Twice a Rake (2 page)

Further denial would serve no one. “Fine, yes. I have a story going in my head. Are you satisfied now?”

“Almost. I’ll be far more satisfied when I can read it.” A gleam of mischief flashed in Rebecca’s brown eyes. “Do tell me, will this story be more invigorating than the one about Lord Ilbury?”

“Most decidedly so.” Aurora couldn’t stop the shudder that coursed through her body. Lord Ilbury’s story was drab and tedious and somber—much like the man himself.

And as with all of Aurora’s previous suitors, since the story depicted what their lives together would undoubtedly entail, she had seen no reason to further entertain Lord Ilbury’s attentions once she had the picture mapped out in its entirety in her journal.

She could not bear the thought of such a marriage. It would be altogether too much like the marriage her parents had lived. Unhappy. Loveless. Insipid. Utterly and totally calamitous.

Such would never be Aurora’s fate.

Not even if she lived to be an old maid, forever alone. Being alone scared her far less than being trapped in a marriage so sad and so wrong.

She need not fear for her own provision, after all. Aurora would become Viscountess Hyatt
suo jure
after her father passed, inheriting all of his properties and his fortune as well. She would never want for anything. For that one small favor, she was very thankful, indeed, that Queen Elizabeth had been a bit eccentric in the way she handled her affairs.

Still, even though Aurora needn’t take a husband, some small part of her wanted one. Just not the
wrong
one.

A tiny voice at the back of her mind screamed that Lord Quinton was most egregiously and odiously the
wrong
one.

But a much louder voice at the forefront of her mind had already set to work, plotting out how exciting their lives would be once they were together.

Gracious. Deciding which of those two voices to obey might be the death of her.

~ * ~

The curtains were ripped back to a blinding sun. “You’re making an arse of yourself. And of me. I don’t like it.”

Quin groaned at the throb building behind his eyes and pulled the counterpane up higher. It couldn’t be noon yet. There was no call for him to be out of bed. Or for his friend to be barging in on him when he was clearly still recovering from a rather unproductive evening about Town, followed by a stop at a lovely tavern where he had proceeded to spend a touch more coin than he had intended on whiskey and women, and perhaps on a mite of gambling.

Much like he had always done.

Niles Thornton, Baron Quinton was nothing if not predictable. He followed the pattern laid out before him by his father, to the point that he’d now perfected it.

All of which Sir Jonas Buchannan clearly knew. His friend had never been the fiendish sort before now. What in bloody hell had crawled up his prick and died? “Sod off, will you?”

In answer, Jonas stripped the bedclothes from the bed, dragging Quin off with them.

Quin landed with a loud thud on the floor. “Christ, what do you want?” he bellowed. Every inch of his backside now burned like the clap, somewhat diminishing the pain in his head. But only somewhat.

“You. Up. Now.” Jonas bit the words off then left, dragging the bedding behind.

Blast
. He’d either have to get up or catch his death from the cold.

Quin stumbled to his feet, steadying himself at the bureau before taking a fleeting glance in the mirror. Two days’ worth of stubble. Not too bad. He could go another day or two before dealing with that. His eyes were as red as that vixen’s dress, though. What was her name, again? Lady Kingston? Lady Kennelly? All he could remember her as was Lady Kiss-Me-Down-There, with a bosom designed to send men directly to either heaven or hell. Quin didn’t particularly care which one he was sent to, either, just as long as he could bury himself inside her for a bit.

So he had.

And it had been heaven.

At least it had been heaven until
Lord
Kiss-Me-Down-There walked into Bythewood’s library and found him kissing her down there. Then it had most decidedly turned to hell.

Which might explain the swelling he’d just discovered over his rather blood-shot eye. Had her husband hit him? He couldn’t quite remember. Everything became a bit muddled after the heavenly bit.

Enough with wondering what happened. If it was truly important, someone would remind him. In fact, Jonas might just be preparing to do precisely that. Quin pulled on a pair of breeches and did up enough of the buttons to keep the flap in place, then grabbed his overcoat from the previous evening, shrugging it on as he left the chamber to join his friend in the study.

The doors had been left open, so Quin didn’t bother with knocking. A few platters of meats and baked eggs were laid out by the window, but the smell of them sent his stomach to churning. Instead, he went to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy.

“A little early for that, don’t you think?” Jonas called out. He sat behind his desk, reading some missive or another.

Good God, it was too early in the day to be reading missives. It was never too early for a brandy, though. In response, Quin downed it in one swill, then poured another.

“Would you care to inform me what is so imperative that my presence is required at this ungodly hour?” Quin’s voice sounded rough even to his own ears, making his tone even surlier than he had intended.

“Would
you
care to inform me what, precisely, you said to Lady Kislingbury about her bosom at the Bythewood ball yesterday evening, within earshot of at least a dozen other people?”

Kislingbury. That was it.

Kiss-Me-Down-There had a distinctly more appealing ring, though.

“I would love to. But I can’t recall. At least, not the precise words.”

“So you admit to it?”

“I admit to nothing. Not until I know what I’m being accused of. There are a number of things I
could
admit to, and even more that I likely
should
admit to—”

“Bugger off, Quin.” Jonas raked a hand through his hair and let out a ragged sigh. “Just tell me the truth. Me. The one person in this world you claim you can trust.”

Jonas always had to go and ruin the fun, didn’t he?

“You commented on her bosom?”

“I did.”

Jonas gave a wry grin. “Care to elaborate?”

“I believe I mentioned that her rather generous décolletage was one of the loveliest sights to be seen last evening, and that she had displayed it to exquisite advantage. Then I asked if I might view it a bit closer.”

“Devil take it.”

“She was kind enough to allow me to do just that. Amongst a few other things.”

Jonas’s gaze burned. “Is that what you’re here for? To make a cuckold of other gentlemen? You had better find a new entrée into society, if that’s the case.”

“You know me better than that.”

“Do I? If that’s not it, why are you here? You owe me an explanation, Quin. Something more than ‘Let me stay with you for a while so I can attend some balls.’ You’ve been scaring the young ladies and their chaperones. Not a man I know trusts you. And now you’re going after their wives.”

“Lady Kiss-Me…er, Lady Kislingbury was just a distraction.”

“From what?”

Quin shot up from his chair and paced. “From this bloody nonsense Rotheby has set for me!” Well. Blast. That wasn’t quite the way Quin had intended to go about all of this.

Jonas raised an eyebrow but withheld his questions.

“Rotheby sent for me a fortnight ago. Said it was urgent, that I must attend to him at once. When I arrived at Roundstone Park, he threatened me.”

“Your grandfather threatened you. His heir.” The baronet had perfected the art of the dubious expression.

“I couldn’t make this up if I tried,” Quin said. “The old codger said that if I don’t change my ways, if I don’t marry and produce an heir, he’ll cut me off. Take Quinton Abbey from me. Leave me to fend for myself until such time as he dies and can’t keep me from everything anymore. Hell, I think he’s already decided to leave Roundstone to someone else. It isn’t under entail.”

“Is that it? All of this is because your grandfather wants you to secure the line?”

“He spouted off some other excrement about needing to learn to manage my estate, about not being a ‘wastrel,’ but the bulk of it was about the damned heir.”

“Well, if that’s the case, you’re not going about any of this in a very intelligent manner. Lady Kislingbury cannot fill your nursery. And the ladies who
could
do as much will all be running for the hills, based on the recommendations of their chaperones. You need a new strategy.”

Didn’t he know it? “Any suggestions?” Quin drawled.

“A few.”

No surprise there. Jonas may be his best friend, but he was never slow to tell Quin when he needed to change his ways. Which was often. Almost perpetually.

Jonas pierced him with a solemn stare. “To start, you must stay away from married ladies.”

“Noted.” He could easily find a whore or two willing to slake his needs. In fact, he might have already done just that last night. Damned if he could remember them though.

Jonas continued to spout off his list. “You must make yourself presentable to the unmarried ladies and their chaperones—mothers, sisters, aunts. They have to believe you are a worthy gentleman, not a scoundrel.”

“But I am a scoundrel.”

“I know. And therein lies our problem.”

If Jonas didn’t get to the solution before Quin took two more breaths, he might just throttle him. “So…?”

“So you have to change your ways. Present a good image. Play the part.” A cheeky grin spread wide across Jonas’s face.

“Meaning what, precisely?” Quin wished he hadn’t asked. He didn’t want to know.

“Meaning no more drinking and gambling and whoring. Meaning you must
seem
like a perfect gentleman, even if you aren’t one.” Jonas took a long look at him, spending more time than necessary on Quin’s overlong hair, his unkempt jaw line, the wrinkled and disheveled clothing. “Meaning dressing and grooming according to the current fashions.”

“You’re joking,” Quin said. He liked having his hair long. He hated shaving. And he bloody well could not abide the thought of primping himself like a blasted dandy.

Jonas barked with laughter. “I’m not. I assure you, I am quite serious.”

“Damned cur.”

“A damned cur who will help you find a bride and keep your fortunes.”

Blast him.
“Fair enough. What else must I do?”

“Well, I would suggest we try a different tactic for gaining introductions to the marriageable young ladies. Perhaps I should go with you to some functions, introduce you around. If you are seen alongside me, maybe your reputation will begin to change.”

Quin imagined being shackled to Jonas’s side, only talking to those who the esteemed baronet deemed worthy of his company. “So you’re going to be my deuced escort?”

“Not exactly. But you need someone to soften your image. And you need me for another reason, too.”