How To Build The Perfect Rake (8 page)

Mr. Falstaff (the younger) was greeting his
guests, many of whom had already arrived. Olympia had arranged that
they be a little late, the better to make an entrance. She tucked
her hand in the crook of Luc’s arm and fixed a determinedly
goose-like look upon her face, one that she hoped would be taken as
being somewhat overcome by being in his presence. This was new
territory for her but she was confident in her acting abilities.
She would either be seen as a girl in the throws of infatuation or
as a female who had become slightly deranged. Either one would
probably serve.

Luc stepped over the
threshold and paused, taking a long moment to survey the room. His
eyes travelled around slowly, lingering for a moment on the
shimmering perfection of Miss Houghton, who was standing beside Mr.
Falstaff, before continuing his survey.
Oh
well done
, she congratulated him mentally.
He must have been momentarily arrested by the sight of Carisse in a
gown of delicate silver that made her appear as ethereal as an
angel but he deliberately moved on and did not allow himself to
linger.

After their presence had been noted he moved
forward, taking his time. They were headed to Mr. Falstaff who was
eyeing Luc’s arrival without any perceptible enthusiasm. With good
reason, Olympia reflected. Endymion had elected to wear a velvet
jacket in a peculiar shade of ochre, which he had teamed with a
purple flowered satin waistcoat. Rather than a neckcloth, he wore a
handkerchief loosely knotted around his neck that was, apparently,
all the go in the artistic world of poets and writers alike. It
might have looked dreadfully devil-may-care in the drawing rooms of
the intellectual elite but next to Luc’s unrelenting black he
looked like an absurd, exotic wallflower. As ever, his pale golden
hair had been styled into ringlets, a look that had not been
popular for years since before the French had lost their heads in a
messy revolution.

He nodded to Olympia, who curtsied in
return, before turning his attention to Luc. ‘Good evening?’ he
queried doubtfully.

Luc gave a lazy smile and made his bow,
although it was directed at Carisse rather than the gentleman at
her side. ‘Mr. Falstaff, I believe? I don’t believe I have had the…
uh… pleasure. My name is Lucien St James.’

Olympia, watching Carisse’s face, saw the
sudden interest quicken in those blue eyes. She looked Luc over as
if she were seeing him for the very first time and in truth, she
probably was. And if her expression was anything to go by, she
liked what he saw. Olympia felt a pang of something that felt very
much like anguish. This was, of course, a marvelous result but it
didn’t mean that she had to be happy about it. If Carisse married
Luc surely the gloss would wear off and then… well, he would be
shackled to a girl who had no thought for anything but her own
pleasures. At the thought, all of Olympia’s delight in Luc’s
successful entry quite disappeared.

‘Mr. St James,’ Endymion hesitated,
returning his bow. He seemed to sense that his new visitor was not
benign. And that his presence somehow lessened his own standing.
Olympia, watching her host with interest, wondered how he would
deal with the situation. He knew perfectly well that he had not
invited Mr. St James but now that he was here it would be tricky to
banish him. ‘Do you like poetry?’

There was a moment’s pause, then Luc smiled.
‘Why else would I have come?’

‘Oh. Well then…’

‘Miss Houghton, you are looking delightful
tonight,’ Luc continued smoothly.

The girl preened, in much the same way she
had on the night when Lord Howe had approached her. ‘Thank you,’
her eyes drifted briefly to Olympia, noticing the way she still had
a hold on Luc’s arm. ‘Olympia, you must sit with me while Mr.
Falstaff reads.’

‘Must I?’ Olympia was rather surprised.
Carisse did not usually seek her company when there was a room full
of males to dote upon her.

‘You must
both
come and sit with
me.’

Oh well then, that
explains it.
She felt the muscles quiver
in the arm she was clutching and grimaced inwardly. It was the only
sign that her companion was thrilled with the way things were going
because he kept an expression of faint boredom in place, but he
must be delighted.
It’s what we wanted to
happen, isn’t it?

It was, but she knew
herself well enough to know that there was a large part of her that
would have been far happier if Carisse had
not
been impressed. Then at least
Luc could have recovered from his silly infatuation and instead
focused on finding somebody more suitable to marry. Why were men so
wretchedly dim?

The evening was well attended, in that a
diverse range of people were gathered, some of whom Olympia was
familiar with, some she had never laid eyes on before. Endymion’s
own particular entourage, she assumed, eyeing the curiously dressed
group of both males and females. Artists, clearly. She half
expected Lord Byron to pop up although she doubted that this kind
of recital would be to his taste. The man was notorious in his
scathing criticism of ‘would be’ poets so an invitation would
probably not have been forthcoming.

Naturally, Mrs. Houghton was present and she
came forward when people started to arrange themselves prior to the
opening lines. She cast a swift, assessing look at Luc and
immediately consigned him into the ‘excellent prospect’ basket, as
Olympia knew she would. Which was why she came to greet him so
graciously, acceding to the seating arrangement that saw her
daughter sit beside Mr. St James. Olympia, on the other side of
him, felt uncomfortable. If it hadn’t been for Carisse’s demand
that she sit with them, she would have chosen somewhere else.

Mr. Falstaff took up position in front of
the unlit fireplace, striking a pose. He clutched a sheaf of paper
(a sheaf? Olympia had been hoping for one or two pages) in his left
hand and placed his right hand over his heart. He looked, she
reflected, utterly ridiculous.

‘We are here tonight so that all of you may
know how a female’s beauty can inspire a poor poet to take up quill
and try to express in words how profoundly he has been
touched.’

By ‘poor’ Olympia assumed he meant not very
good for clearly the man had far too much money if this was how he
elected to spend his time.

‘Miss Carisse Houghton has been my guiding
light, a shining beacon in the darkest night on which my soul has
fed and nourished itself.’

Olympia’s lips quivered. She could not help
it. It was all so patently ridiculous. She dare not look at Luc,
not because she thought he would share her amusement, but because
she was worried she would see agreement on his face at such bilious
nonsense. Love, it appeared, could quite overset one’s appreciation
of the ridiculous.

Mr. Falstaff raised his pages and cleared
his throat portentously. Then he began.

‘Greater than the moon above, your eyes
shine with winsome light,

glorious Diana, bow held fast, your radiance
glistens with eternal might…’

Glistens with eternal
might? Dear Lord, that didn’t even make sense! Olympia gave an
inward groan and wished that she had produced a headache, an
illness, anything that would have prevented her from coming
tonight. She had assumed that Mr. Falstaff would be an indifferent
poet but she had
not
realized he would be truly ghastly.

Somewhere around page five, a reference to
‘and birds and sheep and oxen bow down before her celestial glow’
was almost Olympia’s undoing. Once again, she felt her lips twitch
as an image of a field full of sheep swooning at the sight of the
fair Carisse overtook her. This was not good. She had suffered
through a fit of the giggles on other occasions and knew that they
were harder to banish than hiccups. She felt her shoulders shake
and searched her reticule for her handkerchief, something that
might disguise her predicament. Hopefully her idiot host would
think she was overcome with emotion, as opposed to hysteria.

‘Most glorious Carisse, come make your peace
with destiny,

and take your rightful place among the
heavens…’

Olympia pressed the handkerchief hard
against her lips and wished that she could take her rightful place
at home, with Aunt Flora. Because eating candied fruits really had
to be so much better than this!

It took some time for Luc to recover from
his astonishment at discovering that his plan had worked
outstandingly well and that he was now firmly ensconced on the
couch next to the much admired Miss Houghton. For a while he just
sat and basked in the knowledge that he was doing a far better job
than he had imagined he was capable of. Olympia had been right;
turning up at this poetry nonsense had been a stroke of genius for
how could Carisse not compare him favorably to their host and the
other rum ‘uns that were scattered around the room. Falstaff fellow
was a complete fool, anybody could see that. That jacket! Luc gave
an inward shudder, wondering why anybody would want to wear
something that would look better on a footstool.

It took sometime for his inner exultation to
subside enough to realize two things, which rather took the wind
out of his sails. The first was that the pap their idiot host was
reading was execrable in the extreme. And the second was that he
was trapped there listening to it for the foreseeable future. By
the wad of papers in the precious Endymion’s hand, this might go on
until dawn. It was enough to make a man regret that he did not have
a drink and he cursed his lack of foresight for not obtaining one
before sitting down. His head had clearly been in a fog.

And why wouldn’t it be?
Carisse Houghton looked at you as if you were a person of interest!
A man to be taken seriously. Dear heaven’s, she noticed
you
!

That aspect of the evening was all very
satisfactory. What wasn’t satisfactory was this cursed wordy
nonsense. He wondered what Olympia made of it. Several minutes
later, when he felt her quivering beside him, he knew exactly what
she thought of it and, more importantly, what had set her off. It
had to have been the damn reference to livestock. The girl always
did have an appreciation of the absurd. Luc risked a quick glance
at Carisse, on his other side. She looked perfectly grave and was
paying rather more attention than perhaps such appalling bad poetry
merited but then, she was probably a very polite young woman.

A reference to geese caused Olympia to give
a small, involuntary peep herself and Luc found that he had a
sudden urge to grin. Damn Ollie! She could always get him to see
the ridiculous side of things and really, things did not get any
more ridiculous than this. He glanced at her and found that her
eyes were downcast, handkerchief firmly pressed against her lips.
What a wretch she was! And how he wanted to laugh at the absurdity
of this ridiculous situation.

With a Herculean effort, Luc schooled his
face back into the mildly bored look that Howe had urged him to
master. It was a surprisingly easy expression to maintain when one
had the knack of it and it gave him the luxury of a certain amount
of mental privacy. He wondered what course of action to take next.
Howe had warned him not to rush his fences.

‘They like to think they have you interested
but you can titillate them into an even greater desperation by not
appearing for several days. Give them a little, especially to begin
with, but not too much.’

With that in mind, turning up for a morning
call on the morrow might be construed as too much. His eagerness
could be his undoing but patience was jolly hard to come by when he
was keen to pursue his heart’s desire. He found that his admiration
of Miss Houghton’s fortitude was enhanced by her patience with the
proceedings. Why, she did not even look bored, which seemed
extraordinarily brave to Luc.

After what seemed an eternity Endymion’s
droning voice trickled into blessed silence. Luc only knew that the
torture had come to an end because there was a polite round of
applause. He did not join in. Some things simply should not be
encouraged. Beside him he heard Carisse sigh and assumed it was
with relief. She surprised him, however.

‘Wasn’t that divine?’

Luc searched her face, looking for some
indication that she was jesting with him. On his other side Ollie
murmured in his ear.

‘She is deadly serious. Just agree.’

Serious? She was seriously serious? ‘Indeed
it was,’ he murmured, rising to his feet, ‘clearly our host feels
very strongly about his subject.’

‘He must do if he believes sheep faint at
the sight of our Miss Houghton,’ Olympia said cheerfully. ‘I am
parched. Could you please fetch us drinks, Mr. St James?’

Carisse was looking pensive but she gave a
blindingly lovely smile at this. ‘Oh yes… please do. I would very
much like some lemonade.’

‘Lemonade,’ he repeated, wishing that
Olympia might accompany him so he could have a word in private.
Fortunately Mrs. Houghton hove into view, along with the poet who
was quivering with anxiety to see how his offering had been
received. Luc stepped back, drawing Olympia with him. ‘Come and
help me carry.’

When safely out of earshot, she cast him a
wicked look. ‘I am uplifted!’

‘I am nauseated! What a lot of rot.’

‘Carisse liked it.’

‘Yes, well… do you think she really did or
was she being kind?’

This solicited a very unladylike snort from
his companion. ‘Of course she liked it. Endless pages about how
deliriously gorgeous she is. She lapped up every word.’

‘But it was drivel.’

‘We both know that but I think she assumed
it to be gospel truth.’ They moved across to the well-laden buffet
that had been set up. Luc noticed with relief that the food had not
been stinted on at that there appeared to be quantities of claret
to be had. He poured himself a glass and took a mouthful.