Taming the Rake (10 page)

Claire wrinkled her nose. “I haven’t fared much better. I’ve had so many ‘accidents’ in front of Beaufort that as soon as he sees me coming, he turns and heads in the opposite direction.”

Claire appeared so woebegone that Gina suppressed her smile. “Don’t worry, dearest, you’ll think of something.”

Claire nodded, but didn’t look too confident. “I’m running out of maladies,” she said then looked accusingly at Gina. “You didn’t warn me that rakes were so ungentlemanly.”

“Frightfully so, I’m afraid,” Gina said.

“Not a knight among them,” Cecelia agreed. “I think it must be part of the rakehell code.”

Gina dared not meet Cecelia’s eyes. Poor Claire looked so disheartened.

“Horrible creatures,” Claire muttered, shaking her head with disgust.

“And what is your next move, Gina?” Cecelia asked, the laughter still gurgling in her throat.

Gina thought for a moment. “I haven’t decided. Lord Coventry has so many vices to choose from, I hardly know where to start.” She tapped her finger on her mouth. “Perhaps I shall address his gambling. His mother is worried that he will lose the family’s fortune.”

“If he hasn’t already,” Cecelia said.

Gina wrinkled her nose. “Yes, that would be unfortunate. I will check into the matter.”

She might not know where to begin, but she knew the answer would come to her. And one thing was for certain, Gina was already looking forward to it.

The decision as to Gina’s next move where Coventry was concerned came to her in a manner entirely unexpected. It turned out that gaming was not the first vice demanding her attention.

Gina was threading her way through the crowd milling in the entrance hall of the Royal Opera House, on her way to join her father and stepmother in their box, when she heard a small commotion behind her. Turning, her eyes locked on Coventry. Considering he was a man whom she’d spent the better part of the last two years ignoring, Gina had become surprisingly adept at picking him out in a crowd. Though with his size it was not too difficult. Actually, it was more surprising that she’d so successfully ignored him for so long.

She was just thinking of how she could turn this unexpected piece of good fortune to her advantage when a startled gasp erupted from somewhere deep inside her.

She turned rigid with shock. Coventry, it seemed, was not alone.

A twinge of something unpleasant shot through her. Her heart raced uncomfortably and Gina found herself unable to look away—inexplicably drawn to the sight of Coventry and the woman who was obviously his mistress. She supposed it was one thing to know in
theory
that a man kept a mistress, it was quite another to be confronted with the
fact
of that mistress in vivid living color.

The cyprian certainly was colorful with her peacock-blue gown and gold feathered turban. And Gina couldn’t help but notice that she was also very beautiful. Even from a distance, she sparkled as brilliant as any jewel—not that she lacked for ornamentation. Jewels dripped from every available appendage: from around her neck and wrists, to her fingers and ears. She seemed virtually encased in sapphires, rubies, and diamonds.

Apparently whatever money Coventry did not gamble away, he threw away lavishing jewelry on his mistress.

They had yet to notice her. Gina knew she should turn away in disgust, but she couldn’t stop staring. It was more than just morbid curiosity at work. Her reaction smacked of jealously, though she knew that could not be. She didn’t even like the man. Then why the perverse fascination? Why the gnawing, sinking feeling settling in her gut? After weeks of balls and soirées, undoubtedly it was simply the shock of seeing him in his natural state. If she’d harbored any romantic illusions about his character, they had just been thoroughly shattered. This was no silly parlor game, the man truly was a bounder and rake. She’d recognized this the first time she’d seen him, how could she have forgotten?

Gina took in every detail of the woman’s face and figure, from the silver-blond tresses coiled in an elaborate Grecian crown, to the brilliant blue eyes, pouty red lips and porcelain white skin. A black, heart-shaped patch was pasted above her mouth as was the fashion with the previous generation. But rather than seem old-fashioned, it leant a naughty twist to her mouth. The rest of her features were tiny and childlike, reminding Gina of a beautiful French doll she’d once treasured. From what Gina could see of the woman’s figure, she was very curvaceous, her bosom generous in the extreme. Gina thought that she might console herself thinking the woman overly plump, but her arms and waist looked nauseatingly slim.

Gina sighed. It was more than beauty that drew the eye. There was a physical vibrancy to the woman that demanded attention.

This was the type of woman to attract a man like Coventry.

Gina bit her lip. Though not one to usually suffer from pangs of inadequacy, she couldn’t help but feel pale and insipid in comparison. But not one to dwell on things that could not be changed, her worry quickly turned to a frown. Drawing Coventry’s attention away from this woman might be more difficult than she’d anticipated, but she would be rid of the woman. Game or not, Gina would not stand for a mistress. The humiliation would be too much to bear.

Already Gina was uncomfortably aware of the glances and whispers cast sympathetically in her direction. Her interest in Coventry these past couple of weeks had not gone unnoticed. Now he’d shown up in public with his mistress, and the ton was eager to gauge her reaction. She carefully controlled her expression, hoping to conjure up the perfect balance of indignation and indifference, rather than the worry and strange disquiet that she was actually feeling.

The cyprian glanced in her direction and met Gina’s unflinching gaze with a slight lift of her delicately arched brow. Instinctively they seemed to be sizing each other up. Sensing that she somehow needed to prove her confidence, Gina was pleased when the woman looked away first.

“Oo eez zat wuman glazing zat zyou?” Simone asked, with an irritated wave of her lace-trimmed fan in the direction of the stairs.

Coventry cringed. Once he’d found the sound of Madame Simone de Richelieu’s heavy French accent musical and charming. But not any longer. Now it grated. As did her annoying propensity to mix two words together like
glaring
and
gazing
. Thankfully, most of the time they occupied themselves with activities that did not involve talking. But lately, to Simone’s deep misfortune, talking was the more fascinating of their interludes.

“You mean glaring,” he said. He looked around indifferently, though he was well aware of whom she referred and continued in French. It was easier on his nerves if they spoke in her native tongue. “What woman?”

Simone pursed her painted red lips together in a perfect little pout that was probably not as contrived as it looked. “The fine lady with the sour look on her face,” she said.

His eyes immediately locked on the “fine lady,” his nemesis, Lady Georgina Beauclerk. Apparently, he couldn’t even spend a relaxing evening at the theater without her unwelcome presence. He’d felt the heat of her gaze pin him the moment he’d walked in—and he’d been oddly uncomfortable ever since.

Simone was right. Lady Georgina did look exceptionally fine tonight. Her hair was swept back and secured at the top of her head in some ridiculously complicated feminine contraption. But the result was magnificent, a seductive cascade of shiny loose ringlets tumbled enchantingly down her creamy neck. She wore a deep green silk gown, with an even deeper décolletage that displayed her large, round breasts to mouth-watering advantage.

And his mouth was definitely watering.

A bolt of lust shot through him as he remembered how it felt to touch her. He could almost feel the heavy weight of her breast press against his finger. He remembered how her nipples strained against the thin fabric of her gown. God, how he’d ached to rub his thumb over the hard peak and taste its sweetness with his mouth.

He shook off the lustful memory and swept his gaze over her again. But it was unnecessary. Every detail of her appearance seemed to be burned into his consciousness. He knew how the muted green of her gown complemented her eyes and soft coloring. He knew how her cheeks flushed a becoming pink, how her dark lashes curled against her smooth skin. But most of all, he knew how Simone’s flamboyant blond, blue-eyed, heavily painted beauty seemed superficial and brittle in comparison.

And that knowledge annoyed him to no end.

What was the matter with him? Simone was just the sort of woman that appealed to him. Beautiful, undemanding, and wild in the bedchamber. A deeply sensual creature who did not hide who she was, or what she wanted.

He’d had his fill of difficult women. Now he liked them pliant and agreeable. Instinctively, he knew that Lady Georgina would be both demanding and unrelenting. Her impudence was insufferable; just look what she’d done to his bachelor lodgings. It didn’t matter that his household seemed to be running more smoothly with the added servants. She had no right to meddle in his life.

But Coventry did disagree with Simone in one respect: Lady Georgina’s glare was actually more of a glower. Her disapproval of his companion could not be clearer. It irritated him, but not for the reason he expected. Rather than remind him that she was precisely the type of judgmental society lady that he despised, her steady gaze fastened on them made him vaguely uncomfortable. He felt constricted—as if his jacket was too tight.

There was something in her eyes that unsettled him. Something that made him feel like he was doing something wrong.

Which of course was ludicrous.

Lady Georgina was nothing to him. And this was
exactly
who he was. Let her not suffer under any false illusions. He was a man who drank, gambled, whored, and brought his lush, vividly beautiful mistress to the theater for all to see and admire.

He didn’t know which was worse: standing next to a woman he could bed at will, but no longer desired, or being the focus of intense scrutiny by a woman he desired, but could not bed. Either way it was an untenable situation. One that he was anxious to have done.

Which gave him an idea.

He took Simone’s elbow and steered her on a sharp course toward his glowering foe. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Gina watched in horror as he approached, towing the cyprian along at his side. Surely, he wouldn’t do something so outrageous… would he?

Not taking any chances, Gina turned and hurried up the stairs toward her father’s box. But the wretch caught up with her in the passageway.

“Ah, Lady Georgina. What a charming coincidence.” His eyes teemed with an unspoken challenge.

“Lord Coventry,” she said stiffly, refusing to acknowledge his companion, still hoping he would not do it. But her heart pounded in anticipation of what she knew was to come.

“There is someone I would like you to meet. Lady Georgina Beauclerk, I believe I’ve mentioned Madame de Richelieu?”

Humiliation and outrage flooded Gina’s cheeks with heat. Though most of the theater patrons had taken their seats, there were still a few people lingering in the corridor to witness Lord Coventry’s shocking offense of propriety.

She did not trust herself to speak. How could he introduce his mistress to her? The man who just a few nights ago had taunted her with his darkly sensual magnetism was now flaunting his promiscuity in her face.

Forced to acknowledge her, Gina turned to nod at his companion.

Not that it was any comfort, but the other woman looked just as horrified as Gina.

Gina fought to control the hot ball of tears that had lodged in her throat. She told herself it was an outrage, but she knew there was more to it than that. His callous disregard had hurt her.

Whatever it was, it caused some of his confident swagger to slip. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Gina refused to give him the opportunity.

Back ramrod straight Gina excused herself and quickly sought the refuge of her father’s box.
How could he?
She thought again, but this time with despair. Lord Coventry obviously had no respect for propriety or the good graces of society, nor had he any regard for her feelings and her pride. But what most shocked her was how much that lack of regard stung.

Coventry felt like an ass. He’d allowed his feelings to get the better of his judgment. Uncomfortable with her silent condemnation, he’d reacted. Poorly. He realized that now, when he noticed the slight tremble of her lips, as she fought to contain the humiliation of being presented to his mistress.

He wanted to say something, but instead he let her go, ignoring the unmistakable sense of loss. It was better this way.

“Who is she?”

He turned back to Simone, the flash of pain in her eyes only increased his discomfort.

He’d been remiss. Simone had grown too attached. He should have ended their arrangement weeks ago. He’d intended to do so earlier this evening, but he’d forgotten his promise to take her to the theater. However, when they returned to her house on Curzon Street after the play, he would make his intentions known. He sighed, thinking of the long, tedious night ahead of him. He’d hoped to avoid any prolonged bouts of hysterics, but given the fiery Gallic passions of Simone, he thought it unlikely.

“The Duke of St. Albans’s daughter.”

“That is not what I meant. Who is she to you?”

“She is of no consequence.”

Simone made a short sound of disbelief. “I can see that,” she said.

He gave her a sharp, censorious look. Simone forgot herself. She had no claim on him. It was not her place to pass judgment on his interests—imagined or not.

Perhaps realizing she’d overstepped her bounds, Simone appeared at once contrite. “Forgive me, darling.” She batted her heavily kohled eyelashes. “It was foolish of me. Of course, you would not be interested in such a lady. She is hardly your type,
non
?” She pressed her gigantic bosom against his arm, expertly shifting the bodice of her gown to reveal the pale pink tips of her breasts.