Gareth: Lord of Rakes (8 page)

“My, but your lordship is grumpy tonight. I’m simply enjoying the spectacle created by the audience. Which reminds me: Why did you bring me here? I thought we had agreed discretion was absolutely necessary if my name is to be protected from scandal.”

Fair question, which he’d had to ask himself
after
he’d sent his note on its way to her.

“It might surprise you to know that, like most gentlemen, I keep my personal vices separate from other aspects of my life, including my more proper socializing. On occasion, I am asked to escort the sister of an acquaintance or my mother’s friends’ daughters to functions such as this. I do know how to behave, Felicity, and I know how to pay respectful addresses to proper young ladies.”

To his own ear, his words held a faint but detectable note of defensiveness.

“I can well believe you are a proper escort when the need arises, Gareth, and I meant you no insult, but what I was asking was this: Why on earth would you bother to escort
me
? I am seeking anything but respectful addresses, and in no manner can I be considered proper in your eyes.”

He looked over at her, seeing a pretty, self-contained young woman attired at last in a manner suitable to her station, and his irritation abated not one bit. The real answer to her question, that he’d brought her to the theatre largely to indulge a desire to give her pleasure, was something he did not entirely understand himself.

“First, I respect you, Felicity. I find Society’s standards absurd insofar as a man is supposed to lose respect for a woman who permits him intimacies—unless she is his wife, in which case the same allowances are to result in his respecting her above all others, till death and so forth. This is hardly logical, and yet nobody seems to question it save myself.

“Second, you should become familiar with the other entertainments available to gentlemen who frequent your establishment. The theatre, in addition to being a subject of witty conversation, is also one of your competitors. The ladies performing on stage are as ostracized as the ladies at the Pleasure House, and frequently do give up the stage for the stability of a protector.”

“Yes, Professor,” Felicity murmured, her observance of the crowd taking on a more thoughtful air.

“I am not yet finished,” Gareth went on, quoting his first Latin tutor when that old worthy had been in a particularly loquacious mood. “A third reason we are being seen here tonight is to provide an alibi of sorts should anything untoward be bruited about regarding our… other dealings.”

“I do not understand.” A breeze wafted through the box, and a portion of the candles in the nearest chandelier winked out, leaving the box in heavy shadows.

He resented the need to spell out for her the type of subterfuge a more sophisticated woman would grasp easily—a more jaded woman.

“If rumors crop up that we are having illicit dealings, then it follows we should be seen skulking about the more notorious gaming hells, perhaps strolling the lovers walks at Vauxhall, or picnicking alone out at Richmond. Instead, we are seen in one of the few places I occasionally do the pretty with proper ladies. You are dressed most elegantly, and we will not—to appearances—behave like anything approaching a couple interested in each other.”

As the orchestra struck up the overture, Felicity leaned closer—her lavender scent was laced with roses tonight. “What do you mean, to appearances we will not be interested in each other?”

“I mean that my fourth objective for this little outing is that you add to your experience the sensual pleasures that make the theatre such a popular destination among the dissipated wastrels whom you will come to recognize as your best customers. Come.”

As the orchestra played on amid the noisy bustle of the evening’s socializing, Gareth took Felicity’s hand and led her to the back of the private box. The lighting was too meager to let him see her expression, even as he tugged her down beside him and removed her gloves.

“This is a sofa,” Felicity whispered, much as she might have accused him of having lewd pictures on the walls of his best parlor. “Do you mean you actually… seduce women in your box?!”

Her question made him feel old, tired, and ridiculous. “No, Felicity, I merely have this very comfortable couch in the darkest corner of the least well-lit box so I might bide here for the occasional nap.”

She withdrew her hand.

“There’s no need to mock me, Gareth.” Her voice was quiet, but he heard the hurt.

“Come here,” he coaxed, pulling her back against his side. What followed next would be as close to pillow talk as he was capable of. “I want to hold you for a few minutes. Tell me about your day—did you like the dress I picked out?”

And this was not small talk. He honestly wanted to know if she’d liked it, more fool he.

“I love the dress. Astrid nearly fainted dead away at the sight of it. The color is rich but subdued, the line elegant and simple. You are a genius with women’s clothing, Gareth. It isn’t fair.”

“And you,” he remarked as he resumed stroking her neck, “have the wisdom to bow to my refined judgment.”
For
once.
“Besides trying on your new finery, what labors have occupied you today?” He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck, feeling the tension flow out of her as he did.

And perhaps a little out of him, too.

“It’s the oddest thing, Gareth, but after the excitement in the park, I really wasn’t very successful with the rest of the day’s tasks. I played cards with Astrid—she wants to learn to wager, heaven help us.”

Excitement. She referred to nearly losing her life as excitement, and that was assuming Brenner’s report had described the situation conservatively.

“What excitement?” he murmured against her hair.

“Nothing much, really.” She cuddled against him, slipping her hand inside his coat to run languidly over his chest. “A horse bolted, and a Mr. Holbrook assisted me in leaving its path.”

Gareth let go of the earlobe he’d been nibbling and turned Felicity’s head so her lips were more easily accessible. “Promise me something, Felicity,” he said as his thumb grazed the underside of her breast.

“I can’t think when you touch me that way…”

About
damned
time.
“Promise me, if you have any more mishaps or near accidents, you will tell me,” he said, grazing her nipple through the fabric of her gown.

“Why?”

So
I
can
keep
you
safe.
Even in the relative darkness, he wasn’t about to voice that sentiment, though frustration of it effectively banished any nascent arousal.

Brenner had been unable to come up with much about the mysterious Mr. Holbrook, lately residing on an elegant Mayfair side street, and their man in the park had noted that the fool on the runaway horse hadn’t taken the simple measure of turning the beast’s head to bring it back under control.

“You will give me your word for two reasons,” Gareth said, taking her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles. “The first is that I take this safeguarding of Callista’s bequest seriously. Her business is worth a small fortune, and to the extent someone could attempt to wrest it from you, you must conduct yourself with an eye toward your personal safety.”

“Gareth, that is absurd.” And her tone was absurdly crisp, as if she hadn’t been nearly trampled to death that very morning. “No one would want to take that business from me… I’ve barely inherited it yet, and Astrid would be my heir. Nobody even knows I’m taking Callista’s place as owner, either.”

In a conveniently shadowed theatre box, cuddled up against the worst rake in Polite Society, Felicity Worthington still managed to sound starchy and prim—and damnably ignorant of how quickly and irrevocably death could snatch a person from life.

Gareth tightened his grip on her hand and cradled his palm against her cheek.

“Felicity, you have lived a sheltered life, and you must trust me when I tell you people will commit evil acts for personal gain, and life can be risky.” Highwaymen fired their pistols. Smallpox decimated entire villages. Boats sank. Did he have to draw her pictures? “For that matter, I will ask you to ensure your housekeeper and even Astrid have my direction. I want to be notified if you ever don’t come home when you should, or if they otherwise are concerned for your welfare.”

She turned her head so her lips grazed the heel of his thumb. That she might have done so on purpose suggested he still had not impressed upon her the seriousness of the topic.

“I will comply with this request, Gareth, but you said you had two reasons for making it. What is the other?”

“I would be… troubled if harm befell you.” The rest of that thought wasn’t for her to know: he was troubled to
be
harming her, ruining her reputation, destroying her innocence, taking away her chance for a loving husband and fat, chortling babies. The time for him to puzzle a way out of the dilemma was slipping by, and he very much feared he would end up completely debauching her—and enjoying the task. He purposefully turned his mind from that notion and linked hands with Felicity.

“I would be troubled if harm befell me, too.”

“Good. Now, while the orchestra thunders on, let us at least appear to attend, shall we?” He kept his tone pure marquess, aloof, condescending, and cool, but he continued to hold her hand, and she continued to let him.

Gareth drew her to her feet at the interval. “We shall stroll for a bit.” In public, where his wayward thoughts were less likely to result in wayward behaviors.

Felicity blinked owlishly at the relative brightness under the chandeliers. The performance was well attended, and the corridor rapidly filled with other patrons.

“Don’t gawk,” Gareth chided quietly as he smiled and nodded at an elderly couple proceeding in the opposite direction. “Head up, aloof smile in place, and no hint the man beside you wants to kiss you witless.” And in a louder voice, “Good evening, Lady Quinn, Lady Dremel.”

He bowed to the two matrons—a pair of Society’s most useless gossips—and moved along rather than gratify their obvious desire to engage him in conversation. At his side, Felicity let herself be towed forward by the hand he’d wrapped over the fingers she’d placed on his forearm. She was being blessedly biddable—which state of affairs made him perversely nervous.

“Would you like some punch?” he asked as they continued smiling and nodding along the passage.

“Good heavens, no thank you. I’m too excited to taste it,” Felicity responded through her fixed smile.

He was about to whisper something naughty when he caught sight of a couple approaching. “Trouble,” he muttered, giving Felicity’s fingers a squeeze. “Play as sweet as you convincingly can.”

“Why, Heathgate! How absolutely delightful to meet you here.” Edith Hamilton, decked out in fairy-pale blue and escorted by some doting young swain, extended her hand. Gareth took her fingers in his right hand and kissed her gloved knuckles. He realized his mistake when Felicity minutely stiffened beside him. A gentleman did not kiss a lady’s hand, not in public, and certainly not when escorting another lady.

Truly, his instincts had grown rusty.

He embarked upon the introductions, bracing himself for Edith’s brand of drama. Felicity produced an exaggerated curtsy, accompanied by a convincingly sweet smile, while Lady Hamilton’s smile would have cleaved leaded crystal at twenty paces.

“Why, Miss Worthington, I don’t believe I recall meeting you out in Society. This is a pleasure. But where are my manners? You must meet Edward.” She turned to the young man and wrapped herself around his arm. The poor fellow actually blushed. “Miss Worthington, Lord Heathgate, may I present, Edward, Lord—oh, yes!—Evanston. Edward, dear, Lord Heathgate has been a friend of mine for an age.” She smiled a feral smile right at Gareth and touched the blue diamond nestled above her cleavage. “I haven’t seen him for far too long.”

Brenner took excellent direction when it came to parting gifts.

Dear Edward stammered the appropriate pleasantries but seemed relieved when Gareth made their excuses and resumed their perambulations toward the balcony fronting the terrace.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked as they reached the double doors leading out to the chilly night air. “Shall we go out, or it is too cold for you without your wrap?”

“A little fresh air would be enjoyable.”

“You will not make a scene,” Gareth said repressively as they came to a solitary bench on the terrace. “I don’t even like her.” In truth, he didn’t dislike Edith. It was more the case he barely knew her.

Felicity allowed him to seat her near a convenient torch. When he came down beside her, he realized the bench was damned near freezing beneath his arse.

“How can you stand to join your body to that of a woman you don’t even like?” she asked, and Gareth heard both confusion and misery in her quiet question. He wanted to take her hand, but didn’t dare.

Blast all women to perdition, anyway.

“Women and men are different. We have discussed this on at least three separate occasions.” He’d lectured her about it, at any rate. “I need no more like a sexual partner than I need to like the fellow who spars with me in the fencing arena, or races his horse against mine in the park. I can enjoy our exertions even though he and I have radically different politics, values, and stations in life. Lady Hamilton is a titled tart, a willing partner for bedsport, available on terms agreeable to her and me both.”

He stood and blamed a need to move on having sat for too long entertained by little more than the opening farce. And yet, crude language was for men unable to express themselves through more sophisticated means, and referring to Lady Hamilton in such vulgar terms flattered nobody.

“Felicity, how can you contemplate making your livelihood off of the oldest profession and still have these silly romantic notions? Most men, most
gentlemen
, are simpleminded, rutting bastards, and happy to be that way. Why do you insist on complicating it?”

She looked up at him, and he was relieved to see her eyes were not glittering with either tears or malice. “Shall we go in, my lord?”