SubmittingtotheRake (6 page)

“The misgivings lie with me.”

“She displeased you.”

He wished that were the case. He wished that he had not
found her courage and attempts at boldness endearing. Nor her vulnerability so
alluring. Her body so intoxicating.

“She pleased me well enough.”

Marguerite arched her brows. “Pray tell you are not
developing a conscience,
mon cheri
?”

Women. They could be damnably clever at the most
inconvenient times.

“She would not think it possible,” he replied wryly, “having
denounced me as a libertine devoid of morals.”

“But why would she…? Strange words for a woman who came here
to experience the pleasures of the flesh.”

Sebastian could see Marguerite would not relent until she
understood the situation. Only women had such propensities.

“She did not come here to indulge her carnal desires,” he
divulged, “but to rescue her cousin from ruin at my hands. Her cousin was my
intended guest.”

“
Mon dieu.
She took her cousin’s place? What a
peculiar mademoiselle.”

He took this opportunity to raise her hand to his lips. “And
now, my dear, I bid you a fond farewell, until next we meet.”

She pulled her hand away before he could kiss it. “But
you—you seduced her?”

He felt a muscle ripple along his jaw. “My dear, I see no
purpose in furthering this
tête-à-tête
. My horse has been saddled.”

He turned to leave but was stopped again by her words.

“But why stop now? Why send her away? Does she want to
leave?”

“Why so many questions about her?” he retorted. “Why, of the
many women who have been through Château Follet, does she merit such
curiosity?”

“Because she’s not like the many women who have been here.
At least not the ones you have brought.”

“I did not bring her. She came uninvited.”

“Nonetheless, you enjoyed her, did you not?”

Hostess or no, Lady Follet was about to have a rude guest on
her hands, he thought to himself.

“It makes little sense that you are sending her away so
soon,” Marguerite continued, “lest it be an act of conscience, of some form of
chivalry. And so, my dear Sebastian, I may ask of you—why her?”

“She is no jezebel. She deserves better.”

She stared blankly at him, and he thought that he might
finally have put an end to the conversation, but then she began to laugh.
Containing his irritation, he waited patiently for her to be done with the
hilarity.

“Forgive me,” she said at last, wiping away a tear. “I never
would have thought to hear you utter such things, but I rather suspected that
the day would come when a woman would stir the tender part of you.”

The choice of weapon for women was words, and Marguerite,
like Miss Merrill, would have done as well had she kicked him in the groin.

“I am pleased to be a source of humor for you, my dear, but
I fail to see where this dialogue is headed.”

“
Mon dieu
, I have never seen you this cross. This
mademoiselle must be
très spécial
, indeed. I must meet her.”

He took a step toward her. “You will not.”

Her brows shot up. “How protective we are. Tell me, she did
not ask for you to send her away?”

“It matters not.”

“Of course it does. You said she deserved better. What if
she doesn’t want better—at the least, not your patronizing definition of what
is better for her.”

He considered Marguerite’s words and tried to recall Miss
Merrill’s reaction upon hearing that she was to return home. He had been so
immersed in his own objective that he had not paid much attention to what she
might have been thinking.

“It is better that she go,” he said at last.

“Coward.”

Of all the things Marguerite could have said, he did not
expect that. Rather, he had thought she might praise him for his rare display
of chivalry with Miss Merrill or chastise him for being a chivalrous prude.
Being called a coward was worse than anything Anne Wesley might have said.

“My dear, you are deliberately trying to provoke my ire,” he
said, taking off his gloves as if he meant to slap her across the face and
challenge her to a duel.

She eyed the gloves warily. “Only because I adore you,
Sebastian, and only the friendship between us stays the jealousy I feel toward
your mademoiselle.”

“If you wish to renew our acquaintance, I can have the groom
unsaddle my horse.”

“No. I will not serve as a means for you to forget
her
.
I do not wish for you to envision her while you lie with me. If you are the
Sebastian Cadwell I thought you were, you would not let her go.”

“How many times do you intend to challenge my manhood,
Marguerite?”

She smiled.

“It would do no good,” he said. “If she returns home now,
there is a chance no one would find out that she had ever been here. If she
stayed, while we might enjoy ourselves for a few days more, we would only defer
the misery of parting.”

“That has never stopped you before. Is it her misery or
yours that concerns you?”

He considered the many women he had bid farewell to. Some
parted with wistfulness, others parted with vain attempts to seduce him. But he
had been clear with them all—their time at Château Follet marked the end and
not the beginning of an affair. He did not think he could bear seeing the
sadness in Miss Merrill’s eyes. Already he suspected she, like so many before
her, had fallen a little in love with him. Nor had he a desire to enlarge the
emptiness he was already feeling upon her departure.

“I will not see her ruined,” he said stubbornly.

“How condescending of you.”

Her words struck him as ironic. He had used the same with
Miss Merrill. And now it was he who sought to shield her from
herself—contradicting his own arguments. He would have preferred to keep Miss
Merrill and show her body the many paths to ecstasy. Instead, he had chosen to
be selfless, and for that he was being called a condescending coward.

“Go to her,
mon cheri
,” Marguerite urged.

She gazed at him with obvious affection. He wondered if Miss
Merrill would gaze at him with such warmth. The prospect beckoned as much as
her body called to his.

“
Adieu
, my dear,” he said to Marguerite with a kiss
to her forehead.

And this time, before she could utter another objection, he
took his leave.

* * * * *

Heloise had the carriage deposit her a mile from the Merrill
estate with the intention of traversing the remaining distance on foot.
Watching the carriage withdrawing into the sunset, she was poignantly conscious
that her assignation with Lord Cadwell was over. She might not cross paths
again with him for some time, and she would prefer the absence to the
inevitable awkwardness that must accompany future encounters between them.

She welcomed the solitary walk, hoping the pleasant glow of
dusk would calm her unrest. Cadwell had stirred an agitation within her that
she could not quiet. Longing for his touch, her body felt as though it were a
tuning fork that could not cease its reverberation. What a muddle she had made
of herself! Though driven by good intentions, she had succeeded in
accomplishing nothing save making a proper fool of herself before the Earl of
Blythe. Her cheeks flushed at what he must think of her now.

The most troubling aspect of it all was that she cared what
he thought.

As she approached the house, her thoughts turned to
Josephine and the dreaded confrontation. How would she explain herself to her
cousin? She had reconciled herself to the prospect of losing Josephine’s
affection in exchange for “rescuing” her cousin from Lord Cadwell, but now that
her mission had proved a failure—and that she herself had succumbed to that
from which she had sought to protect Josephine—she no longer felt secure in her
standing.

“Miss Merrill!” the maidservant at the door greeted her in
surprise, louder than Heloise would have liked. “We was in quite a state as to
where you might have gone off to.”

“I went to call upon an ailing friend,” Heloise mumbled as
she glanced about for her cousin with a quickened pulse. “Where is Miss
Josephine?”

“In the garden, I believe, with Mr. Webster.”

Mr. Webster was a friend of Lord Cadwell and had called once
before on Josephine.

“Is anyone else with them?”

The maid shook her head. Heloise sighed at Josephine’s
disregard for a chaperone, but she was relieved too, that she might not have to
confront her cousin quite yet.

“Shall I assist in your toilette, Miss Merrill?”

With her skirts dust-covered from the walk, Heloise realized
she must have looked rather unkempt from her travels. They went upstairs to her
chambers, which now looked a tad drab compared to those at the Château Follet.

As she unlaced her bonnet and shrugged out of her caraco,
she thought once again of Lord Cadwell, of his hands undressing her, his body
pressed against her. How quickly her apprehension had transformed to comfort in
his presence, as if they had been lovers for some time. She would never have
imagined that she could experience such ease with a man and that the words
“fuck me” would fall from her lips as effortlessly as a comment about the
weather.

“Allow me.”

Heloise whirled around. She had stepped out of her skirts
and awaited the maid to unlace her stays when Josephine appeared. Her breath
stalled.

Josephine pulled at the ribbons without word. The frown upon
her lips and the stiffness of her hand “You know?” Heloise ventured.

“I was awaiting the invitation. When none arrived and I
discovered you absent without any of the servants knowing your whereabouts, I suspected
your interference.”

She forced a breath. “Forgive me, Josephine.”

Josephine paused before replying, her voice quavering with
anger, “You are not my keeper, Heloise.”

Heloise stared at the floor. “I know. I was wrong to have
intervened. I should not censure you were you to decide never to speak to me
again.”

“Then why did you?” her cousin accused.

Noble if not condescending sentiments, the earl had said.

Heloise took a deep breath and looked into Josephine’s eyes.
“I was a fool.”

With an exasperated sigh, Josephine flopped into an armchair
nearby. “You went all the way to Château Follet?”

She nodded.

“And spoke with Lord Cadwell?”

“Yes.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I beseeched him not to besmirch your honor.”

Josephine snorted. “What did he say?”

“That I was intolerant and that you were not in leading
strings.”

Her cousin pursed her lips as silence fell between them.
Heloise had stepped out of her stays and clasped her hands together. She had
prepared herself for Josephine’s wrath and was ready to receive it.

“That is not your chemise,” Josephine observed with narrowed
eyes.

Heloise eyed the undergarment with its lace edging. It was
more exquisite than any she owned and belonged to Lady Follet. However, Lady
Follet had a slender figure and the chemise stretched visibly over Heloise’s
body. She searched her mind for a reasonable explanation but contrived nothing.
Now Josephine would be livid…

“What happened at the château, Heloise?”

Her mouth opened, but no words emerged. Helpless and
embarrassed, she could only look at Josephine stupidly.

“Heloise, did you and Lord Cadwell…?”

She dropped her gaze and felt her cheeks redden.

Josephine shook her head. “That rake! I wonder that he
accepted you for a replacement?”

Heloise looked at her cousin. “I am sure he was exceedingly
disappointed.”

Silence. Then a sly smile pulled at the corner of
Josephine’s mouth. “Well, Heloise. I must say that such display of boldness on
your part is quite surprising!”

“I will no longer attempt to thwart your acquaintance with
him,” Heloise assured her.

Josephine sniffed. “Indeed! Imagine what would be said of
you if it should be discovered you spent the night at Château Follet. I think
you shall no longer lord over me simply because you are my senior. But did Lord
Cadwell make mention of when he would repair my stolen invitation?”

A shameful seed of jealousy threatened to sprout, but
Heloise suppressed the feeling. “He did not.”

Josephine knit her brows for a moment, but then waved a hand
dismissively. “The invitation is no great loss, though admittedly, I was quite
furious when it dawned on me what you had done. But if the Earl of Blythe will
not replicate the invitation to Château Follet,
Mr. Webster
will.”

Heloise said nothing.

“Tell me, is Lord Cadwell as divine as rumored?”

And more
, Heloise thought. She noted the mischievous
sparkle in her cousin’s eye.

“He is!” Josephine exclaimed. “For you are blushing as
scarlet as a pimpernel.”

“Only because I have made a royal fool of myself. He proved
me for a hypocrite.”

“I own it is a relief to find you are not quite so virtuous.
It is rather taxing to think that I am somehow short of character when compared
to you.”

Heloise let out a shaky breath. “I think that I owe you my
confidence, dear cousin, but I was compromised long before this.”

Josephine’s eyes turned into saucers.

“Of my own volition,” Heloise added. “Perhaps that is why I
thought it no large matter to…to lie with Lord Cadwell.”

“And I had been led to believe you were the virtuous one!”

“When your father was kind enough to take me in, I vowed I
would not bring shame upon him—or you, Josephine. You are my only family and
far too dear to me.”

“But you ought not advise me to adhere to expectations you
yourself have not fulfilled.”

“Your prospects, Josephine, are much greater than mine.”