The Rake's Ruined Lady (16 page)

‘Well? What did he say? What did
you
say?’

A barrage of garbled questions met Beatrice when she was once more at her aunt’s side.

‘I...I think our meeting went well,’ Bea answered, smiling slightly on realising she’d spoken the truth. ‘At least the expectancy is over for everybody. Miss Dewey and Miss Rawlings have come face to face and then civilly parted without attempting to scratch out each other’s eyes.’

‘Very disappointing for one and all, I’m sure,’ Dolly sniffed. ‘Never mind that; what did the doctor say? He could not take his eyes from you, Beatrice...puppy dog eyes they were too.’

‘I’m sure Colin was pleased I’d attempted to clear the air...once he’d got over the shock of me confronting them like that.’

‘He looked more than pleased to me!’ Dolly smoothed her neck with restless fingers, peering askance to ascertain whether the doctor was still watching Bea. ‘He looks like a man who knows he’s just lost a sovereign and found a shilling.’

* * *

She was a bold chit—Hugh had to give her that. He had been aware of Stella Rawlings behind him from the moment he’d stepped into the Whitleys’ gaming room. In fact, if he’d not dismissed the notion as being unworthy of consideration, he’d have believed her dogging his footsteps. She’d shaken off Lord Whitley and her fiancé, and seemed irked that her aunt was sticking close to her as she sashayed to and fro, tossing her red curls.

Hugh despised Colin Burnett, but in his estimation the fellow at least deserved some moral support from this young woman, considering he was taking criticism on her account. Stella Rawlings was obviously thick-skinned; she’d observed him eject Colin from the Clemences’ house so knew they were at loggerheads, yet it didn’t seem to bother her. She was attempting to flirt with him, although Hugh had shown no interest in her that night or this.

Hugh had no intention of being hounded into a duel by her enraged fiancé should he be tempted to take up the offer in her saucy gaze. In Hugh’s opinion young ladies should be taught about the dangers of coquetry along with their music and French lessons. He dearly wished his sister had had such schooling, saving him the cost of rescuing her reputation.

Hugh knew that his roving eye was being jaundiced by the memory of Beatrice. Frustratingly, he found that her honeyed taste and fragrance were always infiltrating his mind, overriding his desire for other women. His mistresses had enthusiastically welcomed him back to town when he’d returned from the dowager’s funeral, yet even with Gwen’s sinuous body writhing beneath his he hadn’t been able to banish Beatrice’s image from the backs of his eyelids. He wanted her and he wasn’t about to give up after one setback...or a hundred...he reminded himself with savage humour.

Bea was likely to be a virgin, and he could no longer deny that acknowledging her inexperience made him a first-rate hypocrite. His long-held beliefs that untried spinsters weren’t fair game for artful seducers like him had so far been pushed back in his mind where she was concerned.

That morning by the stream, when he’d offered her
carte blanche,
it had suited him to think her Burnett’s mistress. He despised men who took advantage of chaste women...yet he was tempted to do exactly that with Beatrice. He was in danger of losing his best friend and his own self-respect, yet still a gnawing obsession to possess the only woman he had ever loved pervaded his being...

A few moments ago Hugh had been tempted to drag Bea to his side, and then out of the house, when he’d seen her approach Burnett. Within minutes of observing the meeting he had felt admiration and respect for her salve the jealousy knifing his side. He’d realised that rather than wanting to irritate her rival, or win back the doctor, she’d hoped to put an end to the speculation that she was bitter over her fiancé’s defection. The trouble was Hugh couldn’t be absolutely certain that Bea wasn’t acting aloof with Burnett just for her audience. If the love she’d felt for the doctor were rekindled she might succumb to an offer of informal protection before Hugh could win her for himself...

‘Are you not going to join the gentlemen having a smoke on the terrace?’ Fiona had seen Hugh standing quite alone, watching a game of Faro, while Miss Rawlings prowled very obviously in his vicinity.

Sensing he was about to go, Stella quickly moved so close to Hugh that he felt a movement of air on his profile caused by her fluttering fan.

‘Considering she is spoken for, I don’t know what game Miss Rawlings thinks she’s playing.’ Fiona gave the redhead a glare as she steered Hugh away. ‘The shameless baggage was most definitely flirting with you and needs to be taught a lesson in propriety.’

‘I didn’t notice,’ Hugh lied glibly. He saw no sense in stirring up trouble; he was determined to leave and visit Gwen, so she could attempt to soothe his restlessness.

‘A hand of cards, Hugh?’ Jago suggested, having returned from the terrace.

‘I’m leaving in a moment...’

‘Oh, do stay for a while yet,’ Verity bubbled. ‘Never mind tedious gaming, the rug is being pulled back and soon there will be dancing.’

On a raised dais a few musicians were tuning up and, in front of it, two footmen were rolling back an Aubusson carpet to reveal the polished wood beneath.

‘You’re likely to frighten him off even sooner with such talk.’ Fiona consolingly patted Hugh’s sleeve. ‘Never fear, I will protect you from being frogmarched into a quadrille.’

Fiona liked Hugh, despite the fact he’d once made an effort to woo her and been gently rebuffed. She’d known all along that he’d approached her on the rebound. He had still been in love with Beatrice and would have returned to his first choice in an instant if he had managed to raise the money to enable him to propose.

Hugh gazed again in Bea’s direction, feeling a frustrated desire to stride over and take her somewhere quiet and secluded. The hope of talking privately to her had brought him here in the first place, although it wasn’t fair to run the risk of embarrassing not only her but also her aunt and their mutual friends. He cursed beneath his breath, acknowledging the insanity in his behaviour; he should have avoided this genteel party and attended one of his usual haunts. There would have been a better time to approach her again... The trouble was he was too impatient to wait for it to crop up...

Having said goodbye to his friends, Hugh had nearly reached the exit when Colin Burnett appeared in front of him, blocking his path.

‘I believe you owe me an apology, sir.’ Colin had had ample time to brood on his dressing down by this man. The opportunity to salve his wounded pride and subdue his bubbling resentment had presented itself this evening and he’d been unable to ignore it.

‘I owe you nothing, Burnett. However, if you would like to take this up with me somewhere more appropriate do call round to Grosvenor Square tomorrow. I’ll be pleased to see you.’ Hugh made to pass, a curl to his lips.

‘You may address me by my title if you speak to me or about me,’ Colin enunciated. ‘I have taken my birthright and am Sir Colin Burnett.’

Hugh’s mouth slanted in a mirthless smile. ‘Yes...I realise you’ve improved your lot.’ His tawny stare slewed to Stella, now watching them from beneath her lashes. ‘Or have you...?’

Colin understood the sarcastic remark. He’d noticed that his future wife had been shadowing Hugh Kendrick’s movements. It was bad enough watching her flatter and tease other gentlemen with her batting lashes and soppy smiles, but to have her take such an interest in this fellow was galling. Contrarily, Colin also felt injured because Kendrick seemed to find Stella contemptible rather than alluring.

‘Perhaps I
will
call on you,’ he snarled beneath his breath. ‘I don’t like you paying such attention to my fiancée.’

Hugh grinned, genuinely amused. ‘I’ve not a shred of interest in the girl and I find it pitiable that you do...’

Jago had observed the exchange between the two men from a distance. Seeing he might kill two birds with one stone—defuse the situation between two of Miss Dewey’s past loves and keep some interesting male company for a while longer—he strolled up.

‘Lord Whitley would like you to roll dice with him, Hugh. You’ll oblige the old fellow, won’t you? A couple of games won’t delay you by more than fifteen minutes or so.’

With a muted oath Hugh allowed himself to be once again steered towards the centre of the drawing room.

Chapter Thirteen

T
he sound of Mrs Monk’s voice close to his ear transformed Colin’s moodiness to annoyance. He had guessed what had prompted Maggie to suggest they leave even before he’d glanced in his fiancée’s direction. He realised that in polite society it was considered
de trop
for a gentleman to object to his lady’s circle of admirers so up to now he had bitten his tongue—apart from earlier, when confronting Hugh Kendrick. But Colin’s patience with Stella’s behaviour was almost expired. She had four fawning gallants dancing attendance on her, and from her aunt’s stern expression it was obvious Maggie was also at the end of her tether where the girl was concerned.

Two of Stella’s lapdogs were army officers in redcoats—eager and fresh-faced, perhaps not yet turned twenty-one. The other two gentlemen were older but apparently equally ensnared.

Colin cursed beneath his breath. If only his damnable uncle hadn’t meddled in his life he’d have married the woman he wanted. He had been observing Bea since he’d arrived, and before the evening was out he hoped to have a proper conversation with her. She was everything a man could want in a genteel wife, whereas Stella...was not.

He had noticed the way Kendrick circled Bea and suspected his nemesis had come to a similar conclusion about Beatrice’s charms and was about to take advantage of her availability. To his shame, Colin knew that Stella fired his blood in a way that Bea had never done. The flame-haired vixen made his hands itch to rip off her clothes. But he’d come to understand that Stella purposely teased other fellows in the same way she did him. His fiancée was making a fool of him, prompting people to snigger that he’d be a cuckold before he’d taken his vows.

Maggie Monk had been nagging at him to name the day but, having got to know the woman’s niece better, Colin was no longer in a rush to do so. Why should he? He had his birthright, and as long as he wed no other but Stella he would keep it. He had a feeling that the little wanton would lie with him for a few baubles whether he walked her down the aisle or not...

So he wasn’t about to leave this party early. He hadn’t given up on the idea of having a talk with Beatrice and perhaps confiding his feelings on all sorts of matters... They might never be able to marry, because of his dratted uncle, but Colin was confident Bea might appreciate an invitation to come back into his life in a less formal role than that of wife...

* * *

‘I’m so proud of you...’

The moment Lady Groves drew Dolly Pearson away for a chat Fiona snatched the opportunity to speak privately to Beatrice.

‘Verity was worried when you approached the doctor, thinking you might be rudely rebuffed, but I knew you’d be fine. It was very brave, and quite the right thing to do,’ she enthusiastically praised.

‘I’m glad it is over with.’ Bea gave a heartfelt sigh.

‘Stella Rawlings has been flirting outrageously. Was she impolite to you?’

‘Nothing unpleasant occurred,’ Bea answered. ‘It was just a bit awkward, that’s all.’ She chuckled. ‘Now it is done, and I have escaped my aunt’s beady eye too, by the looks of things.’ She glanced at Dolly, in animated conversation with her cronies. ‘I think I deserve to enjoy myself for an hour or so before going home.’ She squeezed her friend’s fingers. ‘Shall we play cards? I have brought some money for a little flutter.’

‘Jago has lost five pounds already.’ Fiona grimaced a caution.

A pile of cash littered the green baize of the Faro table. Jago was seated beside his wife and looking rather glum. Verity was smiling, perhaps because she appeared to be doing rather better, judging by her stack of coins.

‘I think I might try my luck.’ Bea felt quite carefree now the burden of her meeting with Colin had been lifted. ‘Papa says I’m good at Faro, although I suspect when he’s banker he lets me win.’

‘My allowance is already overspent.’ Fiona glanced about. ‘I wonder where Hugh is? He was throwing dice earlier with our host. I hope he has not already gone...’

Bea frowned, her eyes darting to and fro for a glimpse of him. She too hoped he hadn’t left yet, which was odd considering she’d been dismayed when he’d turned up.

As a fellow threw in his hand and vacated the table Bea sat down opposite her friends.

Some time later she realised that the fellow slouched in a chair, with his chin sunk low on his chest, was Sir Toby Kendrick. Of his fiancée there was no sign. Bea had never before met Toby, but recalled Fiona pointing him out earlier. Hugh’s caustic remarks about his older brother were also still in Bea’s mind. She hadn’t noticed the two men exchange even the briefest of greetings during the evening.

In her buoyant mood she decided that Fiona had spoken wisely when observing that Sir Toby might not be as bad as Hugh would have them all believe. Sibling rivalry was often to blame for such animosity, she decided, having unexpectedly received a smile from Hugh’s brother.

‘You’re doing rather well, Miss Dewey.’

Beatrice smiled, flushed with pleasure and excitement. Her three shillings had won her over four pounds so far. Only a few gamesters remained at the table, the others had folded their hands on hearing the orchestra start up. Jago still toyed with a few chips, and a Hussar in splendidly brocaded uniform was staring intently at the cards in his hand.

It had been Toby Kendrick who’d congratulated Bea a moment ago. As the banker pushed her winnings her way Bea again considered that Hugh had been unfair about his brother; Sir Toby had been unfailingly pleasant. Perhaps Hugh had a tendency to deliberately rub Toby up the wrong way...just as he did her...

Despite his elevated status Sir Toby was not as charismatic or as handsome as his younger brother. Nevertheless his light brown hair and regular features were attractive, if somewhat marred by a complexion that was turning florid from the effects of the brandy he was steadily consuming.