The Lure of a Rake

by Christi Caldwell

  His jacket discarded, he wore nothing more than his rumpled white shirt, breeches, and stockinged feet. He searched his gaze over her face, lingering his stare on the tracks of misery left by her earlier tears. She stiffened, hating that evidence of her despair.

  “Are you…?” he grimaced.

  “What do you want?” she asked tiredly, closing her eyes, unable to meet his unreadable gaze.

  “Did you know you were with child?” he asked in a hoarse baritone.

  At last they’d have this conversation. Of course, it had been inevitable. She managed an awkward, jerky nod.

  “And you did not tell me.”

  A half-laugh, half-sob escaped her and she opened her eyes. “You thought I should share the happy news with the expectant father to be?” She laughed, the sound ugly and sharp. She fixed on the healthy anger so as to not cave under the weight of all she’d lost. “Why should I have told the man who didn’t even want the babe, anyway?” A spasm contorted his face and she steeled her heart. “No. Your knowing would have changed nothing, Cedric. You never wanted to be a father and now you need never be one. So your life is the same today as it was yesterday.”

  “Is that what you believe?” He dragged his chair closer to the edge of her bed. “Do you think me a monster who will casually carry on as though…”

  As though they’d not created life together.

  The muscles of his throat moved.

  “Do you know what I believe, Cedric?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head.

  “I believe we were two people who met by chance in a library.” Tears popped up behind her eyes once more. That night, when he’d taken her bare foot in his hands, may as well have been a lifetime ago for all that had come to pass. “We were two people who felt a spark of passion, a-and who even became friends.” She bit her lower lip. “But artwork and gardening are hardly a foundation with which to support a marriage or sustain it.”

  Cedric narrowed his eyes, his thick, golden lashes swallowing his irises. “What are you saying?” he demanded roughly.

  “There was never anything more between us,” she whispered, the truth coming from deep inside, from a place where she’d long buried it. Now breathing it to existence cemented the reality she’d long denied. “I thought you were someone different than who you are.” She lifted shuttered eyes to his. “That is not your fault. That is mine. I wanted you to be something you can never, ever be.” A loving husband. A devoted father. Oh God, she hugged her arms close to dull the blade of agony twisting inside. “Ultimately, we are two very different people. You love London.”

  “I would give this place up for you,” he rasped. “Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.” How could he realize, no material item could fix this? No gift could ever be enough. “Tell me who you want me to be.” His imploring words hinted at a desperation she’d never expected of the rakish lord.

  “Oh, Cedric.” Genevieve pressed her fingers to her quivering mouth. “D-Don’t you see? I do not want you to give anything up for me. To force you to leave a place you love or to force you to have something you don’t want…” She sucked in a ragged breath and forced the words out. “A child. I don’t want you to become someone else for me. To expect you to be someone else or to want something else, simply because I do, will only make you hate me. I cannot tell you who I want you to be. You need to figure out the man you wish to be…for you.”

  He dropped to a knee beside her bed and brushed his knuckles back and forth over her cheek as he’d done so many times before. “I want to begin again.” There was a faint entreaty in his ragged words. For a sliver of a heartbeat, she wanted to take everything he held out. She wanted to selfishly take for herself the sacrifice he’d make.

  But that could never be. Genevieve looked at him and a lone tear slipped down her cheek. He easily caught it with the tip of his thumb. “Do you know there are some moments I wish I’d never stepped into that library, Cedric?” He froze mid-movement. “I wish I’d never entered that room because then you never, ever would have noticed me on the side of that ballroom and I’d never have allowed myself to hope for something that could never be.” His hand fell to his side. She looked over to her trunks. “I am leaving.”

  Her husband jerked. “You are leaving?” he repeated his voice, hollow.

  She nodded. “I am going to my grandfather’s.”

  *

  I am going to lose her.

  Panic lapped at the edge of Cedric’s senses.

  With every word, Genevieve slipped further and further away. There was an anchor weighting his chest. It threatened to drag him under, into a black, empty void.

  Nay, I’ve already lost her. He’d lost her slowly with each day of their marriage when he’d spent those fleeting hours with her and left her at night. For even though there had never been another woman in his bed, there had been a growing divide between him and Genevieve, widened by the statement he made every time he visited his clubs or attended those wicked parties.

  If he was capable of any emotion other than despair, he’d have found hilarity in the great irony of discovering that he, the man who’d believed himself incapable of loving and being loved, did, in fact, love. And it was a raw, powerful, piercing emotion that consumed him. How long he’d spent believing the sentiment weakened a person, only to find Genevieve had never made him weak. Rather, she’d made him stronger. She’d helped him see the life he lived as an empty one without purpose. There was no shame in this emotion.

  He rose from his seat and perched on the edge of her bed. “Genevieve Grace,” he said gruffly. The words in his heart, the words of love she’d been deserving of, had belonged in another moment. In their garden. Over laughter. Or sketches. So many other instances, which had been full of joy and not this gripping agony of despair. It was just one more mistake he’d made that he’d do over…if that gift was, in fact, real. “I have made so many mistakes,” he said quietly. “Since I met you. I’ve faltered and will, no doubt, continue to stumble. But I need you to know, the day you stepped into that library and into my life, you transformed me.” She turned her head and he palmed her cheek, forcing her gaze back to his, willing her to see the truth that spilled deep from inside. “I want to try again, because I love you.”

  Genevieve stilled and her green eyes, which had always been expressive windows into her soul, gave no hint of emotion.

  I did this…

  She caught her lip between her front teeth and gave a jerky shake of her head. “Sometimes love is not enough.” Her words emerged so faint, he strained to hear and when they reached him, it was like a lance had been thrust into his heart. He jerked. “Too much has come to pass. There is an ocean of differences between us that no bridge can close.”

  “Genevieve,” he tried again, imploring her with his eyes.

  “I am tired,” she whispered. “Please, go.”

  Cedric searched his gaze over her treasured face. He took in the white drawn line at the corner of her lips, the despair in her eyes. He’d done this to her and the damage he’d wrought to them was not something he could ever repair in a single note; particularly not this one. He flexed his jaw and then gave a brusque nod. “Of course. When do you leave?” How was his voice steady? How, when he was breaking apart from the inside out?

  She glanced down at her interlocked fingers. “Within a couple of hours.”

  Two hours. He had two hours left with her, before she went and stole his every happiness. “Very well,” he said quietly as he came to his feet. “Do you require anything?” If you wish for the stars, I’ll climb to the heavens and gather them for you.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Sketching a bow, he turned on his heel and started from the bed. He paused, staring at the oak panel and then wheeled slowly around. “I would have you know, it was never my intention to hurt you.” He’d rather lob off his limbs with a dull blade than be the root of her pain.

  Tears welled in her eyes, glimmering like
emerald pools of despair. “I know.” Her faint whisper barely reached him.

  “I want you to be happy,” he said roughly. He’d never, ever worried over anyone’s happiness but his own. “I want you to smile again and laugh, even if I am not in your life.” For to imagine a world in which she was the broken, anguished creature before him would destroy him.

  A tear slid down her cheek. And before he did something foolish and useless, like get down on his knees and beg her to take him back, he pressed the door handle and did the first honorable and selfless thing he’d done in his life—he left.

  Chapter 27

  Three weeks later

  Cedric sat at the back table of White’s. A bottle of barely touched liquor sat beside a completely untouched snifter of brandy. He stared blankly about the club. Gentlemen seated about the club entertained friends, while others wagered with acquaintances. Laughter periodically rose up, filtering about, punctuated by the clink of coins hitting a pile of coins.

  How many years he’d spent losing himself in wagering and attending mindless amusements, only to find out now on his thirtieth birthday, how absolutely meaningless it had all been.

  There were no true friends. There was not, nor had there ever been, a true purpose to his life beyond his pleasure. What a meaningless existence he’d lived. He’d dwelled in shadows and never realized it, until the sun had shone on him and then left, leaving him in darkness once more.

  A pressure weighted his chest. It was a familiar tightening that had neither dulled nor died, in the weeks since Genevieve had left. To give his hands something to do, Cedric swiped his glass and swirled the contents in a small circle.

  What an absolute muck he’d made of his life. He’d had happiness laid out before him; a gift that had stepped into his private sanctuary. Never had he truly appreciated the extent of just how Genevieve had filled his life. She’d awakened him to what it meant to live and laugh. And in the span of one careless night, he’d thrown it all away.

  “Care for company?”

  He stiffened and looked up with a detached surprise. Since discovering the other man’s betrayal, he’d not seen a glimpse of him. Nor had he given a jot for seeing him. There was but one person whose absence had left a hole in his heart—and she was gone. In a deliberately dismissive gesture, Cedric returned his gaze to his brandy.

  Montfort didn’t wait for permission, but slid into the empty seat. “If anyone had said even months ago that I’d be in White’s with you seated across from me, I’d say they were cracked in the head,” the man muttered. He spoke with the carefree ease of a man whose friendship went back to boyhood.

  And perhaps it was the misery that came from being alone with torturous thoughts about the one woman who would never belong to him, even with the ultimate irony of their names being irrevocably interlinked. Or perhaps it was the absolute silence he’d lived in since her parting. Or mayhap it was that it was his birthday, a day not a single person gave a jot about, and he spent it alone.

  Grudgingly, Cedric shoved his bottle across the table and motioned for a footman. The liveried servant rushed over with a glass and then bowing, he backed away.

  In a remarkable show of constraint, Montfort poured himself a glass and remained silent. Once more, Cedric returned to skimming his bored gaze over the guests scattered about the club. Nearly the end of the Season, many of the respectable members had already rushed off for the countryside, leaving only the most dissolute reprobates who dragged their proverbial heels, all to keep the mindless amusements of the London Season alive.

  …The sky is bluer and when you lay on the grass and stare up at the sky you see nothing but an endless blue, so that you think you can stretch your fingers up and touch the heavens…

  He closed his eyes a moment and when he opened them, Montfort was staring back. “I am leaving for Somerset this weekend. The summer hunt and all.” Montfort winged an eyebrow up. “Would you care to join?”

  The only thing borrowed of respectability for the earl’s hunts was, in fact, the name itself. Members of the ton well knew the scandalous affair hosted by Montfort each summer. Just a year ago, there had been no question of whether Cedric would have been in attendance. Where else would he be? Now, regret stuck like a thousand dull blades at the remembrance of the last wicked affair he’d attended. “I am afraid, I’m otherwise occupied.” He inclined his head.

  Montfort sipped his drink. “You are certain? I am to have some inventive—”

  “Quite,” he easily interjected.

  The earl quirked his lips up in a half-grin and gave his head a slow, wry shake. “By damn, I never thought I would have seen it. It was a wager I’d have staked the rest of my meager coffers on.”

  Cedric looked quizzically back.

  “The day the Marquess of St. Albans fell in love.” A mottled flush stained the earl’s cheeks and he swiftly yanked at his cravat.

  Of course, rakes didn’t fall in love and they certainly didn’t discuss that sentiment written in sonnets and songs. “Some ladies are worth giving up all for.” He fisted his glass hard. Only he hadn’t given anything up. He’d continued to live his nights as a bachelor. Yes, there had never been another woman since he’d made Genevieve his wife, but he’d carried on separately. Because I was a coward. Ultimately, he’d always known he would hurt her. “You’ll find that someday.”

  The earl choked on his drink. “Yes, well, taking in your state,” he motioned to Cedric. “Morose and miserable, old fellow… I’m quite content to carry on with an equally base lady who wants nothing more than pleasure in my arms.”

  Yes, there had been a time when he had thought that very same thing. He’d craved an emotionless, empty entanglement and offered nothing more than that. He’d offered Genevieve her freedom to carry on as she wished and with whom she wished. Then, in a display of the utmost irony that the devil himself would have found hilarity in, Cedric wanted a life with her—a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. He swirled the contents of his drink.

  “Will you retire to the country for the summer?”

  He’d not given much thought to where he’d go or what he’d do. He’d given no thought to anything but Genevieve. “I’ve not decided,” he said at last. He thought to a discussion, too long ago.

  …It’s hard to approve of wagering. Particular wagering that sees a man divested of his properties…

  There had never been anything honorable about him. Even his half-hearted attempts to restore that property to rights, were merely an extension of the shiftless life he’d lived.

  Montfort finished his drink and set it down on the table.

  Cedric motioned to the bottle but the other man waved him off. “I am going to visit Forbidden Pleasures.” He stole a glance about. “Being in this place is like being in Sunday sermons.”

  A wry smile pulled at Cedric’s lips. Not long ago, he’d have been of the exact mindset.

  “Will you join me?” Montfort offered as he pushed back his seat.

  He waved his hand. “You go on without me.” His days of disreputable clubs were at an end. The wickedness found in those hells had once provided a diversion from the tedium of an otherwise empty life. No longer.

  His friend hesitated. For even with his betrayal, and even as Cedric would forever be wary of his loyalty, desperation made a man do rash things…and they went back years to some of the loneliest of Cedric’s life. “Happy Birthday, chap.”

  He mustered a smile.

  The earl stood, but did not leave. He hovered at the edge of the table. “For what it is worth,” he said, clearing his throat. “I am sorry for betraying you.” He gave a lopsided grin. “But then, mayhap you should thank me if you do love the lady?”

  The words hit him like a punch to the belly. Yes, if it hadn’t been for his father and Montfort’s machinations, even now Genevieve would be wed to the ancient, doddering Tremaine. Or mayhap it would have been another… Mayhap it would have been a gentleman who’d seen past her scandal to her beauty
, wit and worth. And God rot his soul for the bastard he was, Cedric was selfish enough to find relief in her belonging to him, instead—if even, just name. “It is fine,” he managed to say. He’d spent his life hating his father and in the end, in the greatest twist, the Duke of Ravenscourt with his maneuverings was responsible for the only happiness Cedric had ever truly known.

  “Are you certain you don’t wish to—”

  “I am certain,” he cut in. For the unexpected had happened. He’d been tamed, won, and enchanted enough so that all those amusements held no appeal.

  Montfort dropped a bow and then wandered off. Cedric stared at his retreat and then resumed his study of the glass in his hands. He existed in this peculiar limbo of life. In the three weeks since Genevieve had left, not a moment of his day was spent not thinking of her. Is she happy? Is she sketching? Did she miss him?

  He thrust aside the pondering, even now. She’d been quite clear when she’d ordered him away, that anything she’d felt for him, nay, the love she’d carried, had died. So when he readied Wicked to set out after her, he’d promptly climbed down. He’d been a selfish bastard since the moment she’d exploded into his world. In this, he would make the ultimate sacrifice—giving her freedom…from even him. After all, why should she want him? What had he brought her, other than heartache?

  Then, he’d never been a very good person to anyone. He’d never put another person before himself. Setting down his drink, he came to his feet and made his way through White’s. He absently inclined his head in greetings for the respectable lords who raised their hands.

  The servant at the front drew the door open and, with a murmur of thanks, he stepped outside. Collecting the reins of his mount from a waiting street urchin, Cedric turned over a purse with a small fortune in it for the youth and froze. The green of the lad’s eyes and the ginger crop of curls tucked under his cap, held him suspended, as he envisioned another child. A child who’d almost been, but would now never be. A child he’d never wanted. Pain cleaved his heart, raw and real, and agonizing for it.