To Tempt a Rake

by Cara Elliott

  Marco brushed a hand over his disheveled coat and cravat. He had found the note requesting his presence waiting for him when he returned to his lodgings an hour ago. As it had sounded urgent, he hadn’t bothered to change his clothing or to shave. “Why would I want to do that?”

  Lynsley shrugged his well-tailored shoulders. “So you don’t end up a bloated, pox-ridden carcass by the age of thirty. But, of course, your life is entirely your own affair.”

  Shoving a tangle of hair back from his brow, Marco curled a cocky smile. “I’ll have you know, my carcass was just a few hours ago compared to the body of a Roman god.”

  Lynsley refilled his teacup. “Ah, I’m impressed that your latest whore knows the difference between Roman and Greek deities. I take it you have moved to the Grotto of Venus.”

  In spite of his muzzy head and a mouth that felt filled with dried horse droppings, Marco managed a laugh. “Madame Erato charges enough that she could hire the whole damn faculty from Oxford to teach her girls the nuances of ancient history.”

  “Somehow I think she would choose to spend her money on other sorts of instruction,” said Lynsley dryly. “Now, do you mind if we switch the subject from your pego to politics? Or do you need another few moments for the coffee to move from your belly to your brain?” A pause. “Assuming you haven’t left it behind in some bordello.”

  “Madre mio, have you never misbehaved?” Marco pressed his palms to his throbbing temples. “No, don’t answer that. Your nobility will only make me feel worse.”

  Lynsley chuckled. “Come along to my study.”

  Marco quickly drained his cup and rose to follow him. The prospect of an assignment had already piqued his interest. A new challenge was just what he needed to pull himself out a blue-deviled mood.

  For the last few years he had been working as a clandestine agent for Lynsley. The marquess’s position as a minor minister at Whitehall disguised his true role as head of a secret government intelligence force. Most people thought him a bland bureaucrat, but Marco knew better. Some of the stories he had heard about Lynsley’s youthful exploits were… impressive, to say the least.

  “Have a seat,” said the marquess, indicating one of the comfortable leather chairs set near a bank of arched leaded-glass windows. He took up a portfolio of papers from his desk and perched a hip on the polished oak. “I assume you haven’t been so busy with your personal affairs that you are unaware of the upcoming Congress of European powers that is scheduled to take place in Vienna. Some of the delegations are already in place.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of the Congress,” said Marco, repressing a yawn. “But the whores at the Grotto of Venus make Vienna and a gathering of pompous aristocrats seem very far away.”

  The marquess regarded him over the top of his gold-rimmed reading spectacles. “Shall I ask McDuffy to undertake this assignment? Your European title and connections would be extremely useful, but the job is going to require discretion, diplomacy, and a sharp eye for observing the nuances of behavior. None of which seems to be your strong points of late.”

  Marco straightened from his slouch. “You think I can’t rise to the occasion?”

  One well-groomed brow arched. “If I were asking you to infiltrate a brothel, there would be little question about whether you could function effectively.”

  “What is the blasted mission?” he asked. “It must be damn important, seeing as you summoned me here at the crack of dawn.”

  Lynsley took a handful of documents out of the case, but made no move to pass them over. “The Foreign Office has arranged for a lavish house party to be held at a country estate in Kent. The guests will include a number of diplomats from the various foreign embassies here in London, as well as some influential noblemen from the Continent.”

  He pursed his lips in thought. “It may turn out to be a purely social gathering, but with the Congress of Vienna slated to convene in short order, I think it prudent to know what is being said and done among the various European powers. If some intrigue is afoot, we need to know about it.”

  “A damn house party.” Marco sank back against the soft leather, feeling disappointed. He was restless and bored. What he needed was action to distract him from mindless revelries.

  Paper crackled as the marquess started to return the documents to the portfolio. “I had asked that your name be added to the guest list.” Lynsley’s voice was unruffled, but Marco thought he detected a note of reproach.

  But perhaps it was just his own conscience speaking. Lynsley did not ask a favor lightly. To balk was churlish.

  “However,” continued Lynsley, “I shall request that the Duke of Cluyne replace it with that of McDuffy.”

  Cluyne. Despite the brandy still pickling his brain, Marco recognized the name. “Isn’t he the grandfather of Kate Woodbridge, who is part of my cousin Alessandra’s circle of scientific friends?”

  “Yes.”

  The prospect of a house party no longer seemed quite so bland.

  He held out his hand. “Let me have a look at your bloody notes. McDuffy is as clumsy as a Highland ox when it comes to understanding the nuances of Continental manners. He’ll make a muck of the job.”

  The marquess fixed him with a penetrating stare. “If you are looking for bed sport, stay here in London. This assignment isn’t about playing with your bat and balls. I need someone who will not be distracted from the task at hand.” His expression hardened. “Not to speak of the fact that Miss Woodbridge is not fair game. The duke would have your guts for garters. And I’d be lending him my tailor to sew the stitches.”

  Marco felt the sting of Lynsley’s words. “Granted, I haven’t been acting very professionally of late,” he admitted. “But you can count on me to… come up to scratch, so to speak.”

  The marquess regarded him for a long moment before slowly handing over the papers. “Here are the dossiers on the guests whom I wish to watch.” His gaze was as cold as slivered ice. “I trust you won’t make me regret this decision.”

  Marco felt its chill penetrate through his usual cocksure banter. The marquess was in no mood for joking. “Have I ever let you down, amico?” he asked softly.

  “No,” replied Lynsley. “Which is the reason I am going against my better judgment now.” He rose and took up the Sicilian stiletto that served as his letter opener. “I won’t say it again, but I need you to stay sharp. Your last job was successful, but you were a little sloppy. A little reckless.”

  Marco could think of no clever comment.

  “I’ll leave you to read over the papers.” Flipping the razored blade into the air, Lynsley caught it by the jeweled hilt and placed it back on his blotter. “I will return in an hour. If you’re still of a mind to take the assignment, we’ll go over the other details.”

  “How nice to have us all together, even if it’s only for a very short while.” The scholarly part of their meeting completed, Charlotte began to pour tea. “I think we can be forgiven for rushing through the scientific agenda in order to indulge in a comfortable coze.”

  “I do feel a little guilty about not going over Ratherson’s essay on mercury fulminite more carefully,” said Ciara, the chemistry expert of the group. “I promise to draft a rebuttal as soon as Lucas and I return from our visit to Sir Henry’s estate.”

  “You have had other responsibilities, my dear,” murmured Charlotte. “As has Ariel.”

  Kate glanced at the two—no, make that three—newly wed members of their group. “Thank God we have heard the last chime of wedding bells. My ears were beginning to ring.”

  Alessandra broke off a bit of shortbread. “Don’t be so smug. You are still single.”

  “And plan to stay that way,” she replied forcefully.

  “Ha, that’s what I said.” Ariel, who at age sixty-five was two years younger than her sister Charlotte, chuckled.

  “Better late than never,” quipped Ciara. Ariel had recently married for the first time and was the subject of some good-natured teasing from h
er friends.

  “I admit that you look no worse for the experience,” said Kate dryly. “But trust me, marriage is not in my future plans.”

  “As a scientist, you ought to know that sometimes things simply happen in nature,” pointed out Alessandra. She winked at the others. “You know, like spontaneous combustion.”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” said Kate, echoing the merry laughter with considerably less mirth. She made a face. “You are welcome to your little jokes. But in all seriousness, I don’t think marriage would suit me at all.”

  The truth was, after all her nomadic travels, she couldn’t picture herself settling down to a normal English life with a husband and a household. However, she did not wish to throw a splash of cold water in the face of her friends by sounding sardonic, so she left it at that. They were clearly happy with their choice in life.

  As she was with hers.

  As the laughter died away, Ariel cleared her throat. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us in the country?” She and her husband, Sir Henry Phelps, had invited Alessandra and Black Jack Pierson to stop for a visit before heading on for a wedding trip to Italy. It promised to be a lively gathering, for Ciara and Lucas would also be present, along with her young son and Alessandra’s daughter, who were the best of friends.

  Yet somehow Kate was a little relieved at having an excuse to demur. Given her current unsettled mood, the prospect of being surrounded by familial bliss wasn’t overly appealing at the moment. “I’m sorry, but I promised Cluyne that I would attend his house party. We haven’t been getting on terribly well of late, so I ought not rock the boat by changing my mind.” She looked at Ariel’s sister. “But really, Charlotte, you need not feel compelled to join me. I wouldn’t blame you in the least for withdrawing.”

  Charlotte waved off the suggestion. “I think that this first wave of marital merriment is best left to newlyweds,” she said with her usual blunt frankness. “Besides, I know things are not overly comfortable between you and your grandfather, so I wouldn’t want to leave you alone to face a houseful of strangers.”

  “I am perfectly capable of fending for myself,” replied Kate.

  “That goes without saying. However, my offer isn’t entirely altruistic. I am very curious to see the duke’s famous conservatory, and look forward to spending some time examining its treasures.”

  “I confess, it’s one of the reasons I said yes to Cluyne,” admitted Kate. “I haven’t spent as much time there as I would like.”

  “You still call him ‘Cluyne,’ not ‘Grandfather’?” asked Ciara softly. “For all your differences, you are still family.”

  Kate felt her jaw tighten. “A fact that no doubt pains him every time he sees me enter one of the rooms of his gilded mansions. A wild weed among all his carefully cultivated blooms.”

  “A shared interest in botany gives you some common ground,” pointed out Alessandra. “Perhaps if you tried to dig beneath the old resentments…”

  “Yes, we, of all people, understand how difficult family relationships can be,” added Ciara.

  “Thank you for the advice,” said Kate softly. “But I am afraid that just because you all have solved your own problems doesn’t mean you can solve mine.” Expelling a long sigh, she stared down at the dregs in her cup, wishing the dark tea leaves might provide some hint of her future. “The truth is, I have been contemplating whether to leave England. For good.”

  “That is a very serious decision, my dear,” said Charlotte after a fraction of a pause.

  “Yes. And not one that I have rushed into,” replied Kate. “I have been here for over a year.” She pushed her cup away. “And have never felt more like an outsider. None of you are forced to mingle with the other unmarried young ladies of the ton and listen to their silly schoolgirl prattle. They know of naught but the schoolroom and the pristine polished ballrooms of Mayfair, while I have sailed to some of the roughest hellholes in the world and experienced things they can’t even dream about.”

  “I don’t blame you for finding the balls and soirees boring.” Ciara smiled in sympathy. “However, look at the rays of sunshine among the dark clouds. You met us, and you are a member of several other Societies that offer intelligent conversation and discuss interesting ideas.”

  “I—I would miss all of you very much,” said Kate. “With all my family’s wanderings…” She let her voice trail off, suddenly afraid of revealing too much. Her nomadic life had been painfully lonely at times, and so the wit and warmth and wisdom of her fellow ‘Sinners’ was special beyond words. But she had learned from years of hardscrabble experience to keep her feelings hidden. Only the strong survived. She was tough, and self-reliant. She didn’t need to burden her friends with maudlin reminiscences.

  “With all my family’s wanderings,” she resumed, taking care to sound nonchalant, “I’ve seen how very big the world is, and how many possibilities there are for an adventurous spirit.”

  “Of course we shall support you in whatever you decide to do,” said Charlotte. “But I hope you will give it some more thought.”

  “Yes,” chimed in Ariel. “Why not at least wait until the end of the year before coming to any final decision. Remember, the Amsterdam Tulip Society is presenting a symposium here in London on the history of the flower, which promises to be quite fascinating.”

  Alessandra couldn’t help but laugh. “Only our little group would use science as an enticement, rather than men or fashion.”

  “Thank God for that,” murmured Kate.

  “Really, Ariel has an excellent point,” said Ciara.

  “Very well.” Kate surveyed her close-knit circle of friends, realizing with a pang how much she would miss their company. “I’m in no hurry to spread my sails, so to speak. So I’ll weather the present squall at anchor. Perhaps, as you say, brighter days lie beyond the horizon.”

  But she wouldn’t count on it.

  The papers slid across the polished desktop with a whispery sigh.

  Lynsley looked up from reading a set of reports from the English embassy in St. Petersburg. “Are you in or out—metaphorically speaking, of course. If you take the assignment, I expect that the only rigid element of your person will be your sense of decorum.”

  “No seducing another man’s wife?” said Marco. He set his mouth in a slight sneer. “You may be impervious to fleshly desires, amico, but to expect me to go without female company for over a fortnight is asking a lot.”

  The marquess drew the documents across his blotter. “As I said, I can assign—”

  “However, considering the circumstances, I shall put business before pleasure,” drawled Marco. “Though God knows why.”

  Lynsley’s well-groomed brows quirked up. “Your better nature usually rises to the occasion, in spite of yourself.”

  Answering with a growled obscenity, Marco turned away and went to stand by the mullioned windows. Outside, a gardener was busy pruning a row of rose bushes. Snip, snip, snip. The withered blooms disappeared into a burlap bag.

  If only it were so easy to cut off the dried, dead bits of one’s life, mused Marco. Perhaps, then, fresh greenery might grow from the scars.

  Turn over a new leaf?

  His self-mocking smile was reflected in the glass. “I assume it’s Von Seilig, Vronskov, and Rochambert that you wish to watch most closely.”

  “Precisely,” replied Lynsley. “But that does not mean I have ruled out the others. Someone else may also be intent on making mischief.”

  “I rather hope so,” said Marco. “Otherwise the assignment is going to be a dead bore.” Rising, he gave a lazy stretch. “Well, seeing as I have to depart on the day after tomorrow, I had better sate myself with London’s pleasures while I still have the chance.”

  “Marco—”

  “Yes, yes, amico, I know.” He gave a martyred sigh. “I must be good while I am in Kent. But in the meantime, allow me a last little fling at being bad.”

  Chapter Five

  Kate hurried across the
street, anxious to purchase several newly published reference books for the trip to Kent before the tiny shop closed for its midday break.

  “Sort of like carrying coals to Newcastle,” said her maid, looking around at the crowded cases and leather-bound volumes stacked on the floor. “I mean, it seems a mite odd that ye need to buy any books. Your grandfather’s library in the country looks like it holds every word ever printed.”

  “The particular ones I want have just arrived from the university at St. Andrews. Charlotte is most anxious to see them.” After making her selections, Kate consulted her list of other errands. “We must fetch a package at the milliner and then make a stop at the mantua maker.”

  Alice nodded. “You forgot about Madame Celeste’s shop. She has made up three new evening gowns for your grandfather’s house party.”

  “Right.” Kate made a face. “I’d be happy enough to pass the time in my work smock and wooden clogs.”

  “I doubt His Nibs would approve of sitting down with his fancy company dressed in dirt.”

  “Right,” repeated Kate tightly. “I’m already a stain on his name.”

  Her maid shot her a reproving look.

  Heaving a sigh, Kate tucked the paper back into her reticule. “Don’t worry, I will be a dutiful granddaughter and behave spotlessly in Kent. But if I am to be cooped up with a houseful of boring diplomats for a fortnight, I would like to use my last afternoon in London to get a breath of fresh air.”

  “Miss Katharine,” began Alice, a note of warning shading her voice.

  “I have hours before His Grace requires my presence for supper.”

  Alice frowned. “But you—”

  “Yes, yes, I know—I must be very careful. And I am!” replied Kate. “I am always well-shrouded when we leave the duke’s residence, and we always take a hansom cab, so I don’t see that the risk is very great.”

  “I suppose not,” said Alice grudgingly. “But I still say you are taking a risk.”

  “Yes, well, without an occasional risk to spice things up, life would be dreadfully bland here in England.”