Redeeming a Rake (10 page)

Geoffrey Lindsey Grayson

Her hands shook as she read the letter for
the second time. She wanted to pack her trunks and race to his
side. She took a deep breath. She couldn’t go anywhere; she didn’t
know where he was. He might be in London or the West of Wales. He
was anywhere but close enough to comfort. She glanced at the clock.
There was still time to write a letter before visitors might call.
Pouring out her heart onto the paper she hoped it would find him
quickly. Sending a footman off with the sealed letter she closed
the library door behind her and took up her embroidery in her main
reception room. Pushing her thread and needle in and out of the
linen, she was lost in a daydream of her friend. He was probably in
Cornwall or worse, Orkney in Northern Scotland. It could take weeks
for her letter to reach his hands. She blinked back tears and
reminded herself that Geoffrey was a grown man who’d survived years
without a nursemaid. Her heart jumped as the sound of the door
knocker echoed up the stairs. It’s not Geoffrey…it’s not Geoffrey.
Mentally reciting the words she strained her ears in hope. She
could hear a faint haughty feminine voice. The Butler soon
appeared, but without his usual tray.

“Lady Sophia Grayson wishes to know if you
are receiving callers Madam.” Lady Sophia had barely acknowledged
her existence since Geoffrey’s first visit. Tolerance smiled in
relief and shoved her embroider behind a cushion. Absorbed in
wondering what to say that might convince her acquaintance that she
wasn’t chasing Geoffrey’s title; she missed the sound of three
pairs of shoes ascending to the first floor. She stood up when the
Butler stepped back into the room and announced, “Lady Sophia
Grayson and Mr Thomas Grayson to see you Madam.” Lady Sophia’s
black haired beauty was perfectly foiled by the handsome blonde man
at her side. Grayson was taller than his brother by three inches
with broad shoulders and large muscles. Up close one could see the
signs of ageing and dissipation on his face, but from across the
room he could have been thirty. This was the man the late Duke of
Lyndhurst had wanted Geoffrey to be. Suppressing a shiver of
sadness she couldn’t help comparing the brothers as Grayson stepped
forward and took her hand, pressing his dry lips to her hand.
“Please sit down.” The man sat next to her on the sofa as if they
were intimates while his sister sat a few feet away looking at her
brother with adoration.

“Has our ugly brother called on you
recently?”

Tolerance turned her attention to Lady
Sophia, swallowing the impulse to defend Geoffrey’s looks. “No,
why?”

“Mrs Spencer…” Grayson leaned closer,
glancing at her bosom. “…do you expect us to believe that our
besotted brother hasn’t been visiting his only friend? I find that
remarkable. Perhaps he’s found another…friend to replace you?”

“Geoffrey is only my friend.” She blushed at
the slip. “Who your brother visits is his own concern.”

“Geoffrey? That is a familiar address for a
mere friend.” Grayson’s sneering amusement made her hand itch to
slap his face. “Poor Geoffrey, he’s doomed to die a frustrated man
and he probably doesn’t even know it. Take care Madam, ladies of
the ton sometimes consent to marry wealthy highborn bastards like
me, but Dukes do not marry social inferiors, like you.”

Truth made a very sharp dagger. Tolerance
blinked away tears barely retaining control over her features as
her insides twisted in agony. “Have you come to be offensive Mr
Grayson or might there be some other purpose to your visit?”

His eyes widened as if she’d mistaken some
innocent phrase. “I beg your pardon Mrs Spencer, I meant no
offence. I merely meant to save you the heartache of falling in
love with our woeful sibling. A woman such as yourself, well known
for her tolerance, doesn’t deserve to die of a broken heart.”

“It’s very kind of you to consider the fate
of my internal organs Mr Grayson, but I assure you that I am in no
such danger.”

His mocking smile twisted the knife. “That
is a relief. I could have sworn the last time I saw you with
Geoffrey that your heart had been removed from your exquisite chest
and pinned to his ill-fitting sleeve.”

“Well, if that’s why you’ve come, I’m glad I
could set your mind at ease. His sleeve is quite free of pins…that
I know of.”

Grayson ignored her broad dismissal,
“Actually Mrs Spencer, there was something we wished to ask you.
We’ve been hearing odd reports of our brother. We were hoping
Geoffrey had explained to you the purpose of dragging the Grayson
name and fortune through the mire.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“What? Hasn’t our brother confided his
eccentric activities to his only friend? Well, this is a most
alarming development. Perhaps against all the odds he has found
another woman, I mean friend, who can bear the sight of him.” This
time his blow was unsuccessful. Whatever Geoffrey might not be, he
was still her friend and the square of paper tucked in her pocket
proved it. “We’ve heard reports that our brother is giving away
money and properties. The families try to keep it hushed, but it’s
rather obvious when Lady Big-bottom is rescued from her cousin’s
kitchen and resumes being Lady of a home lately owned by our
brother. Cynics might say that the woman has likely paid a dear
price for her property, but when she’s a haggard old dame with the
sexual appeal of a Billy goat I think we can discount even Geoffrey
being that desperate, at least not until he’s lost all his means of
purchasing…friends.” Staring her opponent in the eyes, Tolerance
began mentally counting backwards from ten thousand. “What, no
tender hearted professions of how our pestilent brother is chewing
a new leaf? Fess up Mrs Spencer, what’s the lunatic up to?”

Tolerance stared Grayson in the eyes amazed
at how the same sky blue eyes could look so cold and overcast. “If
you wish to know your brother’s mind, I suggest you write and ask
him to explain his actions. If he wishes you to know, he’ll take
you into his confidence.”

“Really Mrs Spencer, how dare you address my
brother in such an ill-bred manner?”

“If you do not find my company agreeable my
Lady perhaps you should visit someone else?”

“Come Thomas, this room reeks of
social-death.”

Tolerance rose with the other two and
politely endured their scorn as they sailed from the room. Her hand
shook as she pulled the bell to summon a servant. “Unless the Duke
of Lyndhurst calls, I’m indisposed. I’ll have luncheon on a tray in
my chamber.”

The French ornamental clock in her chamber
ticked the day away as she composed letters in her head asking
Geoffrey to visit. He’d come, but the man was probably in the
middle of locating a difficult name on the list. Simply wanting to
see him wasn’t a good enough reason to disturb his quest for peace.
She tried to forget Mr Grayson’s painful words, but she was
resolved to face the truth. Geoffrey might enjoy her friendship and
desire to share her bed, but that didn’t mean he’d ever ask her to
marry him. She tried to comfort herself by looking at the situation
from a sensible perspective. Outside the fact Geoffrey was destined
to marry a debutante whose ancestors had been suitably rewarded for
serving some dead King, she didn’t really want to put herself in
the power of any man. As a widow she was free to live her life as
she pleased. Marriage, even to a man who appeared to be good, would
give her husband the legal right to beat her until she obeyed. Her
heart wanted to be held in Geoffrey’s arms, her lips wanted to
return his kisses, but the thought of being legally at his mercy
brought painful flashbacks. If she was wrong about Geoffrey, if he
was in any way like Charles Spencer…the thought made her feel sick.
Charles Spencer had been enraged to learn her heart belonged to
another. Her inability to reveal the name of her knight in pale
blue velvet and refusal to describe the man had led her husband to
contrive humiliations that ensured the servants viewed her as
little more than a whore. During the darkest hours she imagined her
hero had received her silent cries for help and was galloping to
her rescue. If she made it through the day he’d arrive to take her
away to safety. On seeing her husband’s body carried into the house
she half expected a man in blue velvet to enter in behind the
servants and ask her if she required any other assistance. It was
no use lying to herself. There was only one man she’d marry and it
was pointless wondering what-if.

The night was still early when she crawled
under her covers and cried herself to sleep. She had tears in her
eyes as she opened the dream garden gate and hurried to find her
friend. “Sunshine, is that you?” The distant sound of his voice
made her sob in relief. “I’m by the fish pond!” She found him with
his feet dangling in the water, his toes commanding an audience of
curious fish. “Sunshine?” He abruptly sat upright as she dropped
down next to him and pressed her wet cheek against his shoulder
until his arm wrapped around her drawing her close. Feeling him
tuck her hair behind her ear and gently wipe her visible cheek made
her sick with longing. “Has someone hurt you?”

“I wish you were really you.”

“If I’m not me who am I?”

“A lovely dream…why is that funny?”

“I’ve been called a living nightmare, but
never a lovely dream.”

“You’re lovely to me.”

There was a sharp intact of breath as she
put her arms around his waist. “I wouldn’t presume to argue with an
angel. Who would you be if you weren’t you?”

She tried to bite her tongue, but confession
was too tempting. “Your wife.”

“What makes you think you’d have to be
someone else to suffer that doom?”

“You wouldn’t marry me.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Well I suppose if you put it that way. ‘No,
I couldn’t marry an angel…because…’ At which point any right
thinking person would complete the statement with my mother’s taunt
, ‘…because you don’t deserve her. Leave the sunlight for the
living…’ Sometimes truth is best ignored.”

“The real Geoffrey wouldn’t want to marry
me.”

“Who’s the real Geoffrey? If you think
there’s more than one of me I assure you the blood racing through
my veins would disagree.”

“I wish something awful would happen so I’d
have an excuse to send for you.”

“If you need me, send me word. I’ll
come.”

“It would be selfish. You’re probably on the
Isle of Mann. I’d feel guilty for prolonging your agony.”

“Send for me; give me an excuse to see you.”
She tipped back her head and stared at his lips hoping he’d bend
his head and kiss her, but after a long sigh he merely lifted a
lock of her hair to his lips. “I can’t wait ‘till I finish this
ghastly enterprise and return to your sunlight.” Jealous of her own
hair, Tolerance pressed her face against his neck and tried to
imagine what it would be like to be held in the real Geoffrey’s
arms. It was difficult to believe he’d be so chaste or sweet.

Geoffrey was acutely aware of the woman
leaning against him; the feel of her hair against his throat, the
warmth of her body and the thin layers of linen hindering his
ability to caress her skin. Even with the sun on his face he could
feel the angel’s warmth filling his chest with blue skies and a
peace that made the simple acting of breathing a pleasure. Feeling
her arms wrap around his chest, the familiar deluge of desire
threatened to wash away his self-restraint, but if he kissed his
angel she’d soon be laying in the grass at the mercy of his lust.
The irrational demands of his body had to be ignored. If he
couldn’t control his physical needs in his dreams he’d never
succeed in the waking world. When his raging blood washed aside
that concern, the fear of his angel rejecting his heartfelt
adoration as mere lechery operated as an effective final barrier.
He allowed himself to kiss her hair, but her upturned lips were
avoided. The trial of self-restraint had to be easier than being
repulsed. Here in the garden he knew she loved him. It would be
enough until he felt he deserved to call on his angel in the
flesh.

“I wonder where the real Geoffrey is?”

“I couldn’t get much closer without earning
a slap.”

“No silly, where do you think you are?”

“I’m right here.”

“No, where do you think the flesh and blood
Geoffrey is staying?”

“I’m in London.”

“You would say that. You’re in my dream;
you’re bound to tell me what I want to hear.”

“I saw you the other day. I waited to see if
you’d turn and look in my direction, but you were fascinated by
something in a shop window.”

She abruptly sat up and stared at him in
horror. “I missed seeing you because I didn’t turn my head?”

The tears in her eyes filled Geoffrey’s
chest with an blue skies. Part of him was sitting on the ground;
part was floating off into the white fluffy clouds above.
“Sunshine, women cry because they have seen me, not because they
haven’t.”

“If that’s supposed to cheer me, it’s not
working.”

“You looked beautiful in your green pelisse
and pink gown. I almost didn’t recognise you in a bonnet. I even
tried to write a poem about my Sunshine in a green poke bonnet…
That wasn’t supposed to make you laugh. I thought you the loveliest
thing I’d ever seen.”

“I’d suggest you get out more, except some
beauty would catch your eye and remind you that I’m not remotely
lovely. I prefer the deluded Geoffrey.”

“The devil can’t be deluded!”

“You’re not the devil, you’re good and
kind.”

“I wouldn’t argue with an angel, but…”

“Then don’t argue! You’re good and kind and
I miss you.” Adoring eyes stared up at him clearly hoping for a
kiss, but after several long seconds she sighed in disappointment
and pressed her head against his shoulder. Geoffrey forcibly
reminded himself why he couldn’t kiss her on the lips. Resting his
cheek against her hair he inhaled the smell of heaven.