Never Trust a Rake

Well, that was all behind her now. She was not going to waste any more time over a man who was too stupid to see what was right under his nose. There was plenty to keep her amused in London: lectures, exhibitions and all sorts of interesting people to converse with. People with good brains, who put them to practical use in the world of commerce, rather than idly frittering away their inherited fortunes on frivolous pastimes.

But she couldn’t help sighing. ‘Well, Miss Waverley is exceptionally beautiful. And poised. She only has to smile on a man to dazzle him …’

Lord Deben did not like to see her looking suddenly so dejected. It did not seem right that she should compare herself unfavourably to a female of Miss Waverley’s stamp. ‘Well, she did not dazzle me,’ he said firmly. ‘I was singularly unimpressed by her.’

Yes, Henrietta reflected with some satisfaction. He’d had no trouble whatsoever in repulsing her.

Encouraged by the way she perked up, he continued, ‘In fact, I would go so far as to say she is no more dazzling than you.’ Her confidence had suffered a knock, so he would give it a well-deserved boost.

‘What!’

When Henrietta turned a puzzled face towards him, she found herself on the receiving end of a long, hard stare.

‘Not that I am saying that you are a real beauty. Just that you are by no means less capable of dazzling a man, should you put your mind to it.’

‘Not a beauty …’ she managed to gasp before her breath caught in a lump somewhere in her throat, making speech impossible.

‘You only have to compare yourself with Miss Waverley to know I speak nothing but the truth. But let me tell you, as an expert on what makes a female attractive to a man, that you are not completely lacking in potential.’

‘You mean by that, I suppose, that I am not a complete antidote?’

‘Far from it.’ He turned his lazy perusal over her face once more. ‘You have a remarkably good complexion. No superfluous facial hair. A fine pair of expressive eyes and a set of good, straight teeth. As a connoisseur of beauty, I cannot help regretting that your nose is out of proportion to the rest of your features, but I see no reason why you could not, to use your own words, “dazzle” a man who is not so nice in his tastes.’

‘You …’ She clenched her fists, struggling to keep her temper. ‘You are the rudest man I have ever met.’

‘Not rude. Honest. But how typical of a female,’ he said with a curl to his lip, ‘to latch on to the one item, out of a whole catalogue of genuine compliments, which you can construe as an insult and take umbrage.’

‘And how like a man to deliver a lacklustre compliment in such a way that no female with an ounce of pride could take it as anything but an insult!’

‘Miss Gibson, I have just complimented you on your complexion, your eyes and your teeth, told you that with the right attitude you could successfully dazzle a susceptible male, and you fixate on the one flaw that you cannot deny you have.’

They were approaching the Cumberland Gate for the second time.

‘Take me home,’ she said. ‘I demand that you take me home right this instant. And never, ever call on me again.’

Lord Deben looked down at her in disbelief. Women sought him out. They fawned over him. They sent him languorous looks across heated ballrooms and slipped him notes to let him know where they could be found should he wish to avail himself of their charms.

They even waylaid him on terraces in the attempt to force him into marriage.

They did not tell him he was rude, dismiss him with a haughty toss of their head and demand to be taken home.

So naturally he steered his team right past the gate and commenced upon a third circuit of the park.

‘This outing will end when I decide it will end,’ he informed her curtly. ‘And if I wish to call on you, who is to prevent me? Your aunt? She would not dare,’ he drawled with contempt.

Henrietta could not believe what he was saying. At the start of this outing, he had informed her himself that he had no intention of wasting more of his precious time on her than was absolutely necessary.

‘You are abominable,’ she hissed. ‘You no more wish to prolong this outing than I. Nor can I believe you have any intention of calling on me again. You just like throwing your weight around. You … you bully.’

‘A bully, by definition, oppresses those weaker than himself for his own pleasure,’ he snapped. ‘At no time have I attempted to oppress you. No, and what is more, everything I have done in your regard has been for your benefit. And the longer I spend with you, the more convinced I become that you need somebody to watch over you. You do not appear to have any instinct for self-preservation at all. You say whatever comes into your head, without giving thought to the consequences, never mind the way you act. You leap into situations that are well beyond your comprehension, with a naïveté that is truly stunning.’