The Art of Ruining a Rake (18 page)

Lucy gave him a startled look, her cowl falling back to reveal her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “Are you familiar with Mr. Gordo? He was Celeste’s man, before.”

Now here was something he hadn’t considered. His friends might let slip Lady Letitia’s name, or any of the other women’s with whom he’d formed arrangements with over the years. It was a risk he needed to address soon. But they were just as likely to mention Celeste. It was widely assumed they’d been lovers.

“I’ve known your brother’s wife a very long time,” he told Lucy, wanting to head off any suspicion from her. “Since I was a young man at Cambridge. I admired the way she took charge of my boorish peers. I couldn’t bring myself to solicit her services and I’m sure she never wanted me to. We became friends instead.”

“Until she married my brother.” If Lucy thought his explanation a touch vague, she didn’t hint at it.

“Yes,” Roman answered. “We’ve drifted apart since then.”

She continued to march straight ahead. The heavy cowl obscured her face, preventing him from reading her expression. “You didn’t approve of her match with Trestin.”

No sense defending himself on that misguided point. “I was an idiot.”

“I’m astonished to hear you say so.” She peeked at him from behind her shroud. “Does my brother know you’ve come around?”

Roman recalled Ashlin’s many attempts to throttle him. “He was vexed with me at the time. I don’t think he heard me properly.”

Lucy made a noise of disgust. “
That
sounds very much like my brother.”

They were due for a change in topic. So far, he’d been lucky. “Tell me,” he said, swinging his walking stick at his side. “Do you know where you’re going?”

Lucy put one foot in front of the other. For almost the entire length of the block, she didn’t give any indication she’d heard him. “As it happens,” she said, looking over her shoulder as they reached the corner, “I don’t.”

He could have kissed her for that bit of bravado. Her penchant for taking charge was so markedly different from his tendency to retreat when faced with unpleasantness.

It was high time
he did lead. He hadn’t even properly fetched her from her house. He offered his arm and lowered his voice, affecting an overstated, gentlemanly tone. “Good evening, Miss Lancester. May I escort you to Madame Claremont’s very
exclusive
salon?”

She glanced at him from under her lashes. Quickly, so he almost missed the delight in her eyes. “Yes.”

“I
exist
to please you,” he murmured, drawing her closer to his side.

“I have a sudden urge to test that theory,” she said with a chuckle, placing her hand on his sleeve.

Her bold words sent a frisson of awareness through him. “My friends will be vastly entertained.”

She made a thoughtful, humming noise that reminded him of other noises she could make in the back of her throat. “I must ask for something truly horrid, then, something terribly embarrassing. I’ll have to think on it.”

He smiled. She was droll, and he knew her to be passionate, yet she was too innocent to detect the sexual undertones of their conversation. She was his lovely contradiction.

They continued their stroll through the city. “What should I expect from the salon, I wonder?” she mused as they neared the town house. “I hope it will not disappoint.”

He was preoccupied with the many ways he’d like to please her. The temptation to whisk her into a shadowed alcove was almost too much to resist. “Prepare yourself, Miss Lancester, for vulgar language. Tits. And far too much drink.”

“Scandalous!”
Intrigued
might better describe her arched expression. “If it’s so indecent, why are you bringing me? You might have declined.”

He shrugged and then grinned at her. “I should think it obvious. I want to see your tits.”

She sputtered, but her embarrassed laughter couldn’t be covered. “Roman!”

“What?” He glanced sidelong at her. “I think you’re pretty.”

She ceased laughing as she absorbed his words. That silence… That silence spoke volumes. Was she, too, remembering he’d already seen her breasts in all their glorious nakedness?

“Roman…” she said, in a breathless voice that left him yearning for more. She shook her head slightly. “You’re incorrigible.”
 

He flicked his walking stick in front of them, indicating their next direction. “I answered your question. Are you prepared to answer one of mine?”

Her grip tightened almost imperceptibly on his arm. “Yes.”

The problem with flirting was that one must keep his head about him. His wits had wandered off right about the time he’d thought about her nipples.

But he did wish to draw her out, and so he must supply a suitable topic. He briefly considered asking after her sister’s health. Or he could probe the likelihood of her wishing to join him and his friends at Vauxhall tomorrow.

Ask her why she seduced you.

Confound it, he couldn’t ask that. It was too soon.

But she was walking with him and talking with him. As if she—well, as if she
liked
him. He knew she didn’t have any new reason to care for him. But that was precisely what drove him mad. Did she like him, or didn’t she?

He must be patient. Pressing his suit too soon would give him away. He opened his mouth to ask whether she’d found the opportunity to visit the pleasure gardens during her Season. Instead he said, “Why the devil did you seduce me?”

His heart lurched. Her brisk stride didn’t change. Unlike him, she was a master at hiding her feelings. “I should think it obvious,” she replied, mimicking his teasing tone from earlier. But she didn’t finish the sentence.

“Yes?” He tried to sound only politely interested, when his heart was trying to gallop out of his chest.

“Hmm?” She looked up at him. “Oh. I
did
think it obvious. You don’t know?”
 

He shook his head. His smile felt as brittle as his nerves.
 

Her smile, too, trembled just enough to give him hope. She glanced away. “Who better to divest a committed spinster of her virtue than a committed rake?”

He stopped walking. “You
used
me?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “I wouldn’t put it that way. You’ve lain with dozens of women. I didn’t see one more being a problem.”

He couldn’t respond at first. Celeste had warned him, but he hadn’t believed her. In his heart, he’d felt Lucy must have loved him if she’d schemed that thoroughly to lie with him.

With great effort, he managed to curl his lip. The rest of his body remained frigid and stiff. “You were wrong.”

The shadowy hood of her cape fell across her shoulders as she tipped her head to look at him. Confusion marred her brow. “But you don’t
want
to be leg-shackled. You didn’t even know it was me. Any woman would have done for you. What difference does it make that it
was
me?”

Her postulation made him feel like a scoundrel. She spoke as though he’d used
her
ill, when in fact, he never would have seduced her if she hadn’t
arranged
it. Why must he be made to feel as if he were a prime mutton chop?

 
“You left me with no hope, Lucy. Was I to be faithful to an idea that existed only in my head?” He seized her upper arms and pulled her against his chest. “Or am I wrong? Did you
want
me to pursue you? Should I have worked harder to win you?”

Her breath hissed from her, as if he’d said something very stupid. “Of course not.”

“Then why do you hold it against me? Yes, I sought solace in the arms of other women. I had lovers before you, too. But you rejected
me
. Why am I the villain? My only crime is—”

His only crime was that he sold his favors for trinkets.

Her dark eyes went wide. “Yes?”

He released her and stepped back. He didn’t deserve her, no matter what she’d done to him.

What
had
she done, but treat him the way he’d allowed others to use him?

As if he were available for the night.

Disgust roiled through him. Frustration, disappointment and resolve followed. Mayhap she’d done no differently than many other women. But he wanted better from her. He wanted to deserve better.
 
“I
am
a rake, and likely worse. But I’ve clung to this life for a different reason, one I think might surprise you.”

She rubbed her arms through her mantle. Her voice hissed through her teeth. “Go on.”

He pressed his kid-gloved fist against his heart. “Love.”

An undercurrent swept him toward her as a little gasp of surprise escaped her lips. “L-love?”

He lowered his voice allowed the tide to bring him closer. “You think I seek dalliance and heartbreak because I lack sentiment. You’re wrong. I
love.
Deeply. Fervently. Miserably. No matter how many women I’ve lain with, I would not have wanted you to use me.”

Her eyes shone like obsidian flecks. “You’re shocking me again.”

“Not intentionally,” he said with a sad laugh. “It’s simply who I am. A man who dances with courtesans and drinks with wastrels and knows how to
love
. I’m not available for the taking.”

A blush rose on her cheeks. “You make it sound as though I accosted you. I didn’t force you to lie with me. You sought
me
out. No, not me. A lightskirt. If one of us should be resentful, it is me. I had every reason to expect fidelity from you. You were courting
me.
”

“Was I?” A shadow fell across her face as he stepped toward her. “I don’t remember that.”

She raised her chin. “Then you’re not even aware of the hopes you raise.”

“I didn’t say that.” He approached another few centimeters. “I knew exactly how much I admired you. I suspected you returned my admiration. But courting is a strong word, Lucy. I was careful not to make promises I couldn’t keep. And while an unplanned toss beneath the sheets isn’t something I’m proud of, I was well within my rights to pursue release at the Cyprian masque. Loneliness doesn’t subside simply because one drowns it in liquor and poor prose.”

Her cheeks flashed pink as she turned her head away. “You’re a rogue.”

He leaned forward until the sable curl at her ear tickled his lips. “Be vexed with me if you like, Lucy-love. Lord knows, I’m not innocent. But you
used
me. I have every right to be furious.”

HIS ADMISSION LEFT Lucy shivering. Beneath all his polish and pretty words, he did have some semblance of a heart. She didn’t know what to make of it. It was almost frightening to consider. He accused
her
of using
him
? He thought
her
the villain.

How could that be?

Remorse, sharp and unexpected, took hold of her. She’d done everything he’d claimed. Not once had she considered his feelings on the matter, aside from her intent to leave him wanting more. She hadn’t even known he
had
feelings.

For goodness sakes, he was a
rake
! Taking an innocent’s maidenhood was practically a rite of passage. And yet, his frustration was palpable. She didn’t doubt for a moment his pain was real.

I would not have wanted you to use me.

Her poor, beautiful Roman. She had always meant to wound him. She’d wanted him to suffer, leaving him to never know the reason he’d been found wanting. But she hadn’t meant to make him feel sullied.

She didn’t know how to apologize properly, and so she said nothing.

When they arrived in Madame Claremont’s black and white checked foyer, Roman slipped behind her to help remove her cloak. His fingers brushed her bare skin as he untied the strings and pulled the fabric of her mantle aside. With a gentle tug the shroud fell away, exposing the low décolletage she’d not wanted Mr. Gordo or her brother to see.

She smoothed her hands over the delicate fabric and pulled the bodice lower. With its gauzy drape and square neckline, this rather prudish dress was the most suited of her wardrobe for her first night in Impolite Society.

“Don’t worry,” Roman said under his breath, his first words to her in a quarter hour. “You look lovely.”

“Oh!” She jutted her chin away so he couldn’t see her appreciate his own talents in the dressing room. But she remembered. Buff breeches were molded to his well-muscled thighs. Tonight he’d selected a brocade waistcoat the exact cerulean of his eyes, and a white cravat so bright, his skin looked golden against it. Likely from all the time he spent walking about, rather than depending upon closed carriages.