The Love of a Rake

by Linda Rae Sande

  Eleanor arched an eyebrow. “You say that as if you’re glad I threw it you!” she accused.

  Shrugging, Charles allowed a sigh. “I suppose I am. The look I saw on your face ... you displayed such passion, El.” He paused a moment as he watched her eyes widen in surprise. “I have never had a woman bestow such a look upon me as you did at that moment. Such anger. Such hurt. As if I had betrayed you somehow. And all I wanted to do at that moment was to make it all right. To turn that look of passion into what I saw you display this morning when I brought you to ecstasy.”

  Eleanor inhaled sharply, realizing she had been holding her breath as he spoke. “I suppose an offer of marriage goes a long way toward making it all right,” she whispered.

  Charles allowed a wan smile. “I never want you to feel such anger or hurt because of me ever again,” he said quietly. “I shall endeavor to make you happy always, in fact.”

  Allowing a smile of her own, Eleanor leaned forward and kissed his brow. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she lowered her lips to his. “I shall allow you to, of course,” she whispered.

  Nodding, Charles leaned his head forward so their foreheads touched. “Marry me, El. I promise, I will honor my vows.”

  Eleanor stared at Charles, rather stunned by his words. “Even when I am round with child and my body is fat and ugly?”

  The change in Charles’ face had Eleanor tempted to take a step back, for he suddenly looked positively predatory. “Oh, especially then, my lady,” he replied, his eyes narrowing. “I have heard tales around the gaming tables of how ripe and ready a woman who is breeding can be,” he whispered, trailing his nose along the side of her face until his lips took purchase on her cheek and kissed her. “About how affection for one another grows with time. With each subsequent child.”

  Eleanor’s eyes widened as she regarded him with surprise. “Have you now?” she replied, her breathing suddenly a bit labored.

  “Aye,” he whispered. “But I suppose there must be some affection with which to start,” he murmured, the tip of his nose trailing along her temple and down to where her jaw met her neck.

  “I do believe my affections can be put back into effect with a bit of encouragement,” Eleanor managed, wondering how she was going to remain upright. Her knees seem to quiver with the effort to keep her standing.

  Rather relieved and wondering what might constitute encouragement, Charles wrapped his arms around her waist and shoulders and pulled her hard against the front of his body. His lips were on hers in an instant, pressing and suckling until they were locked into place and possessed hers completely.

  When she responded by moving her hands to the back of his neck, he closed his eyes. She returned the kiss then, her tongue barely touching his as her fingers speared the dark hair behind his ears, her fingernails scraping his scalp to send shivers beneath the skin. Charles stilled himself and closed his eyes, reveling in the sensations her touches elicited, his own kisses light as feathers against the pillows of her lips.

  The slight moan from Eleanor’s throat drove him on, his lips leaving hers to trail down her jaw line to her earlobe to her neck and finally to the hollow of her throat. When he pulled away to take a breath, his eyes widened.

  “And now?” he asked expectantly.

  It was Eleanor’s turn to blink as well as regain a bit of balance. She stared at him once her eyes finally cleared. “Now ... what?” she countered, rather sorry he had ended his kissing.

  “Your affections,” he answered in a whisper.

  Eleanor regarded him for a moment. “And what of yours?” she countered, her voice not as quiet.

  The earl seemed to think on the topic a moment. “I asked you first,” he whispered and then realized how stubborn he sounded with his comment. He straightened. “I woke up feeling affection for you,” he stated before he returned his attention to the space below her earlobe. He murmured something into her cheek and then pulled away when the sound of a bell rang farther down the hall. “What was that?” he asked in alarm.

  A bit sorry to have his attentions redirected, Eleanor regarded him with a shake of her head. “The dinner bell, of course. You act as if you’ve never heard it before,” she accused, moving her arm up to rest on his.

  “That would be because I have not,” Charles said as a comical expression crossed his face.

  Eleanor allowed a grin. “Escort me, won’t you?” she hinted with an arched eyebrow. “So that I might tell you of my affections. And give you my answer.”

  Charles finally allowed a sigh of relief. “Of course, my lady,” he replied before leading them down the hall to the dining room, his breathing finally returning to normal.

  Chapter 31

  A Late Night Visitation

  Nine o’clock at night

  “I have news!” Charles Goodwin announced in a voice filled with cheer once Giles had led him to the study in Randall Roderick’s townhouse, just off the vestibule. The Earl of Reading had been reading, although his attention wasn’t entirely on his book but rather on how he was going to propose to Constance Fitzwilliam the next day.

  Randall stood up and regarded his visitor with a wary eye. “And probably too much to drink?” he hinted, glancing out the front window to find there wasn’t a conveyance parked in the street. Nor a horse. “How did you get here?” he asked then, realizing the earl wore neither coat nor hat.

  Goodness! It was worse than he thought! The Earl of Wakefield was so deep in his cups, he had left his hat and coat at White’s and walked the entire distance to Curzon Street!

  “Just a few glasses of wine with dinner,” Charles countered with a shake of his head, his brows suddenly furrowed.

  Randall blinked. Wine? “Then, how, pray tell, did you get here?” he asked, waving toward the window that looked out onto the street.

  Charles glanced over Randall’s shoulder and lifted a finger. “I just live across the street,” he replied, continuing to point to the terrace in front of which the hackney had parked and dropped off the young woman only the night before.

  “There?” Randall countered, pointing to the same terrace.

  “Aye. Nice place, and roomy enough for now. But I’ll have to find something larger, probably within the year,” Charles replied lightly.

  The marquess regarded Charles Goodwin for nearly ten seconds before he angled his head. “And why might that be?” he asked carefully, as if he thought he needed to enunciate his words so that an inebriated man could understand them.

  Charles straightened and allowed a self-satisfied smile. “I am getting married.”

  Not exactly words the marquess had ever expected to hear coming from the Earl of Wakefield, at least during his lifetime, Randall blinked. And blinked again. “Married?” Randall repeated, his brows reaching for new heights on his forehead before they suddenly furrowed. “Where is the Earl of Wakefield, and what have you done with him?” he asked then.

  Charles allowed a smile, recognizing his very words being used against him. What had it been? Twenty-four hours since he had said the same words to the Rake of Reading? “I am ... betrothed. I am to be married tomorrow, should the bishop agree to give me a special license.”

  Shaking his head, Randall sighed. “They don’t just give them to you,” he replied with a shake of his head. “They cost money. One-and-twenty guineas, last I heard,” he stated. “I’ll be acquiring one on the morrow myself. That is, if I am permitted to do so,” he added, remembering that he still needed to pay a call on the Earl of Norwick. Even if Constance was of age, he still felt it necessary to let Daniel Fitzwilliam know he intended to marry the man’s cousin. “Perhaps we can go to Doctors Commons together,” he suggested, thinking he could do with a bit of company.

  “And positively shock the bishop?” Charles asked with an arched eyebrow. “If I’m to believe news of my brother, it seems we won’t be the only two in pursuit of a marriage license,” he added with a knowing grin. “I can just see the headlines in The Tattler now.”
He raised a hand and swept it through the air. “‘Two rakes and a molly to get married. Hell frozen over’.”

  Randall gave the young earl a quelling glance. “More like, ‘Pigs seen flying over London’,” he countered, a chuckle burbling forth. He sobered suddenly. “Who is she?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  Charles took a deep breath and held it, surprised the question didn’t have him experiencing heart palpitations. At least, not the kind he would have imagined having upon learning he was to marry. “Lady Eleanor Merriweather,” he finally said.

  The marquess frowned as he considered the name. “Was she the chit who was deposited in front of your home last night? At midnight?” he asked, his manner rather stern.

  Lady?

  Good God!

  The earl sobered a bit. “The very same. She ... She had a rather trying day at Lucy Gibbons’ brothel yesterday,” he started to explain and then noticed how Randall’s eyebrows seemed to have difficulty in deciding if they wanted to be high or low or arched or furrowed. “Lucy kidnapped the chit when she arrived in town yesterday. Sent her to me as a birthday gift.” He had a moment when he felt a bit sick upon thinking of what might have happened if Eleanor had ended up being sent to someone else. He wouldn’t find himself on the verge of matrimony, of course, but Eleanor would be thoroughly ruined, with no hope of an advantageous marriage, no hope of a life within the ton.

  Perhaps Lucy had known and had Eleanor sent to him thinking he would do right by her.

  Charles shook his head. Doubtful, given how the madame had reacted earlier that day.

  Kismet, then, could be the only explanation. Eleanor was destined to end up with him just as he was destined to realize she was his future.

  “I find I am rather enamored with the chit,” Charles stated suddenly. He dared a glance across the street, hoping Eleanor wasn’t trying to escape out her bedchamber window. “I may even feel affection for her,” he added, his brows furrowing with his words. He paused a moment before lifting his eyes up to see Randall’s rather startled expression. “And to whom will you be wed?” he asked, realizing if he didn’t change the subject, the marquess might very well end up passing out at his feet.

  Randall considered Charles’ words, deciding the man wasn’t as inebriated as he first thought. “Miss Constance Fitzwilliam,” he replied finally.

  Charles gave him a blank look at first, and then angled his head. “One of Norwick’s clan?” he guessed.

  Randall nodded. “Cousin. Edward’s daughter,” he replied simply.

  Charles angled his head, as if he were trying to remember something. “When ... When did you meet her?” he asked, wondering if perhaps the marquess had been courting the woman in private for the entire summer.

  “This morning. In Hyde Park.”

  His eyes widening in alarm, Charles took a step back. “Dammit man,” he said as he blinked. “You weren’t joking when you said you wanted to marry,” he said with a shake of his head. “Does she know she’s to be the Marchioness of Reading?”

  Randall let out the breath he had been holding in a huff. “Not as yet,” he allowed, “But I’m about to leave for Ludgate Hill in search of a wedding ring, and I know where she lives.”

  Charles regarded the marquess for a moment. “Why? Why her?” he asked suddenly.

  The question had Randall rather stunned. Had he taken a moment to even think about what he was about to do, he might have a more ready answer for the Earl of Wakefield. But truth be told, he couldn’t exactly explain what it was that had him thinking about Constance Fitzwilliam nearly every moment of that day.

  “I truly feel affection for her,” he answered finally. “We share common interests. She is beautiful. She is resourceful.

  She has been running a household in Sussex on her own for several years—”

  “She has a racehorse.”

  Randall blinked, stunned at Charles’ simple statement. How did he know Constance had a racehorse? “She does,” Randall agreed. “As well as a cold-blood mare and several other horses,” he agreed, berating himself for having divulged that last bit of information.

  The younger earl seemed to deflate before his eyes. “You’re marrying to get a damned horse, aren’t you?” he accused.

  “I am not!” Randall countered, annoyed at how Charles had suddenly turned from an amicable about-to-be-a-groom to his conscious in a matter of moments. “She has an appreciation for horses I have never seen in a person of her sex,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “So, yes, that is part of the attraction,” Randall admitted. “But I do ... I do care for her. I have thought of nothing but her for the entire day! I find myself wondering if she is safe. If she has enough to eat. If she has decent clothes, a suitable maid, and a comfortable bed,” he went on, oblivious to the changing expression on Charles’ face.

  “You’re in love,” the earl said. The quiet words didn’t sound like an accusation. Nor were they made in disbelief. They were merely a statement of fact.

  “Oh, good God, I’m doomed,” Randall said with a roll of his eyes.

  Charles grinned. “Well, that makes two of us,” he replied brightly. He glanced out the window and turned his attention back to the marquess. “Come get me when you’re about to head for Doctors Commons,” he said. “And I’ll join you.”

  Randall gave the earl a nod. “I suppose you’ve already bedded your bride-to-be,” he ventured, one eyebrow arching up.

  The other earl nodded. “A good thing, too, for if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known she was to be my wife.”

  Randall frowned but somehow understood the younger man’s comment.

  With that, Charles took his leave of Randall’s study and headed back to his terrace, leaving Randall wondering a bit more about what might have happened the night before. He shook himself from his reverie, though, when he noted the time on the clock on the mantle and realized he had little time to make his next destination.

  Ludgate Hill.

  For once he had paid his call on the Earl of Norwick in the morning, he had only one thing left to do before taking Constance Fitzwilliam as his wife.

  Buy some jewelry.

  Chapter 32

  A Marquess in Ludgate Hill

  Nine-thirty at night

  At precisely half past nine o’clock that night, Randall climbed into his town coach. Having instructed the driver to take him to Ludgate Hill, he now wondered which jeweler would have what he needed. Do I even know what I need? he found himself wondering, for Constance Fitzwilliam didn’t strike him as a woman who coveted any particular gemstone, nor did he think she was partial to one particular precious metal over the other. Which left Randall in a situation he had never been in before—on his way to a jewelry store with no idea of what to buy.

  He would need a ring, of course, decorated with an odd number of gems. Symmetrical in their arrangement. Not too large a central stone, though.

  He imagined Constance’s hand, remembered how her fingers had looked without gloves covering them. They were long fingers, he recalled, with oval fingernails. Any hard gemstone would do, although she had made mention of loving the color purple. Amethyst? Too common, he thought, remembering when a jeweler mentioned how many were being imported from Brazil. Tourmaline? Tanzanite? Spinel? He knew they were all available in various shades of purple. But what would be most valuable? A purple sapphire, he decided, with a pair of diamonds on either side. He hoped Rundell might have such stone in his shop.

  And what about the precious metal on which it should be mounted?

  Gold.

  Yes, that would be best, he considered. Now he just had to ensure she would accept it—he rather doubted she would accept his suit without an inducement. He chided himself, remembering it would be entirely inappropriate to gift her with a necklace or bracelet—she wasn’t yet married to him, nor was she his mistress. But he couldn’t help but hope such a gift might soften her toward the idea of marriage to him.

  Damn the rules! he thought then. He was going
to buy her a necklace.

  Although he had no idea how much Daniel Fitzwilliam would settle on her for her inheritance, Randall knew it would be enough for her to choose to live the life of a spinster comfortably. She wouldn’t need Randall to make her way in life. Wouldn’t need him in any capacity, he realized.

  A blanket of melancholy settled over him for a moment as he imagined Constance turning down not only his gift of a necklace, but also his offer of marriage.

  What the hell is happening to me? he wondered as the coach made its way through the dark streets of London. He had only known the chit for ... Randall checked his chronometer by the light of a gas lamp and sighed. Twelve hours. Never in his life had a woman so consumed his thoughts. Never had a woman intrigued him to the point that he wanted her company every moment of the day.

  He imagined her occupying the seat across from him and then considered how much better it would be to have her seated next to him, her thigh pressed against his, her hand held in his.

  I’ll propose first, he thought, deciding he could give her the necklace when she accepted his offer. If she accepted his offer. Or perhaps he would give it to her no matter her answer so that she might reconsider her decision. Or he would give her both at the same time and insist she not give him an answer until the following day.

  His lack of patience had him reconsidering that last thought. Can I wait that long for her answer?

  Do I have a choice?

  Some chits didn’t provide an answer until months after the proposal! At least Lady Lily had kept her promise to give him her answer when she did.

  The thought of Lady Lily brought him up short. Other than the few moments he had spent in her company at the charity, he hadn’t thought of her since meeting the two women in the park that morning. His thoughts had been entirely on Constance. He sighed, rather relieved that memories of the young woman’s rejection no longer had him feeling sorry for himself.