Redeeming a Rake (3 page)

“Find some other victim. Unlike you, she’s
not friendless. Ravish her and a crowd of angry men will fight over
the right to kill you.”

“I’m not going to hurt her.” Geoffrey
inwardly cringed at the panic in his voice. “I only want to call on
her…”

“Charles Spencer was a heartless brute, like
the man in your mirror. Walk away and leave her unmolested for
someone decent and kind.”

Geoffrey felt his throat tighten. “I’m not a
brute. I can be kind. I wasn’t always the Devil’s Corpse. I was a
good boy once. Remember?”

His mother raised a single eyebrow. “When
was the last time you did something kind? Shock me!”

“I don’t keep a list.”

“It’s too late Lyndhurst. You don’t deserve
Mrs Spencer. There are plenty of empty-headed debutantes who’ll do
their duty as your Duchess if you give them enough
incentive.”

“I’m not going to marry a virgin prostitute
with the prefix of Lady to her name like my father.” Geoffrey eyes
flared with hatred as he heard the resounding slap seconds before
his cheek burned.

“Go look in a mirror Lyndhurst. Your father
looked more alive after two days in his coffin. Choose a
sacrificial lamb too dim to know what you are and leave the
sunlight for the living.”

The contempt in her voice skewered the small
feeling corner of his heart. Hoping to escape the past he blindly
headed home to his bachelor pad, but unpleasant memories tied his
stomach into a tight painful knot. Beating furiously against the
door with his swordstick until it swung open, he stormed past
Howard into the freshly scrubbed parlour dominated by a new
wingback chair. Starting on one side of the room he methodically
swept souvenirs of the past seventeen years off onto the floor and
smashed them to pieces. Catching sight of his reflection in the
mirror over the mantelpiece he froze. After several distressing
minutes digesting the fact the reflection was indeed his own, he
forced himself closer for a better look. With melancholy horror he
stared into the dark glass. There was nothing left of the beautiful
boy. Only straight black hair and pale blue eyes remained to
testify that the monster in the mirror was Geoffrey Lindsey
Grayson. Mrs Spencer would never fall in love with him; she’d never
want his company or his kisses. His vision blurred as he smashed
the mirror into a thousand shards. His strength sapped, he dropped
his swordstick and stared at the glittering fragments on the floor
reproducing a cadaverous man in a shattered room.

Geoffrey sucked in a long breath and forced
himself to stand upright. Glutted on darkness, weary of sickening
loneliness he longed to know the smiling woman cared whether he
lived or died. He’d do anything to win her heart. He’d venture into
the sunlight and if his advances were rejected he’d end the whole
rotten mess called life. He turned to find all of his servants
crowded outside the open door watching him with bewilderment.
“Prepare my bed. Awake me at ten. I want a bath ready…” He
listened as several pairs of feet ran up the narrow stairs to his
room. “…and get me something to eat before I starve to death.” His
loud angry demands bounced off the high ceilings as more feet
hurried off toward the kitchen. The chaos faded as he remembered
the smiling woman’s eyes. His mother could rot in hell. If he had
to spend his entire fortune to purchase the information, he’d call
on Mrs Spencer in person the next afternoon and hope for a
miracle.

At four-thirty it was well past the socially
accepted hours for callers. Mrs Spencer was on her hands and knees
in her pink drawing room playing with her eleven-month-old son.
Piercing squeals of laughter filled the room as she blew another
raspberry on the back of his neck. She almost didn’t hear the
decorous cough. Mrs Spencer looked up to see the footman holding a
silver tray.

“Are you at home Madam?” He held the tray
low so she could reach the calling card without getting up.

As her eyes focused on the title, she felt a
wave of pleasure crash over her making her skin damp with
excitement. The man who’d been haunting her thoughts was at her
door. The sensible choice was to have him told she wasn’t at home.
After half a dozen rebuffs he’d slink away and she’d never see him
again. Talking to the man in public was one thing, allowing the
Duke of Lyndhurst fifteen innocent minutes of her time alone would
damn her as mad or worse. What decent woman would willingly share
the hideous man’s company? The servants would talk. People would
assume he was blackmailing her. The gossip would be brutal. “Yes,
I’m at home.” She hugged her laughing baby until footsteps
approached the room.

“The Duke of Lyndhurst, Madam…”

Smiling up at her guest she found him
staring at her like a starving stray cat expecting a kick in the
ribs. “Good afternoon my Lord.”

She was on one knee when a thin masculine
hand wearing a ring set with a large ruby appeared to help her up.
The hair on the back of her neck bristled as a fire lit memory
flashed through her mind of a similar hand, younger by a decade.
The Duke of Lyndhurst couldn’t be the man in the shadows who’d told
her she was lovely. It was too absurd.

“It must be centuries since anyone knelt in
homage to a Duke of Lyndhurst. A simple curtsey in future will
suffice I assure you.”

There was a hesitant smile on the man’s
lips, but his eyes were sad as if he was having a last meal before
an appointment with the gallows. She smiled hoping to put him at
ease and accepted his hand. “My knees are relieved to hear it Your
Grace.” As pale fingers closed over hers, his touch caused a
painful jolt of pleasure as he pulled her to her feet. She stood
there unable to move, her heart galloping towards aquamarine eyes
until her baby’s irate squeal broke the spell. Picking up her son
she held him close relieved that she wasn’t alone with pale blue
eyes. “Your Grace may I present my son Alexander?”

“Your servant Sir!”

The baby chewed on his hand oblivious to the
honour. “I’m sure he’ll be suitably impressed when I tell him he
once met you.”

“No doubt he’ll be suitably relieved not to
remember.”

“I’ll remember…please, won’t you sit
down?”

He flipped his black coat tails out from
underneath him and sat opposite her looking like he’d won a
treasured prize on a throw of the dice. “I haven’t seen anything so
beautiful since a plain half starved girl-child smiled as she held
my hand. With the light falling on you, you look like a Madonna and
child.”

She could only hope the light was so bright
he couldn’t see her blushing. “I fear you need spectacles your
Grace.”

“I only need spectacles for reading. I can
see you quite clearly.”

“Your eyes must be under a spell to see
plain women as beauties.”

“If my eyes are under a spell, I pray it
never ends.” There was a long pause as he looked away as if to
study the wallpaper before returning to look at her, as if testing
her theory. “I wished to call and thank you for acknowledging me at
the ball. Your good opinion appears to carry great weight. Several
people actually bowed to me as I left.”

“Perhaps seeing I survived our conversation
unscathed persuaded them to give your rumoured reputation the
benefit of the doubt?”

Cynical amusement faded from his eyes
leaving them cold and hopeless. “My reputation Madam is well
deserved. This interview will probably ruin you.” He blinked in
shock as if horrified by his own impudence. “I mean, it will give
people reason to think…ill of you.”

“There’s always more than one perspective my
Lord. “What will your hellish friends think when they hear you’ve
been visiting the plain Mrs Spencer who attends church every
Sunday? They might think you’ve started taking communion. The next
thing you know they’ll be jeering at you, calling you the Parson’s
favourite parishioner. This interview may ruin your image as a
heartless rake-hell.”

Blood red lips twisted into an amused smile.
“You’re an angel!”

She shook her head. “No more angelic than
the next woman.”

“I can’t imagine you breaking any of the Ten
Commandments.”

“I must disappoint you; I’ve always found
number five rather trying.”

“Which one is that?”

“Honour thy Father and thy Mother…”

“That’s one of the ten I don’t practice. My
parents deserve no honour.”

“Mine don’t qualify for the honour either.
My sisters and I have always been viewed as inconvenient
investments. Mr Spencer paid twenty-thousand pounds to own me.”

“They sold you for a measly twenty
thousand?”

“Measley? Twenty-thousand pounds for a plain
woman? It was a fortune and when he realised I’d never love him, Mr
Spencer resented every single pound. I don’t understand how anyone
could purchase a spouse and then expect love and respect. Treating
another human being like a dog or a table can never inspire
respect. The slave will always resent being purchased. Why is that
so hard for some people to understand?” Tolerance bent over and set
her wriggling son on the floor. Watching her baby crawl in towards
her guest she wondered if his outraged tone implied he would have
paid more. Would it have been different to be purchased by the
Devil’s Corpse? Her heart seemed to think so as it thumped her
chest in longing. It was another silly thought. The man wasn’t
going to offer for her; Dukes didn’t marry commoners unless they
were beautiful or rich or both. “Alex, where’s your teething toy?
Alex?” She rolled his toy after him, but the baby ignored her and
pulled himself up on the sofa near her guest. “I wouldn’t relive
the last year for anything, but it’s hard not to see my son and
feel I’ve been blessed.

“Are you an eternal optimist Mrs
Spencer?”

“I suppose; my glass is always half-full.
You can either see what you don’t have or be grateful for what you
do have. Life is often cruel, but it’s also often kind and good
when you least expect it. Mr Spencer was a hateful man, but a year
as his…wife, gave me my son and freedom.”

“But what if the glass is full of rancid
milk?”

“Then one pours out the contents of the
glass, washes it, and refills it with something more
palatable.”

“Why is he waving his arms like that? Does
he want me to leave?”

“No, Alex wants you to pick him up.”

The rake-hell looked aghast. “I couldn’t, I
might break him.”

“Put your hands firmly under his arms and
stand him on your knees. He likes being bounced up and down, but I
can only do it a few times before my arms feel like they’re being
torn off. I’m sure he gets fatter by the hour.” She shook with
silent laughter as the Duke of Lyndhurst looked back and forth
between her and the baby with open consternation. Alex decided the
situation by grabbing the duke’s garter ribbon holding up his silk
stockings and untying the bow so he could put the ribbon into his
mouth. The man gently tugged at the ribbon getting a howl of rage
for his pain. He quickly put his hands around the child and lifted
him up successfully distracting the small person from the wet
bedraggled ribbon.

“He’s heavier than he looks.”

“Yes, he’s quite a pig.” The proud mother
sat back and watched the Duke of Lyndhurst slowly relax as her baby
screamed with delight. What was it about the man that made her feel
safe? He didn’t look safe. With bright sunshine filling the room
she could clearly see the dark circles around his sad hollow eyes
and the unhealthy yellow tinge to his pale skin. The man needed to
eat. If she ordered refreshments there was a chance he might stay
longer.

Geoffrey’s aching arms felt like they were
going to ripped from his shoulders as he bounced the laughing baby
up and down, but he ignored the burning pain as he watched the
mother out of the corner of his eyes. What was she saying to the
servants? He’d already outstayed the acceptable length of time for
a social call from a stranger, but he didn’t want to leave. The
house smelled clean and cheerful. He watched with anxiety as she
turned back into the room, but she didn’t return to her seat. She
walked over to his settee and sat down beside him as if she felt
safe in his presence. She looked completely relaxed as she smiled
at his efforts to charm her infant. He couldn’t remember the last
person who sat next to him without fear in their eyes. His arms
were suddenly aching with the need to put down the baby and to pull
the mother close, but he couldn’t. If he gave in…the thought of
being banished from her presence pumped chilled blood through his
heart.

“Are your arms aching?”

“No.”

“Liar!” She reached over and lugged her baby
off his knees and set him back down on the floor where he howled in
rage until he saw the dangling wet ribbon and shoved it back in his
mouth. “Will you stay and take tea? My housekeeper made scones this
morning.”

He blinked in stunned disbelief. “It would
be a pleasure.”

“Good, because I think Alex has become
attached to you. You may have to abandon your garter or I’ll have
no peace.”

Geoffrey looked down to see the baby happily
chewing on the red ribbon. “I can’t imagine that tastes very
good.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Oh?” One of his black eyebrows rose in
query.

“Don’t laugh, but when I was a girl my
favourite game was to suck on a magic red ribbon and then rub it
over my lips and cheeks to make me beautiful.”

“And what did you do in fairyland with
painted cheeks?”

“I went to a ball of course where a handsome
old fashioned wigged gentleman in an embroidered jacket and
waistcoat with satin breeches and buckled shoes would ask me to
dance a cotillion after being affected by my new found beauty.
You’re not supposed to laugh.”

“You don’t need a magic ribbon Mrs
Spencer.”