Reforming the Rake

Charles eased out of bed and rang for his valet, Smythe.

Several minutes later, he watched the elaborate process of his cravat being tied, while his thoughts drifted back to Beatrice Sinclair. Lucy would probably know something about her. His sister had always possessed an uncanny knack for knowing the affairs of everyone in society.

Charles’s eyes narrowed on Smythe. Servants knew everything, as well. “Have you heard anything about the young lady who’s staying next door, Smythe?”

The man looked up briefly. “I am acquainted with her maid, my lord. A rather forceful woman,” he answered before turning back to his task.

“I see,” Charles said, still looking into the mirror. Smythe was just making the final adjustments on his cravat, tugging here and there, but not before Charles caught a glimpse of the jagged scar that cut across the base of his throat. It was a gruesome reminder of his days with the War Office that he usually chose to ignore.

But then it was covered, and Smythe stepped away, admiring his handiwork.

“Will that be all my lord?”

Charles nodded and waved Smythe off. He hadn’t been at all informative.

Ten minutes later, Charles wandered downstairs to the sunny breakfast room. He was relieved to see that Lucy was there, blessedly alone.

“Where is Mother?” he asked as he piled his plate with eggs at the serving table.

She looked up from the paper she was reading. “Off running errands for her dinner party.”

Smiling knowingly, Charles took a seat across from her at the table. “Ah…will all the suitors be coming over, Lu?”

She smiled back sweetly. If only he knew whose suitors. “You could say as much, Charles.”

“Suppose I’ll have to be there, then.”

Lucy nodded and folded her paper casually in her lap. Still smiling, she replied, “Yes, you’d better. Protection, right?”

Charles ignored her. He was in too good a humor to let her gibes get to him. “Say, Lucy, you seem rather smug this day. Something happen to put you in such spirits? What have you been up to?”

Lucy had spent the morning tending to her mother’s errands, as well. She’d already sent her maid over to Lady Sinclair’s, hoping to get some information about Beatrice from her servants. “I had a few errands of my own…I had to go glean some information for Mother, actually. You know how meddlesome she can get.”

Charles knew. He wasn’t even going to ask Lucy what it was that their mother wanted her to ferret out. But the mention of gleaning information…

“Say, do you know Beatrice Sinclair at all, Lu?” he asked, hoping that he didn’t introduce the subject too abruptly.

Startled, she choked on her tea.

“Lucy? I wasn’t aware that that was a strange question.”

Lucy wiped her chin and tried to appear nonchalant. “I’m sorry—it wasn’t. Do you know Beatrice Sinclair?”

He thought carefully of how to proceed. He’d been hoping that Lucy would answer him with a simple yes or no, but clearly she wanted to pry. He didn’t like to reveal too much of his private life to his sister, but he was also curious. “I don’t really know her…but I should like to know her. I met her last night when I returned from the ball. She’s Lady Sinclair’s niece.”

“Great-niece, actually,” Lucy explained. “She hasn’t been to town for the last few seasons, which would explain why you haven’t met her before. Last time she was here, you would have been on the Continent.”

Charles nodded. Lucy was being a veritable fount of information. “Is that all you know?”

“Her father’s Viscount Carlisle. Her brother you might know from your club—Lord Benjamin Sinclair.”

“We’re acquainted. He was a couple of years behind me in school.” Charles’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You don’t know Sinclair, do you?”

She smiled with forced patience. “I know of him. His reputation is as black as yours. I’m just very observant. That’s how I know so much about everyone.”

Charles snorted. “Well, if you know so much, Lucy, then why isn’t she married?”

She shook her head. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Why on earth would you be trying to figure that out?”

Lucy looked momentarily stricken, but recovered quickly. “I didn’t mean literally, Charles…I’m not actively trying to figure that out. It just makes one wonder, though, when a girl as pretty as she is doesn’t marry early on. She’s also quite wealthy, by the way.”

“I never realized you were this much of a gossip, Lucy,” he said, shaking his head in bemusement.

“I’m not. You’re the one asking all the questions, Charles.”

“I certainly didn’t expect answers as thorough as these. How do you to know all this?”

“I like to keep well informed. And, by the way, since you’re curious, she apparently can be found at Larrimor’s Bookshop on Tuesdays at two, almost without fail.” Lucy paused, her brother’s bewildered expression telling her that such precise information would require further explanation. “One of Lady Sinclair’s servants mentioned it to my maid…apparently this is when Mr. Larrimor gets his new shipments each week. My maid passed this information on to me because I’d told her that I intended to visit the shop myself. She thought, perhaps, that Miss Sinclair and I might make a small party of it.”

Charles mulled this bit of information over slowly, then asked guardedly, “Almost without fail, you say?”

“Yes…” Lucy drawled. He was taking the bait beautifully.

“Perhaps I need a new book myself.”

She grinned. “I thought you might say something like that.”

Chapter Six

A t two o’clock sharp on Tuesday afternoon, Beatrice was in the back room at Larrimor’s Bookshop, surrounded by several teetering piles of books. Mr. Larrimor had set aside these piles especially for her, having become familiar with her wide-ranging tastes.

A single, small window let light into the dusty room, and Beatrice had to bend over and look quite closely at the volumes in order to read their titles. He’d provided her with an assortment of novels, memoirs, even gardening treatises…. She picked up one book for a closer look. It was titled The Life of William Kidd: A Sordid Tale, as Told by His Cabin Boy, Reginald Dawson. She smiled. She didn’t normally read books about pirates—that was a recent habit, one she’d begun only in relation to her writing. Pirates made excellent romantic heroes, and it stood to reason that she ought to know a thing or two about life at sea to write about the subject convincingly.

Beatrice had just begun thumbing through the pages of the dusty tome when she heard muffled voices coming from the front of the store. She stepped closer to the hallway in order to hear better.

She quickly wished she hadn’t.

“Ah, hello, Lord Summerson. Can I help you with anything?” she heard Mr. Larrimor ask. Summerson. Could there be another Lord Summerson?

“I’m just looking around, Mr. Larrimor,” a familiar voice responded. “I heard that you received your new shipments on Tuesdays and wondered if you had that book I ordered.”

“I do. I’ll put it on the counter for you, but please, have a look through the back room to see if anything else catches your eye— I haven’t had time to bring everything out front yet.”

In the back room, meanwhile, Beatrice had stopped breathing and gone into panic mode. She clutched her book tightly to her chest and pressed her spine against the shelf-lined wall. Thoughts of escape began racing through her head, but without any immediate solution. She was pretty much cornered in the book-strewn room, and she hadn’t a chance of getting out undetected.

Unless…

Beatrice looked wistfully at the window. It wasn’t so high up, really, and she was thin enough to fit through it. But she shook her head with regret. If it would have solved her problem, she could have just pulled over a chair, shinned up the wall, popped out the window like a cork and been on her way. Unfortunately, she knew it wouldn’t solve a thing. The window would deposit her directly into the middle of Bond Street. And Mr. Larrimor would surely be most concerned when he discovered she’d vanished. In his worry, he’d probably say something about it to Lord Summerson, who would know exactly where she went and why….

She heard a creak of floorboards, followed by the soft sound of footsteps. There was no escape.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” she responded, turning back to the piles of books and trying to look unaffected by his presence.

Charles disregarded her attempts to ignore him. He ambled forward until he stood next to her, then stopped. “You know,” he began, an apologetic note to his voice, “I think I neglected to introduce myself the other night.”

She bit her lip, but turned to face him. “Perhaps.”

He bowed slightly. “Charles Summerson.”

Beatrice nodded again, not knowing what else to do. Charles said nothing. Just continued to look at her.

She shifted uncomfortably, until she realized the reason he was looking at her was because it was her turn to speak. Still she said nothing.

“I see you’ve gotten to the new shipment first,” he added with a smile designed to melt any obdurate female heart. “Find any good books?” Even as he asked this question he leaned in closer, trying to peer at the book she clutched in her hand.

Beatrice only gripped it tighter to her chest. “No. I haven’t been here long.”

“Oh. Well, then what are you holding?”

“A book.” She wanted to slap herself as she uttered these idiotic words.

He smiled patiently. “May I see it?”

She shook her head. “No. I mean, that’s to say, you wouldn’t be very interested in it.”

“I beg to differ. I am extremely interested,” Charles replied. He could have added that the more she declined, the more his interest grew.

Beatrice didn’t know how she could avoid showing him her book. She supposed there was nothing wrong with it….

She tentatively held it out for his perusal.

He raised his eyebrows. “Now I really must beg to differ. That looks very interesting indeed…it actually looks rather improper. Do you like that sort of thing?”

Beatrice blushed and shrugged. “A bit…. I was only looking.” She wouldn’t have told him the truth if her life depended on it.

Charles smiled. He knew she wasn’t being entirely forthcoming. “Fascinating subject, isn’t it?”

Beatrice just nodded weakly.

“Are you sure it’s quite the thing for you to be reading?”

She held the book close to her chest once again. “Oh, no. I think it will be fine. Mr. Larrimor recommended it.”

Charles chuckled. “Never fear. I was only jesting.” He walked around the perimeter of the room, looking at the shelves. “Have you any suggestions, Miss Sinclair?”

She put her book down on a table and bit her lip again. She was a voracious reader and would normally have had dozens of suggestions. For the moment, however, her mind was blank. “Hmm…do you like novels?”

“I do, I must admit. I just finished reading Sense and Sensibility. My sister highly recommended it, and I must say I was rather skeptical, but…” Charles paused. “Have you read it?”

She shook her head, bemused at the thought of this dashing and dangerous man reading romantic novels. “No. I haven’t.”

“Perhaps I will lend it to you. That would be neighborly, wouldn’t it?”

Beatrice gulped. “I suppose. I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble, though.”

“Nonsense. It would be no trouble at all,” he assured her, wondering why he even offered. He didn’t usually bother with such niceties in his seductions. No, when Charles wanted to bed a woman he didn’t typically find himself visiting her at her aunt’s house to loan her a novel first. However, this was different. He didn’t know why, but it was.

“I will drop it by later today, if that is all right.”

She nodded her head slightly. “That would be fine…oh, but wait—I may not be in later. I’m having dinner with my brother this evening and have a few errands to run beforehand—I actually should get going now. I’m late again. But you could leave the book with our butler.” Beatrice hoped there was no way for her to get caught in her lie. She was going out to dinner with Ben, but she certainly wouldn’t be leaving her house for several hours; she simply didn’t think she could handle two encounters with Charles in one day. She started to edge out of the room, hoping to hint at the fact that she had to leave.

He merely followed her. “I’ll walk you to your carriage,” he offered, placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her down the dark hallway.

Beatrice would have protested if she’d had the words, but all she could do was follow his lead. Every inch of her body was aware of him—his smell, his heat, the light pressure of his hand burning a hole through the thin fabric of her gown.

When they approached the main section of the dimly lit store, Charles stopped, causing her to stop, as well, and look up at him in question.

But looking at him was a mistake. The dimness of the hall did nothing to obscure the heat of his gaze. If anything, the shadows made him seem even more handsome, more wicked. Without taking his eyes from hers, he leaned closer, and for one heart-stopping moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Lips parted breathlessly, she waited.

He didn’t kiss her, though. He merely reached out his hand and gently brushed something from her cheek.

“A smudge of dust,” he explained gruffly.

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her face, but she didn’t know whether it was from embarrassment or from his proximity. It didn’t matter…the soft pad of his thumb still rested on her cheekbone, and with what seemed like excruciating slowness, he let his hand trail along the line of her jaw, over her shoulder and down her spine, until it settled again at the small of her back.

With his small nudge, they were moving once more. She found herself waving distractedly to Mr. Larrimor as she passed him on the way out. Charles guided her across the street, stopping in front of her carriage to open the door. As he turned to help her inside, she had the sensation that he was about to kiss her once more. He wanted to. She could see it in his eyes, in the nearly imperceptible way his head tilted toward hers.

But he didn’t. As if he’d just remembered where they were, he drew back slightly, his expression suddenly impassive. He merely nodded goodbye, closed her carriage door, and Beatrice was off, head swimming and heart racing.

Charles watched her carriage wind slowly through the afternoon traffic for a moment before he crossed the street to reenter the store. He knew he looked cool and collected, but inwardly the blood pounded through his veins.

God, he wanted her. It was ridiculous, really, for a man of his experience to be feeling this way. All he’d done was rub a bloody spot of dust from her face, and it had taken every ounce of his control not to throw her on the floor and make love to her…. If he did something like that again, he’d scare her off for good.

Charles was not surprised when, several hours later, Louisa Sinclair’s butler informed him that Beatrice was out. He was almost certain that it was a lie, but no matter. He left the novel for Beatrice and turned to leave.

He was surprised, however, to see Louisa walking up the path just as the door closed behind him. She carried her parasol like a lance, and when her eyes lit on Charles he noticed her lip curl ever so slightly, making her resemble an aggressive terrier.

She looked him dead in the eye. “Good day to you, Pelham.”

“Good day, Lady Sinclair. I hope you are well,” he greeted her mildly.

She sniffed. “As well as can be expected. Have you business at my house?”

He silently cursed her lack of tact before saying, “Of sorts…I encountered your niece at Larrimor’s Bookshop and just came over to lend her a book.”

Her eyes narrowed skeptically. “Humph. That sounds remarkably out of character. Did your mother send you over here?”

Charles hadn’t blushed since he was thirteen, but Louisa had a way of making him feel like he was about thirteen. “My mother?”

She nearly cackled. “Ah, you thought it was only your sister who had to be cautious around your matchmaking mama, didn’t you, boy? Well, I have a pretty good idea why you were sent here.”

Charles finally understood her meaning. If she wanted to make him feel like a callow lad, he could at least have fun with her, as well. “Madam, are you implying what I think you are?”

“Of course, my boy. Open your eyes.”

“But Lady Sinclair—you’re nearly twice my age! Think of the scandal! Of course,” he added with a lecherous grin, “scandal has never stopped me before.”

Louisa just sputtered, opening and closing her mouth several times in rapid succession. It was one of the few times in her life that she had been rendered speechless, and if Charles hadn’t feared what would happen when she finally did regain speech, he would have remained to watch. Instead, he just doffed his hat and sauntered down her steps, wisely retreating before she could recover.

When Louisa did recover—it took all of ten seconds—she marched directly inside her house and up the stairs to her niece’s room, swiping the offending book from the hall table along the way.

“Beatrice Sinclair,” she demanded as she entered without knocking, “what has been going on here in my absence?”

Beatrice looked up from her dressing table in surprise. She was readying herself for dinner, although truth be told she’d been pretty much caught up in thoughts of green eyes and black hair and how to avoid them in the future. She hadn’t the faintest idea what her aunt was talking about. “What do you mean, Louisa?”

Her great-aunt waved the novel under her nose. “I didn’t even know that you two were acquainted. I do not condone it.”

Beatrice blushed. “I simply ran into him in the bookstore—”

“He informed me.”

“Yes, well, he offered to lend me a book, being neighbors.”

Louisa said nothing. She slammed the novel down on Beatrice’s table, her nostrils flaring.

“Oh, Lousia, you’re overreac—”

“Beatrice, I have been Summerson’s neighbor since he was born, and not once has he lent me a book. I just can’t believe he would have the audacity…in front of my very eyes…”

“Louisa! It’s just a book.”

“Don’t be a fool, Beatrice. He is a rake.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Louisa, that hardly means he doesn’t read.”

“That’s not what I meant, Beatrice, and you know it. Summerson’s just trying to lull you into trusting him.”

She sighed in frustration. “I know his reputation, Aunt. I didn’t mean to encounter him, and I’m not about to be ‘lulled’ into trusting anyone. Should I have been rude to him?”

“Perhaps,” Louisa muttered. “That’s preferable to running the risk of anyone seeing you with him. Look, Bea, to be perfectly frank with you, I’m quite fond of the lad—always have been. But he’s notorious where women are concerned. Just stay away from him. He’s too charming by half, and I don’t want to see you make any mistakes.”

Beatrice nodded, miserably wishing she were back home in Hampshire where life was simpler.

Evenly, she vowed, “I haven’t made any mistakes, Louisa. I didn’t ask for him to come here, and rest assured, I don’t plan to seek him out.”

Chapter Seven

N early a week had passed without Beatrice seeing Charles. Of course, this wasn’t to say that she hadn’t been thinking about him; no, she’d been doing that to excess. She could even admit to some mutinous feelings of disappointment because he hadn’t sought her out—she’d flattered herself, she supposed, in thinking that he meant to pursue her. If that had ever been his intention, he’d clearly settled his attentions on some other hapless girl. By the time of his mother’s party, he’d have quite forgotten her. She certainly had nothing to worry about.

If it hadn’t been impolite, Beatrice would have whistled. It was a warm and glorious Saturday morning. The ground was still damp from the recent bad weather, but she didn’t care. Louisa wasn’t out of bed yet to tell her to stay indoors, so she put on sturdy boots, clipped a lead onto Louisa’s English setter, Edward, and headed for Hyde Park.

The park was located right across the street and Beatrice set off briskly. These early morning walks were her only opportunity for exercise in the day; they were also one of the only times she had to herself.

As they entered a quiet, canopied path, Edward began pulling on the lead, eager to inspect the bushes.

“What is it, Eddie? Do you see something?” Beatrice gave Edward his head and he buried his nose in the bushes, snorting excitedly till he pulled out a ball. Edward dropped it on the ground watching her expectantly.

“Do you want me to throw it for you?” Beatrice glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, then crouched down to pick up the ball. She unclipped Edward’s lead. “Okay. I’ll throw it, but you must bring it back, all right? Here goes.” She threw the ball with all her might. He promptly retrieved the saliva-coated ball and deposited it at her feet.

Beatrice looked at the object in distaste. Edward looked at it with adoration. She sighed. “All right, then, I suppose I have no choice.”

She stooped down to pick up the ball, pinching it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, then threw it again, this time with more spectacular results. With a splash, the ball landed in a puddle, where it promptly disappeared.

Beatrice sighed. Edward stood at the edge of the puddle, whining and looking confused.

“You’re supposed to go after it, Edward,” she pleaded. He merely looked back at her with a long face. “Fetch, Eddie!”

He didn’t budge, and she walked toward the puddle, contemplating the best way to save the ball without ruining her gown.

Beatrice was crouched down, gauging the depth of the puddle, when she heard the quiet clearing of a masculine throat behind her. She rose quickly and turned around.

“Might I be of assistance?”

She stared for a moment before answering, “Hello.”

Charles walked forward nonchalantly. “Hello yourself.”

Beatrice didn’t know what further to say. She nodded and turned around once more. Then, a suspicious thought flashing into her mind, she asked, “You didn’t follow me, did you?” She immediately blushed.

Charles looked offended. “I’ve walked my dogs along this path since I was a boy—I only even noticed you because of the ghastly way you threw that ball.”

She ignored his comment, only then noticing that he wasn’t alone. Attached to a lead was perhaps the smallest, fluffiest dog she’d ever seen. It was entirely white, and its long hair obscured its eyes. All Beatrice could see of its face was a shiny black nose and the tip of its pink tongue.

“That’s your dog?” she asked doubtfully. It certainly was an odd pairing.

Charles looked down at the dog, as well, somewhat disconcerted. “Er, no. This is actually my sister’s dog, Egremont.”

“Egremont?”

“Yes. It is a family name. Eggy for short.”

Beatrice nodded, not knowing what else to do. She looked around. “Well, Edward and I ought to get going….”

“You’re not going to get that ball for him? After being the one to put it there?”

She looked doubtfully at the puddle. “Well, it seems to be very deep.”

“It does, although Edward looks disappointed. Perhaps I can help you?” Charles was feeling particularly gallant that morning, and was thankful for it. He’d practiced a great deal of patience that week by not seeking her out, and he didn’t want to send her running in the opposite direction.

Beatrice weighed his offer. She didn’t want to risk spending any more time in his company than necessary, but it was a kind offer. She nodded reluctantly. “I suppose…. How do you propose to do it?”

“It’ll be easy,” Charles said, placing Egremont’s lead into her palm. “That’s why gentlemen carry canes, you know. For helping damsels in distress.” He fished around in the puddle for a moment with his cane, and rolled Edward’s ball out.