Too Hot For A Rake Read online

  “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 resp
ectability 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.”

  Chapter 3

  Later That Morning…

  The duke sat at the head of the table in the breakfast room, his eyes bloodshot from too little sleep. He held the morning paper at arm’s length and pretended to read, instead steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation with Christopher Darlington, who was, at the moment, cooling his heels in the library. Things never seemed to work the way they ought with his children. Pity. Well, he had wanted a large family, hadn’t he? Now he wondered what had ever made him entertain such a foolish notion. He reached for his coffee just as his butler appeared in the doorway.

  “What is it, Dunston?”

  The Heatham butler, a tall, thin gentleman in the employ of the family as far back in his own childhood as the duke could recall, said, “Mr. Darlington wishes to know if you are ready to receive him, your grace. He is most impatient.”

  “Bloody cheek,” muttered the duke. He exchanged a look of exasperation with his butler. He put the newspaper down and drummed his fingers on the table. “Plague the man. I won’t have him interrupt my breakfast. Tell him to wait. And send for Lady Helena. I want her here with me when I see him.”

  “Very good, your grace.” Dunston attempted to bow out, but Darlington swept past him, ignoring the butler’s disapproving hauteur. The duke’s unwanted guest was groomed to meticulous perfection, yet the countenance he leveled at the duke was one of determination.

  “Forgive the interruption, your grace. I am long overdue at the home office, you see. My business with you won’t take long.”

  To convey displeasure for having entered without his permission, the duke cast him a withering glance. “This is a most unwelcome intrusion, Darlington. You might at least have allowed me to finish my breakfast.” Hoping to annoy his guest, the duke added, “Summon Lady Helena, Dunston.”

  He was right, for Darlington said hastily, “No need, your grace. Your daughter knows why I have come.”

  “You’re here far too early, Darlington. I never grant an audience before noon.” The duke proceeded to sip his coffee, his eyes trained on his newspaper.

  “Allow me to beg pardon again for interrupting your breakfast, your grace, but I am persuaded you will agree that it was necessary once you hear me out.”

  The duke sighed. “Well? What is it you wish to say?”

  “Lady Helena wishes to cry off. We are no longer betrothed.”

  The duke made as if he knew nothing. “Is this some silly quarrel between you two? I’ll ask her the same question, you know.”

  “By no means, your grace. We’ve already settled this between us. I have accepted her decision,” Darlington said as if he were negotiating a treaty. “Now we must both get on with our lives.”

  Dunston reappeared and said, “Begging your pardon, your grace, but Lady Helena is not in her chamber.”

  “Find her, then. At once.”

  At this, the duchess swept past the butler.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” said the duke cheerfully.

  She glanced at Darlington in puzzlement, ignoring his presence for the moment while she addressed her husband. “What is the meaning of all the shouting and banging of doors upstairs, your grace? You know it puts me out of humor to be woken thus.” That said, she turned to greet their guest. “Welcome home, Christopher. Does Helena know you’ve come home?” She honored him with a smile. “Are you ready to set a date for the wedding? Helena will be so pleased.”

  “It appears our daughter is nowhere to be found,” said the duke drily.

  “Oh no. I’m sure that cannot be. She must be taking more time to look her best for you, dear boy. If you haven’t eaten, do join us for breakfast. Believe me, your wedding will be the event of the Season. What day have you in mind?” The duchess kept to herself her determination to agree to a date only if it was not in conflict with her daughter Georgiana’s debut ball in June, an event the duchess had been planning for months.

  A footman entered with fresh coffee, the butler right behind him.

  “Have you located my daughter?”

  “No, your grace.”

  “Oh well,” said the duchess. “No doubt she will appear soon. Now, young man, you must allow me to take care of everything. I shall see to the announcement of the wedding day in the papers. And I beg one more favor of you. Please do not deny me the privilege of arranging all the details of your wedding breakfast to our dear daughter.”

  Darlington fixed her with a grim stare. “Do not trouble yourself, your grace. Your daughter has cried off. She no longer wishes to marry me.”

  The duchess stared at him in disbelief. “Cried off? But how can that be? Helena has wanted to marry you since she was in the schoolroom. Why on earth would she cry off now?”

  “Perhaps it is you who wishes to cry off, Darlington,” said the duke, his shrewd eyes fixed on his unwelcome guest. Time froze except for the ticking of the clock on the mantel.

  Darlington was the first to break the silence. “Lady Helena informed me of this last evening. She leaves me no choice but to accept her decision. If you’ll excuse me, I’m obliged to take my leave. Good day.” He bowed first to the duchess and then to the duke.

  Her grace cast a worried glance at her husband. “Please, Christopher. Don’t go without seeing our daughter. Helena sometimes takes a morning stroll before breakfast. I
’ll just have a look in the garden.” She crossed to the French doors and threw them open.

  “No!” cried the duke when he spied their pup, but it was too late. The Great Dane leapt into the room, skidded across the floor and caught the end of the table linen, causing several dishes to tumble to the floor.

  “Prince!” the duchess screeched.

  Dunston lunged for Prince but the dog bounded toward Darlington, rose on his hind legs, planted his muddy paws on Darlington’s immaculate coat and licked his face.

  “Get this beast off me,” Darlington muttered through clenched teeth.

  “He’s just a pup, lad. You needn’t be afraid,” said the duke, stifling the urge to grin. He glanced at the hall door, where several staff members had gathered, drawn by the unaccustomed noise.

  “Don’t just stand there gawking, you lot. Somebody do something with the mutt, for heaven’s sake!”

  At their master’s command, two under maids rushed into the room and began to clean up the mess of broken dishes on the floor while several footmen moved cautiously toward the Great Dane. One of them managed to pull Prince away from Darlington, but not before the pup tore the sleeve of his coat from its mooring.

  “How dreadful. Let Dunston take your coat, Christopher. He’ll have it repaired in no time,” said the duchess, offering her apology. “We’ve only had Prince a few months. For the children, you see. I assure you, the dog meant no harm. He’s just a puppy.”

  Darlington fought Dunston for possession of his coat with one hand while he mopped his face dry with the other. “Leave off,” he growled, thrusting the butler’s hands away from his lapels. “My man will see to it.”

  With unaccustomed restraint, the duke managed to suppress his urge to laugh. “Just the pup’s way of being friendly, you know.”

  At this, Darlington lost control of his temper. He said acidly, “Apparently, your grace, you appear to have difficulty teaching proper manners to your dog as well as to your daughter!”

  Before the duke could put Darlington in his place for daring to hurl such an insult, the entrance of three more of the duke’s children enlivened the breakfast room. Georgiana, a debutante of seventeen years, was the acknowledged beauty of the family. Fifteen-year-old Mary was the shyest, spending as much time as she could playing the pianoforte.