A Lady's Guide to Rakes (6 page)

Where in blazes was the widow? This whole meeting with Lord Lansing would all be for naught if the widow did not arrive before he did.

Meredith had met the woman one year past, when she had joined her aunts in paying their condolences after the untimely death of Mrs. Heywood’s third husband. Given he circumstances, Meredith had been quite surprised to find the widow in such high spirits, and with a gentleman it her elbow. That is, until later she learned from her aunts that the bawdy widow married as often as the season changed. In truth, it was common knowledge among the ton that she’d
pleased
at least three wealthy husbands into early graves, earning her the title “the merry widow.”

Still, despite her late husbands’ bulging coffers, the widow enjoyed her cards almost as much as bedchamber liaisons, and it was no secret that she was always in want of a guinea, a romp beneath the coverlets… or a man who could supply both.

For this very reason, Meredith had recently secured the widow’s assistance with her social experiments. With both the widow and Giselle in her employ, the variety of Meredith’s experiments increased, and because the widow’s lusty reputation preceded her, never once had she failed Meredith in drawing out the desired results in a rogue. And this time would be no different. As expected, the widow had not so much as blinked an eye when Meredith offered her a fistful of guineas if she simply seduced the handsome Lord Lansing.

Just then, as if she’d conjured forth the Devil by thinking of him, a shiny black carriage emblazoned with the distinctive Lamont coat of arms drew up before the stable posts.

Oh no.
Meredith flung herself behind an ancient chestnut tree. Why couldn’t he have arrived late, as was the usual way of rogues?

Resting her cheek against the trunk’s bark, she leaned forward just barely enough to witness Lord Lansing descend the carriage steps, and with a grand smile upon his all-too-handsome face, he disappeared through the open stable door—in search of
her.

Nothing about this day had gone at all as she’d expected. Why, given the way her aunts were acting this morn, she was sure Arthur…
blast
… Mr. Chillton was going to offer for her during their ride in his phaeton.

But he didn’t.

Of course, he would someday. Soon too, she expected, for at least twice this month he’d commented on her suitability as a wife in the presence of others.

Even her own sisters and her great-aunts voiced their expectation of an eventual union. As did Chillton’s younger sister, Hannah. Why, to hear her speak, one would think that Meredith had already strolled down the aisle with Arthur… um… Mr. Chillton.

Oh yes, an offer of marriage was inevitable. It just hadn’t come today—though she’d have been willing to bet a guinea it would have. She glanced down through her aunt’s blond-lace fichu, at the deep neckline of her new sapphire gown. Probably the cut of the frock. It was clear Mr. Chillton didn’t find it attractive.

Meredith pulled a tiny leather book from her reticule and muttered the words that she scribbled inside. “French-cut, bosom-revealing gowns only appeal to—”

“Me,”
came a deep, satiny smooth voice beside her ear, making the downy hairs at the back of her neck rise as her shoulders lurched up with surprise.

Meredith snapped the leather book closed and swung her head around. “Oh, L-Lord Lansing. I… um… wasn’t aware you’d arrived.”

“Of that, my dear, I am quite sure.” His lips pulled away from his teeth and the beast flashed her the most dashing of roguish smiles, making her feel all wilty and weak.

Curse him
. Without removing her gaze, she widened the cinch of her reticule and crammed the book and pencil inside. “I was just writing myself a reminder of sorts.”

“So I see.” The rake raised a perfectly curved, dubious brow. “I do apologize for interrupting.”

“No harm d-done,” she stammered as she turned to face him fully. “Just something I remembered reading in
La Belle Assemblee.
“

A light, warm breeze fluttered through the trees around them, rustling the thick ebony lock at Lansing’s brow and calling Meredith’s full attention to his flashing green eyes, ringed with a fringe of dark lashes that any woman would envy.

Meredith could not seem to look away from his eyes. It was almost as if she’d been baited into a trap from which she could not extricate herself.

From the edges of her vision, she saw his hand raise up and then felt the warmth of it on her cheek.

“Why, the scratches are nearly gone. How can that be?”

Startled by his boldness, Meredith did not even attempt to brush his hand away. “My Aunt Viola applied some cream to them. My former lady’s maid concocted the balm—it heals scrapes and bums like nothing I have ever known.”

“You fell quite a distance. Are you truly well?”

“Indeed I am.” Meredith didn’t wish to discuss the condition of her body with anyone, and especially not with a rake.

“I am pleased to hear it, Miss Merriweather.”

She had just about summoned the courage to push his hand away from her face when his fingers moved. She felt the warmth of his touch as his fingers dipped into the depression just above her collarbone. Her mouth opened, and she knew she must object to his all-too-familiar touch—for she was practically promised to another— when suddenly her aunt’s fichu was whisked from her shoulders.

He chuckled softly, breaking the gaze that held her. “If you follow
La Belle Assemblee,
Miss Merriweather, surely you are aware that such a beautiful gown requires no additional adornment, especially on such a blistering day.”

Meredith felt her cheeks going pink with embarrassment and she snatched the fichu from his hand. “Sir, I did not ask you here to discuss current fashion.” She swallowed, and nearly cringed when she heard an audible gulp. “Am I correct in understanding that you are an expert in bloodstock?”

“You are.” Lord Lansing lifted his arm to her. “You wish my counsel, Miss Merriweather?”

Meredith cleared her throat and stood there staring at his elevated elbow… just hovering there… waiting for her. She must look quite the ninny. Finally realizing she must move forward with her experiment without the assistance of the more skilled widow, she relented and took his arm. “I do, my lord. As you are well aware, women are not permitted within Tattersalls, so I must entrust an agent to do my bidding.”

“There are agents for hire.”

“Perhaps, but none so knowledgeable as you—or so I have heard about Town.” As they walked toward the stables, Meredith glanced up at the rake and saw a pleased grin slip across his lips.

When they reached the stable doors, Meredith halted and searched for the widow once more, but the amorous mistress was nowhere to be seen. She turned her gaze to the stable’s black cavernous opening. The scent of horses and straw was thick, and her heart began to pound.

What was she to do now?

“Miss Merriweather, if we are to discuss horseflesh, we must go inside.” Lord Lansing drew her forward a step, but she dug her heels into the earth.

“D-do we?” Her breath was catching in her throat. This was not part of her plan!

Where is that widow? Does payment for services mean nothing to her?

“I say, darling, shall we?” Lord Lansing tugged gently at her arm again.

“My lord, the day is stifling indeed. Would it not be preferable to view the horses out here… in the f-fresh air?”

He gazed at her in that subtly amused way of his, then released her arm and plunged into the darkness of the stable innards alone.

There was a loud clop of hooves on packed earth, and a moment later, Lord Lansing emerged from the darkness, leading forth a startlingly large bay. Meredith’s eyes widened as he took her right hand and pressed the lead into it.

“My l-lord, I cannot—” But no other words would come.

“I am here to protect you. No harm will come to you as long as I am here.”

He ran his bare hand over hers and patted it soothingly. And somewhere inside her, she believed him. She did feel safe in his company. Though she knew she should not— for in truth, no woman was truly safe from a rogue of his caliber, were they?

“Just hold tight,” his deep voice instructed, “whilst I review with you the features of utmost importance when considering bloodstock.”

She nodded dumbly, unable to do anything else. Her teeth were already lining up for their clattering march.

“For me, legs are all important. ‘No legs, no horse,’ a wise man once said.” He bent and ran his hand down the equine’s front leg. “They should be straight, clean and blemish free.”

Then something extraordinary happened. His gaze slipped from the horse’s quarters and affixed to her own legs, which, due to the prevailing wind, were now perfectly visible through her thin dress.

“Long legs are a most admirable trait. Yes, indeed.” He smiled to himself as his eyes trailed upward from her ankles, over her thighs and to her hips.

Lud, the man had a way of making her feel perfectly naked!

Raising his gaze, he noticed her narrowing eyes and snapped his attention to the horse once more. “Long legs produce a longer ground-covering stride… most desirable for racing.”

“I see.” Meredith managed to sound thoughtful, for she did not wish for the rake to know he was having a…
visceral
effect on her. Even if it was ever so minor, and certainly not enough to warrant concern on her part.

His. hand slid slowly up the horse until it rested on the chest area behind its front legs. “A deep heart girth is also one of my preferences, for a larger heart and lungs…” His gaze flitted most deviously to the deep cut of her frock, before returning to the beast. “Well, I’ve found a deep heart girth a good indicator of… stamina.”

Straightening, he ran his hand along the slope of the bay’s back. “Her overall confirmation should be balanced.” He approached Meredith then and stepped behind her. “May I?”

She had no idea what he was about. But if it would assist in moving along this course in horseflesh and get her out of Hyde Park sooner, she’d agree to almost anything. She nodded.

He laid his hand against her spine and eased it achingly slowly down to the small of her back. “An easy slope of the back is what you want. Nothing all ramrod straight and stiff.”

All of Meredith’s blood seemed to follow his hand’s downward motion, and pooled hotly… well, somewhat lower. How dreadfully mortifying! She should leave this very instant. In fact, she would. Meredith opened the hand grasping the lead, intending to let it fall, but the rake bent her fingers back over it. “No, no. Don’t let go. Too dangerous with the horse so near,” he warned.

A shudder rattled through her and she obeyed and tightened her grip, though she was not sure if the man should be believed or not. Still, best not to risk injury… just in case.

All of the rake’s attention was fixed on her face now, and not on the horse at all. “Some claim that clear, intelligent eyes and a long, graceful neck are unimportant, but for me, it hints at superior breeding.” His hand moved to her jawline and he gently ran the back of three fingers along its curve.

“A pretty head, while not essential, is always a delightful bonus.” He smiled and released a pleased sigh.

That’s it. She’d had quite enough of his so-called lesson. Seizing his hand in hers, she shoved the lead into it.

“Thank you, my lord,” she very nearly snarled. “I shall consider what you have said and get back with you about my bloodstock needs.”

“But, Miss Merriweather, there is still so much more I have to teach you.”

No doubt
. “I—I fear my sensibilities are presently quite overwhelmed by my proximity to the horse.”

Lord Lansing peered at her quizzically. “Why, pray, if your fear is so great, do you seek to purchase a horse?”

Why indeed?
Meredith searched through her mind for a logical response. She couldn’t tell him that engaging him as her horse agent was simply a ruse to prove what a beast he truly was.

“The horse is to be a gift.” Well, now, that sounded reasonable, did it not?

“For whom?” That challenging brow of his flicked up.

“Urn… for my betrothed.”

Lord Lansing’s eyes widened to the size of halfpennies. “I—I beg your pardon, Miss Merriweather, did you say—”

“I did, my lord.” A great thick lump rose up in her throat as she repeated her lie.

“My
betrothed.
“

A rake allows women to initiate conversation topics in which he will appear interested. This gives the woman the impression that she has much more in common with him than is true.

Mr. Edgar, who held three bonnets in his arms, dutifully followed Aunt Letitia into the parlor, where Meredith and Aunt Viola were finishing their morning chocolate.

“Oh dear, just as I’d thought. Put your cups down, ladies. Putthem down at once. Have you forgotten?” Aunt Letitia seized Meredith’s wrist and guided her cup quickly to the table. “Tis already ten o’clock. Mustn’t be late for the birth breakfast!”

No, wouldn’t want to miss a single moment of Beth Augustine’s inane celebration.

Never mind that Beth Augustine—that would be Mrs. Chauncey Augustine for all of one year now—was Meredith’s least favorite person in all of Mayfair. Possibly in all the world.

For the former Miss Beth Dooly, Meredith’s fellow classmate at Miss Belbury’s School for Girls, had not only mercilessly ridiculed Meredith for years, but also urged the other young ladies to do the same.

At the time, what most frustrated Meredith was that she could not put her finger on a single instance when she might have done anything to earn such hatred. Nothing could explain Beth’s many cruel games. One morn, Meredith had awakened to find her red braids severed and lying on the floor. Another time, she’d dipped a spoon into her porridge only to discover hearth ash mixed into it. But what hurt her most was when Beth convinced the other girls to pretend they could not see or hear Meredith. Having recently lost her parents, Meredith keenly felt the imposed loneliness and began to play her own clever pranks on her teachers and the school staff—simply to be noticed.