A Lady's Guide to Rakes (4 page)

During the past weeks, with Meredith watching from the wings while Giselle took center stage, the two had conducted a good dozen experiments on both rakish bachelors and their more disreputable counterpart— the married lechers. Thanks to Giselle’s expertise, Mr. Lawrence Longbottom and Mr. Finneas Douselight, both respectable society gents, provided excellent kindling for an entire chapter on married men. These two subjects, the “groping lechers” as Meredith preferred to think of them, preyed upon the powerless and were likely to seize upon any opportunity to slake their carnal desire. But thankfully, unlike the more dangerous bachelor, who had little need to conceal his unsavory activities from anyone, the lecher knew his bounds.

Yes, Giselle was the ideal person to enact Meredith’s experiments. No one could play a man like the stunningly beautiful courtesan. Which is why Meredith was convinced Giselle would report that yesterday’s scheme in Hyde Park resulted in success.

All of London was simply abuzz over Lord Lansing’s overnight transformation from notorious rake to gentleman true. But Meredith knew better than to believe Society gossip, and she would prove them wrong, with Giselle’s help.

Her night with Lord Lansing would constitute the premier chapter of
A Lady’s Guide to Rakes.

“Come, let us take the bench beneath the trees. ‘Twill be cooler there.” Heart thrumming with anticipation, Meredith took hold of the Frenchwoman’s wrist, intending to lead her forward, but Giselle did not move. And indeed, she appeared almost distraught.

“
Mademoiselle,
I am sad to tell you that this rendezvous is quite unnecessary.”

“W-what do you mean? Did not Lord Lansing call on you last eve?” Meredith bent her long legs a bit so that she might peer beneath the brim of Giselle’s bonnet and search her dark eyes for the answer.

“No, he did not.”

“He didn’t?” Disappointment, then the oddest feeling of relief, flooded through Meredith. Confused at both her reaction and the fact that Lord Lansing had not done as she’d expected, she bit her lower lip and exhaled over the bunched pink flesh.

The courtesan laid a gloved hand softly atop Meredith’s. “I know you are displeased, and I must admit, I am quite surprised myself. I’ve never misread a man’s desire.
Never.”

Meredith’s outlook brightened at this bit of news. “You are sure of his attraction then?”
So perhaps all is not a loss.

“Oh,
oui
. He even gave me… Oh, how do I say it? The… urn…
staircase
look. Is that correct?”

“The what?”

“You know it,
mademoiselle
. The
look
—up and down, up and down.” Giselle waved a pointed finger vertically about her torso.

Meredith laughed. “Yes, I do know it.” But then the amusement dissolved from her lips as she considered what this meant. “But if he was attracted, as you say, why didn’t the rogue act? It makes no sense to me.”

“Well, if I may, perhaps it is as I have heard whispered over tea. He has
reformed.
“

Waving her hand in the air, Meredith dismissed the idea completely. “Impossible. A leopard cannot change its spots. No, there has to be more to it.”

Giselle suddenly clutched Meredith’s arms and stared up at her. “You do not suppose he is injured… from your
fall,
mademoiselle?
“

Meredith curled her lip. “Preposterous. I am not so petite as you, yet he lifted me onto his horse quite easily. He is as strong as a bull.”

“That may be, but his face was pale with pain after you landed atop him. I saw this myself. Why, you might have cracked his ribs—or worse.”

“Oh dear. I had not considered…” The disturbing thought sent the blood draining from Meredith’s head and she felt just the slightest bit dizzy. Beads of perspiration burst about her temples and the horrid corset that her aunts always insisted she wear suddenly felt overtight, making it difficult to breathe.

Concern cinched Giselle’s brows. “Are you well,
mademoiselle!
Shall we move into the shade of the trees now?”

“No, no, I will be fine. I just need to know why Lansing did not call.” Meredith opened her reticule and began to fumble inside for the vinaigrette she oft carried for her ever-wilting aunt Viola, but instead her fingers snared a visiting card. She lifted it to her eyes and blinked as her gaze focused on the extravagant flourishes, which clearly indicated a grand ego in whomever had designed it.

A broad grin pulled at Meredith’s lips. “And now I have entree to do just that.” She waved the cream-hued card in the air.

Giselle’s eyes centered on the name engraved upon it:
Lord Lansing, 23 Grosvenor Square, Mayfair.

“Indeed. The beastly rogue himself. When he gave this card, he said I should contact him if I needed further assistance.” She bounced on her heels. “And so I shall.”

“But for assistance with what,
Mademoiselle
Merriweather?”

Meredith’s brows drew tight. “Oh botheration. I don’t know.” She waved farewell to Giselle and started forward down the pathway, feeling instantly revived. “But I will think of something.”

———

The thin cane chair his father sat upon creaked in protest, and Alexander trained his eyes on its delicate legs and stretchers, worried that they would bow under the esteemed Earl of Harford’s considerable heft.

Could have picked something more appropriate to his size.
Something less expensive. Didn’t he see it was a bloody slipper chair? And from Marie Antoinette’s own bedchamber, no less… or so the dealer at Christie’s had claimed when he sold it to him.

“Sir, would you not be more comfortable beside the window?” Alexander urged hopefully. “I daresay, it’s a scorcher this day.”

His father shook his head and leaned back until the chair tilted and balanced his weight on its two rear legs. Alexander winced.

Striding over to the tantalus, Alexander filled a glass with brandy and held it out to his father, hoping to coax the old man, whose penchant for fine drink far exceeded his own, to remove his ample hindquarters from the slipper chair.

“Bring it here, boy.” Salivating already, the earl smacked his lips together, blotting away the wetness. “I’ve exerted myself quite enough already making my way into Town to see you.”

Bound in a brocaded satin coat—clearly fitted without proper regard to his girth—his father raised his arm and, with palm upward, beckoned Alex forward with a curt inward wave of four sausage-like fingers.

“Yes, Father, and I appreciate your visit… though I am unsure as to your purpose.” Alexander hesitated a moment. Did he really want to hear the answer? His father never left his country house without a damn good reason. “Have you heard something of concern? I own, if you have, it’s a load of bunk, for I have been the perfect gentleman on every count since our… discussion.” Alexander hoped his father would laugh at that, or smile. Hell,
something
to ease Alex’s conscience.

The earl frowned. “Actually, yes. The moment I arrived in Town, I received a report from my man of affairs that you were observed in Hyde Park carrying a woman from beneath a canopy of trees. Her hair had fallen and her clothing was in disarray. It would appear you are back to your old behavior and have had a romp in the woods.” A scowl appeared on the earl’s face. “I thought you learned your lesson after the last… incident, but I see now that I must tighten the reins further.”

When Alexander realized his father’s mistake, he opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off. His father would have his say and it was useless for Alexander to interrupt with the truth of the event until the earl had finished his rant.

“I’ve always said you were far too like your grandfather. Mad old Highlander, still running the crags and valleys of Loch Awe with plaited white hair and a hunting kilt. He doesn’t give a lick about propriety either. But you are a Lamont, my heir. I will not tolerate his sort of wild behavior in my son. I will not!”

Resigning himself to theiact that the truth would have to wait, Alexander poured the last of the brandy into his glass, then stared disappointedly at the empty cut-crystal decanter, barely listening as his father continued talking.
Bloody hell.
He needed another bottle, and what with its cost, one would think it was liquid gold. Better to buy a case while he still had some funds, for who knew how long he could maintain mis mask of decorum.

Alexander glanced up at the earl, knowing from experience that it was important to give the appearance of undivided attention.

“Which brings me to the reason for my visit this day.”

Well, it is about damn time he got around to it
. Alexander replaced the decanter in the tantalus, straightened it so it aligned perfectly with the table’s edge, then raised his eyebrows in expectation of his father’s revelation. “Yes, sir?”

“Becoming a respectable gentleman is not enough. I’ve decided that you must marry before I die.”

The roots of Alexander’s hair rose up from his scalp. “I apologize, sir. I could not have heard you correctly.”

“No, no, boy, you heard me right. I want you to take a wife-—quickly too. Get her with child. I want to know the Lamont line will carry on after I am gone. Do this, and your entire portion will be yours again to squander as you please.”

Alexander took pause at this, then downed his brandy in a long, continuous gulp.
Marriage
now. These sudden dictates were rapidly evolving from bad to worse. “But, sir, surely there is no rush to the altar. Why, you are as robust and healthy as I.”

Here it came.

“I fear that is not the case. Why, my heart was thudding against my chest not two eves past. Felt like a bloody swallow was trapped in my rib cage. Lord Rushley succumbed to the very same condition only a fortnight ago. Died upon his own horse.” The old man shook his head decisively. “No, mustn’t waste any time, my boy. Why, I might expire this very night, for all the hope my doctor gives me.”

Alexander turned away and settled his empty glass upon the table. Nonsense. His father was always dying from something or other—while holding Alexander’s portion just out of reach. This was just another highhanded ploy to bend his son to his stubborn will.

“Don’t shudder so, boy. Marriage will benefit you immensely. Nothing like a woman of quality to settle down a young buck and instill in him some responsibility.”

Alexander opened his mouth to speak, but his father raised his hand to silence him.

“Don’t interrupt. I know you don’t believe it now, but I tell you ‘tis the truth. Why, your mother made me the very man I am today. Without her, I’d likely still be carousing with the ladies and spending my eves with the gentlemen at White’s.”

Alex could feel his countenance growing paler with each passing second. He lifted the bellpull and was about to ring for a bottle of Scottish whiskey or even wine, when his butler, his valet’s identical brother, Mr. Herbert, entered the room with a silver salver upon which lay a letter.

The second Mr. Herbert, known as “Two,” paused before Alexander. “Do forgive this transgression, me lord, but I was bade to deliver this at once.”

Cinching his brow, Alexander took the letter from the tray and dismissed the butler, then broke the scarlet wax wafer and opened it. Immediately the sender’s name leaped out at him:
Miss Merriweather.
Very quickly he read the short letter, then refolded it and slipped it into the pocket cleverly stitched inside the breast of his coat. “Now, Father, you were saying—”

“You cannot conceal that pleased look in your eyes, so don’t even try. The letter is from a woman.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?” Alexander took the chair beside the window and nonchalantly tried to glance out for any sign of the Featherton carriage.

Foolhardy reaction, he knew, for certainly Miss Merriweather would not venture to a bachelor’s lodgings—no matter how daring her two great-aunts claimed her to be.

“Do not attempt to deny it. Who is the letter from? And it had better not be from that dark-haired actress—Rose, was it? Oh, don’t look so surprised, I know all about your exploits. Hell, all of London does.”

“My
past
exploits, Father. Those days, thanks to your intercedence, are long behind me.” Alexander removed the letter from his coat, eager to prove to the earl that he had changed. “If you must know, the letter is from Miss Meredith Merriweather—grandniece of the Featherton ladies of your acquaintance. She fell from a balloon in Hyde Park and I rescued her. It was my rescue of Miss Merriweather that your spies observed. Not a romp. I tell you, Father, I have reformed
entirely.
“

“Is this so? Your story certainly paints a different picture.” The earl sat quietly, pondering this new information. “But what of this letter? Was she observed in your arms? Has her reputation been damaged?”

“No, sir. Miss Merriweather simply wished to express her appreciation for my assistance in escorting her home after the fall, and has requested the favor of my counsel in the purchasing of a horse.”

This request, of course, made no sense to Alex, for the gel was utterly petrified of bloodstock, was she not?

“Ah, well… the Featherton ladies are well-known in the upper reaches of society. Though I am not acquainted with young Meredith, her name is not altogether unfamiliar to me.  I can’t say why, though.”

The earl twisted the overlong hairs of his eyebrow pensively, making Alex wonder if revealing Miss Mem-weather’s name had been prudent. But then, as if coming to some decision, his father’s eyes suddenly brightened and excitement animated his entire face.

“But if she is kin to the Featherton sisters, I cannot allow this to pass. Whether your intervention in Hyde Park was for the noblest of reasons, the fact remains that you were observed—and rumor travels quickly in Town.”

Alexander squinted back at the earl. “Precisely what are you saying, sir?”

“Whether or not it is yet evident, I fear Miss Merriweather has been compromised by this event. You must make amends. She is of the Quality, and just the sort of woman you require. So I say, go to it, boy. I should be happy to make her my daughter.”