The Rake's Redemption

The boy’s red face blanched. ‘You are Charles Hawthorne?’

‘Yes, and you are on your way out.’

He realised Green had been so deep in the fever some people experienced while gambling that the boy hadn’t heard Manchester’s greeting. The realisation increased Charles’s anger. He propelled the youth toward the front door and through to the street.

‘I hope your carriage or horse is nearby because you are leaving.’

‘I—’

‘Yes?’ Charles held him. ‘You what?’

‘You go too far. You have no right to do this.’

The young man’s words finally penetrated the red haze that seemed to surround Charles. He unclenched his fingers that gripped the boy’s arm like a vise and let his hand fall away. Seeing this child in straits he had been in and paid dearly for had made him forget the circumstances. All he could do was throw the fool out.

‘You are going home, Green. You play deeper than your pockets. This is a gambling den, not a shearing house.’

The youth drew himself up straight, coming just short of Charles’s six-foot height. ‘I will do as I please.’

‘Not if I have any say.’ His flat voice brooked no argument. ‘And a word of warning. You may think you are immune to the repercussions of your behaviour, but you are not. No one is.’

Seeing a hackney coach coming around the corner, Charles motioned for it to stop. The driver pulled up and Charles yanked open the door and pushed Green inside.

‘Go home.’

He slammed the door shut and turned away, ignoring the boy’s sputtering anger. If only someone had done as much for him.

Chapter Four

A my tweaked Emma’s paisley shawl. ‘When are you going to get new gowns? These are so old-fashioned.’

Emma pulled the shawl over her shoulders and kept moving toward an open settee in Princess Lieven’s ballroom. She was not about to give Amy the satisfaction of seeing that her comment had hurt. Amy knew why Emma had no new gowns.

Amy was peeved because Emma had refused Charles Hawthorne’s offer to escort them here. The man was too brazen. He wasn’t family, and his bringing them would have set tongues wagging. Especially after the ride in Hyde Park yesterday.

She reached the seat and sank down with a thump. Graceless, but she didn’t care.

Amy sat beside her, careful to spread the skirt of her pink muslin gown so it wouldn’t wrinkle. ‘You ignored me.’ Her tone and posture were a challenging pout.

Emma swallowed a sharp retort. Her voice was still more acerbic than she intended. ‘You know why, Amy. So don’t vent your displeasure over something we both know can’t be helped.’

‘Humph!’

Amy angled away, her back an unyielding wall between them. For an instant, Emma raised her hand to touch her sister’s shoulder. All they had was each other. Then she let her arm fall. For once she wasn’t willing to be conciliatory. She was tired and worried and wanted to be done with all this. She didn’t want to apologise for something that wasn’t her fault.

Amy stood abruptly. ‘I am going to find Julia Thornton.’

For a second Emma considered telling Amy to remain. Then she shrugged. Denying Amy would only make her more rebellious. At least Julia would have her mother with her or be surrounded by a bevy of young men and women closer to Amy’s age.

As Amy flounced away, Emma turned her attention to the other guests just as Charles Hawthorne made his bow to their hostess. Sensation chased down Emma’s spine. She told herself there was a draft. The man had offered to escort them here. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see him, and there was no other reason for the funny feeling that engulfed her.

Nor should it be a surprise to see him make his way toward her. He likely thought Amy would be back immediately.

Emma watched him in spite of all her good sense. He was the most sensual man she had ever seen. Everything about him indicated that he was a rake. His black hair with the lock that insisted on falling over his forehead made him look like a pirate—or what she imagined a pirate would look like. His broad shoulders swung loosely in a well-fitted evening jacket. His muscular legs with their long length and strong shape showed to perfection in tight-fitting breeches. He was perfect.

‘Enjoying something?’ He stood before her with a sly smile on his sharply handsome face.

She jolted and blinked and wondered where her common sense had gone as she gave him a curt nod. ‘Mr Hawthorne.’

He made a perfect leg. ‘Miss Stockton.’

Her eyes narrowed at his mocking tone. ‘What brings you here, Mr Hawthorne? My sister is elsewhere.’

‘So she is, Miss Stockton.’

Emma felt her temper sizzle, intensifying the warmth spreading across her cheeks. ‘Then you had best be on your way.’

‘I thought I might linger here.’ He indicated the empty spot by her.

The breath caught in her throat, and she forced herself to speak coldly. ‘I think you would be very bored, Mr Hawthorne.’

‘I think not.’

Without further leave, he sat beside her. His thigh barely brushed hers, bringing back the uncomfortable awareness of him that made her chest tight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Emma tensed to rise but his hand clamped on her forearm. She paused.

‘Do you want to give the gossips more ammunition?’ he murmured.

She glanced around to see many eyes on them. She sank back down and muttered, ‘How dare you put me in this position. It is bad enough that you do this with Amy. It is a shame you insist on including me in this mockery.’

He quirked one eyebrow. ‘Why do you think this is a mockery?’

‘Isn’t it?’

He didn’t speak for long moments, his gaze meeting hers. ‘I don’t believe so.’

She told herself her heart wasn’t lodged in her throat. A warm glow started in her stomach and spread out. ‘Well, I do. I told you no earlier, and you are not a man who likes to be told no. I believe you are amusing yourself at my expense and I want this to stop.’

‘Then dance with me and I will leave afterwards.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Particularly as she recognised the music the orchestra was starting to play. A waltz.

He shrugged. ‘Then I will go and ask Miss Amy.’

Emma blanched, knowing her sister would accept to spite her and to accomplish a coup that would make her the envy of all the other silly young chits. A waltz with Charles Hawthorne.

Emma felt like she had been outmaneuvered, and she knew she was outgunned. ‘Surely you jest. It is my sister you are interested in.’

For a fleeting moment she thought he looked disgusted, but it was over so quickly she decided she had imagined it. He looked his usual arrogant, confident and mocking self.