’

‘Ah, but you did not say it.’

The poet gave Luc a glance of pure loathing
but fortunately was not required to think of a retort for more
fellows arrived to greet them, irked to think that Luc had been
given an advantage in the contest to secure the beauty’s hand.

Luc ceded the field, well pleased with
himself. He would ask Carisse to dance a little later, secure in
the knowledge that she would say yes. Strolling through the
revelers, for the place was crowded, he wondered how the devil he
was to find Olympia among the masses. Music filled the air, a mix
of sounds, both from the wandering troubadours playing their lutes
and flutes, violins and mandolins, and the larger band that had
already begun the familiar strains of Mozart. Suddenly a dark,
familiar voice spoke at his shoulder.

‘I admit, I had my doubts but you have
exceeded my expectations, St James.’

Luc turned to look at Lord Howe smiling
sardonically at him, drink in hand. The drink was inevitable. In
their three weeks together, Luc had rarely seen the man without
one, even at ten in the morning. He was looking much as he ever
did, however. Tall, lanky and with that peculiarly sleepy air that
Luc suspected was anything but. It might serve him well to look as
if he paid no attention but the man missed very little. This
evening, Lord Justin Howe was dressed in the plain, severe style he
always affected. Dark brown satin coat, black satin knee breeches
and fawn waistcoat, all of which were unadorned. His black hair had
been pulled back into a queue, which suited the man’s long, laconic
face surprisingly well.

‘Lord Howe. I have not seen you about since
I returned from the country.’

‘I was keeping a low profile until I could
be sure the last of my creditors were accounted for,’ he shrugged.
‘Rather agreeably, they seem to have disappeared.’

‘I told you I had dealt with them.’

‘Yes, you did, didn’t you? How pleasant it
must be to be you. I observed your little exchange with Falstaff.
While it must be admitted he set it up beautifully, you acquitted
yourself well.’

Luc grinned. ‘I am overwhelmed by such
accolades.’

‘No, really. The voice, the nuances. Very
nice. It seems a shame that you are going to squander your talents.
If you put your heart in to it I am convinced that you have the
makings of a perfect rake. Unfortunately you spoil it all by
possessing a conscience.’

‘My apologies,’ Luc said ruefully, ‘but even
so, high praise indeed.’

‘I am as surprised to be giving it as you
must be to receive it. I thought you would fumble the entire
thing.’

‘Thank you!’

‘You’re welcome. I have heard that the odds
have veered in your direction with the Incomparable.
Congratulations.’

‘Early days yet. Many men are interested in
fixing their intentions with Miss Houghton.’

‘Nonsense. You’re on the scent, now you must
close the gap between. The dear child has deemed you of interest.
It is time to romance the chit into the marriage bed.’

‘Well, I had been thinking much the -’

‘Mr. St James!’

He turned his head quickly
to discover Olympia had found
him
, bless her. As usual, she was
looking as fresh as a spring meadow in a lilac dress, dark hair
dressed in loose ringlets, set about with a silver circlet.
Pretty
and
fresh
with none of the fussiness a lot of girls seemed to delight in. He
smiled at her, momentarily forgetting Howe at his side.

‘I’ve been looking for you but it’s a deuced
crush tonight. Who would have thought a honking great park would
feel so crowded?’

She smiled at this, that
quick, wicked twist of the lips he knew so well. Whatever had been
plaguing her earlier had clearly disappeared for her good humor
seemed quite restored. ‘I know. But it
is
all rather lovely. Such
decorations. I have never seen the like of them.’ She waved a vague
hand around, taking in the enormous, open topped pavilion with its
masses of banked flowers. The scent of them drifted through the
night, sweetening the air with delightful fragrance. Several
hundred yards on another pavilion glowed like a jewel, although it
was clearly themed differently to the one they stood beside. All of
the pavilions had been created along the snaking length of the
Serpentine whose waters glittered where it caught the light of the
lanterns along its bank. All four pavilions were similarly linked
by the bejeweled lights of the Chinese lanterns. Prinny had really
outdone himself with the evening’s entertainment.

‘I have yet to see our host.’

‘Aunt Flora said that he is sitting on a
rather peculiar float that has been designed in the shape of a swan
a little further along the river.’ Her eyes went to Lord Howe,
still standing at Luc’s side and he remembered his manners with a
guilty start.

‘Ah. I am so sorry. Lord Howe, may I
introduce Miss Grayson? Miss Grayson, Lord Howe.’

Olympia examined the rake with interest,
knowing he was Luc’s tutor. ‘Lord Howe. It is nice to meet
you.’

‘A pleasure, Miss Grayson.’ Howe sounded
like he meant it, his voice holding that especial note that he
saved for pretty women. ‘I cannot think how I have not made your
acquaintance before.’

‘My aunt tries very hard not to introduce me
to gentlemen with interesting reputations,’ Olympia confided
gravely, ‘for she places absolutely no reliance on my good
sense.’

‘Interesting reputations?’ Howe repeated,
sounding intrigued.

‘Why rakes, of course. And wastrels,
gamblers, idlers and the mentally weak,’ the brutally honest Miss
Grayson told him, which made Luc flinch and Howe laugh. ‘But mostly
rakes which are an infliction most young lady’s cannot recover
from. I have been told by reliable sources that you are exactly the
wrong sort of person for a young lady to know.’