Redeeming a Rake (2 page)

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Mrs Spencer felt dazed as her eyes
continuously swivelled to find a large patch of pale blue. Every
time she locked eyes with the cadaverous rake-hell a thousand
butterflies took flight in her stomach. Her feet threatened to
carry her against her will to his side, but she couldn’t speak to
the man. The only person who might be persuaded to perform the
obligatory introduction was the man’s mother, but she was lost in
the crowd. With depravity etched into his face, the man looked as
if hell had signed a purchase order for his soul. If only half the
rumours being whispered past her ears were true, the Duke of
Lyndhurst was a devil. Her racing heart insisted he wasn’t beyond
redemption, but she’d been wrong before.

Seeing him start towards her made the room
spin. She held her breath feeling faint with inexplicable delight,
but he was forced to turn aside and swagger to the other side of
the room. A crushing disappointment helped her retain a semblance
of calm. When her eyes weren’t searching for his gaze, the man
remained a constant pale blue spot in the corner of her eyes
leaning against a pillar, shunned by his own guests. It took every
ounce of strength to keep her feet from dancing across the room to
join the solitary figure. She smiled at her companions, but most of
their titillating gossip on their ugly host were garbled noise.
Clenching her fan she gently rocked back and forth on the
balls of her feet as she mentally scolded herself. There was no
point wishing she could speak to the man, even if she could find
the Duchess the good lady would be horrified by a request to meet
her son. Only a social climber desperate to be a duchess would want
to meet the man, but her feet were oblivious to either polite
niceties or the promise of the tons’ contempt. If she could last
the ball without making a fool of herself she’d never see the man
again. He’d become a safe pleasurable memory; the thought turned
the butterflies to stone. Rubbing her aching stomach, she resisted
the compulsion to look at the pale blue spot until she was taking
up her position for the next dance. Allowing her eyes their
freedom, they turned in his direction to find herself ensnared by
the man’s impertinent stare. Her face burned as she smiled like
silly school girl meeting her first handsome soldier.

Geoffrey snarled at nearby men wondering
which lucky man had won the enchanting smile from the blushing
virgin. Returning his eyes to the smiling woman he groaned in
pleasure as he found her returning his stare; he was the lucky man.
His lips twisted into a self-indulgent leer as a potent dose of
desire sluiced through his veins. His leer faded as he wondered how
he was going to meet her. What was her name? Where did she live?
Would her father allow her to be pursued by a man society called
The Devil’s Corpse if offered enough money? If he could purchase an
interview with the woman would he find he was wrong, that she’d
been looking at someone behind him? He sighed in excruciating
despair as he remembered who he was and what he looked like.

Each time Mrs Spencer whirled past the man
in pale blue she glanced in his direction to make sure he hadn’t
left only to find him watching her. As the dance ended, she smiled
at her dancing partner and allowed him to lead her off the floor,
but refused his offer to fetch a glass of lemonade and pacified him
with the information that she was going to the ladies withdrawing
room. Like a marionette whose strings were controlled by an
invisible puppet master, her feet carried her towards the lonely
patch of pale blue. Whatever the cost, she had to speak with the
ugly man or she’d cry herself to death and her son would end up an
orphan.

Geoffrey’s eyes never left the plain woman
as she finished dancing and gracefully left the dance floor, the
sharp biting jealousy was a sneering reminder that she’d never
dance with him. He expected her to take one of the few empty seats
lining the walls, but she kept walking, slowly making her way
around the edge of the ballroom towards him. When she was only five
pillars away his heart started racing, making his hands sweat.
She’d pass within a few feet, but he was at the center of a social
dead zone. There was no one nearby he could threaten into
introducing him to the lady, but even if there had been what could
he say that wouldn’t frighten or disgust her?

The thought paralyzed his tongue as his
folded arms knotted tighter across his chest. Seeing her pass the
fourth pillar between them Geoffrey gnashed his teeth in envy as
she paused to speak to another wallflower. An agonizing eternity
passed as the wallflower laughed and chatted with the woman in pale
blue, but at last she continued towards him. With only three
pillars separating them, he sneered in envy as she stopped to greet
an old woman; she wouldn’t stop to greet him, she couldn’t. Society
dictated that she could only speak or dance with a man if she’d
been introduced by a mutual acquaintance. Who’d introduce an angel
to the devil? Geoffrey bit the inside of his cheek drawing blood as
disappointment welled up like a giant wave threatening to crush
him. Frustration flooded his veins as she passed the last pillar
between them. With a few steps he could have reached out and
touched her, but he was a stranger. She might as well have been on
the other side of the country. Meeting his rude stare with a dazed
smile, his heart threatened to burst from his chest as she did the
unthinkable and closed the distance between them. Was she mad? To
publicly acknowledge him would damn her as his associate. The
remains of the good boy he’d once been ordered him to snub her, to
turn and walk away to save her being ruined, but he was no longer
good or kind. He wanted her and she was nearly within reach. Ugly
thoughts of seducing the young woman into his bed vanished as
spontaneous warmth enveloped him as if gentle rays of sunlight were
emanating from her smile. His rusty heart dredged up the memory of
a similar feeling for the angel he’d resisted buying to be his
bride as his mental grey sky parted revealing a bright midsummer
sun. Friendly eyes and blushing cheeks made him forget he was no
longer seventeen or beautiful.

“Pray forgive me for disturbing Your Grace.
I wanted to personally thank you for inviting me. I don’t think
I’ve enjoyed a ball so much since my first dance.”

Geoffrey blinked in shock as the woman’s
mask of plainness was transformed by a blinding smile into one of
exquisite beauty. He gulped and unfolded his arms hoping she
wouldn’t run away before he could find his tongue. Making a formal
bow, he ignored his aching back muscles. “You disturb nothing, but
the dust collecting in my hair, Miss…?”

His deep resonating voice brushed her ears
like an intimate caress making her shiver with pleasure. Was she
dreaming or did she know that voice? Catching her breath she
belatedly replied, “Mrs Spencer Your Grace.”

The cold hand of jealousy reached into
Geoffrey’s innards and squeezed hard. The sunlight belonged to
another man. She’d probably stopped to speak with him because she
felt sorry for him. “Mr Spencer won’t be pleased to learn you’ve
introduced yourself to the devil.”

“Mr Spencer was the devil.”

“Forgive my impertinence Madam, but you
don’t look old enough to be Satan’s widow.” Her laughing eyes made
his gulp down another heady dose of desire.

“Twenty-two years are enough to bury a
heartless rake-hell.”

“At the risk of being slapped, you don’t
appear to miss the departed Mr Spencer.”

“It was a marriage arranged by my parents.
He demanded I love him, but there was nothing to love. The best I
could do was to pity him. He hated me.”

“And now? You’re a free woman?”

“Yes, I think so…” She didn’t feel free as
she stared into intelligent pale blue eyes making her say things
she’d only ever cried into her pillow.

“Your dress is the most pleasing colour. It
suits you.” He was rewarded with another blinding smile that made
his head swim.

“Pale blue is a vastly superior colour,
don’t you think?”

Geoffrey’s lips twisted into a genuine
smile. “Vastly!” Raising his eyeglass he ogled her hair. “And what
exquisite little rubies. I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone with
such superior taste in dress.” The sound of her soft laughter made
him feel giddy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a
woman laugh…no he could remember, it was the starving little angel
in white who’d made him feel warm and human, like the smiling Mrs
Spencer.

“I’m partial to the combination of rubies
and pale blue.” Geoffrey’s eyes widened as the young woman blushed
bright pink. “They bring to mind a childhood hero.”

“Did some ancient squire in pale blue tell
you he’d wait for you to grow up so he could give you a ruby and
sweep you off to his moated medieval house?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Her smile faded into
a serious expression. “I was rescued by a knight in pale blue
velvet. He saved my life.”

“How romantic; did he ride up on a white
horse and impale some unchivalrous admirer with his rapier?”

His envy grew as her cheeks flushed a darker
pink. “No, he was kind when I was in need of kindness.” Geoffrey’s
heart slumped as she made a shallow curtsey. She was taking her
leave and his mind was a frustrating blank. He made a bow to hide
his disappointment. “Thank you again for a lovely evening Your
Grace.”

“Thank you for coming Mrs Spencer. Your
presence has made it a lovely evening.”

“You’re too kind.” She sank into a deeper
curtsey and upon rising, smiled up at him one last time and then
floated away.

Geoffrey tightly folded his arms and leaned
back against the pillar for support as dark clouds rolled back
across his inner sky. The warm sunlight faded as the smiling woman
left the ballroom. There was only one person who might tell him
about the young woman; where was his mother? Looking around the
ballroom he caught his sister eyeing him like the contents of her
chamber pot. With her black hair piled high and diamonds glittering
around her throat, Sophia Grayson was a beautiful ice princess. She
could afford to sneer. She wasn’t the one their father had thrown
down the front steps by bored footmen and allowed only the
servant’s table scraps for three years. Geoffrey was relieved to
find the nothingness pressing down on his heart. Ignoring his
sister he went in search of his mother. To his surprise, a small
number of people acknowledged him as he passed. He tried to
concentrate on the warmth and kindness of Mrs Spencer, but being in
his family’s townhouse resurrected unpleasant memories of being
called to his father’s death bed. His dream of spurning the dying
man’s plea for forgiveness had been in vain; there had only been
one last hateful curse. He had no pleasant thoughts of his father.
Barely more than an infant, he could remember crouching in his
mother skirt in terror as the giant blonde man shouted, ‘Twelve
generations of strong lusty Lyndhursts and you give me a puny whelp
who hides like a coward if anyone looks at him? Get him out of my
sight!’

Geoffrey couldn’t imagine anyone feeling
anything, but relief that the large man and his fists were locked
away in the family crypt. He found his mother addressing a group of
old ladies. He hadn’t seen her in years. It was strange to see her
jet black hair streaked with silver and her slender body showing
signs of age. As the daughter of the Duke of Strathmore, she’d
inherited the Stratton beauty, but her face was as hard as granite.
Without waiting for a break in the conversation he rudely
interrupted, “I wish to speak with you in private.”

His mother didn’t even turn to look at him.
“Not now Lyndhurst, I’m occupied.”

He bent over and whispered into her ear, “I
require information on a certain young woman. Now!”

His mother turned in irritation and visibly
started in horror as she looked at his face. Stiffly turning back
to her companions she excused herself with dignity and frogmarched
her repellent offspring to an empty room and firmly closed the
door. “Have you been whoring in a graveyard? I thought you
were hideous the last time I saw you. How did you become so
repulsive?”

“I haven’t done anything remotely sinful for
at least six months.”

“You look like a corpse. You don’t smell
terribly pleasant either. Who ever heard of a duke smelling of
soap? For pity sake buy a bottle of scent and drench yourself. It
might distract people from your face.”

“I apologise for being ugly, but I’m not the
only debauched rake-hell attending your ball.”

“Don’t raise your voice at me Lyndhurst. My
guests may not be saints, but at least they don’t look like they’ve
been sleeping in a mausoleum.”

“How long suffering of you. What does
it matter if your daughter dances with men who beat hapless women
for pleasure as long as they make pretty dancing partners? Perhaps
she’ll follow your example and marry a monster?”

“Perhaps you’ll leave your father in the
crypt and take a long unpleasant look in the mirror.”

Geoffrey’s mind flooded with horrific
possibilities as he realised these men were free to associate with
the kind Mrs Spencer. There were no barriers inhibiting them from
pursuing her. “How can you invite evil lecherous worms into the
company of good women?”

“Are you including yourself on the list?”
Geoffrey blinked away the pain and snarled in impotent anger. “I
thought not.”

Geoffrey felt anger rising like black bile.
“I’ve never hit a woman for pleasure.”

“I doubt that will give you much consolation
when you find yourself in hell alone with your memories. So, who’s
the vestal virgin being pursued by a chivalrous rake-hell?”

“Tell me about the young Widow Spencer.”
Geoffrey gritted his teeth as she raised an eye brow in
disbelieving scorn. “I need to know where’s she staying. Does she
have a chaperone? Does she have any serious suitors?”