Rake's Reward Page 4

  “You wait,” Tony promised, “and you’ll see. And—there she is!”

  “Indeed?” Alex glanced towards the doorway and felt a tiny jolt. A party of four was just entering, two girls, a matronly woman, and a man whose raiment almost rivaled Tony’s. But it was on the smaller of the girls that his attention focused. Dressed in a modestly cut gown of gold tissue that made her skin glow, her hair tumbling in artless curls, she looked sweet and innocent, and not nearly so arresting as the tall beauty at her side. The girl from the park. The one he had caught himself thinking about at odd moments, distracting him from the task at hand. A welcome distraction, perhaps, but a dangerous one. With her here, how would he be able to concentrate on the treacherous Lady Cecily?

  “An angel,” Tony breathed, fervently, and for once, Alex was almost inclined to agree.

  “But I thought you said her hair was dark,” he said, looking at the cluster of golden brown curls that framed the girl’s face. Unfashionable, perhaps, but it suited her admirably.

  “Not Lady Cecily, gudgeon,” Tony said, impatiently. “She’s leg-shackled to Edgewater, or as good as. Her sister. Lady Diana.”

  “Who did you say?” Alex demanded, and Tony, distracted by the odd note in Alex’s voice, turned to look at him.

  “Lady Diana, the taller one, there—”

  “No, the other one.”

  Tony grinned, destroying completely his pose of bored young man about town. “Never known you to be smitten so fast, coz.”

  “Damn you, Tony, don’t cozen me! What did you say her name is?”

  “Lady Cecily, coz.” Tony continued to grin, enjoying enormously the spectacle of his normally inscrutable cousin appearing so agitated, and over a female, at that. “Marlow’s daughter, don’t you know.”

  “Hell!” The expletive slipped out before Alex could prevent it. Lady Cecily Randall. The woman he was supposed to investigate; the girl whose presence had brought the first stirrings of hope for the future to life within him. Hell.

  Chapter Four

  “There he is! No, don’t look,” Diana hissed in Cecily’s ear, as they entered Almack’s. “He’s looking at us. Oh, just look at him!”

  “How can I if you won’t let me?” Cecily asked, smiling.

  “He is so handsome,” Diana went on, and Cecily glanced at Edgewater, on her other side, to share her amusement with him. He was, indeed, smiling at Diana, but it was a cruel smile, a mocking smile. Cecily’s amusement faded.

  “Are you talking of that fop over there?” He raised his quizzing glass. “The one who aspires to the dandy set?”

  “Oh, don’t!” Cecily placed her hand on his arm, and Edgewater looked at her. Something sparked in his eyes, something that made Cecily wish she hadn’t been so impulsive as to touch him. She hoped she had imagined it.

  “As you wish, my dear.” His tone was mild as he dropped the quizzing glass, but Cecily’s unease didn’t lessen. “And who is that with him? Ah, the notorious St. Clair. Hardly edifying company, and not at all suitable for you, Lady Diana.”

  “Heavens, no,” the Duchess of Marlow said from behind them. “I wonder he has the nerve to appear here, of all places! What are the patronesses thinking, to allow such as he in?” The duchess shook her head, the feathers of her headdress bobbing. “Diana, love, I can’t think what Mr. Carstairs is about to be seen with him.”

  “His cousin, Mama,” Diana protested.

  “Oh, dear. I do hope he has the sense not to introduce you to him! Hardly suitable company for you.”

  “Is he a loose screw?” Cecily asked, and at last looked across the room. The young man with the brown hair swept forward a là Brutus, attired in a combination of colors that made her eyes ache, could only be Diana’s current flirt, Mr. Carstairs. But the man next to him—Cecily felt a tiny jolt go through her. The notorious Viscount St. Clair. The man she had met riding in the park.

  “Cecily, such a question! Oh, dear, where is my vinaigrette? I declare I’ll have palpitations if you speak so again.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama.”

  “Come, you must make your bow to the patronesses.” The duchess turned away from the door. “Cecily, child, please don’t fidget, one would think this was your first season.”

  Cecily hastily stopped herself from smoothing down her gown yet again. “Yes, Mama.”

  “And Diana, please do behave yourself this evening. Perhaps you’ll be allowed to waltz.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Diana murmured, slanting Cecily a mischievous look.

  Cecily was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice. The Viscount St. Clair. Even she, sheltered though she was, had heard of him. Since his return to England last year, his dissipations had been legendary. Cecily wasn’t sure what such activities involved, but she was certain they must have something to do with gambling and drinking, and of course, women. Many women, perhaps? And yet he was obviously respectable enough to be allowed entree into so stodgy a place—for so Cecily, for all her surface pleasure, considered it—as Almack’s. Nor had he seemed particularly diabolical when she had met him in the park; in fact, he had seemed to like her.

  The thought that such as he might actually be interested in her sent a curious sensation down her spine, a frisson of mingled pleasure and alarm. After all, a man known as a rake must have something he used to attract women, and he had certainly been charming that one time they had met, in spite of her appearance. And that, she thought, with a quite uncharacteristic lowering of her spirits, was her problem. Whyever would he be interested in her, when there were other, prettier girls available, such as her sister? Even dressed as she was, in a gown of gold tissue that made her eyes sparkle, she knew she was no beauty. Why should that matter, though? She was engaged, for heaven’s sake! She had no right to be thinking of other men when her fiancé was at her side, holding possessively to her arm. And yet— She couldn’t resist just one more look at him.

  “I say, coz,” Tony said, “isn’t she an angel? Alex? Don’t you agree?”

  “Hm?” Alex slowly came out of his shock. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. “Who? Oh, of course. Quite lovely, Tony,” he replied, absently.

  Alex’s dazed thoughts went on while Tony prattled about his beloved’s charms. From bitter experience, he had assumed that any woman involved in such a plot as Bainbridge had outlined would be more sophisticated, knowledgeable, certainly older. Instead, he found himself faced with a girl who couldn’t be above twenty, a girl whose fresh innocence shown all over her. A girl he had thought, without really analyzing it, that he might be able to trust.

  You should know better, a voice whispered in his mind, and his mouth set in the cynical sneer which was becoming habitual. Who is there who can be trusted? And who would you rather believe, Alf Barnes or a girl you hardly know?

  Alex’s sneer slowly faded, and a look almost of sadness came into his eyes. All women were faithless; he had learned that the hard way. Until he knew Lady Cecily better, he had best watch himself. And, he thought, his eyes narrowing, if he learned that she had, indeed, had something to do with Barnes’s death, then she would pay.

  Cecily, turning for that last look at St. Clair, nearly stumbled. The sky-blue eyes she had already seen in many moods, alarmed, amused, startled, were now slightly narrowed, cold, hard, somehow suspicious. She turned to see where he was looking, and then realized, with another jolt, that he was staring at her.

  It was hard to meet that stern gaze, but Cecily was no coward. Her chin slightly raised, she returned his look, and had the satisfaction of seeing St. Clair’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. For a long moment her gaze held his, and then a smile spread slowly over his face. His eyes warmed again, but in a different way. She could feel the heat of them even here, as they traveled over her body with a look so intimate, so knowing, it was almost tactile. Flushing, flustered, she hastily turned away, clinging just a bit tighter to Edgewater’s arm. She felt somehow as if she had been challenged.

  “I wish they’d finish speak
ing with the patronesses,” Tony said, fidgeting beside Alex. “When they are settled let us go across to them. Is she not an angel?”

  “Indeed,” Alex said, his tone ironic, but it was not of the admittedly lovely Diana that he spoke. Her sister had her own beauty, subtle though it was; it was there in her slender form, in her tousled curls, in the eyes that had gazed boldly back at him, refusing to be intimidated. A beauty too subtle for Tony to appreciate, perhaps, but one that he, a connoisseur of women, found enticing, challenging. He suspected that, young though she was, Lady Cecily would be a worthy opponent. This assignment, distasteful though it had seemed, might just yet prove to be enjoyable.

  “Lady Diana hasn’t been approved to waltz yet,” Tony went on, oblivious to his cousin’s preoccupation. “Coz, do you think if you asked Lady Jersey?”

  In spite of himself, Alex’s lips twitched with amusement. Had he himself ever been so young that the thought of dancing with a pretty girl had been so important? “Scared of Lady Jersey, are you?”

  “No such thing!” Tony replied indignantly, but at the look Alex gave him, colored. “She talks so much, coz, and asks so many questions I can’t answer that I never know what to say to her. But she likes you.”

  Alex’s lips twitched again. “Rest easy, halfling. I shall accompany you. And then we shall seek out the enchanting Lady Diana.” As well as the equally enchanting, and possibly treacherous, Lady Cecily. Alex found he was looking forward to the encounter with an anticipation long absent.

  “You’re a great gun, Alex. Perhaps we’ll find someone here for you tonight.”

  “Not exactly my style,” Alex said dryly, but his eyes flickered towards Cecily, seated now on a gilt chair with her escort bending over her. “Who is that with the Marlow ladies?”

  “Don’t you know? That’s the Marquess of Edgewater.”

  “Edgewater?” Alex frowned slightly as he and Tony crossed the room, beginning now to be crowded with the cream of the ton. “Ah, yes, I place him now. Edward Varley. I knew him at school. Supercilious prig.”

  “No such thing, Alex!” Tony protested. “He’s all the crack, don’t you know. Everyone I know wants to be like him.”

  “Then everyone you know has lamentable taste. What is he doing with the Marlows?”

  “Engaged to Lady Cecily, don’t you know.”

  “Indeed.” Alex’s eyes narrowed again as he glanced towards Cecily. Engaged, was she? Interesting. In fact, the situation was becoming more intriguing by the moment. He would have to make the acquaintance of the charming Lady Cecily soon. And then he would see.

  The encounter with Lady Jersey proved to be as long-winded and as arduous as Tony had predicted, though no one would have guessed Alex’s feelings from his face. Scandalous though he was considered to be, he was indeed well-liked by the patronesses of Almack’s, most of whom held a soft spot in their hearts for a charming rake. Thus the two men bowed and then strolled away some moments later, Tony dazed with his good fortune. Tonight, at last, he would waltz with his goddess.

  Lady Diana appeared equally pleased to see Tony, when he and Alex reached the Marlow party, if her smile and dimples were any indication. “Evening, your Grace,” Tony said, bowing to the duchess, who inclined her head graciously. “Like to present to you my cousin, Viscount St. Clair.”

  Alex, too, bowed, in acknowledgment of the introduction, though he noted, as Tony appeared not to, that the duchess’s smile was stiff. Edgewater’s greeting was curt, but Diana, as he bowed over her hand, made up for that. Glancing up at him through her lashes, she gave him a mischievous smile that said clearly that she knew of his reputation and found it intriguing. His own lips twitched in response. A definite minx, was the Lady Diana. Tony would have his hands full with her, he thought, and turned to Lady Cecily, whom he had deliberately left for last.

  “Lady Cecily,” he murmured, bowing over her hand in what was meant to be only a polite gesture. He glanced up as he began to rise, to see her regarding him with those luminous golden eyes of hers. There was neither shyness nor boldness in her gaze, but rather a frank curiosity, and a dawning awareness. His interest in her sharpened, and he held her gaze for what felt like eternity, until Edgewater cleared his throat.

  Recollecting himself, Alex rose, releasing her hand, though he could still feel the warmth of her slender fingers, gloved in kid, against his palm. “Charmed,” he said, finding the word more meaningless than usual.

  Edgewater glared at him. “Lady Cecily and I are recently betrothed,” he said, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder.

  Cecily’s eyes were downcast, but Alex couldn’t help but notice her shift under the pressure of her fiancé’s hand. “My felicitations,” he said, smoothly, as the orchestra began to play the first dance of the evening, a cotillion. “I imagine you are engaged for this dance, Lady Cecily?”

  “She is dancing with me.” Edgewater’s tone was smug as he reached for her hand, raising her to her feet.

  “Indeed. Are you also engaged for the waltz?”

  “Of course, she—”

  “No, I am not,” Cecily said at the same time, her voice soft, but determined.

  “Cecily—”

  “Then I would be honored if you would dance it with me,” Alex said.

  Cecily dropped into a brief curtsy. “Certainly, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Alex inclined his head and then turned away, walking across the room to speak with acquaintances.

  Cecily watched him go, bemused. Of all the ladies in the room, he had singled her out. It didn’t mean anything, of course, and so why did her heart race at the thought of waltzing with him?

  “Cecily, you won’t waltz with that man,” the duchess said. “Will you?”

  Cecily glanced up. “I can hardly refuse now, Mama.”

  “I don’t approve,” Edgewater said on her other side. “You know not what manner of man St. Clair is.”

  “Oh, surely, sir, one dance won’t hurt.”

  “He is charming,” Diana said.

  The duchess shot her a look. “Oh, dear. I don’t want you having anything to do with him either, Diana,” she said. “Oh, very well, there is nothing we can do about this. But, oh, your reputation! I do hope it will not suffer for this.”

  “No, Mama. Please, sir, should we not join the sets? Everyone is looking at us,” Cecily said.

  “You should have thought of that before.” Edgewater was frowning heavily as he led her onto the floor. “I cannot approve of your waltzing with him,” he went on, as they joined a set just forming. “He isn’t a suitable partner for you.”

  “I promise nothing will happen, sir,” Cecily said, laying her hand briefly on his arm and smiling at the other couples. She well understood that what she had done was somewhat scandalous; she also knew that continuing to discuss it before the avid ears of the other dancers would only make matters worse. What she didn’t at all understand was why she had agreed to dance—to waltz, of all things!—with St. Clair, why her pulse should race at the thought. Perhaps, she thought prosaically, she was coming down with a fever.

  She knew, though, it was something more than that, when St. Clair came to claim his waltz. It was hard not to shiver a bit when he took her hand, leading her onto the floor. It was hard not to be aware of his shoulder where her hand rested on it, broader and more strongly-muscled than Edgewater’s, or the warmth of his hand at her waist. It was even harder to meet his aquamarine eyes, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite fathom: not the earlier coldness, but a mixture of warmth and confusion, as if he, too, were puzzled by his impulse in asking her to waltz. And that was strange. Surely he had waltzed with many women in his time. Many beautiful women. Cecily had long ago accepted her shortcomings, but suddenly she wished she were beautiful, for him.

  Alex, too, was very aware of the girl in his arms. As he had expected, she was light on her feet, her slender body supple and graceful beneath his hands. She was smaller than he’d realized, barely reaching to his ch
in, and yet she moved with him as if waltzing with him were the most natural thing in the world. Some of her curls had come loose from the ribbon which bound them, he noticed, but, rather than looking untidy, she appeared instead charmingly disheveled, and somehow endearing. Not his usual type of woman at all, and yet— “You are very beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky, and her eyes, which had been avoiding him, flew to his, startled at first, and then laughing.

  “Oh, fustian!” she exclaimed, her smile wide. “I’m no beauty, sir. At least not next to my sister.”

  “Your sister is not here,” he said, and twirled her in a step that left her breathless. “Allow me to know what I am talking about.”

  “Of course. You are, after all, a famous rake.”

  Alex choked, and missed a step. “Where did you hear that?”

  “From my mother.” Her eyes were candid. “Is it true?”

  “This is not a proper subject for us to be discussing,” he said, repressively.

  “Fustian. Now you sound like my fiancé.”

  He looked down at her averted head, and a strange tenderness filled him. “Does he scold you, little one?”

  “Only after I agreed to waltz with you.” The mischievous sparkle danced in her eyes. “Am I in such danger, then?”

  “No.” He whirled her around again; it was the only way he knew to silence her, if only for the moment. What did he do now? He had planned a campaign of slow seduction, hoping to get close to her and thus learn her secrets. Instead, her artless comments had completely disarmed him, as perhaps they had been meant to. Was she really so innocent as she seemed? “Surely you’re not disappointed,” he said, lightly.

  “Such a question, sir!” She raised laughing eyes to him. “However I answer that is an insult, either to you or to me.”

  “So it is.” He grinned down at her. “I salute you, ma’am. You’re very quick.”

  “Fustian,” she said again, but she was smiling. This was not at all the type of flirtation she was accustomed to, but she was enjoying it. If he were this charming to every lady, she could well understand how he had come by his reputation. “I am only surprised that you would risk your reputation by coming to such a place as Almack’s.”