Page 27 of How to Court a Rake
‘Not like that, I don’t,’ Caine said sharply. ‘Even if she would forgive all that, have you forgotten I am not a marrying man?’ The idea of wedding Mary, who’d matched him jump for jump in the arena, who’d straddled him in the carriage this afternoon and moaned her pleasure against him, was not unpleasing. But it was impossible. He might actually fall in love with that woman and that folly would risk her doubly.
‘Have you thought what it would mean to a woman to be married to one of the Four Horsemen? I think she’d be unpleasantly surprised to learn that we’re a bit more than rakes. Rakes might be reformed if they so choose, but once a Horseman, always a Horseman.’
‘So you’re allowed no happiness of your own?’ Kieran countered.
‘What happiness would there be if I could not be happy knowing my family was potentially in danger because of me?’ Caine snapped his pocket watch shut with a sense of finality. He did not want to have this discussion with Kieran with the feel of Mary still imprinted on his body.
‘So you will choose for her? You will decide who she gets to love? What would she say to that?’ Kieran pressed, stopping to check his own cravat one last time in the mirror.
Caine knew what Mary would say, assuming she had good feelings for him at the time of decision making. He could hear Mary’s voice in his head arguing that a woman would want to make the choice, that she would not want a man to decide for her who to love and how to love. But how could she know what such a choice meant? But heknew.
Grandfather had made it clear when he’d recruited them that this was a lifeanda lifestyle, that there was no ready exit from either. One could retire, but that did not ensure one’s enemies would forget them. Families and wives became leverage. Caine would not ask a wife to risk herself in a relationship with him. It was selfish to do so. These had not been considerations when all this had begun, proof of just how complicated things had become.
A footman knocked on the door to alert them the coach had arrived for him and a cab was here for Kieran. He smiled at his brother. ‘Time to go.’
Kieran gave a nod. ‘You’ll be safe? Do you want me to come? I could act as a lookout. I don’t like the idea of you in Carys’s study alone.’
‘It will be fine.’ He gave a chuckle at Kieran’s worried frown. ‘We’ve successfully done far more dangerous things than pilfer a puffed-up lord’s study.’
‘I know. It’s just that I’ve lost one brother on this mission and I don’t want to lose another,’ Kieran said soberly.
Caine shook his head. ‘Do not think like that. If we perceive we have limits, then we do and that’s when we make mistakes. Stepan is out there, alive, somewhere, I know it. Ibelieveit, every day I get up. If we can find the saboteur, we are closer to finding our brother. Those two missions are intertwined, inseparable, now.’ He would do whatever it took to see that mission completed.
‘I would say “be careful”…’ Kieran laughed ‘…but I know you won’t be.’
Caine drew his brother into a quick hug. ‘Don’t worry, but I know you will. Have a good evening, Brother.’
Mary wasnothaving a good evening. Her evening was, in fact, a study of opposites compared to her afternoon. Her afternoon had been wildly thrilling on horseback and off. A night of music sung in a language she did not understand would not approach anywhere near even mildly thrilling. The same could be said of the company as well. Caine Parkhurst was anexcellentcompanion. He encouraged her to claim her own passions. The Duke of Amesbury was not, taking every opportunity instead to remind her in subtle and unsubtle ways that he meant to claim her—something that was growing increasingly alarming because of his persistence in mentioning it and in her parents’ refusal to deny it.
Mary waved her painted fan in the vain hope of creating any kind of significant breeze in the drawing room, but despite the French doors being thrown open to the gardens, a cooling draught remained elusive. Amesbury had gone for lemonade and she hoped he’d be a while. Her mother’s musical evening was a positive crush. Apparently, the Italian soprano engaged for the evening was quite popular on the Continent and it was counted a social coup for her mother to have got the woman for a private engagement.
Although, Mary wondered just how private it was if it seemed that half of London was here. Except for the one person she wanted to see the most. The venue might be tolerable if Caine were here. If he were, she could imagine them sneaking off to a quiet, dim room to sit and sip. She would have port instead of lemonade. She would hear the news from his meeting with the Prince. Then she would share the disturbing conversation she’d had with her mother this evening as she’d dressed. She could still hear the words in her head.
‘Wear something new and pretty tonight, my dear. I think this evening might be very exciting for you.’
One didn’t have to be a fortune-teller to know what her mother referred to. Her mother thought Amesbury was about to propose. Perhaps she knew he would. Her mother had smiled and patted her hand, pleased over the development. This solved all their problems, all the tension that underlay their little family. But what seemed ideal to her mother seemed ominous to Mary. It was not the end of trouble, but the beginning of a life without hope, without escape, without pleasure.
Tonight, she’d forced herself to imagine behaving with Amesbury, doing with Amesbury what she’d done with Caine. She simply could not do it. To make a comparison required there be some level of sameness between the men and there was not. Caine had encouraged her. She could still hear Caine’s voice at her ear.
‘Pleasure is coming, Mary. Claim it.’
It had all been for her, although she rather thought Caine had experienced his own pleasure in watching her claim her own. Amesbury would never be so selfless. Any pleasure to be had would belong first and foremost to him. Caine might be the rake, but Amesbury was ruthless.
Mary glanced around the room, hoping to catch sight of Caine, that somewhere in the crush she’d spy his dark head, his broad shoulders, his black attire standing out from the black and white uniformity of the other men. Perhaps he was just late.
‘You won’t find him here.’ There was a light, sophisticated feminine laugh at her side. The elegant woman perched on the chair beside her smiled, blue eyes full of worldly knowledge to match the elegant sophistication of her striking dark blue and silver gown. Diamonds dripped from her neck, sparkled at her ears and in the depths of her raven’s wing hair. A bracelet to match encircled her gloved wrist. ‘I’m Lady Morestad.’
‘Lady Mary Kimber.’ Mary smiled politely, wondering why this woman would seek her out.
‘Oh, I know who you are, my dear.’ Lady Morestad gave a practised flick of her fan. ‘It’s hot tonight. Too many people, really. Such events need to be exclusive to mean anything. But here we all are.’ She leaned close in assumed familiarity and Mary caught the scent of expensive perfume on her. Everything about this woman was expensive and calculated for maximum impact. Quite successfully so. The woman was beautifully turned out, making the most of all her assets despite her age, which must be nearly thirty-five.
‘All of us except Parkhurst, of course, the one man we’d all like to see. Or Barrow, as I suppose we should call him now.’ The beautiful Lady Morestad fluttered her fan in a languid motion. ‘Musicales aren’t for him. The only thing he likes about Italian sopranos isn’t their voices.’ She arched a slim dark brow and gave a throaty laugh.
‘I wouldn’t know.’ Mary found the woman’s audacity too much. She felt defensive on Caine’s behalf. He wasn’t here to protect himself from this woman’s barbs. But perhaps he wouldn’t mind. ‘Nor am I sure why you think I wouldwantto know.’ She suddenly wished Amesbury would hurry with the lemonade. His reappearance at least would require Lady Morestad to vacate the seat. It was very much a case of the devil one knew. She knew Amesbury. She hadn’t the faintest idea what Lady Morestad was playing at.
‘No, you wouldn’t know. You are far too innocent and definitely not Caine Parkhurst’s usual type. But perhaps you’re the new Marquess’s type?’ Lady Morestad’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps he’s interested in such an innocent because now he has a title that allows him to marry far above his anticipated prospects. The daughter of an earl would be quite the catch for him, something he could never have aspired to as the son of a third son.’
She gave a smug smirk. ‘Don’t think for a moment that marriage will tame him. I feel sorry for his bride, whoever she’ll be. He’ll wed her, bed her and move on from her. I doubt his fidelity will last beyond the honeymoon. After all, they don’t call him and his brothers the Four Horseman for the ruin, but for the rapture.’
