A Rake's Redemption

by Cynthia Breeding

  He looked down and offered a reassuring smile. “We are almost there. Just up the stairs.”

  Inis nodded and smiled back at him, forcing herself not to look sideways at the woman. She felt like a rabbit burrowing into a safe hole by the time they reached their box.

  The inside was dimly lit with a single oil lamp sconce, its light shimmering off the green and gold satin brocade of the walls. Four large chairs upholstered in dark red velvet and two small black walnut tables filled the box. Alex must have seen her looking at the extra chairs, because he spoke quickly.

  “I reserved the entire box. No one will be joining us.”

  Her first reaction was relief that she would not have to share space with another couple, followed by the querulous thought that maybe Alex did this whenever he brought one of his lovers to the theatre. She frowned. Sweet Mary and all the saints. What was wrong with her? Thinking about what he did with his lovers would only cause pain.

  Alex gave her a concerned look. “What is it? You look…troubled.”

  “’Tis nothing,” Inis replied. Telling him what had actually been on her mind was out of the question. “I…um… Is it proper to have this much privacy?”

  Alex grinned at her. “Because I am a rake?”

  She was glad it was dark enough that he didn’t see her blush. Her thoughts had been dashing wildly in the opposite direction. “Ye do want to present me as an aristo, nae? ’Tis my reputation to consider.”

  “Well put,” Alex said, smothering his grin and turning it into a smile. “The precaution is already taken. Our footman stands guard in the hall. It is not uncommon to have one do such.” He tilted his head and eyed her. “Would you like me to part the curtain as well?”

  “Nae,” Inis said and hoped she didn’t sound too eager. “I mean…light would pour in from the hall and make seeing the stage difficult.”

  “That is true,” Alex said and pulled one of the chairs for her. “And I believe the play is about to begin.”

  A warm shiver slid down her arm from where his hand brushed her bare shoulder. For a moment, she thought he’d deliberately let his fingers linger against her skin, but when she looked at him, he’d already turned and moved to his own seat.

  “What are we going to see?” Inis asked as the curtain opened.

  “The Theatre Royal is doing William Shakespeare this month. He is one of the great English bards.”

  She knew who Shakespeare was since the Royal Theatre of Dublin had once done a performance of Richard III. But she could not admit that in her present guise. “A bard? Did he wander the countryside with a harp and sing ballads?”

  “Not quite. He wrote plays and headed an acting troop called the Lord Chamberlain’s Men based at the Globe Theatre here in London.” Alex smiled at her. “Tonight’s play is A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It’s a comedy, so I hope you enjoy it.”

  They grew silent as the curtain opened with a couple discussing their upcoming marriage in four days. The Duke of Athens and his Amazon queen seemed to be in love, unlike the arranged marriage Inis had barely escaped. The contrast grew sharper when a man entered with a complaint to the duke that his daughter, Hermia, did not want to marry Demetrius, the husband the father had chosen for her.

  Inis felt an instant empathy for the girl, especially when her father said he had the right to put her to death if she didn’t obey him. At least, her uncle hadn’t made that kind of threat. That the duke in the play offered Hermia an alternative life as a nun didn’t set well with Inis, either. Why were those the only two choices a woman had? To marry the person chosen for her or to spend the rest of her life in a convent? By the end of Act I, she was somewhat mollified by Hermia and Lysander’s decision to run away together.

  “Are you enjoying the play?” Alex asked.

  “Aye, but I doona see anything funny about it,” Inis answered.

  “Just wait. You will.”

  …

  Alex had hoped no one would venture to their box during the intermission after Act III, but he should have known the ladies of the ton would be too inquisitive to accept him—or more accurately, Inis—not putting in an appearance in the main lobby.

  The first to pop her head inside the curtain was Lady Compton, which was no surprise. The woman liked to be the first with fresh gossip. Her husband, a baron, had probably retreated to the sanctuary of the gentlemen’s lounge as he usually did at any social event. He needed the fortification of a stiff whiskey to endure his wife’s incessant prattling.

  Alex stifled a groan as Ladies Linford, Dalton, and Caldwell all pressed behind Jeannette Compton. Christ. Was the whole damn R Club ascending the steps?

  “You were not planning to hide this exquisite creature from us, were you, Lord Ashley?” Lady Compton asked, pushing the curtain aside and stepping in. “How naughty of you to keep her all to yourself when we are simply dying of curiosity.”

  “I…we got caught up in discussing the play,” Alex said.

  “Surely you will be polite enough to introduce us?” Jeanette asked.

  Alex bit back a retort that a polite person would not have burst into a private box, but that wouldn’t deter this group. They had the look of a pack of hungry wolves. Alex sighed. “May I present Miss Inis O’Brien.”

  Four pairs of eyes focused on Inis, assessing her. To her credit, she managed to sit quite straight, her hands folded in her lap, although Alex thought her face had paled. He leaned forward to shield her. The ladies suddenly smiled, which didn’t fool Alex at all.

  “Which character do you favor?” Melanie Linford asked Inis mildly. “I find Lysander to be quite amusing.”

  “Demetrius is a much better prospect,” Beatrice Dalton said.

  Vanessa Caldwell waved a hand indifferently. “They are mere suitors. I say Theseus, the duke, is the best prize.”

  “You would,” Beatrice commented wryly. “You are married to an earl, after all.”

  Jeannette glared at all of them. “Perhaps we should give Miss O’Brien an opportunity to speak.”

  Four pairs of eyes refocused on Inis. “I like Puck,” she said.

  “Puck?” Beatrice started laughing. “He is nothing. Just a simpleton, really. Following orders.”

  “Of course you are Irish. One would expect you to like faeries, I suppose,” Vanessa said.

  Alex saw Inis’s face grow impassive. It was an expression servants often used to avoid looking mulish when confronted by a superior. Anger flashed through him. What right did these women, whose only concerns were fashion and invitations to the right places, have to make Inis feel inferior? He was about to defend her when she smiled at the waspish group.

  “In Ireland, it is said the Fae chose to live in faerie mounds to avoid the cruelty of humans,” Inis replied. “Perhaps it was a wise choice.”

  Alex hid a grin. The other women looked nonplussed, as if not quite sure whether they had been given a cut or whether Inis simply believed in folklore.

  Caroline appeared behind the group, and Alex gave an almost audible sigh of relief. If anyone could round up these women and head them in another direction, she could. She gave him a wink before she turned to Inis.

  “How nice to see you again. Have you quite recovered from your bout of the ague?”

  Jeannette recovered her voice. “Ague?”

  “Why, yes,” Caroline answered, sounding concerned. “When I ran into Lord Ashley last week, he told me his guest was practically at death’s door. It usually takes a good while to be up and about again.” Caroline smiled at Inis. “But since you are here, I am sure you are no longer contagious.”

  The four women stepped back with such precision that a military colonel may have directed them. Fans snapped open to be held in front of noses.

  “I believe I heard the bell for the beginning of the next act,” Jeannette said and turned to walk quickly away.

  “Yes, I heard it, too,” Melanie added, following her.

  “We certainly do not want to be late,” Beatrice sai
d as she and Vanessa hurried to clear the hallway.

  “How did I do?” Caroline grinned at Alex and Inis after the ladies had gone.

  “You were wonderful,” Alex said. “Once the word gets around that Inis has been ill, I doubt any of the ton will want to venture too close for a while.”

  Caroline shrugged. “When I saw that particular group of ladies stalking up the steps, I knew I had to think of something.”

  “It was a brilliant idea.”

  Inis nodded. “Aye, it was. Thank ye.”

  “You are welcome,” Caroline replied. “I thought you could use a little more time before getting bombarded. Now, I had better go or the whole idea of being infectious will be ruined.” She gave them both a smile before she closed the curtain.

  “You did well, too,” Alex said to Inis as the play began again.

  “Thank ye,” she said, turning her attention to the stage.

  As Alex turned to watch the actors, he realized she’d sounded just as English as the other ladies had. Perhaps Caroline’s lessons in elocution were coming along faster than they’d thought. But Inis had also mentioned faeries for the second time in as many weeks.

  Had she suffered a head injury the doctor didn’t catch? Or did she really believe in faeries?

  …

  Miranda watched the four ladies practically catapulting down the stairs toward the main lobby and wondered what had happened. They all looked rather pale. Had they caught Alex in a compromising situation? Or, worse…in flagrante delicto?

  Miranda had fantasized more than once about coupling in a public place. The fear of possible exposure would only add to the thrill. She narrowed her eyes to mere slits. Had the Irish whore beaten her to it?

  “Goodness,” she said as she approached her friends. “Has the balcony caught on fire?”

  “Of course not,” Melanie replied.

  “It might be better if it had,” Beatrice said.

  “Fire is cleansing, is it not?” Vanessa asked.

  “Not one of you is making any sense.” Miranda frowned at the lot of them. “What happened? Was Lord Ashley’s guest disrobing for him?”

  “Hardly,” Beatrice said.

  Melanie raised a brow. “Leave it to you, Miranda, to even think such a thing.”

  Jeannette shook her head. “Both were sitting quite respectably in their chairs.”

  Miranda felt a bit of her tension diminish. She’d purposely declined to visit Alex’s box with the ladies, not wanting him to think she was part of the pack—his R Club. He needed to realize she was special, that she alone could meet his basest and darkest desires and fulfill his fantasies. Their one assignation had already proved how perfectly compatible they were.

  But curiosity—or need—demanded to know why these four rushed down the steps in such a completely undignified way. “What is it then?”

  “Ague,” Jeannette said.

  Miranda blinked. “Ague?”

  Vanessa nodded. “Caroline Nash said Miss O’Brien is recovering from it.”

  “We’re not sure if she is completely well,” Beatrice added.

  Miranda stared at them, not sure if they were attempting a jest at her expense. Fern hadn’t mentioned a thing about anyone being ill at Dansworth House, let alone Inis suffering from severe fever. The Irish twit hadn’t looked sick as she’d entered the theatre on Alex’s arm. Hanging onto him provocatively, like she was claiming him. She’d practically glowed when he’d bent down to whisper something to her.

  “We did not think we should stay in close proximity,” Beatrice said.

  Miranda forced herself to refocus. “Yes, I suppose that was wise.”

  “We cannot be too careful,” Jeannette said as the head usher rang his hand bell, signaling that patrons should return to their seats. “The Season is just underway.”

  As the women left to take their seats, Miranda looked up the stairs just in time to see Caroline appear at the top of them. The woman was one of those strange creatures who seemed to scorn Society, yet be accepted by it, no doubt because her father had saved the Prince Regent’s reputation—such as it was—on more than one occasion. Caroline was devious. Had Amelia Stanton not been even more cunning, Caroline would have become a duchess. But George’s ultimate rejection of Caroline had made her Alexander’s friend.

  Miranda narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she moved out of sight of the steps.

  Was Caroline playing a role in what was transpiring at Dansworth House? And, if so, what was it?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Inis finished grooming Goldie the next afternoon and patted the young filly’s neck. Between the spider bite and her sprained ankle, it had been nearly three weeks since the filly had gotten a good workout. She’d seen Alex dressed in riding clothes earlier, although she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him.

  She rather doubted he’d let her go along. Caroline’s quick thinking that Inis was recovering from the ague had probably saved her from attending any social events in the near future, but it would also keep her from riding in public. If she were seen, there would be questions about Caroline’s story.

  Alex had been strangely quiet in the carriage on the ride back last night. Inis wondered if he’d been rethinking the success of his scheme after her first social outing. When the ladies had entered their box, she had been torn between using her western Irish brogue to keep her identity well hidden, or speaking the King’s English, as Caroline called it. Inis had recognized the women’s snide remarks—they weren’t that much different from Dublin aristocrats—and decided she didn’t have much of a choice. If she sounded like a country peasant, the gossip would spread like a grease fire and keep Alex from his fait accompli of presenting her at his brother’s ball. She just hoped Alex would think Caroline had taught her the proper accent.

  Still, his silence had unsettled her and, to fill the void, she’d spent most of the ride back talking about the play. She gave Goldie a final pat as Jameson led Alex’s horse out, already saddled. The stallion this time, which just confirmed Inis’s thinking that Alex had no intention of letting her take the filly out with him.

  Alex strode into the stables a moment later, pulling on his riding gloves. Although his hair was neatly pulled back in a queue and his clothing immaculate, he didn’t look particularly rested. There were dark smudges under his eyes as though he’d tossed and turned most of the night.

  “Will you be gone long?” Inis asked, ignoring Jameson’s shocked expression.

  She knew she had no business asking, but Goldie needed the exercise before her training started to lapse.

  “I do not know. Xenos needs to run.” Alex picked up the reins. “Why?”

  “Goldie needs to run, too. I doona want to see her forget her manners. I am still your hostler.”

  Alex gave her a long look before he vaulted into the saddle. “We may have to rethink that.”

  Inis felt a flash of panic. Had Alex changed his mind about his scheme? “If you are worried about another spider bite—”

  “It is not that. We will talk about this later.” Alex tapped the stallion’s flanks and the horse leaped forward.

  She looked after him, panic increasing. Maybe he’d heard rumors about a missing red-haired niece of the Duke of Kildare last night? He hadn’t left her side at the theatre, except to fetch them two glasses of wine after the ladies had left the box. But he had been quiet on the ride back…

  …

  Alex had gotten to Hyde Park early enough to let Xenos have a good gallop up and down Rotten Row before he slowed the horse to a trot and headed for the Ladies’ Mile where he had planned to meet Caroline.

  She’d entered from Lancaster Gate accompanied by two groomsmen serving as her escort. Alex had suggested she bring them when he’d arranged this rendezvous last night when he’d gone to get wine. The groomsmen could serve as respectable chaperones.

  He managed to stifle a grin as her eyes widened as he came alongside her. “Lord Ashley, what a pleasant surprise.”


  “The pleasure is mine,” Alex answered. “I brought Xenos out for a run, but he needs to cool down. Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Of course not,” Caroline replied and glanced at her footmen. “Do follow behind me, if you please.”

  Alex suppressed another smile. Caroline might turn her pert nose up at many of Society’s affectations, but she had managed to let her escort know she both wanted chaperonage as well as discreet distance.

  “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Caroline asked after the groomsmen were out of earshot. “You looked somewhat worried when you came downstairs last night. Did those women get their claws into Inis before I could get there?”

  “I have half a mind to berate you for that. I had planned to escort Inis to several events before the ball, not to mention Brice thought it would be a good idea if I took Inis for ices at Gunter’s regularly.” Alex said. “On the other hand, perhaps keeping her from being questioned too much is best.”

  Caroline glanced over at him. “Did she not fare well? Was there a comment on her accent?”

  Alex shook his head. “She sounded quite English. You have done well with her elocution lessons. She even managed to hold her own defending Puck as her favorite character.”

  “He is mine, too. Perhaps she likes his devilish streak.” Caroline smiled at him. “Like some rakes I could mention.”

  “You must be referring to Brice and Kendrick, and not me, I assume?”

  Caroline raised a brow. “You may not have used a potion, but those adoring ladies of your club certainly made a beeline to your box last night.”

  “You know very well they came because they wanted to interrogate Inis and have something to gossip about,” Alex replied. “I am surprised Miranda was not with them.”

  “Oh, she was waiting. I saw her talking to them when I came down the stairs,” Caroline answered. “I did not like the expression on her face.”