Georgina Devon

by The Rakes Redemption

  Her gloved fingers tangled in the cords of her reticule. ‘Please consider again and bow out of the duel—and leave my sister alone.’

  ‘You don’t want much, but I am sorry I shall have to disappoint you.’ He kept his voice soft, but his anger at her brother and father’s failure to take the responsibility of protecting their women simmered in his gut. It joined the stew already brewing from her insult.

  Her retort was full of barely controlled anger. ‘No, you aren’t or you would do what I asked. But I will do something, be assured of that. I cannot allow you to meet Bertram. You will hurt him. Nor can I let you continue making Amy the focus of your attentions, for you will ruin her chances of making a good marriage.’

  ‘I will harm your brother by shooting in the air and ruin Miss Amy’s chances on the Marriage Mart by flirting with her?’ Sarcasm dripped from his words. ‘I beg to differ with you.’

  She smiled but it wasn’t friendly. ‘You always do.’

  ‘I hardly think so.’ He moved to the front of his large mahogany desk and rested one hip on the top. ‘In fact, my attentions will likely draw the interest of others to her.’

  Her mouth turned down. ‘Not the type of interest we want.’

  ‘You want a rich man, preferably with a title, who is besotted enough to bail your father and brother out of the River Tick.’

  ‘And why shouldn’t we? That is what the Marriage Mart is all about.’

  Her high cheeks flushed, and he found himself intrigued by how the colour played against the light sprinkling of freckles across her small tipped nose. In spite of her not being anything like the women he was normally attracted to, he had always been intrigued by her. She was very like his sister Juliet in personality, which boded no good for him if it came to a confrontation, for Juliet always won. He had a feeling this woman would, too.

  ‘No reason. But you are right. I hardly fit your parameters.’ He caught her eyes with his. ‘My brother did—or so we thought.’

  Her mouth thinned to a blade. ‘A gentleman would not mention that.’

  He shrugged. ‘You have already made it abundantly clear you do not consider me a gentleman.’ He paused to choose his words carefully before speaking softly. ‘George should not have done what he did to you, and I apologise for that. But I won’t brand myself a coward by calling off the duel because of what my brother did.’

  ‘What your brother did in the past has nothing to do with the present.’

  Her voice was cold enough to freeze a fire. He didn’t blame her. He had been out of place, but then so had George when he had made it impossible for the woman sitting here to stay engaged to him. Not that Charles didn’t love his brother and his new sister-in-law and think they were a much better match than George and Miss Stockton would have been. But that didn’t make things right. Still, it really was none of his business.

  ‘A word of warning,’ he said. ‘The type of man you are looking for will either be too young to be a good husband or too old to fulfill his duties.’

  Her blush deepened. ‘You are blunt.’

  He shrugged. ‘It serves no one to beat around the bush, no matter how easy that might be. I have always found honesty serves me best. Perhaps you would do well to consider it yourself.’

  She bolted to her feet, and he knew he had gone too far. So be it. He was tired of this situation and would do as he pleased no matter what she might ask.

  ‘My male relatives and my past are none of your business, Mr Hawthorne.’

  ‘True, but they are all bound up in the reason you are here.’

  Her eyes narrowed, and he knew she would gladly see him in Hades at this instant as she said through clenched teeth, ‘I see I have wasted my time—’

  ‘And possibly damaged your reputation.’

  ‘If someone recognises me, which I doubt. You have no company and I made sure no one saw me arriving. And I am disguised.’

  ‘Just because you saw no one doesn’t mean no one saw you.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘I believe I have not been seen and that you made a lucky guess. Nothing more.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  A sigh escaped her. ‘I have wasted my time. I had hoped to appeal to the side of you everyone says you have. The side that helps the underdog.’ Her voice turned flat. ‘I was wrong.’

  His eyes narrowed. Whether she knew it or not, she had just scored a hit. ‘I am not going to tell you again that I won’t shoot your brother.’

  She pulled the veil back over her face, muffling her voice. ‘I wish I could believe you.’

  His patience gone, Charles turned his back on her and went to the table where the decanter of Scotch and glasses were set. He poured a stiff drink as the door to his office shut with a bang. He drank the liquor in one long swallow.

  Shortly after, the door opened again and Stoner stuck his head in. ‘You certainly know ’ow to charm ’em, Guv’ nor.’

  Charles looked at the other man with a jaundiced eye. ‘When I want to charm a woman, I do. Come in and close the door, I need to know something and I don’t want anyone else privy.’

  Bushy brows raised, Stoner did as instructed.

  ‘Did any of the servants see my visitor?’

  A knowing smile curved Stoner’s fleshy lips. ‘One of the maids and a footman, but they’re used to women visiting here.’

  Charles frowned. ‘Did any seem interested in more than a superficial way—as though they recognised her?’

  Stoner scratched his bald head. ‘Don’t think they would. She moves in different circles from them.’

  ‘Well, keep your ears open. I don’t want the lady’s reputation ruined no matter how stupid her visit was.’

  If possible, Stoner’s brows went higher. ‘Right, Guv’.’

  Charles’s frown intensified. ‘Don’t read anything into my words that isn’t there. I may have a reputation as a rakehell, but I don’t ruin ladies of quality—no matter what the one who just left might think.’

  ‘Right, Guv’.’ A smile that was just on the border of a knowing grin split Stoner’s craggy face.

  ‘Don’t smirk, Stoner. It isn’t manly.’

  The other man’s face went flat but there was still a gleam in his brown eyes. ‘Interested in this one, ain’t you?’

  Charles didn’t like the implications of Stoner’s words.

  ‘I am most definitely not interested in the woman. She is dull and too strait-laced for my tastes. I am merely concerned for her safety as I would be for anyone who needs protection.’

  ‘Right, Guv’.’ The smile still played around Stoner’s thin lips.

  Charles put his empty glass down a little too hard. ‘Go away and do what I told you. I still have a lot of work to finish here.’ He looked down at his accounts and back. ‘And see that she gets home safely. She likely turned right when she exited the front door.’

  ‘Right, Guv’.’ Stoner’s tone was a smirk.

  Charles scowled at the numbers which just minutes before had marched down his ledger with gratifying success. Now they were just figures.

  Miss Emma Stockton’s assumption that he would just quit what he was doing because she asked intrigued him. Why would she think he might?

  Particularly the duel. To back out would ruin his reputation. There was nothing she could do to convince him to pull out. But her sister…

  Until now, he had pursued Amy Stockton because it amused him, or so he had thought. This evening’s visit made him realise what he had truly enjoyed was watching Emma Stockton’s reactions to his attentions to her younger sister. And he hadn’t really cared about much else.

  Was he that self-centred?

  Disgusted at himself and the unwelcome introspection his visitor had brought, he flung down the quill, leaving a splat of ink on the paper, and rose. He would take a walk through his domain. Get his mind off the encounter.

  Chapter Eight

  Emma stepped outside and into rain. She realised her fingers shook. The encounter with Charles Ha
wthorne had been difficult, having learned long ago from her father and brother that confronting a man who has made up his mind was like standing against a dashing carriage. But she had to try.

  If only that were all of it. If only the man didn’t make her body feel things she knew were improper for an unmarried woman to have towards a man. If only he would not duel Bertram and would leave Amy alone. She took a deep breath to get better control of her reaction.

  The young, burly footman she had brought for protection materialised from the shadows where he had been waiting. The hackney cab she had hired to bring them was long since gone.

  She swiped at a blur of water that obscured her vision. The street was empty. Likely they would have to walk home. Her shoulders slumped for a moment before she berated herself into standing straight.

  Failure lay on her like a rain-doused cape, but she was not defeated. She would think of something to keep Charles Hawthorne from meeting Bertram. And when that was done, she would figure out how to make the man stop paying such marked attention to Amy. Nothing was impossible, only very difficult. Particularly anything having to do with that dratted man.

  ‘Miss,’ the footman said, opening a large umbrella which was already too late to protect her from the downpour, ‘I hope your visit was successful.’

  She glanced up at him, his face blurred in the dark and the rain as she moved under the meager protection of the umbrella. He was stepping over the boundary of propriety, but he had grown up with her at her family’s country seat, so she answered him.

  ‘I doubt it, David.’

  She had counted on a facet of Charles Hawthorne’s personality that didn’t seem to be there—compassion. It must be that he only offered it when doing so did not hurt or inconvenience him.

  But she was not going to dwell on her disappointment. She was going to develop a plan to stop Mr Hawthorne.

  With a determined stride, she struck out in the direction of the rented house. It was quite a walk from this part of London to the respectable, if shabby, area where she lived.

  The rain increased, and Emma found herself trudging through puddles that were impossible to avoid. Her boots soaked through to her stockings, and her skirts clung like seaweed to her legs. Her hat was sodden in spite of the cape’s hood, and she sucked the soaked veil into her mouth with every breath. She flipped the black material off her face and thought about taking the hat completely off and throwing it in the ditch, but money was tight and she might be able to salvage something of it. And, heaven forbid, if someone who knew her drove by…she would need the veil.

  Mr Hawthorne had been correct when he had said she risked her reputation with this visit. And not just hers. Amy would be equally tarred if word spread that Emma had visited the man. Combine that indiscretion with the introductions to Harriette Wilson, Amy’s unabashed pursuit of the rake and now the upcoming duel…

  They would all be ruined. Except Charles Hawthorne.

  She reached the corner, thankful for the fitful light coming from one of the windows. This part of London didn’t have gas lighting. A shiver coursed her spine as she turned right.

  ‘Miss.’ David’s voice was barely audible in the downpour and because he spoke softly. ‘I think we need to take shelter until this lets up. Let me find an urchin and have him find a hackney coach.’

  Without missing a step, she said, ‘If you can find one in this downpour I will be surprised, but willing to fork over a penny.’

  Before he could reply, a coach pulled up beside them and the door opened. David stepped in front of Emma, holding the umbrella like a weapon. She edged back.

  Charles Hawthorne’s servant stepped out. ‘Come to give you a ride home, miss.’

  She gaped at him, while rain streamed down her chin. ‘Give me a ride home?’ She echoed him, totally nonplussed by this turn of events. ‘Who sent you?’

  He shook his head, water droplets flying from his hat. ‘Who do you think, miss? I’ve no intention of doing you harm.’ He eyed David, who still held the umbrella like a bludgeon. ‘Nor your man here.’

  Should she accept his offer? This was a gesture she had not expected. She looked the closed carriage over and saw it had no crest or other means of identification. It was now dark enough and miserable enough that the likelihood of someone seeing it and recognising them in it was slim to nil.

  She motioned for David to move away. ‘We are grateful for your help.’ She stepped forward.

  The mountain moved to one side and held the door open for her as he gave her his hand to help her up. She entered and sank onto the wine-coloured velvet seat. Realising at the last minute that her drenched state would ruin the upholstery, she jumped up.

  ‘Not to worry, miss,’ the servant said with a twisted smile. ‘Mr Charles plans on replacing the upholstery soon.’

  Before settling back down again, she leaned out the door to find her footman. ‘David?’

  David folded the umbrella and said, ‘I shall ride up front, miss.’

  He didn’t mention her name, for which she was thankful, although with her veil up, Charles Hawthorne’s servant would recognise her the next time he saw her. But there was nothing she could do about that. She also knew David rode outside to make sure the carriage went where it was supposed to.

  The mountain got back into the carriage, making it rock on its leather straps. She studied the man for a long moment, the flickering light from the inside lantern casting shadows across his blunt face and crooked nose. He returned her gaze without hesitation.

  ‘Thank you for fetching us. We likely would not have found a hackney coach.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s what Mr Charles thought.’

  There was a formality in his words that made her think he usually referred to his employer in more casual terms. Interesting. Curiosity pricked her. ‘Have you been with him long?’

  His face impassive, he said, ‘Long enough.’

  She looked away from his closed face and wondered what sort of man Charles Hawthorne really was. He had been pursuing her young sister with a disregard for propriety that was disturbing, yet he engendered loyalty in a servant who looked as though he belonged in a boxing ring, not a private home.

  She shook her head, totally confused by the man.

  Minutes later, Emma gave Charles Hawthorne’s servant one last look as her own servant handed her down from Hawthorne’s coach. Stoner returned her gaze without flinching.

  ‘I won’t tell anyone, miss.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She turned away and hurried through the rain to her front door and into the foyer. A single candle burned in a brass holder.

  ‘You may go to bed, David.’ Weariness crept into her voice. ‘I won’t need you again tonight.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ He bowed before leaving.

  Emma watched his retreating back and wondered what she was going to do now. It was obvious that Charles Hawthorne had no intention of changing his behaviour.

  Emma took off her soggy hat, looked at it and sighed. In the flickering light from the lone candle, it was abundantly obvious there was nothing to be saved. Still another thing sacrificed on the altar of gambling and debts and getting her sister married to a rich man who would solve all their problems. A man who wouldn’t leave Amy for another woman before they even wed. And now the duel.

  Too much was at stake. She had to do something. The well-being of her entire family depended on her.

  But what to do about Charles Hawthorne?

  Mad as he had made her tonight, he had also shown more insight than she was comfortable with. He had remembered her pearls and noticed them gone. She caught a sob. She wasn’t a watering pot, and Charles Hawthorne was not the totally self-centred man she had thought him to be—although close.

  A door opened down the hall and Bertram appeared. ‘Where have you been? It’s rather late to be out unescorted.’

  A frisson of unease slithered down Emma’s spine to be immediately replaced by irritation. ‘Where I have been is
my own concern, Bertram.’ He came closer and she smelled port. ‘Are you inebriated again?’

  His hazel-eyed gaze slid away from her. She knew he was going to lie to her. His gaze returned to her. ‘I have had some port, but I am far from incapacitated.’

  He could be so pompous even when he sounded vulnerable. He had been drinking more than was normal the last couple of days. She wondered if he feared the duel. ‘Is there something wrong, Bertram?’

  Sullenness rolled from him in waves. ‘Nothing that couldn’t be alleviated if you kept better control of Amy or if you had married George Hawthorne instead of releasing him. He would have married you from honour and kept the other woman as his mistress.’

  Emma’s mouth dropped in shocked horror at what he said. ‘Bertram!’

  He pouted. ‘It’s true.’

  ‘It is time I went to bed, Bertram,’ she managed to say when she got her fury under control. ‘I suggest you do the same.’

  The urge to berate him and point out exactly why they were in this position was nearly impossible to resist. She managed not to, mainly because everything Bertram said was true. He just left out his and Papa’s part in the debacle.

  Bertram’s voice seemed to follow her up the stairs. ‘I am going out.’

  She didn’t look back even as fresh despair engulfed her. He was going to lose more money. ‘Take care of yourself.’

  ‘As though you care.’

  She turned back to him. ‘I do care.’

  Not waiting for his reply because she knew she would not like it, Emma continued up the stairs to the next floor leaving a trail of water and mud behind her. The poor maid would be busy tomorrow, she thought, as she entered her room and closed the door.

  Charles returned to his office after looking out the front window to see that Emma Stockton was nowhere in sight. Stoner must be taking her home.

  Charles flung himself into a comfortable leather chair pulled near the fire and propped his feet near the grate. Warmth penetrated the soles of his shoes.