Lord of the Rakes (16 page)

She meant to reply with some light jest, but the words would not come. The relaxed warmth left behind by her climax was threatening to kindle a fresh fire inside her. “No,” she told him. “It would not displease me at all.”

He was smiling back at her. She could hear it in his voice, despite his bland, polite tone. “I believe you said tomorrow would suit you?”

She gave a theatrical sigh and turned, brushing out her skirts as she did so. If he could tease, so could she. “That may be a problem, Philip. Tomorrow, I fear, I’ve been invited to go to the opera with the Rayburns.”

“Hmm. That is, I admit, inconvenient.” He looked so grave, for a moment Caroline wondered if she had erred. She had not confirmed the invitation. She was ready to cancel her meeting with the Rayburns, and to say she would. But Philip took her hand and contemplated her fingers as he spoke. “But afterward?”

“Oh, afterward, I shall be at home.”

He leaned close. His lips brushed hers, leaving a trail of soft fire behind. He breathed a single word, and this time she heard him clearly.

“Good.”

“H
arry!” Caroline cried happily as she entered the front hall of the Rayburns’ house in St. James’s Square.

“Caroline!” Fiona’s brother took both her hands in his, shaking them fondly and then pressing a resounding kiss against her knuckles. “How wonderful to see you again!”

If Harry Rayburn had a fault, it was a tireless dedication to the cultivation of his side-whiskers, which were wide and full and reached all the way down to his jawline. But as Harry was in all other ways a staunch friend, Caroline was inclined to be tolerant of this foible.

“Caroline, my dear!” Mrs. Rayburn bustled into the foyer, beaming all across her round, good-natured face.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Rayburn,” Caroline said as that lady gathered her into a warm and welcome hug. “I’m so glad Mr. Rayburn is better.”

Mrs. Rayburn gave a sigh of long and deep suffering as she led Caroline into the parlor. “If only he’d let Harry take on more of the work, he wouldn’t find himself laid up half so often. The doctors say—”

“Now then, Mrs. Rayburn, we will have no talk of doctors tonight!” boomed Mr. Rayburn from his post by the fire, where he was standing with Fiona and James. A large, bluff-looking man, Mr. Rayburn had been a wild youth, everyone said. It was falling headlong for Mrs. Rayburn that had turned him from just another Newmarket beau to an extremely sharp and prosperous dealer in dry goods. By marrying a future baron, Fiona would have some trouble in the highest circles, as she came with the “smell of the shop” about her. Caroline, however, had no doubt her friend would handle the haut ton admirably.

“Welcome to London, Lady Caroline!” Mr. Rayburn pressed a fatherly kiss on her cheek and beamed. To Caroline’s eye, he seemed perfectly fit, although a little pale, and she noted the glass on the mantel held red wine rather than his customary whiskey. “I must say you’re looking very well!”

Caroline pressed his hand in thanks. Her gown of sky-blue watered silk with pearl satin trimmings had just arrived from the modiste’s that morning, and she could not resist wearing it to the opera.

“But I am so sorry to be late,” she said. “The traffic was terrible.” In fact there had been an overturned carriage in the high street, causing her coachman, Douglas Ferriday, to have to take them around through such a tangle of back ways she had been afraid they’d gotten lost.

“Nonsense, you are just in time,” answered Mrs. Rayburn promptly. “In fact, there’s the bell. Let us all go in. I may be an unfashionable old thing, but I do not understand how anyone can manage an entire opera without something sustaining beforehand.”

Caroline took Harry’s arm so they could follow Fiona and James into the dining room. While the Rayburns’ house was built on a grand scale, Mrs. Rayburn’s preference was for simple furniture, pale wallpapers, comfortable fires, and plenty of light and fresh air. She absolutely disdained the current mania for dedicating whole rooms to cabinets crammed with curiosities of dubious provenance. Mr. Rayburn grumbled about the taxes on chimneys and windows, but indulged his wife in every particular. “Just as you see fit, Mrs. Rayburn!” he would say. This phrase tended to be followed with an aside to whoever was nearest. “Never known the woman to strike a false note, certainly not. Taste and sense, you see. Just as a woman ought to have.”

The Rayburns never spoke about what they knew of the coldness of Caroline’s own home. They did, however, go out of their way to make sure she was included in the life of country gentry. There were house parties and picnics and pleasure trips she never would have known if it wasn’t for them. Her father and brother had looked down on Mr. Rayburn as a member of the merchant class, but if that troubled Mr. Rayburn, he never showed it. Whenever Mrs. Rayburn issued her invitations, she always applied some diplomatic language about the importance of close supervision for girls at all ages in order to instill proper manners and social understanding. Which proved that despite her silence regarding the lives of the earl and his countess, Mrs. Rayburn understood a great deal.

“How have you been keeping yourself in town?” Caroline asked Harry as the fish croquettes were being served.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” answered Harry with a wry grin. “Burying myself in the bookshops, and squiring Fi about. I don’t know if she told you, but we went to the Royal Society the other day. Heard a fascinating lecture on South American parrots by this fellow Montcalm—”

“Montcalm!” Caroline exclaimed.

“Yes, Owen Montcalm.” Fortunately, Harry was occupied in helping himself to the béarnaise sauce and so did not see Caroline’s blush. “He’s pushing the society to sponsor an expedition to the Amazon. Really amazing birds, parrots.” Now he did look up at Caroline, and saw she had not yet managed to wipe the surprise off her face. “Don’t tell me you’ve heard of his work?”

“I . . . no.” She busied herself with slicing her croquette up into smaller bits, largely so she would not catch Fiona’s eye. “I recently met someone by that name. It must be a relative.”

“As long as it’s not his brother.” Harry chuckled. “Fellow’s got quite the reputation with the ladies.”

Caroline had seldom been as grateful for her mother’s admonishments about control as she was at that moment. All that practice enabled her to keep her voice steady now. “Thank you, Harry. I’ll be careful.”

“And if you do have any trouble in that direction, you know all you have to do is shout, and we’ll take care of the fellow. Isn’t that right, Westbrook?” Harry raised his glass to James.

“Just so,” agreed Fiona’s fiancé, and all the Rayburns exchanged a look of mutual satisfaction. Caroline dropped her gaze to her vivisected croquette. Harry’s expressed opinion of the Lord of the Rakes could easily lead to a misunderstanding, and misunderstandings between men tended to escalate quickly. She wasn’t sure whether to be amused or worried at the idea of mild, even-tempered Harry issuing a challenge to a man as intense and focused as Philip Montcalm.

Caroline often wondered why she’d never fallen in love with Harry. Perhaps it was because she’d grown up with him. It was difficult to see a man as a prospective husband when you had also seen them as a mud-smeared boy with a net full of frogs, at least one of which was destined for his sister’s bed. Or as the gawky, spotted youth who skulked around the edges of the house parties, stuffed with the self-importance and Latin quotations he’d acquired at Oxford.

Still, the boy and the youth had long since transformed into a man of intelligence and humor. He was handsome as well, with his classical combination of fair Rayburn hair and deep blue eyes. But when she looked at him, all Caroline saw was Fi’s kind brother, and all she felt was friendship.

Perhaps, if she had not learned about the trust, she would have taken him in a fit of desperation. Certainly life with Harry Rayburn would be far better than life with any of the men Jarrett had lined up for her, Lewis Banbridge included.

Across the table, Fi turned the conversation to wedding arrangements and how to lodge the guests who would soon be arriving from the country. Caroline relaxed. She did not want to think about love. It sent her mind skittering toward Philip and the passion and affinity they shared. But it also called to the fore all she could never share. She looked around the table at this loving, contented family who treated her as one of their own. Her mind’s eye showed her Philip in Mr. Rayburn’s seat, presiding over the ham and giving orders for more wine to be brought round. That should have been enough to make her laugh out loud. But it was followed quickly by a vision of Philip bestowing on her a look of warmth and tenderness such as the one that Mr. Rayburn turned to his wife of twenty-five years.

She would never know such warmth, and that fact dug painfully into her heart. Caroline reminded herself that domestic felicity was not something she’d ever wanted. The life of even a happily married woman was one of confinement, where anything and everything she loved might be taken from her at a moment’s notice. She enjoyed visiting the Rayburns the way one enjoyed visiting a foreign land. One could rejoice for friends who found their happiness in such a place without living there oneself.

That tears suddenly pricked at the back of her eyes surely only meant there was too much pepper in the soup.

Later, as Caroline stood with Harry in the foyer, she found out exactly how much of her troubled feelings had shown during dinner. Fiona was upstairs with Mrs. Rayburn. She’d torn her gloves, but then could not find the new ones she wanted. Mr. Rayburn and James were outside, seeing to a problem with one of the carriages.

“So, what do you think of Fiona’s intended?” Caroline asked Harry, by way of making conversation.

“Wonderful fellow,” said Harry promptly. “She’s got him wound right round her little finger, of course, but a man would have to be of stern stuff to avoid that.” They shared a laugh at this.

“I’m glad,” she said. “Fi deserves to be happy.”

“What about you, Caro?” asked Harry softly. “Are you happy?”

“Harry Rayburn, that’s an extraordinary question.” And an uncomfortable one, especially as he was regarding her so thoughtfully. “Now that I have my independence, I’m perfectly happy.”

“Well, since you say it, it must be true.”

“What makes you think it might not be true?”

“Perhaps because you’re still alone.”

“Ah.” Irritation stung her, and made her reply coarse. “You’ve joined the school that believes no woman can be happy except in matrimonial service to some man?”

“Oh, come now, Caro. You know that’s not what I meant. But we all need love. Doesn’t have to be, well, the love of a man and a woman, if you take my meaning,” Harry’s eyes slipped sideways in a sudden boyish bashfulness. “Love of family, love of country, or a vocation, those are enough for some. But everyone needs
something
. There has to be that connection, that focus, to bind one to others. It’s the lifeline of the heart. Without it, we’re all adrift.”

Caroline had intended to make some tart reply, but she couldn’t. Harry was right. Love was a requirement. She had seen for herself what happened when love was withheld. Her mother had starved for lack of love, as surely as she would have starved if she’d been denied food.

But he was also right that not everyone required the same sort of love. There was love for life itself, for the freedom of being able to do exactly as one chose. That sort of love could be food enough for the spirit. Wasn’t Philip’s life a demonstration of that? He breezed through his world, confident and happy and doing just as he chose. He went where he chose, loved when he chose, and kept himself separate. She could surely do the same.

But even as she thought this, a strange memory rose up from the back of her mind. It was not a memory of passion or cheerful wickedness. It was the memory of Philip gazing into her eyes and how for that unguarded moment the Lord of the Rakes had vanished, leaving an old, tired man behind.

Would someone, someday, see as much in her eyes?

 • • • 

Thankfully, the glamour and spectacle of the glittering performance were more than enough to drive any uncomfortable portions of Caroline’s conversation with Harry far into the background. As James was Fiona’s escort, Harry was assigned to Caroline, and he performed his part with affection and aplomb. James’s family took a double box at the opera, and the Rayburns joined the Westbrooks to fill the space. Caroline was pleased to note that the current baron and his family showed no sign of being worried about their new relations coming from the merchant class. The party was entirely convivial. The music was wonderful, and Fiona was in her element, pointing out each and every member of the audience who was rumored to be engaged in some fresh scandal or other. Emma Westbrook, Fiona’s soon-to-be sister-in-law, took her to task for her cheerful gossip. Emma did so, however, with such humor and verve that Caro found herself as entertained by their repartee as by anything on the stage.

When the intermission arrived, Harry and James escorted the ladies into the famous round room for refreshments while the senior members of the party remained in the box. Caroline regretted her choice of gown almost immediately. Despite the intense crush, an icy draft curled around her bare shoulders and found its way under her silk skirts. She instantly formed a resolve to return to Bond Street and purchase one of the cashmere shawls she had turned down the other day. She was on the verge of saying so to Fiona, when Fi nudged her elbow and nodded over her shoulder.

Caroline turned, just in time to see Philip make his way up to James.

“Excuse me, Mr. Westbrook, isn’t it?”

Caroline felt the blood drain from her cheeks, only to come rushing back in one heated flood. Philip was dressed well, but informally. He wore a pale blue coat tonight and a pair of simply cut trousers. While not as tight as his silk breeches, they had nonetheless been precisely tailored. She could clearly see the outline of his long, powerful legs.

“Montcalm!” James grasped Philip’s hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here. How are you doing? Let me introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Rayburn.”