How To Build The Perfect Rake (7 page)

‘I did hear that the spitting duke has been
making some serious passes at the Beauty,’ he said, finishing off
his recital. ‘Word is, he’ll make an offer before the week’s
ended.’

Luc frowned. ‘Olympia told me he was keen. I
shall have to act quickly.’

‘So you should. Just because the man is a
duke doesn’t mean that he needs run off with the Season’s prize.
When are you seeing the fair Carisse?’

‘Tonight, at some ghastly poetry
reading.’

Freddy looked at his
friend, his hand hovering over his glass. ‘Not
that
poetry reading? The one that
young fool Falstaff is putting on?’

‘How many can there
possibly be? Unless poetry evenings have become
de rigueur
while I’ve been
away.’

‘No, thank God. But
you
are
keen! I
can’t imagine anything more vile. I don’t know if you’ve
encountered our precious Mr. Falstaff yet but let me tell you, the
man is a complete clunch. I am talking the wettest of geese, my
friend.’

‘Olympia did say something of the kind.
Still, I can hardly expect scintillating entertainment. He writes
poetry for God’s sake.’

Mr. Featherstone gave a slow grin. ‘It
almost makes me regret not going.’

‘You were invited?’

‘Hardly. And I daresay you weren’t either.
The Falstaff does not care for too many fellows hanging about the
place. Makes him look even more of a mutton headed fool than he
already is.’

‘A rake, as you and Olympia keep reminding
me, goes uninvited into the fray,’ Luc observed loftily. ‘If Mr.
Falstaff tries to oust me I shall reduce him to a puddle with my
cutting wit.’

‘I say,’ Freddy was clearly impressed, ‘Howe
did a devilishly good job if he managed to instill a cutting wit
into you.’

‘Idiot.’

‘Do come by and tell me everything that
happens tonight, won’t you?’ his friend begged. ‘I imagine it is
going to be a complete zoo. You can’t pay for that kind of
amusement.’

And Luc, rising from his chair to return
home and prepare for the night ahead, rather thought that Freddy
had the measure of the evening’s entertainment.

In all likelihood, it as going to be ghastly
beyond belief.

Chapter Four

Luc arrived to pick up Olympia promptly at
seven-thirty, as instructed. She was just coming down the stairs
but paused, eyeing him critically. Also as instructed, he had
dressed for effect, selecting entirely black; black breeches, black
waistcoat and a black jacket. His boots – gleaming their glossy
perfection – were black and, rather unusually, he had elected to
wear a neckcloth of that very color. The entire effect was
remarkably dramatic and she nodded, continuing down until she stood
before him. His new hairstyle suited him remarkably well, giving
some distinction to his even features. He didn’t look nearly as
much like the amiable, eager-to-please Lucien St James of old.

‘I approve.’

‘Really? You don’t think the neckcloth is
too much?’

He managed to say this
while retaining his languid drawl so that it somehow changed both
the meaning and intent. ‘I
do
like the voice. And no… the neckcloth is what
makes the ensemble stand out. It is deliciously
dramatic.’

‘It is deuced hard to dress with an eye for
the notable when one’s wardrobe is constrained by a lack of
material. I am beginning to sympathize with the dandies for their
foppish ways. Their choices, at least, are many and varied.’

‘If somewhat ridiculous,’
Olympia murmured, wondering how Luc managed to get that note in his
voice. It was surprisingly effective and she shivered, just a
little, uneasiness touching her. This was not the man she knew,
not
her
Luc. This
was some stranger, for all his familiar face. Then suddenly, he
grinned.

‘True enough. That’s an awfully pretty dress
you have on.’

She glanced down at the
pale green satin gown with its lace trim around the bodice and
sleeves. It
was
a
pretty dress and she knew it went well with her brunette coloring
but she was a little surprised Luc should notice. He didn’t
usually. ‘Thank you?’

He chuckled. ‘A certain kind of gentleman
always notices what a lady wears and compliments her on it. Or
remains stonily silent, depending on his interest in the female in
question.’

‘Ah,’ she nodded her understanding, ‘words
of wisdom from our Lord Howe.’

‘He might be a flash cove but he knows his
stuff, I must say.’

‘Come and say a quick hello to Aunt Flora
and then we can be off.’

Aunt Flora, ensconced in the parlor with a
pile of ladies periodicals and a bowl of candied fruit was somewhat
taken aback by Luc’s outfit. ‘My dear, did somebody die?’

This earned a gurgle of laughter from
Olympia and a groan from Mr. St James. ‘I never thought of that.
What if I’m asked sympathetic questions half the night about a
death in the family? Not the look I’m aiming for at all.’

‘You’re not wearing an armband,’ Olympia
said comfortingly, ‘and if anybody says anything, stare through
them. Just… think of Lord Howe when he cuts some poor soul and you
should be fine.’

They set off ten minutes later for Upper
Grosvenor Street where Endymion Falstaff lived, along with his
parents. Olympia allowed that she had mixed feelings about the
evening ahead. On one hand, she was pleased that Luc would be there
to share in the ridiculous nature of the entertainment for there
was nothing worse than being full to bursting with words that one
could not express. But this was not like most other evenings they
had shared together. For one thing, he was there to make an
impression on a woman he wished to marry, something Olympia still
harbored grave reservations about. And on the other, he was
changed, at least superficially and she found she was not quite as
comfortable with the new Luc. If circumstances had been different
she would have teased him about his dress and his demeanor but she
did not want to throw him out of character.

As it turned out, almost
as soon as the carriage started forward, he asked her a question
that flustered
her
.

‘Has Freddy Featherstone been making up to
you?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘He told me before I went away that he was
hoping to pay his address. I told him that it was ridiculous -’

‘And why is that?’

Luc looked at her in surprise. ‘Because you
would not suit at all.’

‘And why is that?’ Olympia repeated, lifting
an eyebrow.

‘Well because… he isn’t in the least bit
serious. He has a very lightweight attitude to life, you know.
Always larking about.’

‘I rather think that’s exactly the kind of
fellow I should marry. I dislike serious.’

‘Do you now.’ He frowned at her. ‘He isn’t
very flush. Not that I think you care about money, but he’s got
some ramshackle place in Northumberland that he never goes to
because the roof leaks.’

‘That hardly matters. One of the great
pleasures about having an excellent dowry is that I have enough
money to fix a roof. Or any number of roofs, I suppose.’

‘Northumberland is a nasty place. Cold and
damp.’

Olympia shrugged. She did not like this
conversation. Luc seemed to think that he not only needed to deal
with his own love life, but hers as well. And as far as she could
recall, their friendship did not mean that he had a say on who she
chose for a husband. She liked Freddy Featherstone but she had not
seriously considered him marriage material because there was no
spark between them. As far as Olympia was concerned, marriage was a
long, long time and if one were going to enter into it, one should
at least start off, not only liking one’s spouse, but having some
prospect of some attraction in the bedchamber. But that had nothing
to do with Luc.

‘I have not ruled Freddy out as a possible
candidate,’ she said firmly, ‘and that is all I am saying on the
subject.’

‘He gambles deep and is rarely lucky.’

‘Lucien St James. You need
to mind your
own
affairs.’

‘Yes, but you are my friend. I want you to
be happy.’

Suddenly touched, she sighed and took his
hand in her own. ‘And for that I thank you. But I do not think that
you have a clear idea of who it is that might make me happy. So in
this matter, you are not the best judge.’ When he would have
spoken, she held up her free hand. ‘I mean it. I know that your
intentions are kind but it is a choice I have to make myself.’

‘With the help of your parents,’ Luc
muttered, clearly none to pleased with having his opinions
rejected.

‘Of course.’

Although Mama and Papa would accept her
choice, she knew they would. She was truly blessed in that they
wanted only her happiness although Olympia had to admit that she
herself did not know who would make her happy. Of the gentlemen
that courted her, none stood out in any way. Some were pleasant,
some were ghastly but none were the sort who she wanted to spend
the rest of her years with. Still, as she was but eighteen, she
undoubtedly had plenty of time to discover the right man. Olympia
had already allowed that she was not the sort who imagined herself
in love like quite a few of the debutantes she knew. Why Helena
Monkhouse had fancied herself desperately in love twice already,
the second time based on no more than a dance.

It was possible that
Olympia was not the sort to fall in love, which was unfortunate but
surely not the end of the world. A great many people must have
happy of marriages based on nothing more than good, solid
friendship and a
frission
of sexual appeal. Love could rock the uncertain
boat of life all too easily if it were not reciprocated and she had
heard of a great many females who had been cast into despair by
unfaithful husbands. She did not want to suffer unduly in a
marriage. She wanted it to be a haven, not a hell, which meant that
she must select the man she was to share the rest of her life with
carefully. And not accept any doubtful advise from men who could
not organize their
own
romances.

The rest of the journey was a little frosty,
Luc sulking in a corner, clearly annoyed by Olympia’s refusal to
listen to him. She ignored it and in short order they drew up
before the impressive doors of the Falstaff residence. Luc eyed it
with some surprise.

‘Good heavens!’

‘They are absurdly wealthy. Endymion’s
grandfather was one of the richest men in England.’

‘How extraordinary. I presume he’s
dead.’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Well if what you have to say about his
offspring is true, if he isn’t dead I’m quite sure he wishes he
were.’

It was an observation that made Olympia
smile and helped chase away her rather grim introspection. She was
here with Luc, her Luc, the boy she had known forever. He might be
pretending to be someone else but she knew the truth of it, really.
Underneath that newly smoothed exterior lay the real Lucien St
James and she would do well to remember it.

She took his arm, also remembering that she
had a role to play in the night’s proceedings. ‘I am going to look
at you soulfully. Do not be alarmed.’

‘Are you really?’ he sounded bemused. ‘But
why?’

‘I am enhancing your status. Besides, it
will merely confirm what I have been breathlessly telling Carisse
for the past six weeks. You are the very devil with the women and,
like many others, I too am smitten.’

‘Good God Ollie, that sounds
ridiculous!’

‘Nonsense. You are the one who wanted to
impress upon her how wicked you are. I am going to be hanging upon
your every word and you are going to ignore it.’

‘But I don’t think I can
be rude to you. Not
you
.’

‘I promise not to be offended.’ She paused,
turning to face him. ‘A rake, Luc. That’s what you’re claiming to
be. A rake is charming and wicked in equal measures. You do not
have to be unkind to me. Merely… offhand. As if you’re accepting my
adulation as your due. Do you understand?’

He blinked, then grinned. ‘Adulation? Do you
know, I think this might be a great deal more enjoyable than I
imagined.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, well don’t get
too used to it. It lasts until the moment that Miss Houghton
accepts your hand in marriage. After that, we’re back to
reality.’

The door was answered by a butler, not a
fire breathing acrobat or a Bohemian gypsy woman they were half
expecting but a rather grim individual dressed in traditional
somber black. The man was quite stern and he eyed Luc with a
certain amount of disapprobation. For a moment both Olympia and Luc
thought they would need to justify his presence there but the
manservant merely waited until a footman had taken their cloaks
before leading them further into the house.

The festivities, if they
could be called that, were taking place in a large,
well-proportioned drawing room, which had been organized for the
recital. Groups of chairs were set up facing a place before the
enormous fireplace. This room, at least, was more in keeping with
their expectations for it was far more vivid than was usually to be
found in the drawing rooms of the
ton
. Silk scarves of scarlet and
peacock blue were draped artfully around the place, along with a
curious collection of what appeared to be foreign artifacts. There
were statues of gods and goddesses, some of them possessing extra
limbs and heads or, on one large, squat fellow, an elephant’s head
with an impressive pair of tusks. Groups of candles glowed in
various containers around the room, colored glass bowls that
shimmered like warm jewels. If one could get past the concept of
how very foreign it all looked, then it had to be acknowledged that
it was a very pretty setup.