The Rake And The Wallflower

by Allison Lane

  But for now he made light of the incident, enduring endless questions about the encounter. Some joked, others offered sympathy, and a few seemed disgruntled that he appeared none the worse for the experience. Since those were the same people who wished he'd left the country after Miss Turner's death, he ignored them.

  An hour later, he regretted his decision to face society. A thousand candles burned overhead, flickering in the breeze raised by a hundred dancers. The uneven light made his head swim until only leaning negligently against a pillar kept him upright. Echoes of voices and music melded with his pounding heart into a dull roar. Sweat soaked his cravat.

  But weakness wasn't his worst problem. He'd been so intent on hiding his pain that he'd forgotten his other danger. Miss Derrick and Miss Huntsley were at the theater tonight, which was why he'd chosen this ball. But they weren't the only threats.

  That blonde stood twenty feet away, her lids fluttering enticingly over the top of her fan. He hadn't considered her a problem, for she was a beauty with a large court of admirers that should have kept her too busy to bother him. Now she swiftly dispersed her court, then headed in his direction.

  He swore.

  "Who is the beauty in the yellow gown?” he asked Nick. A name would let Jaynes discover her plans in the future.

  "The blonde passing Lady Jersey?"

  "That's the one."

  "Miss Seabrook. I mentioned her yesterday. Her brother is a baron with an estate in Devonshire, and her older sister married Rockhurst. He is sponsoring her and a younger sister this Season.” He glanced around. “I don't see Lady Rockhurst at the moment. Do you need an introduction?"

  "No. Diamonds are usually too selfish for my taste, so wrapped in their own wishes that they care little for others."

  "You always were partial to bluestockings."

  Gray shrugged. “At least they can converse intelligently.” Miss Seabrook drew closer. Her mouth stretched into a practiced smile, but her eyes gleamed with avarice. “No doubt about it, she has her eye on me. Would you distract her? I refuse to tarnish another reputation.” When Nick nodded, Gray headed for the card room. He was too dizzy to deal with problems tonight.

  Lord Oxbridge was in deep play with a dozen other gamesters, none of whom noticed him. And just as well. His vision was fading in and out, his head whirled, and sounds had merged into the pulsing echo that presaged a swoon. He should have heeded the doctor's advice and stayed abed for a week. But it was too late—for everything. He had to lie down before he collapsed. His carriage would not do. He would never find it in time.

  He left the card room by the other door. The hallway led to the ladies’ retiring room and then to the family quarters. They were not open to guests, but he no longer cared. He would never hear the end of it if he collapsed in public.

  Black spots were crowding his eyes by the time he staggered into Oxbridge's library. Moisture beaded his brow. With his last ounce of strength, he closed the door and collapsed on a couch.

  Time passed. The dizziness gradually faded, steadying the ceiling fresco. Not until he shifted into a more comfortable position did he realize that the room was occupied. His artist was sitting at a table.

  He swore.

  "You should have stayed in bed another day, Lord Grayson,” she said calmly. “Skipping a ball would damage your credit less than swooning in public."

  "Hiding again?” He kept his tone light. She knew his identity now, though she made no move to flee.

  "Not exactly. Lord Oxbridge mentioned a folio of animal prints, but he was interrupted before I could ask to see them. I hope he won't mind."

  Gray raised his head. The table was littered with natural history books and prints. He recognized the folio. The hand-tinted drawings showed animals in their natural state, with more detailed backgrounds than most artists used, more detailed even than the bird illustrations his friend John Selby drew—he'd urged the fellow more than once to publish a collection.

  He dropped his head back on the couch. “He won't mind, but your reputation will suffer if anyone finds you here. This part of the house is closed."

  "Which is why you came here to swoon.” She nodded.

  He started to deny it, but closed his mouth without a word. She knew the truth. How could she not? He'd staggered in half dead and continued to recline despite her presence. She was right. He should have stayed home. All of society would know the tale by morning.

  She shook her head. “You are in terrible shape, Lord Grayson. Your face reveals every thought. But relax. I won't mention your foolishness, though you should return home as soon as you can remain on your feet."

  Embarrassment heated his face. “You have the advantage of me,” he said through clenched teeth. “We've not been introduced."

  She blushed. “Forgive me. Miss Mary Seabrook, Lady Rockhurst's sister."

  A jag of fear produced another surge of dizziness. Was she also stalking him? But reason quickly returned. She could not have planned this meeting—or the one behind Lady Debenham's potted palms. No one could have predicted he would turn up in either hideaway.

  Nor was she like her sister. Average looks. Simple gown. Matter-of-fact tone. And a bluestocking, unless his instinct was completely gone. One of the books she had gathered was a natural history of Kent. Another was a volume on birds, written in the most turgid prose he'd ever encountered.

  "Surely they warned you to stay away from me.” The moment the words were out, he cursed himself. The beating must have loosened his brain.

  "Of course.” A smile lifted the corner of her mouth as she faced him. “You are an ogre of the first water, sir. Merely speaking with you will tarnish my reputation, cancel my voucher to Almack's, and call my virtue into question. You are a hairsbreadth from being cast into eternal perdition with only Blackthorn as company."

  "Ouch."

  "The view is not universal, of course. Lady Westlake defends you with great vigor—she is grateful for a past kindness—and others suspect the tales are exaggerated. I prefer to judge for myself—not a difficult chore since fate seems eager to throw us together."

  He nodded. “You could always leave."

  "I see no need."

  "Why?"

  A small frown crossed her forehead. Intrigued, for she seemed to be giving his question serious thought, he rolled onto his side, propped his head on one hand, and waited.

  "Curiosity, I suppose,” she said at length. “My instincts are usually accurate, and you do not strike me as a blackguard. I know that gossip usually exaggerates and is sometimes downright false."

  His jaw dropped in astonishment. “You are young to have learned such wisdom."

  "Lessons can come at any age.” Pain flashed in her eyes. “My eldest sister once suffered a malicious attack on her credibility. The resulting censure spilled onto the entire family. Only luck and considerable effort saved her reputation. The incident taught me the folly of believing everything one hears."

  "Are you speaking of Lady Rockhurst?"

  She nodded. “Rockhurst unmasked the perpetrator. It is how they met."

  "When was this? I've heard nothing of such a campaign."

  "Not surprising. It was a country matter that did not reach town.” She shrugged. “But what is the truth in your own case? You seem kind."

  Even more surprising than the question was her tone. No condemnation. No fury. Only curiosity and the surety that he could explain. He shocked himself by answering.

  "Like Lady Rockhurst, I did nothing. I suppose you've heard the stories."

  "Of course. Those who enjoy scandal delight in warning newcomers to avoid people like you—strictly for our own good; any pleasure they derive from the exercise is purely incidental."

  Her tone made him chuckle.

  "You are accused of jilting Miss Irwin, then ruining Miss Turner, who ultimately did away with herself. I presume that last claim is true, for no one suggests suicide lightly."

  He nodded.

  "Everyone agrees on
those charges. Other tales are more nebulous—the unnamed innocents you supposedly ruined, suspicions that your fortune was acquired dishonestly, hints that you are a French spy."

  "None of those have any basis in fact,” he snapped.

  "So I thought. I distrust any tale that does not include specifics or that changes significantly from one teller to the next. But what of the others?"

  "Miss Irwin arrived in London with little training in the ways of society. Thus she managed to annoy or insult a great many influential ladies, including Lady Beatrice. She was poised to do the same to Lady Jersey when I deflected her."

  "How?"

  He cautiously sat up. The room swung twice, then steadied. “Lady Jersey can be delightful if you show her proper respect, but she does not tolerate criticism, particularly of the subscription balls at Almack's."

  "Rockhurst warned us about that. Even Laura dares say nothing about stale cakes and uneven floors.” She shifted in her chair. “So you prevented Miss Irwin from taking the lady to task?"

  "Exactly. It was a minor incident, but it drew her attention. Over the following month, I danced with her three times and exchanged greetings on two other occasions. Each meeting took place in a large gathering at which I spent time with a score of other females, so I was astonished to open the News one morning and see our betrothal announcement."

  "Good heavens! What on earth was her father thinking? You cannot have approached him."

  "Of course not. I was barely four-and-twenty and had no interest in settling down. I had never called on her or sought her out in any way.” Fury still burned whenever he thought of Irwin's treachery. However, Mary's face held so much compassion that an unfamiliar ache settled into his chest.

  She shook her head. “It must have been a terrible shock. What did you do?"

  He ran his hands through his hair. “I immediately called on Irwin to demand an explanation. He had the nerve to call me a liar. That's when I realized the greedy bast—He and his daughter were conspiring to attach my fortune. They had hoped to compromise me, but I had refused to leave a ballroom with her. So they concocted a bolder scheme."

  "Everyone understands his greed,” she reported calmly. “He was recently caught cheating at cards. But the current theory is that you paid him to deny a betrothal."

  It was a twist he'd not heard before, not that it helped much. “I did, in a way,” he admitted, “though not a farthing changed hands. When I demanded details of our supposed courtship, he tried to bluff, reeling off a list of secret rendezvous. I made him write them down—places, dates, exact times—then informed him that I could prove his list false. He could either retract the announcement or stand trial for extortion. I could produce plenty of witnesses."

  "So you paid him by not filing charges?"

  He nodded.

  "He cannot be very bright,” she noted.

  "Definitely not. To hide his own complicity, he blamed everything on his daughter and vowed to send her home. But she attended one more ball, where she enacted her own retribution by accusing me of seduction."

  "She sounds less bright than her father."

  He actually laughed. “True. Irwin was furious, creating a scene that became the talk of the Season—he probably feared I would have him arrested for breaking our agreement. The incident ruined her beyond repair, of course. Both father and daughter disappeared the next morning. I heard she married a farmer not long afterward."

  "So why do people blame you?"

  "That began the following year.” He sighed. “Miss Irwin convinced me that protecting people from their own stupidity was dangerous—and impossible anyway. Until then I had tried to set the nervous and unprepared at ease."

  "Like Lady Westlake?"

  He nodded. “Her brothers held all but the dullest gentlemen at bay. The few they approved despised bluestockings, but she wanted a husband who accepted her studies."

  "Surely her brothers wanted her happy.” Her hands gripped the bird book.

  "But on their terms. They distrusted intelligent females—even their own sister—and believed she needed a firm, controlling hand to correct her odd habits."

  "So you introduced her to Westlake. She remains grateful. But why did you do it? Matchmaking is not usually a gentleman's activity. Nor is saving the gauche from embarrassment."

  "It bothers me when people are ill at ease,” he admitted, shrugging. It wasn't something he'd ever analyzed. Nor did he wish to start now. Thinking about it recalled confrontations he wanted to forget, so he resumed his tale. “After Miss Irwin, I distrusted innocents and never danced more than once with one. It didn't help."

  "Miss Turner?"

  He nodded. “I met her the following Season at Lady Debenham's ball.” The irony was obvious. He had first spoken to Miss Irwin at Lady Debenham's ball, first danced with Miss Turner, first met Miss Mary hiding behind the palms. Perhaps he should avoid the event in the future, though it was too late to undo this latest acquaintance. And he wanted to believe this one was harmless. Mary triggered neither sympathy nor compassion. “Beyond that evening, I never spoke with her, but she pursued me relentlessly. No matter where I went, she followed. She even tried to force entrance to my club."

  "Good heavens! She sounds like Lady Caroline Lamb."

  "Very like, though this happened before Lady Caroline met Byron. Most people can laugh over Lady Caroline's antics because she has credit Miss Turner could never achieve. Society might check the facts more closely if Miss Turner pursued me today, but three years ago, they blamed me for encouraging her."

  "No smoke without fire. How I hate that phrase."

  "As do I.” He met her eyes and smiled. “I finally left town to escape her. That's when she killed herself, leaving a note that blamed me for seducing her. The family confirmed she was with child."

  "She actually named you as the father?"

  He nodded. “I've been a pariah ever since."

  "How unjust. I wonder whom she was protecting."

  "It no longer matters."

  He leaped up when he heard footsteps in the hallway, but no one entered. Yet it recalled him to their danger. “You had best leave. If anyone finds us together, your reputation will be in tatters. I've no interest in igniting another scandal.” His head spun, so he resumed his seat.

  "Nor I. My family barely survived the last one. But few would care about me. Laura attracts all eyes."

  "Your sister?"

  "And a diamond of the first water. She outshines the sun."

  Her tone contained pride, but also a hint of pain. Anger flared as he recalled the avaricious blonde in the ballroom. Like too many self-absorbed beauties, she had probably sucked the life from her younger sister—unfairly.

  "Be glad that she deflects the tulips to her side,” he said lightly. “You wouldn't enjoy their company anyway."

  "How would you know?"

  "You are too intelligent to like posturing, but those who share your interests would flock to you if they could find you."

  "You underestimate her impact. Surely you've seen her.” She snorted. “Of course, you have. Everyone notices her the moment they enter a room. I am invisible when she is around."

  "Not true. I admit I've seen your sister, but I cannot like her. She is the sort who is never satisfied with what she has. I left the ballroom just now because she fixed her sights on me."

  "She wouldn't be so foolish!” Agitated, Mary paced to the window and back. “Of course, she would,” she muttered. “The rumors appeal to her. Drat her, anyway. I'd hoped I wouldn't have to bother Blake with this."

  "Bother him how?” Gray demanded.

  Mary jumped. “I'm sorry. For a moment I forgot you were here. Laura is usually sweet and caring, but she can sometimes be headstrong."

  "If she thinks to attach me, she must be mad."

  "Not mad. Bored.” She blushed. “Laura longs for the sort of excitement described in tales of adventure and exotic lands. Unfortunately, no real man can compare to the heroes of
those books, a truth she sometimes forgets. It leaves her dissatisfied with those who would court her."

  "God help me,” he muttered.

  Mary seemingly didn't hear as she paced the library. “She rejects ardent suitors, then trails after those who avoid her. She is particularly drawn to anyone who might show her the world. Someone mentioned that you toured the Continent despite the hostilities that still rage. And another tale claims you often travel about England."

  "More exaggeration. The only touring I undertook was six years ago when I inspected four estates before buying Shellcroft. I did visit Brussels after the debacle with Miss Turner, but that was strictly business. I returned in a week."

  "But avoided London until the following Season, I suppose."

  "Do you blame me?"

  "Of course not."

  He rested his chin on his hands to contain a new bout of dizziness. “If she thinks I am an adventurer, then all I need do is tell her the truth."

  "I wouldn't advise it. When she turns headstrong, Laura ignores facts that contradict her assumptions. That is another lesson she seems to have forgotten.” She sighed.

  "Then how do you expect Rockhurst to talk sense into her?"

  "Blackmail. He holds the purse strings since he is financing this Season—our oldest brother's estate barely covers his own expenses. Blake can also ruin her if he chooses.” She blushed. “Please do not repeat that, my lord. I don't want to harm her if I can help it, but you have a right to the truth. Blake was another who ignored her."

  "Do you mean she tried to force Rockhurst into marriage?” What the devil had he done to deserve this? And why did unstable girls always target him?

  "She considered it. William discovered the plot before she could put it into operation. There was a rather ugly scene that should have taught her a lesson—and did, for a while. But she seems to have forgotten it. Like too many diamonds, she expects every man's regard, and when she takes the bit between her teeth, there is no stopping her. Perhaps you should take advantage of your injuries to avoid society for a few days. Spend time at your clubs while that bruised eye heals."