The Bluestocking and the Rake (The Regency Gentlemen Series) (30 page)

His tone was light, teasing. But there was a reserve in his voice, which made her suspect that his mind was elsewhere. That kiss. That wretched kiss. She should have pushed him away. She should have done anything but submit to him. And she definitely should not have leaned into him or curled her arms around his neck or answered the insistent pressure of his lips with her own. Was he thinking of it too? Did the memory give him pleasure? Or did he regret their entire acquaintance and her ever coming to Holme Park at all?

“Indeed I am, my lord. Some clumsy oaf trod on them. I hope you will make yourself useful and point out to me such obstructions as I am likely to fall over,” she replied, as her eyes fleetingly met his.

“Mr. Peabody’s tongue for one,” he muttered, staring down the ballroom at the portly gentleman in a bad coat. “He’s been staring at you all evening.”

“As have you, my lord,” she murmured, taking his hand as was required by the dance.

He stared at her for a moment. “It is a great deal too immodest of you to boast of your own beauty, ma’am.”

“Oh, I did not mean
that
,” she replied airily, “only that you are so astounded at my appearance that you cannot believe your eyes.”

“I will not pander to your vanity by answering that.”

It was fortunate that the dance required them to separate because Miss Blakelow was flustered by the look in his eyes. She moved through the dance, aware that he still watched her, and as they came together again, their hands clasped firmly together and she looked up into his face.

“Did you have a pleasant trip to
London, my lord?” she asked.

“Subtle change of subject,” he observed wryly. “Yes, thank you, I did. I went to reacquaint myself with your brother.”

“How―how tiresome for you,” she replied, her poise slipping a notch.

“I found his company most instructive.”

“Indeed?”

“He informed me that he has no sister called Georgiana. In fact, he does not have an elder sister at all.”

“He is a brother by marriage only,” she said uncomfortably.

“He denies knowing you. Why is that?” he asked, looking down at her.

She shrugged as lightly as she was able. “He and I do not see eye to eye.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he just wants to protect you from prying questions. And why would that be, Miss Blakelow?” he murmured.

“I have no idea.”

“You have no idea,” he repeated. “Then why do I have the distinct impression that you are hiding something from me?”

She lifted her chin. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Was William able to set your mind at rest concerning Thorncote?”

“Not in the least. I think Thorncote may be damned as far as he’s concerned. I think that the only person who cares for it is you. And possibly your aunt.”

“And may I ask what have you decided?”

“I may purchase Thorncote from you and make Hal a gift of it.” His lordship smiled but no warmth reached his eyes as he observed the effect of that name upon his dance partner. “Yes, my brother. I believe you are acquainted with him?”

She coloured. “A little.”

“A little?” he repeated. “I should say more than a little, from all I have heard, Miss Blakelow…or should I say, Miss Ashton?”

She stopped. A lady behind her nearly walked into the back of her and Miss Blakelow apologised profusely. He knew. She looked up at him, steeling herself against the blaze of anger in his eyes. He
knew
. “Are you attempting to punish me, my lord, for refusing you the other day?” she asked.

“You flatter yourself, ma’am.”

“Then why do you bring up a subject which you must know is painful for me?”

“
Is
it painful for you? Still?” he demanded, watching her intently.

There was a silence.

“The memory of my own folly is painful,” she answered, her voice barely audible above the sound of the music and laughter and conversation in the room.

“You do know that he’s here, don’t you?” said his lordship.

Her eyes darted to his face. “If you think to discomfort me, my lord, by mentioning his name, you are sadly mistaken.”

“Indeed? You would like me to think so, at any rate. His wife died, you know,” he said conversationally. “Give me your other hand and turn towards me. You really are out of practice, aren’t you?”

“I am sorry that his wife died.”

“I’ll wager you are,” drawled the earl in such a tone as to imply the opposite.

She glared up at him, her bosom heaving. “I
am
sorry that Mary died. And you are a great deal too cruel to accuse me of wishing for her death and too unfair to think that Mr. Hockingham’s marital status should anymore be of interest to me.”

He raised a brow in a supercilious look that made her long to stamp on his foot. “I am amazed that you did not recognise him before, Miss Blakelow,” remarked the earl, “after all, it was he who ran you down on your horse that night on the road to Loughton. A man and a woman who had been inseparable as you and he appear to have been and yet he carried you to his horse and held you all the way back here, and neither of you recognised one another. It is vastly amusing, I’m sure you’ll agree,” said his lordship, sounding as if nothing amused him less.

“It was dark and I swooned. There is nothing very remarkable about it.”

“And he has visited Thorncote on several occasions to visit Marianne, although she has apparently kept that fact from you.”

“It is a friendship, nothing more.”

“Friendship? Is that what you call it? And we all know what sort of
friendships
my brother makes, do we not?”

“So speaks the rake,” she replied with heavy sarcasm.

He smiled. “Ironic, is it not?  A man of my reputation is discovered to be an arbiter of moral excellence after all. Whatever you may think of me Miss Blakelow,
I
have never seduced an innocent, unlike my saintly brother. The reason he married Mary was because she was carrying his child.”

Miss Blakelow began to feel faint. The room was hot and airless; the champagne she had drunk swam in her head.

“Does the sight of him still upset you, my love?” mocked his lordship. “Well, now his wife is dead so you are free to pick up where you left off. How convenient. Does Mr. Peabody know that his fiancée has designs on another man?” His hand tightened uncomfortably on hers as he felt her start to pull away as if she were going to run from the dance floor. “Don’t,” he said in a warning voice.

Miss Blakelow began to feel sick. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

“Is that why you refused me?” hissed the Earl under his breath. “Are you still in love with my brother?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? You look terribly pale.”

“No, I tell you.”

“He makes a very handsome widower, does he not? All the ladies of the neighbourhood have been in a flutter since he arrived.”

“You are cruel,” she cried.

“Oh, no, my love, it is you who are cruel. To play one brother off against another. To punish me for my brother’s mistakes. And I have had it from the horse’s mouth. Yes, Miss Blakelow, your Aunt Thorpe told me everything that happened. You eloped and you were ruined. My brother was already married and failed to make you aware of the fact,” he said lowering his voice. “How can you have been so foolish? Are you so free with your reputation?”

Her eyes fell away from the angry resentment in his, the disappointment in her and the disgust. He knew everything and had already condemned her. Well, it was not to be wondered at. Any man her father had ever told had also turned away in disgust.

“I don’t expect you to understand. I fell in love,” she said hotly, “an emotion that
you
know nothing about.”

“Don’t I? How well you think you know me,” he observed with a hard smile. “Clever Miss Blakelow, you think you know everything, do you not? You think that you know men so well. You think that you know
me
so well and yet you have failed to spot that which is obvious to half the people in this room.”

“Let me go,” she hissed, trying to free her hand from his tight grip.

“When the dance has ended.”

“Dancing with you is agony, my lord,” she muttered.

“And I have been living in agony since our last meeting,” he responded bitterly. “You have made a fool out of me.”

She could not answer him; her throat was choked with tears and emotion.

“And now I find that you were in love with my brother all along. I never stood a chance, did I? Why didn’t you just tell me? Or was it more entertaining to lead me on and watch me tie myself in knots over you?”

She shook her head.

“Did you set out to punish me?” he demanded. “Did you set out to bewitch me so that you might have your revenge? A Hockingham broke your heart so you chose to avenge yourself on his brother. That has a certain completeness to it, doesn’t it? After all, I am just a rake and I have no feelings, do I? Men like me are not worth a damn.”

“You are angry, my lord, because I chose not to reveal my past to you. But you need not insult me. It is my secret and who I choose to tell is my own business.”

“Are you honestly going to marry Hal or Peabody or anyone else after what happened between us the other day?” he asked hoarsely. “Do you kiss all your admirers the way you kissed me?”

She flushed and lowered her eyes. “What happened between us was a mistake.”

“Indeed it was, Miss Blakelow. The worst mistake I ever made,” he agreed, “because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since.”

They moved for a moment in a circle, interweaving with the other partners in the dance.

“Go to him then,” said the earl, his voice like ice. “I won’t marry a woman who has given her love to someone else.”

The dance ended five minutes later and five minutes of icy silence seemed like an eternity. When he finally released her, she barely stayed long enough to receive his bow before she fled.

Miss Blakelow fastened her wrap around her shoulders in the cool hallway. It was quieter here and she was alone but for the servants.

“I won’t marry a woman who has given her love to someone else.”

Those had been his words.

He knew. He knew everything. She looked longingly at the ballroom, hoping for one last glimpse of him before she left. She knew that she had to go. She knew that she would never see him again.

“Where are you going?”

Miss Blakelow jumped at the sound of the voice and turned, her heart beating loudly. She had thought that she was entirely alone. She had thought she had made her escape from the ballroom unseen, but Hal Hockingham stood before her, smiling.

She adjusted her wrap. “I am going home. I have a headache.”

“Stay. The night is young and I have yet had the pleasure of dancing with you.”

She shook her head. “No. I am tired and I shouldn’t have come.”

“Why did you?” he asked curiously. “And without your disguise?”

She shrugged. “Someone made me angry.”

“Sarah,” he guessed.

She coloured and looked away.

“I thought so,” he murmured. “You two never could stand each other.”

She pulled the hood of her cape over her hair. “Goodnight, Hal.”

His hand caught her arm, halting her flight. “Come into the library with me.”

She choked on a half laugh. “No.”

He spread his hands. “You needn’t look like that. We may be more comfortable in there.”

She eyed him in amusement. “So we might, but I am no longer a green girl, Mr. Hockingham.”

He looked amused. “I didn’t mean
that
.”

“Didn’t you?” she asked, her tone doubtful.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said softly.

She playfully rolled her eyes. “Don’t you ever give up?”

“You do,” he insisted, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I could hardly keep my eyes off you.”

“When you weren’t staring at Marianne, that is,” she answered with a knowing look.

He gave a reluctant smile and held up his hand to acknowledge a hit. “Alright, I admit it. But she is hard to ignore.”

“Indeed she is…for a man like you.”

“Or Robert,” he added.

Miss Blakelow stiffened. “Lord Marcham is not short of beautiful women for company.”

“He is a man like any other. Why shouldn’t he enjoy a beautiful woman when he finds one?”

“Because there are rules.”

“Rules are made to be broken,” he murmured, coming closer.

“For men, perhaps.”

“You broke rules once before,” he said softly.

“Yes, but I was
nineteen and very foolish.”

“You were adorable.”

She laughed scornfully. “Hal, stop.”

He spread his hands, the picture of innocence. “What?”

“The chance of some sport is not to be passed by, is it? You are worse than your brother.”

He leaned his
shoulders against the balustrade with folded arms. “Not worse, Sophie. The same. We are not so very different, he and I.”

“Neither of you can think past the gratification of your own pleasure whether it comes out of a bottle or out of a bedroom―but at leas
t
he
respects a virtuous female.”

“Perhaps. But unlike me, Robert is a dreamer. He believes in love.”

“And what do you believe in?” she asked.

He smiled. “I believe in making it.”

She was unimpressed by this speech. “A predictable response, Hal. Did you not think of growing up in Brussels?”

He looked amused. “Where would be the fun in that?”

“You might actually pass one calendar year without an outraged father, husband or fiancée on your heels with a horsewhip in their hands. Try it. You might like it.”

He tilted his head on one side, examining her like a bird. “You have changed, Miss Ashton.”

“I have had to.”

He took a few steps towards her, smiling gently. “But I wonder if this cool aloofness is a front and that the passionate creature I remember so well is still lurking underneath?”

She tried not to gulp as he came to stand before her. She willed herself not to flinch or baulk and raised her eyes defiantly to his.

He gave a soft laugh as he saw the fight in her stare. “Yes…most
definitely
you have changed,” he murmured.

“Go home, Hal. Marianne is not the fool that I was. She will not give up her kisses so easily and you cannot―”

He silenced her with his mouth. For a moment she resisted him, struggling against his embrace, but then something in her gave way and she leaned into him, savouring his closeness, smelling his cologne, feeling his arms around her after all these years apart. So many times had she dreamed that she would one day be back in his arms, that she would once again feel his desire once again, if not his love.

But this was wrong. Somewhere along the line they had become the wrong arms, the wrong lips and his kiss aroused nothing more in her than the desire to be kissed properly by the man whom she craved to hold close.

“Hal…” she whispered, closing her eyes, searching…trying to find something. A feeling. A thrill. Anything. Trying to recapture those feelings which had been hers so long ago…

He bent his head and kissed her again, this time extremely gently, almost reverently. She opened her mouth beneath his, offering herself up to him, waiting for him to come and take her, waiting for the passion to come, waiting for that old familiar feeling to tremble in her belly. But it didn’t.

She drew her mouth away and simply stared at him.

“Hal,” she whispered.

She put her arms around his neck and looked up at him as their eyes met. And in that long moment, Miss Blakelow felt the years fall away. All the hurt and anger and resentment were unimportant now. It was over.

He had not been deliberately cruel and heartless all those years ago. He had not intended to use her for his own ends or ruin her life. He had been weak; that’s all. He was a weak man trapped in a loveless marriage. He had given in to his youthful passions at the expense of his honour and she realised now that he had been every bit as naive as she. He had not intended to cheat her or break her heart. They had both been young and foolish and unable to reconcile their love for each other to the world in which they lived.

Miss Blakelow hesitated and in that moment, forgave him much. The ten years of hurt slid away and she saw him as he really was; not a hero from one of the novels she read as a young woman, but a real man who made very real mistakes.

“Hal, it’s over,” she said softly.

He sighed. “I know.”

“You’re kissing me as if I was your sister—or at least it feels as if you are.”

“Sister?” he repeated, horrified. “Well, dash it, Sophie, that’s not exactly flattering.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late then,” he said sadly.

“It would never have worked, you know…you and I.”

“Wouldn’t it?”

“I realise it now even if I didn’t before.”

“Perhaps you’ve met someone who suits you better?” he suggested softly.

She lowered her eyes from his. “I don’t think I’m suited to anyone Hal. I am the poison chalice. Everything I touch turns sour. No matter where I go or what I do, my past continues to haunt my future.”

“Then change it.”

She gave a scornful laugh. “Oh, how easy you make it sound. I wish that I could.”

“You can.”

“How?”

“Stop running away. Face it head on.”

She shook her head.

“Robert needs to know what happened,” Hal said gently.

“I can’t,” she whispered, emotion closing her throat.

“You have to tell him.” His hands slid down her arms and took her hands in his. “Tell him, Georgie.”

She looked up at him, surprised to hear that name on his lips. She had always been Sophie to him.

“You are Georgiana now,” he said. “Your life is here now. These people are your friends. This is your home. No more running.”

She reached up on tip-toe and kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, Hal.”

She stepped away from him but not before she had seen the man hovering over his shoulder. Lord Marcham stood in the doorway, watching.

Their eyes met for a long moment before he turned away back to his guests.

* * *

Lord Marcham stood in the entrance to the ballroom, half watching the dancing but with one eye to the hallway, waiting for his brother to come back…or Georgiana…or both of them together.

A woman passed by and nodded a greeting to him but he did not notice. He is attention was caught by the scene taking place in the hallway, which would decide his future happiness. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and watched as his brother came back in through the front door. Davenham closed it and Hal said something in to the butler and smiled.

Hal was smiling, damn him. He was looking happy. His lordship felt his stomach clench into knots. He was happy for him. Or at least he
should
be. He was his brother, wasn’t he?

Hal had spent years in an unhappy marriage, why shouldn’t he now marry the woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago? All the best to him. He wanted nothing but Hal’s happiness, he told himself. It was all he ever wanted. Now Hal had a second chance at matrimony, a chance for love, and children and a future. He should take it with both hands.

And Georgie? Well. There had been women before her and there would no doubt be women after her. He was a rake, wasn’t he? It was expected of him. He would take a mistress. A mistress with green eyes and chestnut hair. And in the moments after intimacy, he would be grateful to wake up still a single man, without responsibilities. He would still be free.

He had lived forty years without love and he had no doubt that he could survive another forty the same. Sarah was probably right. He was not the right man for matrimony. He was too jaded, too selfish, too used to taking his pleasure where and when he chose. And he found Georgiana intriguing but she was not beautiful enough to hold his interest for long. There would be other women. There was bound to be. Since when had he stayed with any woman for more than a year?

He was as immoral as he was dissipated. He had been warming Lady Burford’s bed when Georgiana was a schoolroom miss taking sums from her governess. It would have been laughable if it wasn’t so tragic. How could he change a lifetime of bad behaviour? How could he let her marry a man who had never had any kind of meaningful relationship with a woman in his life? A man who had never had an interest in a woman beyond her seduction? How did he know that all he felt for Miss Blakelow was lust? And once he’d had her, how soon would the novelty of married life wear thin? And how long before he would look to other quarters for excitement? The chances were that he would be unfaithful within a year.

And yet…

“Robbie, you’re not dancing,” Hal said, coming to a halt before him.

Lord Marcham gathered his gloomy thoughts together and threw them from his mind. “I’m ready for my bed.”

“Already? What kind of rake goes to bed before midnight?”

“The bored kind,” responded his lordship.

His brother chuckled. “Oh, dear, that bad is it? Not enough scantily clad females here to hold your interest? Or is the play at the card table a little tame for such a hardened gamester such as you?”

“Exactly so.”

“Well, it can’t be that bad. Find yourself a pretty girl and make yourself agreeable.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“You? Not in the mood to chase pretty girls? Impossible.”

Lord Marcham forced a smile. Given the thoughts that had so recently been revolving in his head, this wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear. “Even a rake needs a night off now and again. My age, you know.”

“Hardly. You’d probably drink me under the table without any trouble at all. Us married men, you know, dull dogs I’m afraid.”

“How was the happy reunion? Am I to wish you joy?” asked Lord Marcham in a desperate bid to change the subject. He sipped his champagne, keeping his eyes on the dancers on the floor before them, as they interweaved in a country dance, their flushed and happy faces in stark contrast to the wretchedness he felt inside.

He swore he would not ask. He told himself that he was uninterested in whatever arrangement his brother and Georgiana had come to. But he had seen that kiss. He had witnessed her slipping her arms around his brother’s neck and the sense of gnawing jealousy made him want to place his fist with some force into the centre of Hal’s handsome face.

Hal turned and saw his brother and smiled faintly. “So you
are
interested after all,” he commented.