Twice a Rake

by Catherine Gayle

  “You know me better than that.”

  “Do I? If that’s not it, why are you here? You owe me an explanation, Quin. Something more than ‘Let me stay with you for a while so I can attend some balls.’ You’ve been scaring the young ladies and their chaperones. Not a man I know trusts you. And now you’re going after their wives.”

  “Lady Kiss-Me…er, Lady Kislingbury was just a distraction.”

  “From what?”

  Quin shot up from his chair and paced. “From this bloody nonsense Rotheby has set for me!” Well. Blast. That wasn’t quite the way Quin had intended to go about all of this.

  Jonas raised an eyebrow but withheld his questions.

  “Rotheby sent for me a fortnight ago. Said it was urgent, that I must attend to him at once. When I arrived at Roundstone Park, he threatened me.”

  “Your grandfather threatened you. His heir.” The baronet had perfected the art of the dubious expression.

  “I couldn’t make this up if I tried,” Quin said. “The old codger said that if I don’t change my ways, if I don’t marry and produce an heir, he’ll cut me off. Take Quinton Abbey from me. Leave me to fend for myself until such time as he dies and can’t keep me from everything anymore. Hell, I think he’s already decided to leave Roundstone to someone else. It isn’t under entail.”

  “Is that it? All of this is because your grandfather wants you to secure the line?”

  “He spouted off some other excrement about needing to learn to manage my estate, about not being a ‘wastrel,’ but the bulk of it was about the damned heir.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, you’re not going about any of this in a very intelligent manner. Lady Kislingbury cannot fill your nursery. And the ladies who could do as much will all be running for the hills, based on the recommendations of their chaperones. You need a new strategy.”

  Didn’t he know it? “Any suggestions?” Quin drawled.

  “A few.”

  No surprise there. Jonas may be his best friend, but he was never slow to tell Quin when he needed to change his ways. Which was often. Almost perpetually.

  Jonas pierced him with a solemn stare. “To start, you must stay away from married ladies.”

  “Noted.” He could easily find a whore or two willing to slake his needs. In fact, he might have already done just that last night. Damned if he could remember them though.

  Jonas continued to spout off his list. “You must make yourself presentable to the unmarried ladies and their chaperones—mothers, sisters, aunts. They have to believe you are a worthy gentleman, not a scoundrel.”

  “But I am a scoundrel.”

  “I know. And therein lies our problem.”

  If Jonas didn’t get to the solution before Quin took two more breaths, he might just throttle him. “So…?”

  “So you have to change your ways. Present a good image. Play the part.” A cheeky grin spread wide across Jonas’s face.

  “Meaning what, precisely?” Quin wished he hadn’t asked. He didn’t want to know.

  “Meaning no more drinking and gambling and whoring. Meaning you must seem like a perfect gentleman, even if you aren’t one.” Jonas took a long look at him, spending more time than necessary on Quin’s overlong hair, his unkempt jaw line, the wrinkled and disheveled clothing. “Meaning dressing and grooming according to the current fashions.”

  “You’re joking,” Quin said. He liked having his hair long. He hated shaving. And he bloody well could not abide the thought of primping himself like a blasted dandy.

  Jonas barked with laughter. “I’m not. I assure you, I am quite serious.”

  “Damned cur.”

  “A damned cur who will help you find a bride and keep your fortunes.”

  Blast him. “Fair enough. What else must I do?”

  “Well, I would suggest we try a different tactic for gaining introductions to the marriageable young ladies. Perhaps I should go with you to some functions, introduce you around. If you are seen alongside me, maybe your reputation will begin to change.”

  Quin imagined being shackled to Jonas’s side, only talking to those who the esteemed baronet deemed worthy of his company. “So you’re going to be my deuced escort?”

  “Not exactly. But you need someone to soften your image. And you need me for another reason, too.”

  “What, pray tell, might that be?” Quin asked, unable to hide the droll tone.

  “Rotheby wants an heir within a year. That means you needed a bride yesterday. You should already be working toward filling your nursery, but instead, you haven’t even begun the search for the lady to do just that.”

  “And how are you involved in all of this?”

  “I’ve spent several Seasons in Town. I know which ladies are most likely to be in desperate need of a husband. Which I’m afraid you’ll need. Desperation, that is. Why else would a young miss be inclined to hitch herself to the likes of you?”

  Why, indeed?

  Chapter Two

  31 March, 1811

  Aunt Sedgewick’s voice can be dreadfully nasally and high-pitched at times. Perhaps it is because she always speaks with her nose turned high in the air. I daresay if more people followed her example, we might live in a country full of nasally-sounding speakers. I should hate to live in such a country. It would be rather awful enough to keep my attentions from where I would prefer them to be at the moment—imagining what Lord Quinton must be like, should I ever be afforded the opportunity to meet him. However, I would be stunned to my core if the man would ever make any statement at all related to Aunt Sedgewick’s décolletage.

  ~From the journal of Miss Aurora Hyatt

  The dinner party seemed interminable. Baffling. Boring. And, as the hostess alongside her father, Aurora simply could not escape early.

  Try as she might to focus on the conversation around the table, her thoughts kept drifting back to her story—which was rapidly becoming the most delightful, and admittedly risqué, story she had ever written.

  This fact did not surprise her overmuch. Aurora’s typical story fodder revolved around the gentlemen who paid her court. Gentlemen much like the ones currently around her dinner table, discussing the lovely fireworks they had seen at Vauxhall the previous evening, the soprano who had performed an aria at Lady Pendleton’s concert the prior week, and the likelihood of continued sunshine over the next fortnight.

  Humdrum, all of it.

  Lord Norcutt, a perfectly amiable, perfectly attired, perfectly boring marquess who had recently begun to show signs of a developing tendre for her, turned and asked, “Miss Hyatt, if we are so lucky as to enjoy sunshine tomorrow afternoon, might I take you for a drive in Hyde Park? My horses are raring to get out for a good ride, and my curricle has been sorely lacking in spirited companionship of late.”

  Spirited companionship? Had he failed to notice her slightly less-than-animated participation that evening?

  “She would be delighted,” Father said.

  Aurora wished her eyes were bows and her glare was arrows. Her aim rarely failed, and at the moment, it was pointed directly at her father’s head. He raised an eyebrow in reply, then gestured toward Lord Norcutt.

  Blast him. “Yes, of course,” she finally ground out. “That would be splendid.”

  Aunt Sedgewick slurped up a spoonful of her soup and a few drops dribbled off her chin. “And Aurora, do be a dear and try to smile for once. You have enough working against you already with your mother’s coloring. You make yourself ever so much more unappealing by constantly frowning at the gentlemen who do bother to pay you attention.”

  Rebecca barely concealed a snicker from her position across the table. They would definitely be having a conversation about that later.

  “If Lady Rebecca is not otherwise occupied,” said the Earl of Merrick, “perhaps she would grant me the honor of escorting her to accompany you, Miss Hyatt.”

  Oh, dear good Lord. As if spending the afternoon with one of them weren’t bad enough, now they woul
d both be present. Merrick and Norcutt were virtually as identical in temperament as they were opposite in appearance. Where Lord Merrick was tall, lanky, and balding, Lord Norcutt was more short, stocky, and bushy-haired. But both wore the colorful evening coats so popular amongst the gentlemen of the ton and spoke in monotonous tones of lackluster subjects.

  An entire afternoon spent in their company following an entire evening spent in the same manner might be enough to convince Aurora to leap from a cliff, should one present itself to her for such a purpose. Thankfully, Rebecca must suffer the same afternoon.

  That, at least, gave Aurora some small comfort. And a touch of revenge for Rebecca’s snicker from a moment before. She granted herself a small, victorious smile. Then a larger one, after seeing Rebecca’s mounting despair.

  “Oh, that would be lovely,” Aurora said. “Do say you will join us, Lady Rebecca.”

  Rebecca’s eyes flashed for only a moment, not long enough that anyone else would have noticed. “Well, I suppose if it is all right with Mother…” She actually looked to the duchess as though perhaps she would be saved from such a terrible fate, even though all and sundry knew how very much Her Grace wanted a match between her daughter and Lord Merrick. Silly, silly Rebecca.

  “My dear daughter,” the Duchess of Aylesbury said, “your father and I are delighted for you to have an excursion with Lord Merrick, as always.” She sent Merrick a knowing glance across the table before turning the same look on her husband. His Grace merely grunted.

  “Well, it seems that is settled,” Lord Norcutt said. He turned the conversation to the new play being performed at Drury Lane.

  Needless to say, Aurora soon lost interest in their drivel and thought instead of the upcoming section of her romantic adventure with Lord Quinton. When she had left off in her journal that afternoon, her hero was just preparing to draw her in for a kiss—a most devilish thought, but one she could hardly wait to finish writing. Her skin turned to gooseflesh just from the thought of his lips on hers, his arms around her, her hands fisted in his long golden locks.

  Somehow, in the two days since she’d learned so much about him, the shade of his hair now seemed irresistibly handsome, and his penchant for wearing only black grew continually more intriguing.

  After he kissed her, Aurora was certain Lord Quinton would take a moment to hold her close. She imagined his scent—male and clean and expensive—and shuddered in exquisite, illusory bliss.

  “Miss Hyatt? What are your thoughts?” Norcutt looked upon her with great expectation.

  Oh, drat.

  She hadn’t heard a spoken word in close to ten minutes whilst she thought about her imagined secret lover. Nothing came to mind as a response, particularly since she knew nothing of the current topic under discussion.

  She thought, perhaps, Rebecca would give her some hint. But a look across the table at her dearest and most especial friend revealed nothing.

  Rebecca looked expectantly at her. “Oh, yes, Miss Hyatt,” she said. “Do enlighten us.” Clearly her friend knew where Aurora’s mind had been and was enjoying her current suffering. Wicked, devilish girl.

  If only she could take this opportunity and excuse herself to her chamber. Alas, Father would be furious if she attempted any such escape. He still held out hope that she would eventually accept a gentleman such as Lord Norcutt or Lord Merrick, ridiculous though the notion may be.

  The footmen entered and began to clear away the place settings.

  Perfect! “I think,” she said finally, “it is high time for the ladies to excuse ourselves to the drawing room while the gentlemen enjoy their port. Aunt Sedgewick, would you not agree?” She stood and made her way from the room without further ado.

  She might possibly have escaped a talking to from Father over her horrid inattention. Probably not. But she could hope.

  ~ * ~

  Finally, after two more hours of what to most would be agreeable discussion, but to Aurora was rather more repellent discourse, their guests all took their leave and she was free to retire to her chamber.

  She rushed her lady’s maid through her nightly ritual of undressing and preparing for bed. Too many ideas were pouring through her mind. She needed to get them down before they floated into the air, never to return.

  Once she was alone, she lit two more candles and placed them on her escritoire. She slipped her inkwell out and placed it just so, then took her quill in hand and opened her journal.

  Aurora reread the last thing she had written: Lord Quinton drew dangerously close to me.

  Oh, yes. Yes indeed, he did. Gooseflesh covered her arms again, spreading all the way down her body to her toes. A story about Lord Norcutt or any of her other potential or past suitors with such a statement might perhaps elicit gooseflesh, but for an entirely different reason.

  Enough with thinking about Norcutt. She had a far more pleasant task ahead of her that evening, and he held no place in it.

  Aurora dipped her quill in ink and placed it to the parchment of her journal. Then the story took over.

  Lord Quinton drew dangerously close to me, so close I could smell his expensive cologne and feel the warmth of his skin. Then closer again, until his eyes burned down into mine, filled with a yearning sort of ardor, and his sun-kissed locks shone bright in the pale moonlight. “My dearest Aurora, I cannot live without you any longer. I must have you for my very own.”

  Before I could react, Lord Quinton’s lips fell upon mine, soft and supple and wantonly delectable. He pulled me into a closer embrace and our bodies touched in an intimacy I’d never before experienced. Slowly, gently, his hands moved from my arms to my back. Then they slid lower, close to my derrière. I could almost feel them there. Despite my better judgment, I even wanted to feel them there. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to feel his strength against me. Never before had I felt so shameless, so uninhibited. So wanted.

  “My lord,” I cried out, not fully wishing his attentions to cease but knowing they could scarcely continue, though I desired nothing more than to become his very own. “We cannot. My father—”

  “Kiss me now, sweet Aurora. I will go to your father in the morning. Surely he cannot deny our love. Surely he will favor our union.”

  “Our union? Oh, dear good Lord.” It was about to happen. He would make an undying and irrevocable promise to me, right at that moment. I could feel it. I could even taste it—sweet, like an ice.

  “Yes.” He sank to his knee and pulled my gloved hand into his own. “Please, my dear, do me the very great honor of becoming my wife. Allow me to lavish my love upon you for the rest of our days, and to bask in the glow of your beauty. Aurora, marry me.”

  My heart sang out “Yes, yes, yes!” Perhaps my voice did as well, because in an instant Lord Quinton again rose to his full height and pulled me close to his body where I could feel his strength and gentleness. Again, his lips touched to mine in a loving embrace. I was the happiest woman in the world.

  ~ * ~

  Aurora failed to sleep. Her fascination with Lord Quinton kept her up until the last ember of her candlelight snuffed itself out, leaving her with no alternative but to rest.

  Still, her mind raced. Just before losing her light, she had written The Wedding. She wrote it so clearly, her mind had nowhere else to turn but to The Wedding Night.

  Frequently over the years since her debut, Aurora had wondered just what, precisely, took place between a husband and wife on their wedding night. Her mother had died when she was only eleven years old, and she had no older, married woman willing to share intimate details such as these.

  Well, there was Aunt Sedgewick, but the old biddy would never dream of discussing anything of the sort with her. Her responsibility to Aurora lay solely in introducing her to society and playing the part of chaperone at balls. She felt no need to discuss anything save Aurora’s good reputation. And what unmarried lady who knew the details of the marriage bed could possibly expect to hold a good reputation? None, in the eyes of Aunt Sedg
ewick. Her aunt frequently remarked with disdain that she should like Aurora to cease her close friendship with Lady Rebecca, whom she felt to be fast, yet neglected to demand as much due to her husband’s relationship with the Duke of Aylesbury. The crotchety old bag.

  Not that Rebecca knew anything of the goings-on between a husband and wife, anyway. But that was beside the point.

  The point was that Aurora’s imagination was running away with her, and she doubted she would sleep a wink the entire night, even though she no longer had light by which to write.