Lord of the Rakes (8 page)

Yet here Lady Caroline was, not just eschewing convention but overturning it entirely. With him and without more than a heated moment in the dark. It was as if she’d known he was coming and she had waited all this time for his arrival.

Philip frowned at this uncomfortably Byronic thought. He had never lost his heart to any of the women he bedded. He led a charmed life and he knew it. As a second son, there was no pressure on him to produce an heir. His father gave him all the money he required, and more. He was perfectly free to do as he chose. His only obligation was to return to the family seat now and again to, as his father put it, “bring some life to the mausoleum.” It was light enough duty. It meant putting up with his brother, Owen, at the supper table, but Owen was not interested in society in general. Even when Philip was at home, he generally buried himself in books and estate business. Philip would regale his father with a few tales of his latest London adventures and go on his way for another six months or so, his bank account full and his path free and clear. What man wouldn’t envy him?

And yet, and yet . . . lately there had been nights when he dressed with reluctance. One or two mornings, he’d woken early and looked out on the street at the tradesmen and their women walking two by two. He wondered where they had to go and what they had to do. He’d sat at the tables at Crockburn’s and played like a gentleman was supposed to, but the thrill had been missing. Hadn’t he envied the useful Miss Langley of all people earlier just this evening? Once or twice he’d caught himself thinking it was time he left town for a while.

Or perhaps it was just time to find what secrets Lady Caroline kept behind her eyes. Why was he even hesitating? She’d said yes. Why on earth had he given her a day to rethink, reconsider, and possibly retreat. He should be halfway to Andover Street by now. If in the morning, Lady Caroline wanted more than the pleasure he could give, well, that was her own fault.

The ugly idea dropped cold and hard into Philip’s heart. He knew himself to be a rake. But at the same time, he’d always believed himself to be a considerate lover. He acted with discretion. He did not overstay his welcome. He was generous, and he never pursued young girls, or virgins. Until now, of course.

Damn.

Perhaps it would be wiser if he did not pursue her. He could send a note and a gift saying he was flattered, and she was beautiful, but he had been detained or some such. If Caroline raged and stormed and cut him dead at the next ball, so be it. It might just be better for both of them.

At the same time Philip knew that if he failed to keep his promise, he would hurt her. It was not only his vanity that told him that. Oh, she wanted adventure. She’d confessed an intent to seduce him, but this did not change the fact that she was also trusting him. By her actions, she’d rendered herself vulnerable. If he did not come to her door tomorrow, she would be hurt. She would wonder what might have been, or, worse, what she had done wrong.

It dawned on Philip that whatever else was happening in the unexamined depths of his soul, he did not wish to be the man who hurt Lady Caroline.

 • • • 

It was the first week of the season, and a Wednesday night as well. So in addition to the opera, the theater, and concerts, there was the ball at Almack’s. This meant the streets of the fashionable quarter were brimming with traffic, including the square in front of Mrs. Gladwell’s house. But despite the traffic and all its attendant noise of people, carriages, and horses, Philip still made out Eugenia’s voice with perfect clarity.

“Hello, Philip.”

Eugenia Warrick emerged only slowly from the deeper shadows by the area railing. Had Philip not been seeking her, he would have passed her by without even noticing. She pushed back the hood of her black velvet cape to reveal a pale, heart-shaped face with wide eyes and a perfect cupid’s bow of a mouth.

“Eugenia.” Philip made a stiff bow to cover the anger rushing through him. “I did not expect to find you here tonight.”

“I know.” Eugenia Warrick took a small step toward him. Even hesitant, she lost none of her studied grace. “I . . . I asked Gideon Fitzsimmons to make sure you stopped here.”

“So I understand.” Philip forced himself to patience. The sooner he let Eugenia speak, the sooner they could be finished with this.

“I thought I’d find you in the ballroom. But you left so early.” Eugenia gestured toward the house, an oddly fluttery movement coming from such a worldly and experienced widow.

“Why are you looking for me at all?” Philip felt his frown deepen. Could it be that something was genuinely wrong? But Eugenia’s next words instantly dispelled this possibility.

“Because, Philip, it’s time you got over your little pique and came back to me.”

“My pique? Eugenia, you were with another lover, in our rooms.”

She moved closer. The wind brought him the scent of her perfume. The subtle blend of spice and flowers instantly recalled their nights together. He could feel the smooth warmth of her skin under his hands, and the excitement that flowed through his blood as she arched herself toward him. “I had to make you understand you don’t own me, just as by leaving you let me know you are a real man.”

Now that she knew she had his attention, Eugenia began marshaling her sophisticated confidence. It showed in her smile and the coquettish tilt of her head. She laid her hand over his where it hung at his side. “You know no one else can give you what you need like I can. We have both made our point. It is time for you to come along home.”

Philip shook off Eugenia’s hand and watched her face fall. No sympathy warmed in him. He would never have chosen to have such a conversation in a public street, but since this was the venue she selected, so be it. “Eugenia, I told you, I do not care what you do when you are not with me, but I will not be played for a fool.”

When Eugenia lifted her eyes again, Philip was unsurprised to see a glitter of tears. She had used them against him before. He found he could not remember why he’d put up with this particular artifice even once.

“Philip,” Eugenia said softly. “I am willing to admit I made a mistake. Come back with me. Let me show you that I am very sorry, and obedient to you.”

She would have so many ways to do so. Eugenia repentant was Eugenia inventive. Philip’s body was already reacting to the possibilities. There were so many times she had taken him between her hands, whispering how she loved the feel of him. She’d knelt naked in front of him, begging him to take her, kissing and licking and praising the skill of his hands . . .

On any other night, with his body this ready to play, Philip might easily have shelved his pride and gone with her. He would have been amused, demanding, even rough. But as he thought on a woman kneeling in front of him, flushed with desire and reveling in obedience, it was not Eugenia he saw. Not this time. Instead, he saw a mysterious woman who wore white gloves on her hands and a white lily in her hair.

“I’m sorry, Eugenia,” Philip said. “I have another engage-
ment.”

Eugenia blinked her wide eyes slowly. “Already? I don’t believe it. You’re playing games with me.”

Coming from her, these words were one step too far. “Eugenia, when last we spoke, you gave me to understand you were tired of me. You said I was free to leave you, and I have.” Philip bowed again, and turned away.

But before he had gone three steps, Eugenia’s hand closed tightly over his elbow. “You know I did not mean it!”

“Then why did you say it?”

“To tease you, silly man!” She moved closer, so close her breast brushed his arm. Her smile was wonderfully bright, but not bright enough to mask the cold light in her eyes. “You love to tease your ladies so much and you cannot tell when one of them is teasing you?”

A muscle in Philip’s throat twitched uncomfortably. “Yes, I can,” he answered. “You were not teasing, Eugenia. You were in earnest. The only question I have now is, what changed your mind?”

“Nothing has changed, Philip. Nothing ever changed.” Her smile was bright as sunlight and hard as diamonds, and it still did not reach her eyes. “I only wanted to make you jealous, so you would understand how much you need me.” She pressed closer, wrapping her hands tightly around his arm. “It was a mistake, and I see that now. Come home with me,” she breathed. “Come back to my bed, and I will show you how sorry I am.”

Philip hesitated for a single heartbeat. He could be so much more certain of his welcome in Eugenia’s house. He could right now put aside the secrets of Lady Caroline, and the uncomfortable thoughts that came with them. He could return to the well-worn paths of his rake’s existence and never bother his head about what mysteries might have brought Caroline to him.

Gently but firmly, Philip lifted Eugenia’s hand off his arm. “You must excuse me, madam. I’m afraid my appointment will not wait.”

He bowed, turned up the street, and walked away, but not quickly enough that he missed the words Eugenia spoke to his back.

“No, Philip, I don’t believe I will excuse you at all.”

“C
aro! I’m so glad you’re at home.” Fiona brushed straight past Mrs. Ferriday and flew to embrace Caroline.

Caroline had been taking breakfast in the little sitting room in the back of the house. The pleasant room, decorated in shades of green and white, afforded a view of the little back garden through its bow window and shelter from the traffic noise on the street.

“Good morning, Fi.” Caroline hugged her back earnestly. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m perfectly well.” Fi removed her straw bonnet and dark blue cloak to hand to Mrs. Ferriday. She waited until the maid had closed the door again to draw up a chair and seize Caroline’s hand. “And you, Caro? What about you?”

Caroline was not in the least surprised at the question, or that Fiona had arrived so early. She’d barely spoken to her friend after she’d returned to the ball last night. She only complained of an entirely fictitious sick headache and asked Fiona to make her excuses to Mrs. Gladwell. Fortunately, they’d taken Caroline’s carriage to the ball, and Fiona had numerous acquaintances there with whom she could take a ride home.

Caroline had fully intended to stay at Mrs. Gladwell’s, if only to deflect the exact sort of concern Fiona was showing now. But the moment she’d stepped back into the heat and the noise, she knew she could not bear to stand and smile at the gentlemen who were not Philip. She could not dance with them, or make meaningless conversation. Her mind was filled with the image of Philip Montcalm. Her blood was filled with the heat of his touch.

And the fact that when he asked to come to her, she said yes. Against custom, propriety, reason, and even the expected course of the most frantic of whirlwind romances, she’d said yes.

Caroline took a long breath, and let it out again. There really was no short answer to Fiona’s question. Or, perhaps there was.

“I’m well, Fi.” Caro squeezed her friend’s hand. “Truly.”

“You look it. I was afraid, after last night, that Philip Montcalm’s . . . company had not agreed with you.”

Caroline was actually glad her face had enough decency left to muster a blush. Considering that she had agreed to an assignation with a man she had scarcely met, she’d begun to wonder if her sense of propriety had completely abandoned her. Yes, she’d vowed to live freely, but her willingness to open her door to the Lord of the Rakes went far beyond anything even she had before imagined.

Best not dwell on that now,
Caroline instructed herself. She had always thought she could tell Fi everything. But not this. Certainly not yet, and especially because in the bright light of morning, with Mr. Montcalm safely in some other neighborhood, she did not know if she meant to follow through on that rash agreement.

Caroline poured Fi a cup of coffee, adding the generous dollop of milk she knew her friend enjoyed. She pushed the cup forward, along with the basket of fresh muffins Cook had baked.

Fiona ignored both offerings. “I really was worried, Caro.”

“Oh, Fi. I’m sorry. Honestly, nothing much happened.” Nothing but searing kisses and featherlight touches that left a trail of blazing heat in the depths of her body. Nothing but Philip binding her to him with her own silk glove, and extracting her promise to open her door to him tonight.

Caroline felt fresh color rising in her cheeks, and she knew Fiona saw. Eternally tactful, Fi turned her attention to the muffins, selecting one, breaking it open, and slathering on fresh butter from the silver dish.

“Are you going to see him again?” Fiona asked quietly.

How to answer that? Caroline wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, although she did not feel the least bit chilled. Yes? No? Which would be the truth? Her whole body yearned to feel Philip’s mouth and his hands on her skin. Her whole mind shouted this was too dangerous. She did not know what would happen next, how very far this burning madness would take her.

“I don’t know.”

Fiona sat in silence for a moment, letting what this answer meant sink in. Then she took a sip of coffee and set the cup down, very obviously steeling herself. “He did ask you to see him again, didn’t he?”

Caroline nodded.

“And you want to?” Fi said, much more slowly this time.

“Very much,” admitted Caroline softly. This was not as reassuring as other things she might have said, and Caroline knew it. But it was impossible for her to lie to Fiona, even when the truth made her friend sigh and look away.

“Perhaps you would be better off if you didn’t want it so much.”

“I know. But, Fiona, you’ve found exactly what you want, and what your family’s always wanted. I always knew that if I was to have any sort of happiness, I’d have to make my own way.”

“You’re not going to find happiness by throwing yourself off a cliff, Caro.”

“If that’s what you think I’m doing, why did you help me meet him?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself.” Fi pressed the butter knife against the edge of her muffin and watched the pastry break. “The truth is, I almost ran after you last night, to try to change your mind. I know you’ve had a bad time of it, Caro, and it was such a relief to see you finally enjoy yourself.” Fi set the knife down. “I suppose I thought you’d have a flirtation in the garden and that would be that.”

“Now you’re afraid you’ve assisted in my downfall.” Guilt circled behind Caroline’s words. Was it possible that in her recklessness she might hurt one of the few people she genuinely cared for? Gossip was sticky stuff, and it could spatter those who did no more than stand nearby.

“It sounds so dramatic when you say it that way.” Fi dipped her bit of muffin into the coffee and nibbled.

“It is dramatic, Fi.” Caroline spoke the words with more force than she intended. “But I promise, Fi, nothing happened that doesn’t happen in London houses every single day.”
Well, perhaps one or two things,
she added silently, thinking of the way Philip told her to touch him, the way he got her to laugh with him, and the way he drove her to madness with that light kiss against her palm. “But he’s offering me just what I need—an affair without strings or consequences.”

“Did he actually say that?” inquired Fi, in a tone that meant “Did he dare say it?”

“No, but, well, what else could one have with a man known as the Lord of the Rakes?”

“There are always consequences when the heart is involved, Caro.”

“Then isn’t it fortunate that my heart is not what’s involved.” Caroline smiled as she said this, but her quip did nothing to lighten her friend’s troubled expression. Fiona set her bit of muffin down and looked Caroline in the eye.

“Caro, has it ever occurred to you that neither your father nor your mother had a realistic view of London life?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your father saw London as a den of vice, and as far as he was concerned, women were helpless against its allure. Your mother saw town as some kind of incandescent fairyland she’d been cruelly ripped away from. It’s left you with the idea that life has to be all or nothing—severity or scandal.” Fi seized Caroline’s hand. “But that’s not the way it is. There are good people, in society and out of it, not just fops and flatterers. I’ve made friends here, kind, steady friends. I’m marrying a man who loves me and respects me. You know I enjoyed myself during my seasons, but I promise you, I didn’t have to pawn my future for that enjoyment.”

“Fiona, how many times must I say it? I will not ever marry.”

“I know that’s what you say. But if you’d just give yourself time, you’d see you do have a chance at true love . . .”

Suspicion bubbled to the surface in Caroline’s thoughts. “Don’t tell me Harry’s said something?” Fiona had always held out fond, and not very secret, hopes that her brother Harold would work his way around to asking for Caroline’s hand.

“No, Harry’s said nothing. I wish he had. But there were plenty of others asking for introductions at the ball last night, even after you left.”

“Yes. It was quite clear last night that the matchmakers have already heard about my inheritance.” The words came out laced with far more bitterness than Caroline intended, and for a moment Fiona looked genuinely angry.

“Do you honestly think I’m here to throw you to the fortune hunters?
Really,
Caroline.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Fi, I never should have said that. I know you wouldn’t ever wish me into a marriage with someone like Lewis Banbridge.” Having been kept away from London was supposed to have kept her innocent. Fiona had evidently forgotten how the darker aspects of society were all on display during the yearly round of country house parties. Growing up among the country gentry, Caroline become adept at memorizing the petty gossip and piecing together their scandals. In part this was to keep a stock of anecdotes with which she could entertain her mother, who seldom left the house, even when she was well. But she also did it for her own sake. She wanted to learn as much as she could about the habits and mores of the haut ton for the day when she was finally free.

“I should say not!” Fi sniffed, but then she added, much more softly, “And yet, Caroline, at least Lewis intends marriage. Do you really think Philip Montcalm is more . . . trust-
worthy?”

Caroline met her friend’s gaze directly. “Yes, Fiona, I do. Philip . . . Mr. Montcalm is a rogue, but he is at least open about it. Lewis intends marriage, true. But he also intends to flatter and fawn and disguise his true intentions until he has his hands on everything I own. I promise you this, Fi. Whatever else you may now think me capable of, I will not waste a moment on a man who lies to me.” She spoke the words with absolute finality. “I do not lie, Fiona, and I will not be lied to. Not by anyone, not ever again.” She had been lied to by her father and her brother. She’d even been deceived by Jarrett’s friends who had come to pay court, Lewis Banbridge among them. Their willingness to come at all, she now understood, was founded on his promise that he’d settle some of the London lease money on her husband once he broke the trust.

No, she was not ever going to tolerate anything less than honesty from a man again.

Caroline waited for Fiona to continue her arguments and admonishments. But much to her surprise, Fi just smiled. “Do you know, Caro, some days I wish I had even half your nerve.”

“And I always wish I had half your good heart and sense, Fi.” She embraced her friend and they held each other close for a long moment. Relief washed through her. Nothing on earth could be worth losing Fiona’s friendship.

“Now,” said Caroline as soon as she could bear to let Fi go. “We must speak of something quite serious.”

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything.” Fiona gripped her hands anxiously.

“You promised, Fi. You swore that . . . that . . .” She looked down at their joined hands and bent her mouth into a frown.

“Oh, Caro, what have I done?”

“You swore you would take me shopping, Fiona, and I mean to hold you to your word.”