Too Hot For A Rake (3 page)

I wish I were dead!
Tragically, she envisioned her funeral at the family crypt. The duke held her grieving mother close, his tears mingling with hers. Her brother Edward, grim faced, clasped his hands behind his back. Olivia leaned on her husband, Sebastian. Georgiana, Mary and Jane huddled together, sobbing for their sister’s short life and her untimely death. Chris would receive the news and it would tear him apart. Hic-cups of helpless rage welled up within her.
Serves him right!
She tried to think of something else, to rid herself of gloom.

The thought of Lord Waverley’s warm body caused her to shiver, but the image faded only to be replaced by a disapproving Darlington, his eyes narrowed. He looked like the very devil.

Helena unlatched the gate and stepped onto her lawn. A single candle in her chamber held vigil in an upstairs window. A Great Dane loped out of the shadows, his tongue drooling as he panted. She bent and stuck out her hand to the pup. In it she held a bit of bacon she’d taken from her pocket. “Good boy. Come here, Prince.”

The dog sniffed and snatched the bribe. She tiptoed across the lawn and stepped onto the terrace, her destination the French doors leading into the library. The pup swallowed his treat and sped after her.

“Go away,” she pleaded. Prince wagged his tail and waited for her to open the door. “I don’t have any more treats, you traitor,” she hissed. If she allowed him to enter the library, he would bound inside, bark in triumph, and rouse the whole household.

She made as if to throw a second treat in the opposite direction. “Go get it, Prince.” The pup raced after it and the diversion gave her enough time to slip into the library. His ears perked up when he realized he’d been duped and he raced back toward her, but she managed to shut the door just before he could reach it. She tiptoed across the plush carpet and listened at the door, but all was quiet in the hallway.

When she reached her chamber, a lone candle on the mantel guttered. She drew in her breath at the sight of a familiar figure seated next to the fireplace, his forbidding eyes never wavering.

Helena’s heart sank. “Father? What are you doing here?”

“It’s past two in the morning, Helena. Where have you been?”

Thursday, the Second of April, 1818

The Duke of Heatham intimidated lesser men, if not by his sheer size, then certainly by the power he inherited when his father died. At fifty-one years of age, the head of the House of Fairchild was often described as aristocratic. His grace had broad shoulders and slim hips. An athletic man, he stood six feet tall in stocking feet. His shock of black hair was beginning to gray at the temples and his penetrating brown eyes darkened when he was angry.

His grace had been prepared to issue a roaring scold to his daughter when she returned to her chamber, but he decided against it when she fell to her knees, buried her head in his lap and burst into tears. “Where have you been?” he repeated in a gentler tone.

“I’m so sorry, Father. I find this hard to tell you, but tell you I must. I’m such a failure.”

“What do you mean, child?” The duke handed her a hand kerchief. “Wipe your tears, Helena. You had better tell me the whole.”

Helena did as she was told and drew in a deep breath. “Chris w…won’t marry me. He’s broken our betrothal.”

His grace lifted her chin to meet her eyes. “Were you with him in his home without a chaperone?”

“Yes. Oh, what does it matter now? I’m ruined and it’s my own fault. How could I have been so stupid? Help me, Father! What shall I do?”

Once again, the duke checked his desire to chastise his daughter, for her pain was all too evident. “What reason did he give, Helena?”

“He says I’m not proper enough to be the wife of a diplomat. He could not possibly marry me under the circumstances.”

The duke frowned. “Circumstances? What were they?”

“He thought I behaved in an…unladylike fashion.” She lifted her tear-stained eyes and said bitterly, “I can’t tell you what passed between us. But I wouldn’t have him as a husband now under any terms. Not after the terrible things he said to me tonight.”

The duke stroked his chin. “You must explain this to me, Helena. I have no idea what you mean.”

“Don’t ask me to repeat this ugly tale, I beg of you. It will do you no good to hear it and only pain me the more. As it is, I haven’t a shred of dignity left. I was full of joy at my beloved’s homecoming just a few hours ago, when I knew who I was and what I was meant to be. My life is meaningless now. I feel so…empty. Help me, Father, for I’ve lost my way.”

Having witnessed Lady Helena’s departure from his window, Waverley made his way to the library. There he found Darlington draining a large glass of brandy. “Are you all right?”

“Allow me to apologize for Lady Helena’s shocking behavior, Waverley.”

“No need, Darlington. She thought she found you in my bed.”

“And what did you think when you found a nude woman in your bed? Did you think I had provided you with the gift of a doxy to welcome you home to England? She had no right to do what she did, but neither did you.”

“I won’t deign to answer such a rude remark, Darlington. I had nothing to do with tonight’s fiasco and you know it. Your anger is misplaced.”

Waverley ignored the seething fury in his host’s countenance and poured himself a brandy.
Perhaps I should have remained in Paris. Is this what I’ve come home to? Would a Frenchman rake me down like this? No, he’d be more likely to challenge me to a duel and join me for breakfast after the first harmless hit.

He resisted the temptation to throttle his host. “The lady in question is in love with you, Darlington. Apparently, she appeared to be under the impression that you love her as well.”

“Love her? Ha! Not anymore. A man needs a wife who comports herself respectably. Not some wanton hoyden filled with lust.”

“You are mistaken. Lust is a part of love. That was clear, at least to me. Does that count for nothing to you?”

“If she really loved me, she would have remembered after all these years that I require a wife who behaves with decorum. Enough said, Waverley. I’m off to bed. I want some rest before I see his grace to tell him our betrothal has been terminated.”

“What reason shall you give?”

“Oh, I’ll tell him she’s changed her mind. I’m too much of a gentleman to be the one to cry off.”

Too much of a stiff-neck, I think. The lady’s better off without your smug sense of morality. Let’s hope she knows it.
“Goodnight, then,” Waverley said and returned to his room. He climbed into bed, only to toss and turn. When it became clear to him that sleep was out of the question, he got up and began to dress. What was needed was a walk, he decided. It would take his mind off the trials ahead of him. He held his shoes in hand and stole quietly down the stairs.

The fog had lifted and the sun was beginning to light the treetops when he caught sight of a suspicious figure emerging from a side window of the mansion next door. The figure reached back inside the window and pulled out some sort of bundle. A thief. No doubt about it, he thought, as the culprit dropped the bundle to the ground and sprang nimbly after it.

Waverley stepped quietly behind a tree. With the patience born of years of caution, caution that had kept him alive through countless exploits, he slowed his breathing, readied his body, and waited. The thief peered from left to right, then hoisted the bag and lumbered toward the street. As soon as he passed the tree, Waverley grabbed him in a choke hold.

“What the…?”

Stunned into surprise, Waverley pulled off the thief’s cap.

A woman?
He let her go and she fell. “Lady Fairchild? I recognized you by the scent of your perfume. Verbena, isn’t it? We meet again, it seems.”

He yanked her to her feet so hard, she was forced to put her hands on his chest to keep from falling again. Instead of letting go, he let his arms drift to her waist, but she knocked them away. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself, my lord. And stop sniffing my hair.”

He put up his hands as if in surrender and backed away. “I meant no harm, but the odor is enticing, I confess.”

She brushed off the leaves that clung to her clothing, pulled her tucked gown out from her pantalets and smoothed her skirt as best she could.

He picked a twig out of her hair and breathed in. “Sorry, ma’am. Your scent drives me to distraction.”

“Stop that. Apparently, you are in the habit of seducing young ladies, sir.”

Waverley swallowed a laugh. “Am I? In that case, perhaps I ought to live up to my…reputation.”

“Take your hands off me, you rake! How ungentlemanly of you.”

“How unladylike of you, ma’am, to have woken me in such a manner and with such feeling a mere few hours ago. You find me here because it was not possible to go back to sleep. Do you make a habit of climbing in and out of windows at the most unseemly hours?”

Helena wavered. “If you must know, I have…urgent business elsewhere. And there is no need to wake the whole household.”

He was pleased to see a blush spread across her cheeks. The damp air had caused her hair to stick to her face and his fingers itched to push the strands away from her cheek. “The same business that brought you to my bed earlier?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s none of your—it’s a personal matter.” She hoisted her portmanteau and turned to leave.

“Ah, a sick aunt, perhaps? How are you planning to get where you need to go to conduct this urgent business? Walk?” Her face had the look of an adorable child caught in a fib.

Helena ignored this remark and glanced both ways at the deserted street. “Where do you suppose one finds a hackney for hire?”

“Perhaps at the end of this row of town houses. But I can’t allow my host’s er…
neighbor
to seek a hackney without protection. London is far too dangerous a place for an unaccompanied gentlewoman. Allow me.” Waverley offered his arm.

“No! I…I mean, thank you for offering to assist me, but I can manage very well on my own.”

He raised one finger and tilted his head. “Or I could throw you over my shoulder, carry you to your door, ring the bell and return you to your family where you belong.” He regretted his teasing words the moment they left his lips, for she turned pale.

“I was only quizzing you, ma’am. I promise you I’ll do no such thing. Come,” he added in a gentler voice, offering his arm for the second time. “Won’t you honor my er…gentlemanly good intentions? We shall search for a hackney together.”

She hesitated but finally rested her hand on his arm. He took charge of her portmanteau and led her down the street where he thought he might find a hackney for hire.

Persuaded that he meant her no harm, she relaxed and sought refuge in small talk. “You don’t live in London, do you? If you did, I would have met you on more than one occasion, I’m sure.”

“No, I don’t. I was born in England, but I haven’t lived here for years. I’ve lived in Paris since the end of the war. That’s where Darlington found me. I’m to succeed to my father’s title, you see. The ceremony will take place at Carlton House tomorrow morning.”

“Accept my good wishes, then.”

“Ah, here comes a hack. Let us hope there is no one in it and he is for hire.” He raised his hand to hail the driver.

The carriage came to a stop in front of them. Waverley looked up and spoke to the driver. “Please take my lady to…where shall I tell him to take you?”

“It’s…I’ll tell him when we’re under way.”

He gave an indifferent shrug. “Suit yourself.”

“Thank you, Lord Waverley, for your kind assistance.”

“That’s too formal for such an intimate acquaintance, don’t you think? Call me Desmond.”

“I barely know you, sir. It wouldn’t be proper.”

He bit back a laugh. “Barely know me? Let me remind you, ma’am, that a mere few hours ago, you attempted to seduce me. Does that not lessen the need for formality?”

She blushed. “All right. But I shan’t call you by your given name. Waverley will do. I thank you for your assistance.”

“Fare thee well, irresistible Helena.” Without warning, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his tongue teasing her lips open.

She struggled and managed to push him away. “How dare you, you…you rake!”

He grinned, the look on his face impish. “
Reformed
rake, if you please. Show some respect for my new title, ma’am.”

Helena pursed her lips to conceal her amusement. “Quite a rapid reformation, sir. Just last week, all of Paris knew you as
le roué Anglais.
”

“You have me there, lovely lady. But I am determined to earn respectability now that I’ve come home again. Do you know, your lips taste like fine wine, fair Helena?”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me, your lordship.”

“Waverley. You shouldn’t have kissed me, Waverley.”

She suppressed the urge to giggle. “As you wish. You shouldn’t have kissed me, Waverley.”

“Think of it as payment for my assistance to you on this”—he glanced at the rising sun—“magnificent morning. While I must bid you a satisfactory resolution to your urgent business, I want you to know I shall always treasure the memory of a stolen kiss on my far from deserving lips.” He handed her into the carriage and shut the door. “Drive on, my good man. The lady will tell you her destination once you are under way.”

He watched until the carriage had turned the corner. Perhaps he should have convinced her not to run away, but far be it for him to interfere with someone else’s life. He had enough to do to manage his own.

The sun rose as Waverley walked back to Darlington’s town house. There was much to do this morning. He did not mind the pomp of a formal investiture with the Regent. It was his meeting at the home office he dreaded. He wished it were over and done with, but he tried to shake off such uneasy thoughts.

So long as his grandmother was alive, he’d do everything in his power to care for her. When he was a lad, she had loved him well. Of that at least, he had no doubt. Would she even know him now, or had she lost her memory? He didn’t know what he would face when he reached Waverley Castle, truth be known.

He shrugged off these depressing thoughts when his stomach growled, forcing the demons of the past out of his mind. Instead he obeyed the message of his stomach and returned to Darlington’s home, wondering what treats his host’s excellent cook had prepared for his breakfast.

“My sister’s asleep at last,” said Olivia, her blond hair in disarray. She removed her robe and joined her husband in their bed. Unlike many matrons of the
ton
who preferred sleeping in separate chambers, she insisted upon sharing their bed. In fact, they had never slept apart since their marriage two years earlier.

Sebastian drew his wife into his arms, for he loved the feel of her bare body against his. “What possessed Helena to come to you in the wee hours of the morning?” he asked when they were settled.

“Darlington’s broken their betrothal.”

“Good God! She’s loved him for an age. Why would he do such an odious thing?”

Olivia shifted her head. “For heaven’s sake, darling, don’t plague me with your questions just now. Isn’t it enough that my sister has worn me to the bone? Allow me to snatch a bit of sleep before our son wakes and demands my attention.”