Taming the Rake (3 page)

Gina winced. “My turn,” she said, dipping her hand into the bowl of the bonnet.
Ponsonby, Ponsonby
, she prayed silently, drawing out the slip of paper. She nearly groaned when she read the name staring at her in her own bold handwriting.

“Well?” Cecelia asked.

Gina balled the paper in her hand and tossed it into the fire. “It seems it falls to me to avenge dear Alice. For I’m to tame the very devil himself.”

“One of these days, you are going to do something they won’t forgive so easily.”

James William Coventry, 8th Earl of Coventry, slowly raised his gaze over the top of his cards. “One can only hope.”

The Duke of Beaufort chuckled. “Have you no respect for the ton’s censure?”

Coventry took a long drag from his cheroot before answering. “None. Have you?”

Beaufort grinned. “Not particularly. But then I don’t choose to rub its proverbial nose in my many transgressions.”

Beaufort was right. Coventry did take pleasure in flouting convention. But he’d had his fill of convention. His parents had seen to that. His father might be dead and buried, but the same happy state could not be claimed for his mother. Thoughts of his mother reminded him of what was in store for him later this evening. To deal with the countess, he needed to get good and foxed. Coventry raised his bottle in the air. Was it his third or fourth? He’d lost count. “To men who make their own rules.”

Joining him, Beaufort lifted his own bottle and took a long swig. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he dealt a card.

Coventry swore and tossed down his hand. He’d met his friend at White’s for a game or two of quinze before attending to his duties. “It seems my luck has deserted me tonight.”

“And mine seems to be improving.” Beaufort smiled and collected his winnings. “There is one thing I don’t understand. Why Lady Alice, when there are so many willing
married
women to choose from? You had to know you were playing with fire.”

Coventry shrugged. “She made herself available.” He lounged back in his chair, crossed his legs, and put his hand behind his neck. “Very available.”

“Did it cross your mind to offer for the chit?”

Coventry glared at his friend. A friend who should know better than to ask such a ridiculous question.

“It is the honorable thing to do in such situations,” Beaufort continued.

Coventry arched his brow, surprised to hear such banalities from his equally irreverent friend. “Yes. A ridiculous convention in my opinion, probably invented by a woman. To marry a chit simply for kissing her?”

“A little more than kissing as I heard it,” Beaufort reminded him. “Lady Alice is attractive enough. Rich. The daughter of a viscount. She’d have made you a good wife.”

Fury rose in Coventry’s chest and threatened to explode. “A good wife? That’s a contradiction if ever I heard one. I’m surprised to hear you extol the virtues of marriage, Y
our Grace.
You’ve made no move toward the parson’s noose. And unlike you, I’ve had a wife,” he growled. “Besides, the woman was a whore.”

“Which one?”

Coventry thought for a moment, remembering Lady Alice’s aggressive pursuit. “Both.” He motioned for another bottle. But it wasn’t thoughts of Lady Alice that made the bile rise in the back of his throat. It was the memories of the manipulative, controlling bitch who had been his wife. He drowned the contents of the bottle in one long gulp and requested another. Drink dulled the bitterness. “Women are good for only one thing. And despite the claims of some, that does not require a marriage license. Eve herself could not tempt me to the altar again.”

Of all the rotten luck, Gina thought as the charred paper curled in the flames. Why did she have to choose
him
?

“Lord Coventry?” Claire asked in hushed tones.

“Who else,” Gina said glumly.

“Perhaps we could pick again,” Claire offered.

Gina looked at Cecelia, who shrugged as if to say, it’s up to you. The offer was tempting. The stench of scandal clung to Coventry, yet somehow he always managed to emerge smelling like a rose. Gina didn’t expect to be so fortunate. Lie down with dogs and you wake up with fleas—idiomatically speaking only, of course.

It seemed the more Coventry mocked society’s dictates, the more it loved him. Especially the women. Despite his horrible reputation and his obvious contempt for the ton, he still incited a tremendous amount of feminine admiration.

Gina couldn’t understand the fascination some women had for roués. Men like Coventry would drive you to distraction, taunting with unspoken promises but forever holding themselves apart and out of reach. He wore a perpetual sneer of smug superiority, as if he knew more than anyone else. As if the world was his own private joke.

A man like Coventry would only bring heartbreak—and he let you know it. She supposed some might find the element of danger, the slightly cruel edge, the supreme confidence and devil-may-care attitude appealing, but those were not characteristics that Gina found attractive. She did not enjoy self-flagellation.

Though she must admit, Coventry the man was extremely attractive. Too bad his character did not match his handsome face. His list of transgressions was long and sordid. In addition to compromising poor Alice, he’d recently shocked the ton by bringing his mistress to Lord and Lady Cowper’s annual ball. Indeed, he showed no respect for convention—even when he’d been married. It was well known that Coventry had been openly unfaithful to his wife. Though unfaithfulness in marriage was not unusual, such openness was. Gina could not abide cheats in any form.

The man embodied all the qualities that she despised.

So it was inevitable that she would pick him.

Claire was waiting for her to answer. Gina did not usually equivocate, but something told her to be cautious with this one. Everything about him beckoned trouble. Bringing Coventry up to snuff would be difficult, if not impossible. But she’d agreed to the challenge. And partly because of his conduct. This was her chance.

“No. I agreed to the rules. I’ll not attempt to wriggle out of my selection simply because I find him less than appealing. Besides, one of us is bound to be dissatisfied, we could be drawing lots all night.”

“But Coventry?” Cecelia asked, concern heavy in her voice. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

Gina’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?” She was not as beautiful as Cecelia—no one was—but many men found Gina attractive.

Cecelia smiled. “Don’t get your feathers up in a dander. I wasn’t referring to your beauty. Any man would find you lovely. It’s just that you haven’t had any experience with a man like him.”

“None of us have,” Gina reminded her. Cecelia often took it in her head that she was the worldly one of the three, when in truth she was no more experienced than the other two.

“She’s right, Cece,” Claire agreed. “I’ve certainly never set my sights on a man like Beaufort.” She shivered with fear or distaste—maybe both.

“I should hope not,” Cecelia said. Gina could tell Cecelia was very uncomfortable with the fact that her sister would be pursuing Beaufort.

“Though I am more generously endowed in the bosom,” Claire added innocently. “He does seem to find that important.”

Cecelia’s face flamed, but she knew Claire didn’t mean to be cruel. It was just Claire being Claire.

“We each have our strong points,” Gina said, trying to turn the subject. “To make this work, we’ll have to put those strengths to use.”

“You mean I shall have to flaunt my bosom?”

Gina laughed. “That’s not what I meant, but it might not be a bad idea. What I meant was that we each have qualities that make us unique. Identifying those qualities and putting them to use will surely aid us in our enterprise.”

Claire’s face lit with excitement. “You’re so organized and good with details. Your father is always remarking upon how well you managed his households. And Cecelia is already good at getting men to offer for her.”

“Exactly,” Gina said, trying not to laugh. “Men fall in love with Cece just by looking at her. She can use her beauty to her advantage.”

“I may have a thing or two other than beauty in my arsenal,” Cecelia said sourly.

Gina met her friend’s insulted gaze, but did not back down. “Of course you do. You are very good at getting what you want. I might not always condone your methods, but I recognize that they are effective.”

In many ways, Gina and Cecelia were complete opposites. It was hard to believe they’d become such good friends. Gina was frank—her new “mama” would say blunt to the point of rudeness—whereas Cecelia tended to be more circumspect. Gina was always quick to point out when she found Cecelia’s manipulations unworthy of her, as eagerly as Cecelia liked to point out when Gina was being too bossy or interfering. Yet, they understood each other. And that understanding had formed the bonds of a very strong friendship.

Claire’s face fell. “But what about me? What do I have to offer?”

Gina looked at her friend with her blond curls, milky skin, and big blue eyes. Her angelic beauty a perfect complement to her innocence. What did she have that would entice a sophisticated man like Beaufort? On the face of it, it appeared to be a hopeless cause. But Gina knew better. Gina knew there was more to her friend than met the eye. Sometimes Claire got lost in the shadow of her more flamboyant sister. But there was strength there, just waiting to be unlocked. “You are the best of us. You are sweet and kind and always think of others. What man can resist that?”

Claire made a face. “I sound rather boring.”

Gina couldn’t help it. When her eyes met Cecelia’s, they burst out laughing. Claire pretended to pout, but in the end she smiled too.

Two bottles later, with his pockets considerably lightened, Coventry pushed his chair back from the table and stood. With the arrival of a few of their Hellfire brethren, quinze had given way to faro, and Coventry had lost heavily. He hoped the run of bad luck was not a portent for the rest of the evening.

He pulled out his watch and glanced at the time. Ten o’clock. He was late, passing the point of fashionable about an hour ago. Reluctant to leave his friends, he couldn’t put off his “duty” any longer. His attempt to delay the inevitable would only lead to further dressing down by his mother. She was bound to be furious that he hadn’t arrived to escort them for the evening as he’d promised. She should be happy that he’d agreed to show his face at all, but nothing he did would ever make her happy.

He’d given up trying long ago.

He swayed, reaching for the mahogany-paneled wall to steady himself. Standing up so quickly had worked hell on his equilibrium.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to join me?” he asked Beaufort.

The duke snorted. “I’d sooner spend the evening in the darkest bowels of Newgate.”

Lord Ashley raised a brow. “Where are you off to?”

Before Coventry could think of a fabrication, Beaufort answered for him. “It seems our resident rogue has decided to turn respectable. He’s off to St. Albans House for an evening’s ‘entertainment.’”

This produced a hearty round of laughter. At his expense. His muscles tensed and blood surged through his veins. An automatic reaction. He hated to be laughed at—even by friends.

“What’s this about, Coventry?” Dashwood asked. “Has some society miss batted her pretty lashes and turned you into a milksop?”

“Who is it, Coventry?” Ponsonby clamored.

“Yes, tell us,” Beaufort teased. “Is it the duke’s pretty daughter? Or perhaps it’s the duke’s pretty new wife?”

Coventry shot Beaufort a glance that promised retribution. “Don’t be an ass.” He liked St. Albans. He wouldn’t make a cuckold of him. As for his daughter… Coventry shivered with distaste. He’d noticed her once a couple of years ago. A real beauty with her thick golden brown hair, delicate features, and big green eyes. But one look at that judgmental, condescending expression and any heat of desire he might have initially felt turned to ice. Disapproving women like her were the reason he generally avoided society misses—except when, like Lady Alice, they proved impossible to refuse.

He turned from Beaufort to his smirking friends. “My sister Augusta is making her debut this season,” he explained.

“Ah,” said Ash. “And you’ve been conscripted to act as escort?”

Coventry jerked his head down in affirmation. A mistake that caused his head to spin. Or perhaps it was the room spinning? He couldn’t tell. True to his word, he’d gotten good and drunk. His mother would expect as much, and he hated to disappoint her.

“Aren’t they worried that you’ll be denied entry to more places than you’ll be welcomed?” Dashwood joked.

“I should be so lucky,” Coventry replied. But not even bringing the lovely Simone to Lady Cowper’s ball had managed that feat.

“You’ll have to explain sometime how the countess convinced you to undertake such a distasteful duty,” Beaufort said.

Coventry stiffened. His mother couldn’t convince him of anything.

“Do what you are told. Why must you provoke him? Follow the rules.”

She’d been trying to run his life since he was in short trousers. After his father’s death it had only gotten worse. He thought that if he fell completely beyond redemption, she might leave him alone. So far it hadn’t worked, but there was always hope.

He’d agreed to help, not because, but in spite of his mother.

“Not much to explain. A moment of weakness. And it wasn’t my mother, it was my sister.”

“I thought you weren’t close to any of your sisters.”

“I’m not. I barely know them. I left for school when Augusta was five or six.”

“Then what happened?” Dashwood asked.

Coventry grimaced. “It appears I’m not completely resistant to the power of feminine tears.”

Sobered, his friends nodded in shared understanding. Heartless rogues all of them, but not one of them knew how to combat that most destructive of all weapons: the gentle flow of a lady’s tears.

There was more to it than that, of course, but his friends didn’t need to know everything. An image of Augusta peeking out her bedroom window with an expression that said “Don’t leave me,” as he left for school, flashed in his eyes before he deliberately put it aside.