Taming the Rake

by Monica McCarty

  “I may have a thing or two other than beauty in my arsenal,” Cecelia said sourly.

  Gina met her friend’s insulted gaze, but did not back down. “Of course you do. You are very good at getting what you want. I might not always condone your methods, but I recognize that they are effective.”

  In many ways, Gina and Cecelia were complete opposites. It was hard to believe they’d become such good friends. Gina was frank—her new “mama” would say blunt to the point of rudeness—whereas Cecelia tended to be more circumspect. Gina was always quick to point out when she found Cecelia’s manipulations unworthy of her, as eagerly as Cecelia liked to point out when Gina was being too bossy or interfering. Yet, they understood each other. And that understanding had formed the bonds of a very strong friendship.

  Claire’s face fell. “But what about me? What do I have to offer?”

  Gina looked at her friend with her blond curls, milky skin, and big blue eyes. Her angelic beauty a perfect complement to her innocence. What did she have that would entice a sophisticated man like Beaufort? On the face of it, it appeared to be a hopeless cause. But Gina knew better. Gina knew there was more to her friend than met the eye. Sometimes Claire got lost in the shadow of her more flamboyant sister. But there was strength there, just waiting to be unlocked. “You are the best of us. You are sweet and kind and always think of others. What man can resist that?”

  Claire made a face. “I sound rather boring.”

  Gina couldn’t help it. When her eyes met Cecelia’s, they burst out laughing. Claire pretended to pout, but in the end she smiled too.

  Two bottles later, with his pockets considerably lightened, Coventry pushed his chair back from the table and stood. With the arrival of a few of their Hellfire brethren, quinze had given way to faro, and Coventry had lost heavily. He hoped the run of bad luck was not a portent for the rest of the evening.

  He pulled out his watch and glanced at the time. Ten o’clock. He was late, passing the point of fashionable about an hour ago. Reluctant to leave his friends, he couldn’t put off his “duty” any longer. His attempt to delay the inevitable would only lead to further dressing down by his mother. She was bound to be furious that he hadn’t arrived to escort them for the evening as he’d promised. She should be happy that he’d agreed to show his face at all, but nothing he did would ever make her happy.

  He’d given up trying long ago.

  He swayed, reaching for the mahogany-paneled wall to steady himself. Standing up so quickly had worked hell on his equilibrium.

  “Are you sure I can’t convince you to join me?” he asked Beaufort.

  The duke snorted. “I’d sooner spend the evening in the darkest bowels of Newgate.”

  Lord Ashley raised a brow. “Where are you off to?”

  Before Coventry could think of a fabrication, Beaufort answered for him. “It seems our resident rogue has decided to turn respectable. He’s off to St. Albans House for an evening’s ‘entertainment.’”

  This produced a hearty round of laughter. At his expense. His muscles tensed and blood surged through his veins. An automatic reaction. He hated to be laughed at—even by friends.

  “What’s this about, Coventry?” Dashwood asked. “Has some society miss batted her pretty lashes and turned you into a milksop?”

  “Who is it, Coventry?” Ponsonby clamored.

  “Yes, tell us,” Beaufort teased. “Is it the duke’s pretty daughter? Or perhaps it’s the duke’s pretty new wife?”

  Coventry shot Beaufort a glance that promised retribution. “Don’t be an ass.” He liked St. Albans. He wouldn’t make a cuckold of him. As for his daughter… Coventry shivered with distaste. He’d noticed her once a couple of years ago. A real beauty with her thick golden brown hair, delicate features, and big green eyes. But one look at that judgmental, condescending expression and any heat of desire he might have initially felt turned to ice. Disapproving women like her were the reason he generally avoided society misses—except when, like Lady Alice, they proved impossible to refuse.

  He turned from Beaufort to his smirking friends. “My sister Augusta is making her debut this season,” he explained.

  “Ah,” said Ash. “And you’ve been conscripted to act as escort?”

  Coventry jerked his head down in affirmation. A mistake that caused his head to spin. Or perhaps it was the room spinning? He couldn’t tell. True to his word, he’d gotten good and drunk. His mother would expect as much, and he hated to disappoint her.

  “Aren’t they worried that you’ll be denied entry to more places than you’ll be welcomed?” Dashwood joked.

  “I should be so lucky,” Coventry replied. But not even bringing the lovely Simone to Lady Cowper’s ball had managed that feat.

  “You’ll have to explain sometime how the countess convinced you to undertake such a distasteful duty,” Beaufort said.

  Coventry stiffened. His mother couldn’t convince him of anything.

  “Do what you are told. Why must you provoke him? Follow the rules.”

  She’d been trying to run his life since he was in short trousers. After his father’s death it had only gotten worse. He thought that if he fell completely beyond redemption, she might leave him alone. So far it hadn’t worked, but there was always hope.

  He’d agreed to help, not because, but in spite of his mother.

  “Not much to explain. A moment of weakness. And it wasn’t my mother, it was my sister.”

  “I thought you weren’t close to any of your sisters.”

  “I’m not. I barely know them. I left for school when Augusta was five or six.”

  “Then what happened?” Dashwood asked.

  Coventry grimaced. “It appears I’m not completely resistant to the power of feminine tears.”

  Sobered, his friends nodded in shared understanding. Heartless rogues all of them, but not one of them knew how to combat that most destructive of all weapons: the gentle flow of a lady’s tears.

  There was more to it than that, of course, but his friends didn’t need to know everything. An image of Augusta peeking out her bedroom window with an expression that said “Don’t leave me,” as he left for school, flashed in his eyes before he deliberately put it aside.

  “Gentlemen.” He bowed, reluctantly taking his leave. He grabbed his cloak from the footman and made his way out to St. James’s where he’d instructed the coachman to wait hours ago. A blistery wind smacked him in the face, clearing a layer of fuzziness from his head. The newly installed gaslights flickered in the darkness.

  Maybe, if he were lucky… He sighed. His coachman hadn’t been considerate enough to abandon him.

  Muttering, he shook his head in disgust. Coventry was still furious at himself for succumbing to his sister’s ploy. He’d been caught off guard. Though he had to give it to her, there was more to the shy maid than meets the eye. Not that it would happen again. With his other two sisters, he would be prepared.

  The door closed behind him and the coach clattered to a start. He supposed he should be grateful for one thing. Thank God Augusta was a beauty. It would be a simple matter to marry her off to the first fool willing to take her and be done with his “duty.” So that once again he could retreat in peace to his clubs. Far, far away from the dictates and obligations of London’s beau monde.

  Gina knew Claire was anxious to speak with her, but with the dinner preparations and the arrival of the guests at St. Albans House, until now the opportunity had not presented itself.

  Although the party was originally conceived to mark the day of Gina’s birth, the duchess had thought it prudent not to draw attention to Gina’s advanced marriageless age. So instead she’d turned it into her first town dinner party as duchess—though Gina had received a few well-wishes from those who remembered the significance of the date from previous celebrations.

  A rueful smile curved her lips. No doubt there were some who thought it kinder to forget.

  The guests were an odd mix of old (friends fro
m before her father’s remarriage) and new (friends of her stepmother). Gina was surprised to see the Countess of Coventry and her daughter included in the latter. Apparently, Coventry’s eldest sister was making her debut this season. Their presence tonight was a stroke of good luck that Gina fully intended to take advantage of.

  “It’s a lovely party,” Claire said.

  Gina bristled, trying not to be defensive. Claire was making a pleasantry, not a comparison. Gina knew she was being petty. It would help if the new Duchess of St. Albans was incompetent, but she was nauseatingly proficient at the duties she had usurped from her stepdaughter. Gina gazed around the well-lit drawing room, hoping to find fault. The room was bursting with candles and charmingly decorated with pink and white flowers and soft blue draperies. The servants were in perfect position, the buffet was set out with refreshments, the china matched the decorations, and the silver had been polished to a brilliant shine. Not one dratted detail had been overlooked.

  “Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves,” Gina answered noncommittally. “Especially now that the ladies have removed themselves so the men can enjoy their port.”

  “Something has been bothering me,” Claire said, jumping right in.

  Gina smiled. “I’d rather thought so.” Unlike her sister, Claire was not adept at hiding her feelings. And right now she looked very worried.

  “I’m not so sure this game of Cece’s is such a good idea.”

  Gina located Cecelia across the room engaged in what appeared to be a lively conversation with the duchess. Claire and Cecelia couldn’t understand Gina’s reticence toward her father’s “delightful” new bride. Gina turned away, fighting the unwanted spike of jealousy. “Neither am I.”

  “What good can come of it?” Claire fretted.

  “What good indeed.”

  Claire seemed surprised to find no argument. “I know why Cece is doing this,” Claire said. Cecelia’s reasons were clear to all of them. She wanted revenge. She wanted to humiliate Beaufort and his ilk as he had humiliated her. “What I don’t know is why you are doing this.”

  Gina shrugged. “To relieve the boredom.”

  Claire stared at her, knowing that wasn’t the entire reason. At times Claire’s insightfulness could be unnerving. She had a way of looking at you, an intensity in those clear blue eyes that was in sharp contrast to her usual flightiness.

  “I know it’s been difficult for you since your father remarried. I know the pleasure you took in managing his estates. But this seems to be a very drastic way to relieve your boredom. You don’t do anything without a very good reason. Cece can’t bully you. Unlike me, you don’t get tangled up in her webs unless you want to. And I’m wondering why you could possibly want to become involved with someone like the Earl of Coventry. An involvement that can bring you nothing but censure.”

  Claire had a point. Why was Gina doing this? Trying to woo a man she couldn’t stomach even from a distance. She couldn’t explain it herself, but from almost the first moment Cecelia mentioned it, the idea had struck a chord with her. A slight thrill rushed through her. The excitement, the relief from boredom was part of it. Justice for Alice and others like her was another. But Gina suspected that her reasons went even deeper. Men like Coventry, rakes, were a scourge upon the ton. Wastrels, rapscallions, men who drank too much, gambled too much, and treated women abominably, had existed far too long without check.

  “It’s the challenge,” Gina said. “I look at a man like Coventry and I see everything I despise. He defies convention and laughs at the rest of us while he does it. There’s a certain irony in bringing such a man around to the most conventional of institutions. And I think it’s high time that Lord Coventry learned a lesson about a woman’s worth.”

  And she was just the woman to show him. And in the process, if she happened to put his life in order, so much the better.

  “I’ve decided how best to put my strengths to use,” Gina added. “I’m going to turn his dissolute world on its ear.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I’ll show him everything a proper wife can do for him.” The list of tasks to be accomplished was already quickly building in her head. Gina folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll make order out of chaos. Shine light into dark.”

  “You have that look on your face,” Claire said warily.

  “What look?” Gina asked innocently.

  “The one that says nothing can get in your way.”

  Gina smiled, pleased. Confident in her abilities, she had absolutely no intention of failing. Once Coventry realized what she could do for him, he’d come around fast enough. “He won’t even see it coming.”

  Claire shook her head. “I almost feel sorry for him.”

  “Don’t,” Gina said. “He’ll only get a fraction of what he deserves.”

  I don’t deserve this, Coventry thought. No bad deed could warrant the tedium and torture of an intimate society dinner.

  He’d arrived in time to join the men with their port, apologizing to his host for the unexpected delay. The Duke of St. Albans had chuckled good-naturedly. “Was it a winning or a losing delay?”

  Coventry met his amused grin with one of his own. “Losing, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah, then it was unexpected.” The duke had clapped him on the back and led him into the drawing room. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you here at all. Not really your sort of thing, is it, my boy?”

  Coventry shook his head. “No, Your Grace. But my sister was in need of an escort.”

  The duke laughed. “Apparently, she still is,” he said, referring to Coventry’s late arrival.

  “It was rather poorly done of me,” Coventry said, not the least bit sorry. “Would you, by any chance—”

  The duke stopped him, holding up his hand. “Don’t look at me. I’ve got enough problems escorting my own. Five offers,” he mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. “And truth be told I’d rather avoid this sort of thing myself.” A flash of blue silk and the delicate scent of French perfume drew both men from their conversation. The duchess was headed their way and the duke couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as she approached. “But a man will do many things when he is in love.”

  And from his expression, it was clear that the Duke of St. Albans was very much in love with his new bride. Such an overt display of sentiment made Coventry uncomfortable. But he was saved from having to reply by the arrival of the duchess.

  “Your Grace.” He took her hand and bowed. “I apologize for my tardiness.”

  The duchess laughed, a delicate, tinkling sound. “You’re not sorry at all, you’re incorrigible.” She leaned over to whisper. “But be forewarned. The countess is furious.”

  Coventry grinned. He’d always admired Lady Louisa Manners, even before she’d caught the eye of the widowed duke. It wasn’t just her fey beauty (which was enchanting). But with her, there was no pretense and no condemnation. “Consider me warned. But I’m afraid it is a state I am quite used to when it comes to my mother.”

  Speak of the devil.

  “There you are, Coventry.” He flinched. The nasally sound of her voice grated on every nerve ending. “Nice of you to join us.”

  The duke and duchess scurried off. Bloody cowards. Coventry quickly scanned the room, looking for his sister amongst the matrons and simpering debutantes. He found her across the room on a divan with the St. Albans brat. No help from that quarter.

  Resigned to solitary dealings, he replied, “Mother.” Though it was difficult to believe the austere, sour-looking woman had ever done anything as undignified as bear a child. Nor would the term “motherly affection” ever be used to describe the Countess of Coventry. Warden was a more accurate description. His parents had made his childhood a prison, with his father taking the role of executioner. “I was just explaining to our hosts that I was unavoidably delayed.”

  She sniffed, no doubt taking a whiff of the alcohol on his breath, which he’d made no effort to hide.
Her lips pursed in tight disapproval. “I’m sure you were. The next time you agree to escort us, come straight to Coventry House from your lodgings, and there will be no ‘unavoidable’ delays. If you’d allowed me to send my carriage for you as I wished—”

  “I have my own carriage.”

  “Then perhaps telling time is the difficulty? I said eight o’clock. Next time, I expect you to arrive at the appointed hour.” She looked down the long length of her nose. “Fit for society.”

  He might be six and twenty, but the sting of her tongue never lessened. The sarcasm, the criticism, the belittling remarks. Those were the motherly embraces of his childhood. The difference was that he no longer had to listen. She could plague someone else.

  “Follow the rules…”

  He turned to leave, but not before he gave her something to mull on. “Then you are bound to be disappointed, Mother, for I will never be fit for society.”

  Surprisingly, Gina was thoroughly enjoying her conversation with Coventry’s sister. Not at all like her brother, Lady Augusta was shy, unassuming, and utterly charming. Not to mention a beauty. Gina frowned. She supposed in that sense she did resemble her brother. But in all other things she seemed a perfectly sensible young woman—if a slight bit green. But what debutante wasn’t?

  Gina was just about to ask her about her brother when she caught Cecelia motioning at her from across the room. She stared at her friend quizzically for a moment. Not sure what to make of Cecelia’s furious attempts to point in different directions, Gina turned back to Lady Augusta.

  “So, does the rest of your family join you in London for the season?”

  She shook her head. “No, my younger sisters are still in Worcestershire.” She sounded as if she missed them. “My mother thought it best.”

  “Then it is only you and the countess?” Gina asked.

  Lady Augusta frowned. “And my brother, but he has his own lodgings.”

  That was odd. The previous earl had died years ago. Was Coventry estranged from the family? “He doesn’t stay at Coventry House?”