Taming the Rake Read online

  “No,” Gina said, aghast. “I had no idea.”

  Lady Blakemore nodded. “Well, he did. He tried to seduce me and arranged for my husband—though he wasn’t my husband at the time—to happen upon us in the garden.”

  “How horrible,” Gina exclaimed, a sick feeling quivering in her stomach. Would the stories of Coventry’s despicable deeds never end?

  Lady Blakemore patted her hand, soothing her obvious mortification. “Don’t worry, nothing happened. Lord Coventry is a handsome man, but I’ve always sensed something cold about him. And I was much too in love with my husband to dally with anyone else.” She smiled dreamily. “I still am.” She sighed contentedly. “I think it was some kind of test on Lord Coventry’s part. But in any event, I shan’t forget his trickery. If you need anything, just ask.”

  “I will,” Gina said, still absorbing the latest gash in Coventry’s unknightly armor.

  The countess led Gina back to the drawing room. “Blakemore was hoping Coventry would come tonight, but I suppose our entertainment is too tame for the likes of him.” She returned Gina to her chair. “Perhaps it is for the best. I’m not sure I could muster a civil tongue.”

  Thinking of all she had learned about Coventry today, Gina felt much the same.

  The countess moved on to speak with her other guests and Gina looked around the room for Mr. Collins, wondering where he’d disappeared to with her punch. She frowned, catching sight of Augusta across the room. She was seated on a small settee flanked by Lord Ashley and Mr. Carrington, though all of her properly maidenly demure attention was fixed on Lord Ashley.

  As no one else seemed to notice what was going on, Gina had a mind to pull the girl away from the Hellfire Rake and give her a severe chastising. Lord Ashley was a thoroughly improper suitor—almost as bad as Augusta’s brother. Gina had known him since she was a girl. But there was more to it than that. As a young girl she’d once fancied herself besotted with him, until she’d stumbled upon him tupping a serving maid in the barn. Though he was probably no more than eighteen at the time, he’d hardly seemed to have matured any in the past few years. Mr. Carrington, on the other hand, had an exceptional gentlemanly manner; Augusta would be wise to save her attentions for him.

  When Augusta giggled at something Lord Ashley whispered in her ear, Gina decided that she’d had enough. But something—or rather someone—stopped her from moving. She felt his presence, knowing immediately who it was, before she saw him. Or perhaps she recognized the now-familiar scent of warm spice and port. He’d come up behind her while she had been focused on Augusta. A dark, looming presence that seemed to suck the air right out of her.

  Thankfully, Mr. Collins picked that moment to return with her ratafia, saving Gina from forced conversation. In truth, she did not trust herself to speak.

  Her neck prickled with the heat of his gaze, but still she refused to turn and acknowledge him. Instead, she spent the better part of an hour barely able to breathe as a succession of young ladies took their turn demonstrating their varied accomplishment in singing, the harp, and the pianoforte.

  Yet she was excruciatingly aware of him the entire time.

  Following the polite applause that signaled the end of the recital, Gina stood with the assistance of Mr. Collins.

  “Did you enjoy the performances, Lady Georgina,” he asked, releasing her hand.

  “Very much, Mr. Collins.” He really was a pleasant man, with his soft brown eyes. He was fashionably lean and only half a foot taller than her. Not at all imposing or overwhelming. Why couldn’t she be attracted to someone like him?

  “It’s quite warm,” he continued. “Would you care to take some air in the garden?”

  “I would be delighted—”

  A firm hand gripped her elbow. The broad shield of his chest pressed against her shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, old boy, but Lady Georgina has promised me a turn about the garden.” His fingers increased their pressure on her arm. “Haven’t you, Lady Georgina?” The challenge in his voice dared her to deny him.

  “I hardly think it’s proper…,” Mr. Collins started.

  Gina’s mouth pursed into a flat line. Mulishly, she wanted to argue. But something in his voice told her he’d make an even bigger scene if she did. Conscious of the many eyes turned in their direction, she forced a captivated smile to her lips. “Lord Coventry, I’d thought you’d forgotten all about me?” she asked with mock playfulness.

  He returned her sarcasm in spades. “I find it impossible to forget about you, Lady Georgina.”

  Good. It was hardly the reaction he’d been hoping for, and Gina couldn’t help but be pleased.

  Leaving a sputtering Mr. Collins behind, Coventry steered her toward the garden. Gina looked to Augusta for a reprieve, but found her utterly enthralled, in too deep a conversation with Lord Ashley to notice Gina’s plight. Gina thought about resisting—remembering what had happened the last time she went into a dark garden with him—but she stole a quick glance at his expression and thought better of it. He had something other than seduction on his mind.

  He was livid. Whatever it was that had him all in a twist was probably best said away from the inquisitive ears of the ton.

  He dragged her across the gravel paths, heading toward the hedgerow maze that dominated the garden, modeled on the larger version at Hampton Court. Sharp rocks pocked the soles of her satin slippers.

  “Slow down,” she said. “The stones hurt my feet.”

  “Stop complaining,” he hissed. “If it hurts that much, I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you.”

  Gina pressed her lips together. She did not doubt that he meant it. Of all the indignities. Deeper and deeper they wound their way through the maze until there was no chance that anyone from the party would be able to see them. He spun her around to face him. The hazy moonlight cast a sinister shadow across his face, sharpening the soft angles of his features.

  “I thought I warned you not to interfere.”

  He was drunk and furious. Not the most promising of combinations.

  She squared her shoulders. What did he have to be angry about? “If you don’t like the divan, just say so. There is no need to be so rough,” she said, trying to pry her elbow out of his hand.

  “It’s not the blasted divan,” he seethed. “And if you think this is rough, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  A shiver of awareness slid down her belly. The wicked tone of his voice made it clear that he wasn’t talking about her elbow.

  Focus, Gina reminded herself. He was getting to her again with his naughty innuendo. “Then what?” she asked. “The curtains?”

  He growled in response.

  Too bad they hadn’t chosen to make a wager about who could make a rake the most furious; she’d have won in a heartbeat. But oddly enough, despite Augusta’s misgivings, Coventry’s anger didn’t frighten her. If anything, it gave her a strange sense of accomplishment. In some perverse way, she’d managed to crack through his shell. No longer was he detached and indifferent. Angry, teeming with emotion, he came alive.

  Baiting him, it turned out, was invigorating, and as much fun as she’d had in years. “Then what is it that has you in such a dither,” she asked haughtily.

  At the word “dither,” she thought he might have an apoplexy. There was nothing cold about him now. His eyes were no longer hard as marble, but were burning a deep blue midnight. His face truly was magnificent with the lean lines, angular cheekbones and squared masculine jaw. But that tic in his jaw had really grown quite pronounced. She yearned to reach out and smooth it with her finger.

  “Why do you suppose my carriage was parked on Curzon Street when I was blocks away at Brooks’s?”

  Gina blanched. That was not what she expected. How could he have found out about her little visit so quickly? She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  “Neither did I,” he said bluntly. “That’s why after Ponsonby’s strange remark that he’d seen my carriage across town, I returned home t