To Tempt a Rake

by Cara Elliott

  “They will still be here tomorrow,” said Kate with a fond smile.

  “Which might not be said for you, if you are too addlepated to sense that this heat is dangerous for a lady of your years.” Cluyne’s voice floated over them like a dark cloud.

  Charlotte’s color deepened. “I beg your pardon?” She rose with great dignity and lifted her nose in the air. The effect was only slightly marred by the dollop of mud on its tip.

  The duke coughed. If it hadn’t been Cluyne, Kate would have thought the sound was a smothered laugh.

  “Allow me to rephrase the remark, Lady Fenimore. As host, I am concerned with the safety and welfare of my guests. The sun is bright, creating an oppressive heat inside the glass, so I kindly request that you refrain from further use of the conservatory today.”

  “Well, put that way, it is a sensible, scientific reason.” Charlotte fanned her cheeks. “Excuse me while I go make myself presentable for nuncheon.” To Kate she added, “I shall see you on the terrace, my dear.”

  “I had better go change as well,” murmured Kate, after her friend had marched off.

  The duke seemed distracted by the swoosh of Charlotte’s skirts. It took him a moment to reply. “I would like you to join in the archery game, if you please. We have few enough ladies to lighten the mood.” He paused. “And Colonel Von Seilig voiced his hope that you would be present.”

  So far, her grandfather had made few requests. “Very well, sir. Though I do hope you will not press Lady Charlotte into joining the sport. She would much rather read.”

  “I didn’t imagine she would care to play Robin Hood.”

  Kate wasn’t keen on the idea either, but she had promised to take part in the activities, and the Prussian was a pleasant gentleman. “Well, then, if you will excuse me, I will see whether I have a Lincoln-green gown.”

  Still feeling a little disoriented by his encounter with Kate, Marco rose early, dressed himself, and made his way down to the stables.

  “I was wondering whether you would actually manage to show up at this hour.” Tappan was waiting with the saddled horses. “Did you sleep well?” he inquired.

  “I am unused to the country,” muttered Marco, aware that he looked like hell. “I was plagued by strange dreams.”

  Tappan laughed. “You probably miss the coal smoke and the racket of the carriages clattering over the streets.”

  “What I miss are the caresses of a luscious ladybird.”

  “What? The song of a morning dove was not an acceptable substitute?” bantered Tappan.

  Marco muttered a curse.

  “There is something to see at Hillcrest House that might put you in a better humor. Once we have fetched the books for the ladies, we shall take a look.” As they set their mounts into a leisurely trot on the bridle path leading down past the lake, Tappan chatted about rare illustrated books in his estate library. “I appreciate their beauty, but since my father beggared the family coffers with his extravagant spending, I cannot afford to add to my collection. Of course, it doesn’t begin to compare to the duke’s vast holdings. But I do have a few things that he does not.”

  “I am sure the ladies will be grateful,” said Marco.

  “Yes, I’ve heard that Miss Woodbridge is a bluestocking and has quite an interest in plants. In fact, she seems to favor them over any interest in balls or beaus.” He paused a fraction. “I’ve heard that she had a rather odd upbringing. She only came to live with the duke a year ago, when her parents died. Her father was an American sea captain. But then, she is a good friend of your cousin, so you would know better.”

  Tappan was clearly fishing for information but Marco was not in the mood to bite. He simply shrugged.

  After waiting for a few more moments, Tappan tried another approach. “She’s a rather strange young lady. She appears to shun Society. Seems shy, almost mousy in company.”

  There were many adjectives one could use to describe Kate Woodbridge, thought Marco. But ‘mousy’ was not one of them.

  “Maybe she’s just bored by the ton,” he replied. Up ahead was a gate in the high hedgerow, giving entrance to Tappan’s lands. “Is there a reason you wanted to meet with me in private?” he asked brusquely.

  Tappan flicked his crop. “Nothing pressing. Just thought I’d inform you that I will be departing earlier than expected for Vienna. After tomorrow, you will be on your own here. I’ve written down instructions for how to contact Whitehall if anything urgent arises.” As he dismounted to open the gate latch, he shot Marco a sidelong look. “By the by, what the devil does Lynsley do for the Secretary of State for War? He makes some very odd requests of my department, and yet they jump through hoops to comply.”

  Marco kept his expression bland. “Haven’t a clue.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it can’t be very serious, seeing as they have chosen you to be here.”

  He feigned a yawn. “Hell, I hope not. Being serious is way too fatiguing.”

  Tappan laughed.

  “The truth is, Lynsley is an old friend of my father,” lied Marco. “Knowing that I was acquainted with some of the diplomats here, he asked me to come take part in the party and keep my ears open for any interesting conversations that I overhear.”

  “Have you? Heard anything interesting, that is.”

  “Powietski wears a corset—the stays creak when he bends. And Ludlowe hates strawberry jam. No wonder you English think the Americans uncivilized.”

  “I doubt Lynsley will lose any sleep waiting for that information.” Swinging back into the saddle, Tappan spurred his mount for the rolling meadow. “Follow me. We’ll take a shortcut up to the manor.”

  “Charlotte?” Catching her friend’s reflection in the cheval glass, Kate turned around in alarm. In contrast to its earlier flushed color, Charlotte’s face was now a queasy shade of white. “Is something amiss? You look like you have seen a ghost.”

  “I have… in a manner of speaking.” She held up a large book, its tooled leather cover stamped with ornate gilt lettering. “This was on my dressing table, along with a copy of Les Fleurs Alpines de Haute Savoie.”

  “How odd. Have you any idea how they got there?” Her grandfather was very strict about letting valuable books out of the library. Kate suddenly felt her jaw tighten. “Don’t worry. I won’t allow Cluyne to blame you for any confusion on the part of his servants.”

  Charlotte made a strange little sound in her throat. “There doesn’t seem to be any confusion.” She passed over a sheet of crested stationery.

  Kate skimmed the short note. There was no mistaking the writing—it was Cluyne’s distinctive script.

  Lady Fenimore,

  I purchased these books because I could not bear to see them fall under the knife. Now that I am aware of their true owner, I cannot in good conscience keep them in my possession any longer.

  It was signed with a sweeping C.

  “Well, this is a surprise,” murmured Kate.

  “That is putting it mildly.” Charlotte sat down rather heavily on the bed. “Damn the man.”

  “Don’t you want them?” asked Kate.

  A finger traced the lettering on the age-darkened leather. “For years I’ve said that I would give my eyeteeth to get these back. They are very special to me.”

  “Then what is the problem?”

  “The problem is, I don’t have anything but my teeth to offer in exchange. I can guess what Cluyne paid for these, and I cannot afford to pay him back.” She laid the book on the counterpane. “I’ll bring the other one in. Kindly return them to him.”

  “Charlotte, it is clear that he does not expect any recompense,” said Kate softly. “He is just trying to… do the right thing.”

  “As am I.” Her friend’s mouth quivered ever so slightly. “The duke is not the only one who has his pride.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, Cluyne can well afford it.”

  “That is not the point,” insisted Charlotte. “It is a matter of principle. I do
not wish to be in his debt.”

  Kate understood the feeling all too well. An independent-minded female had to fight a constant battle to keep her spirit from being squashed. But perhaps pride and principle could once in a while bend without breaking.

  “You don’t owe him anything,” she reasoned. “Look at it this way—he has a moral obligation to return stolen property. He is merely righting your husband’s wrong.”

  The steel in Charlotte’s eyes wavered just a little as she slanted a longing glance at the book. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say thank you,” murmured Kate, and then added her own silent whisper of gratitude to her grandfather. She had the oddest feeling that he was acting not just out of duty, but also some other emotion. Cluyne showing compassion? The idea was hard to accept. And yet…

  “Thank you.” Charlotte’s voice was tentative as she tested out the words. “I suppose that’s not too hard to swallow.” Her hand hovered above the book. “You are sure?”

  “Quite,” answered Kate firmly. “Now go finish dressing.”

  “Miss Woodbridge and her friend should enjoy studying these engravings.” Tappan wrapped the rare books and placed them in a leather travel case. “But before we ride back, let me give you a look at something that we definitely won’t be showing to the ladies.”

  He led the way outdoors and crossed through the back gardens to a large stone pavilion overlooking the lake. At first glance, it looked to be a copy of a classical Greek temple. But as they approached the colonnaded entrance, Marco noticed that the walls were solid marble, save for a single row of narrow diamond-paned windows set just below the lip of the roof.

  Taking a key from his pocket, Tappan opened the lock. “This collection was purchased by my grandfather from a Turkish pasha, whose tastes ran to the…” The hinges groaned as he eased the heavy iron portal open. “Well, see for yourself, Ghiradelli.”

  Marco had been prepared for something exotic, but the sight that met his eyes made him blink. “Good God,” he murmured.

  “Yes, but only a pagan deity would have wrought such creations,” quipped Tappan.

  Indeed, the place was a paradise of… sculpted sin. Marco stepped inside the pleasure palace and looked around at the marble statues on display. The theme was the same—sexual gratification. But the variety of positions was highly creative.

  Viewing pornography usually sparked only a mild amusement. But this was somehow different. Seeing things larger than life gave sex a new dimension. It was hard to remain entirely unmoved.

  Tappan seemed to sense his reaction. “A man would have to be made of stone not to find this somewhat interesting. The sheer scale…”

  “Is impressive,” finished Marco.

  Both men slowly grinned.

  There was a stretch of silence as they wandered through the statues, stopping now and again to take in all the different angles.

  “Interesting. Having done a great deal of experimenting in the matter, I am not quite sure that a flesh-and-blood body could bend into that position,” murmured Marco. “But one might die happy for trying.”

  “My grandfather occasionally entertained his friends here,” said Tappan as he strolled over to a pair of satyrs with monstrous erections who were wrestling over a flagon of wine. Bathed in sunlight, the stone seemed almost alive. “From what I have heard, the parties became rather wild.”

  It didn’t require much imagination to picture the proceedings.

  “So, it appears that the famed English stiff upper lip extended to other parts of the old baron’s anatomy,” quipped Marco.

  “For the most part, he was a staid, sober fellow. But I daresay we all have some primal passions lurking inside us.” Tappan gave a last look around. “We had better be going if we are to get back to Cluyne Close in time for nuncheon.”

  “I daresay the duke’s party would grow more lively if we brought the guests here after the evening meal.”

  “Can you imagine the look on Cluyne’s face? Lud, I’d give a monkey to see his reaction.” Tappan gave a bark of laughter. “As for the ladies, they would likely swoon with shock.”

  Not all of them, thought Marco. Somehow he couldn’t picture Kate falling into a fit of megrims. She would likely get out her magnifying glass and subject the statues to a thorough examination—and then afterward offer a critique on all the minute errors the artist had made.

  “And I daresay the Prussian colonel would be terribly confused,” went on Tappan with a snigger. “He seems so straightlaced, I have a feeling that he sleeps in his uniform.”

  “Some women find that braid and medals excite their imagination.”

  “I should think those rough edges would be awfully uncomfortable rubbing up against certain places.”

  “One man’s pleasure is another’s poison,” remarked Marco.

  Dust motes danced in the air as Tappan ran a hand over a nymph’s lush buttocks. “Yes, that’s true,” he murmured. “To each his own.”

  What passions did Tappan have lurking inside his breast? wondered Marco idly. Outwardly, the fellow seemed to embody the perfect qualities for a diplomat—an affable temperament, polished manners, and a quick intelligence. Yet as the baron slowly stroked the smooth marble, Marco saw the tautness in the tiny muscles of his hand.

  The pressures of the upcoming peace conference were enormous, he reminded himself. England and the other major powers would be responsible for remaking the map of Europe. The intrigue would be thicker than a London fog, swirling old enmities and sworn alliances into a haze of noxious shadows.

  “Vienna will be an orgy of self-interest,” mused Marco. Subterfuge and secrets. Suddenly curious, he asked, “Are you looking forward to the trip?”

  Tappan held his palm still on the sculpted thigh. “It promises to be an interesting interlude,” he replied slowly. “Though I shall be little more than a glorified clerk in Castlereagh’s delegation, I hope I may have some influence on the outcome of things.”

  “A noble sentiment,” drawled Marco. “I wish you luck.”

  “You don’t care how the Continent is carved up?”

  “Not particularly. You politicians are welcome to wield your blades, just as long as it doesn’t upset my little world of brandy and boudoirs.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Well done, Mr. Ludlowe,” called Rochambert. “So far, your arrow has hit closest to the bull’s-eye.”

  Lady Caroline Chitworth tittered. So far, observed Kate, the eldest daughter of the Countess of Hammond seemed incapable of coherent speech. She had heard nothing but giggles and sighs from the chit.

  “Who is next?” asked the American, stepping back from the chalked line.

  Von Seilig reached out for the bow. “I will take a try.”

  “I fear your military training gives you an unfair advantage over us,” said Rochambert. “Perhaps you should be required to move back several paces.”

  “It has been over a century since we Prussians fought with arrows and clubs, monsieur.”

  Kate hid a smile. She hadn’t expected to enjoy herself among strangers, but the colonel was proving to be very pleasant company. He had spent much of the nuncheon with her, much to Lady Duxbury’s ire. Even now, the countess was glowering at her.

  Ignoring the barbed looks, she turned her attention back to Von Seilig. His dry wit and inquisitive mind defied the preconceived notion that all Germans were dull and humorless. He was well-read and his knowledge of plants was particularly impressive. The harsh climate of the Baltic coast did not allow much latitude for fieldwork.

  But the colonel’s hidden facets were not the only surprise. Kate angled a glance around the lawns, looking for the bearish bulk of her grandfather among the other guests awaiting their turn to shoot. Oddly enough, he was nowhere to be seen. He had been conspicuously absent at the outdoor nuncheon as well.

  It wasn’t like Cluyne to duck his duty as a host.

  Twang. An arrow whizzed through the air.

  But
perhaps it was her own judgments that were sailing wide of the mark.

  “Bull’s-eye!” called Marco from his perch atop the terrace railing. “Come Vronskov, can you match that?”

  The Russian made a haughty face and waved off the challenge. “I am not a Cossack. Such sport is too primitive for me.”

  “I have no such qualms.” Tappan removed his coat and stepped to the line.

  “That is because you sturdy English yeomen are renowned for your prowess as archers,” called Marco with a waggish grin. “Have a care, Rochambert—remember Agincourt!”

  Lady Caroline’s loud laugh provoked a tight-lipped glare from the Frenchman.

  Kate refused to join in the laughter. Lud, was the man always seeking to stir up trouble? What a foolish question. He seemed to seize every opportunity of getting under someone’s skin.

  Which begged the question of what he intended to do about Naples. A prickling teased at the nape of her neck, like tiny knifepoints teasing against her flesh. She didn’t dare think of what damage he could do. A whisper or two was all it would take…

  “Alas, I am afraid we may have to end our archery competition early.” Tappan displayed the limp cord, which had slipped loose from the bow. “The notch has worn away on one of the ends,” he explained after a closer inspection. “I don’t think a new knot will hold.”

  “That should not be too difficult to repair.” Kate automatically reached into the hidden pocket sewn into her skirts. Old habits died hard—she never went anywhere without her knife. It was crafted with a silver handle, semiprecious stones, and a blade of Toledo steel. Lovely, but lethal, the weapon had been a birthday gift from her father, who had also taught her how to use it. He believed that a female ought to be able to defend herself from any danger.

  She rose. “May I have a look?”

  Quirking a wry smile at the flash of steel, the baron handed it over. “I am not inclined to argue.”

  With a few quick strokes, she cut a groove into the wooden tip and shaved away the rough edges. “Try that.”