Rules for Reforming a Rake (20 page)

“Yes, I’ve lost Mother. She’s walked on ahead. I think I had better find her.” Again, a very small lie.

Harmless, really.

Still eyeing her warily, her uncle cleared his throat. “I see her standing beside the marble column. I’ll take you to her.”

She forced a smile. “How kind of you. Don’t trouble yourself. I—”

“No trouble at all.” He tossed back an equally forced smile.

“Oh.”

George took her by the elbow and guided her through the festive throng, his grip light, but still managing to convey his determination to remain close to her all evening. How was she to be rid of him?

Lord Malinor, dressed in extravagant peacock blue silk, approached as though in answer to her prayer. “I need you for a moment, Farthingale.”

George frowned—actually, he uttered something not very polite under his breath—but Lord Malinor appeared too busy drinking in her appearance to notice. “Miss Daisy,” he said with an eager smile, exposing his yellowing teeth, “you look charming, simply delightful. Indeed, you’re the loveliest young lady here tonight. The stars pale—”

She let out an uncomfortable laugh, for the man was obviously in his cups and staring at her too avidly for her liking. “Confess, my lord. How many young ladies have you flattered with precisely those words this evening?”

“I assure you, you are the one and only.” He took her hand and tossed her a courtly bow which he managed with only one small stagger.

“And I second my father’s opinion,”Auguste Malinor said, his dark eyes alight with merriment as he approached her. “I hope your dance card is not yet filled.”

She smiled politely. “It isn’t, my lord.”

“Good, then I shall put myself down for two,” he said, staring at her meaningfully. He claimed the fourth and seventh dances, which was surprising for her dance card was empty and she’d expected him to claim the first.

Still, she was flattered. His request for two dances amounted to a declaration of interest, of possible courtship, and she ought to have been pleased.

She was pleased.

Auguste was tall and handsome, rich and powerful, and possessed of a venerable title and unmistakable air of refinement. He appeared quite the dashing gentleman, the black of his coat a shade darker than the black of his long hair. His eyes were the color of rich, dark earth. A deep, vibrant brown. Indeed, he was handsome and she ought to have been delighted by his attention, but there was a subtle arrogance in his demeanor that... no, she was merely out of sorts this evening. “I’m honored, my lord.”

He took her hand and graced her with a courtly bow, and though she caught the scent of spirits on his breath, he was in full control of his body. Unlike his father, he had not a trace of a drunken stagger. “The honor is mine.”

Lord Malinor slapped his son on the back. “Well done, lad! He takes after me in some small way, you know. Has the same fine eye for the ladies. For the prettiest ladies,” he remarked, once again staring at Daisy. “Fortunately for him, he takes after his mother—may she rest in peace—when it comes to looks. He’s a handsome lad and the ladies can’t resist him.”

Auguste shook his head and cast Daisy a sheepish grin. “Father, pray stop or you’ll frighten Miss Farthingale away.”

“Nonsense, she isn’t easily frightened. Are you, m’dear?” Once again, his gaze bore into her a little too avidly for her liking, but she put it down to his attempt to concentrate.

Daisy ignored him and smiled back at Auguste. “No, my lord.”

“Good, that’s what I like. A girl with spirit. Come along, son. And you too, George. It pains me to have to leave your side, m’dear. Important business to discuss, affairs of state and all that. Forgive us for abandoning you.”

Daisy tried hard to appear disappointed, especially since her uncle was still frowning at her. “Of course.”

Lord Malinor hiccupped. “Ah, you are a delight.”

“I’ll return shortly,” her uncle warned, leading her to the marble column where her mother stood chatting with friends—and bless her distracted soul—too intent on the latest
ton
gossip to pay her any notice. “You are not to leave her side.”

Daisy waited until her uncle was out of sight—after all, she hadn’t promised—then edged toward one of the massive floral displays lining the walls at measured intervals. The pale lilac flowers sewn on her gown of ivory silk blended well among the flowers and her hiding spot provided the perfect vantage point to watch for Gabriel.

“Viscount Sanford’s father is in terrible health,” Lady Warrick said to her shy daughter as they passed by the floral display, ignorant of Daisy’s presence. Lady Warrick pointed to a young man with curly, orange-red hair. Daisy had never seen anyone with hair so bright a shade of orange.

“I’m so sorry,” her shy daughter said. “The poor viscount must be distraught.”

“Melissa! Don’t be silly, child! He’ll soon be an earl and needs to take a wife. Come, let’s move closer. Now’s our chance. He’s talking to that old goat, Lord Barrington.”

Poor Melissa Warrick! Her mother was as subtle as a battering ram and certain to humiliate her in front of that carrot-haired viscount.Daisy shuddered, knowing her fate would have been little better had she remained by her own mother’s side. Except her mother would have been droning on about the “feeling” in her bones that an offer of marriage would come tonight—her mother always had these “feelings” about her daughters and marriage proposals, and she was always wrong.

Thank goodness!

Besides, who would offer for her tonight?

The only eligible young man with whom she’d spent any time was Auguste Malinor, and she couldn’t imagine him tossing all caution to the wind and proposing. They’d hardly exchanged two sentences.

Also, there was something about him that struck her as calculating. Or was he merely trained to be careful? Coming from one of the most important families in England, he had much to consider, for the future of the Malinor family rested upon his finding a proper wife to sire his heir.

Then there was Gabriel, but he was no gentleman, although he had been very nice to her at the Newton lecture. She sighed. When he was nice, her body responded to his presence in a most embarrassing way.

Still, he didn’t love her.

Nor did she love him.

When I fall in love, it will be wholly and completely. I want all of my husband, not bits and pieces of him. Not riddles and puzzles.

Speaking of riddles and puzzles, Daisy saw Gabriel making his way across the ballroom. He seemed to be heading toward the terrace.

Where was he going?

She was about to slip from her hiding spot and follow him, but Auguste chose that moment to emerge from the room where the important meeting was being held. He appeared to be searching for her.
Drat!
Had he seen her? She had to come up with an explanation for lurking behind the overgrown floral display.

He appeared to be looking straight toward her, although she wasn’t sure how he could have noticed her crouched behind the display. Which was why she was momentarily startled when he said, “Ah, there you are, my passion blossom.”

He wasn’t speaking to her but to another young woman whose back was to her. She couldn’t make out who it was, for all the debutantes wore similarly demure, white silk gowns, and their inane titters all sounded the same. “Meet me in the garden,” he coaxed the breathless young thing, “by the fountain. Don’t be long. I’m so hot for you, my little minx.” He then proceeded to tell his
passion blossom-minx
just what he intended to do to her.

Daisy resolved then and there to break a chair over Auguste’s head if he ever dared call
her
by that hideous endearment. The wretch had just engaged her for two dances, stared at her in a meaningful way that spoke of the seriousness of his intentions, and in the next moment made an assignation with another young lady.

Daisy felt wretched as she watched the pair move away from each other and melt back into the crowd.

Did all men behave this way? She’d only skimmed through the rest of Lady Forsythia’s book in the few hours before the ball. She silently resolved to read it carefully and thoroughly tomorrow. Indeed, wouldn’t leave the house until she’d memorized every word. No rake would ever get the better of her.
Not ever.

Having made her resolution, she stepped out from her hiding spot and walked into the ballroom in time to see Gabriel slip outside through the large doors that led onto the Hastings terrace. Him, too? She glanced around, trying to determine which debutante he meant to lead to ruin in the garden. No young lady followed him out.

Perhaps the foolish girl was already waiting for him.

Daisy shook her head and let out a soft, mirthless laugh. Perhaps this was just the jolt she needed to dismiss Gabriel from her thoughts, to prevent him from ever capturing her heart. She hurried after him, stepping outdoors into the night only to find herself quite alone, a chill wind biting her flesh.

She was immediately struck by the folly of her intentions and considered turning back. She would have, had she not heard Auguste’s rumbling laugh and a high-pitched trill coming from a row of bushes beside the nearby fountain. Who was the girl with Auguste? In truth, she didn’t care.

Gabriel was another matter. He was the first and only man ever to kiss her. She was in danger of losing her heart to him. “You can’t let it happen,” she whispered to herself as she rubbed her hands along the sleeves of her gown. The delicate silk offered little protection against the cold.

Where was Gabriel?

Fiery torches drew her eye along the terrace to the dimly lit garden walk. The large garden appeared dark and abandoned, in stark contrast to the vibrant ballroom with chandeliers aglitter and bejeweled dancers waltzing.

More noises emerged from the bushes beside the fountain where Auguste and Passion Blossom-Minx were hiding. She heard his deep grunts and her urgent moans, and then her cries for him to go deeper. Harder. To squeeze her... she gasped and fled deeper into the garden, for she’d never heard a young woman use such coarse language.

Now into the garden, she strained for a glimpse of Gabriel amid the shadows, but the full moon and vibrant stars were obscured by wisps of clouds and offered meager light. Then those clouds passed and she saw him, a dark, masculine shape against the suddenly bright night, making his way along the stepping stone path into the outermost recesses of the Hastings garden.

She followed him beyond the row of golden torches.

Beyond the reach of silver moonlight.

She followed despite her sense of unease. There was something forbidding about this winter garden, perhaps the manner in which the lifeless branches jutted out like jagged silhouettes, sharp and menacing against the moonlight.

She shivered as another icy gust of wind bit her flesh, a warning to return to the ballroom and the safety of a crowd. Instead, her legs propelled her forward, past another young couple—she hadn’t noticed them before—doing their best to keep each other warm. She heard groans and giggles, and then she heard silence.

Did everyone engage in this sort of sport?

Was she the only fool who didn’t?

She quickly dismissed the thought, for there was another man leaning against a distant tree. This man was shorter and more rotund than Gabriel. Was he meeting Gabriel? Not a lover’s tryst but something far more sinister?

In the next instant, he was gone.

Had she imagined him?

No, someone had been standing beside that tree.

She heard another man behind her, ambling along the stone steps in no particular hurry or direction. His steps were heavy, as though he wore boots and not dancing slippers—which meant he had not come to the Hastings ball to dance.

She stopped to gaze at her own delicate slippers, the silk already wet from treading on damp grass and trudging through small puddles of mud. They were ruined and her mother would demand explanations.

“Gabriel,” she called out softly, losing sight of him.

Her heart skipped a beat for the garden was suddenly eerily quiet.

Too quiet.

Which meant the gentleman behind her had stopped walking when she had.

On purpose? Or mere coincidence?

She tried to still the now rampant beating of her heart to better hear the stranger’s footsteps as he crept behind her. She started walking along the path again and stopped. Twice.

He did the same.

“Bother,” she muttered, her decision to follow Gabriel now seeming immensely foolish. What was she to do? Returning to the ballroom was impossible, for she’d have to walk past the man who was standing between her and the safety of the ballroom.

Her senses warned it wasn’t a good idea.

Indeed, they were now screaming for her to run.

Run!

She whirled around, intending to make a desperate dash for the terrace, but someone suddenly covered her mouth with his large hand—yes, definitely a strong, male hand—and yanked her behind a row of sculpted boxwood. “Bloody hell,” he said in an angry whisper. “What are you doing out here?”

Gabriel!

He’d moved with such stealth she hadn’t heard so much as a crunch of leaves.

“Don’t scream,” he warned, his voice still a whisper as he slowly removed his hand from her mouth and circled his arms protectively around her body.

She shuddered with relief and melted into his embrace, feeling quite safe in his arms. “There’s a man following me.”

Gabriel tensed. “Did you get a look at him?”

“No.” She hesitated a moment, her heart still pounding wildly. “What shall we do?”

“Just follow my lead. This ought to dissuade him.” He made a show of lifting her up against him and slowly twirling her in his arms, no doubt to scout the nearby hedges to see where the man was hiding. “My love, I’ve ached to hold you since we were last together. It seems forever ago,” he said with surprising ardor, his warm lips suddenly descending on hers, easing her fears and...
sigh
... providing comfort in a consuming kiss she hoped would never end.

She circled her arms around his neck, eager to respond. She knew this was merely a pretense, but he was awfully good at it, and since she’d gotten herself into this scrape, she had no choice but to be grateful and play along.