The Rake Read online

  It was disconcerting to say the least. She couldn’t decide whether Lady Wyndham was pointing out that Lord Melville would very likely make her a young widow, or that he would make a very good substitute for Garrett, being a great deal like him.

  It was also disturbing to think that Garrett owed his continued good health to a prowess at dueling weapons and she couldn’t help but have the uneasy feeling that there was a hint of a warning there that Garrett might call Lord Melville out, or vice versa if she was not careful.

  In truth, she was far more tempted by the honorable, Sir Charles Curtis. He was a cheerful, very tolerant sort, and far more interested in hearth, home … and hound, than London’s social scene. Despite his penchant for hunting and shooting, however, he was a very good conversationalist and Demi always enjoyed his company. He was as fair as Garrett was dark, and of no more than medium height and build.

  He was as different from Garrett as daylight to night.

  If it was not meant that she should be with Garrett, then she did not feel right about seeking anyone out only because he reminded her of Garrett. She didn’t want to be reminded. She wanted to forget.

  Sir Charles was no more or less than a country squire. Socially, he was beneath Lord Wyndham, which meant that even if they did wed and they did decide to socialize they would be in an entirely different social circle and unlikely to meet up.

  To her surprise, when she expressed her opinion to Garrett’s mother, Lady Wyndham did not approve. She said that Demi should not be so hasty to settle when she was perfectly willing, herself, to wait until she could introduce Demi more properly--to all of London society--the following season. They would close up her London residence and take a house in Bath for a few weeks and then, perhaps, they would join a few house parties in the country.

  Only a few days before they were scheduled to leave for Bath, Garrett arrived in town at last.

  * * * *

  It had become Lady Wyndham’s habit to come to Demi’s room and help her to choose what she would wear on any given evening and direct the maids on how to pin her hair. Demi was not only perfectly willing to allow it, she was grateful to have someone who understood all of society’s little idiosyncrasies well enough to direct her so that she didn’t inadvertently dress in a manner that would draw ridicule or censure.

  She had seemed rather distracted, however, to Demi’s mind, directing the maid to try first one hair style and then another. Finally, after the third attempt, she had decided she was satisfied.

  “Now for the perfect dress,” she said. Getting to her feet, she moved to the armoire, discarding first one dress and then another and finally settling on the most beautiful, and most outrageous gown of the lot. The neckline was cut so low as to expose the upper edges of the pink aureoles of her nipples, while the fabric itself was shockingly sheer. Row upon row of tiny seed pearls had been sewn onto the fabric, creating flashes of color with each movement that riveted the eye, even if the shocking décolleté or the sheerness of the skirt failed to do so.

  Demi looked it over doubtfully, but she did not object.

  “Garrett has deigned to grace us with his presence,” she said almost casually as the maid began to carefully work the gown over Demi’s coiffure.

  Demi’s heart instantly leapt and began to race. “He is here?” she asked a little breathlessly.

  Lady Wyndham shrugged irritably. “He was. I told him you were indisposed but that we would be at the Umphreys soiree later if he cared to join us.”

  “Oh,” Demi said, immediately crestfallen.

  Lady Wyndham gave her a look. “I will be severely put out with you, Demitria, if you are only going to behave like a complete ninny the moment you set eyes upon him.”

  Demi blushed. “I wouldn’t.”

  “Yes, you would. If I have only to mention his name to have you all a flutter, I know very well that he will only have to crook an eyebrow at you to have you eating out of his hand and entirely willing to do anything that pleases him. It will not do!”

  Demi studied Lady Wyndham thoughtfully, waiting until the maid had finished and departed, closing the door behind her. “What should I do then?”

  Lady Wyndham smiled and patted the chair beside her. When Demi had seated herself, Lady Wyndham looked her over approvingly. “Garrett can be most charming when he wants something, Demi. He was fortunate enough to be born with both looks and money. Women have been throwing themselves at his head since he was scarcely out of leading strings. If you want him, you cannot behave as all the others. You do want him?”

  Demi debated briefly, but there seemed little point in denying it. She nodded.

  “Then you can allow him only to come just so close and no closer. It certainly will not do to yield to him the moment he expresses a little interest. I know my son. He loves you. To my knowledge, he has never felt anything even approaching what he feels for you. However, he is a man, my dear. You must make him acknowledge it, both to himself, and to you. Until and unless he accepts the fact that he cannot live without you, he will try to convince himself that he can. That will leave him in a position of complete power and you with none.”

  Demi frowned. “But I don’t want power over him,” she said hesitantly. “I just ... I want him to love me.”

  Lady Wyndham’s brows rose. “Because?”

  “Because?” Demi echoed.

  Lady Wyndham rolled her eyes. “Why is it so important to you that he love you?”

  “Why, because I love him.”

  “Exactly, and if you were to marry him and worship him, he would soon grow tired of being worshipped and look about for someone who was more of a challenge. The only way to catch a man and keep him--well anyone for that matter--is to make certain there is always the tiniest bit of doubt in the back of their mind that they have you completely.”

  Demi frowned. “It seems to me that would be difficult. In any case, I don’t think he cares for me. If he did, wouldn’t he have come before now?”

  Lady Wyndham sighed. “Life is difficult, Demitria! Complacency is the road to ruin. And, as for that wretched son of mine--I confess I had not expected him to sulk quite so long in the country, but that is actually an advantage to us. It has given us time to establish you in society, and scotch those nasty rumors your aunt allowed to be fostered. Moreover, you now have your own beaus. A little competition never hurts.”

  Demi looked at Lady Wyndham uncomfortably. “You’re not suggesting that I should encourage Sir Curtis, or Lord Melville only to make Garrett--Lord Wyndham jealous!”

  Lady Wyndham studied her hands frowningly. “Of course not, my dear. But you are not planning to simply cut them out of your life, are you? That would be too cruel when you have encouraged them to believe you were interested.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that!” Demi exclaimed in consternation. “I would not like to think that I’d … wounded any of them.”

  Lady Wyndham waved her hand airily. “Posh! I know you would not purposefully wound anyone, Demi, but there are times when it cannot be helped. You cannot make up your mind whom you wish to select as your husband without allowing yourself to get to know them, and vice versa, and it is as inevitable as sunrise that someone’s affections will be engaged, while another will remain impervious.

  “That is the general way of things, you must know, my dear. It is rare indeed for two people to fall head over heels in love with each other. Most generally, they end up falling for someone who’s in love with someone else and cannot or will not return their regard.

  “Now, we must be off. We want to be fashionably late, not rude.”

  Once they were settled in the carriage, Lady Wyndham fixed her with a stern eye. “You will take what I’ve said to heart?”

  Demi sighed. “I do not think that I am very good at the art of flirtation, ma’am, but I do love Garrett and if this is what I must do, then I will do my best.”

  “Good!” Lady Wyndham said with a nod of approval. “It is perfectly acceptable to b
ehave as if you are glad to see him, but you must not allow him to monopolize your time. That would be rude, in any case, and I know you wouldn’t want to be thought rude.”

  Demi was far more nervous when they reached their destination even than she had been when she had attended her first social function with Lady Wyndham. She relaxed fractionally when she discovered that Lord Wyndham was not present, but she spent the first hour searching for him among the arriving guests. Finally, when he did not appear, depression set it, but even that did not last long.

  Sir Charles Curtis and Mr. Lawrence Collier were in attendance and greeted her upon her arrival as if they had been waiting and watching for her. Sir Curtis immediately requested both her first dance and the supper dance. Mr. Collier, instead of retreating to a corner to assume a pose of great tragedy and adore her from a distance, secured the promise of the second dance.

  Lord Melville, arriving upon the heels of her promises to the first two, examined her dance card, smiled wickedly at Sir Curtis and Mr. Collier and lay claim to her first waltz. Both Sir Curtis and Mr. Collier were immediately certain that they had been soundly trounced by the competition and neither made much attempt to hide their displeasure. As flattering as it was, it was also more than a little unsettling. She glanced around in search of Lady Wyndham, but to her relief, the musicians began to tune up for the first dance at that moment and she was able to remove both herself and Sir Curtis from the threatened unpleasantness.

  By the time everyone began gravitating in the direction of the buffet, she’d managed to put Garrett from her mind, certain that he would not show after all, and she was able to actually enjoy both the company and the food.

  The first strains of a waltz filtered through the gay chatter as they finished their meal and Demi glanced up to see Lord Melville threading his way through the crush to claim her. He quirked a dark eyebrow at her wickedly as their gazes met and she chuckled despite the fact that she knew very well he’d done it to provoke Sir Curtis, who’d looked around just as she had. As she looked away, her gaze locked with a pair of eyes that held absolutely no amusement, however.

  Garrett was standing across the room speaking with several other guests. Her heart seemed to lurch against her chest wall and seize up, freezing the air in her lungs. It took an effort to disentangle her gaze from his and focus on Lord Melville as he presented himself at her table, and even more of an effort to smile in greeting. Something flickered in Lord Melville’s eyes, and he glanced across the room as Demi had. She rose abruptly. “I’d wondered if you had forgotten me,” she said a little breathlessly.

  He turned to her then, his eyes alight with amusement and she realized with a touch of relief that he had not seen who had distracted her attention. If he’d caught the look Garrett was giving him, he would almost certainly have taken exception to it.

  When they’d taken their positions in the dance, Demi breathed more easily. She’d more than half feared that Garrett might accost them before they reached the dance floor and there had been something distinctly unnerving about the look of repressed savagery in his features as he’d allowed his gaze to wander over her bodice and then studied both Sir Curtis and Lord Melville.

  She’d never seen Garrett look quite that way. If that was jealousy, she found it far more frightening than thrilling.

  The strains of the waltz soothed her, however. She didn’t think, despite the lessons Lady Wyndham had procured for her from the dance master, that she was more than adequate at the dance, but Lord Melville was both skilled and inherently graceful and more than made up for her own shortcomings. She relaxed as they glided across the floor, beginning to enjoy herself. The nervous flutter of her heart settled into the pleasurable rhythm of the dance.

  Garrett met them at the edge of the dance floor. Bowing slightly, he dragged his gaze from Demi and looked Lord Melville over coolly. “Have I arrived too late to request the next waltz?” he asked pleasantly.

  “No,” Demi said a little breathlessly.

  “As a matter of fact … yes,” Lord Melville responded at almost the same moment. “I am before you, Wyndham.”

  Garrett’s eyes hardened. The half smile on his lips never wavered, however. “I believe you are mistaken, Melville.”

  Demi felt the blood leave her face as she glanced from one man to the other. Forcing a tight smile, she gripped her dance card in a white knuckled fist. “Actually, I had promised--” she began.

  “Garrett! I’m so glad to see that you have made it after all,” Lady Wyndham interrupted as she joined them. “I suppose I should not be surprised to discover the two most handsome and dashing men in the room hovered about my ward, but I am most put out with the two of you. Especially you, Thomas! Naughty boy! I suppose you will tell me it has slipped your mind that you promised me a waltz?”

  Something flickered in his eyes, but he smiled at her engagingly. “I would never forget a promise made to such a beautiful woman,” he murmured with a slight bow.

  Lady Wyndham swatted his arm with her fan. “Flatterer! I know very well that you only see me as an old woman, but it is very sweet of you nevertheless.”

  Chuckling, he offered his arm to her. “If you will excuse us?”

  Demi looked at Garrett nervously when the two had left but took his arm when he offered it.

  “Will you join me for dinner?”

  Demi glanced at him uneasily. “I have already been downstairs to eat.”

  “Which does not necessarily preclude your joining me.”

  Demi frowned. “I had promised the next dance to Mr. Collier. I would be very rude to break my promise.”

  Garrett shrugged. “The musicians are taking a break. I will have you back before they strike up once more.”

  She sighed uneasily but nodded. Lady Wyndham had told her under no circumstances to allow Garrett to get her alone, but there were bound to be others lingering downstairs over a late supper. They met no one as they descended the stairs, however, and uneasiness swept over Demi once more.

  “I must suppose my mother commissioned that gown,” Garrett said pensively.

  Demi glanced at him sharply. “She said the ones I had were far too dowdy.”

  “Certainly by comparison,” he said coolly, pausing at the foot of the stairs and turning to look her over. Taking her hand once more, he held it as she stepped down the remaining stairs, then tucked it into the crook of his arm once more as he led her down the corridor toward the dining room. “And I’ve no doubt at all that it is vastly appreciated, for I saw no less than a half a dozen young bucks eyeing you lasciviously as you danced with Lord Melville. Is there any particular reason that you are encouraging them to hang after you, I wonder?”

  Demi gaped at him indignantly. “Exactly what is it that you are accusing me of?” she demanded, jerking her hand free and stopping abruptly to glare at him.

  He caught her shoulders, pushing her back against the wall and pinning her there. “Being too available?” he suggested. “Why has our engagement not been announced? I gave my mother specific instructions to do so.”

  Demi blushed, but realized at his second question that she’d misunderstood the first comment. She thought she had, at any rate. “Because I have not received a proposal?” she said sharply. “Perhaps you should ask your mother since it was her you spoke to?”

  He studied her a long moment. “You cannot have doubted my intentions.”

  Hurt abruptly replaced her anger. She swallowed with some difficulty. “I didn’t, until I discovered you had taken me to your mother. Then I realized it was a matter of honor and a misplaced sense of obligation. Lady Wyndham has assured me it’s unnecessary for you to make such a … sacrifice on my account.”

  He ground his teeth. “Did she?”

  “Yes. She also said that she would be happy to be my guardian until I was settled.”

  “And Lord Melville, I take it, now ranks among your many beaus?”

  Demi flushed, detecting a hint of sarcasm as well as censure. “
You would have to ask him what his intentions are. He has not asked for me, if that is what you mean.”

  “Oh, I will ask him. Make no doubt of that.”

  Demi felt the blood rush from her face. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Do I detect concern for young Melville’s hide?” he ground out.

  Her eyes widened. “Garrett! You wouldn’t!”

  “You are mine, Demi. Make no mistake--I would.”

  She flushed. “Only because you … we--”

  “Exactly because I, we,” he growled. Reaching up, he very deliberately scooped one breast from the demi cup of her gown, covering it with the heat of his mouth. Sensation exploded inside of her at the moist adhesion of his mouth that seemed to pull every ounce of will from her, wrenching the strength from her knees. Dizzy with the pleasure coursing through her, she looked around the empty corridor with a vague sense of alarm, knowing someone might come upon them at any moment.

  “Garrett! Please!”

  He released her breast, fondling it with his hand as he met her gaze. His breath, sawing raggedly in and out of his chest, sent a shiver through her as it brushed her damp, distended nipple. “It pleases me a great deal to please you.” He brushed his lips lightly across hers. Briefly, he covered her mouth, kissing her with devastating thoroughness before he released her lips. “You are mine. You want me as much as I want you. I can convince you of it very easily.”

  Demi swallowed, her mind so fogged with desire she could scarcely make any sense of what he was demanding of her. She could not think of anything beyond the fact that she wanted him never to stop, and she feared being disgraced if someone happened upon them. It wasn’t until he dipped his head and took her breast into his mouth once more that she realized that he was demanding an answer from her, but the moment he began kissing her once more, her wits scattered into the fog of desire. She could not jog her mind past the deliciously wicked pleasure coursing through her, the clenching and unclenching of the muscles low in her belly in precise rhythm to the ministrations of his mouth and tongue.