The Rake's Proposition

by Bess Greenfield

  The man smirked. “Your sister? Funny that. You never once mentioned you had a sister in all the years I knew you.”

  Leo’s jawline tensed for a moment. Then his face transformed into a congenial mask. “The omission was deliberate,” he replied lightly.

  The other man leaned on his walking stick. “Can’t say I blame you. I wouldn’t have told you I had a sister back in those days either. I’ve completely reformed, I’ll have you know. So it would be the height of rudeness for you to deny me an introduction.”

  Claudine quirked her lips, certain this man had scaled the heights of rudeness many times before. Were they actually friends? If so, the association reflected badly upon Leo. She marked it in the point against column in the mental accounting she was making of his character.

  “Madeleine, this is my former college roommate, Pembroke Treadway,” Leo said.

  She inclined her head slightly. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “The pleasure is mine, mademoiselle. Will your stay in New York be a long one? I hope we’ll have occasion to meet again.” His words were perfectly pleasant. His speculative gaze was not.

  Leo flashed a stiff grin at his former chum. “Just a quick visit. Wonderful to see you again, Pem. I’ll be certain to drop you a line once we’re back.”

  “See that you do… Say, why don’t I see to it that you’re seated at my table for dinner?”

  Dismayed, Claudine looked over at Leo. “The sun is too much for me,” she said in French. “I think I’m feeling faint. I really must find a place to sit.”

  “Of course… Excuse me,” Leo said, already turning away from his former acquaintance. “My sister is unwell.” He took Claudine by the hand, led her up the gangway, and informed one of the uniformed stewards of her fragile state.

  Solicitous looks passed between ship officials, and a third uniformed man was summoned to show her to her stateroom immediately. The lanky man ran his finger down a typed list. “Barnett... Yes, here you are. First Class, Bridge Deck. If you’ll follow me please…”

  The luxuriousness of the ship amazed Claudine. She soon forgot all about the boorish Mr. Treadway. Sunlight streamed through an ornate domed skylight in the lounge, highlighting ornate carvings and columns, boiseries, and gilt-framed mirrors.

  A curved double staircase took them to the Bridge Deck. They walked single file through a satinwood paneled, carpeted passage and stopped before a well-polished door. The steward worked a long key into a brass doorknob, opened the door, and stood to the side so they could enter.

  Olive velvet brocade curtains framed two huge portholes, allowing ample light into the spacious and elegant sitting room, which had a coffered ceiling and walnut paneling. Striped damask upholstered chairs coordinated with a Louis XVI settee. The writing desk was furnished with a stained glass lamp, a brass inkstand, and a vase of white camellias, which scented the air.

  She’d never travelled in such surroundings as this. People assumed her parents were wealthy because her mother was an heiress and a painter of some repute, and her father possessed a noble title and ancestral homes in Paris and Burgundy. But the inherited homes were costly to maintain, and much of Maman’s fortune had already been appropriated to the funding of educational programs at the settlement house in Manhattan. The family’s livelihood depended largely upon the popularity of her father’s musical compositions and her mother’s art at any given time and that degree varied radically so her parents tried to be careful with their expenditures.

  They didn’t always succeed. Her parents were not innately practical people. Papa had been wealthy for most of his life and never quite grasped the concept of thrift, and Maman was by nature generous and free-spirited, a terrible combination when it came to living within one’s means. The latest fashions didn’t tempt her in the least, but she always seemed to have a new country she wished to visit or a new cause to support.

  Claudine moved forward onto the Turkish rug and turned slowly. “This stateroom is fit for royalty. I hope you didn’t book such a grand cabin for me. It would be a needless expense. I don’t require this much space.”

  Leo grinned as he watched her. “Nonsense. Why shouldn’t you travel in comfort? I have no need to economize. You can have this one if you like. The other accommodations should be just the same.”

  She wandered over to the adjoining room and peered inside. The bedroom looked inviting with its paneled walls, sconce lights, midnight blue silk brocade draperies, and a large brass bed.

  “Is the other stateroom nearby?” Leo asked the steward, who was hovering by the entrance.

  The lanky man’s cheerful expression melted. His neck drooped as he poured over the neatly typed list he was holding and flipped through the pages in a state of agitation. Finally, he looked up from his papers. “I am so terribly sorry, but it appears there has been a mistake. You have only been assigned this one cabin.”

  No one moved or spoke for several seconds. “You are mistaken,” Leo said with calm authority. “I paid for two staterooms in first class. See here.” He removed some official-looking steamer tickets from an inner jacket pocket and thrust them at the pallid man.

  The steward examined the tickets. “It is as you say, but my list only shows one room. It could be our staff presumed you were married due to the shared surname. You will be refunded, of course.”

  Leo leveled an unwavering look at the steward. “I don’t want a refund. I want another cabin. I’m confident you can rectify the situation. Even second class will do.”

  “Any place will do for me as long as there’s a pillow,” Claudine said with a calmness she did not feel.

  “I’m afraid all the cabins are taken,” the steward replied with a peevish note to his voice. “The ship is entirely booked. Perhaps we can arrange separate cabins on another ship. We have several similar vessels in our fleet though this is the finest.”

  Leo removed his homburg and raked his fingers through his thick hair. “When is the next one scheduled to sail?”

  “Next week.”

  He flung his hat at the wall. It made little noise and landed gracefully on the settee cushions. “I can’t be away that long. This is unacceptable.”

  Claudine felt her chance for escape slipping from her grasp. The longer they waited to make the voyage, the greater the chance he’d change his mind about employing her.

  Any minute now he’d come to his senses and see her as she was: gawky, shy, and awkward. Or worse, he’d recognize her as the cossetted daughter of his mother’s best friend and take her home immediately. “It’s fine,” she blurted. “We can share the room.”

  Leo searched her face with a strained expression. “Are you certain?”

  A thousand worries flitted through her mind and twisted into a great knot in her midsection. She wouldn’t be able to relax for a second in his presence. What if he saw how dreadful she looked in the morning? What if she snored at night? She shrugged. “I can sleep on the settee.”

  “No. I will. I’m responsible for this mishap.”

  His chivalrous offer took her by surprise. “I can’t let you do that. You’re too tall. You’d fall off the moment you moved in an inch in any direction.”

  Leo grimly studied the narrow settee. “I’ve slept in worse places. It’s only for a week.” He sounded unhappy but resigned.

  The steward began a backward retreat. “You won’t be filing a complaint, will you?”

  “I suppose that will depend upon how well I sleep on this commodious piece of furniture.”

  “It’s very gracious of you to make the best of the situation. If there’s anything I can do to make your voyage more pleasant…”

  Leo glowered at him.

  * * *

  The steward stepped into the passageway and reached behind to close the door, disengaging himself with a decisive click. The occupants remaining stared at the only route of escape. Neither one of them moved.

  Leo shook his head. “This won’t work. There are other
lines. I could leave money for you to make other arrangements, and you could meet me in Manhattan. Independent female travellers are not so uncommon these days.”

  His suggestion was half-hearted at best. He didn’t want to leave her. Although she’d been living on her own when he met her, she didn’t seem like the sort of female accustomed to fending for herself.

  A tiny furrow appeared between her wide eyes. “I’d rather not.”

  Relief flooded through him and with that came resolve. There would be more temptation than he bargained for, but he was not some rutting beast who could not control his urges. It was only for a week.

  “We’ll make the best of it,” she said cheerfully, wandering about the sitting room. “These are nice.” She leaned over the writing table to sniff the fresh camellias, arching her back and presenting a unique view of her lovely derriere.

  Torture. This was going to be pure torture.

  She quickly stood upright again and ambled over to the bathroom. “Look at that!” she said from the entrance. “Running water. Do you suppose it has both hot and cold?”

  Water temperature was likely the least of her concerns. She obviously found the situation as intolerable as he did, but she was putting on a brave face. He followed her and leaned against the doorframe. As they stood side by side staring at the commode, their failure at candor strained tension to the breaking point.

  He was now entirely convinced she belonged to the upper class, perhaps even the aristocracy. Her elocution, carriage, and manners revealed her. He could see only one reason for a highborn lady to assume a false identity and take to the stage. She was either running from some scandal or a man or both.

  She looked too naïve to have done anything truly wicked, but then those were always the ones most easily led into sin.

  He would never be able to fix whatever mess she was in and restore her to her former place in society. The best thing he could do for her was exactly what he was doing—providing her with an escape. Still, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.

  “I hope you don’t have any worries of expectations on my part other than those expressed,” he said at last to the claw foot tub. “I want nothing more than a professional relationship with you. I wouldn’t dream of importuning you.” There. It had to be said and he’d said it. He only wished his words hadn’t sounded so unconvincing.

  The tiny furrow between her eyes deepened as she fixated upon the porcelain sink. “No. Of course not.”

  As he turned away, he noticed the painting on the wall facing the settee, a portrait of a doleful-eyed peasant girl in the style of Bouguereau. She seemed to be saying, “What do you want of me?” What indeed.

  “It won’t be so bad,” she said from the entrance to the bedroom. “I’m a very sound sleeper. I’ll probably forget you’re in the next room.” Sunlight beamed through the portholes, outlining her stunning hourglass figure.

  He nodded pleasantly. His face felt stiff from the effort. Even when she closed the door, he could still picture her. He breathed in her subtle citrus scent, and prepared himself to weather the worst voyage of his life.

  * * *

  Claudine needn’t have worried that Leo would discover anything about her in their stateroom; she scarcely ever saw him. He was gone for hours at a time, sometimes well into the night. He claimed he wished to allow her privacy, but she knew he sought his own.

  She finally found the courage to voice her curiosity on the second morning of the voyage as he emerged from their shared bathroom wearing only tan linen trousers and a badly wrinkled white shirt. Their living arrangements were taking a toll upon his appearance, but he was riveting regardless.

  He rubbed a towel through his damp hair as he crossed the room barefoot to his small trunk beneath one of the portholes. Kneeling before it, he began searching for something. His dark hair stood out in clumps pointing in all directions.

  “Have you considered hiring a valet?”

  “I employed a fellow. Briefly. Didn’t care for it at all. I wasn’t born to that lifestyle so I could never get used to the constant fussing and hovering. Dressing myself is far less burdensome, and I have servants at home to do the laundering and ironing and any other chore I don’t wish to do myself so I have no need for anyone else.”

  “Where did you go last night?” she asked casually.

  “Last night?” He continued rifling through his clothing. “Last night…” he repeated as if it were a very long time ago. “Oh, yes. There was a card game in the lounge. I lost track of time.” He pulled out a woven sack jacket and came to his feet.

  She doubted he’d played cards at all. She’d seen him strolling with Corinne Glendenning, a striking young widow from Cleveland, returning from a holiday in Paris—on her own. His manner hinted at a closeness that seemed to have blossomed overnight. “You’re good at making friends.”

  Gazing into the Venetian wall mirror hanging above the settee, he combed his fingers through his rumpled hair, bringing order to it in a matter of seconds. “Maybe so.”

  She’d heard about his reputation with women. Apparently, he deserved every disparaging word.

  She vowed to ignore him at dinner, but that was impossible. Not a man in the entire cavernous teak paneled dining saloon looked quite so well in a dinner jacket. His white wing tip collar and linen tie set off his chiseled cheekbones and strong jaw. The silk-shaded lamps upon their long table cast a warm glow upon his olive-toned skin.

  Mrs. Glendenning sat beside him. With her pert nose and small mouth, she resembled a blonde porcelain doll dressed in the height of fashion. Her ample breasts practically overflowed from the embroidered bodice of her mauve moiré and mousseline gown. The widow’s period of mourning had apparently passed.

  A backlit picture window framed her dainty face to dramatic effect as she repeated the story she’d told last night. “My spirits were low, and my wardrobe was positively ancient, and I thought, ‘What better place to replenish both than Paris?’”

  Her voice was so breathy one had to strain to hear her. Most of the gentlemen present leaned so far in her direction it seemed as though they were caught in a gale.

  “Of course, I’d been there three times before with Harry so I know my way around very well, but travelling independently is not as simple as those women travel writers would have you believe. I was harassed on a number of occasions. It was simply horrid. Europeans are not as modern in their views toward female independence as I’d anticipated. Though I don’t regret my experiment, I’ll be quite relieved to return to my home.”

  Leo smiled at her. “It will take daring women like you to change circumstances for all. I commend you for your bravery.”

  Claudine perused her gilt-edged menu. High praise for a woman who’d crossed an ocean only to go on an extended shopping spree.

  Their conversation became more intimate after that. Claudine tried not to watch them, but her gaze kept drifting where it should not. The set of Leo’s mouth as he listened and the curl of his lips when he spoke made a promise that obviated the needs for words, a hint of sensual bliss, perhaps even eternal devotion. What sort of women fell for such cheap and obvious ploys?

  Mrs. Glendenning’s apple-like cheekbones glowed as she tilted her ear so close to Leo’s lips he might nibble upon it if he chose. Where had that thought come from? The absurdity! Flattering words and sensuous gazes were only a trap for the unwary. The widow could have him, Claudine mused, rubbing her ear, which now tingled.

  She probably already had. Mrs. Glendenning hung upon his every utterance with blatant invitation in her wide-set gray eyes. Claudine also strained to catch the gist of what he was saying contrary to all good sense and proper etiquette. But his words were lost to her amid the clattering footsteps upon the patterned linoleum floor, the clinking of silverware upon porcelain, and the echoes of hundreds of witty rejoinders bouncing off the vaulted baroque revival skylight.

  When he left their stateroom last night, he’d been tense and irritable, but whe
n he returned in the morning, he was cheerful, kind, and solicitous. Whatever the widow did for him was a powerful thing.

  Claudine supposed she should be grateful to the woman for satisfying his male needs. A potential complication to her career had been resolved. She absently took a bite of her innocuous looking hors d’oeuvre, a mash of something on toast, and swallowed with difficulty. Sardines. She hated sardines.

  Mr. Treadway’s haughty voice droned on beside her. True to his word, he’d arranged to have them seated at his table, which turned out to be the captain’s table. Also joining them were a honeymooning couple from New Jersey, oblivious to all but each other, several prosperous French businessmen who talked mainly among themselves, a German prince who talked to no one, possibly due to the language barrier, and an American playwright.

  The dramatist seemed to be well entrenched in Manhattan society and told amusing stories about prominent figures, but Mr. Treadway’s ceaseless chatter drowned out much of what he said. She was learning much about Leo’s former classmate though it would not have been her choice to do so.

  His father was the founder of Treadway Shovel and Tool Company, the largest manufacturer of such items in America. Pembroke, a history major, had been named vice president of the company upon graduation from Harvard. Following his father’s death three years ago, the only child of the magnate had become the president.

  Leo scarcely paid any attention to his friend. He seemed preoccupied with Mrs. Glendenning and something apparently going on beneath the white tablecloth.

  “Will you be staying with your brother in New York?” The widow fixed her perceptive gray eyes upon Claudine, whose face flamed as she realized she’d been caught staring. Completely uninformed about her future lodging options, Claudine shifted uncomfortably in her velvet upholstered chair.

  Several seconds of silence passed before Leo replied, “No, she’ll be staying with our mother to assist her during her illness.”