The Art of Ruining a Rake (10 page)

Reluctantly, Lucy released her sister. She breathed deeply and searched for a steadier voice. “The board demanded my resignation. I came here because what I most wanted was to see you, but I regret it already. Your lovely girls could be ruined simply by my stopping to take tea.”

“Don’t say such things.” Delilah sent a pleading look to her husband. “Tell her we don’t care what the gossipmongers say. No one will force her to marry that cajoling, deceitful
rake
. She may stay here forever.”

Mr. Conley’s massive shoulders hunched. His brow rutted as though he didn’t like disappointing his adoring wife. “Surely you see that’s impossible, my love. I’m not averse to scandal in general, else I wouldn’t have stolen you from under your brother’s nose, but all decisions have consequences. Miss Lancester’s will not be taken lightly. How do I guard my sisters from disgrace, if she is living under our roof?”

Delilah’s dashed hopes made Lucy feel even worse for having come.

“He’s right,” her sister said, turning to her. “Drat it all,
you
know that. But how can I be parted from you when you’re suffering so? I’ll visit you as soon as you’re settled.”

Lucy planted an impulsive kiss on her sister’s brow. “You’ll be busy with the baby. Don’t fret over me. Living with Trestin isn’t the end of everything.”

Delilah’s eyes rounded, perfectly reflecting Lucy’s misgivings. “Go to Worston? But you can’t! You’ll despise each other!”

Lucy clutched her sister’s hands harder. Now wasn’t the time to reveal her intent to find a permanent home anywhere but under her brother’s rule. “I’ve left myself no choice.”
 

Mr. Conley cleared his throat. “Perhaps we can maintain a small cottage for you on the village outskirts.”

More than anything else discussed, this embarrassed Lucy most. She well knew the expenditure required to keep a large household afloat. As if she could usurp a single coin from the many mouths who depended on him!

No, she must lie in the bed she’d made, for richer or poorer, and very much alone. “Thank you, sir, but I knew the risks.”

Her voice was small but resolved. She wouldn’t burden Mr. Conley more than she already had. She must think of another solution. One that didn’t include Trestin.

Delilah rubbed her back reassuringly. “Stay with us through Twelfth Night. Word will take at least that long to reach these parts. Hempsted Heath is a wonderful place. You’ll see.”

Mr. Conley stood. “Hempsted is that, and she may come here as often as she likes.” He paused meaningfully. “
After
she marries Lord Montborne.”

ALMOST TWO WEEKS after arriving in Devon, Roman still hadn’t found time to make his way to Worston Heights, as he’d promised Miss Lancester he would do.

Embarking upon a short visit to see her brother Ashlin, Lord Trestin, would have been easy enough, but Roman had always been one to defer unpleasant business. And the call
would
be unquestionably rife with unpleasant business. For before he could attempt worming his way into Miss Lancester’s good graces—and in the last week, he’d come to the conclusion that he
must
try, for the shredding of her reputation demanded he at least give it one more go—he needed to throw himself on Ashlin’s mercy. Again. And he really didn’t want to do that.

Moreover, to have any chance of winning her hand, he must beg an indulgence of his friend. A large one. Larger than any of the other favors he’d ever requested of Ashlin. And he could only do so after he’d confessed his inexcusable behavior and pleaded for leniency.

On the day Roman finally resolved to go to Worston, he had only enough time to decide it before his brothers closeted him in his library with their steward, two men from London and an engineer. Needless to say, he didn’t make it to Worston that day, nor the day after.

But he did manage to drag himself to the library every morning. Luncheon was served there, tea in the afternoons. Brandy at all times. The paneled surfaces were covered in papers and books, all frighteningly important, and that was before taking into account the forms that must be submitted and the laws that governed such endeavors.

It was far beyond his comprehension. Most days, he lurked in the back of the room. Occasionally, he napped by the fireplace. Planning for what amounted to be hauling rocks had proved an extremely dull business, though he refused to give his brothers the satisfaction of admitting it. Especially when he was convinced they sat up at night plotting ways to make him miserable.

Then one day he had his wish. Tony rose from his desk and stretched his arms overhead. “Gentlemen, it’s time we take a breath of fresh air. The sun is out and I’m feeling caged.”

Murmurs of approval—and relief—went through the room. Tony went to the sideboard and poured another brandy. A toast was performed, then a second round sent about, so that by the time they were done congratulating themselves on their hard work, Roman had all but tugged out his hair in his eagerness to be off. Though he
was
grateful for their effort on behalf of the estate, he couldn’t be away fast enough.

He’d never felt as unnecessary as he did in his own library.

“Montborne,” Tony clapped Roman’s shoulder to draw him back into the room when he would have finally left it, “there
is
one way you can be of service. I’ve devised the perfect assignment.”

Tony’s thinly veiled aspersion made Roman bristle. Outwardly, he drew his shoulders back and crossed his arms so that his kid-gloved thumbs nestled in the crooks of his elbows. “Do you need me to seduce the daughter of some official?”

Tony grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”

Roman’s smile didn’t falter. “What, then? Is there a party I must host? A livery to design?”

Tony pressed his lips together as if he wanted to say more, but wouldn’t. Then he shrugged. “I don’t consider you an imbecile. I did say you’re to stay in Devon, but I’ve been thinking.” He caught Roman’s eye as if to convey,
by that I mean I’ve been watching you
. “You’d serve us better in Town, drumming up another investor or ten. Constantine has provided a catalog of his partners in the Grand Canal project. We should start there. Those men are already aware of this opportunity and have had some time to consider it.”

Roman stood just a fraction straighter. “Do you trust me to do that?”

Doubt flickered across Tony’s face. Then he nodded. “Yes. You simply need to want to.”

Irritation that he’d barely received his younger brother’s approval warred with massive relief at his reprieve. He’d much rather be in London than cooped in Plymbridge Hall. “I’ll do it. But first, I must see about currying Miss Lancester’s favor.
With
Trestin’s blessing.”

Tony’s face broke into an honest smile. “By Jove, Montborne. See that you get it.”

ROMAN DASHED DOWN the staircase before anyone else could stop him. The footman must have heard his approach because he was handed his hat, gloves, greatcoat and walking stick without delay.

Despite the frigid wind, he didn’t wait for a horse. Rather, he set off at his own quick pace. For one, he didn’t particularly like horses. For two, they didn’t like him. The last time he’d crossed these moors riding hell-for-leather, he’d wound up with a dislocated shoulder.

Recalling his old injury made him wince. It wasn’t just the phantom pain in his shoulder that haunted him, however, but the impact of his fall on his life. For when he’d opened his eyes and seen his dear friend Celeste Gray staring down at him with wide, green worry, he’d never suspected his entire life was about to take the same jarring toss he had, albeit in a less literal way.

Would he see her at Worston?

Undoubtedly. She lived there now.

As he strode up the frosty footpath toward Ashlin’s house, he was surprised to feel the old ache in his chest return. It had been many months since the pain of Celeste’s rejection had mysteriously waned.

Not so
very
mysterious, that. He hadn’t given Celeste a single thought ever since he’d fallen in love with Lucy.

He rubbed absently at his chest. If only Lucy were older! He might have avoided all that unpleasantness with Celeste and Ashlin. But he’d met Celeste—a few years his senior—as a young man at university, when Lucy had been just a schoolgirl.

He’d been the right age to chase a lightskirt, and he’d thrown himself into it with gusto. If he’d gone about his pursuit unconventionally, well, it was because he’d taken one look at the self-assured seductress named Celeste Gray and seen a level-headed businesswoman who was clever. Fearless. A leader in every sense, one he’d been drawn to follow.

It hadn’t taken long for him to become convinced their friendship was destined. They were both popular in the bedchamber, each maintaining their own steady stream of lovers. They were both leaders of the fast set. They both adored London, and all the vice and indulgence it had to offer. Yet they’d never lain together, for it would have ruined everything.

He’d known her better than he’d known himself, or so he’d fooled himself into thinking. Theirs had been a comfortable friendship, one that rarely needed words or planning, and for a dozen years, he’d thought her happy in her position as the foremost Cyprian of their time. Perhaps she was aloof to others, but she’d warmed to him. She’d chosen to be near him, when others were made to purchase her time in expensive increments. He’d thought it a sign.

Yes, he’d stupidly thought that, in her own way, she’d loved him back and she simply didn’t need to say it. He’d convinced himself she’d bestowed upon him the meager emotion she had to offer, and there was nothing more of her hardened heart to give.

He’d thought wrong.

She’d fallen in love with Ashlin right before his eyes. Roman had been furious with her, worried for Ashlin, and hurt and scared for himself. She’d married his boyhood friend and left him entirely alone. So very, very alone. London hadn’t been the same since she’d left it.
He
wasn’t the same. Look at him! Ruining innocents—something he’d sworn he’d never do. No matter what the gossips claimed.

Although…
Although
. Finding Lucy underneath him had been no chance occurrence. He was certain Celeste had orchestrated that. He even suspected he knew why she’d taught Lucy to make a fool of him. There was no denying he’d felt scorned when Celeste had given her heart to someone else. They’d been inseparable for so long, he hardly recalled a moment without her. To open his eyes one day and realize that with no warning, no reason given, she’d moved on with her life—how could he not have felt abandoned?

She’d known he was angry. He wasn’t proud of the things he’d said to her. The names he’d called her, his selfish attempts to warn Ashlin away. She’d had her revenge, hadn’t she? She’d known exactly what he’d seek out next. The admiration he’d want from a pretty girl to soothe the sting of sudden rejection. The thrill of a challenging conquest. She’d brought out those attractions in Lucy, and she’d done it in spades.

He just didn’t know why Lucy had agreed to it. She certainly didn’t seem to want
him
.

Finally, he reached the immaculate onion domed estate owned by Ashlin. Nordstrom, Worston’s butler, had perfected civility when Roman was in leading strings.
 

“My lord,” the older man said as Roman shrugged out of his greatcoat and tossed his hat to the waiting footman, “I was not aware this freeze had penetrated the ground so thoroughly as to drive you out.”

The entryway echoed with Roman’s shout of unexpected mirth. “Right you are, you clever badger. Hell
has
frozen over. But what does Trestin pay you for? Not your wit!”