Читать книгу Reforming the Rake - Sarah Barnwell Elliott - Страница 11

C harles had walked briskly home from the ball, debating how to spend the rest of his evening. Typically, he would have met with friends at his club, perhaps later wandering out to a party—although not the sort hosted by the likes of Lady Teasdale. Tonight, however, he hadn’t quite known what to do with himself. He’d felt too restless simply to end the night at his mother’s house, but at the same time the thought of spending yet another evening at White’s hadn’t satisfied him, either.

Charles had still been pondering his plans for the evening as he approached his home, head down and hands buried in his pockets. That’s why he hadn’t seen her coming.

The girl in the yellow dress—which, by the way, was no longer yellow—had come tearing down his neighbor’s front steps, and with no ceremony other than a startled squeal, had crashed into him full on, sending both of them flying to the pavement.

For a moment Charles just lay there, stunned. He didn’t move. He was flat on his back and the girl was stretched across him, equally still. The wind had been knocked out of him, but that wasn’t why he stayed motionless. No, for just a moment, he appreciated the novelty of the situation and pondered whether his luck had suddenly changed for the better.

The girl began to sit up. “Oh, I am so sorry,” she murmured. “This is entirely my fault. I am terribly clumsy, you see, and if only I weren’t so late…. Here, let me help you up.”

She was quite a bit smaller than Charles, and he wasn’t sure how she proposed to help him. When she tried to rise, she sent her elbow into his chest. Despite himself, he grunted in pain.

She held herself very still once more. “Oh, I am sorry.”

He placed his hands on her arms. “You’ve already said so. Let’s see if we can’t rectify this situation.” With that, he gently rolled her to one side and sat up. He held out a hand and helped her into a sitting position, as well.

For a moment, she stared at him in surprise.

Charles gazed back, and in the silence that ensued, he looked his fill. Up close, he could see the fine details that had been denied him earlier that afternoon: the pale golden streaks in her blond hair, the veins of amber in her velvety brown eyes and the faint hint of freckles running across the bridge of her nose. Other than those freckles, her skin was fair and smooth as cream, and where that skin faded into the rich gold fabric of her gown, just above her breasts… Charles’s mouth went dry.

Young debutantes almost always wore white, and he found himself unconsciously calculating her age and situation once more. She still looked hardly much older than twenty, but she could be married at that age. And yet…she looked so innocent, her slender brows arched in surprise over those gorgeous brown eyes. Charles knew that she was looking at him with an interest to match his own, and his gaze was drawn to her mouth—her beautiful mouth—parted slightly in shock. Her lips were wide, full and delicately pink, and he knew in that instant that he would kiss them.

Not at that very moment, of course, but soon.

“Do you need any assistance, Miss Sinclair?” her coachman called as he stopped in front of the house.

The spell was broken. She looked up at her driver and smiled weakly. “I’m fine, John…just rushing a bit too much yet again.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, biting his tongue to hold back his laughter.

Beatrice turned around to face Charles, wondering who he was. He’d hardly uttered a word, but the way he was looking at her immediately put her on her guard. Oh, he was clearly a gentleman, dressed impeccably in a snug fitting velvet coat and snowy cravat, but as for being a gentleman…he was far too heart-stoppingly handsome for that. His intense green-eyed gaze wandered over her body without reserve, and every one of his wicked thoughts was written in the appreciative curve of his lips.

Beatrice cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. “I know I’ve already said as much, but I am terribly sorry. I’m in such a rush to get somewhere that I wasn’t looking where I was going. It’s just that I’m supposed to meet my aunt, and she can be a bit…unpleasant…when peeved.”

His wicked eyes met hers with curiosity. “Who is your aunt, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Lady Louisa Sinclair—”

He began to cough.

Beatrice just grinned and continued. “Truly, she’s not that bad, despite what you may have heard.”

“It’s not a matter of hearsay, Miss…Sinclair, was it?”

“Oh! I beg your pardon—I haven’t introduced myself. I am Beatrice Sinclair.”

Charles smiled and rose, extending his hand to help her rise. He should really introduce himself, as well, but he preferred to keep the upper hand for the moment. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Sinclair—we shouldn’t sit on the pavement for too long, I suppose. And by the way, I grew up next door to your aunt, and I know for certain that she deserves every bit of her reputation. If we lost a ball over her fence when we were little, we never got it back.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I think she ate them.”

Beatrice giggled, relaxing. “She’s not so fond of children, is all. I wish she had some of her own because maybe then she’d give me some peace.” Charles raised a questioning eyebrow, and she went on to explain, “You see, my aunt’s taken me under her wing, of sorts, for the season.”

“This is your first season?”

“Hardly. I hate to admit it, but this is my fourth season.” Beatrice blushed, immediately wishing she hadn’t revealed the exact number of years. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t mean to bore you with the details. I always talk too much—that’s why I’m always late. Anyway, I really should get going. I’m supposed to be at a ball with my aunt—I’m actually the only reason that she went at all, so it goes to show that I really ought to be there, hadn’t I?” She knew she was babbling, but couldn’t stop herself. The way he was looking at her—part curious and part something else—flustered her completely.

“Is it Lady Teasdale’s ball you’re missing?” Charles asked.

“Yes—have you been? Was it dreadful?”

An approving smile spread across his face. “Indeed, and I must say that you’re not missing much.”

She smiled back regretfully. “I didn’t reckon that I was, but I really have no choice.”

He was silent for a moment. His eyes slowly traveled down the length of her body. Every inch of her skin felt hot and tight under his gaze, and her stomach almost dropped to her knees at his next words.

“Perhaps we can think up a better alternative?”

For an instant, Beatrice was completely lost in his green eyes, unable to speak or move or even breathe. She was swimming.

Charles moved closer, his eyes fixing once more on her mouth. “Have you any ideas?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

She took one step back and mentally shook herself. “Only that I have to go, sir. I am late as it is.”

He smiled. “Pity.”

Beatrice nodded, and then blushed as she realized that nodding was probably the wrong response entirely. “Good evening, then,” she said, forcing a businesslike tone.

“Good evening,” Charles replied, then lightly grasped her hand, raising it to brush a soft kiss across her knuckles. She sucked in her breath, watching his dark head bend over her hand. She hadn’t had a chance to put on her gloves before she’d crashed into him, and they had landed on the pavement along with everything else.

“My gloves,” she said stupidly.

Charles let go of her hand and stooped down to retrieve them. As he handed them to her, his eyes never left her face.

Beatrice grabbed the gloves from his hand without saying thank-you or goodbye, and raced to the safety of her carriage.

Beatrice couldn’t remember ever feeling so thoroughly embarrassed, or having her composure so completely rattled. It didn’t help that her mind kept wandering down the forbidden path of broad shoulders and rakish good looks…broad shoulders and rakish good looks that hadn’t even bothered with a proper introduction, she noted with irritation.

She looked down at her gloves, lying in a mangled heap on her lap. She’d spent the entire ride to Lady Teasdale’s wringing them in worry, and now, as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Teasdale mansion, she was a mess of nerves. The small spot where his lips had touched her hand still tingled, and Beatrice felt like a fool. She’d just met the most devastatingly handsome man of her experience, and in the course of five minutes she’d knocked him to the ground, rattled on to him about her great-aunt and then dashed off like a ninny.

As she entered the house and wandered into the ballroom, she silently scoffed, And people wonder why I’ve never wed.

“Beatrice.”

Beatrice turned around. Louisa’s voice swiftly brought her back to reality. “Yes, Auntie?”

“I won’t ask what took you so long, but take heed—I noticed. Where is your brother?”

“He, um, couldn’t make it, Louisa.”

“What excuse did he make?”

Beatrice thought about her brother’s words and in a rash moment decided that she had nothing to lose at this point. “No excuse. He said to tell you to go to the devil. He wasn’t coming.”

Louisa looked hard at Beatrice for a moment, trying to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up. She failed; all women, even grouchy old women like Louisa, had a soft spot for Beatrice’s roguish older brother. “He said that, eh? I don’t know where he gets the nerve to say things like that to me, but it must be where you get the nerve to repeat it. Tonight’s the last time I’ll insist on him taking you anywhere. He makes you bold.”

Beatrice didn’t bother to refute her, looking around the room for any acquaintances so she could make a tactful escape. Instead, she noticed a handsome, middle-aged blond woman smiling at them and heading their way.

Louisa noticed, as well. “Oh! There’s Emma Summerson. She’s a good friend of mine. She has a daughter just a few years younger than you, and a most eligible son…if one could get past his reputation and reform him. He’s a marquess.”

“I couldn’t care less about her blasted son,” Beatrice mumbled.

“I heard you, Beatrice Ann Sinclair, and I don’t like your tone.”

Beatrice pasted a smile onto her face as the woman reached their side.

“Hello, Louisa!” she said, smiling broadly before turning her attention to Beatrice. “This must be the niece you were telling me about.”

Beatrice smiled back sweetly. “Great-niece. And how do you do?”

Louisa glared at her, muttering, “Just when you were getting back in my good graces…. Beatrice, this is my good friend, Lady Emma Summerson. Emma, please meet my soon-to-be-disowned niece.”

Lady Summerson smiled sympathetically at Beatrice. “Have you just arrived, dear? I have, unfortunately, been here for several hours and I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“I went to see King Lear on Drury Lane with my brother and sister.” Mischievously, she turned to Louisa. “I told Eleanor what you said about getting ideas…. She thinks she will write her own version and call it Aunt Lear. She wants to perform it the next time the whole family is together.”

Louisa mumbled something under her breath about ungrateful relations before turning to Lady Summerson with a resigned shake of her head. “Emma, if you don’t mind the imposition, would you please escort my niece to the lemonade table before I really disown her.”

Lady Summerson grinned, and Beatrice could tell that she was trying hard not to laugh. “Certainly, Louisa…she seems quite refreshing, and I could always use someone interesting to speak to.”

Beatrice gave Louisa a hearty peck on the cheek. “I do love you.”

As she and Lady Summerson set off, the older woman turned to her to remark, “Louisa is quite the curmudgeon, but she’s told me so much about you. Much as she protests, I think she really enjoys having young people about.”

Beatrice smiled, feeling guilty for being so impertinent in front of Louisa’s friend. “I adore my aunt…I’m not usually so snappy. I’ve just had a rather trying evening.”

“Well, you’ve come to the wrong place to improve it, my dear.” She patted Beatrice on the arm. “I’ve always appreciated a sense of humor. Don’t feel that you have to guard your tongue around me. And please, call me Emma. May I call you Beatrice?”

“Of course,” Beatrice said, liking her immensely already.

Lady Summerson looped her arm through Beatrice’s. “I can understand Louisa’s sentiments, though. My daughter, Lucy, is just a few years younger than you, and she’s been driving me to distraction all evening.”

“Is this her first season?” Beatrice asked politely.

“It is, and I never realized how much work it would be. Other than Lucy I have only my son, Charles, and sons are so much easier.”

Beatrice thought of her brother’s words earlier that evening. “I can imagine.”

“This isn’t your first season, is it?” Lady Summerson asked.

“No. But it shall be my last.”

Lady Summerson burst into laughter. “Well said, Beatrice. Have you already found your match? Or are you giving up so soon?”

They’d reached their destination, and as Beatrice was handed a glass of weak lemonade, she said with reluctance, “I’m sorry to admit it, but it’s not as soon as you might suppose.”

Lady Summerson tilted her head, curious for more details, but Beatrice looked uncomfortably around the room, not wanting to meet her gaze. She would not voluntarily admit to being on her fourth season twice in one evening.

Lady Summerson let her unspoken question drop for the moment. “Well, I think you should meet my daughter. Although she’s only on her first season, she’s as exhausted with the process as you seem to be. Let’s see…” She paused putting her finger against her chin as her gaze roamed over the ballroom. “I’d introduce you to her now, but I believe she’s dancing with Lord Dudley. Perhaps you would do me the honor of coming to my house for dinner? I’ll be having a small gathering before Lady Parberry’s ball, two Saturdays from now. You and my daughter will get on splendidly, and perhaps you can give her some advice, since you are so…experienced in these matters.”

Beatrice laughed. “Thank you…I think. I should love to come, although your daughter can certainly use no advice from me.”

“Nonsense. You can meet my son, as well. He’s been staying with me while his house undergoes some repairs…actually, my house is really his house. He inherited it along with his title. But he has chosen to keep accommodations of his own, at least until he marries.”

Beatrice sighed. “He’s lucky, then. No offense to Louisa, but she doesn’t know the meaning of the word privacy. You must enjoy having him home for a spell, though.”

Lady Summerson shrugged. “True…although I must admit that at times I rather wish Charles would leave. I could use some privacy myself.”

“You sound exactly as my father did when he tossed me out!”

“It’s a universal sentiment among parents, Beatrice. We all want our children to leave and not come back until they have children of their own.” Lady Summerson smiled. “I have to leave you now…I believe I just saw Lord Dudley follow Lucy onto the terrace, and I imagine she’d appreciate being extracted from that situation.”

Beatrice shuddered slightly, thinking of Lord Dudley. She remembered him from her first season, when he’d asked her to marry him—twice. Apparently, he was still up to his old tricks. “I imagine you’re right about that. I’ll see you for dinner, then. Louisa can direct me to your house.”

Lady Summerson looked momentarily surprised, then laughed. “I’m sorry. I assumed you knew that I live right next door to your aunt. That’s how I know her so well—we’ve been neighbors for years. So please, feel free to stop over for a visit even before my party, dear.” And with a wave, she was off.

Beatrice just stood there for a moment, stunned.

Next door? Son?

The room suddenly felt very hot to her. What bloody rotten luck. Her terrible evening had just gotten far worse. How on earth could she get herself out of this predicament?

Beatrice wandered off, worrying her lower lip. Louisa had two different sets of neighbors, didn’t she? One on each side? Perhaps Lady Summerson lived on one side, and the dark stranger—surely no relation—lived on the other. Indeed, Lady Summerson’s son was probably small and fair like his mother. Beatrice clung to that thought as her only salvation.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long before her hopes were completely dashed. She scanned the room, searching out Lady Summerson to confirm that she looked nothing like the stranger. She was just in time to see her step from the terrace, her grateful-looking daughter following in her wake…her grateful-looking, black-haired and green-eyed daughter.

Damn.

Beatrice promptly turned around and headed for the ladies’ retiring room. She needed to find a way to get out of this dilemma, although nothing immediately came to mind. She’d told Lady Summerson she’d go, and it would be rude to break her promise.

Lucky thing Beatrice left the room so quickly. If she hadn’t, she would have viewed the peculiar sight of Lady Summerson ducking behind a potted fern hastily to scribble something into a small, leather book.

As they drove home later on that evening, Lady Summerson turned to her daughter and asked, “Do you know of Miss Sinclair?”

“I know of her, but I don’t know her personally.”

“Louisa only introduced me to her tonight, but I liked her very much and…well, I thought perhaps your brother might like her, too, so I invited her to our upcoming party.”

Lucy snorted. “If Charles gets wind of this, he’s guaranteed not to appear.”

“Well, don’t tell him. But tell me, Lucy, do you know anything of Miss Sinclair’s reputation?”

Lucy thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I know very little, as I said. I believe she’s generally well liked, although Dudley did say something about having proposed to her at one time or another. She apparently refused him—”

“Sensible girl.”

“—yes, but he went on to say that refusing is something of a pattern with her. This is her fourth season.”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “Fourth season? My goodness.” She clucked, thinking of Beatrice’s evasive answer to her question on that subject.

“Dudley also mentioned that he was not the only one to propose to her. He said that she’s notorious for turning men down.”

“Oh, dear. Perhaps she won’t do at all. You will keep your ears open, won’t you? See if you can’t find anything out.”

Lucy sighed. This wasn’t the first time her mother had set her to such a task. “As if I have any choice.”