Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
Taming Wilde (6 page)
Colin couldn’t see straight. In fact, he was so angry that he walked directly out
of the ballroom into the cool evening air.
What the devil was she thinking? Seducing a rake! And the first man she encounters
is
that
one? He bit down hard on his lower lip and crossed his arms. Where had the Gemma
he fell in love with run off to? Granted, he liked her newfound confidence, a little
too much if he was being honest with himself.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a sultry voice said behind him. “I thought the balcony was empty.”
“You and me both,” he answered and turned.
Lady Priscilla gave him a saucy grin and winked. “I lied.”
“Did you now?” Colin tried a rakish smile. After all, Lady Priscilla was quite famous
amongst the gentlemen. Although she wasn’t truly a lady, it was what every man called
her, for she was one of the highest-paid courtesans in the
ton
. Rumors had run rampant two weeks ago, after one of her latest conquests dumped her
for a true lady.
“What can I do for you?” Colin asked, clearing his throat and nearing the lady. Her
perfume was so strong, he fought the urge to hold his breath and look away.
She batted her eyelashes and drew closer. “Shall we discuss it over champagne?”
“Of course.”
With a ridiculously fake laugh, she threw her head back, exposing far too much flesh
to the moonlight. “Wait for me right here.” With that she turned and went back through
the door.
“She loves chocolates,” came the unmistakable voice of Viscount Maddox on Colin’s
right.
“What the…?” He turned around and came face-to-face with Anthony. “What the devil
are you doing here?”
“What do you think?” Anthony grabbed Colin’s arm and pulled him away from the door.
“I agreed to help you with your first seduction.”
“This is not my first—”
“Do you want my help or not?” Anthony demanded.
“I do.” Colin sighed his resignation. Though he was certain this particular girl wouldn’t
take much convincing. He examined his friend, who seemed to be sweating profusely.
“I say, are you all right?”
Anthony rolled his eyes. “Just thinking about my final resting place is all.” He sighed
and straightened his shoulders. “Lady Priscilla is very sensitive. You must not offend
her.”
“Right.” Colin nodded.
“Begin by comparing her to Lady Hawthorne. She adores her and has always aimed to
be just like her in every aspect of life.”
“Cordelia? Ambrose’s wife? Truly?” Colin wasn’t entirely convinced.
Anthony scratched his head and looked away. “It is all truth. Also, and do not forget
this lest you lose her before you even try to seduce the woman…” Anthony leaned in
and whispered, “She loves poetry.”
“Poetry?” Colin repeated. “But I am no poet! I hate poetry!”
“Make it up.”
“Do you know me at all? I cannot simply make something up on the spot. I’ll look like
an idiot.”
Anthony began to pace. “Allow me to help.” He cleared his throat and took a stance
in front of Colin. “Your hair is like a cloud.”
“A cloud?” Colin interrupted.
“Have patience. I’m not finished,” Anthony ground out. “Your hair is a cloud, dripping
with rain. Oh, if I were grass that I could drink up the water. You would soothe my
soul and make me… smile.”
“It does not even rhyme!” Colin shouted.
“Poetry does not have to rhyme,” Anthony argued.
“So you are a regular Byron now? Is it only a matter of time before I see you give
a reading?”
“Of course. I’ve been thinking a great deal about my future in… poetry.” Anthony coughed.
Colin opened his mouth to speak, but Anthony jerked his head toward the door and disappeared
into the shadows.
“Ah, Lady Priscilla, a great pleasure.” Colin took the offered champagne and clinked
his glass with hers.
She gave a throaty laugh and sidled closer to him. “I’ve been looking forward to this
for a long time, Sir Wilde.” Closing the distance between them, she leaned up on her
toes and rested against his chest.
“As have I.” He took a soothing drink of the sparkling substance and set his face
in his best smoldering rakish grin. “You remind me of Lady Hawthorne, so regal and
beautiful.”
“Lady Hawthorne?” Lady Priscilla repeated. Her face dropped into a frown and she rocked
back on her heels. “Whyever would I remind you of that — that terrible woman! She
is a nothing more than a… She stole Lord Hawthorne right out of my hands!” Lady Priscilla
began to pace in front of him, then turned and poked Colin in the chest. “She stole
everything I’d worked so hard to gain in that man! Eight months of fawning over him,
and he drops me like a common, a common…”
“Hoyden,” came a voice from beyond the balcony.
Lady Priscilla’s head seemed to turn completely around and then finally face Colin
again. Panicking, he did the only thing he could think of doing; he began reciting
Anthony’s poem. “You remind me of clouds.” Cringing, he struggled to remember the
rest of the poem.
“Clouds?” Her voice wavered on the brink of insanity.
“Yes, how they soak up the rain.” Did clouds soak up rain?
“So now I am fat?”
“No, no, no, no!” Colin laughed. Terrible time to suddenly find the woman amusing.
Lady Priscilla’s eyebrows furrowed as she scowled and looked away.
Colin cleared his throat and tried to salvage what was left of the poem. “It is just
that your very face reminds me of…” What was the rest of the poem again?
“An ostrich,” came a harsh whisper beneath the balcony. “Favorite animal.”
“Ostrich!” Colin blurted.
Her eyes widened and she looked as though she was considering the best way to murder
him. This was a nightmare.
“Oh, devil take it. What I am trying to say is, you are beautiful.”
Softening, just slightly, Lady Priscilla batted her eyelashes and ran her fingers
up and down Colin’s arms. “And you are so handsome and strong. Let us find a place
where we can talk… privately.”
“Chocolate, the chocolate,” Anthony mumbled beneath the balcony. Colin reached behind
him and Anthony shoved a chocolate truffle into his hand. Must have stolen it from
the dessert tables.
Colin grinned. Chocolate could cover a multitude of sins. “But first, my lady, a gift.
Close your eyes.”
“I love surprises.” Her lids fluttered closed and a seductive smile curved her lips.
“Open your mouth.”
She purred. The woman actually purred as her lips parted. Colin placed just a bit
of the truffle into her mouth and waited for it to work its magic.
Lady Priscilla closed her mouth. “This is…” Horror washed over her features, and her
eyes shot open. “Tell me that is not chocolate!”
“Of course! Chocolate is a rare…” Colin glanced frantically around him and cursed.
“Delicacy.”
“It makes me ill!” Lady Priscilla’s lips began to swell. She leaned over the balcony
and spit out the chocolate and cursed. With a final stomp of her foot she slapped
Colin across the face and stormed away. Unfortunately, the balcony doors had just
swung open, making it possible for the exchange to be witnessed by a few observant
bystanders. The whispering began, and although Colin wanted the reputation of a rake,
he wasn’t about to face the gossip about what had just taken place on the balcony.
Quickly, he ran down the stairs and hid underneath the balcony. He glared pointedly
at Anthony, who was wiping what looked like the remnants of a chocolate mist from
his face.
“Chocolate? Poetry? Comparing her to Lady Hawthorne? I get the distinct feeling you
are trying to sabotage me.”
Anthony cursed and his face appeared to be the color of ash. “Sabotage? If you believe
that, my friend, perhaps you should ask Ambrose for help. Or the infamous Sir Bryan!
I am wounded to the heart, Wilde. To the soul!” He was protesting far too much, and
the way he refused to meet Colin’s gaze was cause for some alarm. “Listen, Wilde,
I am married now. It might be that I am out of…”
“Intelligence,” Colin ground out. “As well as your common sense! You cannot simply
whisper what I should say to the woman while I am trying to seduce her!”
“I was going to say ‘practice.’” Anthony scowled at him. “And why shouldn’t I feed
you your lines? I’m inclined to believe the trouble was in the delivery. It would
have worked splendidly if you had done it right!”
“You are wiping chocolate from your face. That is exactly how well it worked. And
look at my face — the mark of your infallible advice. She slapped me.”
“Yes. I am sorry about that.” But Anthony did not look the least bit sorry. “To be
fair, I am going to Hell; therefore, I have lost any reason to do good deeds. Perhaps
God is punishing me for my past?”
“Punishing you?
I’m
the one who is suffering!” Colin shook his head. “No, my friend, he’s punishing me
for sticking by you during your years of sin.”
“No doubt,” Anthony agreed. “We will just have to try harder to make you desirable
to the opposite sex.”
“Are you saying I am not desirable?” Colin’s knees ached from crouching on the ground.
Anthony shrugged. “You look too innocent.”
“Me?” Colin looked around. “I look too innocent?”
“You do not even have circles under your eyes. I’ve got it!” Anthony snapped his fingers.
“Stay up all night. There is an establishment I used to frequent. I’ll let the proprietor
know to expect you. We’ll have you looking like death in no time!”
“Ah, music to my ears.”
“Ha!” Anthony slapped his back and grinned. “This shall be fun!”
Colin wasn’t so sure about that. Not after the way the evening had turned out. Although
the private journal had encouraged seduction, he found he was too tired to think about
anything save finding his bed and blocking out the memories of having Gemma in his
arms for one dance.
“Come along now. Let me show you how to live!” Anthony pointed toward the front of
the house and laughed. Colin, however, cringed; especially considering the minute
Anthony’s speech ended, feminine laughter was heard overhead. And where there was
laughter, there was trouble.
Gentlem
e
n, my wisdom has come at a cost. I have fought
a duel over some beautiful woman
,
only to find that her husband is a crack shot. To prepare for any, er, unfortunate
accidents to befall, I suggest a membership at Gentleman Jackson
’
s. You never know when a man may challenge you with his fists instead of a pistol.
Also, it is always prudent to drink whiskey before one shoots his pistol
;
one never knows when a duel
shall be
given and a gentleman must always be prepared to hit his target even if whiskey clouds
his vision. Practice makes perfect.
Men, if you cannot shoot and you cannot fight, you have no business being a rake.
To be honest, you have no business calling yourself a man but that is your business.
Many wars have been fought over beautiful women,
so
tread carefully
,
my good men
,
and choose your battles wisely.
—The
P
rivate
J
ournal of Viscount Maddox
When Miss Priscilla Standish entered the second time from the balcony, looking very
upset, Bridget took Gemma by the arm and whispered to her, “I believe we should take
some fresh air.”
Gemma followed her swiftly around the room and through the open French doors onto
the terrace. She glanced around and saw no one there. No one to have had dealings
with Miss Standish.
Bridget guided her to the rail and leaned over the edge slightly, seeming to be looking
for something or someone. When she drew back, she winked at Gemma and pointed down
silently. Her voice was louder than necessary.
“Tell me, dear Gemma, who is it you’ve decided upon then? It’s been ages since we’ve
spoken.”
“I…” Gemma began softly, but Bridget frowned and nodded adamantly at her then gestured
below them again. Of course! Wilde could hear them.
She began again with exaggerated passion. “You know, of course, that my brother has
been trying to pair me with one of his friends. A Mr. Percival in particular, but
I cannot abide the man. And Hawke has been so unyielding in his treatment of me, I
have decided to set my cap for someone he hates.”
Bridget giggled. “Gemma, I never knew you to be so rebellious… I rather like it.”
Her smile was genuine. Between the two of them, Bridget had always been much more
adventurous, the one to step outside the normal boundaries of acceptable behavior
in order to be herself. Gemma had always been confined in her role as a proper lady,
though it hadn’t seemed restricting until recently. “So who is the fortunate gentleman?”
“There are so many my brother despises that it seems I will have my choice of quite
a wide range of rogues. What do you think of Willington?”
From the ground below, something akin to a squirrel choking on a nut echoed up at
them. Bridget smiled but spoke over the noise. “I don’t know. He rather looks like
my Great Uncle Alfred. And that is not a good thing. Have you considered Riley?”
“I suppose he would be acceptable. I’ve heard positively scandalous tales of what
he does with his—”
A fierce gurgling interrupted her point, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to
stifle a laugh.
“That is to say, he has an interesting way of tying his cravat. Have you seen it?”
she said after clearing her throat.
“Hmmm… yes, I have seen that. So scandalous,” Bridget said. “I have heard some intriguing
reports of the exploits of Lancaster’s heir. And he has always fit his breeches well,
wouldn’t you say?”
