To Recapture a Rake: A Hephaestus Club Novella

by Christine Merrill

  “Of course not. He was, as always, the perfect gentleman. At least, as we define gentlemen in this city.” Though it was commonplace, there was nothing too terribly noble about keeping a bit on the side, when one had a wife and children at home. At least Vincent was not guilty of that. He was still as single as the day she’d met him.

  “But what did he say to you that upset you so? I have never known a cross word to pass between the pair of you, and you have known him for ages.” Alene swallowed as if trying to find the most tactful course. “While the last year has not gone as your family hoped, we consoled ourselves with the fact that you were happy with him.”

  Caro sighed and admitted the truth. “He said he loved me.”

  Her sister smiled and leaned forward in her chair. “That is the best of all possible news. You love him as well, do you not?”

  “Of course,” she said. “But I certainly do not admit to it. A man does not take a mistress to hear declarations of love. Such arrangements are meant to be temporary. It would be terribly vulgar of me to act as though what we shared was something more.”

  But that had been exactly what she’d done. She had pretended that their happiness could last forever, even as he planned for a future without her. She put that painful thought aside. “Besides, it is one thing for me to love him, and quite another for him to love me in return.”

  Her sister still looked doubtful, so she did her best to explain.

  “Perhaps you do not remember how it was when the scandal first broke over me. You were still in school and missed much of it. I had already refused him once.”

  “You refused him?” Her sister’s eyes grew wide.

  “What choice did I have? He was known all over London as a notorious rake. While it was flattering to have him pay court to me, I was not so foolish as to take it seriously.” Flattering was an understatement. She could still remember the thrill that had gone through her the night he had first asked her to dance. It had been nearly two years, and she still felt it, each time he smiled at her.

  “You quite liked him when we met him in Bath, the year before your come out.”

  “He was not Blackthorne, then,” Caro said with a sigh. “When we met in London, he had changed.” When they’d first met, she had thought him boyishly handsome, with too much blond hair and blue eyes a little too wide for his soft face.

  But by the time of her come out, the pleasant young man who had stolen her heart a summer before, had become an earl. His shoulders had broadened, and his features sharpened. The lovely golden hair that had made him seem innocent as a cherub was now a wild tangle of curls. And his blue eyes had seen things. While he was every bit as charming as he had been, there was something dark and dangerous about him that was as frightening as it was attractive.

  “But he offered for you,” her sister said. “If he still loved you, he must not have changed so very much.”

  “Loved me?” At this, Caro laughed. “He said nothing of such feelings to me.” He had felt something, she was sure. How could she explain to her naïve sister what it had been like to be wooed by Blackthorne? He had imbued each glance, each touch, each casual word, with a sensuality that had nothing to do with their innocent infatuation in Bath. He had wanted her, and he had needed a wife. But it had been nothing more than that.

  She gave Allie a sad smile. “I am sure, in his own way, he was still quite fond of me. But the truth of it was this: he’d come into his title and was expected to marry. Since we seemed so well suited, he offered. Even as we courted, his affairs with other women were an open secret. He made no effort to hide the truth from me, or anyone else. Since I did not want a husband who could not at least pretend to be faithful, I refused him.”

  “Did he know that his lovers upset you?” Alene asked. “Perhaps he would have given them up, had you made your feelings known.”

  “How could I? A young lady should not know of such things, much less ask about them. Nor should a wife. Even if a man’s faults are plain as day, we are not to ask embarrassing questions.” It made even less sense to ask a question, when one feared what the answer might be.

  Caro patted her sister’s hand, hoping that she sounded as wise as she was pretending to be. “Our courtship was rather like fox hunting. I am sure he enjoyed the pursuit. But if he had caught me, he would have lost interest. By the time our first child was born, he would have left me at Blackthorne Manor and returned to London. Since I loved him, it would have made me very unhappy.”

  Alene glanced around her at the neatly kept little house, clearly not impressed, as she compared it to the homes and holdings where the Countess Blackthorne might have been abandoned. “He offered, and you refused. How did it come to this?”

  “My next choice of suitors was even less wise. Mr. Worthington seemed ready to offer and had no scandal attached to his name. Since I trusted him, I went freely where ever he led. One night, he coaxed me down the dark walks of Vauxhall Gardens. That was how I learned he was no gentleman at all. The minute we were alone, he pressed his advantage, arguing that since we would likely be married soon, there was no reason to wait for intimacy.”

  Her sister’s eyes grew wide. “He assaulted you?”

  “He attempted to.” She shuddered in disgust. “If I’d have kept my head and held my tongue, no one might have been the wiser. Instead, I cried out, and Blackthorne came rushing to my aid.”

  Her sister’s arms were around her now, offering comfort where none was needed. “Nonsense. You did the right thing. There was no reason to stand mute when threatened.”

  “My reputation was forfeit, either way. It seemed all of London was watching as I was led from the park in disgrace. Vincent was livid. He called Mr. Worthington out and put a bullet through him. He very nearly killed him.”

  “He shot a man? And over you?” Her sister was all agog.

  Caro gave a shaky laugh and dispelled the glamour. “While you might dream that it would be nice to have two men fighting over you, it is really quite awful. It did nothing to restore my good name, and it cemented Blackthorne’s infamy. He should have run to the continent until the scandal had passed. Instead, he stayed and weathered it without turning a hair. It was a sordid mess, and I was trapped in the middle of it. Then, Vincent came to me with his offer.”

  She stared into the unlit fire, remembering how it had been. His cool, distant smile had been so alluring before he’d proposed. It had hardly changed, but she could smell the brandy on his breath and imagine Worthington’s blood still on his hands. “You are ruined through your own foolishness, my dear. Now, no decent man will have you. Fortunately for you, I am not the least bit decent, and want you as much as I did before.”

  “Do you seek to renew your suit?” she had said, wavering between relief, and fear.

  “Not bloody likely. You refused me once, which is more than my pride will allow. The offer I have for you is of an entirely different nature. Better you take it from me now, than await a better one. I doubt Worthington will be back, should he survive.”

  “How dare you.” She raised a hand to strike him, and he seized her wrist and pulled her into his arms to show her what he wanted from her.

  The kisses in her parent’s parlor should have reminded her of the ones that had been forced upon her in Vauxhall. They were just as rough and possessive. She should have fought, but she did not. Instead, she answered them with all the passion in her heart. She had been foolish to reject him. She had been his, all along.

  But that was in the past.

  She straightened his skirts and composed herself. There were some things that one should not share with a curious, little sister. “He made it clear that a marriage between us was out of the question. With the scandal attached to my name, no other man would want to wed me. It was either remain a spinster or accept his offer of protection.” The choice had been simple. What if she chose spinsterhood, only to see him kill the next man who insulted her? There would be no more blood shed because of her. “I went with
him that very day.”

  “Mother told me none of the details,” Alene admitted. “Only that you were gone, and that I must not ask after you. I found your direction through a friend.” She hesitated. “Well, not a friend, exactly. A girl who thought to hurt me with gossip.”

  Caro gave a sad shake of her head. “It is a wonder that our parents allow your visits.”

  “They do not know of them,” her sister said. “They think I go to Cheapside to do good works for orphaned children.”

  “That would be the proper place for you to spend your energies,” Caro agreed. “It is dangerous for you to be here. Think of your reputation.”

  “I always wear a veil.” Alene argued. “But really, society’s opinion does not matter to me. I will not be parted from you, no matter what people might say.” Then, as she always did when pressed on her own reputation, she changed the subject. “Now tell me of your trouble with Blackthorne, for that is what I want to hear.”

  “He said he loved me,” Caro repeated, still somewhat in awe of the words. “If, after all this time, he has decided he has these feelings? It is not good. Not good at all. In fact, it is unbearable and I do not want to see him again.”

  It was clear by the blank look on Alene’s face that she still did not understand, and Caro wondered if there was a point in trying to explain. “A man who loved me, truly, as he should, would not have treated me in this way. He would have offered a second time and made me his wife, not his mistress. That Vincent should have discovered this feeling after a year in my bed…” She paused, surprised to be near tears over it, even after all this time. “It is simply too late. He means to marry soon. He must do so, for the sake of the title. What good will his love do me then?”

  “But he has you.” Her sister’s eyes were still wide, and as innocent as ever.

  “He has opera dancers, as well,” Caro said, a little stiffly. “He goes about in public with them, should he want to go to the theater, or a horse race, or fight. If he wishes to dine, or dance, or be seen in respectable company, he escorts proper young women who would never have accepted his protection. But where ever he goes, he does not take me. When I leave this house, I do so alone. For all his fine words, he does not want my company, other than in bed.”

  “How do you know of this?”

  “I know because he tells me,” Caro said, with another sigh. “Especially of the girls he meets at Almack’s. He makes no secret of any of it. I swear, it is almost as if he expects me to approve his choice of a bride.” Or perhaps he did it to remind her of her place. She did not like to think him cruel, but sometimes, Caro was not so sure.

  “That is awful,” Allie agreed, and then added, as an afterthought. “I assume, he told you of Mary Holden.”

  “You know her?” It did not matter. Not really. But Caro could not stop wondering about the girl who was likely to be the next Countess of Blackthorne.

  “Not well,” her sister admitted. “Mary and I do not run in quite the same circles. I have no vouchers, so Almack’s is out of the question.”

  There was no accusation in her sister’s voice over the lack of acceptance she received, but they both knew the reason for it. There was no room at London’s finest assembly hall for the sister of a fallen woman. “If there was some way I could take this back,” Caro admitted, “You know I would. I was not thinking of you at the time of my disgrace, or what ill might befall you.”

  Allie laughed. “That I would be shunned by a society that could not manage to shame my dear sister? Oh, really, love. I do not mind so very much. If they ostracize me when I have done nothing to deserve it, what use do I have for them?”

  These very visits would be reason enough to cast her out, if anyone knew of them. But there must be something Caro could do, if she could not bring herself to send her sister away. “Perhaps, if you had a larger dowry, you would be more tempting. I could sell some of the nonsense that Vincent has bought for me and give you the proceeds. There really is quite a collection of it. I do not need so many gowns, as I never go out in the evening. And I never wear the jewels.” If Vincent married, she would sell it all, except for the carriage. She would use that to move to a place where she might never seem him or his countess, ever again.

  Alene gave her a tired look. “If I had a large dowry, everyone would wonder where I came by it, and what I had done. They will find a reason to suspect me, you know. I say, fie upon them for that.” She gave another stubborn sigh.

  She had ruined her sister, by her own behavior. She should have known from the start what would happen. But all she had been able to think of was Vincent. He had feigned indifference on the day he had come for her, but he had needed her as much as she had needed him. Vincent Wilmont was not so cold-blooded as he now pretended, nor was he a violent man. But when he was through with Mr. Worthington, the seconds had called for both a surgeon and a priest. He had been devastated by what he had done. And he’d done it because of her.

  She could not refuse him. But now, she must live with the consequences. “There must be some way to help you,” Caro said.

  Alene laughed. “Do not worry yourself over it. It does not bother me. Why should it bother you? What should interest you is the woman who Blackthorne chases. You asked me of Mary Holden, did you not?”

  Not precisely. But her stubborn silence showed her curiosity, so her sister answered her anyway.

  “She is a lovely girl, with a head full of blonde ringlets, and, in my opinion, little else.”

  “She has no wit?” And Vincent was so very sharp. It hardly seemed fair, now that she was finally to lose him, it would be to such a weak adversary.

  “Not a penny weight of sense. But that should not bother you, now that you do not want Blackthorne. I expect your next lover shall have better taste.”

  If Allie was ribbing her, she’d managed it with a straight face. “You know there will be no other. Now that he is gone,” she gave a theatrical gesture towards the door, “I am retired.”

  “Then you will have to settle for one last revenge upon your precious Blackthorne.”

  “How so?”

  “Any attachment that was between him and Mary is over. What you did to him is all over the scandal sheets. In response to it, Lord Holden has announced that his visits are not welcome. You have made such a fool of the poor man that he is quite likely to settle for a spinster, such as myself. Not that I would have him, of course,” Allie added quickly. “There is such a thing as family loyalty, after all.”

  So Vincent was not to wed Mary Holden. What was to be made of that? Nothing, she reminded herself. It would not be long before he chose another fresh faced thing. “It does not matter. I do not want a man who was stupid enough to court her in the first place. Nor can I stand being cooped here, like a dove in a cote, while he takes another woman to wife. All the ‘I love yous’ in the world will not console me.”

  “You are truly that jealous?”

  Caro gave a little sniff. “It is as it was, when he was offering marriage. I think too much of myself to accept permanent competition for his time. He might think we will be a happy threesome. If that is what he wishes, he must find another mistress.” Her next sniff was slightly louder, and she almost feared that she was about to cry. “And when he does, I hope he will have the sense not to announce his love for her. If so, he does not understand the meaning of the word at all.”

  Her sister shook her head and opened her mouth, as though about to explain to her the faults in her reasoning. Then she gave up and shrugged. “In that case, I can assure you, there is nothing to fear. There is no sign that Blackthorne is courting anyone. He spends all his time in a brothel.”

  Caro hid a shudder of distaste. She supposed, if she were more honest, she’d have admitted the similarity between herself and the poor unfortunates working in such houses. But that would destroy the lies she’d told herself while with Vincent. She had been willing to stoop to this life because of her feelings for him. All of society might turn its ba
ck upon her, but when had it done either of them any good? When the two of them were alone, and the door of her house was shut to keep away the rest of the world, Blackthorne became the one man she truly wanted: the sweet, kind Vincent that she had met in Bath.

  But now, he was visiting a brothel. She had not expected their separation would turn him into a monk. But even at his worst, he had been more selective in his partners than to resort to houses of ill fame. Perhaps her loss had affected his mind.

  And then, she remembered the source of the information. “What would you know of such things?” she said, hoping that her sister must be wrong.

  “It is the only explanation I can make for his behavior. He spends all of his time at a certain house on Jermyn Street. There is no number, no sign, and I never see anyone enter the place but men. The windows are heavily curtained, for I have peered in them myself.”

  “Alene! You have been following him?”

  Her sister shrugged. “I can think of no better way to discover what he has been up to, since the two of you parted.”

  “Have you lost your senses? Suppose someone sees you trailing after him? Think of your reputation.” If her actions were discovered, the gossips would announce that she was no better than her older sister.

  She took a deep breath and did her best to focus on the most part of this latest revelation. “You must stop this immediately. Not only is it unladylike, Blackthorne’s doings are none of your business.”

  “I know,” Allie said, with a proud smile. “And do not fuss at me, so.” She patted her bonnet. “I wear a veil, and bring my maid with me, just as I do when I visit you.”

  “And you tell mother…”

  “That I am doing good works,” she completed. “Now, admit the truth: you burn with curiosity as to what he is doing. Though you cast him off, you adore the man, and always will.”

  It was true. But it was her secret, and she had done her best to keep it, since she’d had no evidence that he cared for her in any but an obvious, physical way.