The Reluctant Rake

by Jane Ashford

  Julia nodded. She felt shy, but only a little. In the last three weeks, she and Richard had become so close that it often amazed her. She hadn’t known that such kinship was possible, and she was sometimes shaken at the thought that she might never have discovered it.

  Sensing her mood once again, Richard came and took her in his arms. He held her close for a time, stroking her black hair in silence. Gradually, his hand slowed and stopped.

  Feeling a change in him, Julia raised her head. He was looking down at her with a different intentness, and he immediately fastened his lips on hers in a kiss at once tender and demanding.

  Julia pressed closer and slipped her arms around his neck. She had learned a good deal about passion in the last weeks, and she was eager to learn more.

  The kiss went on and on. Richard’s hands wandered over her body, rousing her as he had not done before and allowing his own desire free rein. His fingers were moving across her breast in a way Julia found intensely pleasurable when there was a brisk knock at the door, and they broke apart.

  “Who the devil is this?” said Richard, striding to the door and throwing it open. Two servants stood in the corridor with laden trays.

  “You ordered dinner, sir,” one of them said.

  He turned away abruptly, his face making Julia want to laugh. She did not, however, but merely indicated that the food should be brought in. Richard retreated to one of the bedrooms while a table was spread.

  “They’re gone,” called Julia in a few minutes.

  He reappeared, looking a bit sheepish, and she did laugh. After a moment, he joined her, and they went to the table in the bow window together. “I am hungry,” he admitted.

  Julia looked across at him, and he reached to take her hand.

  They ate the crisp roasted chicken and vegetables with a very good wine Richard had chosen. Julia had three glasses before they had sampled the apple tart and risen from the table, far more than her usual ration. She felt giddy, as if bubbles of happiness were coursing through her and insisting on bursting out. She went to Richard and put one arm around his neck, urging him into a waltz.

  “You’re quite foxed,” he said with amusement as they whirled about the parlor.

  “I’m not!”

  “I should not have given you that last glass of wine.”

  “I feel wonderful!” Julia stopped dancing and moved very close to him. “Wonderful.”

  “I’m glad of that,” he murmured, and bent to kiss her again.

  Their embrace was so arousing that they did not separate in the conventional fashion to don their nightclothes. Julia, her gown pushed off her shoulders and her eyes bright, undid the fastenings and let it fall to the floor. In one swift movement, she discarded her shoes and stockings, and her petticoat went in another. She stood before him then in her thin shift, her arms held out to either side in innocent abandon. His gray eyes hot with desire, Richard swept her up and carried her into the bedroom, shutting the door with his foot as he passed.

  * * *

  The day dawned foggy and cool, the halcyon summer weather gone. When Julia and Richard reached the dock, there was some question as to whether the packet for France would go, and they stood with Bess in the chill, waiting for word. Soon, however, Michael returned to say that the captain of the vessel had no doubt the fog would dissipate. He had been told to get aboard, and he pulled Bess’s hand through his arm.

  The four of them faced each other for the last time. Though they were so unlike, their shared ordeal had brought them close, and none seemed able to put into words the sadness of parting. It was the clear end of one time, and though it was also the beginning of another, that lay in the future.

  Someone called out from the boat. Bess moved abruptly, stepping forward to embrace Julia quickly and tightly, and then, after a tiny hesitation, Sir Richard. Michael shook hands with them.

  “We’ll think of you,” said Julia. “Often.”

  Unexpectedly, Michael grinned. “Ah, we’ll name our first after you,” he said. “Julia or Richard, as the case may require.”

  They all laughed, and the Sheas went aboard. The packet cast off the dock. They stood side by side at the rail and waved as the boat slipped away, the strip of water between it and the land slowly widening. The fog began to obscure them. “Good-bye,” called Julia. She heard a faint reply, and then the ship was only a vague outline. She blinked back tears.

  Richard put an arm about her shoulders and held her against him.

  “It is just so final,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “Usually, when you say good-bye, you know you will see the person again.”

  “Perhaps I will teach you to play hazard,” he answered.

  Julia looked up, startled. His face was perfectly serious, but there was a suspicious twinkle in his gray eyes.

  “Then we can visit Shea’s club together,” he added, “and lose some money to him.”

  The picture was so absurd that Julia burst out laughing.

  Richard smiled. “We can find them again,” he said, “when we wish to. But now we have a boat to catch ourselves.”

  She nodded. “Italy.”

  They turned together and walked back along the dock, the fog slowly enveloping them as it had the boat for France.

  How to Beguile a Baron

  One

  “It really does look splendid, does it not?” said eighteen-year-old Susan Wyndham, turning before the long glass to admire the flowing line of her pale green ball gown.

  “Splendid,” agreed her second cousin Georgina Goring, her twinkling gray eyes the only sign that this was at least the sixth time she had done so.

  “I told you the ruffle at the hem would become me.” Susan whirled to make the skirt bell out. “I am so glad I convinced the dressmaker to copy that pattern from La Belle Assemblée, in spite of her ridiculous objections. I do want to look stunning for my first ball.”

  Georgina, her expression wry as she thought of the turnup with the dressmaker, admitted to herself that Susan could hardly have looked ill. Her much younger cousin was exquisitely pretty, and had been since Georgina first met her at the age of six. Her hair was glowing red and her eyes sparkling green. She had the delicate figure of a Dresden shepherdess and the endurance of a navvy. If only, thought Georgina, her character was as perfect as her face, I shouldn’t worry for a moment. She sighed softly. For Georgina, at the relatively young age of twenty-nine, had been put in charge of Susan’s debut in society. Susan’s mother was fully occupied at home with a brood of younger children—the result of her second marriage—and though there was great love between Anabel and her spirited daughter, the former was a confirmed country dweller and only too glad to delegate her responsibility. Susan’s grandmother, Lady Sybil Goring, had happily taken it on, inviting the girl to her London town house and promising a variety of treats, but she had not been well lately, and a short visit by Georgina had been prolonged to allow Lady Goring to recover before resuming her social duties.

  Georgina sighed again. Aunt Sybil believed herself within a few days of robust health, but the doctor’s opinion was far different. It had been clear to Georgina for some time that she would be Susan’s chief guide through the shoals of the opening Season. And this was doubly ironic—first because Georgina’s own debut had been far from auspicious, and second because she was not at all certain she could control her young cousin, or even influence her.

  Almost from birth, Susan Wyndham had been possessed of a lightning-quick temper. This had made her a difficult child, and it showed small sign of moderation, in Georgina’s opinion, with the passage of years. The trouble with the dressmaker was only one example. Georgina had mediated a series of disputes since the girl’s arrival less than two weeks ago.

  In all other ways, Susan was charming, and her anger dissipated rapidly and completely, leaving her sheepish and
apologetic. But in the first white heat of combat, she was formidable, despite her youth, and Georgina did not relish the prospect of chaperoning her among the haut ton.

  There were many who would delight in rousing Susan, once her character was known, to discover how far she would go when angry, and Georgina shuddered to think of the consequences. Thus, her responsibility weighed heavily on her, obscuring any enjoyment she might have anticipated from the Season.

  Of course, she expected little in any case. Georgina was more at home in a country town than in a drawing room. She had learned something of the ton’s rituals during her own come-out ten years before, but her performance of them had been no more than adequate. She had arrived in London a bookish, overplump, and somewhat sullen young girl, resentful of the necessity to “come out,” and though she had changed a great deal during those weeks, and even more in the years that followed, she was no more fond of town life. She wished, as she had many times in the last few days, that she could return to her quiet home. Though Papa had died four years ago, and she missed him, Georgina was content with her novels, her household tasks, and the round of visits and entertainments of country neighbors. That was the sort of society she loved, and in which she shone—a close-knit group of friends who shared both interests and experiences. Faced with Susan Wyndham, Georgina felt alarmingly like her clumsy young self, helpless in the grip of events and nearly certain the outcome would be disaster.

  “Georgina,” said Susan, her tone making it clear that she had spoken more than once. “What is the matter with you?”

  Her cousin looked up, startled. “Nothing.”

  Susan surveyed her with pursed lips, deploring yet again Georgina’s woolly-headedness. She did not understand how Georgina managed to get through a day without falling into the fire or walking in front of a moving carriage. Half the time when one spoke to her, she didn’t hear, and when she did, the answers she gave were usually nonsensical. Only yesterday, as they’d been walking along Bond Street among the smartest shops, Susan had pointed out a ravishing bonnet and Georgina had answered, “She is his sister, I think, not his wife.” It had turned out she was talking about a pair of complete strangers and paying no heed to Susan at all. Indeed, she often seemed oblivious of Susan, a trait which she found downright insulting. How unfortunate it was that Grandmama should be ill just now, Susan thought, not for the first time: for her own sake, of course, and also for Susan’s. Georgina was a far less promising chaperone. Grandmama knew everyone and could have pointed out the notables and told their histories. Georgina would know hardly anyone. It was vastly irritating, and it might even, she worried, interfere with Susan’s unwavering ambition to become a celebrated belle. Lady Goring was the picture of fashionable elegance and widely respected; all would notice her cherished granddaughter. But Georgina was unfashionable; there could be no two opinions about that.

  There was nothing actually wrong with her appearance. She was of medium height, taller than Susan, and had a pleasing fine-boned frame. Her hair was a delicate pale blond and curled naturally into tendrils about her head, though it was not dressed in the latest mode, Susan thought. Her thickly lashed gray eyes were very striking, dominating an oval face with a straight nose and beautifully etched mouth above a determined chin. Susan freely admitted that Georgina had a way of moving, or turning her head slowly, that took one suddenly aback and revised one’s opinion of her abruptly. At such times, there was an immense dignity and elegance in her carriage. If only she would make a push, lamented Susan silently, she could be quite fashionable. But no hint of Susan’s seemed to reach her. Georgina went on wearing sadly simple gowns in the dullest colors. Her ball gown was a glaring example; it was of a washed-out rose and devoid of the simplest trim—not a ruffle or a knot of ribbon embellished its flow to the tips of Georgina’s kid slippers. How could she expect to be distinguished in a garment such as that? wondered Susan with irritation.

  She raised her eyes, met Georgina’s gray ones, and had the uneasy feeling that her cousin knew exactly what she had been thinking. That was another trouble with Georgina. She saw through one in a way that Grandmama never did.

  The corners of Georgina’s mouth turned up a little, but she suppressed her smile. She was indeed fully aware of Susan’s opinion of her clothes. But she disliked disputes, particularly with hot-tempered opponents, and she was too kind to point out that Susan’s idea of elegance was rudimentary. Georgina prided herself on her taste, but the effect was too subtle for a girl fresh from the schoolroom and of a radically different temperament and coloring.

  “We should be going,” said Georgina. “The carriage is probably waiting.”

  “Oh yes,” answered Susan, forgetting all else in her excitement over the coming ball. “I’m ready.”

  Smiling, Georgina indicated her wrap, and the two walked downstairs side by side, contemplating the evening ahead with rather different emotions.

  Though the ball was one of the first events of the Season, it was also expected to be among the most brilliant. The Duchess of Millshire’s eldest daughter was making her debut, and she was to be introduced with the greatest possible fanfare. The ton had been buzzing for weeks about the duchess’s vast preparations, and none of the leading lights would be absent tonight. Indeed, Susan and Georgina were forced to wait nearly twenty minutes in Lady Goring’s town carriage before the coachman could maneuver through the press of vehicles and deposit them at the pillared doorway. The delay raised Susan’s impatience to fever pitch, and gave Georgina a sinking sensation, so that neither was at her best when they climbed the three steps and were admitted to the house by a liveried footman.

  “Oh, do come along,” said Susan, when Georgina was a bit slow in removing her wrap. “The dancing has probably started long since. We are missing everything!”

  “I imagine, rather, that Lady Helen is still greeting guests with her mother,” replied Georgina calmly, but she relinquished her cloak and started up the stairs.

  The two ladies were indeed still at their summit, and Susan looked a little less sulky as they greeted their hostess and conveyed Lady Goring’s regrets. And when they moved on into the ballroom, her annoyance faded in wide-eyed admiration of the decoration, for the duchess had spared nothing in decking her house for the occasion.

  “Look there,” exclaimed Susan as they walked. “That is a fountain in the corner, amongst those roses, and it is running!”

  “I see it.” Georgina was smiling.

  Her cousin looked back. “You are laughing at me.”

  “I am not.”

  “You were. I suppose I sound hopelessly countrified. I must—”

  “Look out,” interrupted Georgina, who had noticed a group of guests approaching them from the side. Like Susan, they were engrossed in conversation.

  But it was too late. Susan did not check, and the others had not seen. In the next moment, the girl had collided with a much taller young woman, and the two were forced to hang on to one another to keep from falling.

  “I beg your pardon,” began Susan.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking,” said the other.

  Then both fell abruptly silent and moved apart, staring. For they wore the same gown, down to the flouncing at the hem. The fabrics were a little different, but as the color was pale green, this scarcely signified. At first glance, the garments appeared identical, copied exactly from the pattern in La Belle Assemblée.

  And this coincidence was made more startling by a superficial resemblance between the two girls. Both had vivid red hair and pale skin; both were strikingly lovely. And though the stranger’s statuesque form and height contrasted strongly with Susan’s delicacy, the difference merely accentuated the sartorial contretemps. The silence spread for quite five yards around them as people noticed the unusual tableau.

  Georgina, seeing Susan’s cheeks flame, opened her mouth to say something, anything, to ease the situation. But Su
san was before her. “How dare you?” she said.

  “What?” The taller girl had been looking slightly amused as well as disconcerted, but Susan’s tone made her raise her eyebrows.

  “Copy my gown,” Susan hissed. As usual, her anger made her irrational. When it faded, she might well admit that this embarrassing misfortune was her own fault—for anyone might copy a fashion plate, after all. But just now she could see only the ruin of her plans to dazzle the ton and establish herself in society. She would be laughed at rather than admired. And the intolerable fact that this woman had her coloring, while a striking contrast in every other respect, only fed Susan’s fury by spotlighting all the traits she had ever deplored in herself—her small stature, her tendency to fragility instead of curves, and the irritating air of innocence her features seemed to convey, when she wished to appear worldly and sophisticated. It was beyond bearing. At that moment, Susan would gladly have slapped the other girl’s face.

  “If we are to talk of copying,” the newcomer replied, “I have had this dress since last Season. So you are the imitator.” She couldn’t resist the gibe, for the encounter had made her feel like a great clumsy giant confronting her image in miniature, and the sensation was far from pleasant. Though she could see the humor of the situation, its public character destroyed her impulse to laugh.

  Susan’s flush intensified, and her hands clenched at her sides. Any of her family would have quailed at these unmistakable signs.

  “Isn’t this too funny?” interjected Georgina, her voice sounding unnatural in her own ears. “I don’t know when I’ve been so diverted.” This was a feeble attempt, she knew, but something had to be done before Susan exposed herself before the whole of society.

  “I should say, rather, exquisitely original,” responded a deep baritone of such compelling magnetism that all three women turned instinctively. The man standing behind Georgina had not been part of either colliding group. He was also immediately identifiable to all but Susan. Even Georgina, whose knowledge of London society was small, could not mistake Randal Kenyon, Baron Ellerton. His physical appearance alone was distinctive. Tall, his well-formed person enhanced by various fashionable athletic pursuits, he radiated power and competence. And he was strikingly handsome as well, with deep chestnut hair and vivid blue eyes that seemed to take note of everything that passed before them. Indeed it was these eyes that transfixed the three women now; they were sparkling with intelligence and understanding of their dilemma, and with an amusement that somehow didn’t offend. “However did you conceive such a stunning effect?” he added, suppressing a smile at their amazement. “You have certainly made a hit. I congratulate you.”