A Rake’s Guide to Seduction (3 page)

“That doesn’t make it acceptable for him to go about punching people,” Celia went on. “Whatever was he thinking?”

Anthony knew the answer to that, just as well as he knew how quickly everyone in London would seize on the story. No doubt within a week everyone would believe he was having a torrid affair with Lady Howard and her husband had been defending her honor. Oh yes, and that he had embezzled three thousand pounds from Sir George as well. Mustn’t forget that bit. He slumped back in his seat.

“Are you feeling faint?” She scooted closer, her face anxious. “Should I send for someone? Fetch another cloth? Would you like a drink, or—?”

“No, no.” He made himself smile. “Really, I am perfectly well. See, the bleeding has stopped.” He took the cloth from his face. She inspected his injured nose closely, and Anthony almost held his breath as she leaned even closer toward him. Good Lord, her eyes were so blue. And her lips were so pink….

“Celia.” Anthony glanced up from under his eyebrows to see Rosalind, the dowager duchess of Exeter, standing over them. From her polite but chilly smile, he guessed she was not pleased to find her daughter here with him.

“Mama, Sir George Howard punched Mr. Hamilton in the face,” Celia said.

“Celia, let’s not gossip,” her mother said in a firm voice.

“It’s not gossip, Mama, I saw it as I left the powder room. And look—he may have broken Mr. Hamilton’s nose!”

The dowager duchess did not appear swayed by this. Her lips pinched together and she glanced at Anthony as he made to rise. She put up her hand. “Please don’t, Mr. Hamilton. There is no need.”

He ignored her, getting to his feet and giving a small bow. “Lady Celia has been most kind in assisting me.”

The duchess smiled a tight little smile. “I am delighted to hear it. Perhaps someone should send for Lord Carfax’s valet, Mr. Hamilton, to see to your injury.”

“Should we send for some ice, Mama?” Celia asked. “As you did when David broke his nose.”

“Mr. Hamilton is well able to send for anything he requires.”

Unless what he required was her daughter’s company. He gave another brief bow, this time in Celia’s direction. “Yes, indeed. Thank you most sincerely, Lady Celia, for your kindness.”

“Of course.” She curtsied. “Do take care of yourself, sir.”

He nodded once. “I shall.”

The dowager duchess shepherded her daughter away, and Anthony contemplated the bloody cloth in his hand. He should take the duchess’s demeanor as a warning, he thought. No doubt she viewed him just as suspiciously as the rest of society did, always ready and willing to be outraged by his actions, real or rumored.

Lord Carfax, the host, approached then. He apologized for Sir George’s behavior and summoned a servant to help Anthony repair his appearance. Anthony went with the man into a guest room and cleaned his face and hands. His nose was already swelling and his head ached. His clothes were in a sad state; he gave them an obligatory straightening. Hopefully his landlady would be able to scrub out the blood.

His fingers lingered on his re-tied cravat as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t know what had possessed him to tell Celia those lies about his valet, a person who didn’t even exist. Perhaps because she just assumed he had one, and he didn’t want her to know he didn’t. Perhaps because he had preferred to make her laugh at him instead of tending him. Her touch had been so gentle as she wiped the blood from his face.

Was he a fool? Most likely. With a sigh he turned from the mirror. The wise thing to do would be to return to the card room, win a tidy pile of money, and forget how she had fussed over him with such tender concern.

And Anthony always tried to do the wise thing.

Celia didn’t see Anthony Hamilton again for almost a fortnight. Her mother gave her a stern lecture about associating with scandalous people like him and then kept a closer eye on her when they were out. Although she didn’t want to disobey her mother, Celia did want to know if he had recovered. It was easy to hear tales of his public behavior; she heard he returned to the card room after being punched by Sir George Howard and played piquet until dawn, still speckled with his own blood. But that told her nothing of his health, and finally she was forced to turn to her brother.

“Hamilton? He’s fine,” said David carelessly. His eyes were following his wife, Vivian, around the room as she danced with Lord Milbury. David made no effort to hide his devotion to his new wife, nor how protective he was of her. Vivian had been raised in the rookeries and made her way as a pickpocket before she met David, in a vaguely shocking way no one had seen fit to explain to Celia. David was always ready to step in if he perceived any slight to her. Celia thought it quite lovely of him, actually, even if it made him aggravatingly distracted at times.

“No, truly, David.” Celia poked his arm. “He was hurt.”

“What? Oh, yes. But he’s fine.”

“Are you certain?”

David finally tore his eyes away from Vivian for a moment. “Yes, Celia, I’m certain. It was a glancing blow.”

“It might have broken his nose!”

Her brother waved one hand, making a face. “It was one punch. Hamilton’s suffered a lot worse in his time. Don’t worry.”

“But I haven’t seen him since then.”

That got his attention. “Have you been looking for him?”

She flushed. “No. I just wanted to know he was well.”

“He is.” Her brother’s eyes narrowed. “Your mother would have an apoplexy if—”

“Then don’t tell her,” Celia snapped. “He did nothing, I did nothing. I just wanted to know, and now that you’ve told me, I am satisfied.”

David continued to look suspicious, but he didn’t press her. “Excellent.”

Celia shook her head and walked away from her infuriating brother, back across the room toward her friends. Why was she not allowed to ask after the health of an acquaintance, she fumed. Surely not even Anthony was so wicked that it was wrong to wish him well.

“Good evening, Lady Celia.” The voice made her start. Celia whirled around to see the man himself, bowing in front of her.

“Good evening, Mr. Hamilton,” she said with surprised pleasure. “I am
so
glad to see you again!” His eyebrows shot up. Celia gave an embarrassed little laugh, realizing how odd that must sound. “That is, I am so glad to see you are well.”

“I am very well, thank you.” He looked at her with a strange expression. “I hope you are well.”

“Oh, yes, but when last I saw you, you were covered in blood.”

“Ah, yes, that. A night’s discomfort.” His mouth quirked. “Surely you weren’t worried?”

“Of course I was! You might have had a broken nose. I didn’t see you anywhere after that, and David only said you were fine.” She huffed. “Do gentlemen go about beating each other regularly? David was sure it was a common enough occurrence that you barely noticed.”

His half-grin had faded. “I am flattered you would inquire after my health.”

There was something in his voice that caught her attention, but when she looked, his face was inscrutable. Celia sighed and shook her head. “And I had no idea what ‘fine’ meant. David might be on death’s doorstep and still he would insist he was fine.”

“No, I am well. Quite well, in fact.” He sounded somehow distracted, as he stared at her. “I wished to thank you for your kindness that night.”

“It was the least I could do,” she exclaimed. “I fear I was no real help to you at all. I’m afraid I haven’t much experience at nursing.”

“I could not imagine a better nurse.” He gave a slight smile. “Although I should hate to appear to such a disadvantage in your eyes again. It was not the best way to renew our acquaintance.”

She laughed ruefully. “No. But you were so gallant the previous night, when Lord Euston…Well, we have neither of us been at our best, perhaps.”

“And yet I can see no fault in you.”

“That is because you haven’t seen me for several years,” she scoffed. “A few more meetings, and you shall find me as tiresome as when I was a child.”

“I never found you tiresome.” He said it simply, calmly. Celia paused, contrite.

“No, you were always so kind to me. Kinder than David, especially! And I shall never forget it.” She caught sight of her mother advancing on them with fire in her eyes. “But I must go. Good evening, Mr. Hamilton.” She bobbed a quick curtsy.

“Good evening, Lady Celia.” He bowed, and she hurried to intercept her mother and explain before Mama worked herself into a state.

Anthony didn’t watch her go. There was nothing to be gained by antagonizing the dowager duchess. But his heart still pounded, and his hand trembled as he took a glass from a nearby servant and downed half the wine in one gulp.

She had been pleased to see him. And she had worried about him. Anthony took a deep breath, held it a moment as he contemplated that thought with unbounded and unwarranted pleasure, and swallowed the rest of his wine.

Anthony was a seasoned gambler. He held a bad hand now, and he knew it. There was no way he could bluff his way out of it; the scandal sheets had made his every misdeed public, and even given him credit for some misdeeds not his own. In fact, the best thing to do with a hand this bad was to bow out at once. Perhaps he could wait a year. A year was a long time, and he could mend his ways and get his life in order before attempting it….

But she was dancing with another man. Lord Andrew Bertram, son and heir to the earl of Lansborough. Another handsome, respectable gentleman like Euston. Anthony’s eyes narrowed as he watched them, Bertram’s fair head next to Celia’s golden one. A year was too long, he decided abruptly. It seemed unlikely Bertram was looking to marry yet—he was a year younger than Anthony, and known for his merry, carefree ways—but there were sure to be others. If Anthony wanted any chance of winning her, he couldn’t wait.

He caught sight of her again, beaming up at Bertram, and his heart seemed to stop in his chest. There was a glow to her face, a vivacity to her manner, that made him smile just to look at her. The only thing worse than holding a hand this bad was wanting to win this badly with it. He couldn’t bow out, no matter how foolish it was not to. Some gambles were worth any odds.

For a fortnight he considered the problem. Events seemed to conspire against him—Lady Howard tried to refuse her money back, even when he told her he would tell her husband everything. She grew quite hysterical, throwing herself at him and tearing open her bodice. Anthony suspected she had expected a far larger return on her money than he had offered her, so she could return the full three thousand to her husband’s funds with no one the wiser. When he refused her bared breasts, she took to following him about town, always approaching him in public and threatening a scene at any moment. He stayed away from society for four straight nights to avoid her, even though it cost him the opportunity to see Celia again, too.

Could Celia come to care for him? The likely answer was no, of course. He acknowledged that as he sat in dark, smoky card rooms and tried to keep his mind on his cards. He gambled with people from the whole width of society, yet knew he was perceived as somehow worse than the rest. Anthony even curtailed his gaming for a while, trying out his new, morally upright life, but then the bill from his tailor arrived and he had to return to the tables. Even in his tight financial circumstances, the one thing he could not scrimp on was his clothing. If he began to dress like a man in dire straits, people would stop giving him their money, and then he would be truly sunk.

But he still thought about her. Six children and a pack of dogs. The image was growing on him.

Finally he decided the key would be winning the duke of Exeter’s consent. He had never asked permission to court a young lady before, and now—just his luck—he would have to ask the strict and grim duke of Exeter. But as Celia’s oldest brother and guardian, his approval was vital, and once gained, it would surely go a long way toward winning the dowager duchess’s approval, if not her blessing. To persuade the duke, Anthony planned to surrender at once: confess his sins, admit his failings, and swear a solemn oath to mend his ways. A lot of humility, he hoped, would go a long way.

He managed to get an invitation to the annual Roxbury ball, knowing that Exeter and Lord Roxbury were allies in Parliament and even friends, as much as Exeter could be said to have friends at all. He dressed with great care—more than any woman had ever done, he thought to himself in dark amusement—and set off.

After an hour, though, he had not caught even a glimpse of Exeter, his duchess, the dowager duchess, or Celia herself. Finally he located Celia’s brother, his old friend David Reece, near the card room. “Is Exeter about this evening?” Anthony straightened his shoulders, tense with apprehension.

“I believe so.” David Reece peered into the depths of his empty glass. “He won’t be in there, though.”

“Right.” Anthony glanced into the card room, automatically sizing up players. He turned resolutely away and walked back into the ballroom. Exeter was known to disapprove of gambling, and Anthony knew his reputation would hurt him in that regard. He hoped the duke would accept his explanation.

Reece followed him. “Do you have a particular question for Marcus?”

“What?” Distracted, Anthony scanned the ballroom for the duke.

“Why do you want to find him?” Reece repeated.

Anthony turned to look at his friend. “A question about an investment,” he said vaguely. “Someone recommended his opinion.”

Reece gave him an odd look. “Investments.”

“Er—yes,” Anthony said. “Of a rather delicate nature.”

His friend did not look convinced. “Right. Here, I’ll ask Vivian.” His wife was winding her way through the crowd toward them. Anthony went still as he realized Celia was with her.

“There you are, love.” David drew his wife close to his side, unabashedly affectionate. “Have you seen Marcus? Hamilton wants him.”

“I’m to tell you they’ve gone home,” she answered, a faint Irish lilt to her voice. “Her Grace felt unwell. They’re nearly home by now, I expect.”

“Ah. Bad luck, then,” David said to Anthony.

He made himself smile and nod as if he didn’t mind. “Another time.”

“Was it an urgent matter, Mr. Hamilton?” Celia gazed up at him with wide blue eyes. She wore a very fashionable gown of pale blue, perfectly suitable for a young lady making her debut. Its very modesty made him burn to see her without it. Just her slim figure, clothed only by a cloud of golden, lemony hair…

“No, it can wait.” But not long. He couldn’t see her many more times without giving himself away. Wouldn’t that give society a delicious spectacle: the notorious rake starry-eyed over a girl. “I hope Her Grace recovers.”

Her smile was so warm. “I shall tell her you wish her well.”

He nodded, and after a moment two young ladies came up to steal Celia away. The three girls departed, leaving Anthony alone with David Reece and his wife.

“I trust the delay won’t affect your investments,” said Reece.

Anthony started, tearing his eyes away from Celia’s departing back. “No. I shall call on him.”

The next morning he presented himself at Exeter House as early as was polite. The butler showed him into the duke’s study, where Exeter did not look overly surprised to see him. Perhaps Reece had said something.

“Hamilton.” The duke nodded in greeting. Anthony bowed. Exeter waved one hand. “Won’t you be seated?”

Anthony sat, feeling rather like he was sitting down in a high-stakes situation with his every farthing in the center of the table. Outwardly he was calm, but inwardly his nerves were coiled tight. “I have come to ask permission to court your sister, Lady Celia.”

The duke’s eyebrows went up. He looked shocked. Anthony took a deep breath and plowed on. “I am aware that my reputation will make you hesitant. This is not a lark to me, nor a passing impulse. I have known Lady Celia since she was a child and have always felt the greatest affection for her.”

“Er—yes,” said the duke, still apparently caught off guard.

“I am well aware that there is gossip attached to my name. Not all of it is true—in fact, a fair amount of it is completely wrong,” Anthony went on with his practiced speech. “You may be concerned that I will break her heart. I will not, to the very best of my ability. Whatever people say about me, I am a man of my word, and I give my solemn vow that I shall do everything in my power to make her happy and to avoid that which will make her unhappy. Your sister will never be disgraced by my actions.”

“Indeed,” murmured the duke. “Mr. Hamilton—”

“I will make amends with my father. We shall never be on the best of terms, but I am his only heir. I shall do whatever is necessary to ensure Lady Celia is received as a future countess.”

“Mr. Hamilton…”

“And my finances…” Here he paused before going on, more slowly. “I am not a gambler by whim, Your Grace. It is my income. The earl has not made me an allowance in several years, since our estrangement. I had to have means to live. I have investments, though still modest, and can support a wife. With her dowry as capital, I shall be able to give up cards entirely.” He realized he was gripping the arm of the chair, and uncurled his fingers as he waited for the duke’s answer.

“Mr. Hamilton.” Exeter leaned forward, fixing him with an unreadable gaze. “That is all very admirable, but I must tell you that I have recently given my permission to another man for Celia’s hand in marriage.”

It was so far from the answer he was expecting, Anthony couldn’t comprehend it for a moment. “I see,” he said after a pause. He had expected to have to plead his cause; he had even expected to be refused. He had not expected
that
answer, that he was too late entirely. “And she has…?” He couldn’t even say it. He’d put every farthing on the table and lost it.