“Oh, Bridget, I’m so happy to see you at last. It feels as though it has been an eternity!” Gemma hurried to her friend and embraced her, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “You look so content. I believe marriage agrees with you.”
“Marriage to the viscount agrees with me. We both know I wouldn’t have been able to endure any other man.” Bridget laughed. She fairly glowed, and Gemma felt the slightest twinge of jealousy of her dear friend’s happiness.
Not that she begrudged Bridget her happily ever after, by any means. But she had hoped… Gemma cast a longing glance over her shoulder toward the door, hoping for Wilde to come barging in, proclaiming his undying love for her. Of course, that would never happen. Hence the true reason behind her visit so early in the morning.
“I do wish to apologize for my long absence. For missing your wedding. My brother—” Gemma began.
“Do not think another moment on that, Gemma. Your brother’s temper and rash decisions are well known to me. Though I have missed you desperately, I know it was not of your doing. As far as I am concerned, there is nothing to forgive.”
Gemma breathed a sigh of relief. Her friend had always understood her better than anyone else.
Bridget gestured toward a sofa, and the two of them sat down together. Gemma clasped her hands in her lap and studied them intently.
“Is something else bothering you, sweet?” Bridget asked, taking one of Gemma’s hands in her own.
“Yes. I’m afraid the full story of my brother’s tyranny has only just become clear to me. I knew he removed me from Town in order to separate me from Sir Wilde’s company, but I had no idea the depths to which he had stooped to keep us apart.”
Bridget patted Gemma’s hand in a comforting gesture and waited for Gemma to continue.
“I heard last night, from his own lips, a confession of what he had done.”
“Oh, dear.”
“He stopped sending my letters to Sir Wilde. Sir Wilde believes I spurned his affections.” The last part was followed by an involuntary sob, though Gemma tried desperately to choke it back.
“That man!” Bridget gasped. She stood and began pacing angrily. “I would like nothing more than to take him down a peg or two for you! The absolute gall!” Moving to the mantle, she reached for her foil perched there, slipped it from the scabbard, and took a few practice swings through the air in front of her, before turning again to her friend.
“Would you like me to run him through with my blade? I haven’t had opportunity to use it for several weeks.”
Gemma smiled in spite of her tears. Her friend has always been quick to take up her cause.
“I am certain Hawke is not entirely without his merits, so perhaps we should let him live a while longer.”
Bridget frowned. Her hope seemed deflated. “Very well. But you will alert me the moment you change your mind?”
“Of course.” Gemma giggled.
Her friend reluctantly replaced her blade on the wall and returned to her seat beside Gemma on the sofa.
“I do have another idea, should you be willing to assist me…”
“I am willing. You have but to ask, dear friend.” Bridget patted Gemma’s hand once more.
“There is nothing that would gall my brother so much than for me to cause a scandal,” Gemma said, allowing her voice to lower to a whisper.
Bridget’s eyes widened. No doubt she was shocked to hear such vulgarity from Gemma’s lips. Gemma had always been entirely proper, not even willing to suffer the appearance of impropriety. In fact, hearing her own voice producing the word scandal so casually brought a sudden burning to her cheeks. She wasn’t completely at peace with the strategy. But she was completely without any other hope.
“A scandal? My sweet Gemma?” Doubt laced Bridget’s tone, and she leveled her stare at Gemma with one raised eyebrow. “Are you certain that is what you want?”
“No. But it is my only recourse.”
“For revenge?” Bridget asked, cocking her head to the side. “Or for love?”
Gemma met her gaze and they sat in silence for a long moment.
“I must seduce a rake. Will you help me?” she pleaded. If her friend refused, she would be left to her own devices, and she wasn’t entirely certain it would be enough to tame Wilde and win his heart once more.
“Yes.” Bridget squeezed her hand and smiled reassuringly. “You shall have your rake, sweet. You shall have him.”
****
Four cups of coffee, two biscuits, and one terrible cup of tea later, and Colin still hadn’t heard Gemma exit the house. “What the devil are they doing in there? She cannot be serious!”
“Oh, believe me, she seemed quite intent,” Anthony muttered, peering through the crack in the door. “And the last time I underestimated that wife of mine, she not only bested me at swordplay but was able to convince half the ton I was interested in a footman.”
Colin heard himself laugh for the first time in days. “I’ve never seen so many gentlemen hit on a person in my life.”
“There is no need to revisit that dark time,” Anthony muttered.
“Come along.” Colin led the way out of the dining room and stood right outside the ladies’ sitting room. He motioned for Anthony to put his ear to the door. They heard laughter, and what was that? Was Lady Maddox talking about murdering someone with her sword?
“What the devil are you two doing?” came Ambrose’s booming voice.
“Shh!” Colin swatted his friend. “We are simply… er…” he swallowed and looked helplessly to Anthony. “Dusting.”
“Interesting.” Ambrose leaned toward the door. “And how does one dust a door without any tools? Hmm? Is that how servants are doing it these days? Merely leaning their bodies against the doors in hopes that the dust will jump from the wood to their clothing?”
Colin cleared his throat. “You see if I just lean against the door here…” He motioned to Anthony who rolled his eyes and leaned his back against the door as well. “And then move like so…” Colin shifted from left to right making sure to be gentle about the noise so the ladies in the other room would not catch them spying. “You’ll notice I’ve done a very efficient job of—”
“Making a mess of yourself, yes, yes you have.” Ambrose shook his head. “What the devil is going on here? You two were at each other’s throats last evening and now you look thick as thieves.”
“It is quite simple, really.” Colin stepped away from the door. “He is going to teach me how to become a rake.”
“I take it the journal hasn’t been as helpful as you originally thought.” Ambrose laughed.
“It is working just fine.” Colin glared. “But not as fast as I would like. We know how much better I do with demonstration.”
Ambrose shook his head. “I’m painfully aware of how you seek your knowledge. Was it not just last year that Anthony tried to teach you how to kiss a woman?”
“Yes, and he used a hunting analogy. Quite ingenious,” Colin added, though since then, every time he went on a hunt he could not help but think of kissing, which meant he thought of Gemma, which led to him feeling empty and rejected once again. She had taken the fun out of everything in his life.
Ambrose’s eyebrows pinched together. “I admit I am still at a loss as to why you are both staring at the door as if it is suddenly going to burst into flames.”
“He’s spying.” Anthony pointed at Colin and shrugged. “And I am, um… supervising.”
“Spying on whom?”
Colin sighed. “It seems Lady Bridget is going to help Lady Gemma seduce a rake.”
At that, Ambrose burst out laughing.
A commotion was heard inside the room.
“They are going to hear us!” Colin half-whispered, half-yelled. “Quick, Anthony, Ambrose, do something!”
He did not even see the fist coming as it sliced across his jaw, sending him to the floor. Colin cursed a blue streak as the pain radiated to the back of his skull. The door swung open,
revealing Bridget and Gemma, looking both smug and irritated.
“And that, gentlemen, is how to eliminate your competition!” Anthony shouted.
“Bravo,” Colin said through clenched teeth.
Ambrose clapped in mock amazement. “That was quite brilliant, Anthony.”
“Well.” Anthony offered a hand to help Colin from the floor. “We are off. There is much plundering, pillaging, and drinking to be done!”
“Huzzah!” all men said in unison.
“Are they planning to become pirates?” Lady Gemma asked Lady Maddox as the men slapped each other on the back.
“Worse, I’m afraid.” Lady Maddox sighed. “They are merely acting like themselves.” She shrugged and winked in Colin’s direction as though she wanted to reassure him. But nothing could help him anymore.
He would become a rake if it killed him. And it just might, by the measure of Anthony’s wallop. For he wasn’t sure he had what it took to be the type of rake he needed to be in order to sufficiently push Gemma out of his system. But he was going to try. By the saints, he was going to try.
Chapter Six
If a man truly desires to be a rake, he must at all times appear inebriated. It gives women the idea that he does not care a whit about propriety or society’s rules. I remember at one time being guilty of dousing my clothes in alcohol merely to suggest that I had been out gambling and whoring all night rather than nursing a head cold. A rake can never be too careful. Many years ago a certain gentleman turned rake, forgot this little rule, and was discovered drinking tea at a gambling hell. Tea! The next day he was laughed out of the country. So you see my point. Liquor, my friends, liquor. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox
“Are you sure this is wise?” Colin asked the following night at Beaumont’s dinner party.
“But of course,” Anthony assured him. “After all, you are halfway there. To be a true rake you must not be too polite, yet your smile must always be given freely to women.”
Colin smiled.
Anthony shuddered. “Not like that; a man only smiles that wide when he wants one thing, and it isn’t a woman. No, it’s a good clout to the jaw. Now watch.”
Anthony demonstrated the perfect rakish smile. Colin followed his example.
“I think you’ve got it.” Anthony stepped back. “I have nothing left to teach you. Go on, young friend, find a willing woman, enjoy your drink, and do try to appear as if you are not still pining over Lady Gemma.”
“Done.” Colin smiled and left Anthony in search of a willing woman, one who would not only spread rumors of his rakish charm, but kiss away the pain of Lady Gemma’s rejection. He took a turn about the room and froze.
Gemma was leaning against the wall, pinned was more like it, by a lothario of the first order, Sir Ainsworth, not the most dangerous of the group, but clearly not the type of man Gemma should be consorting with.
Without thinking, Colin pushed his way through the crowds and approached Gemma. He hated that he felt the need to rescue her, but clearly she was in over her head.
“I believe you promised me this dance,” Colin said, smoothly taking her arm within his own.
“You remembered.” She winked. Devil take him! When had she ever winked? Or shown any outward sign of emotion in a large group?
“That I did.” Colin chuckled. “Oh, apologies, Ainsworth, I did not see you there. Must be that dreadful jacket, almost blends into the wall. Tell me, are you part of the decorations for this evening?”
The man glared.
Colin grinned. “Well then, that answers that. A good evening to you.” His grip was probably a bit tight for Gemma’s hand, but his irritation made it so. “What the devil do you think you are doing? You cannot seduce that man! He is not even a rake!”
Was he yelling?
Gemma grinned and fell into step with him as they danced. “Odd, he seemed perfectly rakish to me. What did you find lacking?”
Colin cursed and looked away. “Everything about him is disagreeable. The man cannot even dress! He should fire his valet, and he was eyeing you as if you were his dessert.”
“Perhaps I wish to be dessert.”
Colin growled. “At the rate you’re going, I doubt you’ll make it through the dance without me strangling you.”
“Is that so?” She tilted her head and exhaled, her breath so near his neck that chills ran down his spine.
“Y-yes,” he said hoarsely, then forced his eyes away from hers. “You must quit this foolishness about wanting to seduce a rake. It will not happen. You are too…”
Blast him. He was going to hurt her feelings again.
“Too what?” She purred.
When had her voice become so low? So feminine?
“Innocent,” he snapped. “It will never work.”
“Every woman begins that way.” She chewed her lower lip and looked straight into his soul with her piercing blue eyes. “So you do not think my little ploy will work? I lack the ability to seduce any type of rake?”
“Absolutely.” Though he doubted it the minute he said it. The woman could seduce a priest if she so desired.
“Very well. I shall simply have to strive harder.” Her nails dug into the flesh of his back as she drew closer to him. “After all, don’t they say that practice makes perfect?”
His breathing became labored as he watched her lick her lips. Wasn’t he supposed to hate her? After all, he was attempting to turn over a new leaf just as Gemma was. But he could not pull away from her, not even if he desired it. He wanted to press her against the wall, to kiss that soft mouth and dip his hands into that thick red hair. Her pupils dilated, and he pulled her closer.
“You may practice all you want, my dear, but you shall fail.”
He had to say something before he ruined her, before he made a fool of himself and was rejected for a second time.
“We shall see.” She pulled away from him just as the music ended. Colin suddenly had the sinking feeling that it was he who was in over his head.
****
Gemma didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she exited the ballroom and nearly ran Bridget down in the corridor.
“Gemma, you’re positively blue. Please breathe!” her friend commanded, taking her elbow in a firm hand.
A sudden blast of hot breath escaped through Gemma’s pursed lips.
“Do you think it worked?”
“I don’t know that I can be certain,” Bridget said, thoughtfully tapping a finger on her own lips. She turned to a shadowy figure behind her. “What do you think?”
Lord Maddox stepped out of the darkened alcove into the flickering candlelight of the corridor. He grimaced as though in excruciating pain.
“What do I think…” he muttered. “I think I’m going straight to Hell.”
Bridget rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Ever the dramatic one. Of course you are hell-bound, you scoundrel. But the question is, will Wilde be joining you there, or does he still possess some redeeming quality in spite of your incorrigible influences?”
“Incorrigible influences! I’ll have you know I have been a pillar of support to that fellow since we were in knickers.”
With a raised eyebrow, Bridget stared him down.
“Very well. What is it I must do?”
Gemma loved to watch their interaction. Their playful banter did nothing to disguise how they adored one another. In their eyes there was a spark of hope for Gemma, that she might find the same with Colin.
“Penance,” Bridget answered with mocking laughter. “For that dreadful journal. No less than you deserve, I assure you.”
Lord Maddox cringed. “Just tell me, my dear, that it does not involve strawberries, and I shall do exactly as you bid.”
“I make no promises in that regard, but to begin, offer the chap bad advice on wooing his women.” She paused as though thinking better of it. “On second thought, offer him exactly the advice you would normally give. I’ve read your journal.”
> “My lady, may I remind you that you were won with such devices?”
“As I recall, you believed me to be blind when I did not succumb to your rakish charms.”
“Perhaps I should employ a few strategies on you now?” He took a step toward his wife.
Gemma blushed at the suggestion. It was likely they had forgotten her presence. She cleared her throat to remind them.
“I apologize for interrupting, my lord, but if I might steer the conversation back to my predicament,” Gemma said softly. The whole discussion was the height of impropriety, and she felt that she could sink into the floor from the weight of her shame.
Lord Maddox seemed to remember himself then and retreated a step, putting a respectable distance between him and his wife.
“Certainly, Lady Gemma. I do apologize.”
“I believe you were right, my dear,” Bridget said to him, a wry smile on her lips. “You are going straight to Perdition. Now, run along and do your penance. We will discuss your rakish employments later at length.” She offered him a saucy wink that made Gemma’s skin crawl with embarrassment.
Lord Maddox’s wide, mischievous smile as he bowed only deepened Gemma’s mortification. He planted a lingering kiss on his wife’s fingers.
Gemma coughed lightly. “Perhaps you would like to move into a private room?” she whispered, half to herself. Her cheeks burned when she realized Lord Maddox had heard her.
He looked to Bridget and cocked an eyebrow questioningly, as though seriously considering Gemma’s suggestion.
“No,” Bridget said, though it was hesitant and hardly the resounding answer Gemma was expecting. “Go. Find Sir Wilde. Spread your rakish message to those who need it most.”
“Just…” Gemma interjected once again before she could stop herself. “Don’t do it overly well.”
The viscount laughed. “My lady, I shall do my utmost worst.”
Chapter Seven
Taming Wilde Page 4
