To Ruin a Rake

by Liana Lefey

  “I know what you’re on about,” she countered. “It won’t work. I’ll tell Papa—”

  “Do so, and he’ll refuse to allow you within a hundred paces of that Hospital as long as I am present. Which will be daily from now on.”

  Fingers of ice clutched her spine. “You intend to make it so unpleasant for me to be there that I am driven away. And if that doesn’t work, then you plan to give the false impression of interest in me until I am forced to tell my father the truth so that he will forbid my being anywhere near you.”

  “I would never be so cruel as to force you out, Harriett. I know what the place means to you. But you and I are going to have to reach some sort of an agreement. If you wish to remain at the Hospital in your current capacity, it will have to be on my terms.”

  “And what terms are those, exactly?”

  “What is keeping you?” called Cat from up ahead, sounding much put out.

  He leaned closer. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until Monday to find out,” he whispered, grinning. Turning to face her sister, he called back, “Nothing, poppet. Just a question your sister had concerning the renovations in the east wing.”

  Poppet? Harriett ground her teeth as Cat giggled—she was acting, of course, but her coquettish manner with him still rubbed her the wrong way. She didn’t care to explore why it bothered her—but it did. A lot.

  “But I thought we were to discuss something besides that, Your Grace,” whined her sister. “Did you not give me leave to choose the topic of our dinner conversation?”

  “Indeed I did, and I am nothing if not a man of my word,” he said, shooting Harriett a loaded glance. He hooked her arm and pulled her along. “Onward, Lady Harriett. Dinner awaits.”

  Given no choice, she acquiesced and led him to the dining room. As they entered, Harriett looked upon the spread with pride and a pang of sadness. The way the table had been set, one might think King George himself were to arrive at any moment. Their best china and silver lay gleaming upon their best tablecloth alongside their best crystal. All of it would be gone by this time next year, thanks to Papa’s mounting debts. She determined to enjoy it while she could, despite the fact it had been dragged out to impress her enemy.

  “No, Catherine,” said Papa as her sister made to sit beside their guest. “You shall sit here beside me.”

  Cat’s wore her disappointment openly, but she did as she was told beneath their father’s stern gaze.

  Harriett would applaud her acting skills later. What had Manchester meant by “terms”? Her mind came up with all sorts of disastrous scenarios, some more calamitous than others—those were mainly inspired by the way he looked at her now as she made her way around the table to take the seat beside him. Her pulse jumped as he stepped in ahead of the footman to hold out her chair for her.

  Taking her place, she refrained from turning to smack his hand away when while pushing her in toward the table his knuckles brushed the back of her neck. Gooseflesh rose all over, and an involuntary shiver ran through her. The faint smirk he wore as he sat down beside her said her reaction had not gone unnoticed.

  Wroth, Harriett fixed her gaze on the plate before her, watching as the soup was served. His sleeve brushed against her arm. Again she shivered. Hoping to avoid a repeat, she leaned away a bit. But it was hopeless.

  Who the devil had placed these chairs so bloody close together? It was a large enough table, yet here they were all crammed together at one end with barely enough room to breathe without making contact with some part of one’s neighbor.

  Her suspicious gaze flew to her father, who sat at the head taking what seemed to be far too much pleasure in his soup. For pity’s sake, the man was humming under his breath as he ate!

  She jerked a little as something touched her foot beneath the table—another foot. Turning, she impaled Manchester with a glare that should have sent him sprawling to the floor in agony. The blackguard ignored her and looked at his soup bowl as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

  Concealed by the table, Harriett lifted her heel and brought it down atop the toes of the offending foot in a grinding motion. Nothing. She rose slightly and placed all of her weight on that heel, disguising the true nature of what was going on by pretending to adjust her skirts.

  A soft hiss of indrawn breath was Manchester’s only indication of pain.

  Triumphant, she settled back down—and with a tiny yelp immediately shot up again. He’d pinched her on the derriere!

  Bending, he retrieved his napkin from the floor. “Pardon me, madam.”

  Her temper flared as his shoulders began to shake. She sat and without bothering to conceal the motion this time kicked him with all her might.

  He let out a muffled grunt.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Your Grace!” she exclaimed. “Please pardon my clumsiness—I’m afraid the heel of my shoe has become caught in my hem.”

  “That’s quite all right, Lady Harriett,” he replied, his laughing eyes further infuriating her. “It is a price I am happy to pay to be in your delightful company. May I assist you in disentangling your foot?”

  Harriett’s cheeks burned. She hoped Manchester’s shin bruised to the marrow! “No thank you, Your Grace. I have managed to free it.”

  “I’m glad you discovered it before attempting to leave the table,” he said with mock sincerity. “Putting one’s foot in the wrong place can be very dangerous.”

  “Oh, it can indeed,” piped Cat as the servants replaced the soup bowls with a course of perfectly roasted duck. “History is full of examples of people who have fallen to their deaths over a simple misplaced step. Harriett has always been a bit accident prone. I worry every time I see her approach a stair in haste. Remember poor Lady Dudley.” She shook her head sadly and sighed. “Tragic.”

  Harriett whipped up her napkin just in time to catch a dribble of wine that escaped her mouth, while Manchester inhaled a bite of duck and was subsequently overtaken by a fit of coughing. She was going to kill Cat later! Her sister along with everyone else knew full well the late Lady Dudley had been allegedly pushed down a staircase by her enraged, cuckolded husband. Her pretended ignorance was beyond the pale.

  “Yes, we should all be a bit more careful, I suppose,” said Papa, his face red. “So, Your Grace, what did you think of our Catherine’s drawings?”

  Manchester smiled. “I prefer the one with the octagonal design. I think it would fit well with the style of your garden. Very nicely done, by the way,” he added, raising his glass.

  “That one was Harriett’s doing.”

  “Yet another talent, Lady Harriett?” said Manchester, turning to her. “You are full of surprises. What other hidden gifts have you, I wonder?” he asked, raising a suggestive brow.

  Kicking him again would have been a real pleasure, but for her father’s benefit Harriett instead smiled sweetly. “A good magician never reveals all of his—or her—tricks.” She returned her attention to her plate, which was now being replenished with a medley of buttered legumes.

  “If you enjoy gardens, then you should come and visit Kimbolton,” said Manchester. “Father hired Brown to redesign ours several years ago. You are all invited, of course.”

  In the periphery, she saw her father’s smile broaden. “We shall be delighted,” he answered. “I understand Lord Cobham recently hired Brown to do for him.”

  “Yes, he has in—”

  “How wonderful!” exclaimed Cat, wriggling with what appeared to be barely contained excitement. “Perhaps I might be inspired to design a gazebo for your garden as well, Your Grace.”

  The beginnings of a groan tried to escape Harriett. She quashed it.

  “I would be most honored, Lady Catherine,” replied Manchester.

  Papa raised his glass. “May our friendship bloom like the gardens we so adore.”

  This time, Harriett did groan aloud, albeit very softly.

  Manchester turned merry eyes on her. “To friendship,” he murmured, takin
g a sip.

  Forced to raise her glass as well, she echoed the sentiment through clenched teeth. After dinner, they returned to the salon, and once again Harriett was forced to walk beside their guest.

  “Lady Harriett, I must say I find your family quite charming.”

  Her answer to the compliment was a glare.

  “Particularly your sister, who seems bent on appearing the fool.”

  Harriett’s heart skipped. “Cat is still very young and immature, Your Grace.”

  “It’s no use, Harriett,” he said, smiling. “I know it’s a sham. I overheard the two of you at the Penworth ball as you were planning your escape—from me. She’s nowhere near this silly or naïve.”

  Instinct told her to freeze as might a mouse when confronted with a snake, but she commanded her legs to continue their forward motion. “Leave her out of this,” she whispered, turning to face him. “Her crime is that she is loyal to me. She knows I dislike you, but nothing of the reasons why.”

  “So she doesn’t know you desire me?”

  Her pulse leaped. “I do not—”

  “Liar,” he said with a low chuckle that made her hot all over. Reaching up, he caressed her cheek with his knuckles. She attempted to bat him away, but he only took her hand in his. “We both know better than that, Harriett.”

  “That is the fourth time today you have touched me without permission,” she said, trying to disengage her hand. Despite her intent to be cool and detached, her voice sounded odd in her own ears, deeper and rough at the edges.

  The friction of his fingertips sliding against her sensitive palm as he slowly let go sent a shiver down the back of her neck.

  “Are you keeping count, my lady?” he said, his lips slanting in a wry grin. “Is my touching you such a momentous event to preoccupy you so?”

  She gaped at him. How was it that he so easily turned everything she said back against her? “You show your lack of maturity, making everything about—” She stopped herself just in time. Her cheeks heated.

  “About?” he prompted, clearly enjoying himself.

  “I refuse to rise to your bait,” she told him, infusing her tone with as much steel as she could muster.

  “Bait? Am I fishing for something, then? What, I wonder?” His light brown eyes gleamed. “I would give you that which you desire but for the presence of others, you know.”

  “My desire is to be as far away from you as possible!” she hissed, whirling away to pursue Papa and Cat.

  Manchester’s quiet laughter followed her.

  The moment they reentered the salon, she turned her back to the men and bade her sister come close. “You can leave off the act now. It’s no use.”

  “Why?” whispered Cat. “What happened back there? I heard him laughing.”

  “I cannot explain now, but suffice it to say I’ve been cornered.”

  “Cornered?” said her sister with quiet alarm.

  Harriett nodded and held a finger to her lips. “All is well. I’ll just have to find a way to be rid of him myself. You cannot help me.”

  “Can you do it on your own?”

  With a nervous glance at the man who had invaded her work, her home, and her life, she sent a fervent prayer heavenward. “I hope so. For the moment, however, I must bide my time and wait for an opportunity to present itself. Until then I’ve no choice but to play along. Now, let us stop all of this whispering before Papa becomes displeased.”

  They talked of the doings of friends and upcoming balls until the menfolk finished their brandy and conversation—which centered on Parliament and Bolingbroke’s attempts to gather support against Walpole. Harriett would have liked to join the discussion, but knew Papa would disapprove.

  It was late when Manchester at last rose and made to depart. “Dunhaven, it has been a most pleasurable evening. Your hospitality is unrivaled, and your company and that of your daughters has been a delight.”

  Her father’s face lit with joy. “Your Grace is too kind. Please know that my humble home is open to you at any time.”

  Manchester bowed before the women. “Lady Catherine, I look forward to seeing you again.” His eyes danced as they met Harriett’s. “And you, my lady—I shall see you on Monday as is customary. We have much to discuss, you and I. The Hospital is undergoing many changes and we must work together to see they are properly executed. Shall we say nine o’ clock?”

  “She will be there with all punctuality,” said her father with enthusiasm.

  The changes at the Hospital were the last thing on Manchester’s mind. Harriett dipped a curtsy and kept her gaze on the carpet lest her wrath be seen by Papa. “Of course, Your Grace.” She stayed behind, contemplating murder as her father saw their guest out.

  “I think Papa likes him,” murmured Cat as the men’s voices faded.

  “How unfortunate—for them both,” Harriett grumbled.

  “You could play this to your advantage, you know.”

  Her sly tone brought Harriett’s head up. “I know what you’re thinking, and it won’t—.”

  “Oh, hush and just listen for a moment. Your enemy he may be, but immune to your charms he most certainly is not.” A golden brow arched. “I watched him tonight. He could hardly take his eyes off of you. And don’t you shake your head at me—I know lust when I see it. He desires you. And you, unless I am sorely mistaken...”

  Harriett squirmed under her sister’s knowing gaze. It was time to come clean. “I won’t lie to you and say I don’t find him somewhat attractive,” she said after a moment. “But how can I even contemplate such a thing when I dislike him so?” A look of triumph crossed her sister’s face, and she panicked. “No! He is vile, rude, and—and I could never marry such a—”

  “Who said anything about marriage?”

  That stopped Harriett dead in her tracks. “Catherine Dunhaven! If you think for one instant that I would ever—”

  “I would never suggest such a thing,” said her sister, laughing. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t use his want of you to your advantage. Why not play along for a little while? See what comes of it?”

  “Because only one thing can come of it—trouble.” Terrified of being overheard, Harriett dropped her voice a bit lower. “If Papa gets it into his head that I should marry him—”

  “Oh, I think it’s already gone beyond that, don’t you?”

  She was right. Again. “Perhaps. But I know his mind. Manchester will wait until the perfect opportunity arises and then humiliate me.”

  “So strike before he does.”

  “I can’t take the risk,” said Harriett, thinking of Arabella. “I have to marry this Season, Cat, and I cannot afford to be wasting my time playing games with him. Besides, he has not asked to court me. Papa would have mentioned it if he had.”

  “Perhaps not yet, but I can almost guarantee he will in the very near future.”

  That settled it. “Then I shall make certain he is not the first to do so,” Harriett told her firmly.

  Cat’s brows pinched. “How?”

  “Lord Russell.”

  “What?” Cat stared at her with undisguised incredulity. “But—”

  “He’s not so bad, really,” Harriett said, keeping her face straight with effort. “Not when I think of certain alternatives, anyway. I shall first thing in the morning send him an invitation to call on Monday.”

  “But Papa—”

  “Will be absolutely delighted to learn I have more than one option,” Harriett insisted. “He has been after me to start garnering male attention since before the start of the Season. Well, he is about to get his wish. I shall encourage Lord Russell to call this week and then begin gathering other candidates as quickly as possible. It is time I went on the hunt in earnest, Cat. I hope you will not mind.”

  “Why would I mind?” asked her sister with a confused frown.

  “We will be fishing from the same pond. Many a young lady has bemoaned having to compete with a sibling.”

  But her sist
er only laughed. “We are two vastly different souls, Harriett. As such, I attract a very different sort of man than would be interested in you. I have no concerns that any prospective suitor of mine would be lured away by you. And if one does choose you over me, well, I should be far better pleased to learn of it before I become permanently attached to him.”

  Harriett stared at her. “You know, don’t you? About Arabella.”

  A much older woman looked back at her from Cat’s eyes. “Yes. She confided in me just before she left.”

  “When she gave you the earrings.”

  Her sister’s smile was faint. “Yes. And you need not worry. I shan’t tell a soul.”

  “Thank the Lord,” Harriett sighed, relieved. “At least now I need not bear the weight of that knowledge alone.” She leaned close. “Now do you understand why I cannot encourage Manchester? We might be attracted to each other physically, but we are like oil and water in every other respect. To play such games with him would be asking for trouble of the worst kind.”

  Cat nodded. “I do understand. But again I must tell you I think it would be more to your advantage to keep him close. Let him think he’s winning and he’ll lose interest. And anyway, you cannot stop him calling here under the guise of his new found friendship with Papa—unless you wish to tell him the reason why.”

  Harriett’s heart sank. “That, I cannot do.” She looked at Cat and nodded. “Very well. I shall allow him to think he has cowed me—for the time being.”

  It was an unpleasant compromise, to be sure, but it would buy her some much needed time. Better a tense peace than an all out war. She had to work fast and attract some serious suitors. Lord Russell would be the first.

  Thirteen

  As he entered his carriage, Roland savored the taste of sweet victory. He’d cornered the fiery dragon in her lair and had won the day. It was a rare triumph, considering the record thus far.

  He knew he’d given Dunhaven false hope—the man had practically been beside himself at the prospect of ensnaring a duke for a son-in-law—but he could see no other way to manage Harriett. Based on her reaction to him at the Penworth ball, he’d concluded that if foul temper and brute intimidation hadn’t driven her away, perhaps their opposite would.