Amy wafted her fan in front of Georgette’s face. “I’m sure your brother was only curious.”
“No,” Osgood said. “He was shouting about trash. But then some folks brought buckets of water to put out the fire. A clerk from the bookshop came out with a full chamber pot and—”
“Osgood, there are ladies present,” Hawk said.
“Oh, sorry, ladies,” he said. “The smoke was awful.”
Julianne still clutched Hester’s hand. “Mr. Osgood, did they burn very many pamphlets?”
“Not as many as they wanted,” he said. “All the commotion brought out a lot of curious people. The proprietor swore the publisher meant to print more. He looked rather pleased about it all.” Osgood fumbled inside his coat. “I managed to rescue one. It’s only a little charred round the edges.”
“Well, that is good news,” Hester said. “And I certainly think Mr. Osgood deserves praise for rescuing a copy.”
Hawk gave his aunt a stern look. “I hardly think a scandalous publication such as this deserves rescuing.”
Julianne glared at him. “No literature deserves burning!”
“Osgood, put the pamphlet back in your coat,” Hawk said. Then he addressed his aunt. “That pamphlet is an outrage. Julianne is forbidden to read it.”
Georgette made a choked sound. Amy elbowed her.
Mr. Peckham regarded Hawk. “No disrespect, Hawkfield, but how do you know the pamphlet is an outrage if you haven’t read it?”
“I’ve heard enough to convince me it’s salacious. The publisher probably hopes to make a small fortune. The title is meant to mislead the public. People will buy it expecting something far different. I’m not shelling out coin for that rag.”
Julianne narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps you’re afraid of what you’ll read.”
She was on her high horse today. “Julianne, I know how much store you put by novels and ladies’ periodicals, but this is not art,” Hawk said. “It’s rubbish.”
Hawk turned his regard to the others, only to find Caruthers reading over Osgood’s shoulder. “Hah! The author failed miserably.”
“What do you mean?” Beaufort said.
“She entrusts her female readers to keep the pamphlet from falling into the hands of gentlemen.” Caruthers looked up and grinned. “Too late.”
The other cubs laughed. Then they passed it round.
“I think I’ll buy one for grins,” Beaufort said.
“I shall purchase a copy as well,” Hester said.
Hawk narrowed his eyes. “Aunt, you seem to know a great deal about that pamphlet. Do you know the author?”
“It is anonymous,” she said.
He couldn’t very well accuse his aunt in front of everyone. Lord knew he didn’t want anyone to know his aunt had written it. “I don’t want Julianne reading that pamphlet,” he said in a stern voice.
“Read it before you pronounce judgment,” Hester said. “And when you finish, we will discuss it.”
“Since you insist, I will, but I don’t expect to find anything of value in it.”
After everyone left, Julianne paced around the drawing room. “Hester, they ridiculed the pamphlet. And burned it!”
“Yes, but all the attention is bound to draw more readers. The pamphlet is a sensation. All the outrage is bringing people to the bookshop.”
Julianne halted. “Forgive me, but I wanted to hurl that scorched pamphlet at your nephew.”
“Let us see what he has to say after he reads it,” Hester said.
“He is already prejudiced when he has not read a word of it,” she said.
Hester’s lips twitched. “I did think it amusing when he insisted you were forbidden to read it.”
“Well, at least my identity is protected. Goodness, everyone is talking about it,” she said.
“That’s the spirit,” Hester said. “You have stirred up controversy, and now we will observe the various reactions. Some of them are likely to disturb you, but remember, you must be careful not to inadvertently give yourself away. As difficult as it may prove, you must say as little as possible.”
“I shall be very anxious to hear the opinions of single ladies,” Julianne said. “I’m sure it will be much discussed in ladies’ retiring rooms.”
Hester tapped her quizzing glass. “I was surprised my nephew did not insist upon accompanying us to the opera tonight.”
“He despises the opera,” Julianne said.
“But he has been distant lately.”
“He has been busy with parliamentary and estate matters,” she said. But deep inside, fear had taken hold over the last three days. She’d let him back into her heart, and she’d thought after their discussion about his past that they had grown closer.
“Hester?” she said tentatively.
“Yes, dear?”
“Why do gentlemen… Never mind. I already know the answer.”
“To what, dear?”
She sighed. “It is of no great import.” But she’d forgotten her own advice that night she’d spoken to him at Lady Garnett’s ball. He’d been comfortable with her as long as she’d kept everything lighthearted, but after she’d brought up the very serious topic of his past, he’d put distance between them.
Nothing had changed. He enjoyed teasing her, but he did not entertain thoughts of marrying her. He was even abdicating his guardian duties. But why? He’d been so insistent until that night.
Because he’d sensed she had matrimony on her mind?
Her heart started pounding as she thought of what she’d written in the pamphlet.
However, you will note that most are in no great hurry to renounce their bachelorhood. In fact, they are, by and large, determined to remain single as long as possible. Why?
They do not wish to give up their drinking, gaming, and wenching.
A horrible suspicion gripped her. Had he taken a mistress?
“Julianne, you have grown pale,” Hester said.
“I think I should rest. It’s been a trying afternoon.” She would say nothing to Hester, because Hawk was her nephew. And Julianne had no evidence. But she knew his reputation.
Like a fool, she’d fallen for him all over again. She’d let herself hope because he’d kissed her. Yet, he’d made his lack of romantic intentions clear when he’d asked for friendship, the same way she’d asked it of the cubs. And like Beaufort, she’d hoped for more.
She’d chased him at the park, kissed him back, and flirted with him. He’d taken freely what she’d so willingly given. But she’d made light of their kiss that night at the ball, because she’d feared his feet would grow cold.
She remembered what he’d said that day he’d taken her to the park. It would take a lot more than a kiss to alleviate what’s bothering me.
Her heart sank. He’d taken a mistress.
No, she was jumping to conclusions, when she had no evidence at all. She’d blamed him for staying away, but he was the earl, and he did have responsibilities.
He also had responsibilities to her, and he’d shirked them. There could only be one reason for his sudden disinterest in escorting her to nightly entertainments.
He’d found a hussy to warm his bed.
When she reached her room, she kicked the door shut. She would not wait for him to decide when to call on her. First thing tomorrow morning, she would send him a curt missive demanding his presence in Hester’s drawing room. He’d get the shock of his life, but she would not back down.
That night, Hawk sat in his usual spot at the club, nursing a brandy and his bad mood. He’d gone to the theater as planned, but he never even made it to the dressing room. As he’d started down the stairs, two of his mother’s friends had hailed him. They wanted to call on Lady Julianne and wondered if he would accompany them to Lady Rutledge’s box. He’d been forced to admit they were not there. They had looked at him askance.
So here he sat all alone, wondering how many rakes were vying for Julianne’s attention at the opera. No doubt they were
ogling her bosom. He ought to go there straightaway and make sure she wasn’t getting into trouble. But he’d spent too much time with her already. He was getting too accustomed to having her about.
The waiter brought him another brandy. He looked down at his empty glass, surprised that he’d drained it dry. The devil. He’d been right about one thing: guarding Julianne was driving him slowly mad.
He gulped his brandy and cursed himself for ever agreeing to be her guardian. She’d gotten under his skin. The last few days he’d stayed away hadn’t done a damned bit of good. He thought about her constantly. Hell, she even invaded his dreams. Last night, he’d dreamed she’d stood before him naked and crooked her finger. He’d jolted awake, as hard as stone and frustrated.
He’d get drunk, and then maybe he wouldn’t dream about her tonight. Maybe he wouldn’t picture her lying beneath him. Maybe he would forget their hot kisses. Maybe he’d forget how sweetly she’d told him his past didn’t matter.
She was too innocent. He swigged his brandy and swiped his mouth. She was too beautiful. He drank some more. She was too clever. He drained his glass and signaled the waiter.
His head felt light, but he didn’t care. He meant to get stinking drunk so he could forget her. Forget her raspy voice. Forget her luminous complexion and her bright blue eyes. Forget the taste of her tongue.
The waiter brought another brandy. He shoved it aside, because even the brandy wasn’t working. Nothing worked. He had a bad case of lust for her. And he couldn’t have her. Not ever.
He wanted her.
Why could he not have her? Because he was bad. Because men like him never changed. Because she deserved better.
His head was swimming, but he decided he was thinking far more clearly. He wanted Julianne, and he would have her. But he’d have to marry her. Maybe she wouldn’t marry him.
He’d kidnap her and race off to Scotland. One of his bad ancestors had kidnapped his great-great-great-grandmamma.
Grandmamma, he thought. It was all her fault. She’d decided to palpitate again. His nervous mama and flighty sisters had fled to Bath. They’d left him and his batty aunt Hester to look after Julianne. His family had taken leave of their senses.
He snorted and picked up his glass. A shadow fell over him. He looked up to find his least favorite brother-in-law, Montague, scowling at him. Hawk lifted his glass aloft, sloshing brandy.
“I might have known I’d find you three sheets to the wind and shirking your guardian responsibilities,” Montague said.
“Have I told you lately how much I regret letting you marry my sister?”
“You’re a disgrace,” Montague said. “You had everything handed to you on a silver platter. But you thumbed your nose in your father’s face. You broke your mother’s heart by moving out. And then you set out to be the king of rakes.”
“Montague, you’re starting to bore me.”
“I’m not half done here. You’ve abdicated your responsibilities to your brother. He’s running wild on the Continent, and you’re funding it. You don’t give a damn about your family. I thought at the very least you would honor your responsibilities to Lady Julianne. You ought to be ashamed.”
“Look in the mirror, Montague,” he said. “You mistreat my sister.”
“She is my wife, and you have no say.”
“You think I don’t know about your mistress?”
Montague stiffened.
Hawk stood. “Get rid of her, because if you don’t, I will beat you to a bloody pulp.”
After delivering that threat, he walked a bit unsteadily out of the room. He collected his greatcoat, dropped his hat, and managed to clap it onto his head. Somehow he got his sorry carcass into the carriage. When the driver asked for a direction, Hawk thought of the opera, but he was drunk. He told the driver to take him to his aunt’s house.
Henderson looked more than a little alarmed when Hawk insisted on waiting for his aunt in the Egyptian drawing room. Once there, he refused Henderson’s offer of strong coffee and decided to make himself comfortable on the sofa. His legs hung over the rolled arm, but he needed to sleep off the brandy. He fell asleep and dreamed Julianne was burning pamphlets.
Julianne’s eyes nearly popped out of her head at the sight of Hawk draped over the sofa. Obviously he’d not gone to a mistress.
Hester put her hands on her wide hips. “What in the world was he thinking?”
Behind them, Henderson cleared his throat. “My lady, I believe he is drunk.”
Julianne padded over to Hawk and shook his shoulder. He murmured something unintelligible. She bent over him and wrinkled her nose at the smell of brandy on his breath.
“Don’t burn them,” he muttered.
She straightened and looked at Hester. “Should we try to bundle him into his carriage?”
“We’d never get him down the stairs,” Hester said. She told Henderson to send for a blanket and a pillow.
A few minutes later, Julianne managed to get the pillow under his head. He muttered in his sleep again. She draped the blanket over him. “I hate leaving him like this.”
“He’ll survive,” Hester said. “Come along. It’s late, and we’re both tired.”
As they climbed the stairs, Julianne looked at Hester. “I’ve never seen him drunk before.”
“He’s overset,” Hester said.
“How do you know?”
“I know my nephew.”
They had reached the landing. Hester groaned as she stepped up. “I’m getting old.”
“You’re just tired,” Julianne said. She slowed her pace to match Hester’s. As they reached her bedchamber, she turned to Hester. “What is wrong with Hawk?”
Hester smiled. “You.”
Her answer startled Julianne. She wanted to ask Hester to explain, but Hester crossed to her room and closed the door.
Several minutes later, Betty helped Julianne disrobe and don a night rail. She snuggled under the covers, but she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking of what Hester had said, and she started worrying about Hawk. What if he got up in his drunken state and bumped into one of the side tables? He might trip over something in the dark.
She lay there thinking of a dozen excuses to check on him. Finally, she decided to listen to her inner voice and go. She found her dressing robe and slipped it on. Then she took her candle and crept downstairs. When she opened the drawing room door, she found him in much the same position. She ought to leave him be, but she set the candle on a side table and treaded over to him. She removed his shoes and set them aside. Then she walked over to his head and brushed his hair back.
He caught her hand. She stiffened, fearing she’d awakened him. When she tried to disentangle her hand, he pulled it to his cheek.
“Hawk,” she whispered. “Wake up.”
His eyes opened. “I’m still drunk.”
“Yes, and you need to go home and sleep,” she said.
“I don’t have a home. I have rooms.”
“I know, but your neck will ache if you spend the night on the sofa.”
“Can’t walk to the carriage,” he said. “I’m drunk.”
She sat beside him. “Why did you get drunk?”
“Dunno.”
She cupped his cheek. “Hawk, what’s wrong?”
“I’m drunk.”
She laughed a little. “What else is wrong?”
“I’m bad.”
“No, you aren’t,” she said.
“Men like me never change.”
She frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s what my father said.”
She inhaled. Why would his father say something so harsh?
“I don’t care about my family.”
“That’s not true,” she said.
“What Montague said.”
“When did he say that?”
“Tonight at the club. I got drunk.”
She kissed his cheek. “I should leave you so you can sleep.”
“Don’t
leave me.”
“I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.”
“Not ever,” he said.
“You won’t remember this tomorrow.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
She frowned. “Hawk, don’t say that.”
“Truth.”
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
He closed his eyes. His breathing slowed. He’d fallen asleep again. She considered going back upstairs, but she didn’t want to leave him like this. When she rose, his eyes opened.
“Hawk, I’ll go to the other sofa and watch over you.”
He curled onto his side, bending his knees. “Lie with me, like a spoon.”
She hesitated but sensed he needed the comfort. They fit, just barely. He wrapped his arm around her and cupped her breast. Oh, dear, what had she done? His thumb circled her nipple. She caught her breath, knowing she should move to the other sofa. His fingers unbuttoned her night rail.
“Hawk.”
“Shhh. I won’t hurt you.”
His hand delved inside and cupped her breast. He suckled her neck. Desire flooded her veins. But he was drunk, and she shouldn’t let him. She felt him harden against her bottom. “Hawk, we shouldn’t. Not like this when you’re drunk and liable to regret it.”
“You want me to stop?”
“I think I should move to the other sofa,” she said, “so you can sleep.”
“Yes, you better go, because I want to bed you. And we don’t have a bed.”
She laughed a little as she stood and buttoned her night rail. Then she kissed his cheek once more. It was a little scratchy from his beard. “Sleep.”
She curled onto the other sofa, watching him in the wavering candlelight. He twitched once, but his deep breathing continued. She wondered if he would remember anything he’d said to her. Even if he did, he would probably feign no memory of it. She knew now that the clowning was a cover for deep wounds.
His father had told him men like him never change.
Her eyes welled with tears. She’d known whatever had happened all those years ago had been bad. But she’d not known his own father had condemned him.
He woke her before dawn. She sat up a little disoriented, and then all of it flooded her brain.
How to Seduce a Scoundrel Page 24
