A Good Rake is Hard to Find (6 page)

“I had to tell them something,” she said once he'd closed the door. “The true reason was mine and I relished telling my family the truth almost as much as telling you. Which was not at all.”

She could tell by his clenched jaw that her words frustrated him. And though she understood why, keeping the secret of her inability to bear children was something she could never reveal to him. Not if she didn't wish to tell him the reason she was so broken. And it was that circumstance that had started this whole mad deception, that was so shameful that she was willing to go to her grave with its secret.

Not to mention the fact that none of it was relevant now that their betrothal was a false one. If she thought there were any danger that their ruse would lead to a true engagement, or worse, marriage, she would put an end to this whole farce without a backward glance.

In the quiet of the tiny sitting room, however, she revealed none of this. Only waited for him to say something—anything—to break the silence between them.

Finally, he sighed, and thrust a hand through his light brown curls, which were already showing signs of the unruliness that so plagued him.

“I don't understand why you cannot simply tell me why you refused,” he said tightly, clearly more overset about that matter than she'd hoped. “It isn't as if anything is at stake now. After all, we've both agreed that this betrothal is to be dissolved as soon as we bring my cousin to justice.”

For a moment, she considered revealing all. What a relief it would be to unburden herself of the shame she'd kept hidden within her for nearly ten years now. Perhaps Freddy's response would be easier to endure than she'd imagined. Perhaps he would feel compassion for the wild fifteen-year-old she'd once been. Who risked everything and lost it all.

He'd not been a saint—when she met him, and over these past years he'd spent gadding about the Continent. But there was something within her that kept her from speaking the words that would reveal her shame to him. It was too much to risk, she realized. Especially now that they had agreed to prove Sir Gerard Fincher had some role in Jonathan's death.

She'd kept the secret in the past for her own sake. And for Freddy's. But now, she kept it for Jonny's.

Perhaps once this was all finished, after Jonny had been avenged, and once their second betrothal had been set aside as they agreed, then she would reveal her sad tale to him.

But not before. Not with so much at stake.

“I know it is irksome for you,” she said with a coolness she did not feel, “but there is truly nothing I can do about that. Our focus now should be on revealing your cousin's perfidy. Not trading secrets like schoolgirls.”

If her insult hit home, he didn't show it. Just glared at her for a moment. As if by looking hard enough he could discern what it was she was so reluctant to reveal to him.

Finally, he shrugged, and shook his head slightly, as if clearing it.

“I will make you tell me before this is all over,” he said intently. And for a moment Leonora felt that jolt between them. The connection that could be severed neither by time nor space.

“Perhaps.” She nodded. “But until then, I request that you do not press me on this. It distracts both of us from our true goal here. Do not forget that this is all for Jonathan's sake.”

“Of course it is,” he agreed blandly. “I give you my word that I will not ask again. Not unless you bring it up.”

Seeing that he was sincere, she allowed her body to relax the slightest bit.

“Good,” she said firmly, lowering herself onto the settee that was set at an angle to the corner. “Now, what is our next move? I assume you've sent the notice to the papers?”

Pacing a little to lean his shoulders against the mantel, Freddy crossed his arms over his chest. “I did,” he said. “First thing this morning. And I believe it's time for us to move on to phase two.”

She paused in the act of smoothing her hair—a nervous habit she'd not been able to eradicate no matter how many times her past governesses had chided. “What is phase two?” she asked, hoping the answer was not something she would find objectionable. She'd already created too much tension between them, but if this was something she felt strongly about she'd need to tell him.

“My cousin is having a dinner party cum Lords of Anarchy meeting tomorrow evening at his home in Half Moon Street. And I intend to wrangle an invitation for both of us to attend. To announce our betrothal there.”

A party? Leonora felt an objection rise in her throat. “I cannot attend a party. My brother was killed only a few weeks ago. I have mourning clothes, but I cannot be seen making merry. Even if it means turning down an invitation into the lion's den.”

“No need to worry,” Freddy said soothingly, and her response to his tone told her just how rattled she'd been at the proposition of dishonoring Jonny's memory. “It is not a dancing party. And aside from that it is a private party. Even the high sticklers will not be able to find fault with your attending a dinner held in your brother's honor.”

“It's in Jonathan's honor?” she asked, diverted by the notion. “I am torn between gratitude and revulsion. What kind of monster honors the very man he killed?”

“Well,” he said with a shrug, “it is merely our own suspicions that say Gerard is responsible for Jonathan's accident. So to the rest of the world it is merely a tribute to a fellow club member who was lost in an accident pursuing the sport he loved best.”

He continued. “It is also an opportunity for both of us to get the lay of the land. To begin our inroads into the club itself. My cousin has been after me to join for some years now, and I have a strong feeling that he will be unable to resist parading you before the other members. Especially if he's the one who killed your brother. He's the sort who liked to torture flies as a child. Having you there, oblivious—at least in his own mind—to the truth of things, will be a delightful joke to him.”

Leonora shuddered. Again grateful for the fire.

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said with a frown. “The more I learn about your cousin, however, the less I like him.”

Freddy laughed. “You're not alone in that,” he agreed. “But just remember that we will have the last word on this. And imagine how satisfying it will feel to finally bring him to justice.”

“Oh, I will,” she said with a grin. “Most assuredly.”

*   *   *

Freddy left the Craven town house with the intention of seeking out Mainwaring and Trent to discuss their next move in the plan to infiltrate the Lords of Anarchy. He had not gone far, however, when a highly polished open carriage sporting a pair of the most perfectly matched bays he'd ever seen came round the corner of Half Moon Street.

Slowing his mount, Hector, he was unsurprised to find his cousin Gerard himself handling the reins.

“Well met, Lord Frederick,” Sir Gerard Fincher said, inclining his head in a manner that reminded Freddy of an emperor greeting his subjects. “I've not seen you since your return from the Continent.”

“Indeed, cousin,” Freddy agreed, then sweeping off his beaver hat, he nodded to his cousin's female companion. A companion who was most decidedly not his cousin's wife. “Mrs. Chater, you are looking lovely as always.”

The dimpled matron, whose husband was a member of the club, was well known around town as his cousin's mistress, though Freddy was rather surprised that Gerard risked his wife's wrath so openly. Melisande had always struck him as rather frightening when crossed.

The Honorable Henry Chater, Mrs. Chater's husband, however, was rumored to be quite sanguine with the arrangement. Something Freddy found difficult to understand.

“Thank you, my lord,” his cousin's mistress simpered. “You are too kind.”

“I hope you are finding London to be much as you left it,” Sir Gerard said. “Though I like to think we have made it more entertaining in your absence.”

That was one way of putting it, Freddy thought. Aloud he said, “Indeed, I have heard much said about your driving club. It sounds like just the sort of thing I'd like to participate in. Though I doubt I'd be able to match you with the reins. You always were more of a dab hand than I ever was.”

The flattery hit its mark, and Freddy was pleased to note the flash of satisfaction in his cousin's eyes at the compliment. “You are too kind,” Fincher said with a wolfish grin. “We did have fun in the old days when we were learning the whip, didn't we?”

“We did,” Freddy confirmed with an answering smile. “But you were always the more skilled driver.”

It was just the right thing to say, for Sir Gerard smiled with genuine pleasure. He'd always been a proud one, Freddy reflected. Even when they were boys. Good to know some things hadn't changed. It would make his mission easier if he could rely upon Gerry's self-love to manipulate him.

“You flatter me, cousin,” Fincher said, inclining his head. “I happen to know that a pair of sweet bays are going to be on the block at Tatt's this week, if you're interested. I know the owner. Has to sell them to pay his gaming debts, poor fellow. I think they'll be just the thing. He might even include the rig with them too if you offer him enough.”

But Freddy wasn't quite ready to spend a great deal of money on a carriage he had no use for. His brother Archer, who was currently in the country with his new wife, had offered to let Freddy borrow his own curricle and chaise and four when he needed them. That would do well enough for Freddy. It wouldn't hurt to let Gerard think he wasn't quite able to afford a new rig.

“That would be capital,” he said, masking his annoyance with a grin. “But I've made other arrangements. Though I appreciate the offer.”

Fincher looked thoughtful for a moment, then as if deciding upon something, continued, “I think you'd be a welcome addition to the club, cousin. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. We have a recent opening, as I'm sure you know. Poor old Craven.”

Freddy felt himself tense at the mention of Jonathan. He hadn't expected Fincher to mention it so openly. “Jonathan Craven?” he asked, with a frown. “Was he a member? I heard about his death of course. We were friends, you know.”

“Yes, indeed,” Fincher replied smoothly, “he was a member, poor chap. It was terrible what happened to him. Nothing to do with the club, you understand. But terrible.”

That his cousin was denying that Jonathan's death had anything to do with the club—and by extension, himself—took Freddy aback somewhat. But he was careful to hide his surprise. “Indeed. I am relieved to hear it. Though you must know that there is talk about the club being involved. I will, of course, do my best to quell the rumors when I hear them.”

“I would be grateful,” Fincher said with an angry frown. “Though I could wish that people were not so eager to spread lies. I've even heard that some people blame me, personally, for Craven's accident. As if I have any control over a man's horses when he's miles away. It's pure lunacy.”

“It is the way of the world, my dear Sir Gerard,” Mrs. Chater said with a sympathetic pat on his hand. “People will talk when they are jealous. You know that as well as I. You are simply too powerful for them to resist.”

Despite the widow's blandishments, Gerard was obviously still gripped by anger. There was an uncomfortable silence while he got hold of his temper. Finally, after a breath he said, “We are having a small soiree tomorrow evening, Frederick, and I'd like for you to come. A small affair to celebrate Jonathan's life. I will have Melisande send round an invitation for you. If I had thought of it I'd have invited you sooner.”

Freddy was careful not to show his triumph at the invitation. He hadn't even needed to ask. “I would be delighted to attend. Thank you.” And though he disliked the notion of Leonora even breathing the same air as his cousin, mindful of his promise to her, he added, “And might I also secure an invitation for my betrothed?”

Once more, Sir Gerard's eyes widened in surprise. “Never say, some winsome lady has snared the elusive Lord Frederick Lisle in the parson's mousetrap,” the other man said with shock. “I daresay she is some Continental beauty you brought back with you from Paris.”

“Indeed not,” Freddy said with what he hoped was a wolfish grin. “She is someone I have known for quite some time. Miss Leonora Craven and I have decided to give it another go.”

Mrs. Chater gasped. “The bluestocking? And you, my lord? I should never have guessed it.” Her eyes traveled the length of his body in a boldly assessing way. “I wonder if she'll know what to do with you.”

Before Freddy could respond, Gerard patted his mistress's hand, though her wince revealed it might have been a bit rougher than it seemed. “My cousin and Miss Craven were betrothed once before, Mrs. Chater. Many years ago. It was not common knowledge, of course. But Freddy and Miss Craven's brother, the fellow who just died, were great friends.”

Something in his cousin's tone sent a chill up Freddy's spine. But unlike earlier, he didn't make the mistake of revealing his feelings openly. His eyes, now hooded, were watchful.

“It's quite true, Mrs. Chater,” Freddy said, pretending to ignore his cousin's scrutiny with a sheepish smile. “The lady decided to break things off before the marriage, of course, or we'd even now be wed. She went her way and I went mine. Then, when I returned to London, I went to see her to offer my condolences and we found that our affection for one another had returned, and only this morning she agreed to be my wife. The announcement will be in the papers before the end of the week.”

“Perhaps you should spirit the lady off to Gretna this time, Freddy,” Sir Gerard said with a cruel laugh, “just to ensure that she goes through with the thing.” His tone indicated that he would not be so foolish as to let a lady leave him before the wedding.