Rake's Reward Page 5

  Alex returned to earth with a thud. For a few moments, he had forgotten the purpose of this meeting. Now it returned. To be captivated by her was dangerous. The last time he had let himself forget his mission in the presence of an attractive woman, it had been a deadly mistake.

  “Indeed,” he said, his voice so cool that Cecily looked up quickly. “Even a rake desires a change now and again.”

  “I see.” She couldn’t help the note of bewilderment in her voice. One moment he had been smiling, teasing, charming; the next, coldly indifferent. What had she said amiss? Surely nothing that was insulting. If only she could think of a way to make amends—but what would it signify if she did? She was nothing to him, only a girl chance-met in the park. And he was nothing to her. After all, she was engaged. There was no need for her to fall into the mopes over this. She would hold her head high and smile, and not let anyone see how hurt and confused she was.

  The magic had gone out of the waltz. In silence, they finished; in equal silence, they walked back to where the duchess sat, Cecily’s hand resting lightly on his arm, Alex’s face turned away. She curtsied; he bowed. Then he was gone, leaving her to stare after him, a puzzled frown creasing her brow and her thoughts so chaotic that she barely heard her mother’s scolding. It had been one of the most unusual, somehow significant, dances of her life, but it was, after all, only a dance. He was only a man. Her life was planned for her, and it would go on. She would manage quite well without him. Likely she would never see him again.

  The Marquess of Edgewater was not pleased. When he had agreed to escort the Marlow ladies to Almack’s, he had done so with the idea of setting the seal of respectability on his forthcoming marriage. Not that that was necessary, of course, his being who he was, but he was quite proud of himself for having caught such a prize, the daughter of one of England’s premier peers. For a time it had seemed he would have little luck finding a suitable mate; he found most women vain and shallow, and had never really minded that he had little luck with the opposite sex. He had been angling long and hard for Lady Cecily, however. So long, and so hard, that when she had finally agreed to his suit, he had wanted to shout the news to the world. That was not his way, however. He had found it best, always, to work in secret.

  A smile flickered across Edgewater’s face. The fools, all of them, bowing and scraping to him tonight because he had deigned to grace Almack’s with his presence, and because of his recent betrothal. If they only knew what he had planned for them—but they didn’t, and that made the secret that much more delicious. It was high time they had their comfortable lives shaken up, and he was just the man to do it.

  Lost in thought, Edgewater continued to disrobe, handing his clothing to Simpkins, his valet, until he was sitting in front of the fire, wearing a magnificent brocade dressing gown, with a glass of brandy and water at his side. Ordinarily he was abstemious, preferring at all times to keep a clear head, but tonight called for celebration. He had done it. At long last, he had been accepted by society as one of their own, and because it had taken his engagement to do it, rather than his own merits, his coming revenge would be all the sweeter. Oh, yes, they would pay. All of them.

  All his life, it seemed, he had been on the outside, looking in. In the village where he had been raised, where his aristocratic background had prevented him from mingling with other boys his age, though his family was as poor as any of theirs. Ted the toad, they had called him, a name that still rankled. At Eton, where, as a King’s scholar, he had suffered untold abuse from those more fortunate than he, and had taken refuge in his studies. It had become a point of pride with him that his mind was so much quicker than so many others’; his nature so quick to spot slurs, and slow, yet steady, to repay them. It was at Eton that he had realized that he was superior to everyone else, save in the matters of money and rank. He grew quick to find and exploit other’s weaknesses; he learned that a vituperous tongue was a weapon to be wielded well, and that, if people didn’t like him, having them fear him was nearly as good. Soon he had gathered around him a coterie of admirers, holding them by respect and, quite frankly, fear of his ready ridicule. Oh, yes, he was indeed a superior being. Those things he lacked, money and power, would someday come.

  And they had, the money first, through means he found prudent never to discuss. Rank had come unexpectedly, when his despised uncle and cousin, who had always looked down on him for the lowliness of his circumstances, had been killed in the same carriage accident. He was a marquess, ranking only below a duke, and his accession to power should have been sweet. It was sweet, but something was missing. He wanted more, and so over the past years he had gradually conceived his plans, choosing his confederates carefully and biding his time, until the circumstances were right. Now the time was nearly here, and, at last, he would have all the power he could desire.

  So long as nothing went wrong. Ordinarily Edgewater had no doubts about the effectiveness of his plans, but he had already made one mistake, and tonight he had realized that an unknown element had entered in. Marriage to a high-ranking member of the aristocracy was important to his plans; to Lady Cecily, doubly important. For she had witnessed his one mistake, though he doubted she realized it. Until this evening she had seemed an eminently sensible choice. A bit too given to levity, perhaps, but docile and biddable. He had little doubt that she would be a suitable wife.

  Or, rather, he’d had little doubt. Cecily had not shown herself to be so docile when it had come to waltzing with St. Clair. A small matter, perhaps, but Edgewater had learned that the small matters were the ones most likely to trip one up. He would have to watch her carefully, and learn her weaknesses, to use them against her, if necessary. As for St. Clair—

  A sneer marred Edgewater’s handsome countenance. St. Clair. An idler, the type of person Edgewater most despised. What else did he do but spend his days in the pursuit of his own pleasure, ignoring those who were in need of so much more? When the time came, Edgewater would take great pleasure in eliminating such as he.

  Until that time, though, St. Clair would bear watching. There had been something about him tonight when he had asked Cecily for the waltz, something challenging about his eyes. There was, in fact, a hint of steel underneath the idle exterior, and that concerned him. Not, however, very much. As he had with other opponents, Edgewater would learn the man’s weaknesses, and exploit them. Only then would he be prepared to best him, and best him, he would.

  Smiling grimly, Edgewater drained his glass and then rose, to prepare for bed. Oh, yes, he would win that fight. He would have to. Nothing must interfere with his plans.

  “She doesn’t seem to do nothing out of the ordinary, sir,” Parsons said, raising his tankard of porter. Sitting sprawled across the table from him, a nearly-empty glass of brandy before him, Alex thoughtfully stroked his upper lip, a habit remaining from the days when he had once sported a mustache as a disguise. “She goes shopping with her mother or sister, driving with Edgewater, and to the usual affairs at night. There’s nothing different about her.”

  “There has to be.” A week after Almack’s, and he was no closer to learning the elusive Lady Cecily’s secrets, though he had tried. He had spoken with acquaintances in the ton; all had had nothing but praise for her. He had even attended some of the affairs he so detested, to his hostesses’ delight and mystification, only to watch Cecily. Though he never approached her, even he had to admit that her behavior appeared above reproach. Now Parsons, whom he’d set to watch the Marlow household, was reporting the same thing.

  “There has to be something,” he repeated. “Barnes was a good man. If he said she’s involved, she’s involved.”

  Parsons nodded. He, too, had known and trusted Alf Barnes, and wanted every bit as much as Alex to find his killer. He was beginning to have his doubts, however, as to how to do so. “The housemaid I, uh—”

  “Romanced,” Alex supplied, with a little smile.

  “Became acquainted with,” Parsons said, frowning. “She says th
e same thing, sir. Lady Cecily isn’t doing anything wrong. Look, sir.” Parsons leaned forward, a strand of his hair falling lankly over his forehead. “Barnes was dying. Who knows what he was thinking? Maybe he saw Lady Cecily and fell for her—”

  “Become a romantic as well as religious, Parsons?” Alex inquired, and Parsons’ face went stiff. “My apologies, but I think Barnes knew something about her. Something important.”

  “Then you tell me what it is, sir.” Parsons spread his hands in defeat. “I can’t find nothing wrong with her.”

  “No.” Alex stroked his upper lip again. “There is one thing. Does she still ride out alone in the morning?”

  Parsons frowned. “Haven’t heard nothing about that, sir.”

  “I met her, you see, riding in the park alone. Before I knew who she was.”

  “Sir, do you think—”

  “That she’s meeting someone there? It’s possible.” Idly he turned his glass around. “Though she didn’t look as if she were doing so that day. Still, we can’t discount it. It seems to be the only thing we know she does out of the usual.” He rose with sudden energy. “I must be getting ready if I’m to be at Lady Sefton’s do. This is a bother, Parsons.”

  “Yes, sir.” Parsons followed Alex into his bed chamber, to lay out the clothes Alex would be wearing this evening.

  “I’ve done many things for my country, but I never thought I’d have to attend assemblies and routs for it,” he went on, sounding so disgruntled that Parsons smiled.

  “I have information that Lady Cecily will be there, sir.”

  “Ah, yes, your little housemaid. Let us hope the lady does something soon, Parsons. This is getting tiresome.”

  “Yes, sir,” Parsons said, smiling again. “By the by, sir, you had a caller while you were out this afternoon.”

  Alex, standing in front of the mirror to tie his neckcloth, looked up, his eyes wary. “Who was it, Parsons?”

  “A young person, sir.” Parsons’ face took on the look of distaste he produced so well. “Wearing, I might say, a very heavy scent. Attar of roses, I believe.”

  “Nanette. Hell.” Alex’s nimble fingers went on tying the neckcloth. His mistress, whom he hadn’t visited in over a week. Since, in fact, that evening at Almack’s. Odd, that he felt no desire to see her again. “I’ll have to do something about her. What would you suggest, Parsons?”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir.” Parsons held up Alex’s evening coat of dark blue velvet, and Alex shrugged into it. “The, er, girl, would probably prefer something expensive.”

  “No, she’s no lady, is she?” Alex said absently, picking through his jewel box until he found a sapphire stick pin. Thrusting it through the folds of his neckcloth, he stepped back from the mirror to study the result. “Complete to a shade, wouldn’t you say, Parsons? Will I do?”

  “Admirably, sir. What should I say if she comes again?”

  “I’ll handle it, Parsons. There was a diamond bracelet she was speaking of.”

  “Very expensive, sir.”

  “Her congé, Parsons,” Alex said, surprising himself. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized that he planned to break with Nanette. “Does that satisfy you?”

  Parsons set himself to smoothing the slight wrinkles that dared mar the fit of Alex’s coat across the shoulders. “It’s not for me to say, sir.”

  “Liar.”

  “If you say so, sir. Will you be late tonight?”

  “No.” Alex picked up his gloves and hat, and strolled towards the door. “Not if I’m to ride early tomorrow.”

  “I understand, sir. I’ll continue to keep watch, then?”

  “I think for tonight you can let it be. Tomorrow—well, we’ll see.”

  Chapter Five

  It was tomorrow. Cecily opened eyes still heavy with sleep and looked to where the sun peeked in through the open curtains. A perfect morning for riding, in fact, after all the recent dismal weather, and yet all she wanted to do was turn over and pull her pillow over her head, shutting out the world. Last week everything had looked so easy, so planned, so safe. Now, though nothing was different on the surface, everything had changed. She had changed, and she wasn’t certain how.

  Sometime later she rode into the park, attired in her boy’s clothes. A little distance ahead a man waited, astride a black stallion, and she recognized him with a little shock. St. Clair. Somehow, seeing him here was inevitable.

  He waited until she reached him. They walked their horses together in silence, heading towards the Serpentine and crossing the bridge, aware of each other in a way they hadn’t been the other morning. “I didn’t really expect to see you here,” Alex said, finally. “I thought that, now you’re engaged, you wouldn’t do this sort of thing anymore.”

  “I was already engaged the other morning, sir.” Cecily stripped off the glove of York tan and brandished her hand towards him.

  “This is the ring he gave you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Indeed. Among other things, he is a skint.”

  “He is not! I think it’s lovely.” Cecily wheeled away, spurring Dancer forward, past the Chelsea Water reservoir and through the flower avenue, just now beginning to bloom. Alex caught up with her easily, riding a few paces behind her. By God, but she could ride, with more spirit than he would have expected had he known her only as the proper Lady Cecily. There was more to her than met the eye. She would, he told himself, bear watching.

  Cecily was aware of his presence beside her again, but not by so much as a turn of her head did she acknowledge him. What did he want with her? Before last week she hadn’t known him; now he seemed to be everywhere she was. When she was dancing, or conversing with someone, or simply listening to the music, she would look up, to see his piercing blue gaze fixed thoughtfully on her. It wasn’t the look of a lover, or a man interested in dalliance; whatever his reasons, he hadn’t even approached her since last week. Which was probably just as well, considering what had happened after their waltz at Almack’s.

  Thinking about it made her smile. She had been scolded again by her mother and her fiancé, and even quizzed by her father, who usually left such matters to his wife. She had endured questions and sidelong glances from society matrons eager to spread scandal, and she had been watched closely ever since, to see what other mad starts she would get up to. It should have bothered her, as it appeared to bother her mother, but somehow she couldn’t take it seriously. What had she done, after all, but dance just once with a man who had asked her? A handsome man, true, a charming man who intrigued her, but who meant nothing, really, to her. At least, she didn’t think he did. What was wrong with that? If it became known that she was riding with him now, unchaperoned, then she really would be in the suds.

  She cast him a sidelong look. His eyes were unfocused, staring ahead, and so she could look her fill. He looked tired, older than she had expected, and the weary look she had noticed before was back in his eyes, which were bracketed with lines. He was only a man. Oh, certainly he was handsome; certainly she had been charmed by him at Almack’s, but she preferred him like this, approachable, even vulnerable. It was a side of him she suspected few were allowed to see.

  As if he sensed her eyes on him Alex turned to look at her, and their gazes held for a moment, while, without meaning to, they slowed their mounts. Cecily endured that searching blue gaze for only a moment, and then leaned forward to pat Dancer on the neck. “I didn’t think rakes rose this early, sir,” she said.

  Alex gave an appreciative chuckle. “And what of ladies of fashion?”

  “I’m hardly that at the moment, sir.”

  “On the contrary.” Alex’s eyes traveled slowly over her. “I rather like that outfit on you.”

  “Fustian,” she said, moving a few paces forward, but her cheeks were pink.

  “You’re different in it,” he went on. “More relaxed. Perhaps the real Lady Cecily?”

  His words mirrored so closely what she had just thought about him that
she turned towards him, startled. “I’m not certain there’s a hidden part of me, if that’s what you’re implying. I am what you see, sir.”

  “Are you?” He brought Azrael to a halt and leaned over to pull a bunch of lilacs from a bush. “Here. This becomes you.”

  To her fury, Cecily could feel herself blushing again, and she brought the flowers to her face to cover her reaction. “I like it when you blush,” he said. “Your skin turns a golden rosy color.”

  “‘Tis sallow. Mama sometimes despairs of me. She says she doesn’t know how I came to be her daughter.”

  “No, you’re not at all like her. Thank God.”

  There was no answer to that. Cecily rode on, silent, wondering yet again what he wanted of her. Surely he didn’t really think her attractive, and yet his attention to her was what was making her feel so unsettled lately. She wished he’d leave her alone; she wished he’d never go.

  “When are you marrying?”

  “The end of June.”

  “Next month. Edgewater must be eager to claim you.”

  Cecily turned, a retort ready, and then thought better of it. “We wish to marry before everyone leaves town.”

  “Oh, is that it? And what were you really going to say?”

  “I was going to tell you it’s none of your affair, if you must know.”

  “I suppose it isn’t, but that never stopped me before.”

  That made Cecily look at him again. What, really, did she know of him? Only his reputation, that his prowess with women, as well as at cards and sport, was legendary. Everything else was shrouded in mystery. “Why do you care?”

  “How did you meet Edgewater?” he asked, as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “The usual way. Why do you care?” she asked again.

  “Because I don’t think he’s the man for you.”