Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
Taming Wilde (5 page)
“Yes.” Bridget squeezed her hand and smiled reassuringly. “You shall have your rake,
sweet. You shall have him.”
****
Four cups of coffee, two biscuits, and one terrible cup of tea later, and Colin still
hadn’t heard Gemma exit the house. “What the devil are they doing in there? She cannot
be serious!”
“Oh, believe me, she seemed quite intent,” Anthony muttered, peering through the crack
in the door. “And the last time I underestimated that wife of mine, she not only bested
me at swordplay but was able to convince half the
ton
I was interested in a footman.”
Colin heard himself laugh for the first time in days. “I’ve never seen so many gentlemen
hit on a person in my life.”
“There is no need to revisit that dark time,” Anthony muttered.
“Come along.” Colin led the way out of the dining room and stood right outside the
ladies’ sitting room. He motioned for Anthony to put his ear to the door. They heard
laughter, and what was that? Was Lady Maddox talking about murdering someone with
her sword?
“What the devil are you two doing?” came Ambrose’s booming voice.
“Shh!” Colin swatted his friend. “We are simply… er…” he swallowed and looked helplessly
to Anthony. “Dusting.”
“Interesting.” Ambrose leaned toward the door. “And how does one dust a door without
any tools? Hmm? Is that how servants are doing it these days? Merely leaning their
bodies against the doors in hopes that the dust will jump from the wood to their clothing?”
Colin cleared his throat. “You see if I just lean against the door here…” He motioned
to Anthony who rolled his eyes and leaned his back against the door as well. “And
then move like so…” Colin shifted from left to right making sure to be gentle about
the noise so the ladies in the other room would not catch them spying. “You’ll notice
I’ve done a very efficient job of—”
“Making a mess of yourself, yes, yes you have.” Ambrose shook his head. “What the
devil is going on here? You two were at each other’s throats last evening and now
you look thick as thieves.”
“It is quite simple, really.” Colin stepped away from the door. “He is going to teach
me how to become a rake.”
“I take it the journal hasn’t been as helpful as you originally thought.” Ambrose
laughed.
“It is working just fine.” Colin glared. “But not as fast as I would like. We know
how much better I do with demonstration.”
Ambrose shook his head. “I’m painfully aware of how you seek your knowledge. Was it
not just last year that Anthony tried to teach you how to kiss a woman?”
“Yes, and he used a hunting analogy. Quite ingenious,” Colin added, though since then,
every time he went on a hunt he could not help but think of kissing, which meant he
thought of Gemma, which led to him feeling empty and rejected once again. She had
taken the fun out of everything in his life.
Ambrose’s eyebrows pinched together. “I admit I am still at a loss as to why you are
both staring at the door as if it is suddenly going to burst into flames.”
“He’s spying.” Anthony pointed at Colin and shrugged. “And I am, um… supervising.”
“Spying on whom?”
Colin sighed. “It seems Lady Bridget is going to help Lady Gemma seduce a rake.”
At that, Ambrose burst out laughing.
A commotion was heard inside the room.
“They are going to hear us!” Colin half-whispered, half-yelled. “Quick, Anthony, Ambrose,
do something!”
He did not even see the fist coming as it sliced across his jaw, sending him to the
floor. Colin cursed a blue streak as the pain radiated to the back of his skull. The
door swung open, revealing Bridget and Gemma, looking both smug and irritated.
“And that, gentlemen, is how to eliminate your competition!” Anthony shouted.
“Bravo,” Colin said through clenched teeth.
Ambrose clapped in mock amazement. “That was quite brilliant, Anthony.”
“Well.” Anthony offered a hand to help Colin from the floor. “We are off. There is
much plundering, pillaging, and drinking to be done!”
“Huzzah!” all men said in unison.
“Are they planning to become pirates?” Lady Gemma asked Lady Maddox as the men slapped
each other on the back.
“Worse, I’m afraid.” Lady Maddox sighed. “They are merely acting like themselves.”
She shrugged and winked in Colin’s direction as though she wanted to reassure him.
But nothing could help him anymore.
He would become a rake if it killed him. And it just might, by the measure of Anthony’s
wallop. For he wasn’t sure he had what it took to be the type of rake he needed to
be in order to sufficiently push Gemma out of his system. But he was going to try.
By the saints, he was going to try.
If a man truly desires to be a rake, he must at all times appear inebriated.
It gives women the idea that he
do
es
not care a whit about propriety or society
’s
rules. I remember at one time being guilty of
dousing my clothes in alcohol merely to
suggest
that I
had been
out gambling and whoring all night rather than nursing a head cold. A rake can never
be too careful. Many years ago a certain gentleman turned rake, forgot this little
rule
,
and was discovered drinking tea at a gambling hell. Tea! The next day he was laughed
out of the country. So you see my point. Liquor, my friends,
l
iquor.
—The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox
“Are you sure this is wise?” Colin asked the following night at Beaumont’s dinner
party.
“But of course,” Anthony assured him. “After all, you are halfway there. To be a true
rake you must not be too polite, yet your smile must always be given freely to women.”
Colin smiled.
Anthony shuddered. “Not like that; a man only smiles that wide when he wants one thing,
and it isn’t a woman. No, it’s a good clout to the jaw. Now watch.”
Anthony demonstrated the perfect rakish smile. Colin followed his example.
“I think you’ve got it.” Anthony stepped back. “I have nothing left to teach you.
Go on, young friend, find a willing woman, enjoy your drink, and do try to appear
as if you are not still pining over Lady Gemma.”
“Done.” Colin smiled and left Anthony in search of a willing woman, one who would
not only spread rumors of his rakish charm, but kiss away the pain of Lady Gemma’s
rejection. He took a turn about the room and froze.
Gemma was leaning against the wall, pinned was more like it, by a lothario of the
first order, Sir Ainsworth, not the most dangerous of the group, but clearly not the
type of man Gemma should be consorting with.
Without thinking, Colin pushed his way through the crowds and approached Gemma. He
hated that he felt the need to rescue her, but clearly she was in over her head.
“I believe you promised me this dance,” Colin said, smoothly taking her arm within
his own.
“You remembered.” She winked. Devil take him! When had she ever winked? Or shown any
outward sign of emotion in a large group?
“That I did.” Colin chuckled. “Oh, apologies, Ainsworth, I did not see you there.
Must be that dreadful jacket, almost blends into the wall. Tell me, are you part of
the decorations for this evening?”
The man glared.
Colin grinned. “Well then, that answers that. A good evening to you.” His grip was
probably a bit tight for Gemma’s hand, but his irritation made it so. “What the devil
do you think you are doing? You cannot seduce that man! He is not even a rake!”
Was he yelling?
Gemma grinned and fell into step with him as they danced. “Odd, he seemed perfectly
rakish to me. What did you find lacking?”
Colin cursed and looked away. “Everything about him is disagreeable. The man cannot
even dress! He should fire his valet, and he was eyeing you as if you were his dessert.”
“Perhaps I wish to be dessert.”
Colin growled. “At the rate you’re going, I doubt you’ll make it through the dance
without me strangling you.”
“Is that so?” She tilted her head and exhaled, her breath so near his neck that chills
ran down his spine.
“Y-yes,” he said hoarsely, then forced his eyes away from hers. “You must quit this
foolishness about wanting to seduce a rake. It will not happen. You are too…”
Blast him. He was going to hurt her feelings again.
“Too what?” She purred.
When had her voice become so low? So feminine?
“Innocent,” he snapped. “It will never work.”
“Every woman begins that way.” She chewed her lower lip and looked straight into his
soul with her piercing blue eyes. “So you do not think my little ploy will work? I
lack the ability to seduce any type of rake?”
“Absolutely.” Though he doubted it the minute he said it. The woman could seduce a
priest if she so desired.
“Very well. I shall simply have to strive harder.” Her nails dug into the flesh of
his back as she drew closer to him. “After all, don’t they say that practice makes
perfect?”
His breathing became labored as he watched her lick her lips. Wasn’t he supposed to
hate her? After all, he was attempting to turn over a new leaf just as Gemma was.
But he could not pull away from her, not even if he desired it. He wanted to press
her against the wall, to kiss that soft mouth and dip his hands into that thick red
hair. Her pupils dilated, and he pulled her closer.
“You may practice all you want, my dear, but you shall fail.”
He had to say something before he ruined her, before he made a fool of himself and
was rejected for a second time.
“We shall see.” She pulled away from him just as the music ended. Colin suddenly had
the sinking feeling that it was he who was in over his head.
****
Gemma didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she exited the ballroom and
nearly ran Bridget down in the corridor.
“Gemma, you’re positively blue. Please breathe!” her friend commanded, taking her
elbow in a firm hand.
A sudden blast of hot breath escaped through Gemma’s pursed lips.
“Do you think it worked?”
“I don’t know that I can be certain,” Bridget said, thoughtfully tapping a finger
on her own lips. She turned to a shadowy figure behind her. “What do you think?”
Lord Maddox stepped out of the darkened alcove into the flickering candlelight of
the corridor. He grimaced as though in excruciating pain.
“What do I think…” he muttered. “I think I’m going straight to Hell.”
Bridget rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Ever the dramatic one. Of course you
are hell-bound, you scoundrel. But the question is, will Wilde be joining you there,
or does he still possess some redeeming quality in spite of your incorrigible influences?”
“Incorrigible influences! I’ll have you know I have been a pillar of support to that
fellow since we were in knickers.”
With a raised eyebrow, Bridget stared him down.
“Very well. What is it I must do?”
Gemma loved to watch their interaction. Their playful banter did nothing to disguise
how they adored one another. In their eyes there was a spark of hope for Gemma, that
she might find the same with Colin.
“Penance,” Bridget answered with mocking laughter. “For that dreadful journal. No
less than you deserve, I assure you.”
Lord Maddox cringed. “Just tell me, my dear, that it does not involve strawberries,
and I shall do exactly as you bid.”
“I make no promises in that regard, but to begin, offer the chap bad advice on wooing
his women.” She paused as though thinking better of it. “On second thought, offer
him exactly the advice you would normally give. I’ve read your journal.”
“My lady, may I remind you that you were won with such devices?”
“As I recall, you believed me to be blind when I did not succumb to your rakish charms.”
“Perhaps I should employ a few strategies on you now?” He took a step toward his wife.
Gemma blushed at the suggestion. It was likely they had forgotten her presence. She
cleared her throat to remind them.
“I apologize for interrupting, my lord, but if I might steer the conversation back
to my predicament,” Gemma said softly. The whole discussion was the height of impropriety,
and she felt that she could sink into the floor from the weight of her shame.
Lord Maddox seemed to remember himself then and retreated a step, putting a respectable
distance between him and his wife.
“Certainly, Lady Gemma. I do apologize.”
“I believe you were right, my dear,” Bridget said to him, a wry smile on her lips.
“You are going straight to Perdition. Now, run along and do your penance. We will
discuss your rakish employments later at length.” She offered him a saucy wink that
made Gemma’s skin crawl with embarrassment.
Lord Maddox’s wide, mischievous smile as he bowed only deepened Gemma’s mortification.
He planted a lingering kiss on his wife’s fingers.
Gemma coughed lightly. “Perhaps you would like to move into a private room?” she whispered,
half to herself. Her cheeks burned when she realized Lord Maddox had heard her.
He looked to Bridget and cocked an eyebrow questioningly, as though seriously considering
Gemma’s suggestion.
“No,” Bridget said, though it was hesitant and hardly the resounding answer Gemma
was expecting. “Go. Find Sir Wilde. Spread your rakish message to those who need it
most.”
“Just…” Gemma interjected once again before she could stop herself. “Don’t do it overly
well.”
The viscount laughed. “My lady, I shall do my utmost worst.”
Many a man ha
ve
tried to follow in my footsteps, but how do you follow a legend? It is impossible,
which is why every rake must set
himself
apart. I once knew a fellow
who
refused to wear a cravat. Women went mad. Another fellow would search the ballroom
for one dance,
and once he found someone desir
able he would make a grand show of waltzing with her and leave the minute the dance
was finished, with her on his arm! So, a fellow must ask himself,
‘W
hat is it I am good at?
’ Gentleme
n, if you have to think too hard on this answer, then perhaps you should seek another
goal. For a
rake is good at everything and lacking in nothing
.
—The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox
