The Art of Ruining a Rake (2 page)

The news from London must have been despicable indeed.

Chapter 1

December 1
^st
, 1814

Bath, Somerset

IF MISS LUCY Lancester’s life were a book, then surely she lived in the last blissful pages where the villain had been vanquished and the world rescued.

The notion brought a smile to her lips as she dipped her quill into an inkwell. Moments later, her signature approved January’s estimated expenses. She proceeded to the next piece of correspondence arranged neatly on her desk. Her position as headmistress of Bath’s School for Accomplished Young Ladies satisfied her. She oversaw the tutelage of twenty-five bright-eyed girls. Her responsibilities extended to the employment of two teachers, a retainer, four maids and a cook. If her school was not profitable, it was solvent. Almost as much as any of that, she adored living in the city.

She raised her attention from her papers only when Mr. Mowry, her man-of-all-work, appeared in her doorway. “Miss Lancester, you have a gentleman caller. Shall I show him in?”

“Is it Mr. Strickett?” She set her pen in the standish and began to rise. “I wasn’t expecting him to collect Miss Wilhelmina until tomorrow.” Wilhelmina was the last of her paying girls to retire for the winter holiday. This was good news, indeed. “Perhaps I might leave Bath early, and visit with my sister for an extra day.”

Mr. Mowry shrugged. Such indifference would have been cause for lecture in her brother’s house, but this wasn’t Trestin’s property. It was hers to manage, and she liked the uncomplicated rapport she kept with her staff.

“You take yourself off whenever you like, but I’m afraid it’s not Mr. Strickett what’s in the parlor,” Mr. Mowry said. “The gent gave his name as Lord Montborne.”

Montborne.
She regarded her retainer for several speechless seconds while her heart sped uncontrollably and her hands went to ice. No, she mustn’t have heard him correctly. Roman wouldn’t be
here
. This was Bath’s School for Accomplished Young Ladies.
Her
school for accomplished young ladies. Roman wouldn’t go to the trouble required to find her here. Why would he, when he’d never called on her once—not in all the years she’d longed to have his attention?

Mr. Mowry stood straighter. “If you don’t mind my saying, it’s not like you to seem upset, Miss Lancester. I’ll toss him out on his ear. Just give the word.”

If only Mr. Mowry
could
help her. But no. She was frighteningly alone when it came to Roman’s tumultuous effect on her. While her man-of-all-work might be able to separate them physically, he could never alter what was in her heart. Roman couldn’t be trusted, and she couldn’t be trusted with him. It was one of the reasons she’d come here, to her fairytale land. Roman Alexander required a wide berth.

She curled her nails into her palms. “See him out.” Her voice was embarrassingly faint.

A gleam shone in Mr. Mowry’s eye before he quit her office. He was going to enjoy this, maybe more than was proper.

Her hands shook as she unfolded the next invoice. Work. She must return to her work, and forget any mention of the blue-eyed marquis she’d allowed under her skirts.
Once.

Her small office seemed stifling. She pushed back from her desk and stood so abruptly, her chair screeched across the marble floor. She went to the window and flung it open. Bracing both hands upon the sill, she let the crisp winter air wash over her. The busy street bustled below without pause. Wagon drivers and shopkeepers went about, ignorant of the distress occurring above them.

The door to her office snapped open. She spun around. She didn’t need to see the intruder to know it was
him
. She’d always been too aware of her brother’s best friend. After ten long years of pining for him, she knew the facts better than anyone.
 

Roman Alexander didn’t belong to her.

Or to any woman.

“Get out,” she ordered tightly, straining to maintain her composure even as she relished the sight of him.

Dear Zeus, he was handsome. In all the years she’d yearned for him, he’d hardly changed.
 
He stood tall and graceful, with narrow hips and broad shoulders. If he could command attention in a London ballroom, he positively crowded the closet she called an office. Nevertheless, it wasn’t his height that drew her attention first. Nor was it his impeccable attire, done in the first stare of fashion. It was the crown of ringlets enshrining his face. Half the men in the
ton
were wearing blond wigs these days. A ridiculous attempt to emulate a man who simply couldn’t be replicated.

“
Tsk, tsk,
Miss Lancester,” he said in a voice that brought to mind London drawing rooms and trysts in the dark. “I’ve come all this way to see you and let me inform you, it is not an easy journey. There are god-awful hacks and ill-equipped inns and all manner of tolls to pay. The least you could do is offer me a pretty smile.”

“Get out,” she repeated, feeling her carefully crafted discipline quickly slipping away.

He cocked an eyebrow befitting Adonis. Perfectly sculpted, as blond and arched as if one of the Masters had crafted it. He stood at a rakish angle in her doorway, as indolent as a summer afternoon. A pristinely gloved hand rested on the door’s knob. The other held his walking stick. He flashed her a smile meant to make her insides quiver. “Why, if I didn’t know better, Miss Lancester, I’d think you’ve missed me.”

Zeus, he was arrogant. Enough for ten of the swains who idolized him. “Not in the least. If that is all
—
”

He took two steps into the room. His black greatcoat whirled as the door slammed closed behind him. “It’s
not
all, Miss Lancester. I’d say we’ve barely started. Wouldn’t you?”

The door crashed open again. Mr. Mowry burst into the office. His barrel chest heaved as if he’d struggled to keep up with the marquis’ carpet-eating strides. “You are intruding, sir! Remove yourself at once before I am forced to seek out the watchman.”

Roman’s palms curved around the golden head of his walking stick. He cast a bored look over his shoulder. “That will make for an interesting report in the morning papers, Mr. Mowry.”

The retainer looked apprehensively at Lucy, dutifully awaiting her decision. She shook her head in a silent
no
. Roman was infuriatingly correct. The last thing she desired was for her name to be linked with his. Or worse, for her precious girls’ school to be tied to his infamous reputation.

One of her teachers peered over Mr. Mowry’s shoulder. “Is aught amiss?” Espying Roman, Miss Meriwether’s eyes widened. The modish marquis didn’t fit the mold of men who usually entrusted their daughters to the School for Accomplished Young Ladies.

“Not at all, Miss Meriwether,” Lucy hastened to assure the woman. Perhaps a bit too quickly. It was terrifying to see this man in the same room as her curious staff. No doubt they would wonder at the nature of his business with their usually staid headmistress.

Lucy’s ink-stained fingertips shook only a little as she pointed at him. “Lord Montborne’s estate borders my brother’s in Devon. I was occupied with closing the year’s accounts, but I’ve decided to see him after all. Please, go back to your duties, the both of you.”

Mr. Mowry’s forehead creased with doubt. Miss Meriwether’s face shined with misplaced excitement. And Roman’s leisurely, satisfied grin raised Lucy’s hackles.

“Go on.” She made a shooing motion at her staff. “Close the door behind you.”

Doing so might cause even more gossip than arguing in front of them would have done. But she
couldn’t
let Roman make clever, needling remarks in front of her employees. She waggled her fingers again. With obvious reluctance, Mr. Mowry exited. As he drew the door shut, Lucy caught Miss Meriwether’s wistful sigh at her last glimpse of the marquis. A more misplaced appreciation couldn’t be named. Roman was a villain, not a hero. A truth Lucy had learned the hard way. Even when she’d hoped for so long he might prove to be…

Well. She
wasn’t special to
him
. He lumped her in with the others. A warm, willing woman, indistinguishable from any other lady who yearned for him.

The moment the door closed completely, Lucy flattened her hands on her desk and leaned forward. She didn’t care why he’d come, only that he left. After the way he’d affronted her, he wasn’t worthy of the rug he stood on, let alone her time. “This is my school,” she warned him in a low, menacing voice. “Remove yourself before I am forced to drastic measures.”

He grinned wolfishly. “Pray, continue with your threat of bodily harm. Anything that brings you closer to me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said through clenched teeth. Only what she might do to him. Bloodshed was no laughing matter. She was far more likely to cause him injury than he seemed to think.

He took a step closer, causing her to flinch. “Then why did you move behind your desk?” He pointed toward her hand. “Are you going to stick me with that letter knife?”

She followed his direction without meaning to. Her heart bounded into her throat at the sight of the slim dagger in her hand. Great Zeus! She uncurled her fingers and let the dull blade drop to her desk.

She didn’t require a weapon to defend herself from that belly-quivering smile.

He closed the remaining distance to her desk and pulled out a brass-studded chair. After dropping into it, he abruptly returned to his feet. “Please be seated, Miss Lancester. I don’t wish to be rude.”

“Insufferable,” she muttered under her breath. He was impossible. Never serious, never thinking he might be in the wrong. The most dangerous kind of man.

He arched that pale brow again. A smirk played on his lips. “Pardon me?”

Her heart still beat too quickly; the cool handle of the blade still felt as real as if she held in her hand. She enunciated each word clearly, so he couldn’t possibly misunderstand. “I said you’re insufferable.”

“Oh, that’s not very fair now, is it?” He took a sidestep toward her.

She skittered toward the window behind her. Out of reach.

A watch fob glinted at his waistcoat as he advanced again. “You didn’t seem to mind me much before. In fact, you seemed to find me more than just passingly tolerable.”

Her nipples hardened in spite of herself. Her rapid breaths could be attributable to her mortal fear of wounding him, or they might be due to the reminder that yes, she
had
found him much more than passingly tolerable.

Another step closer. Her bodice squeezed against her lungs. He was doing dangerous things to her insides. Making her stomach sink and her heart soar. She
did
want to run and throw herself into his arms. That was the problem. She did desire him. She would always desire him. But…

This was the scoundrel who brought her greatest fear to life. He could lie with her. Love her. Then, with an adoring smile, casually admit he had no idea who she was. He was a rake, through and through. If she let him, he’d break her heart.

But…

He
wasn’t the one she feared.

From the corner of her eye, Lucy caught the gleam of the letter knife.
No.
She darted forward and pushed a stack of invoices over the blade. Mother had murdered Papa for not much more reason than this.

Than this…

Obsession
.

Lucy backed up again and pressed her spine against the window. As far away from the dagger—and Roman—as she could get.

“Why did you come?” she demanded, her fingers digging into the wooden window box behind her. She must be strong. Calm.

His blond brows rose as if he couldn’t possibly understand why she might be so uninviting. As if he hadn’t a single memory of what had passed between them during her come-out, or what had occurred after.

Or why she might find it all too easy to plunge that letter knife into his black, black heart.

“Can’t a gentleman pay a call on his best friend’s sister without her reaching for her smelling salts?” Roman spoke in a teasing tone, provoking her. “Come, now, Miss Lancester. I don’t bite.”

She drew up hotly. She prided herself on her control. “I’m not overset
—
”

“Aren’t you?” He took another step toward her. “It
is
good to see me again. You must have wondered where I’ve been. Where a man disappears to after having his heart crushed under the heel of a hard woman’s shoe.”