Redeeming a Rake (5 page)

***

Standing in the open double doors to the
ballroom, Tolerance smiled as the swirling dancers and chatting
friends energised her spirits. Snapping open her fan, her eyes
found the sickly man before she realised she’d been looking for
him. The music and dancing feet pounding the floorboards faded as
she focused on the poisonous wallflower sitting alone. The six
chairs to either side of him were the only unoccupied seats in the
room. With his arms and legs loosely folded, his face was a study
of haughty boredom. He appeared impervious to his unpopularity. The
excitement of the crowd was forgotten as the master puppeteer took
control of her limbs. She had to remind herself to be polite and
greet those she knew instead of rushing straight for her new
friend. Reaching his side, she stood there watching him watch the
dancers with disinterest. He looked like he’d taken pains to look
unobtrusive. His waistcoat was the de rigueur white silk made
brighter against his black breeches, coat and stockings and the
only visible ruby was the ring on his right hand. The only other
colour was a pink ribbon wrapped around his long braid. Her cheeks
burned with pleasure as she recognised the ribbon she’d tied around
his leg. It was a silent declaration of attachment. He might as
well have pinned a note to his chest stating he wished to be her
lover. “Is the seat next to you taken my Lord?” Pale blue eyes lit
up with pleasure bringing his face alive, but he got to his feet
before she could sit.

“Good evening Mrs Spencer…” He paused as if
trying to think of something to say. “…may I fetch you a
drink?”

“Lend me your arm and I’ll come with
you.”

He blinked at her in shock. “You want to
take my arm?” He looked around at the staring company. “In
public?”

“If it makes you uncomfortable…”

“No, please…” She tucked her gloved fingers
around his sleeve and smiled as he drew them so close she could
feel the back of her hand lightly pressing against his ribs. He
appeared dazed as they slowly strolled down the room. Several
people stepped forward to be introduced or make polite
conversation, but his replies were stiff, discouraging the curious
to linger. She had no idea what she was saying or to whom she was
speaking. With the Duke’s musty soapy scent in her nostrils and the
heat of his arm melting her insides it was easy to pretend that if
she made a wish, it would come true. She didn’t look directly into
his eyes until they reached the refreshment tables where she
withdrew her hand from his arm. “You’re looking very beautiful this
evening Mrs Spencer.”

The soft husky whisper sent chills down her
spine as she flushed at the sincerity in his eyes. “As I’ve said
before Your Grace, you really are too kind…” His contemptuous
eyebrow demanded a mischievous response. “…though being a well
known rake hell I suspect you may be going blind from too much
drink.”

“You suspect wrong.”

She smiled at his scowl. “Speaking of looks,
if we appear in public for a third evening looking like we’ve
planned matching ensembles people are going to think I’m trying to
ensnare you.” She blushed at the hopeful look on his face and
hurriedly changed the subject. “So, how did you spend the rest of
your day or is that an impertinent question to ask a Duke?”

“Tolerably impertinent; I read a book.”

“Exodus?”

“It’ll take longer than twenty-four hours
for your goodness to work such a miracle. Nothing so biblical, I
skimmed through Clarissa. It’s been years since I read the whole
thing.”

“You read Clarissa?”

Her wide eyed astonishment appeared to
embarrass him. “Obviously not all of it; just the…er…interesting
parts.”

“And which parts of Clarissa do find
interesting my Lord?”

“If you’re going to laugh at me Madam, I’m
not going to tell you.”

“Forgive me. I’m always surprised to hear
someone enjoyed that book if one can call all those volumes a book.
Personally, I think Clarissa should have poisoned herself by letter
92 and saved Lovelace for a woman who’d have hit him over the head
with a large heavy vase and dragged him off to a church. If
Clarissa had demanded he marry her immediately he wouldn’t have
needed to resort to his devil-tactics. Her life would have been far
less traumatic.”

“What a shocking thing to say. Don’t tell me
you’re one of those admirers of Lovelace? The man is a…a…” He
paused as if trying to think of an adjective that wouldn’t be
autobiographical.

“He’s a scoundrel, but at least he’s
amusing. Clarissa just comes across as an idiot. Of course she had
to elope with Lovelace, the alternative was far more repulsive, but
she didn’t insist he marry her and that was stupid. He was a
selfish toad, but he was falling in love with her and she was half
in love with him. If she’d let her heart rule her head she could
have wound him around her finger and he wouldn’t have been the
wiser. They would have both lived longer if not always
happily.”

“I think Clarissa is amazing for putting up
with her evil family and then that…toad Lovelace. I found her death
scene…”

She raised both eyebrows and pursed her
lips. “Sentimental?”

“Are you laughing at me?”

The horrified look on his face made her
shake with silent laughter. It was too absurd; a world-weary
rake-hell defending the idiot Clarissa. “I’m afraid so Your Grace.
Perhaps I’ve misjudged her, but I still think the author could have
interviewed a few virtuous women and asked them what they’d have
done in her place. I’m a virtuous woman. How do you think I’d react
if I found myself in Clarissa’s position; abandon my virtue, marry
a scheming libertine or pray I catch typhus and waste into the
grave?”

“I don’t know…you’d convert to Catholicism
and become a nun?”

“You have much to learn about virtuous
women…” She was about to illuminate him when a sneering voice
intruded.

“Well, well, can this be the virtuous Mrs
Spencer chatting so amiably with The Devil’s Corpse or is the word
virtuous no longer an appropriate adjective? I dare say had I been
born to a Duchess I’d be similarly honoured with saintly
company.”

She unconsciously reached out for the
security of her friend’s arm. “Apologise to the lady Mr Grayson, or
I’ll kill you for insulting my friend.”

“I don’t know which revelation is more
far-fetched; that you have a friend or that any decent woman could
stomach your repulsive company. Call me out Geoffrey, and this time
I’ll skewer your bloodless heart with Grandfather’s rapier. If you
don’t have a sword of your own I’m sure you’ll find a suitable
weapon at your local pawn shop. If I’ve given Mrs Spencer offence,
I’m sure I beg her pardon. Your Servant, Madam.” Thomas Grayson
insolently raked her generous curves with a lustful eye, gave a
sharp bow and walked away.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard your brother
say a word without sneering. He must be bitterly disappointed with
his lot in life.”

Geoffrey’s eyes followed the retreating
large masculine back with burning hatred. “He should have been the
thirteenth Duke of Lyndhurst. He would have been, but his mother
refused to marry our father and then she choked to death stuffing
her face with cherries. I’m sure he thinks his lot his hard.”

“He doesn’t look anything like you.”

“No, he looks like our father. I shouldn’t
have come. He only insulted you because he hates me.”

Hearing the musicians tune their instruments
for the next dance Tolerance let her heart speak before her head
could dissuade her. “Do rakes waltz?”

“Some do, though I usually have to purchase
a dancing partner.”

“Even at a masquerade? I don’t believe
you.”

“Are you inferring that I’m so ugly I
frighten away dancing partners?”

“Yes, but that’s a good thing.”

Underneath the frigid scowl, he looked
upset. “How?”

“It leaves more dances for me…if, that is,
you wish to dance with me. I know I’m not the best looking woman in
the room, but I can keep time and it won’t cost you a ruby.”

The blue eyes thawed, filling with
amusement. “My angel is a sauce box in disguise.”

“I never claimed to be an angel.” He
muttered something about angels under his breath and turned to face
the dance floor like it was a battlefield littered with dying
soldiers.

Geoffrey dropped his voice to an agonised
whisper. “You don’t want to be seen dancing with me. Walking the
length of the room with me will have damaged your reputation. As
your friend I can’t recommend such a public display of faith. It’ll
ruin you.”

Her smile made him forget why he was
protesting. “If waltzing in public with a friend ruins my
reputation; I can not possibly care for the opinions of those whose
minds swim in the gutter.”

“If I were good and kind I’d refuse to dance
with you, but I’m afraid I’m neither.” Leading her out, he bowed to
her curtsey. Taking her place at his side for the first step she
placed her left hand behind his neck and her right hand in his
left. With his arm around her shoulders she was almost in his arms.
Geoffrey was relieved she’d fixated her eyes on his throat. He
didn’t want her peering into the unshuttered windows of his soul.
Leading her into the dance, it seemed barely more than half a dozen
heartbeats before he felt her shiver with pleasure as they leaned
too far towards each other and momentarily collided. He tried to
guess how many days he’d have to wait before he held her naked in
his arms, but her innocent delight at his nearness spilled burning
shame into his soul. The acid dripped down through layers of filth
to the core of his being allowing sunlight to penetrate the
darkness revealing the selfish fiend he’d become.

Before he knew it, the music had faded into
muffled clapping of appreciation and it was time to step apart.
With a whirlwind of emotions blowing away the remains of numbness,
he clenched his teeth and silently waited for her attention to move
from his chin to his eyes. Would she see the shy boy so hungry for
kindness he’d steal the scraps meant for orphans? With the deepest
corners of his soul exposed, he cringed in fear that she’d smell
the decay and guess what sort of man he’d become. He sighed in
relief as she smiled. She hadn’t seen. Leading her off the dance
floor he was tempted to stay and lick up a few more drops of
kindness, but the longer he remained the more likely she’d guess
his desperation.

People scattered to avoid him as they
stopped near the door. Geoffrey reluctantly allowed her to pull her
arm free and made another bow. “Forgive me…” His voice was barely
audible. “I must go.” He resumed an almost normal tone, “Thank you
for the dance Mrs Spencer, you are as ever far too tolerant.” He
turned and walked away before she could persuade him to stay.

Pulling on his overcoat, Geoffrey felt like
snake trying to squeeze back into a freshly shed skin. Everything
felt wrong. His swordstick in hand he stood on the front steps and
gulped in the foul London air. Would she ever miss him half as much
as he already missed her? He wanted to rush back inside, gather her
close in his arms and never let her go. Thumping his swordstick
against the step in frustration he cursed himself and his worthless
life. He didn’t deserve his tolerant friend. He drew a ragged
breath through clenched teeth as the memory of their dance whirled
through his head. How many women had he held in his arms over the
years? He must have bed hundreds, but he’d never known any woman to
shudder with pleasure from his nearness, not even before he’d lost
his looks. A tidal wave of unrelievable need for the woman he’d
left behind in the ballroom crashed through his body nearly
knocking him to his knees. He gripped his swordstick and waited for
the wave to recede. He couldn’t return home to empty rooms devoid
of kindness or loving arms. Stepping into the night he let his feet
carrying him away to the familiar darkness of an old haunt.

Two hours later Geoffrey sat slumped in a
chair glaring at his youthful opponent. The card game had failed to
banish her smile, the need to hold her or the oppressive knowledge
that he’d ruined his life. He could barely remember the numbers on
his cards from one minute to the next as impotent rage simmered
under his skin. Looking across the green felt table top at the
blonde young man, Geoffrey could only see his angel’s son in twenty
years time gambling the roof from over her head. Around the table
stood a crowd of emotional vultures watching with fiendish delight
as the Duke of Lyndhurst ruined yet again another life. As the
young man scribbled on a scrap of paper the remaining possessions
he’d recently inherited, the spectators wagered in hushed tones how
many minutes before the Devil’s Corpse lost his temper. All the
signs were promising it would be soon. As the cards were set on the
table the young man blanched. He sat staring with dawning horror as
Geoffrey snapped at the spectators, “Leave us!” The vultures moved
away to howls and clucks as the winners gestured for their money
and the losers reluctantly opened their pocket books.

Geoffrey leaned forward and snarled, “Do you
have dependents?”

“Mamma…five sisters…”

“Six females depend upon you and you’ve just
lost their home and any hope of happiness? How does that make you
feel?”

“I…I…terrible…”

“You’ll feel even more terrible if you have
to take the King’s shilling to feed yourself. Of course that would
leave your mother and sisters without protection. I hope for their
sake you have a large hearted relation with deep pockets. If not
they’ll soon be hungry. Do you know how hard it is for a gently
bred female to find employment other than prostitution?” The young
man blanched a pasty yellow. “There are always alternatives of
course, like the river. Are your sisters pretty?”