The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (20 page)

Perry winked at Gideon and smiled the charming, wide-mouthed smile that made him such a successful rake.

“Why did you bring me here?” he growled under his breath.

“For the entertainment value, of course.”

“Mine or theirs?” Gideon nodded toward the crowd.

“I’m not quite sure yet,” Perry answered, eyeing his brother carefully.

Gideon growled again, silencing the gaggle of gentlemen who were pooling around them, and walked off.

The group stared after him, then all eyes turned on Perry, who laughed deeply, shaking his head. His brother’s ferocious reputation was intact.

Gideon made it only a few paces before realizing his error. If he’d stayed within the group of men he might have been safe. As it was, he was now surrounded by a much dodgier crowd. He looked from one face to the next, unconsciously counting. “Where are Jerrod, Maebh, Grayson, and Poppy?” he asked. “They’re certain to be disappointed when they learn they’ve missed this opportunity.” He turned to his right in time to see Perry approaching with a splendid smile.

His brother bowed and the group returned the favor, all eyes shifting to Gideon expectantly as he also bowed. His cousins were numerous, as his sire had two brothers and two sisters who were likewise accountable to the Crown. He turned to his left and nodded to Thorne and Isadore Calder. Thorne was Marquess of Canford and future Duke of St. Cyr, and his sister was one of the most eligible young ladies in Britain. Jerrod, Thorne’s twin brother, was one of the missing.

“And Jerrod is?” Gideon asked.

“Jerrod is…Jerrod,” Isadore said simply. Her smooth blonde hair was pulled in a severe chignon with little flourish for decoration. Her sparkling grey eyes reflected the colors of the ballroom—sometimes blue, sometimes green, occasionally dark but more oft light.

He smiled and took her hand, sweeping a kiss across the back before looking up to her brother, whose visage was as hers, with a nod. Their mother, Auberry Trumbull, now Calder, Duchess of St. Cyr, was the eldest of his grandsire’s brood. The next in line was his own sire, followed closely by the delicate Lady Brianna Wyntor, Marchioness of Cheshire, whose two strapping sons, Wilder and Quintin, now stood just left of Perry. Those brothers were among the youngest of the cousins.

“Rox!” came an impatient female voice from in front, pulling his attention.

“My precious Saorise, have I been remiss?” He smiled and leaned over her hand, gazing into jeweled eyes much the hue of his own. He stood, wincing at the great mane of riotous red curls that swept down her back and drew attention to her like bees to honey. He remembered countless hours of her screaming as her mama, Bridger Trumbull’s wild Irish bride Fallon, tried to force it to behave—to no avail. Obviously her mane had won out in the end, to the delight of many and the consternation of many more. But Saorise, pixie though she was in stature, was well protected within the circle and none would hear any talk of her improper locks.

“Yes, you have ignored me too long. Mama said we weren’t to visit this summer until Season’s end. How will I survive?” she complained.

He grinned at the sweetest of his cousin, one who held a special place in his heart. “I have something special planned for the end of this Season. Have no fear, my precious Saorise, you will have your time with my Friesians.”

She beamed a smile as light as the air, contented. Her sister Maebh stood silently next to her, watching Gideon carefully. Her smooth ginger locks were pulled up in an intricate twist on her crown.

“And you, Roxleigh, what brings you tonight?” Quintin asked.

“Well, I do, of course,” Perry cut in.

Gideon grimaced, then nodded once.

The dowager countess pressed into the exceptional circle no one else dared breach, curtseying and catching Gideon’s attention.

He stiffened; the time had come for him to pay his penance for his earlier insolence.

“If you will excuse me, I am expected to dance,” he said with a brilliant smile.

Every one of his cousins inclined their heads in surprise as they watched him move away.

Lady Alice Gracin stood amidst a group of young girls who had just been introduced to the
ton.
They surveyed the room, looking for the eligible peers their mothers had listed and forced them to memorize in order of rank and respectability. There were two footnotes to the list. The first was the Duke of Roxleigh, who held one of the most powerful titles in the kingdom but was also known to be an angry recluse, stern and unforgiving, who rarely traveled away from his estate. His brother the viscount was the other footnote. A devoted rake, he had no intention of ever marrying, instead openly dedicating his life to the pursuits of pleasure and ruination of innocents the country over.

She gasped when they were both announced at her come-out. Looking up to her grandmother at the entrance, her breath caught. They were stunning—tall, dark hair, and perfectly turned out. She shuddered, putting her arm around her friend Bethany to steady herself. “Oh my, but aren’t they a vision,” Lady Alice said.

“A vision is all they are, Alice. Remember what our mamas said. The first is impossible, the second impermissible!”

Alice frowned. Of course they were, but that was irrelevant. How could either of the amazingly beautiful brothers be an acceptable match for her, with her gangly freckled limbs, fiery tangle of curls, and sea-foam green eyes? She was most categorically an unconventional sight.

She smiled as she saw the duke conversing with his cousins, the wild Irish sisters Saorise and Maebh included. It was due to Saorise’s unconventional mane of bright curls that hers were currently left unnoticed. She continued to survey the room with Bethany, picking out the other bachelors.

Her eyes paused on the duke’s flock again, noting how the crowed parted about him, much like an immovable boulder among rapids. Her grandmother approached the group and spoke with him. Alice’s jaw dropped and she squeaked, her nails digging into Bethany’s arm.

“Alice!” Bethany yelled. “That hurts!” But Bethany saw the terrified look in her friend’s eyes and followed her gaze, directly into the face of the Duke of Impossible.

Alice was pinned by his annoyed expression.

I should have known better than to entertain my brother’s fancy,
Gideon thought as he crossed the room with the dowager on his arm.
Now I’m to be displayed as a lamb to slaughter. Dancing. There’ll be hell to pay after this.
He wished he could turn down the dowager’s request, but his stomach was already in knots from the improper way he’d spoken with her at the door. Social functions of the
ton
always managed to bring out the worst in him, as if his demeanor wasn’t bad enough.
She looks terrified. Good. She will take the first dance and then leave me be. Nothing like a silent turn around the ballroom to scare the women away
.

He had to admit that her ladyship was brilliant; one dance with him and every gentleman here would request a dance with the girl.
What did Lady Greensborough say her name was? Bloody hell!
He stopped a few yards in front of her as the crowd seemed to part between them like the Red Sea. She seemed frozen in fear. Finally, her friend whispered in her ear then pinched her, bringing her around.

“Your Grace, may I present you my granddaughter, Lady Alice Gracin. Lady Alice; His Grace, the Duke of Roxleigh.” The dowager then nodded to the orchestra on the second landing.

“Y-Your Grace,” Lady Alice stammered, curtseying deeply as he bowed. Much to his dismay, the musicians began a waltz. He shook his head. The dowager countess had orchestrated the display very well, regardless that she hadn’t known he was attending. He wondered whom he had displaced for the dance. He proffered his hand and Lady Alice took it reflexively. He swept her out of the crowd and onto the empty dance floor.

Gideon looked down at the small girl in his arms. She was shaking terribly and he suddenly felt like a buffoon, realizing from her expression that this wasn’t exactly what she would have wished.

“Lady Alice, do you need to sit down?” he asked, aware that his question might be entirely too forward.

She glanced up at him with wide eyes, shaking her head quickly.

He laughed. They were quite un-matched. The pile of curls on her head only came to his shoulder. They must be a spectacle. “Are you enjoying the Season?” he tried again.

She shook her head.

He frowned, realizing he needed a question that could not be answered with a mere shake of her head. “Why not?” he asked finally. He felt her body tense.

“I— Well, this is my first ball, so it is difficult to have enjoyed it when it has only just begun.”

“I see,” he said.
I am an imbecile
.

Then she spoke again. “You and Lord Trumbull are quite, um…” She bit her lip. “Well, I don’t believe anyone was expecting you,” she finished.  

“No, I don’t believe they were. And yet here I am, dancing with you.” He led her through the corner, her skirts sweeping the floor behind her.

She glanced up at him again. “My mother will be furious.”

He thought for a moment. Her mother...furious? But he was the Duke of Roxleigh, and he was fairly certain he didn’t know the Countess of Greensborough. “Why is that?” he asked.

“It is just that I seem to have lost all of my senses suddenly by dancing with you. I beg your pardon, Your Grace, it is only that you and your brother, I mean, Your Grace and Lord Trumbull are quite—” She paused.

“Yes I suppose we are...quite,” he said, with a gleaming flash of perfect white teeth.

“Oh!” she cried, losing a step. He caught her carefully and they continued, no one the wiser except perhaps her mother, whom he’d picked out from the crowd by the hawk-like gaze she held on them.

Lady Alice was actually a delightful young lady. Much too young and missish for him, of course, but he wasn’t available regardless—not that anyone here would have any idea of that—and the thought steeled him.

“My mother. Oh, dear,” Lady Alice said.

He glanced back over to where the mother stood and saw her drawn-up face; she was frowning at the way her daughter was clambering around the floor in an attempt to keep up with him.

“Oh, dear,” he repeated with the same emphasis, followed by a grin. “Straighten your back and steady your shoulders,” he commanded.

She complied.

“Stiffen your arms…more. Much better, but lift your chin. Very nice. Now take a deep breath and let
me
lead,” he said gently.

She acquiesced.

On the next turn of the floor he glanced at the mother, who was starting to smile proudly, nudging the guest beside her and pointing.

“Very well, young lady. I believe we have fooled them all,” he said in a triumphant tone.

Lady Alice smiled.

The waltz ended and Gideon bestowed a regal bow on his partner, sending a blush soaring to her hairline. The entire ballroom started buzzing. “Would you like some refreshment?”

She nodded.

“Excellent. Perhaps you could gather your chaperone and meet me on the terrace.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” She curtseyed, a little off-kilter.

He turned to the refreshment table.

Alice’s friends descended on her like a flock of vultures, all speaking at once.

“Yes—no—no—wonderful—charming—no—what? Of
course
not!” She tried to answer all the questions as they followed her toward her mama. She informed her that they were to attend the duke on the terrace and her mother beamed, following at a discreet distance.

Bethany walked with Alice to the exit, their arms entwined. “I thought he was impermissible,” she said, leaning toward Alice with bright eyes.

“Not quite
impermissible
—impossible.” Alice shrugged, smiling.

Gideon nodded to the Countess of Greensborough as he passed her on the terrace, appreciating that she at least maintained a respectable distance. “Well, I believe you have a victory,” he said to Lady Alice with a smile a few moments later as he handed her the lemonade.