Rake's Reward

by Kruger, Mary

"I'll do what I can, sir.” Parsons bowed. "Luncheon will be ready in a few moments."

  "Yes, yes.” Alex waved his hand impatiently and began pacing once more. Cecily and Edgewater. It made a strange kind of sense. He still wasn't certain what Cecily's rôle in the conspiracy was. He didn’t want to believe she had one, and yet all the signs pointed to it. It might only be that she was engaged to one of the conspirators; it might, he feared, be more than that. In Richmond, one or the other of them would surely slip away from Lady Radcliffe’s rout to attend the meeting of the conspirators that would be held near there. When that happened, Alex would be there.

  He smiled, then, a grim, unpleasant smile. Oh, yes, he would go to Richmond, and he would keep his eyes open. And then he would learn, once and for all, just what Lady Cecily was up to.

  "Diana, you look perfectly lovely,” the Duchess of Marlow burbled as her two daughters entered the drawing room. "And so do you, Cecily."

  "Thank you, Mama.” Cecily rose from her curtsy to see her fiancé regarding her through his quizzing glass. When she married him—if she married him—she would do what she could to break him of that odious habit.

  "Charming,” Edgewater pronounced, secreting the quizzing glass in his pocket. "That particular color suits you. I do believe, however, that you should let your hair grow."

  "Cecily detests long hair,” Diana said cheerfully, reaching up to touch her own elegant chignon and preening under the marquess's admiring glance.

  Cecily looked on with a mixture of amusement and chagrin. She knew she was looking particularly well tonight, having taken extra care with her toilette. Her gown of aqua watered silk with its lace overdress and sash of silver ribbon fitted her perfectly. Slippers dyed to match were just visible beneath the newly fashionable longer skirt, a lace shawl was draped becomingly over her arms, and a matching silver ribbon bound up her curls. Pearls of excellent quality were about her throat, and in her hand she carried a daintily embroidered fan. Not a hair was out of place, not a detail of her dress was amiss. In short, she looked perfectly well, and she was annoyed with her fiancé for his unwarranted criticism. As if he should talk, with the shoulders of his coat that she had discovered were padded when he had pulled her against him. St. Clair's certainly weren't padded. And Edgewater's shirt points were so ridiculously high he was in danger of cutting himself if he so much as turned his head, she thought, hastily pulling her mind away from the dangerous topic of Lord St. Clair. The marquess was treading a very thin line. All she needed was one more incident, and she would break the engagement, regardless of society's reaction.

  "My carriage awaits,” Edgewater said, holding out his arm, encased in peacock blue velvet, to her. She rested her hand on it lightly. At least his arm was muscular, if not as strongly so as someone else's she could think of. Stop it, Cecily!

  "Thank you, sir.” She gave him a brief smile, settling herself on the cut velvet squabs of his carriage with unshakable equanimity. She was tired of letting others dictate her fate. Tonight she would, if necessary, take it firmly into her own hands.

  The Radcliffe ballroom in Richmond was already crowded when the Marlow party made its entrance. Candles sparkled in the myriad chandeliers and sconces lining the walls, and the air was heady with the perfumes of the spring flowers set in tubs about the rooms and the heavier scents worn by the ladies. "Oh, Cece, just look at everyone!” Diana said. This was all still new enough to her to elicit breathless admiration, though ordinarily she cultivated the mask of boredom considered so essential in society life. "I just know this will be a wonderful evening."

  "Yes,” Cecily murmured absently, for, in all the movement and confusion of people, her gaze had been caught, and held, by just one man's. St. Clair, standing across the room with Lady Wentworth, long known as one of his flirts, gazed at Cecily without the hint of a smile. Cecily returned the look, hiding behind her own cool expression the impact he had on her, and the hurt of seeing him with another woman, particularly one so beautiful. He was no dandy; his evening coat of black velvet and breeches of white satin were faultless, but not out of the ordinary. Nor was he the most handsome man present. She found it difficult, though, to look away. Then he turned, and the moment was broken.

  Alex stared at Cecily for one more moment, and then, inclining his head, returned his attention to Lady Wentworth, who was chattering vivaciously and hadn't appeared to notice his lapse in manners. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he watched Cecily as she progressed into the room, greeting friends, her elbow held possessively by Edgewater. Alex's hand gripped his crystal flute of champagne so hard it was in imminent danger of shattering, as an emotion so primal in its force that it shook him went through him. Damn Edgewater! He didn't have to hold onto her in quite that way, nor look at her with that supercilious gaze that announced to the world that she was his possession, and only that. There was so much more to Cecily. Couldn't the man see that?

  Murmuring something to Lady Wentworth, he bowed and then turned away, making his way with apparent aimlessness across the room, until he was near the Marlow party. Stay away, a voice warned in his head. Cecily was dangerous to him, in some fashion he hadn't yet defined, and yet he couldn't resist her lure. Besides, he told himself, he needed to keep watch on her, if the conspirators were indeed to meet. And then he would be free of her.

  "Good evening, Your Grace,” he said, bowing, and saw Cecily, turned slightly away from him, start. "Lady Cecily, Lady Diana. And—Edgewater, is it?"

  "Good evening, St. Clair,” Edgewater returned urbanely enough, though his left eyelid twitched once or twice. "How unexpected to see you here tonight. I'd have though this kind of—affair was too tame for you."

  "Perhaps I am reforming,” he said, lightly, watching Cecily without appearing to. She had not missed Edgewater's double entendre, he noticed. Nor, by the stiff way she held herself, had she forgotten, or forgiven, what had transpired between them when last they met. Just as well. "You look particularly well this evening, Lady Cecily."

  "Thank you, sir.” Cecily kept her eyes resolutely on her fan, which she kept opening and closing.

  "Why, Cecily, dear, I believe I see Lady Jersey across the room,” the duchess said, barely glancing at Alex. "Come, children, we must make our bow to her. Good evening, sir."

  Alex inclined his head. "Good evening. Cecily,” he added under his breath, and had the satisfaction of seeing her shoulders stiffen, just for a moment. Then, quite as if he weren't there, she walked away.

  "So, St. Clair.” Edgewater's smile was urbanity itself, but his voice was edged with ice. "What do you here tonight?"

  "I thought I might find events—interesting,” he said, facing the other man directly.

  Edgewater's eyes narrowed a trifle, and then he gave a wintry smile. "Quite. But don't forget, dear boy, what I told you the other day. Lady Cecily is mine."

  "Does she think so?"

  "She had better.” Edgewater's voice was soft. "Keep away from her, St. Clair, or I won't answer for the consequences."

  Alex flicked a contemptuous eye over the other man's peacock blue coat, his pale blue satin knee breeches, his embroidered waistcoat, and elaborately stifled a yawn. "Indeed,” he said, and turned away, holding back a grin.

  His sense of triumph faded, however, sometime later, as he watched Edgewater lead Cecily out for the first waltz. Something inside him clenched; something inside ached at the memory of her in his arms, waltzing at Almack's; returning his kiss so sweetly in his lodgings. And so innocently. He'd lay a wager by her untutored response that she'd never been kissed before that day, at least not like that, and that filled him with an inordinate amount of pleasure. Though he didn't know why it should. Young girls just out of the schoolroom bored him, with their ignorance and inexperience. And yet—

  She looked so lovely tonight, with a subtle beauty that drew one's eyes away from the more obvious charms of the ladies he usually pursued. The color of her gown became her, and its decolletage, though modest, was just low
enough to show that, though slender, she was very much a woman. And that, he realized with a jolt, was exactly what she was. Not the engaging hoyden, clad in boy's clothes and riding a dancing horse; not the earnest reformer, concerned about the welfare of the poor. Not even the young girl who always looked the slightest bit untidy. She was a woman, and in more than just the externals. There was something in the way she held herself, something in her demeanor, that told him she had reached a decision, that she had suddenly grown up. Alex's gaze sharpened. His instincts in coming here had been right. Something indeed was about to happen. The question was, what?

  "Has Lord St. Clair been bothering you?” Edgewater said, and Cecily started.

  "No,” she murmured, but her eyes didn't meet his.

  "I do not like seeing him hang around you, Cecily."

  "I don't let him hang around—"

  "If he bothers you, you are to tell me."

  Cecily raised startled eyes to him. "Sir, you wouldn't duel with him!"

  "Don't worry, my dear.” Edgewater's smile was smug as he tightened his hold about her waist. Cecily resisted, but then gave in. "I am accounted quite a good shot, you know."

  Cecily shuddered. But was St. Clair as good?

  "You are cold, my dear?” Edgewater's voice was solicitous.

  "What? Oh, no. Actually, I'm finding it a trifle warm."

  "The price one pays for attending such sad crushes. Everyone is here tonight. And they see that you are with me."

  "Yes,” Cecily said faintly, wondering at the odd note of triumph in his voice.

  "Come, my dear.” Edgewater took her arm as the waltz ended and turned her towards the terrace doors. "I believe you'd do well with some air."

  "Sir, I cannot—"

  "Come, Cecily we are engaged, are we not? No one will say anything if we go out just for a few moments?” His smile was winning, but his hand on her back was firm. "Come,” he said again, grasping her arm tighter, and Cecily had no choice but to obey.

  Alex had been keeping watch on Cecily and Edgewater throughout the waltz, but towards the end his attention had been diverted by Sally Jersey, who tapped him on the arm with her fan. "There you are, St. Clair. I'm surprised to see you here tonight. Not exactly your kind of do, I'd have said."

  Alex gave her his most charming smile and looked away from Cecily, though he cursed the necessity of it. Lady Jersey's ironic nickname of "Silence” was well-earned; he had already shown interest in Cecily at Almack's, and if Lady Jersey learned that that interest had continued, then the fat would be in the fire indeed. By tomorrow, the gossip would be all over town. "Perhaps I've decided to become respectable at last, ma'am,” he said, lightly.

  "Oh, fiddle! There's nothing more boring than a reformed rake. Unless,” she said, archly, "there's someone in particular you wish to reform for?"

  "Why, Lady Jersey,” he said, sounding greatly surprised, "how could anyone else compare with you?"

  "Oh, fiddle!” she said again, but her pink cheeks showed that his flattery had pleased her. Taking his arm, she began to stroll about the ballroom with him, talking at great length about the ball and the people present. Alex made polite replies whenever she paused to take a breath, all the time searching the ballroom for Cecily. He couldn't see her—there! There she was, looking up at Edgewater and appearing less than pleased. What was the man saying to her, Alex wondered, shaken again by that primal emotion. Damn the man! If he hurt Cecily, he would pay.

  Lady Jersey caught his attention again, so that he had no choice but to look at her. It wasn't until the waltz had ended that he at last had a chance to scan the ballroom again. It didn't bother him at first that he couldn't see Cecily, though earlier his gaze had homed in on her. The room was crowded, after all, and she was not very tall. But when his search went on for several moments and he still could not find her he became, at first, concerned, and then alarmed. Hell! Both she and Edgewater were gone. Because of his inattention, he'd let them get away. God knew what they were up to.

  Hell! He turned to make his excuses to Lady Jersey, no longer caring if she speculated on his reason, and was relieved to see that she was already deep in conversation with someone else. With a perfunctory bow, he took his leave, making every effort to appear casual as he made his way across the crowded ballroom. Where were they? If they were, indeed, going to a meeting of the conspiracy, then they would have had to go outdoors. Into the garden, probably, and that alarmed him. If it were Edgewater who was involved more than Cecily, as he had come to believe, then she might very well be in danger.

  In the days since his suspicions had fallen on Edgewater, Alex had learned a few things about the man. On the surface he was, indeed, the dandy that he appeared. Underneath, however, lay a very different man. A man, who, for example, was deeply interested in politics, and had been known to attend the House of Lords regularly. Unusual, perhaps, but commendable, Alex thought sardonically. What really interested him was how Edgewater conducted himself in that august body. Professedly Tory, in the heat of debate over such issues as Parliamentary reform or Catholic emancipation he had been known to say things that bordered on the radical. Strange interests for a man who claimed to be concerned only with the cut of his coat. Why pretend, Alex wondered? Why should Edgewater need to cover his real convictions? The only reason Alex could think of was that he was attempting to divert suspicion. Certainly he was a more likely candidate for conspiracy than Cecily ever had been, though he couldn't discount her completely. But if Edgewater hurt her—

  His thoughts lent urgency to his pursuit, and he ceased being polite as he pushed his way across the room, ceased greeting people or excusing his apparent rudeness. Something was going on here, and he had to find out what it was. The future of his country, and his own happiness, might very well depend on it.

  At last he reached the doors leading to the terrace. Belated caution made him glance around, but no one appeared to be attending to him. Good. If he could avoid gossip about this, so much the better. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out onto the dimly-lighted terrace. The fresh evening air felt good after the heat and the mingling of odors within. Moving aimlessly, as if bored with events within, Alex glanced about the terrace. Several other people were here, couples conversing or taking advantage of a few stolen moments alone. None of them were Cecily or Edgewater. No matter how hard he looked, they were nowhere in sight.

  Hell! Moving purposefully, forgetting his languid pose, Alex strode across the terrace and ran down the marble stairs into the garden, the scents of damp earth and lilacs enveloping him. He'd find them, he told himself grimly, not caring to analyze the urgency or the panic that drove him on. He'd find them, if it was the last thing he did.

  Once on the terrace, Cecily took a deep, grateful breath of the lilac-scented air. It was certainly much more pleasant here than it had been in the crowded, stuffy ballroom. They were also not as alone as she had feared. Other couples were taking advantage of the terrace and the mildness of the evening. Though few appeared to pay heed to her, Cecily was glad of their presence. She was glad not to be alone with her fiancé.

  Edgewater frowned. "I didn't expect we'd have such a crowd out here,” he muttered.

  "A crowd, sir?” Cecily gestured towards the others, smiling slightly. The widely-spaced lanterns left pools of shadow that gave the illusion of privacy. "Nearly everyone is still within doors."

  "Still, I had hoped to speak to you in private.” He took her arm again. "Come. Let us go into the garden."

  "What?” Cecily stood her ground, though Edgewater was pulling on her arm. The garden was even more sparsely lighted than the terrace, with only an occasional torch to give any light. A romantic spot for a tryst, but that was the last thing she wanted with this man. "Why, sir, that would be most improper,” she said flirtatiously, tapping him on the arm with her fan.

  Edgewater raised chilly grey eyes to her. "Never hit me again,” he said, with calm, icy finality.

  "I do beg your pardon, sir, but it was t
he merest tap."

  "I would speak with you, Cecily.” He pulled at her arm again, catching her off-guard, so that she stumbled. "Come, or do you wish to make a scene?"

  "No, of course not,” Cecily said, though her resentment of him was increasing by leaps and bounds. In the past week, confused as she had been, she had alternated between going ahead with the engagement, and being certain it would never work. Now, at last, she knew her own mind; his casual use of his greater strength and his complete disregard of her preferences, not to mention her reputation, had decided her. No longer was the issue what she had thought it was, that she could not marry one man while confused about her feelings for another. She had no desire to marry this man at all. "Actually, there's something I wish to talk to you about, though I'd rather not do it here—"

  "We'll be private enough here.” Edgewater pulled her off the path into a bower heavily scented with lilacs, and a fleeting memory came to her: St. Clair, handing her a bunch of lilacs, telling her they became her. She couldn't remember ever receiving a sincere compliment from her fiancé. "Now, at last, we can be alone,” he said.

  Cecily eluded the arm he would have slipped about her waist, and went to sit on the bench whose white paint gleamed dully in the faint light. A trellis arched overhead, completing the illusion that they were completely alone. "I mustn't stay long—"

  "Ah, Cecily.” He sat close beside her, and before she could protest his arms were about her, hauling her against his chest. Caught off-balance, she threw up her hands to protect herself, only to make contact with his shoulders. "It seems an age since we were alone."

  "It was yesterday, sir. Please unhand me."

  "Ah, Cecily, don't be coy.” She felt his breath hot against her throat as he bent to kiss her beneath her ear, and her struggles increased. "That's it, my dear, fight me. It will make it all the sweeter when you at last give in."

  "I—” Her words were cut off as his mouth came down on hers in a hard, bruising kiss. "Won't. I won't!” she gasped.