The Art of Ruining a Rake (11 page)

“I’m afraid that would cost extra, my lord.”

Roman shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips in spite of his melancholy. “You’re worth your weight in gold, I’ve no doubt. Now, where might I find his lordship?”

“In the peach house. Shall I send a footman to the outbuilding?”

“That won’t be necessary. Is Lady Trestin at home?” Even as the question fell from his lips, he knew he shouldn’t have asked. Celeste wouldn’t want to see him. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand: gaining Ashlin’s help to woo Lucy.

Nordstrom drew up sharply. “Lady Trestin is receiving, my lord. In the drawing room.”

Roman faltered. He was here for Lucy, not to mend things with Celeste.

No sooner did he hesitate, though, than he realized Celeste was the only one aside from Lucy herself who could answer the question that plagued him. Why
had
Lucy agreed to seduce him? Surely, the answer would only help his suit.

He moved to pass Nordstrom. “Thanks, old chap. I know the way.”

To his surprise, Nordstrom crosscut his path. “Please, my lord, allow me.”

Roman stopped short. “Is there a problem?”

The silver-haired butler regarded him squarely. “It’s only proper I announce you, my lord.”

So it was. After attempting to prevent Ashlin and Celeste’s marriage and compromising Lucy, Roman was hardly the family friend he’d once been.

Stepping back, he gestured for Nordstrom to lead the way. “Very good of you to think of it,” he said with a cheerfulness that didn’t match his feelings. “I hear propriety is all the rage.”

They said no more about it as they walked. Roman hardly forgot, though, that Nordstrom disapproved.

When they reached the drawing room, Nordstrom entered first. “Lord Montborne to see you, my lady.”

“Roman?” Her voice drifted into the hallway. Impossible to distinguish whether she was pleased or not.

He struggled to make heads or tails of her reaction by studying Nordstrom’s profile. Not a flicker of helpful information crossed the retainer’s face.

Finally, Roman heard her say, “Send him in.”

He exhaled sharply and entered the rose-and-gold chamber. Nordstrom slipped through the door behind him and, for the first time in many months, he and Celeste were alone.

Suddenly, he had nothing to say.

She sat her couch with perfect serenity. Not a hair on her head had changed. He’d never thought her beautiful, because she’d simply
been
. His friend, his confidante. She’d carried him through all manner of foibles with her poise. Until he’d watched her fall in love with Ashlin, he hadn’t even realized the extent of his dependence on her. But as she’d slipped through his fingers…

He’d
known
. He’d unwittingly loved her, and her defection had destroyed him.

Until Lucy.

“I’m sorry, Celeste.” He held his hand out to her. If they’d fought terribly last year—and he couldn’t deny they had—it was his deepest regret.

Her hands remained clasped in her lap, her grip wrinkling the fine silk of her skirt. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He felt as though she’d struck him.

Her chin tilted up. Her green eyes flashed. “You cannot possibly think a few simple words can make up for your appalling treatment of me.”

He flinched. This was how it had always been between them. Honest. Sometimes brutally so. “I don’t.”

She looked away, but not before he caught the sheen of tears. “Then you should know to stay away.”

“I can’t leave yet.”

She started to rise. “I will.”

He took a step forward. “Celeste…”

“Don’t,” she warned him, raising a hand. “You’ve done more than enough.”

He stood immobile, unable to think of anything he could say to change her mind.

Until he remembered why he’d come: Lucy. He needed to understand
her,
to glean what information he could that would be helpful in winning
her
affections. The awkward helplessness he felt for Celeste… Wasn’t
this
. His fascination with Lucy. It didn’t motivate him to be better. It wasn’t even a sensation that made him feel proud. It was a twinge he carried as a reminder of their shattered friendship, and a deep-seated fear he had of being alone. Celeste had always been there beside him, until Ashlin had stolen her away. Like his best waistcoat, or his favorite boots.

He’d told himself he’d avoided Worston because of Ashlin. Facing his friend wasn’t something he looked forward to doing. But he’d known Celeste would be here, the mastermind behind his infatuation with Lucy. Angry at him for betraying her secret to Ashlin. Hurt by the many terrible things he’d said to her when he’d tried to convince her not to leave him.

He must not let any of that interfere with his honorable intentions toward Lucy.

“I came about Miss Lancester,” he said. He couldn’t change what he’d done to Celeste. But he could right things with Lucy. He must.

Celeste lowered herself to the couch. Sunlight turned her auburn curls into a flame. Her disapproving gaze flicked up and down his person. Did she know what had transpired between him and Lucy almost a month ago? Had Lucy told her?

Did she care?

“Why?” she asked, more accusation than question.

He took a step forward. “I want to make her my wife.”

A flush rose along the ivory column of Celeste’s neck. For several drawn-out seconds, she said nothing.

“After everything you’ve done to her,” she said quietly, “how
dare
you speak as though your desires matter.”

“After everything I’ve—? How dare I—? Oh, that
is
rich.” All thoughts of avoiding confrontation flew out the window. “I’ll accept that accusation from Ashlin’s lips, but not yours. It was no accident Lucy was at Mrs. Galbraith’s masque ball, was it? No mistake I was the one who took her to bed.”

He hadn’t meant to go on the offensive, but now that he had, he wanted only to hear her confession. She’d set him up to deflower Lucy. With mounting impatience, he waited to hear her refute him.

Just as badly, he wanted her to lie. She’d been his closest confidante. Surely, surely she hadn’t intended to hurt him.

One breath passed. Two. She could have denied it. She could have laid the blame entirely at Lucy’s feet.

She didn’t.

He stood there, numbed. Yes, he’d said things to her he wasn’t proud of, but he’d done it to keep her close. She’d done
this
to wound him, and her treachery devastated him.

His devastation angered him. Because all these years, he’d loved her more than anyone else, and she’d…

Not.

Slowly, he tucked his walking stick under his arm. “You trained Lucy,” he said flatly, counting off on his fingers. “You ensured I took notice of her. You
lured
me into chasing her. Now you have the audacity to be vexed with me for pursuing her? Who has done what to whom?”

Celeste’s eyes sparked. “You don’t deserve her.”

“But I can tup her?” He was so outraged and confused, he could barely keep his thoughts together. “Why did you set her on me? For the love of all that is holy, why did
she
agree?”

Celeste’s bosom rose and fell. Otherwise, she remained stone-still. He willed himself to calm. He may have started this little war with her, but he very much wanted it to end. “I don’t want to hurt Lucy,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I want to marry her. Will you help me?”

“No.”

He didn’t immediately speak. Couldn’t. “I know you’re furious with me. Confound it, I’ve more than earned it—from
you
. But I’ve done nothing to her that I regret, except fail to make her my wife. Why does she despise me? What is it you both think I’m guilty of, aside from the obvious issue of mistaken identity?”

The room went silent. His chest heaved in silent frustration as he stood before Celeste without guile, as he’d always done. Even when it made him vulnerable.

Was it his imagination, or did her shoulders droop?

She looked away. “I made a vow.”

He expelled a breath. So there
was
a reason.

He took a step toward her. “I want to change her mind about me. It would seem you hold an important key. Unlock the door, Celeste. Let me in.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. Spurning him. But feeling…torn?

He lowered his voice. “I told you we weren’t worthy of the rest of the world. The two of us, we were…”

Different.

She didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t share—had never shared—what he’d once felt in his heart.

He opened his arms at his sides. “I should not have said such a cruel thing. I was livid. But I believed it, at the time. You proved to be worthy. Can’t I be, too?”

Celeste’s chin jutted toward the window. She’d always been proud.

“Please,” he murmured. “Help me.”

It took minutes. Years, even. Slowly, she looked at him. “You must promise you’ll not hurt her.”

“I won’t,” he swore, pledging his hand against his heart. “I’ve never intentionally caused her distress.”

Celeste twisted the emerald ring on her finger. She sighed heavily. Then, finally, her posture wilted in defeat. “You can’t be held responsible for her girlish fancies. I realize that. But you must have a care with her. She is enamored of you to the point of unreason.”

His heart soared. This made all the uncomfortableness worth braving. Lucy
did
love him. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed to hear it. “As I love her!”

A sad smile crept across Celeste’s lips. “Love isn’t what you think. You love your morning dish of coffee. You love dancing. You love the dewy-eyed devotion of a first infatuation. You simply want the thing you want, and you don’t understand why you can’t have it.”

He stood stiffly, taken aback. There was nothing inherently wrong with her description of him, except that it made him feel trifling. “If she loves me, nothing else matters.”

“Hardly nothing,” Celeste contradicted him sharply, “and overstating things, at any rate. You confuse want with love. She
desires
you. A man of your experiences ought to know a woman can bed him for the simple treat of her pleasure.”

He couldn’t move.
A man of your experiences.

“Lucy is not one of my patronesses.” He had to push the words past the constriction of his throat.
A man of your experiences.
Surely Celeste had not meant to bowl him over with a reference to his sordid work.

He waited, but she didn’t retract her statement, or explain. A gnawing sensation began to eat at him. “Lucy didn’t use me,” he said, more emphatically this time. “I would know the difference.”

Celeste bit her lip. Then she shrugged one shoulder elegantly. “If she does love you, what then? Today she is your obsession, but tomorrow? My poor Lucy. I fear for her with you.”

Her low opinion of him was the worst blow by far. Because she, of all people, should know better. He
did
understand constancy.

He raised a hand to his chest. “I know what love is. You and I were friends for twelve years. You broke my heart when you married Ashlin. You’re breaking it again with your poor opinion of me. Do I not merit the same happiness you’ve found? Or am I resigned to watch you soar while I drown in misery?’

She looked away. When she faced him again, she met his regard with stark determination. “In those dozen years, I’ve learned you’re mercurial and melodramatic. You thrive on despondency. You shy away from lasting affection.” She drew a breath as though preparing to drive the final knife into his heart. “But…”

He latched on to that one word. But.

Her voice softened. “In all our time together, I’ve never heard you beg. Something has changed.”

He slumped with relief. “I want to understand her. Help me. Please.”

Celeste gripped her skirts. After a pause, she leaned and peered around him. But there was no one to hear her tell secrets.

Quickly, the words tumbled forth. “She did ask me to help her draw your attention. At first I refused. She was an innocent, with a stern guardian and modest dowry, all the ingredients a young lady needs to find success in the
ton
.”

Roman moved toward the fireplace. So Lucy had asked
Celeste
for help, not the other way around. He didn’t know what to think. He’d never considered this. He rested his elbow on the mantel, feeling weary. “Her eligibility was the reason I stayed away. She might have secured a suitable husband without me.”

“Yes. Would that I had been as wise, but I wasn’t in my right mind. I was distraught over Trestin. She compared our situations and fueled my hopeless yearning with tales of her one-sided infatuation with you, and I capitulated to her reasoning.” A sad smile played on Celeste’s lips. “She is the most persuasive person I’ve ever encountered. I still don’t quite know how she convinced me.”

Roman’s heart squeezed. Laying out a logical argument did sound like his Lucy. But he needed more information to fully understand. “Trestin was furious with you for hiding your past from him,” Roman recalled. “I wasn’t cross with Lucy.”