To All the Rakes I've Loved Before (A Honeycote Novella) (9 page)

“I don’t like being manipulated,” she said. “What, exactly, did you write in the note?”

“That you’d reconsidered and would be delighted to attend the ball with them. Also, that you’d decided to avail yourself of their kind offer to help you select a gown.”

She glared at him. “I see.”

For a minute, she sat there, steaming. But she could think of no graceful way to get out of going to the ball.

“I suppose you’ve left me no choice.” She shuddered at the very idea of mingling with the same people who’d laughed at her and whispered ugly things behind her back.

Then again, there was every possibility that they wouldn’t even recognize her or remember her—a thought that only depressed her further.

She stood and walked to the window. Her back to him, she said, “I still don’t understand why you did it. If I choose to keep to myself, to lock myself in my room for the rest of my days, what concern is it of yours?” Unless—

She turned to face him, a glimmer of hope flaring in her chest. “Are you going to the ball tonight?”

“No.”

Silly of her to think he might. She turned back toward the window.

He walked up behind her, placed his hands gently on her shoulders, and whispered into her ear. “I wish I could be there to see you, to dance with you, but I can’t. You know how I accused you of hiding? Well, I’m no better. I’ve been running from my problems too.”

“You mean your debts.”

“That’s a big part of it.”

“What are you going to do?”

He spun her around so that they were facing one another and held her hands in his. “Stop gambling, for one. I was thinking maybe I’d settle down. Start a family. With you.”

Amelia’s fingers went numb. She desperately wanted to believe the words he was saying. But Samuel had said something similar and
that
hadn’t turned out well. Besides, Stephen hadn’t exactly proposed. He probably felt obliged to make some half-hearted offer after last night, but he didn’t want to marry her—he wanted to make his getaway with the least amount of drama possible.

Well, she would make it easy for him.

“It’s kind of you to say that, but—”

“I’m not being kind.”

“—the truth is, I enjoy being single. I like having my freedom.”

He arched a brow. “I know. You want to be able to say ‘damnation.’ I wouldn’t dream of stopping you. There are advantages to the married state too, you know.”

She blinked slowly, her ire rising once more. “Did you… read my diary?”

“I did.” He had the decency to look guilty. “It was on the floor and I was curious, so I read it. I confess, I took your manifesto against marriage as a personal challenge.”

“You shouldn’t have. They were my private thoughts and not intended to be part of some game. Forget you ever saw it.”

“I’ll try. But will you satisfy my curiosity on one point?”

She shot him a pointed look. “You’ve read my diary. I can’t imagine there’s anything left to reveal.”

“Why are you so fascinated by the gossip papers? Aren’t the people featured generally the same ones who snubbed you after… er…”

“The Jilting?” She fisted her hands, then slowly uncurled her fingers, breathing out as she did so. “It’s entertainment—nothing more. The little snippets I write are for my own amusement.” Shrugging, she added, “My life—prior to your arrival—wasn’t very exciting or noteworthy. My diary entries made it seem more so.” The explanation sounded rather pitiful, even to her own ears.

“I want to make you happy. I wish you’d let me try. Will you?” He looked at her earnestly, as though her answer mattered to him very much. And even though he’d crossed boundaries in writing to her friends and in reading her diary and her answer should clearly be no, she didn’t have the heart to deny him outright.

“I’ll need some time to consider it.”

“Fair enough. I’m leaving today—going home. I should have left before now, but selfishly, I’m glad I didn’t. Thank you for letting me stay when the sensible thing to do would have been to slam the door in my ugly, godforsaken face.”

She’d known this day was coming, she just hadn’t expected it to be the night after she’d bared herself to him, body and soul. And she hadn’t realized until this moment how empty her life was going to seem without him in it. Maybe it was a good thing she would be with Rose and Olivia tonight—to keep her from sulking in her room, drinking too much sherry and eating too many scones.

“This isn’t really good-bye,” he said with a grin. “You’re going to see a lot more of me.”

“I hope I won’t be expected to change your bandages or spoon-feed you soup next time.”

He chuckled. “God, I’m going to miss you. Will you make me one small promise?”

She warmed at his words but shrugged noncommittally.

“Try to have fun this evening. And don’t fall in love with any of your admirers.”

“That’s two promises.” She kissed him softly on his cheek, savoring the taste of his skin. “I shall keep one, but I shan’t say which.”

Chapter 11

Miss W. is attending a ball?

Surely, the end of the world cannot be far behind.

—from the make-believe gossip papers of Miss Amelia Wimple

Savage leaned back in his chair, drew on his cigar, and pushed a box across his gleaming desk toward Stephen, who sat in a chair opposite him. “Care for one?”

“No, thanks.” Stephen tried to keep his breathing easy, slow the pounding of his heart.

“This is McGee,” Savage said, jerking a thumb at the henchman who stood behind him. “I believe you’ve already met Maltby.” He nodded toward the man standing guard by the door.

Ah yes, the oaf who’d blackened Stephen’s eye. Charming fellow.

“I’m here to settle my debt.”

“Excellent. Let’s see it then.” Turning to McGee, the gaming hell owner asked, “What does he owe me?”

“One thousand pounds.” McGee ground a fist into his palm—unoriginal as threatening gestures went, but effective. Stephen’s neck broke out in a cold sweat.

“I don’t have cash,” he said smoothly. “But what I’m offering is worth considerably more than one thousand pounds.”

Savage snorted and smoothed a palm over his slicked-back hair. “I’ve no use for family heirlooms, Brookes. Not unless they can be melted down or sold. But I’m listening.”

“My curricle is parked out front, with a fine pair of matching horses. They’re yours—if you’ll release me from my debt.”

Savage puffed on his cigar for a long moment then waved it at Maltby. “Go inspect it. If it looks like something my great aunt would ride in, I’m not interested.” To Stephen, he said, “It would appear that my assistants made an impression on you.”

Stephen grunted. They’d left their marks, all right, but they’d also done him a favor—they’d driven him to Amelia’s doorstep. Hell, he should buy them all drinks.

He and Savage sat in uncompanionable silence while McGee hovered. When at last Maltby returned, huffing from hauling his twenty-stone body up the stairs, he said, “Nice gig. Fine horseflesh.”

A gross understatement. The curricle and horses were easily worth 1,500 pounds. A lavish gift from his brother when he’d turned twenty-five, they were his most prized possessions. But he’d gladly hand them over to Savage if it meant he could go to Amelia with a clean slate.

“Fine,” Savage said. He clamped his cigar between his teeth and stuck out a pudgy hand. “We have a deal.”

Relief coursed through Stephen as he stood, shook his hand, and turned to leave.

“You know,” Savage called out. “Now that you’ve paid up, I can extend another line of credit. Why don’t you go downstairs and have a drink on me? Try your luck at some of the tables. Who knows? You might even be able to win your curricle back.”

Stephen hesitated, not because he was tempted by the offer but because, for once, he wasn’t. “No thanks. I’ve got a long walk home.”

He didn’t really let out his breath until he’d stalked out of the gaming hell and started down King Street. He had a lot to think about during his walk.

Tomorrow, he’d talk with his older brother, Charles, the Marquess of Greystone, about playing a bigger role in the management of the family estate—about making a contribution, somehow. Stephen was tired of playing the part of a dissolute rake. He might be a younger son, but he could do more than drink, gamble, and whore. At least, he was fairly certain he could. It was time he found out.

Stephen also planned to have a conversation with his mother. She was always begging him to give up his debauchery and marry a nice young lady from a respectable family. Well, he’d found a nice young lady. He had a sneaking suspicion his mother wouldn’t approve of a family whose fortune came from a brass mill in Bristol, but he didn’t care. He loved his mother and didn’t want to hurt her, but she was wrong if she thought that Amelia wasn’t good enough for him.

She was better than he deserved.

But he was going to try to convince her to marry him anyway.

* * *

Amelia had to admit that attending the Norrington ball was not nearly as onerous as she’d feared. Of course, it helped that she’d made her entrance with the Duke and Duchess of Huntford. Olivia and Rose introduced her to everyone they knew and made sure she was never left alone by the potted palms or in want of a dance partner. They’d lent her an apple green gown with a daring neckline—rather similar to the one she’d imagined wearing as she’d waltzed with Stephen. She couldn’t wait to recount the events of the night to him.

He’d been right. Reading about a ball in the newspapers did not compare to actually
attending
a ball. And while the gossip papers may have reported most of the scandals correctly, they didn’t tell the whole story. Like how it felt to succumb to fits of breathless laughter after a lively reel. Or how magical it felt to be on the dance floor moving in unison with scores of other people.

For all she knew, people could have been whispering or making snide remarks about her. She was just having too much fun to mind.

When their party piled into the duke’s coach at the end of the evening, everyone was pleasantly exhausted. Amelia, Olivia, and Rose sat on one bench, while the duke and his lovely wife, Anabelle, sat on the bench facing them.

Olivia reached out and affectionately squeezed Amelia’s arm. “I’m so glad you decided to join us tonight.”

“So am I. Thank you for inviting me. This was a far more enjoyable experience than the last ball I attended. However, I suppose that’s not saying much, really.”

“Which ball was that?” Anabelle asked. “And why was it so awful?”

“We mustn’t talk about that night,” Olivia said quickly. “It will spoil our excellent mood.”

“Oh, forgive me,” Anabelle said. “I didn’t realize.”

“Please, don’t apologize,” Amelia said. “I’m the one who brought it up. And though I used to be very sensitive about it, I don’t mind talking about it now. It was about two years ago at Greystone Park. Mama and I took a spill in the middle of the dance floor. It was quite a spectacle.”

“Oh, how awful,” Anabelle said sincerely. “Were you hurt?”

“Not really. My pride, on the other hand…”

Anabelle nodded with understanding. “People can be so cruel—there’s nothing the
ton
loves so much as someone else’s misery.”

And then, because Amelia couldn’t resist mentioning Stephen, she said, “Not everyone was awful to us. Lord Brookes came to our rescue—he was most kind and considerate.”

The duke nodded. “Brookes is a decent fellow.” But then, while issuing a warning look at his sisters, he added, “He’s too much of a rogue for either of you, however. He spends more time in gaming hells than is good for him.”

Innocent though the statement may have been, Amelia’s hackles rose. “Perhaps Lord Brookes means to change—to give up gambling.”

Huntford chuckled. “Maybe. But I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon. I saw him walking out of a hell on King Street earlier today.”

Amelia felt as though she’d been kicked.

“Today?”

“Mmm,” said the duke. “Just before dinner.”

“I see.” Amelia’s nose stung and her eyes burned. She didn’t trust herself to say anything more. And what was there to say? He’d filled her head with promises and hope before he left. A scant few hours later, he’d probably forgotten the things he said—forgotten about her—and returned to his destructive habits.

Rose leaned forward. “Are you feeling well, Amelia?”

Grateful for the dark interior of the coach, she swallowed the huge, painful lump in her throat. “Of course.”

“Still,” said Olivia, “I don’t like the idea of you going home to an empty house. Why don’t you stay with us tonight? We could set you up in the guest chamber until your mother returns to town.”

“Thank you, but no,” Amelia said quickly. “I’d like to go home.”

Her world had seemed so full of possibilities earlier tonight.

Now it felt like a shell—empty and hollow.