Augusta frowned at her fiancé then turned back to her brother, giving him a comforting pat on the arm. “Of course you aren’t blushing. It’s merely warm in here with all these people.”
Coventry ignored Ash’s smirk. “There is a bit of a crush tonight, isn’t there?” He gazed out at the swarm of swirling pastel and feathers interspersed with the stark contrast of black and white.
“It’s Almack’s,” Ash offered with an appropriate level of revulsion. “There’s always a crush.”
Almack’s, twice in one season. Coventry winced. For a respected rake, it must be some kind of record. Perhaps even more appalling was that his arrival tonight had barely caused a stir. He was becoming entirely too commonplace at ton gatherings. What was next? Conventionality? He smiled, thinking that it might not be that far off. To attend tonight, he’d forsaken a Hellfire meeting at Wycombe after all. “Where did Aunt Eudora disappear to?”
Augusta grinned. “She’s over there,” she said, pointing to a group of matrons huddled in the back right corner of the assembly room, near the refreshments. “In the widow’s corner.”
Coventry glanced in the direction indicated to see their aunt happily clucking away with her dowager friends, yet still managing to keep an eye on her young charge. Engagement or not, Augusta wouldn’t be taking any walks in the garden tonight—or any night soon. He almost felt sorry for Ash. Almost. Until he recalled his smirk of a few moments ago.
Coventry sighed, almost contentedly. He’d done his duty; his sister would be well taken care of. He no longer needed to frequent the assembly rooms of Almack’s, or any of the other endless rounds of society balls and parties for that matter.
No, tonight he’d come because he wanted to.
“Have you seen Lady Georgina yet?” Augusta asked anxiously. “She’s promised to be here tonight.”
Coventry glowered, but apparently to little effect. His scathing stares no longer frightened her one wit. Perhaps that was the greatest change of all these past few days. Georgina’s admonition had been a major awakening for him. He never wanted to be compared to his father. Augusta could no longer doubt that he cared for her. He’d told her so. Unfortunately, with his revelation, he’d also lost the ability to intimidate. He’d discovered that his sweet, gentle sister could be every bit as vexing as her friend. Right now she was merely staring at him with an entirely unintimidated, impatient look on her face.
“You’ve forgiven her, haven’t you,” she urged. “Please say that you have. I know you’ve sought to avoid her all week, but she was only trying to help. She meant no harm. Surely she couldn’t have guessed what that horrible man intended to do.”
It pleased him that Augusta could talk about what had happened so easily. He couldn’t help the swell of pride on her behalf. His sister was a strong woman. She glowed with a confidence that hadn’t been there before.
“Please, I’ll blame myself if you don’t forgive her,” she said.
Coventry lifted one corner of his mouth in a half grin. “I can’t have you blame yourself.”
Augusta clapped her hands. “Then you’ll forgive her?”
He had some time ago. He knew Georgina had only been acting with Augusta’s best interests at heart. Though he’d never liked Carrington, even he hadn’t foreseen that the guttersnipe would go to such lengths to secure his sister’s hand in marriage. Though if Carrington thought Coventry would insist his sister marry the man who’d forced her, just because she was compromised, he was dead wrong. Society be damned. Coventry bowed his head in mock deference. “If you insist.”
“I do,” she said firmly. “I told her you would be here and that you wanted to speak with her.”
“Augusta…”
She thrust her lip out belligerently. “Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? I know you care for her”—she batted her long eyelashes—“don’t you?”
She looked so hopeful, Coventry had to chuckle. “That’s none of your business, minx.”
But he did. It was time to put the past behind him.
He was still furious with Georgina’s interference, but it hadn’t changed how he felt about her. Making love to her had been the most momentous, satisfying experience of his life. She made love just as she did everything else, with boldness and honesty. And passion.
They were suited in every way.
And for that reason, he was honor bound to marry her.
But that was not why he would.
Rockingham had gotten it all wrong. Lady Georgina wasn’t the night; she was the day, bright and shining, bringing light back into the darkness of his life. Her smile, her laughter, her beauty, transcended the fortress he’d erected around his heart.
She’d cleaned up his life and made him realize just how far he’d been drowning himself in his own misery. The drinking, the women, the gambling—well, he still liked to gamble, though perhaps he’d forbear on the high stakes—hadn’t cured the emptiness inside him. Only she had.
He’d come to accept what he’d known since the night they made love, though it had been there for far longer. He loved her. For many of the qualities she’d championed on her own behalf and so many more: her confidence, her determination, her accomplishments, her capableness, her wit, her beauty and charm, her honesty, and not least of all, her passion. There was no one like her. Dodging her—unsuccessfully—these past two months had been the most fun he’d had in years. Perhaps ever.
She was worth the risk of loving again.
His hand went to the pocket in his waistcoat, recognizing the unmistakable bulge of the enormous diamond and emerald engagement ring that he’d purchased earlier today.
He knew there would be difficulties, not the least of which was her family, but he was ready to fight. He’d given his word to her father, but he would just have to convince the duke that he would be the best—the only—man for his daughter.
Perhaps sensing his thoughts, Augusta playfully pushed him away. “Go find her.”
Coventry looked to his friend. “Obviously, I’ve failed. I hope you’ll do a better job of instilling the proper amount of deference in the chit.”
Augusta made a sharp sound of indignation.
“I’ll try.” Ash shrugged helplessly. “But I’m afraid I’m not very optimistic.”
For which Ash received another sound swat on his arm.
Coventry laughed and moved away, knowing that their happiness would soon be his.
“What’s wrong, Gina? And don’t say ‘nothing,’” Cecelia admonished before Gina could get a word in edgewise. “It’s Coventry, isn’t it?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve walked around like a ghost all week. Tell me what he did to you, and I’ll make him sorry.”
From the fierce tone in her voice, Gina didn’t doubt her. Cecelia had a vengeful streak in her a mile long. She’d always understood that the major impetus for the Rake Slayers had been Cecelia’s eagerness to get back at the Duke of Beaufort. Gina was half-tempted to confide in her; perhaps Cece might succeed where Gina had failed.
Her efforts to speak with Coventry since the night they’d made love had thus far been in vain.
She’d visited Augusta numerous times in the past few days, offering her heartfelt apology, which had been readily accepted. But Coventry had not sought her out. Indeed, he seemed to be avoiding her. She hadn’t had the opportunity to explain, to make him understand. Augusta had forgiven her. Why couldn’t he?
“It hasn’t come to that.”
“Yet?” Cecelia finished.
“Perhaps,” Gina admitted. “It’s imperative that I see him tonight. I need to apologize.” But that wasn’t the only reason. Her father was pressuring her to decide on Lord Rockingham’s offer. Of course she couldn’t accept, but neither could she explain why.
Nearly a week had passed since they’d made love and Gina was getting worried that Coventry had no intention of offering for her. Doubt had crept through the aura of certainty. The very real possibility that she might be ruined was beginning to cause
her a certain amount of anxiety. She bit her lip. Well, actually, it was beginning to cause her a certain amount of panic.
So when Augusta mentioned that he would be here tonight and that he wanted to see her it had given her a slim ray of hope. Something to hold on to. It had to be a good sign, hadn’t it?
“Why?” Cecelia asked. “What could you possibly have to apologize for?”
Gina weighed her choice of words. “I can’t tell you the particulars because it would betray a confidence. Suffice it to say that I made a mistake. One that could have been disastrous.”
“You?” Cecelia mocked, her hand over her heart.
“Very funny, but occasionally even I make a mistake.” Gina’s voice turned serious. “This, I’m afraid, was a rather ghastly one.”
“And you’re sure there’s nothing else?”
Gina hedged. “I really need to speak to him.” Even she could hear the slightly hysterical desperation in her own voice.
Cecelia studied her with that look that said she knew there was more. Finally, she asked, “Where’s your lap dog? I thought he’d be here tonight.”
It took Gina a moment to realize whom she was referring to. “Lord Rockingham?”
“Who else?”
Gina giggled. “I hardly think he qualifies as a lap dog, though he has been inordinately attentive of late.” He was the perfect suitor: charming, humorous, and handsome. If he were Coventry, everything would be perfect. “But to answer your question, I don’t know where he is. He was quite evasive when I asked, saying simply that he had a business matter to attend to.”
Cecelia snorted. “Is that what they call it now? Business? Humph!”
Gina looked at her questioningly.
“There is a Hellfire ‘meeting’ at Wycombe tonight,” Cecelia explained. “Though meeting is hardly the term I’d use. Drunken orgy is probably more accurate.”
Gina glanced around to make sure no one had heard. “You shouldn’t say such things.” But her reproach was only halfhearted. Were they not standing in the middle of Almack’s, she might be inclined to ask more. “Is that where Mr. Ryder is tonight?”
“From what I gather,” Cecelia said, not bothering to hide her disgust.
“He told you as much?”
“No,” she admitted. “I have my ways of finding out.”
Gina cocked her brow.
“Oh, very well, Beaufort told me.”
Both brows lifted at that one.
“Gina, there’s been something I wanted to ask you…” Cecelia looked momentarily flustered, then apparently thinking better of what she was going to say, switched the subject. “Oh look, here comes Claire.” Gina glanced in the direction Cecelia indicated, picking Claire out in the horde of dancers dispersing from the last country reel. “Perhaps she’ll help us find your missing rake.”
“About Claire…”
“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Though I don’t think you’ve confided the real secret,” Cecelia said, clearly hoping for more.
But she was to be disappointed.
Gina looked around the crowded room, anxious for a glimpse of him. Augusta had assured her that he would be here tonight. Patience had never been one of her stronger virtues and the uncertainty of his intentions was killing her.
She was going to find him tonight. Even if he didn’t want to be found.
Coventry had just about given up on his search for Georgina. He was slowly making his way back to the main assembly room after a discreet check of the balconies upstairs when he fell in line behind a gaggle of giggling girls—debutantes by the look of them—exiting the retiring room. He shook his head, marveling at the way young ladies managed to “retire” in groups.
At first he didn’t understand what they were saying—the conversation of prattling eighteen-year-olds was best left to far more perceptive ears than his—and then he wished he hadn’t.
“I think it will be Lady Cecelia. She’s the most beautiful.”
The name of Georgina’s friend barely registered.
A minute blonde in a puff of pale pink tulle shook her head. “You’re wrong, Sylvie, I’m confident it will be Lady Georgina.”
His ears sharpened. Now they had his full attention.
Unaware that their conversation was being carefully attended to she continued, “Have you seen the way he watches her and follows her everywhere? He’s like a wolf salivating over a tasty sheep.”
They broke out into great peals of high-pitched laughter. He wondered who the poor fool was to inspire such ridicule. Obviously, one of Lady Georgina’s admirers. He was more amused than jealous, the man sounded like a real toady.
Still, Coventry found himself drawn into their conversation. He lagged far enough behind as to not draw attention to himself, occasionally ducking behind one of the columns that lined the hall to stay out of view.
There were four of them. The blonde and three brunettes of varying shades. He may have recognized one or two—but then again perhaps not. He found most debutantes largely indistinguishable.
“I wish I could be a Rake Slayer.”
What the devil was a “Rake Slayer?”
He couldn’t tell which one spoke, but it might have been the one addressed as Sylvie. With their heads bent together and their shrill, girlish voices, they even sounded alike.
But it was the blonde, obviously their leader, who answered. She stopped long enough to toss back her shoulders and turn down her nose. “You’re hardly mature or sophisticated enough, Sylvie. You must have at least one full season under your belt to be a Rake Slayer.”
His pulse increased. He was beginning to get a very uneasy feeling about this.
“Who says?” one of the others asked.
The blonde put her hands on her hips and answered with a patronizing clip. “It’s well known.”
Now who could argue with that? But her next words stopped him cold.
“I, for one, will be happy to see that wicked Lord Coventry brought to his knees. With all the women he’s ruined, it’s high time someone taught him a lesson.”
Coventry felt something inside him drop. A vague conception of what they might be talking about began to form. The already warm room turned stifling.
He gave up trying to figure out who was talking and simply listened as if his life depended on it. In a way, he supposed it did.
“How soon do you think it will be before he offers for her?”
“I don’t know, but I’d love to see his face when she refuses.”
Refuses?
“Perhaps you might. That’s part of the game is it not?”
The words shuffled together in his head. A game. Rake Slayers. Lady Georgina and her friends. Offer. His chest squeezed. Refusal. The squeezing intensified. Public refusal.
Coventry jerked to a halt as if he’d been shot, frozen in the heart-stopping limbo between confusion and comprehension. If only he could stay like this forever. If only he could hold on to the shock, he wouldn’t have to understand. But the implacable truth closed in around him.
The girls turned the corner and made their way toward the assembly room. He let them go. He didn’t need to hear anymore. It was all painfully clear.
He’d been made a fool of—a very public fool of.
Again.
Betrayal stuck like a dagger in his back.
It had all been a game. A vicious little game of revenge meted out by a devious assailant in the guise of a prim and proper lady.
The oddities of her behavior now made horrible sense. The aggressive way she’d pursued him seemingly out of the blue, the separation of his friends at parties, the way she wouldn’t back down in the face of his apparent indifference. It was all a plan to make him propose and then refuse his offer. To bring down a rake.
She was only trying to teach him a lesson.
She didn’t love him.
And he was a fool, because he’d believed that she did. He believed that she’d found something in him to love. He’d allo
wed himself to hope, forgetting the lessons of the past, and had fallen in love with a lie… again.
You’re worthless… Pathetic…
How could it have happened? But he knew the answer to that. The sudden wave of self-loathing made him cringe. He despised this weakness inside him. The damned neediness that made him susceptible to the wiles of a beautiful woman.
How could he have allowed himself to believe that she was any different? She was just another whore willing to use her body to get what she wanted.
But not this time, he vowed.
His uncharacteristically honorable intentions were a thing of the past. He’d never marry her now. He would never give her the satisfaction of knowing how well her game had worked. How well she’d made him believe. He’d make her think she was just another conquest to a notorious coldhearted rake. Only he would know the extent of that lie.
He hated this excruciating pain that he’d sworn to never feel again, that he’d fought so hard to forget. Pain that burned and gnawed.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to block it all out. Her smell, the touch of her soft skin on his, the way she’d made love with such passion. Each memory cinched his heart a little more. Making him long for what he could not have. He wanted her, but he would not do anything about it. She could pursue him until the end of time, and he still wouldn’t marry her.
Like fragments of a broken dream, his illusions and hopes for a future shattered. The fleeting moment of happiness gave way to the familiar cold darkness. He wrapped himself in the black blanket of oblivion where no one could enter and nothing could penetrate. The flickering light inside him was snuffed. This time, he vowed, for good.
He would never yield to temptation again. Temptation only brought betrayal.
Yet everything about her tempted.
He shook his head, clearing the provocative image. He had to find a way to forget.
He needed a drink. A real drink, not this slop they served at Almack’s. And he knew just where to get one.
And anything else he had a mind for.