Redeeming a Rake (4 page)

Her sudden bashful smile made him feel like
he’d conquered the world. “It’s very kind of you to say so Your
Grace, but I do own several good mirrors. I know what I look
like.”

“No, you don’t.” She glanced at him as if
she hoped he wasn’t merely being kind and then turned away to
direct the butler setting down a small table for the footman’s
heavy tray.

“The ribbon your requested Madam.” She
accepted the long pink ribbon and laid it on her lap.

“Thank you Jenkins, that will be all for the
moment. Please leave the door open.” Her hands were visibly shaking
as she cut the scone and slathered both halves with clotted cream
and strawberry preserves. She barely glanced at him as he took the
offered plate and turned to make one for herself. Holding her plate
in one hand she seemed lost in the taste until she suddenly glanced
in his direction and burst out laughing.

“What?”

“You have clotted cream on your cheek.”

“I’m not the only one with cream on my
face.”

“Oh, trust me to make a mess…” She reached
for a serviette and quickly wiped her mouth.

“Look at me.” She obediently turned and
stared into his eyes as if he were some dashing young soldier.
“Hold still.” Wiping the cream off the tip of her nose he licked
his finger and smiled as she blushed again and turned away to look
at her child. Holding his breath, he prayed she’d look at him
again. As if she could hear his thoughts her eyes glanced up at him
causing the blood to gush through his veins demanding more. Holding
her eye he reached out again to gently wipe another glob of cream
off her cheek, but the sight of his pale skeletal finger caressing
living flesh made his heart sink in despair. She wouldn’t want to
bed a man who looked like he belonged in a mausoleum.

“Thank you…” She touched her cheek as if his
caress had caused pleasure. “…is there any more cream on my
face?”

His eyes trailed over her face searching for
another excuse to touch her. “Unfortunately not…”

“Oh…good…” The words were tinged with
disappointment. “…I had the maid bring one of my ribbons to replace
the one my son has chewed. If you’ll allow me to remove my
impertinent child and his new toy…Alex, let go of His Lordship’s
ribbon so I can untie it.” The tiny creature wailed in fury as the
ribbon was tugged from his mouth and unwound from Geoffrey’s leg.
He held his breath as she bent over him affording an unwitting view
of her charms. Geoffrey gulped down the hunger as kind fingers
hovered near his knee, untying his garter and handing it to her
child who was immediately placated as if it had never left his
mouth. The angel then rose and knelt in front of him and proceeded
to reverently tie a pink ribbon around his leg as if she were
paying homage to a prince. Her head leaned closer as she finished
tying the bow, but she shook her head and tried again. Geoffrey
clenched his teeth as her fingers brushed against his leg causing
jolts of pleasure. Ignoring the impulse to pull her into his arms,
he was trying to memorise the sight of her bent over his knee when
the footman came in with the silver tray holding another card.

“Lady Sophia Grayson wishes to know if you
are receiving Madam.”

Geoffrey silently cursed his sister to hell
as the angel briefly turned away from his garter to glance at the
footman. “Yes of course Jenkins; please bring us a few more
scones.”

“
Very good
Madam.”

She returned to retying his garter for the
second time, but her hands were shaking. Was he making her nervous
or was she affected by his nearness? It was silly to believe the
latter. It was more likely she was coming down with the flu.
“Forgive me my Lord; I’m all thumbs today.” She was retying the bow
a the third time when Lady Sophia sailed in and froze with
horror.

“Mrs Spencer…what are you doing?”

“Tying a garter…”

“Around the devil’s leg?”

“Your brother is not the Devil.” Geoffrey’s
growing anger eased at the kind rebuke. “There! I think that bow
will remain tied. I wouldn’t want you to lose your stocking half
way home; people would laugh at you and it would be all my fault.”
Geoffrey bit his tongue as the angel smiled at him as she struggled
to her feet. He was determined not to lose his temper in front of
the angel. He didn’t want her to know that he really was a
heartless fiend. “Will you eat a scone Lady Sophia?”

“I need to speak with you in private.” Lady
Sophia scowled at her brother making it clear she wanted him to
leave.

“Are you sure you can’t speak in front of
your brother?” Mrs Spencer’s words allowed Geoffrey to return his
sister’s contempt with a triumphant smirk.

“The Duchess said Lyndhurst asked about you
last night. He wanted to know where you lived and if you had a
chaperone, but she refused to tell him. I came to warn you that he
intends to ruin you. Look at him; he doesn’t resemble a corpse
because he’s attended too many funerals. The man is depraved, a
worthless rake-hell who hasn’t a decent bone in his dead looking
body.” Geoffrey clenched his fists in despair as he stood to take
his leave. The angel wouldn’t want anything to do with him after
hearing a list his sins. He knew he didn’t deserve a few crumbs of
happiness, but he needed them. He needed the kind woman in his arms
smiling at him.

“Lady Sophia, your brother may not be a
saint, but…”

“List the most vile things one man can do to
another human being and he’ll have done them all. Look at him! He
doesn’t dare deny it.” Geoffrey could feel the angel’s eyes turn to
look at him, but he could only stare at his sister with hatred for
ruining his small taste of heaven. “He wouldn’t want to deny it.
Who would he be if he wasn’t The Devil’s Corpse? The man couldn’t
perform the smallest act of kindness without making it sordid. How
could you even consider receiving him? Do you wish to be ruined?
Your servants will be sure to spread the word that the good Widow
Spencer received Him and you’ll share his fate. Your reputation as
a virtuous woman is as good as damned. That’s a high price. I never
thought you one of those women who’d do anything to be a
Duchess.”

Geoffrey audibly sucked in his breath as his
temper boiled over, “Mrs Spencer was being kind you hateful
little…” He was abruptly silenced by a gentle hand on his arm.

“I find it comforting to know the entire
Grayson family is concerned for my reputation, however, I’ve done
nothing to be ashamed of. If I find your brother’s company
pleasant, don’t you think that might mean he isn’t as wicked or
evil as people think him? Can’t we give him a chance to prove he’s
something more than his past mistakes?”

“Your tolerance will be your downfall. If
you prefer the stench of social death…you may have his company and
be damned.” Lady Sophia sneered at her brother, turned on her heel
and marched from the room with her head held high.

Geoffrey’s heart convulsed as dark clouds
rolled off the horizon nearly suffocating the angel’s sunshine.
“Forgive me for calling on you, I…” His knees trembled with the
desire to bend and allow him from the floor to beg her to be his
friend, if only in secret, but Graysons didn’t beg. “…I’ll not
bother you again Mrs Spencer.” Geoffrey could already smell gun
powder. Bowing low, he turned away denying himself a last glance of
happiness.

“My Lord, I’m glad you called.” Stopping,
out of the corner of his eyes he could see a feminine hand
extended. Slowly turning back he stared in disbelief from the small
hand into determined eyes.

“Mrs Spencer…”

“Tolerance! My friends call me Tolerance.
It’s my Christian name.”

Geoffrey blinked unsure if he’d heard her
right or if the large amount of brandy he’d imbibed for courage was
causing him to hallucinate. “Forgive me Mrs Spencer, but did you
just give me leave to be your friend?” He sighed in relief as the
fear of rejection evaporated in the warmth of her smile.

“I hope you’ll call again soon.”

“Why?” His heart threatened to faint from
the shock of asking the unaskable. He didn’t want to hear that she
pitied him. He tried to cover his vulnerability with a sneering
smile. “Did you spend your childhood dreaming of being a
duchess?”

“You’re quite safe my Lord, I have no wish
to remarry. As to why I hope you’ll be my friend; there’s just
something about you. I feel like I’ve known you forever. Does that
sound odd?”

“No.” Looking into her smiling eyes he
wanted to tell her that he understood exactly what she meant, but
he couldn’t. She might think it was a cheap blandishment to help
him win an invitation to view her bed. He’d tell her once she was
naked in his arms. Just because she didn’t want to remarry didn’t
mean she wanted a celibate life. Her smile gave him hope that he
wouldn’t have to wait long. Geoffrey reverently took her hand and
pressed his lips to her skin for as long as he dared. “Tolerant
angel, I will endeavour to deserve the honour of your friendship.”
He briefly pressed his lips a second time to the back of her hand
and reluctantly let it go. With another formal bow he turned and
fled before the temptation to pull her close destroyed any future
happiness.

Her front door closed behind him, the
thought of lying in her naked arms, wrapped in her sunlight made
him light-headed. The nothingness had been eroded from another
small portion of his heart. Setting his hat at an angle, he headed
back to the narrow medieval house he called home, his thoughts
haunted by his sister’s acidic words. He couldn’t help wondering
what it would be like to find his new friend’s smile on his pillow
every morning. The mental image caused another surge of
bitter-sweet pleasure. He barely resisted the temptation to run
back to the smiling woman.

Finding an invitation waiting for him from a
woman he remembered standing near Tolerance the night before gave
him hope. The possibility of seeing his friend a second time that
day was too tempting. Most of the company would give him the cut
direct, but he didn’t care how he was received as long as they let
him in the door. “I’ll be going out this evening Howard. Have the
maids prepare another bath and impress upon the kitchen staff that
I wish to see steam rising off the water. They boil water for tea;
I dare say they can boil water for my bath.”

“Very good Your Grace.”

“Didn’t I move here with several boxes of
books?”

“They’re in the attic Your Grace.”

“Have the boxes brought to my
bedchamber.”

“As you wish Your Grace.” Howard raised both
eyebrows as soon as his master’s back was turned. He hadn’t seen
the Duke read anything longer than broadsheet for years, but his
master’s despotic tone was reassuring. The Duke was back to his old
tyrannical self.

Geoffrey was in his shirtsleeves when the
dust covered boxes were set down near his feet. He wasn’t surprised
by the lurid contents, but had he really thought them entertaining?
He thumbed through the lot before finding on the bottom of the
second box the seven volumes of Clarissa. He set them aside and
threw all the other lurid manuscripts back into the boxes. The
thought of the angel learning he owned such things made him feel
embarrassed. When the servants returned with more water he ordered
the boxes to be carried away and burned in the garden. The door
closed, the fire lit, his bath waiting; he started undressing.
Holding the ribbon in his hands he pressed it to his lips mentally
reliving her fingers brushing his leg. Pleasantly frustrated, he
reverently rolled up the ribbon and tucked it among his rubies
before settling into tepid water with the fourth volume of
Clarissa. Had his new friend ever read it? He started skipping
through various letters of the long story only half reading the
words on the pages. He didn’t deserve Tolerance any more than the
villain Lovelace deserved to own the heroine Clarissa, but he
couldn’t imagine ever hurting his new friend. Men like Lovelace
thought women were countries to conquer and divide; objects to
possess and break at will, but of course it was all a cover for
their own sense of worthlessness. Once upon a time Geoffrey had
found the company of unrelated females enjoyable. Unfortunately he
was in the unhappy position of being despised and repulsed by the
female sex. Flinging the book to the floor he closed his eyes and
wiggled his toes in ecstasy. No, there was one beautiful
exception.

The clock on the mantel of her dressing room
seemed to be running fast. Nine o’clock had come and gone; she was
late for the ball. Holding his heavy little body close she let him
take his time. She brushed long wispy blonde curls off his forehead
and smiled at his reassuring hand on her breast. It was scandalous
to feed her own baby, but she couldn’t farm her son out to a wet
nurse, she loved being the person he needed when he was tired and
hungry and it would have enraged her dead husband.

“Alex, you’re going to make your mamma
unfashionably late for the ball. Whatever will people think?” Her
baby blissfully ignored her. “I think your mamma is losing her
mind. That man you met today has been haunting my thoughts, but
Dukes don’t marry commoners unless they’re rich, beautiful or both.
It’s obvious he needs a woman in his life. He smells musty, as if
his rooms haven’t been aired in years. His servants are clearly
inadequate. They probably serve him the meat they won’t eat.
They’re probably thieving him blind. He wouldn’t be ugly if he ate
three meals a day and spent time in the sunshine. Oh this is
stupid! He wants to share his bed not his family jewels. Your
Father was a heartless rake, a truly horrid man. I want to believe
the Duke of Lyndhurst is different. There’s something about him
that I like. Who am I trying to fool? The man makes me feel like a
giddy girl. Every time he touches me I feel…I don’t know. It’s so
silly. No it’s mad. How can I feel pleasure from the man’s touch?
It should make me sick. I shouldn’t enjoy his company or his gaze…I
wish he were here right now. I know you’re a little young for tales
of unrequited love, but who else can I talk to? Imagine the look on
people’s faces if I told them I didn’t want to remarry, but that
I’d make an exception for the Duke of Lyndhurst. His sister’s
right. I’d be damned as one of those sad women who’d do anything to
be a duchess. Why did she have to say that? It very unkind. I
thought my face would catch fire…” She looked down to see that baby
Alex had fallen asleep. She looked at the clock. She had to hurry
if she wanted to dance. With her baby safely placed in his nurse’s
arms she threw on the first gown that came to hand, a new icy pink
silk with a transparent pink overdress woven with elaborate silver
stripes that shimmered in the candlelight. A simple silver chain
with a pink coral cross around her neck, her hair piled in becoming
loops on top of her head held fast by pink coral combs, her
favourite fan and her gloves shoved into her reticule; she almost
forgot to put on her pink dancing slippers before running down the
stairs and climbing into the waiting carriage.