Regency Rumour: Never Trust a Rake / Reforming the Viscount

‘Just do it,’ he said, affecting irritation. ‘I need to see what material I have to work with.’

Shooting him just one look loaded with resentment, she turned, then plumped herself back down on the sofa and crossed her arms.

‘Completely graceless.’ He sighed. ‘And far too thin to be fashionable,’ though hers was not the pared-down, weakened frame that poets described as ethereal. She had the whipcord leanness of a girl who led an energetic lifestyle—playing cricket with her brothers, for one thing.

‘The quickest way to make you fashionable would be to procure you vouchers for Almack’s. And attend myself …’ He had never set foot in the marriage mart before, and to do so now would be such singular behaviour that everyone would understand his intent. People were already beginning to speculate about his sudden interest in débutantes. When he began to devote himself entirely to Miss Gibson everyone but she would understand that he’d got her in his sights. It would afford her the kind of protection he would never otherwise be able to provide. Though his own treatment of her from now on must be utterly ruthless, he would make damned sure nobody else dared to so much as look at her sideways.

She was going to be his wife. His countess. Everyone needed to understand that and accord her due respect.

‘If people suspect you are about to become the next Countess of Deben, they will be falling over themselves to win your goodwill,’ he predicted.

It was just typical of her that instead of taking the lure he’d dropped into the conversation, about the potential for gaining a title, she wrinkled her nose, and said, ‘Almack’s? Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Ridiculous?’ Why would she consider going to Almack’s ridiculous? Did she care so little for the superficial glamour of the society in which he moved that she would eschew the highest honour it could bestow on a girl with limited connections?

It would, he saw, take a very, very long time before Miss Gibson ever began to bore him. She was like no other female he’d ever encountered. Every time he thought he’d begun to grasp the essence of her, she’d surprise him all over again. But never in a bad way.

She was, in fact, just like his favourite season of the year, when summer began to ebb away, but winter did not yet hold his estates in the grip of its frosty fingers. When he could never tell, on waking, whether the day would be balmy as June, heavy with fog, or ripped to shreds by a bracing gale. When the undulating hills would flush with a last glorious burst of colour, as though each tree had absorbed every sunset and dawn that had tinted the summer skies, only to flaunt them in defiance of the approaching season of dormancy.

‘In what way? Do you not believe I am capable of procuring you vouchers, perchance? Oh, ye of little faith. I am in possession of a certain piece of information for which Lady Jersey would give her eye teeth …’

‘It isn’t that,’ she said with a touch of impatience. ‘I don’t care how many people offer to procure me vouchers to Almack’s, I shan’t go, and that’s that.’

‘I share your reluctance to set foot in anywhere so stuffy, but, Miss Gibson …’

‘No,’ she repeated firmly. ‘It’s all very well to talk about social advancement, and Aunt Ledbetter agreeing not to stand in my way, but I shall not turn my back on her and my cousin. I will not go anywhere that they will not be received, too. And you know very well they would never admit Mildred.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘It sounds as though you are referring to a conversation you have already had, so I can only surmise that Lady Dalrymple has already offered to use her influence to promote you.’

She nodded.

‘But only if you play down the fact that the people with whom you are currently residing are not quite the thing.’

She nodded again, glumly.

He clucked his tongue. ‘How foolish of her to suggest you should turn your back upon your relatives in order to feather your own nest.’

She looked up at him sharply. ‘You do understand, then?’

‘Of course.’ He gave an insouciant shrug. ‘You are too fiercely loyal to anyone you consider family to do anything so shabby. I only wish I’d been there to hear your reply,’ he said, a gleam of appreciation in his eyes. ‘Hampered as you were by the fact that you were, no doubt, in your aunt’s drawing room at the time.’

‘And,’ she pointed out, ‘by my own innate good manners. Heavens, your godmother had just offered to go out of her way to bring me into style. I would never, ever want to offend someone who’d just done that.’

He raised one eyebrow. ‘Anyone but me, you mean. After all, have I not just offered to do the same?’

‘Oh, you are different,’ she said, slamming her hand down on the arm of the sofa.

‘Am I?’

‘You know very well you are. This is all just a game to you. So stop pretending to take offence,’ she said, folding her arms and glaring up at him. ‘And concentrate on coming up with some other solution.’

He planted his hands on his hips and examined her, head tilted to one side. He did his best to look stern, but no matter how hard he tried he could not quite prevent a smile from playing about his lips. He was glad she’d turned down his offer to procure vouchers for Almack’s. Delighted with the reasons she’d done so. And thoroughly enjoying the spirited way she was sparring with him.

‘It would have been quite a sacrifice, you ungrateful wretch,’ he said with mock reproof, ‘getting me to attend Almack’s. Any of the lady patronesses would have been thrilled to think they’d seen me finally brought to heel.’

‘Well, you shan’t need to make that sacrifice now,’ she pointed out.

He shook his head ruefully. ‘No, instead I shall be obliged to pursue you through the lower echelons of society.’

‘But … how will that answer?’

‘You goose. Once people discover that I am prepared to go anywhere that you attend in the hopes of making you smile upon me, you will get invited everywhere. All you will have to do is ignore any invitation that does not include your chaperon and companion. Before long, the more astute hostess will understand what she needs to do to get you, and therefore me, to attend her party.’

Her face lit up.

‘Oh, how clever of you. Yes, that would answer.’

He had never thought that a woman’s smile could have such an exhilarating effect upon him.

Though it was simultaneously rather sobering to reflect that if she knew what he was planning for her, she would shrink from him.

But he was not going to let minor matters like scruples hold him back, not now. Miss Gibson was going to marry him and he would do whatever it took to get her to the altar. Even if it meant deceiving her.

‘In part,’ he said gravely. He made as if to sit on the sofa beside her. Henrietta shifted slightly to give him room, her eyes fixed on his with open curiosity. Another pang of something like remorse shot through him.

Again, he thrust it aside.

‘At the risk of you accusing me of being rude, Miss Gibson, I have to remind you of the one factor which may give the lie to our little game.’ He took her hands in his, without breaking eye contact. ‘My reputation.’

‘Y-your reputation? As a rake, you mean? Y-yes, I know that you do not normally pursue innocents …’

He shook his head. ‘Even among those who could never have been described as innocent have I ever had to pursue any female. At the most, all I have ever had to do is drop a few subtle hints. If the woman in question did not respond, I saw no reason to persist. After all, there have always been plenty who were willing to pursue me. Thus, I have been able to avail myself of the ones who are …’

‘The most beautiful!’ She tried to draw her hands away, but he held on to them firmly.

‘It is not that you are not beautiful, Miss Gibson. I have already told you that you have many good features. Clear skin, speaking eyes and a perfectly acceptable mouth. Your problem, my dear, is, as you yourself have already pointed out, that you do not have what you call the “charisma” to attract the notice of a man such as myself. Though I would call it allure. Feminine allure. That elusive factor which draws men to some females like moths to a candle flame.’

She frowned. ‘You aren’t going to suggest I suddenly start apeing all those girls who flutter their eyelashes at men and say how clever they are, and agree with whatever nonsense they spout?’ She wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘Even if I restricted my fluttering and fawning to you, I don’t think I could be very convincing …’

She faltered as he began to chuckle.

‘God, no! You must remain your own, refreshingly honest self at all times. Only a more feminine version of yourself.’

‘How can I become more feminine? You aren’t going to advise me to wear low-cut gowns and paint my face, I hope?’

‘That would be to make you look desperate,’ he replied drily. ‘As though you are out to snare any man who will throw the handkerchief your way. No, what I plan to do is make you aware of yourself as a woman. Only when you understand and embrace your own sexuality will other men understand what it is that attracts me to you.’

‘Embrace my s-s—’ She tugged her hands free, a tide of red sweeping over her cheeks. ‘What,’ she said primly, ‘exactly, are you suggesting?’