Taming the Rake (37 page)

“How disappointing that must have been for you. But
buck
up”—he winced at what he was sure was a reference to the woman’s words that night—“I’m sure things will return to normal soon enough, and your rampant promiscuity will return in full force.”

“You don’t understand. I was hurt, I was only trying to get back at you.”

“Congratulations, you won.”

“It’s not a game, damn it.”

“That’s just it—it was. It was a silly, stupid game that had you given me a chance to explain, I would have told you I had already put an end to. But you, my lord, are a master at gamesmanship. You took the game of play to a level with which I cannot compete.”

“I made a mistake, Georgina, but I did not take another woman to my bed. I did not make love to her. Indeed, I was about to stop until you entered the room. My ‘passion’ was all for show, and was over the moment you left. It seems I have lost the taste for meaningless liaisons. I only want you.”

“If that is true, I’m afraid that leaves you in a bit of a bind.”

He ignored the sarcasm, reminding himself that he deserved her jeers. But her imperviousness was getting to him. “My only regret is that my realization came too late to undo the pain I put you through.”

“Yes, it is my misfortune that you’ve had this grand epiphany after I had the pleasure of witnessing the depths of your depravity, and the lengths you would go to hurt me.” She remained implacable, as remote as she’d looked the first time he’d seen her.

“I’m sorry, Georgina. From the depths of my soul, I’m sorry.”

“What exactly is it that you are sorry for? Not the intention, but the failure in execution? The fact that you didn’t actually go through with it means precisely what? That I should trust you? That the next naked woman I find on your lap also means nothing?”

The stubborn gel certainly knew how to infuriate him. “You deliberately misunderstand me. I’m trying to apologize for both—”

“Apology accepted. Is that all?”

“No, that is not all,” he roared.

She calmly tapped her foot.

Coventry gritted his teeth. He had to do something. He had to make her understand. “I have not apologized for everything.”

“There is no need. If it is absolution that you seek, you may have it. Your conscience may be at rest.”

His jaw clenched. “I do not seek absolution.” What was it? What was it that he sought? “I want to make things right.” And there was only one way to do so. “I promised you marriage.”

He heard the sharp intake of breath before she turned away. “Obviously, I will not hold you to our bargain. As you said yourself, we did not suit.”

He took a step closer to her. She stilled. The room seemed to vibrate with awareness. He reached down to stroke the soft skin of her arm above the length of her glove until she looked at him. His voice grew husky. “I lied. We suited perfectly. So perfectly that it seems I can’t forget you.”

“And because you can’t forget me, you wish to marry me?” She looked incredulous, jerking her arm away from his fingers. “What am I supposed to do? Leap at the chance to marry a man who has shown by his conduct that he does not love or esteem me in any manner? Should I be grateful at this unexpected turn of honor? God above, I think not!”

He couldn’t believe it. “You are refusing me?”

“Assuming that was a proposal, I am.”

“And if there is a child?”

The blood drained from her face. “On that account, you need not worry.” Her flat tone matched her eyes.

Coventry felt an unexpected stab of regret.

He raked his fingers back through his hair. He’d made a mess of this. He’d spoken in haste, his proposal inelegant and badly done, he didn’t blame her for refusing. What could he do? What could he say to make her understand? She was slipping through his fingers.
Slipped
. He couldn’t lose her. He felt as if he was spinning in a whirlpool, unable to swim out, before slowly being pulled under.

He grabbed her arm. “Look. I don’t think you understand. You have to marry me.”

“Why?”

He paused. After so many years of denying all feeling, the words were not easy to say. “Because I love you.”

Her brows peaked in unison. “That is your misfortune,” she said, not missing a beat. His cold words came back to him. “Though from your actions, I doubt you even know the meaning of the words.”

He was doing this all wrong. But she’d frustrated him, provoked him with her indifference. “You said you loved me.”

“I did.”

His heart skipped.
Did
. Past tense. He refused to accept that he’d lost her. Not now. Not when he was just beginning to realize how much he needed her. “But you must still.”

“Why must I? Because now it is convenient for you? Love requires respect and honor. It thrives on it. Without it, it dies. Mine died in a cold cave in hell.”

“You don’t mean it.”

“Of course I do. Why do you persist with this? What do you want from me? Should I crumple at your feet? Does your pride need you to see the pieces of my broken heart? I assure you they are there. But let your guilty conscience be at rest. I will recover. I will not drown myself in drink or put a pistol to my head.” Her voice shook with the dam of emotion that had been broken. “Somewhere there is a man who needs me as much as I need him.”

I do need you
. “You’ve found him.”

“Perhaps I have.”

Coventry’s blood ran cold. She was not speaking about him. “You can’t intend to marry Rockingham?”

“Can’t I? It is none of your concern.”

Her attitude infuriated him. She couldn’t marry someone else. He pulled her into his arms, refusing to allow her to deny what was between them. “Are you sure he will want to?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Lord Rockingham is aware of my recent loss of value.”

His face heated, recalling his cruel words. “You told him?”

“It wasn’t necessary. He guessed.”

“But you don’t love him.”

She was stiff and silent in his arms.

“You love me,” he commanded, pulling her into his arms and kissing her, using his lips where words had failed. His heart wept at the familiar sweet honey of her taste, the soft warmth of her lips, the press of her curves against his chest. But it was all wrong. She would not respond. His attempts grew increasingly more desperate. He implored, seduced, begged with his mouth. He kissed her hard then soft. But it was useless. She stood cold and motionless in his arms, until all he could do was release her.

The gravity of his mistake had finally sunk in.

Back held rod straight, she walked to the door. “It appears I, too, have lost my taste for meaningless liaisons.”

Coventry slumped, heavy with the weight of what he’d done. It pressed on him, crushing his chest with undeniable comprehension.

He’d lost her. Before he’d realized just how much he needed her.

Gina burned with barely repressed fury. Not now. He couldn’t propose to her now. Not after what he’d done.

She’d laugh if it hadn’t been so painful. To hear the words she’d ached to hear conveyed as an afterthought. He spoke of promises, of wanting her, of being unable to forget—like she was a bad taste that couldn’t be washed from his mouth. Then, when his efforts to do so proved unsuccessful, he’d claimed to “love” her and expected her to what? Be happy? Be grateful? Be thrilled?

“I love you
.” His words echoed in her head. Words to make her weak. If she could believe him.

But how could she when he’d never shown her the truth behind the words. Except once. For a precious few moments on the divan, she’d felt loved. But the sensation had only been a fleeting one. One that had never returned. Instead, he’d ignored her for a week before running into the arms of another woman. Though, if he could be believed, the show had been strictly for her benefit. Did it lessen the betrayal?

The twinge of relief she’d felt on hearing his confession told her it did. But not enough. The intention had been there.

She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He’d looked so stunned by her refusal. She knew from his past how difficult those words must be for him to utter, but even if they were true, it was too late.

Her fingers went to her mouth. The taste of him lingered on her lips. Holding firm to her newfound resolve when he kissed her had been nearly impossible. The swell of bittersweet emotion that converged had flooded her with a rash of conflicting memories. She’d wanted nothing more than to succumb to the moment, to let him kiss away the past. But she couldn’t. There were simply some things that a kiss—no matter how sweet—could never make her forget.

In the days immediately following his failed proposal, Coventry waited for the inevitable disclosure. Georgina had won her wager. She’d achieved what she’d set out to do and brought a notorious rake up to snuff. Why hadn’t she made her victory known?

Or had she?

The door at 60 St. James Street opened. Coventry deposited his hat and cloak with the butler and proceeded on into the expansive coved-ceiling subscription room at Brooks’s. A few heads turned in his direction. As he had each night since Augusta’s engagement ball, Coventry braced himself for the sting of public ridicule, relaxing only when the men turned back to their cards.

They still didn’t know.

He noticed Beaufort motioning to him from across the room and headed in his direction.

Why? Why had she not said anything?

With each day that passed, the answer had become more and more clear. As did the knowledge of just how much he’d wronged her. Her silence only buttressed what he already knew. She
had
loved him. It hadn’t only been about a wager. It might have started out that way, but in the end she’d fallen in love with him as certainly as he had with her. And he was a fool for destroying the precious gift she’d offered.

“You’re weak.”

Perhaps his father was right. He was nothing but an angry, uncaring, drunken lout. A man who ran to the arms of another woman at the first sign of difficulty. A man who couldn’t trust that a decent woman would find anything worthwhile in him to love. He hadn’t been strong enough to believe in himself. He’d held the promise of happiness in the palm of his hand and he’d let it go. For what? For fear of humiliation? For fear that others would see what his parents had seen? For fear that they might be right?

Instead, he’d hurt the one person who’d truly believed in him.

Yet even after how horribly he’d hurt her, she still hadn’t taken her revenge. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had shouted her refusal from the rooftops. Actually, he almost wished she would, perhaps it would ease the gnawing guilt twisting his insides.

Why hadn’t she?

That was the question that drove him mad. He’d hurt her. Acted unforgivably. Yet she protected him. Could it be that despite what she’d claimed, she still loved him?

Could he dare to hope?

Of course there was one problem with his theory. If she still loved him, why had she refused him? Clearly, she hadn’t believed his declaration of love. Was that it? Somehow he’d have to find the way to prove it to her. But how?

He murmured his greetings to the men seated at the table, including Rockingham who he would rather have ignored, and proceeded to take a seat in an open chair. A glass of brandy appeared on the table in front of him before he even sat down. The cards materialized in his hands. Play began without thought; the motions instilled by repetition were now practically rote. And completely devoid of pleasure. He’d had enough.

His thoughts must have shown in his expression.

“Cards not to your liking?” Beaufort asked.

“It’s not the cards,” he replied.

He’d been bored and cynical before he met her. Now he was just plain weary. Tired of living the meaningless, dissolute existence he’d so painstakingly perfected. He wanted more.

He wanted her.

Hell, he
needed
her.

Not for her household management skills, her organization, or to rid his house of alcohol—though those would not be without benefit. He needed her for her confidence and strength, and most of all for her ability to believe in him. No one else had ever cared enough to see what lay beneath the scarred shell.

“Something else bothering you?” Rockingham taunted. “Your conscience perhaps?”

Coventry turned his steely gaze to his friend, surprised by the venom he received in return.

“Coventry doesn’t have a conscience,” Beaufort said with a laugh. The rest of the table joined in.

“I’m surprised to see you here tonight, Rock.” Coventry tossed down a card carelessly. “Thought you might have other fish to fry… or poach.”

The other man stiffened. His face turned red and his mouth fell into a tight line.

“Yes,” Beaufort interjected, addressing Rockingham. “I thought you’d be at Almack’s pursuing St. Albans’s chit.” The duke sat back and stroked his chin. “Strange. Originally I thought she’d set her cap for Coventry.”

Someone laughed, but Coventry couldn’t tell who it was as his eyes were fixed on Rockingham.

“I fear she was disappointed in that regard,” Rockingham said. Lifting his stare from Coventry he turned to Beaufort. “But I’m confident I can make her forget any unpleasantness from the past.”

Coventry could have slammed his fist into his friend’s smug face. He had no doubt how Rockingham would make her forget. Coventry bit back his scathing retort, doing his best to keep his temper in check. It would do no good to come to blows in Brooks’s. He didn’t want Georgina’s name linked with scandal.

No one else seemed to be aware of the battle brewing between the two old cohorts.

Another gentleman, an older member of the club, frowned. “Yes,” he said to Coventry. “Seems I heard something about you jilting the girl.”

Coventry put down his cards. He’d had enough. He was done hiding behind his vices. He needed her, and he intended to fight for her. To hell with what anyone thought. He knew what would happen, but he realized it no longer mattered. “I’m afraid you’ve heard wrong, Lord Whiting. If anyone was jilted, it was me.”

“What?” the table seemed to say in unison. To a man they stared at him with their eyes wide and mouths open.