To Ruin a Rake (12 page)

He swept into Wi—no,
his
office—and snatched up the ledger. If there was any way to oust the virago, he would find it. Tomorrow he would summon Mr. Blume and have the royal charter brought to his residence for examination as well. And her contract, if there even was one. He’d won the battle with his father in the end. He would win the battle against Harriett Dunhaven, too. One way or another.

Stuffing the documents into his leather case, he made a hasty exit. If she should come through the door now and find him still here, he didn’t know what the result would be, but he guessed it
wouldn’t
be kissing. He needed to get the hell out of here.

Safe in his carriage at last, his rebellious thoughts returned to the incident on the stairs. Yes. She’d been trembling. He’d seen it, felt it as he’d held her arm. But had those hazel eyes contained something other than outrage? Was he just imagining that her lips had parted slightly as she’d stared at him?

He shook his head again, laughing at such fantasies.
Bah!
She hated him. She’d never forgiven him for wrecking William’s funeral. And she never would. Perhaps it was better that way. Less dangerous, certainly.

According to his watch it was just now noon, but even so, it was time for a drink. High time. Regrettably, he’d left his second best flask at home, not wishing to fall prey to the temptation of having a quick nip before facing
her
. Now he wished he’d thought to stow it in the carriage.

Sobriety had a nasty way of making him see his own shortcomings. He didn’t much care for self-reflection, which was probably why he so often chose to view the world through the bottom of a glass. He was a coward, plain and simple, and he knew it. He’d been afraid to set foot inside that sick ward. Afraid to see and speak to a woman who rightfully scorned him. Afraid of failing to live up to everyone’s expectations.

If he faced the truth, he was afraid of everything.

Harriett was just the opposite. The woman was made of steel. She’d faced the unpleasant reality of her situation and had wrestled with it until it had bent to
her
resolve rather than the other way around. He knew she’d suffered since William’s death—just as he himself had—but she’d risen above it.

He had not. He’d chosen to drown beneath the waves.

A sigh heaved its way up from his chest. Perhaps it was time. Time to face the truth of his new life. William was gone. And no matter how much he might wish otherwise, he was now the duke. He could do exactly as he pleased, as long as it did not violate William’s stipulations. That still rankled a bit, though he knew his brother hadn’t done it out of spite. William was just...William. Responsible. Reliable. He had done it in order to ensure the preservation of what he’d built.

What he and Harriett had built
, he corrected himself.
He stared out of the window and imagined the two of them with their heads bent over papers, poring over diagrams, talking softly about their shared dream, building their castle in the clouds. Together.

She’d loved him. That much he knew beyond a doubt. And now he understood firsthand why William had admired her so. He wished he didn’t.

Would she ever consider marrying again? It would be a shame if she did not. She might be a bit on the plain side, but she wasn’t at all bad looking. She had a pleasing face and a nice enough form—from what he could tell with all the layers of petticoats and aprons and such. And there was a hell of a lot to be said for her sense of loyalty. He hoped her dedication to William wouldn’t prevent her from accepting an offer from a decent man.

A decent man.
Was there a man decent enough to marry Harriett Dunhaven? No one he knew would be as good a husband to her as William would have been. Certainly no gentleman of his own acquaintance would grasp—much less respect—her achievements.

He twisted away from the window. Blast it all, why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

Guilt
, his conscience at once supplied
.
He owed her something for the way she’d suffered at his hands. For the way she’d shouldered what should have been his responsibility. For all that she was capable and seemed to enjoy it, it wasn’t right that she spent all her time toiling away at the place—and he knew she did. William would have married her and given her a home and children to occupy her and fulfill her womanly purpose. Once she’d started having babies, she would have left the Hospital to him to manage, as was right and proper.

Yes. Her marriage would be one way to achieve his ends. It would get her out of the Hospital—and away from him—as well as help her get over William. He just had to find someone she could get along with. William would have wanted him to help her. In fact, just before his death, his brother had asked him to look after her on his behalf—a request he’d blatantly disregarded.

He hadn’t come to their engagement party. In fact, he hadn’t come to any family gathering in years. He’d gone to his father’s funeral only because his brother had implored him to do so. Given his actions that day, he hadn’t stayed to visit, and he hadn’t shown his face again until it had become clear his brother’s illness was more than a passing cold.

His first encounter with Harriett was on the way into William’s sickroom. He remembered it vividly. They spoke not a word to each other in passing, but their eyes had met. The next time he’d seen her was at the funeral.

Could he actually manage to find Harriett a husband, when for the past ten years Society had clucked their tongues and shaken their heads at the mere mention of his name? He’d eschewed London’s upper crust for so very long now that the only thing they knew of him was what was printed in the London rags.

His had been a particularly unsavory life, especially since William’s death. A life filled with fun friends of less-than-sterling repute, beautiful actresses and singers, and the occasional, shocking appearance on stage with Lun. His was a life no man could fail to envy, but it was also a life no “decent” person could fail to disapprove of.

Even so, he had to remember things were different now. Now he was a duke—a wealthy
unmarried
duke—and no one would dare behave toward him with anything less than proper deference no matter how much they disapproved of his lifestyle. He’d learned the power of his title the moment he’d appeared at Twickenham’s. Every mother present with a daughter of marriageable age had practically broken her neck trying to be the first to introduce the fruit of her loins.

A slow smile formed on his mouth. Oh, yes. He would find a husband for Harriett. And once she was safely married off, he would hire a
real
assistant administrator to help him run the Hospital. Then he could go back to living as he pleased—without guilt.

Harriett waited until she was sure Manchester had gone before slinking into the foyer. His office door was open, but all was dark and silent within. Peeking around the corner, she glanced up at William’s portrait, barely visible in the gloom. Guilt flooded her, and she closed the door on the sight, unable to bear the scrutiny of his smiling eyes after what had just happened.

Going into her own, small office, she sat at her desk.

Cat was right. William was gone, and she needed a husband. Very badly, obviously, considering the way she’d reacted back there. Much as she hated to admit it, she’d
wanted
Manchester to kiss her.
How can I desire a man I despise?
It didn’t make any sense.

William had been kind, respectful, a gentleman, and she’d loved him with all her heart. But the warmth and affection she’d felt for him was nothing like what she’d just experienced: pure, physical desire. It had been chaotic, unreasoning, undeniable. The very memory of it made her heart pound, her skin flash with heat. Why hadn’t she felt this way with William, who had certainly been more deserving of such a reaction?

Her head ached, a condition she was fast coming to associate with the current Lord Manchester. It was too confusing to think about anymore. There were things to be done, matters that needed her attention. The workers had not yet shown up to begin building the new kitchen hearth.

It had become increasingly difficult to keep up with the demand for hot food of late, and adding a second hearth—already a necessity—would be a critical factor in the Hospital’s expansion this winter. Her heart had been glad when Manchester had declined to explore the kitchens further. She could well imagine his reaction to the gaping hole in the east wall. It had been covered with oilcloth, of course, but still.

“My lady?”

Harriett nearly jumped out of her skin. “Nurse Hayes,” she gasped, gripping the arms of her chair. “Heavens, but you gave me a fright!”

“My apologies, my lady, but the workers have arrived and the foreman is asking to see you.”

Happy to have something to do besides sit and think about her uncomfortable predicament, Harriett rose and straightened her skirts. “You may tell him I shall be there directly.”

“Very good, my lady.”

Tonight. Tonight she would begin the hunt for a husband. The Penworth masque ball would be an excellent place to start.

~ * ~

“You’re out for blood tonight, aren’t you?” asked Cat, her eyes narrowed in a calculating expression that would have looked more appropriate on a woman of fifty.

“I have decided you are correct. The time has come for me to put aside the past and pursue the future.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Lord Manchester’s visit today, would it?”

Harriett’s cheeks were turning pink. “Yes, in fact. It does. He has decided to take an active interest in the Hospital and manage it himself. And well he should. It was never meant to be my responsibility.”

“I see. Yesterday you were determined to be rid of him. He must have been truly awful to have driven you away so quickly.”

“He has not driven me away,” Harriett lied. “I am merely preparing to step aside so the proper authority may be established—as was always intended. Now that he has taken his rightful position, the burden of managing the place is no longer mine to bear alone, and for that I’m glad. I’ll be better able to focus on securing a husband.”

“Mm,” said Cat, clearly not buying the bill of goods she was being sold. “Well, if it is conquest you seek tonight, I believe you shall succeed. You look ravish-worthy.”

Determined to take the world by storm, Harriett had decided not to save the two new gowns for the latter half of the Season, but to wear them now in the hope of attracting greater interest. The décolletage of this one was deeper than she’d anticipated, but quite flattering. The color was fantastic, too. The brocade was a rich teal with a gold floral pattern. Her hazel eyes picked up the color, making them appear greenish-blue, which was quite a nice change.

She straightened the froth of lace spilling from the elbow-length sleeve of one arm and turned to the side to admire her profile. Lord, but the way the stomacher pushed up her bosom! That region looked far more impressive than she ever remembered. She credited the seamstress and made a mental note to have all of her future gowns sewn in such a manner.

“Are you quite satisfied?”

Harriett remembered suddenly that she was not alone and laughed. “Indeed. I do believe this is the finest gown I’ve ever had the pleasure of wearing. Certainly the least modest.”

“Well, you’ll definitely turn heads,” said Cat. “Come, let us go before Papa begins bellowing.”

Snatching up her matching silk cloak and a gold and teal feathered mask, Harriett followed her sister. Before she got two steps, however, Cat whirled and grabbed her hand. Harriett squawked in protest as William’s mourning ring was stripped from her finger. “No! Cat, give it back! I demand you return that to me this instant!”

Cat held it away and shook her head. “No, Harriett. You cannot wear it. Not anymore.”

“Now.” Putting out her hand, Harriett leveled her sternest gaze at her.

“You know I’m right.”

It took several moments for her to acknowledge it, but at last Harriett conceded. “Very well. I’ve a long silver chain in my jewel box. I can put it on that and tuck it into my bodice.”

“Absolutely not,” said Cat. “You have set out to catch a
husband
, Harriett. You don’t need any reminders of the past lingering about you to put off another man’s interest. It’s bad enough you’ll be comparing every male you meet to him, but the least you can do is prevent them from realizing it.”

“I cannot leave it here,” Harriett insisted, lowering her voice. “It’ll disappear the instant we leave.”

“Go and get your chain, then. I will keep it for you and return it when we get home. I promise I won’t let anything happen to it.”

Reluctantly, Harriett went and retrieved the chain. She watched with deep misgiving as her sister slid it through William’s ring and then put it around her own neck.

“Ready?” asked Cat, tucking the ring deep into her cleavage.

Swallowing her disquiet, Harriett nodded. The journey to the Penworths’ London estate was brief, but the wait in the queue was interminable. By the time they approached the front walk, it seemed like an hour had passed since they’d rounded the turn onto the drive.

“Put on your mask, ninny!” hissed Cat as they came to a final stop.

“Oh!” With shaking fingers, Harriett tied the ribbons. Her anticipation heightened as the door opened and she disembarked. From this moment on, she was unknown to all who looked upon her. A mystery. She could be anyone tonight. Anyone at all. Anyone but William’s unwed “widow.”

The Penworths had spared no expense on tonight’s festivities. Jugglers and fire-eaters lined the walkway into the estate, and everywhere she looked there were male servants dressed in Turkish pantaloons, embroidered vests, and feathered turbans. The gaiety of such surroundings was infectious, and she found herself grinning broadly at the spectacle.