Taming the Rake

by Monica McCarty

  Even if Coventry had seduced Alice, she had to know the type of man he was. Even Claire knew the type of man Lord Coventry was. Gina shook off the disloyal thoughts. Alice had been wronged. “I don’t know if this is the best way—”

  “What other way can you think of? There’s a certain poetic justice in beating a rake at his own game, don’t you agree? These are men who play fast and loose with a woman’s virtue without thought. Well, we shall give them something to think about the next time they are tempted to ruin a young lady.” She turned to her sister. “Claire will do it, won’t you Claire?” She didn’t bother waiting for an answer, knowing full well Claire would agree to anything she suggested. To Gina she argued, “I know you are just as bored as I am with the men who frequent Almack’s and the ton’s ballrooms. You’ll see. It will be fun.” She smiled sweetly. “But if you’re not up to the challenge…?”

  Gina bristled. She was well aware that Cecelia was manipulating her, but it didn’t make the ploy any less effective. Gina prided herself on proficiency. If she put her mind to it, not much would stand in her way. Certainly not a debauched roué. Cecelia was right. It was tempting to do something to avenge poor Alice. And though it had just begun, the season was already the same dull round of balls and assemblies.

  Cecelia continued on as if they all were in agreement. “We shall form a club.”

  “A club?” Gina said, aghast. “Whatever for?”

  “I thought we were going to keep it a secret,” Claire added, but Cecelia paid her no mind.

  “Men have clubs for everything, why shouldn’t we? White’s, Brooks’s, Boodles, the Four-Horse, and this latest manifestation of the Hellfire Rakes club. I, for one, should like to know what goes on at Wycombe.”

  “Wycombe?” Claire asked.

  Gina’s eyes narrowed at Cecelia for bringing up such an inappropriate subject in front of her sister. She turned to Claire, answering with as little information as possible. “That’s where the Hellfire Club has its meetings. Amongst other things,” she mumbled vaguely. “We’re not supposed to be aware of the caves at Wycombe.” She turned on Cecelia. “You best not let anyone hear you talking about such things.”

  Cecelia wasn’t listening. “There are so many of the blasted creatures.” Her nose wrinkled as if she’d caught a whiff of something foul. “We might need more recruits. And we shall need some help from the other ladies, of course.”

  Claire’s eyes rounded. “I thought you said—”

  “Trusted friends only.” Cecelia cut her off, scowling at her as if she was ruining the game. “Never mind that for now. First things first, we must have a name.”

  “How about the ruined fools?” Gina suggested. “Or the spinster’s folly?”

  Cecelia shot her a hard glance. She tapped her chin. “I have it! We shall call ourselves The Society for the Hindrance of a Rake’s Progress.”

  Claire giggled at the allusion to Hogarth’s engravings. “Wonderful. But there’s just one thing I don’t understand, who qualifies as a rake?”

  “Lord Coventry for one,” Gina said.

  “Beaufort for another,” Cecelia snarled. “Certainly all the Hellfire members: Lord Percy, Lord Rockingham, Lord Petersham, Lord Ponsonby, Lord Ashley, Mr. Dashwood. But it is not simply enough to call oneself a rake. Rakes are also identified by their conduct.”

  “How so?” Claire asked.

  “Well for one, you’ll never see a rake willingly cross the threshold of Almack’s. And if they do attend a ton function it is always with a new paramour.”

  Claire’s eyes narrowed over her tiny nose. Something was obviously bothering her. “Are they handsome?”

  Cecelia nodded, the grave expression on her face belied her gentle teasing. “Of course.”

  “By definition, a rake must be handsome,” Gina agreed gamely.

  Claire looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure,” Cecelia stated emphatically.

  “Quite,” Gina confirmed.

  Claire appeared to be warming up to the idea. “What else?” she asked.

  “Hmm. Rakes are notorious gamblers; they drink bottles and bottles of port, and above all they are vile debauchers of women.”

  Claire grimaced. “That doesn’t sound very promising. No wonder they don’t marry, who’d want them?”

  “Poor dears,” Gina agreed, but the sarcasm was utterly lost on Claire.

  Gina studied her naïve friend, suddenly concerned. In many ways this would be like sending a lamb out to a pack of wolves. “Rakes are very wicked and extremely devious,” she warned. “You must be on your guard at all times. A rake will do his utmost to compromise you without marriage.”

  “Of course, we’ll have to be on the watch for anything untoward.” Cecelia said cheekily.

  Gina threw her a quelling stare. Just because she’d been kissed three times to Gina’s two, Cecelia thought herself the most experienced of the group. “It will do no good to allow the gentleman to sample the milk before he has purchased the cow,” Gina said primly.

  Claire muffled a giggle with the back of her hand.

  “Careful, darling, your country roots are showing,” Cecelia warned. To Claire she added, “One more thing. A rake avoids an unmarried debutante like the plague.”

  “Just so long as it’s easy,” Gina murmured dryly.

  Cecelia raised her teacup high in the air. “To slaying dragons—or should I say, to slaying rakes.”

  Gina gazed at the amber contents of her cup as she raised it to the others. Somehow tea seemed inappropriate for the occasion. “Shouldn’t we be drawing rapiers or something?” Gina asked wryly, but she knew Cecelia was right. A new challenge was just what Gina needed. By the time she was done with him, the poor blighter wouldn’t know what had hit him.

  “Well, which one do you want?” Cecelia asked Gina, the frustration evident in her voice. “How about Lord Ashley?”

  They’d been going on like this for nearly an hour, suggesting names with no consensus. Gina had to pick somebody. Lord Ashley was handsome enough, but she knew him—and had witnessed his lechery for herself. “No.” If she must woo someone, she might as well make it enjoyable. “No,” she repeated firmly. “I think perhaps Lord Ponsonby?”

  Cecelia pursed her lips, displeased. It was obvious she had come to a similar conclusion herself.

  “Is he the outrageously handsome one?” Claire asked.

  Gina and Cecelia both nodded.

  “Oooh. I think I should like him too.”

  “I thought you might want Beaufort,” Gina suggested to Cecelia. “An eye for an eye and all that?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “No. Of course not. I want a challenge, not an impossibility.”

  If they kept going round and round like this it would take all night, and Gina had her party to get ready for. “I suppose the only fair thing would be to draw lots.”

  “But that seems so horribly random,” Cecelia whined. “What if I choose someone I cannot abide?”

  “This was your idea. Besides, you’re the one who said you wanted a challenge,” Gina pointed out. Deciding to limit their choices to the Hellfire Club, Cecelia rattled off a dozen of the worse offenders and Gina jotted the names on small bits of parchment and tossed them into Claire’s straw bonnet.

  Claire pulled out the papers and folded them again. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. To Gina’s silent question she said, “We don’t want anyone cheating.” She glanced significantly to her sister who scowled, then asked, “Who gets to pick first?”

  Gina groaned. If it was this difficult just to choose a name, it did not bode well for the rest of the game. “Wait a minute.” She had an idea. She opened the doors to the drawing room and motioned to a housemaid who was sweeping the carpet in the adjoining hall. Grabbing the broom, she flipped it around and removed three pieces of straw of differing length. Handing the broom back to the baffled maid, she closed the doors behind her. “We shall draw straws. The longest shall have the first pick.” />
  “But who should pick the first straw?”

  Gina fought to contain her frustration. “Just pick, Claire.”

  Claire smiled and chose the middle straw from behind Gina’s hand, pulling out the second-longest straw. Cecelia went next and picked the longest, leaving Gina with the shortest.

  “I hope it’s an omen,” Cecelia said naughtily with a jaunty lift of her brow.

  Gina pretended not to understand her ribald attempt at humor. She pushed the bonnet under Cecelia’s nose and shook it. “You’re first, so pick.”

  Cecelia closed her eyes and dipped her hand into the hat. She removed the paper. Opening her eyes, she carefully unfolded it. “Mr. Ryder,” she said evenly.

  Gina studied her expression carefully, but couldn’t tell whether Cecelia was pleased. Ryder was something of a mystery, but he didn’t seem a particularly bad sort—compared to his friends at least.

  “My turn.” Claire plunged her hand in the hat and playfully dug around for a moment.

  Cecelia rolled her eyes. “Just pick one, Claire.”

  “I am.” Claire fished around for another moment or two then slowly drew out a slip of paper and opened it. The excitement drained from her face.

  “Who is it? Did you get Lord Coventry?” Gina asked consolingly, knowing he was the lowest of the low. The most depraved of the depraved.

  Claire shook her head.

  “Then who?” Cecelia asked impatiently.

  Almost apologetically, Claire handed the scrap of paper to her sister. This time Cecelia could not control her expression, her lips curled and flames sparked in her dark blue eyes. She looked angry and something else—maybe a bit jealous. “Beaufort.”

  Gina winced. “My turn,” she said, dipping her hand into the bowl of the bonnet. Ponsonby, Ponsonby, she prayed silently, drawing out the slip of paper. She nearly groaned when she read the name staring at her in her own bold handwriting.

  “Well?” Cecelia asked.

  Gina balled the paper in her hand and tossed it into the fire. “It seems it falls to me to avenge dear Alice. For I’m to tame the very devil himself.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “One of these days, you are going to do something they won’t forgive so easily.”

  James William Coventry, 8th Earl of Coventry, slowly raised his gaze over the top of his cards. “One can only hope.”

  The Duke of Beaufort chuckled. “Have you no respect for the ton’s censure?”

  Coventry took a long drag from his cheroot before answering. “None. Have you?”

  Beaufort grinned. “Not particularly. But then I don’t choose to rub its proverbial nose in my many transgressions.”

  Beaufort was right. Coventry did take pleasure in flouting convention. But he’d had his fill of convention. His parents had seen to that. His father might be dead and buried, but the same happy state could not be claimed for his mother. Thoughts of his mother reminded him of what was in store for him later this evening. To deal with the countess, he needed to get good and foxed. Coventry raised his bottle in the air. Was it his third or fourth? He’d lost count. “To men who make their own rules.”

  Joining him, Beaufort lifted his own bottle and took a long swig. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he dealt a card.

  Coventry swore and tossed down his hand. He’d met his friend at White’s for a game or two of quinze before attending to his duties. “It seems my luck has deserted me tonight.”

  “And mine seems to be improving.” Beaufort smiled and collected his winnings. “There is one thing I don’t understand. Why Lady Alice, when there are so many willing married women to choose from? You had to know you were playing with fire.”

  Coventry shrugged. “She made herself available.” He lounged back in his chair, crossed his legs, and put his hand behind his neck. “Very available.”

  “Did it cross your mind to offer for the chit?”

  Coventry glared at his friend. A friend who should know better than to ask such a ridiculous question.

  “It is the honorable thing to do in such situations,” Beaufort continued.

  Coventry arched his brow, surprised to hear such banalities from his equally irreverent friend. “Yes. A ridiculous convention in my opinion, probably invented by a woman. To marry a chit simply for kissing her?”

  “A little more than kissing as I heard it,” Beaufort reminded him. “Lady Alice is attractive enough. Rich. The daughter of a viscount. She’d have made you a good wife.”

  Fury rose in Coventry’s chest and threatened to explode. “A good wife? That’s a contradiction if ever I heard one. I’m surprised to hear you extol the virtues of marriage, Your Grace. You’ve made no move toward the parson’s noose. And unlike you, I’ve had a wife,” he growled. “Besides, the woman was a whore.”

  “Which one?”

  Coventry thought for a moment, remembering Lady Alice’s aggressive pursuit. “Both.” He motioned for another bottle. But it wasn’t thoughts of Lady Alice that made the bile rise in the back of his throat. It was the memories of the manipulative, controlling bitch who had been his wife. He drowned the contents of the bottle in one long gulp and requested another. Drink dulled the bitterness. “Women are good for only one thing. And despite the claims of some, that does not require a marriage license. Eve herself could not tempt me to the altar again.”

  Of all the rotten luck, Gina thought as the charred paper curled in the flames. Why did she have to choose him?

  “Lord Coventry?” Claire asked in hushed tones.

  “Who else,” Gina said glumly.

  “Perhaps we could pick again,” Claire offered.

  Gina looked at Cecelia, who shrugged as if to say, it’s up to you. The offer was tempting. The stench of scandal clung to Coventry, yet somehow he always managed to emerge smelling like a rose. Gina didn’t expect to be so fortunate. Lie down with dogs and you wake up with fleas—idiomatically speaking only, of course.

  It seemed the more Coventry mocked society’s dictates, the more it loved him. Especially the women. Despite his horrible reputation and his obvious contempt for the ton, he still incited a tremendous amount of feminine admiration.

  Gina couldn’t understand the fascination some women had for roués. Men like Coventry would drive you to distraction, taunting with unspoken promises but forever holding themselves apart and out of reach. He wore a perpetual sneer of smug superiority, as if he knew more than anyone else. As if the world was his own private joke.

  A man like Coventry would only bring heartbreak—and he let you know it. She supposed some might find the element of danger, the slightly cruel edge, the supreme confidence and devil-may-care attitude appealing, but those were not characteristics that Gina found attractive. She did not enjoy self-flagellation.

  Though she must admit, Coventry the man was extremely attractive. Too bad his character did not match his handsome face. His list of transgressions was long and sordid. In addition to compromising poor Alice, he’d recently shocked the ton by bringing his mistress to Lord and Lady Cowper’s annual ball. Indeed, he showed no respect for convention—even when he’d been married. It was well known that Coventry had been openly unfaithful to his wife. Though unfaithfulness in marriage was not unusual, such openness was. Gina could not abide cheats in any form.

  The man embodied all the qualities that she despised.

  So it was inevitable that she would pick him.

  Claire was waiting for her to answer. Gina did not usually equivocate, but something told her to be cautious with this one. Everything about him beckoned trouble. Bringing Coventry up to snuff would be difficult, if not impossible. But she’d agreed to the challenge. And partly because of his conduct. This was her chance.

  “No. I agreed to the rules. I’ll not attempt to wriggle out of my selection simply because I find him less than appealing. Besides, one of us is bound to be dissatisfied, we could be drawing lots all night.”

  “But Coventry?” Cecelia asked, concern heavy
in her voice. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  Gina’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?” She was not as beautiful as Cecelia—no one was—but many men found Gina attractive.

  Cecelia smiled. “Don’t get your feathers up in a dander. I wasn’t referring to your beauty. Any man would find you lovely. It’s just that you haven’t had any experience with a man like him.”

  “None of us have,” Gina reminded her. Cecelia often took it in her head that she was the worldly one of the three, when in truth she was no more experienced than the other two.

  “She’s right, Cece,” Claire agreed. “I’ve certainly never set my sights on a man like Beaufort.” She shivered with fear or distaste—maybe both.

  “I should hope not,” Cecelia said. Gina could tell Cecelia was very uncomfortable with the fact that her sister would be pursuing Beaufort.

  “Though I am more generously endowed in the bosom,” Claire added innocently. “He does seem to find that important.”

  Cecelia’s face flamed, but she knew Claire didn’t mean to be cruel. It was just Claire being Claire.

  “We each have our strong points,” Gina said, trying to turn the subject. “To make this work, we’ll have to put those strengths to use.”

  “You mean I shall have to flaunt my bosom?”

  Gina laughed. “That’s not what I meant, but it might not be a bad idea. What I meant was that we each have qualities that make us unique. Identifying those qualities and putting them to use will surely aid us in our enterprise.”

  Claire’s face lit with excitement. “You’re so organized and good with details. Your father is always remarking upon how well you managed his households. And Cecelia is already good at getting men to offer for her.”

  “Exactly,” Gina said, trying not to laugh. “Men fall in love with Cece just by looking at her. She can use her beauty to her advantage.”