50 Ways to Ruin a Rake (18 page)

Meanwhile, his father set his hand on Trevor's shoulder. Ever the peacemaker, the man squeezed his son and tried to moderate the emotions. “The duke is simply worried for you. We all are.”

“My grandfather need not worry. I have my affairs well in hand. It was his bumbling machinations that started this whole chain of events in the first place.”

The duke slammed his fist down on the table. Finally, Trevor had pushed him into an unseemly display. And it hadn't been all that hard to accomplish. The man truly was aging.

“That girl is beneath you. She is beneath all of us, and she will not have my name or title.”

Trevor arched a brow. “No, she won't. She'll have my name and my title. You will be worm food soon enough. I only need wait a time.”

“I'll disinherit you!”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Your memory again. We've already had this discussion. You'd have to disinherit my father, and we both know you won't do it.” And then he played a trump, winning the lion's share of the pot.

But his father wasn't nearly as calm. His face was pale, and he squeezed Trevor's shoulder harder than a vise. For a moment, Trevor feared that he'd have to moderate his plan if only to prevent his father from having a seizure, but to his surprise, the man came down squarely on Trevor's part.

“I warned you this nonsense wouldn't work, Father. Trevor has your stubbornness. He won't be managed like I was.”

“Trevor needs to learn his p-place!” the duke sputtered. “He will marry a girl of my choosing or starve.”

Trevor tsked loudly. “Your memory again, sir. You have already proved how bad your judgment is regarding women.”

“The devil you say!” the man exploded.

Trevor didn't answer at first. He was too busy winning the next hand. When he spoke he knew he was crossing not only society's rules, but also the law within his own family. It didn't matter. For the first time in his life, he saw exactly how ridiculous it was to maintain a system of bride-choice that had proved so disastrous time and time again.

So he won the hand, then he looked squarely at his grandfather. “Your choice in bride was bad enough,” he said. “Grandmother was frail and unable to conceive adequate sons. So much that you went to France to father half a dozen bastards.”

The man gaped at him, too furious to even draw breath. And then, Trevor made it worse. He turned on his father who had just a moment before supported him.

“And your bride is even worse. I know Grandfather picked her. How much in debt are you, Father? And not just because of Mother. Did I see your mistress sporting a new diamond bracelet? How expensive was that? But I am thankful that you've been careful. At least I have not had a dozen illegitimate brothers to contend with. Only the one girl.”

His father paled. This was not something spoken of publicly. Ever. And yet, here Trevor was pouring it out in an open card room at a party attended by the whole
ton
. But it was the truth, and everyone here knew it.

The duke pushed up to a stand, his eyes hard, his body trembling in fury. “So you marry for money?” He spoke as if that wasn't the choice of hundreds of aristocrats.

But Trevor shook his head. “I pick the woman I want.”

“Even if she's a common cit? With a mad mother and an idiotic father? Good God, boy,
think
!”

Trevor smiled. He hadn't thought he could. It was a devastating thing to humiliate both father and grandfather, but the darkness in him spilled out. He laid down his last card, winning the pot.

“I am thinking. And I think you owe me a great deal of money. Unless you plan to forget this as well.”

“I forget nothing.”

“Then you will pay your debts, cease prattling about disinheritance, and stay the bloody hell away from my fiancée.”

Then Trevor stood, waiting with fists pressed against the baize. Did his grandfather cower? Did he give in gracefully?

“You are dead to me, boy,” the man spat.

Trevor waived a hand in dismissal as if that meant nothing. It was a lie. The words cut at him. A part of him still loved his grandfather, but it was clearly a one-sided love. “Do you forget your debts? Do we turn the financial reins over to Father?” He gestured at the table. It was so much more than a pile of chits here. The man either had to pay or admit he was unable to handle money. It wasn't enough to legally declare him
non
compus
mentis
, but it was a start. Especially as there were at least two barristers in the room listening closely.

Then his grandfather gave in. His hands shook, his eyes blazed in fury, but he did as honor bid. He threw down bank notes as he might throw away bad meat. “You may apply to Oltheten,” he said, his voice thick but clear. “He will give you the last penny you will ever see from me.”

Trevor simply shrugged. “Between you and my parents, sir, I never expected to inherit a penny anyway.” That was a lie, but everyone here took it as truth.

Trevor had just thrown away the fortune of a lifetime. He was well aware that the entailed properties wouldn't support themselves. He would be in a bad way if he inherited a title with no means to support it. But that was a worry for another day. For now, he'd beaten his grandfather. He'd declared his independence from a domineering old goat, and…and…

And he wanted to see Mellie.

He
needed
to spend some quiet moments in her arms assessing exactly what he had just done. She would help him sort through the facts logically before he planned his next step.

She would help him.

And so it was with absolute horror that he stepped out of the card room to see her on another man's arm. Not just any man, but Lord Rausch, the slimiest damn German in London. And she was laughing while he unobtrusively plucked a feather from her bodice.

Bloody hell, this night might just end with a challenge after all.

Listen carefully so you can use his own words against him.

Mellie didn't notice when Trevor appeared at the edge of the ballroom, or so she told herself. She kept her gazed fixed on the gentlemen who surrounded her, so she couldn't possibly have seen when he stepped out of the card room with an expression more appropriate to a boxing match. Lord, she'd never seen him more furious and that included when Ronnie had punched him hard enough to land in a cow pile.

Damn, she was looking at him when she shouldn't be. Her attention was supposed to be on Mr. Rausch who was especially charming right now. And his friends were very learned. She'd spoken more natural history in the last fifteen minutes than she had in years of living with her father. She usually got her information from published papers, but it was immeasurably more stimulating to speak with like-minded scientists. She was so happy about the conversation that she didn't even care that they were mostly there to ogle her gown and try to learn gossip about her and Trevor.

She thought she could catch Lady Eleanor's eye. Perhaps she knew why Trevor would look that angry upon leaving a card room. Did the man gamble to excess? Had he just lost a lot of money?

Unfortunately, Eleanor was surrounded by her own circle of admirers. Somehow the two women had become separated by all the gentlemen, which meant that there was no female to moderate Trevor's attitude when he shouldered his way into her circle.

Mr. Rausch responded first. “Mr. Anaedsley, I must say you've been sadly neglectful of your fiancée. She's absolutely fascinating—”

“Thank you, sir. When I need advice on my intended, I'll be sure to turn to you.” Then he held out his hand. “Mellie, if you wouldn't mind…” It was clearly not a request. It was also not a statement of what he wanted. Just an outstretched hand and an expression as dark as pitch. And she had no idea how to respond.

“Um, I'm supposed to partner Mr. Greenfield in the next set.” The musicians had started tuning again, so it wouldn't be long.

“Perhaps Mr. Greenfield will forgive you,” he said, his tone softening, but not his expression. “I would like to speak—”

“Come now, Anaedsley,” Mr. Rausch interrupted. “The girl is allowed some fun, don't you think? We're having the most stimulating conversation.” He gestured toward Mellie, but froze as Trevor's voice cut through hard and cold.

“Touch my fiancée again, Rausch, and I will meet you at dawn.”

“Trevor!” Mellie gasped.

At her cry, Trevor blinked, then his eyes widened, as he must have realized what he'd just said. Suddenly, he was grimacing as he pulled his hands back to his sides. “Forgive me, everyone. I'm in a deuced foul temper.”

“Then perhaps you should leave the ladies alone,” said Mr. Rausch, his voice cold as he stepped protectively between her and Trevor.

But that was ridiculous. Trevor would never harm her. And if he was in a foul temper, it was incumbent upon her to find out what had happened.

So it was that she touched Mr. Rausch's shoulder. She saw a muscle tick in Trevor's jaw, so she made her intentions very clear.

“Mr. Rausch, would you mind stepping aside? I find I need to have a word with my fiancé. Gentlemen, my apologies. I fear I'm otherwise engaged for this set.”

Fortunately, Mr. Rausch was protective, not stupid. Seeing that she would not be deterred, he slid aside but not before catching her eye.

“If you ever have need of anything, pray do not hesitate to call on me. Day or night, whatever—”

“She has no need of you, Rausch,” cut in Trevor.

Mellie just sighed. What was it about men that they had to push themselves to ridiculous displays to prove they were men? Affairs at dawn, protective statements. Really, she already missed the rational discussion of chemicals. Well, part of her did. The other part worried that something serious had happened in the card room.

So she stepped around Mr. Rausch and took Trevor's hand. “Let us take a walk in the garden, shall we?”

She made her words especially loud as a way to draw his attention away from staring hard at Mr. Rausch. It worked. Trevor blinked and flashed her a grateful look. It was a small tick of his lips upward and a general lowering of his shoulders, but she had studied his gestures closely. He was grateful for her understanding, and so she set her hand on his arm and maneuvered toward the French doors that led into the tiny back garden.

“What has happened—” she began, but he squeezed her fingers.

“Not yet. Let's get outside, and I'll tell you everything.”

“Of course,” she answered, but it was easier said than done. After all, they were the couple of the hour. Everyone wanted to speak with them, and more than a few had watched his dramatic confrontation with Mr. Rausch.

Still, she managed to do it, mostly because Trevor was a master at responding politely before pushing them forward. It took forever, but eventually they crossed to the cooler air outside. She was able to take a deep breath and lift her face to the night sky. She'd never realized how much she relished the simple space to breathe even the fetid London air.

“Finally, Mellie,” said a too familiar voice at her side. “I've been waiting an age.”

No, no, no, no, no! Ronnie couldn't be here. Not in London at her first ball. And yet, the voice was unmistakable. As was Trevor's response.

“Mr. Ronald Smithson, what an unpleasant surprise.”

“You, sirrah, have no right to speak to me!” Ronnie answered, his tone surly.

Mellie finally located her cousin standing at the edge of the brick porch as it led out to the garden. There were a few others here as well, but her cousin took the whole of her attention. As well as the brunt of her temper. “Ronnie, you're the one without any rights. You were
not
on the guest list. I could have you tossed out—”

“Mellie, please. I came to you with an urgent matter.”

“Every matter is urgent in your mind, and do you know what? Not a one of them is.”

“Your father is sick.”

She swallowed, a queasy feeling twisting in her gut. But this was Ronnie, and she'd been fooled by his dramatic statements before. “How sick?”

“Desperately.”

She waved that aside. “Is he sleeping?”

“Barely a wink. Paces the house all night long. Doesn't eat. Coughs like the very devil. And all because he's sick with worry over you.”

“Oh thank God.”

Her relieved pronouncement brought Ronnie up short. It even seemed to surprise Trevor. She felt his forearm twitch beneath her hand, so she squeezed him slightly to reassure him. And then she launched into her own dramatic statements.

“I've been trying to kill my pater for years. If I'd known all it took was an impetuous trip to London, I would have done it years ago.”

Ronnie blinked at her, then his expression darkened. “Good God, London has driven you insane! Just like your mother—”

“One more word, Ronnie, and I will stab you with my hairpin. And not in your chest where it won't do any good. I'll go for your ability to father children.”

To which Trevor dropped her arm. “I'll hold him still for you, love.”

“Thank you—”

“Mellie!” Ronnie exclaimed, backing toward the edge of the brick. Mellie would have continued the charade longer, but the other five people in the area were listening with great attention.

“Ronnie, my father takes to his bed when he's upset.
You're
the one who paces all night long. Which means you made up my father's illness out of whole cloth—”

“He's
worried
about you! We all are!”

Trevor stepped forward with a low growl. “You should be worried I don't kill you—”

“Good God,
stop
it
!” If they hadn't caught everyone's attention before, Mellie's bellow certainly did now. “Why does everyone keep threatening to have duels? Is this some London infection of which I'm unaware?”

Both men turned to her, equal expressions of outrage on their faces. “It's how gentlemen express their most vehement displeasure,” Ronnie said stiffly.

Trevor started to nod and then abruptly seemed to catch himself. “It's…it's a silly, empty threat. I shouldn't have used it. I beg your pardon.”

Ronnie turned to Trevor, his eyes narrowed. “It's not an empty threat with me.”

Mellie sniffed. “And that's why I'll never marry you, Ronnie. Because you have no sense.”

Ronnie stepped closer, and for the first time in the conversation, the light fell full on his face. What she saw there stunned her. He looked…haggard. There were bags under his eyes and a gaunt look to his haphazardly shaved face. Even his clothes were wrinkled, though he'd obviously made some attempt to fit into her ball. He was in his best attire even if it hung awkwardly on him.

“Ronnie? What has happened to you?”

He looked down at himself and then shrugged. “I fell in love, Mellie, you know that. And now you're engaged to him, and it's all wrong. Why can't you see that? He's all wrong for you.”

“Why? Because he's going to be a duke? Because he's a man of science, and I adore science?”

“Because he will bring out the madness in you. With me, I am the mad one, and you are forced to be sane. With him…” He held up his hands beseechingly. “Your worst impulses will claim you. Tell me that you haven't been dreaming of doing things you know you ought not.”

The problem with Ronnie—aside from his obvious romantic delusions—was that he'd known her from childhood. He knew just the words to say to strike deep at her heart. To make her question everything she believed about herself.

She had been thinking—almost constantly—of giving in to her baser desires. Of doing things with Trevor that she knew respectable women did not. So in that, he was absolutely correct. And while she was still grappling with her cousin's words, Trevor released a snort of disgust.

“You know nothing of this woman you pretend to adore. You don't know what she wants, what she needs, or even what would make her happy. Do you think this—” He gestured to the growing group of people collecting on the terrace. “This public display will make her happy? Romantic gestures disgust her, and you live by them. Can you not understand the truth? You. Disgust. Her.”

Well, that was putting it a bit too strongly. Or maybe not. Maybe deep down, everything her cousin represented—the exhausting emotions, the grand romantic gestures, the aggrandizement of his own personal dramatics—truly did disgust her. And that he came here with a make-believe statement of her father's health, professing to worry about her own madness put the final cap on her fury.

Meanwhile, Ronnie had heard Trevor's words, gone deathly pale, and dropped to his knees before her. “Do you not see?” he said with a gasp. How he could gasp and make himself heard was beyond her, but he must have practiced it. “He separated you from those who love you the most. You are filled with emotions that are not your own. And now, he publicly decries me. I am your cousin! I love you! Mellie, come back to your senses before it is too late!”

She almost did it. She almost gave into her growing fury and resorted to violence. After all, fisticuffs were all that seemed to get through his brain. But in the end, she knew she had a more potent weapon at her disposal. After all, he'd cast her in the role of a princess in need of rescue. But she could just as easily be the evil queen. So she'd fully embrace the role.

It began with a discounting of his feelings for her. That always insulted him. “You only think you love me. I'm easy for you. You have never had to do anything hard to win me.”

“That's a lie! Every day without you is agony!”

“That's laziness, Ronnie. What have you
done
but write poetry to me? I'm sure I could have four men in the ballroom composing sonnets to me before supper.”

Trevor nodded. “A dozen at least. Shall I make a list?”

Ronnie was not impressed. “Bah! Sonnets.”

She waited. He would get there in a moment, she was sure of it.

“Very well,” he huffed, “if you discount my poetry—my epic poetry written in iambic pentameter—then give me something else to do. Let me prove my worth.”

She waited a moment more. He would say the word. She only had to wait a moment more…

“Give me a quest.”

There it was. A quest. And he was already in the perfect position for it: on his knees before her. She had no need to move beyond a simple bend at the waist. She touched his face, startled anew by the thin feel of his skin on such a large man. He truly had been suffering. Which made it all the easier to lean down and bestow a tender kiss to his lips. He clutched at her then, trying to draw her deep into his embrace, but she was prepared. She dug the thumb of her free hand into the juncture of neck and shoulder. She knew just the place to make him rear back in pain.

“Very well,” she said. “I am lost in madness. I have given myself over to my mother's disease, and you cannot reach me.”

“Mellie!”

“I am committed to this path of self-destruction, and now, your only hope is this quest.”

“I will prove myself to you!”

“Bring me a dodo bird. A live one loved and nurtured by your own hand.”

She feared for a moment that he hadn't heard her, but then his eyes narrowed. “Wasn't the bird killed by sailors? In Madagascar?”

“Every quest is impossible.”

He was thinking hard. “I can do it, Mellie. You think I can't, but I—”

She'd had enough. She'd played the evil queen, she'd given him an impossible quest, and now she was done. Hopefully, the time he spent searching for a dodo bird would bring him some sanity. And if he took a very long time at it, she would gain some measure of peace. So she stepped back. “Mr. Anaedsley?” Mellie said as she held up her hand. “I believe I should like a walk around the garden.”