The Redemption of Lord Rawlings

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Yes, my lord?” Wide green eyes shot daggers at him. “What is your desire?”

  Chuckling, he leaned forward. It seemed everyone around them waited with bated breath. “You. Always you.” Nearly choking on the last words, because they signaled such truth in his own heart. He pulled her away from the horde, leaving them with mouths gaping after them.

  “That wasn’t at all proper.” Abigail fumed by his side. “And it wasn’t my fault. They were merely helping me. You see, I had a sort of accident with my dress and—” She stumbled and was unable to finish the sentence.

  Rawlings scowled at her carelessness and managed to keep a tight hand around her waist to steady her. He smiled as they passed the other guests on the way to the outside doors.

  “You wouldn’t.” She gasped and tried to pull away.

  “I would, and I am.”

  Nearly growling with frustration, he led her outside and down the rocky path through the darker parts of Vauxhall Gardens. When they reached a safe distance from the crowd, he released her.

  “How dare you!” Abigail lunged for him, but he was too angry, too irritated, and too bloody tired of pushing her away. How dare she bend over in such a fashion and feign shock when men came bustling around her. This was no brothel. And she…was his!

  The instant her body made contact with his, he grasped her wrists and pinned her against the nearest tree, rendering her immobile. He was anything but gentle as he leaned toward her face.

  “How dare I?” he mocked. “Abigail, have you any idea the torment you’ve inflicted on me?” At the haughty lift of her chin, he laughed. “Of course you do. You’ve known all along, haven’t you? But Abby, oh dear, Abby.” He bent toward her, smelling the rosewater on her skin, ready to lick the curve of her neck, to grab at her corset and demand it release her body of its confinement. “You cannot play with fire and come away unscathed.”

  “You will release me.” Her voice shook and her nostrils flared. She looked like a goddess in the moonlight. A siren—the same siren he had been pushing away from his aching dreams every night.

  “I will not.” His lips came crushing down on hers with such force that, for a moment, he was afraid he would bruise them. Her delicate hands pushed frantically against his chest until finally she relented and with a moan wrapped her arms around his neck and invited him closer.

  He took advantage of every possible angle. The way the tree allowed him to embrace her without falling. The curve of her hip beneath his hand, and finally the taste of her tongue as it fought against his. Champagne and sweetness threatened to drown him in ecstasy. But he refused to stop. To stop would mean to go against what he’d been fighting for too long.

  And Phillip Crawford, Eighth Earl of Rawlings, was tired of fighting. In the back of his mind, reason told him he should release her. Surely they would be caught. After all, several people had seen them leaving, he was sure of it.

  But even though society now accepted him—even though he made a promise to Sebastian and to himself never to touch her—he couldn’t seem to keep his body from pressing frantically against hers with a mind of its own. Then he made the choice he knew would change things forever.

  Pulling back, he daringly gazed into her eyes and realized she was as lost as he. What were once pools of innocence now stared back at him with unbridled passion, wide and eager for their moment to continue.

  She parted her swollen lips as if to speak. His mind raced with anticipation. Yes, he would taste her again, open her up, and consume her. Her hands tangled into his hair, mussing it beyond repair. Moaning, he pushed against her and with frantic fingers, pulled at the bodice of her gown, revealing absolute feminine perfection. It ignited him toward his goal, and he trailed kisses down her throat while simultaneously lifting her skirts.

  When his hands reached her stockings, he thought he would die. Through a fog of lust, he vaguely recalled she was an innocent, undeserving of being accosted in a garden, but his brain rejected the notion immediately. Phillip was so aroused he was in pain, but he continued to slide his hands further up her legs until, with a curse, he froze.

  Footsteps neared them. Trying to quiet his breathing, he shook his head at Abigail and pushed her further into the shadows, covering her with his body. As his lust cooled, his conscience rained accusations on him, telling him how catastrophic this compromising situation could be for both of them.

  “Rawlings, I know you’re in there, and you do know patience isn’t one of my virtues. Hello, Abigail. I trust he’s shown you why ladies whisper about his….certain skills.” Sebastian’s voice sounded bored, which, in all honesty, frightened Phillip more than if he would have charged in screaming with pistols firing.

  Phillip glanced at Abigail. Her eyes were wide with fear. Cursing, he ran a hand through his hair, considering of his options.

  “Do hurry up, Phillip, really.”

  Racking his brain for some sort of bone to throw the man, Phillip answered, “It isn’t what you think. Abigail is at the ball. Have you lost her then?”

  “Yes, she seems quite hidden. I wonder why that is?” Sebastian mocked even louder than before.

  “She isn’t here.”

  Sebastian chuckled. “Says the man who’s hiding in the shadow of a tree.”

  “I’m merely enjoying the evening air…and shade.”

  “Shade? Pray tell, are you afraid you will be moonstruck? Or is the shade only the veil in which you need to seduce my sister-in-law? Do step out before you hurt yourself trying to think of more excuses, Phillip.”

  Deciding to take his punishment like a man, he walked into the light and groaned aloud, even though he hadn’t meant to. Standing next to Sebastian was the Dowager Duchess of Barlowe.

  “I take it there is to be a wedding announcement, your grace?” Phillip expected her to appear shocked, but she was nothing of the sort. The dowager merely stood there sporting a look of pure glee, probably due to the fact that she would be able to return to the ball with fresh news of a scandal.

  “I suppose so.” Sebastian kissed her hand. “And my thanks for the information as to the whereabouts of these two.”

  “Of course.” She raised an eyebrow at Phillip and pivoted on her heel, humming on her way back to the ballroom doors.

  Annoyed, Phillip wanted a drink and a good fight, perhaps even a gun to go off near his face, scarring him for what he had just done to Abigail. Instead, Sebastian wore an amused smirk.

  “I must say, Phillip, I am surprised you were able to keep away from her this long. She is—well, how to put it…”

  “Insufferable.” Phillip finished with a curse.

  “Ah, yes, she is that.”

  “I can hear you!” Abigail fumed behind them. To Phillip’s relief, still quite hidden in the shadows.

  Sebastian looked around Rawlings. “I’ve always admired your hearing, Abigail. Now, allow this rake to see to your hair and clothing before you return to the ball, and be ready for the announcement come tomorrow morning. I daresay Mrs. Peabody will choke on her morning tea.”

  With both hands clasped behind his back, Sebastian offered a quick bow and left them.

  Phillip was exhausted. He could sense Abigail’s movement behind him. Wanting desperately to fix things, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t feign innocence. He had no idea what would happen once they were alone. Nor could he completely deny that the short few moments in her arms were the best of his life. So he merely stood there like a statue as Abigail put her hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he choked out, because truly he was the worst type of rogue. Wanting nothing more than to be slapped for his idiotic behavior in trying to ravish her, he turned to face the one woman whose kisses had changed him forever.

  “For kissing me or for getting caught?” Her dress was back in a respectable position, but part of the front was torn. It would need mending if she was to return to the ball. Her lips were a touch swollen, but her eyes…never had he seen them look so beautiful�
��so crystal clear, as though she had just seen the sunrise for the first time.

  And it was that pure beauty that made him say the next few words, for his heart screamed against it. No. Demanded he confess his love, the love he knew had been growing for her since she kissed him in the rain. But for her protection, he would do anything. Even give up a fortune he knew he didn’t deserve.

  “Both, I reckon,” he ground out. “After all, I was hoping I could ruin you and have you back for the next dance in record time. Seems I’ve been a little out of practice.”

  “Ruin me?”

  “You’ve been dancing around me for far too long. It was my intention to give you exactly what you’ve been asking for. You should count yourself lucky that it would be I taking your virtue and not a shadow of a man like Whitmore or, heaven forbid, that horse fellow.”

  Abigail swallowed and looked away. “So your purpose—”

  “Purely carnal, I assure you. After all, what would I do with an innocent woman in my bed for the rest of my days? I can assure you, not only would it be a complete and utter bore, but the worst type of life for both of us. You would constantly worry about me when I didn’t return at night, and I would constantly ignore you, ready to pay the first man on the street to pleasure you, so I wouldn’t have to.”

  Abigail’s breath hitched in her throat. “You don’t mean that. I can see it in your eyes. Why are you lying? Why say these things?”

  Phillip felt his shield crumbling by the second. He didn’t deserve her love, or her belief that he could be anything but what he was. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re spouting nonsense.” He waved her off.

  Abigail’s hands tightened into tiny fists. “You love me.”

  “No.” He almost choked. He had to get away; her truth suffocated him.

  “Yes!” she hissed and took him by the shoulders. “Look at me!”

  He obliged. The poor girl was shaking with either fury or pain. Both were unbearable to acknowledge. “You just won’t admit it. Why do you refuse to let anyone in? Why is it so hard for you to see yourself as I see you? You walk around with a giant chip on your shoulder, and I feel sorry for you. You hide everything that is good and worthy about you, because you are a coward.”

  “Watch yourself, Abby.”

  But she continued. “You’re afraid that if people really see you for who you are, a good man, a person capable of love, then they’ll reject you! It’s so much easier for you to live in the darkness, because nobody expects anything more of you! It’s why you left home all those years ago—why you hated the pressure your father put on you, and why you cannot bring yourself to look at me in the eyes even now. You are the worst sort of coward, and how I wish I could hate you, but it is impossible.”

  “Tsk, tsk. You give up too easily, dear Abby, for nothing is impossible. Hate me, Abby, for I completely and whole-heartedly despise you.”

  “No. You do not. And I will never hate you. How could I possibly hate the man I love? The man I am going to marry? Collect yourself, Rawlings, and do try to act the man I know you are, for we have an announcement to make, and it’s going to take a lot more than your sorry excuses to push me away.”

  Abby turned and made her way toward the ballroom doors, leaving Phillip with nothing but the empty July air and his thoughts. How did she know that? How did she so clearly see something even he had never acknowledged?

  Confused about whether or not he should chase after her, applaud her, or continue to fight, he merely stood. Memories of his past came flooding into the present. The responsibility his father had put on him at such a young age. The idea that being the heir meant he had to take care of everyone and everything.

  The day his mother died, she told him it was up to him to carry on the family name, for he had no siblings, other than his half-brother John.

  The money. Knowing that one day it would all be his. The marriage betrothal to a girl he could only see as a sister. And finally, his father’s death with his last wish that Phillip grow up and make something of himself, lest he disappoint his father even in the grave.

  It was in that moment, as all those ghosts haunted his thoughts that he painfully realized one thing. The most innocent of debutantes, the one he often remembered as a tiny girl in pigtails, had grown into a beautiful woman. And she was agonizingly right.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dear readers, listen carefully, for the news I must announce has apparently been a long time coming. Who would have thought that the Duke of Tempest has deemed the devil good enough for his own family? You heard it here first! It seems that one of the best kept secrets of the Season is a surprise to even me. For Lord Rawlings is to be married to Miss Abigail Gates. And it appears to be a love match. I know. I, too, had to lace my tea in order to swallow this bit of information. Mark my words, my friends, even zebras can change their stripes. Lord Rawlings has been officially taken into the bosom of Society by none other than the Dowager of Barlowe. And as if matters could not get any more confusing as this Season ends, it appears that rumors of Lord Whitmore’s madness have also not been exaggerated. I wait with eager anticipation for the Season’s final ball and wonder what things will be exposed before we all retire to the country?

  –Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers.

  Abigail was too consumed with irritation to allow herself to cry over the hurtful things Rawlings had said.

  How was it that when the world seemed to come crashing around a person, that nobody else noticed? It was as if she never left the ball. Champagne flowed freely, people laughed and danced. The ballroom looked exactly as it had before. It was Abigail who had changed.

  The sensation of Rawlings’ mouth pressed against hers haunted her still, and she lifted her gloved fingers to her lips and sighed. The kiss burned in her memory. Consuming her every breath, stealing every ounce of passion she thought herself capable of.

  But one thing continued to glow in the back of her mind. Rawlings was frantic, as if her kiss would heal, would save him. The man without a conscience, it seemed, was deceiving everyone with two eyes, and it was only in that passion-filled moment that she realized it.

  Act a fool, be a rake. No one will expect greatness from you. No, they’ll only glory in your wickedness and laugh at your weakness. For people never sin in silence and expect to be heaven bound. No, instead they sin for everyone to see, in hopes of bringing a friend along with them to hell.

  Abigail smiled through her thoughts and lowered her head as she walked to the lady’s retiring room. There should be a seamstress there, for she not only needed help with her bodice, but also the bottom of her skirt which had trapped her in that daft situation in the first place.

  It was bound to happen. She and Rawlings. It was only a matter of time before one of them snapped. She just didn’t think he would do it so soon and without any thought to her reputation, not that she would ever deny him anything.

  Holding a hand over the tear in her bodice, she came to the room and froze. The man, the bronze-skinned man, stood in front of her again. This time, without a word, he put a finger to his lips and brought her into the shadows.

  Fingers brushed into her hair. At first a sickening fear took over. Was she truly being seduced again?

  But then, he began pinning her hair back into place. And when he finished with her hair, he pulled out a knife and cut at the rip in her bodice, fully removing the tear, but simultaneously making it more revealing. Not that she wasn’t grateful.

  “Who are you?” Her voice was a mere whisper.

  She could see his gleaming white teeth in the dark. “It appears you have a fan of sorts, Miss Gates. I was asked to help you right yourself and make sure nobody was aware of your absence. I do hope you are recovered from your…fall in the gardens.”

  “Yes, I believe so.” She told herself not to cry and then promptly burst into tears. Abigail would never give up on Rawlings, but she had such a gripping fear that he would hate her and would rather die than admit his fe
elings. He was so deep in self-pity and self-loathing he wouldn’t even take her— the one woman who would love him in spite of everything, who could save him from his impending ruin. He had but one event left. He needed a bride, and it stung that when she was practically standing in front of him all he accepted from her was her body rather than the marriage that would secure his future. Unfortunately, he also took the rest of her heart, everything she had left. And this is why this foreign man’s touch did nothing to her, did not excite her. It left her numb.

  “My thanks,” she finally said.

  The man nodded in the shadows. “He will come around, Miss Gates. Of that I am certain. Sometimes rakes need a little push before they can fully accept the love so freely offered.”

  “What did you say your name was, my lord?” she asked.

  He laughed a rich bellowing laugh. “Now I know why you are the best of friends.”

  “What?” What the devil was he talking about?

  “Good evening, Miss Gates. Be sure to return the way you came so not raise suspicion.”

  “Right then.” She pivoted on her heel and quickly went back into the ballroom. Rawlings was standing on the other side of the room by Sebastian.

  Her infuriating brother-in-law motioned for her to join them. She shuffled toward them, not able to meet their eyes.

  “Abigail, good of you to join us.” Sebastian patted her hand. “Emma and I must stay a while longer, but I have asked Rawlings to escort you home. You’ve had enough excitement for one night, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Did she have to agree or could she make a run for it?

  “Yes, of course, your grace,” she mumbled.

  Rawlings appeared as pleased as she felt. And she couldn’t trust herself not to scold him any further for saying the things he had. As they made their way to the door, she couldn’t help but look for the stranger who had helped her earlier. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she had no idea why. And his talk of her best friend was a trifle alarming. How was it that he knew everyone she knew?