Twice a Rake (Lord Rotheby's Influence, Book 1)

by Catherine Gayle

  Aurora dashed out into the hall, hoping to accomplish her task and be back downstairs before Hobbes came looking for her to inform her of Norcutt’s arrival, only to have to stop short in order to avoid smacking head first into the man in question himself. “Oh, Lord Norcutt,” Aurora mumbled. “I did not realize you had already arrived.”

  He executed a low bow. “Miss Hyatt. Good morning to you. I trust you are well rested and ready for our jaunt through the park.” His eager smile abruptly became an irritant. She should just write their story and be done with him, send him on his merry way to some other, less interesting miss who could suffer his attentions with more decorum than she.

  But that, she must admit, would require focusing less of her efforts and imagination on Lord Quinton’s story. Not what she had any intention of doing, at least for the time being.

  Still, stringing Lord Norcutt along behind her was not terribly becoming.

  It wasn’t as though she was setting her cap for him, though. She just wasn’t discouraging his attentions. Not yet.

  She would.

  She must.

  “Quite, my lord,” she finally responded. “I have been so looking forward to our afternoon.” She prayed God would not smote her down for such an impudent lie as he placed her gloved hand in the crook of his arm and he led her to his curricle.

  She only remembered she still had her journal with her when she realized her other hand was forced to hold both her journal and her parasol, thereby making the task of opening and holding the parasol aloft impossible. Aurora tried.

  And failed.

  And tripped in the process, nearly falling down the steps in front of Hyatt House, and landing flat on her face on Berkeley Square in front of everyone out for a walk, ride, or for any other reason, and pulling Lord Norcutt with her in the process. It would have happened, as well, if not for the fact that his rather staunch and sturdy frame pulled back against her and saved them both from utter catastrophe.

  But at least her journal was safe.

  Norcutt took the parasol from her hands at that point. “Might I be of some assistance, Miss Hyatt?” He opened it and held it above her head, shading her already-too-dark complexion from further darkening.

  It just would not do to look any more exotic than she already did, or at least that is what Aunt Sedgewick continually reminded her. Aurora didn’t care one whit about the demands of society. The shade of her skin, the darkness and waviness of her hair, the slight bend in her nose—all of this reminded her of her mother. For that purpose alone, Aurora was tempted to sit out in the sun as often as possible, watching her skin brown as other misses ducked to hide from its rays in fear of random freckles peppering their perfect English rose complexions.

  But Father continually reminded her how it would not do to flaunt her mother’s Greek heritage in the faces of the ton, that she already suffered a dearth of suitors possibly due to just such a cause. Never mind the fact that her scarcity of suitors might have something to do with her habit of running them off before they could make an offer.

  Instead, she turned her most gracious smile on Lord Norcutt. “Thank you so very much, my lord. I daresay I would have made an utter cake of myself if not for your heroic efforts.” She tried not to gag on the words as they left her mouth. It proved difficult, but she achieved success.

  Then he assisted her up into the silly contraption (one that men only owned in order to show the ladies they escorted off to the best of their ability—for she could think of no other practical purpose for the blasted things), followed along behind her, and they were off.

  Supposedly.

  Never in her life had Aurora experienced a horse walking so slowly, let alone two of them together. “Are your horses feeling quite the thing, my lord?” They had to be as old as Moses to be moving so slow. A group of toddlers could pass them by, circle the park, and come back to them before they reached the end of the street at this rate. She would clearly be well into her dotage before he returned her to Hyatt House.

  “They are doing rather well. Thank you for inquiring.” Lord Norcutt held the reins so tightly she imagined his knuckles must be whitening beneath his gloves. She wasn’t entirely certain he was still breathing.

  He started to say something, then stopped himself to fidget with the reins. Again, he opened his mouth and took a massive breath of air, only to close it again with a “Hmm.”

  His nervous energy could be due to any number of things—none of which Aurora presently wished for.

  By the time they reached the end of the street and the horses began to turn, Norcutt turned to face her. “Miss Hyatt, I hoped to speak with you today before we are joined by Lord Merrick and Lady Rebecca. You see…I…” His grey eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over.

  She had to stop him. She couldn’t allow him to go through with this. It would make them both terribly uncomfortable, and there was little in the world Aurora detested more than to be uncomfortable.

  But he continued before she could cut in. “I am in love with Lady Rebecca,” he said with a violence she had never expected possible from such a staid and stoic man.

  Not to mention a statement she never expected to be uttered by him. Was he not attempting to court Aurora? Lord Norcutt had shown every indication of a growing attachment to Aurora, not to Rebecca.

  She was, to be plain, stunned.

  And relieved and delighted and thanking every god known to every civilization in her history books that he would not be offering for her that day.

  Because really, throwing out gentlemen’s hopes and dreams like they were used bathwater was not now and would never be her chosen manner of spending an afternoon.

  Sometimes it did prove to be a necessity. But not today.

  “I see. And does Lady Rebecca know of your tendre?”

  “No, she does not.” His typically monotone voice had become animated and lively. In fact, Aurora feared he might burst into either tears or song at any moment. Neither of which was an appealing option. How terribly sad for him, since Rebecca would never entertain his offer.

  “Yet, when you could have invited Lady Rebecca to ride with you through Hyde Park this afternoon, instead you offered such an invitation to me. Not only that, but you sat by and watched as Lord Merrick issued just the invitation you ought to have done to Lady Rebecca. That all strikes me as a bit odd, my lord. How might you think Lady Rebecca will react to a faux pas of that caliber?”

  “I’ve come to you, Miss Hyatt, because I’m in desperate need of your assistance. His Grace, the Duke of Aylesbury has granted me permission to pursue an attachment with his daughter. But I am uncertain how to proceed.” He delivered his impassioned plea with the most ardent eyes she had ever seen. It almost broke her heart.

  Almost.

  “That is a most lamentable predicament, my lord. And you believe I can assist you how, precisely?”

  “It is common knowledge amongst those in the know that Lady Rebecca is your most especial friend. I was hoping…I wanted to ask you to give me some hope. To speak with her about me, and discover if my feelings might be returned.” In his enthusiasm, he took both of her gloved hands into his own and squeezed them tightly before remembering himself and dropping them to her lap just as suddenly. “Lord Merrick agreed to aid me in my cause. He invited Lady Rebecca to ride with him so that I might at least catch a glimpse of her during our excursion today while I courted your favor in my endeavor.”

  “Indeed.” She wasn’t quite agreeing to his suggestion. It was more that she could not fathom what else to say.

  Her intentions didn’t matter, though, as Lord Norcutt took her response to mean what he wanted it to mean. “Oh, thank you, Miss Hyatt. I am certain that once you have spoken with her, and perhaps softened her toward me, she will be quite delighted to accept me. With your favor, how could I go wrong?”

  How, indeed? Oh, dear. Now she might truly end up crushing this man’s hopes and dreams, even though they had nothing to do with her
.

  This afternoon was most decidedly not working out in the manner she had either expected or envisioned.

  Blast it all.

  With his concerns appeased, Lord Norcutt no longer seemed inclined to force his team to walk at a snail’s pace. He nudged them with the reins, and they took off at a canter. Before much time at all had passed, Aurora and Norcutt arrived at Hyde Park and saw Lord Merrick’s curricle near the Serpentine.

  Norcutt raised a hand in greeting as he drew his vehicle closer. “Good afternoon to you both.” His face beamed brighter than a full moon in a cloudless sky. Pure joy etched itself across his visage. Such a pity that he would be devastated when Rebecca rejected his attentions.

  That, she reminded herself, was none of her concern. If he wanted to get his hopes up and think he could possibly receive her favor, then so be it. Lord Norcutt was a grown man. He could look after his own heart.

  They all exchanged various pleasantries and the gentlemen discussed the lovely sunshine they had been granted that day, and Aurora generally lost interest in the entire matter. The only matter she wanted to focus her attentions upon was the story in her journal, which felt like it might burn a hole straight through the muslin of her afternoon dress if she didn’t get back to it soon.

  There were scenes that needed to be written, by gad. Namely, the wedding night.

  “A race it is, then,” said Lord Norcutt. “First to the end of Rotten Row wins, and the loser buys the ladies an ice at Gunter’s.”

  Oh, blast. A race? She really ought to object. Her hair would fly free of its pins, because she had prevented Rose from securing it properly, and then the wavy mass of it would be tangled into knots, and it would be pure and utter torture to have it all brushed out. No, a race just would not do. She turned to her escort, prepared to protest—but she was too late.

  The curricle shot forward like a cannonball, tossing her back against the seat.

  Her bonnet strings began to work loose beneath her chin. She grabbed hold of the bonnet to keep it atop her head and give her hair some chance at decency once it was all over.

  In holding to her hat, she was forced to let loose the parasol and her journal. The parasol caught a gust of wind and whipped away from them, floating back to the ground and settling beside a tree next to the Serpentine. “Oh, my.” Her voice floated away in the wind, as well.

  Trees and horses and riders whisked by, turning into a blur. Aurora looked down over the side of the curricle. Bad idea. Very, very, very bad idea. She gripped the brim of her bonnet tighter to her head and prayed that nothing would cause the silly contraption to capsize.

  Lord Merrick drew up alongside them and gradually slipped ahead. Norcutt whipped the reins again, and his horses somehow gained more ground. The trees at the end of the Row were coming upon them so fast it seemed hazardous.

  And finally they reached the end, with Lord Merrick and Rebecca’s curricle drawing up just a nose ahead of Lord Norcutt’s.

  Aurora breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Excellent race, my lords,” called out a laughing Rebecca. Her hat had blown off her head and her hair and cheeks were windblown, and she looked simply delighted at the afternoon’s proceedings.

  “Ices, it is!” called Merrick. “But first, shall we collect the ladies’ bonnets and parasols and such? And I suppose our own hats as well.”

  “Yes, and in a hurry, my man.” Norcutt had already turned his team around to make their way back to the grove of trees where Aurora’s parasol lay. “I should not wish to lose anything entirely.”

  Nor would she. Aurora straightened the bonnet atop her head and smoothed her hands over her dress and pelisse.

  And her heart almost stopped beating.

  Her journal. It was gone. She stood in the curricle and searched beneath where she had been sitting, but it was nowhere to be found.

  Norcutt looked upon her like she belonged in Bedlam. “Miss Hyatt? We shall fetch your things immediately. There is no cause for concern.”

  “My journal. Have you seen my journal?” She tossed up the tail of his greatcoat where it lay on the bench beside her. “I must find my journal. It is a matter of dire importance, sir.” Life and death importance. Oh, dear good Lord, the things she had written there. If anyone were to come across it…

  “I believe it must have gone missing with your parasol. Surely it will be here along the way.” He hurried the horses at the urgency in her voice.

  “Oh, it simply must be.” If someone found it, if word got out, if Father learned… She was doomed.

  When they arrived at the trees where her parasol lay, she leapt down from the curricle without waiting for his assistance and dashed to look under the foliage.

  It wasn’t there. Nor was it tucked neatly into another nearby grove of trees. Nor could it be found alongside the Serpentine. It was nowhere.

  Gone.

  Aurora got down on her knees to look behind a row of bushes. Lord Norcutt followed suit soon after. Lord Merrick came along with Rebecca, still laughing gaily with her hair flying freely at her side.

  “I say, are we still missing some items?” Merrick’s flippant tone set Aurora’s blood to boiling.

  “Miss Hyatt seems to have misplaced her journal.”

  Rebecca’s gasp underscored the gravity of the situation. She flung herself to her knees as well, to assist in the process. Soon, all four of them were scrounging around upon their knees, most decidedly ruining their clothing and making utter fools of themselves as half the ton watched in combined shock, curiosity, and horror.

  After nearly half an hour, they had all given up the search except for Aurora.

  “I think,” said Rebecca, “it is time to stop, Miss Hyatt. Clearly, the journal is not here. We must assume that it has landed in the Serpentine and been washed away.”

  Yes. Washed away. Perhaps that was the case. Perhaps her world would not crumble in all around her.

  She slowly rose to her feet and brushed the grass and dirt from her gown. All the life had been sapped out of her in the search. She felt weak. Numb.

  Perhaps no one would discover her secret.

  Chapter Three

  1 April, 1811

  Life as I have known it is now over. It was nice to know you. Please remember me kindly.

  ~From the new journal of Miss Aurora Hyatt

  “Today, my friend, is the first day of your future as a true gentleman.” Jonas stood before him as the picture of the London gentleman, with everything in precisely the proper place. Top hat, angled just so. Pantaloons, waistcoat, greatcoat, cravat. Check, check, check, check. Sheer elegance and perfection.

  Devil take him.

  Standing next to him, Quin felt like a buffoon. His breeches fit more snugly than he liked, his greatcoat hardly allowed him any free movement, the bloody cravat threatened to strangle him, and he’d be damned if he’d enjoy wearing a blasted beaver hat.

  Jonas had tried to convince him to cut his hair along with the shave, but there were some things a man just simply couldn’t allow.

  He attempted to stretch out his legs and arms, hoping to find a way to function in the fussy attire. “Can we get on with it already? I don’t know how long I can pass as a dandy.” At least not without swooning like a woman.

  Jonas smirked. “Not very long.” He gave Quin’s appearance a final examination. “You really ought to have worn one of my coats. Something with some color. Something less funereal, sans the look of…well, death.”

  Color. That would be the day. “I feel like death. Death agrees with me. Besides, we’re hunting for a bride. Isn’t that much the same as attending my own funeral?”

  “How do you intend to catch a bride if you scare all the young ladies away? You look as dour as a gravedigger preparing to bury his father.”

  “Excellent. That is just the look I had hoped for when I dressed this morning.” Quin failed to understand why his appearance was of such import.

  Jonas heaved a sigh. “Well, I suppose th
ere is nothing to be done for it. Shall we away?” He headed for his stables without waiting for Quin’s reply.

  It was about time, too. While Quin wanted nothing less than to find a bride, the matter was no longer up for debate. And clearly his tactics had been dismal failures, at best. He might as well try what Jonas suggested, even if he thought it a ridiculous notion.

  Honestly. Riding through Hyde Park and hoping to meet young ladies there? Impressing them with his posture on a horse? Making small talk? Making himself affable to their chaperones and escorts? None of this sounded like a good method of convincing a young lady that she was madly in love with him and needed to marry him at once. If anything, it sounded like a good method of landing himself in Bedlam.

  But what did he have to lose? Only his sanity (which some might claim he’d already lost) and an afternoon.

  He followed along behind Jonas, mounted his horse, and they were off. They reached the park well before the fashionable hour, but still several groups of walkers strolled along the Serpentine, and Rotten Row was filling with people on horseback and in a variety of carriages. As one group came upon another, they would all bow and curtsy and stop for conversation.

  Bloody hell. He’d never felt so confined, so trapped, whilst out of doors. Perhaps he would toss himself into the Thames before they were through. Or maybe he’d toss Jonas, instead.

  Yes, now that he thought about it for a moment, most assuredly Jonas.

  “Ah, wonderful,” Jonas said. “Lord and Lady Tyndall and their daughter, Miss Tyndall, are headed our way on foot. Perhaps we should start with them.”

  “Perhaps we should gouge out our eyes with dull, rusty daggers,” Quin responded. “That might be equally as pleasant.”

  “Coward.”

  “Degenerate.”

  But Jonas afforded him no opportunity to hesitate. He lifted his hand and called, “Lord and Lady Tyndall. Lovely day today, is it not? And how delightful to see you out as well, Miss Tyndall.”