Page 10 of How to Court a Rake (Wed Within a Year #1)

‘B ottoms up!’ The old barman’s toast went around the drawing room of Parkhurst House in a raucous chorus of male voices followed by, ‘To Westin! To the bridegroom!’ Parkhurst House was bursting at the seams tonight, full of soon-to-be fully inebriated gentlemen giving Lord Westin a manly send off before his nuptials in the morning.

Someone slapped Caine on the back as he drank to the toast, slopping brandy on his coat. ‘Your place is better than White’s or Boodle’s combined, old chap.’ Caine reached for a handkerchief to mop up the spill. Thank goodness his coat was dark. He spied Kieran standing with Westin, a friendly arm draped about Westin’s shoulder, giving the man advice, no doubt. The thought of Kieran offering marital advice was almost as humorous as the thought of someone being desperate enough to take it. Once Westin was sober, he’d realise Kieran had no idea what he was talking about.

To the unsuspecting eye, it was business as usual at Parkhurst House, the drawing room acting as a de facto club for those who wanted something more private. It was only half past eight, but the card tables had been busy tonight, the liquor flowing. People had been in high spirits. Someone had even played the pianoforte. Soon, the crowd would thin. Men would move off to join their wives at the theatre, at a ball or a much tamer card party or musicale than what was on offer here. And he would have to hunt for his information elsewhere, Caine thought grimly. There’d been nothing of use gleaned from conversations over cards tonight or a private drink in the corner with those who would be most likely to let something noteworthy drop.

Noteworthy these days included any news of bodies washing up on the shores of the Thames, persons without their memories admitted to hospitals in the surrounding areas, anyone who might be Stepan in need of help. Caine had extended his net of surveillance into the villages and hamlets that lined the waterway of the Thames. Noteworthy also included any hint of who might have hired the explosives expert. If only the fellow hadn’t died before Caine could have extracted answers from him. It would have given him the next link in the chain.

Kieran left Westin to his friends and joined him. ‘Come drink with us. It looks like you’re sulking at your own party,’ he ribbed him, then Kieran dropped his voice. ‘It feels wrong to me, too, to be celebrating something, anything, without Stepan here, but we must keep up appearances. Come drink with us. Westin wants to thank you for the party.’

Movement at the drawing room door caught Caine’s eye. His brow furrowed as the footman accepted a piece of folded paper. ‘I’ll be there in a moment,’ he told Kieran. ‘Let me go see what this is about.’ Hope began to race as he crossed the room. Was this news at last?

Caine stepped into the hall where it was moderately quieter and less crowded, the guests there too busy with their coats to pay him much heed. He unfolded the note, scanning its short message, disappointment quickly warring with distress. This was not about Stepan. This was from Mary. He slipped down the hall leading to his study, wanting to take a closer look. Messages offered more than words to read if one took the time.

He spread the note on his desk and turned up the lamp, rereading the words:

The Royal Theatre, nine o’clock. I need a friend.

***

With any of his other women he’d know exactly what this was—an invitation to a little risky public dalliance. That was not what Lady Mary Kimber was after. The note was short. No explanation. The writing somewhat unsteady. It had been written in haste or in desperation or a bit of both. He folded the note and put it in the inner pocket of his evening jacket.

Mary was in trouble and she’d called on him, taken him up on his offer that night in the library. The trouble must be concerning indeed if she thought her best ally was a rake. He checked his pocket watch. He’d never make nine o’clock sharp, it was nearly that now. But he would go straight away. He’d be there in time to assist her at the intermission.

***

The need for assistance was obvious the moment Caine stepped into the Caryses’ box. Lady Mary’s attentions were being commandeered—there was no other word for it—by a tall, blond man who had her cornered in the front row without her permission. Could the man not see from the rigidness of her posture, or hear from the shortness of her responses, that she’d rather be anywhere but there, with anyone but him? Or did the man know and simply not care? That last made Caine’s blood boil. Where was her mother? Why didn’t someone come to her aid? But of course, there was no one. She’d known there wouldn’t be. That’s why she’d sent for him.

‘Lord Barrow.’ Lady Carys stepped into his path. ‘To what do we owe this honour? We were not expecting you tonight.’ Unspoken words crackled between them.

We did not expect you because you’ve already sent our daughter flowers and driven with her in the park. You’ve already done too much, none of it welcome.

‘I’ve come to see Lady Mary.’ Caine side-stepped around her with years of practice in eluding mamas. At the sound of his voice, Mary’s head turned towards him, relief flooding her features.

She rose and offered her hand when he reached her side. ‘Lord Barrow, how good to see you.’

‘How good to see you, my lady,’ Caine replied before introducing himself to this man who made Mary uncomfortable. He was a rake and a marquess now, he could break whatever rules he wanted. He was definitely not going to make her introduce this unwanted interloper to him as if the man was a valued acquaintance instead of what the man really was: someone importuning a young lady while society looked on and did nothing all in the name of keeping the marriage mart thriving.

‘I’m Barrow, who might you be?’ If the civility could have been more congenial, so be it. Best to let a man know where he stood with you from the start.

The abruptness did take the man by surprise. Breaking rules usually put someone on their backfoot. They didn’t know how to respond. ‘I’m Amesbury. The Duke of, in case you’re wondering.’

‘I wasn’t.’ Caine gave the man a cold, dismissive smile while his mind filtered through names. He couldn’t place the man, but the name was somewhat familiar. Where had he heard it? But that was a secondary consideration. Mary was the primary concern. He understood Mary’s cry for help. Carys was duke-hunting for his daughter again and she didn’t like it, perhaps because she knew this time she’d have no choice. Introductions achieved. Now for the next step: extrication. He needed a moment alone with Mary.

‘Lady Mary, you seem a bit pale. Please allow me to take you out for a breath of air.’ He offered his arm and she took it rapidly, held on tightly, as if he’d become an anchor.

Lady Carys offered a feeble resistance Caine quelled with a look before she spoke a word. ‘Lady Mary needs air,’ was all he said as he guided her past the guests in the box, the whispered comments starting to fly behind fluttering fans. He led Mary through the intermission crowd in the saloon to a space by one of the big windows overlooking Bow Street. This was the most privacy he could afford short of risking scandal for her.

‘Thank you,’ Mary breathed. A waiter came by, circulating with a tray of iced champagne. Caine took two.

‘Take it, you look like you need it.’ Caine handed her the glass and grinned to put her at ease. He clinked his coupe against hers. ‘Have a few sips and then tell me what has happened.’ She was definitely pale. Whatever this was, it was more than her father dredging up another duke. That might be unpleasant, but it was not unexpected. She’d known such a move was coming. Something else had surprised her, shaken her.

‘It’s all been arranged between them,’ she whispered, clearly conscience of being overheard. ‘I am to marry Amesbury. In August, before the Season ends. Likely, my parents think to make the wedding the last big event of the social whirl.’ There was real anguish in her eyes and Caine’s sense of protection surged. ‘It was decided without me. I was simply reassigned as if I were an interchangeable piece in the machinery of society.’

Caine studied her over his coupe. Her outrage was in line with what he knew of her, with what she’d revealed to him that night in Carford’s garden. She valued having a sense of choice. But he did not think this was the entire source of her distress. There was fear beneath her outrage.

‘So, your distress is about the principle of the arrangement?’ He pressed the issue gently, aware that the longer they stood here, the more notice they attracted. He wished there was somewhere better to take her, somewhere they could be alone to talk at will. This was not a conversation to be rushed, but it must be because of who they were and what society would think.

‘Yes, and no.’ She shook her head, the little opals at her ears dancing. ‘Yes, I am outraged that my father would treat my marriage so cavalierly. I’d expected an array of suitors and from that array to make a choice. Not this…forcing. I thought there’d be at least a facsimile of choice.’ Exasperation was evident. ‘I thought I might at least know the gentleman in question to some degree, slight as it might be.’

Her eyes dropped, embarrassment flushing the pearly sheen of her skin. ‘I am being married to a stranger who doesn’t even know me.’ Her gaze flicked up to meet his, her voice shaky. ‘And he is vile.’ There was something more to that, but Caine would explore that later. He knew enough for now and time was ticking.

He pressed her hand, letting his touch steady her, comfort her. ‘What can I do?’ He gave a nod to cue her. ‘Quickly, your mother and Amesbury are making their way over and your father has emerged from wherever he went visiting.’ He felt her tense and wished he could take her away from here. What did it say of her family or her situation if she was safer with a rogue?

‘Do you know him? Can you find out about him? Perhaps there is something in his past that would turn my father away from him.’ She spoke rapidly, unfurling a fan that matched the blush rose of her gown.

‘Yes.’ His own gaze narrowed as Amesbury approached. Perhaps, too, there was a reason her father had chosen Amesbury for his daughter, sight unseen. What did Amesbury have that the Earl of Carys wanted badly enough to trade his daughter for it? Society would say it was his title. Carys had been adamant about wanting a duke for her. But Caine wondered if it might be something more.

‘There you are, dear.’ Lady Carys fixed a false smile on her face, much like the one she’d worn in the drawing room this afternoon. ‘The second act will be starting, we must return.’

‘I am glad you are feeling better.’ Amesbury offered his free arm to Mary, but Caine took Mary’s arm in a bold move.

‘Lady Mary has convinced me to stay for the second act.’ Caine gave a feral grin, holding the other man’s eyes with his own. ‘And I’ve accepted her gracious offer.’ The saloon lights dimmed calling everyone to their seats. ‘Lady Mary, shall we?’

***

There was a wealth of meaning in those two words. Shall we. Shall we take London by storm as we cross the saloon to the box? As we take our seats and earn more attention from the opera glasses than the second act? It was a delicious fantasy to play along with as Caine steered their course, the muscles of his arm taut and evident beneath her fingers. In reality, she knew better. There was no ‘we’. There was just him . Well-bred young ladies strove to be invisible, to demurely avoid avid, overt attention. But Caine Parkhurst attracted attention wherever he went—even when there was a play to watch, he upstaged it.

She was envious of that and the freedom he had to be so bold, the freedom to draw attention and not live to regret it. Some day she wished to possess the confidence he did, to walk across a room knowing everyone was looking, everyone was commenting and not give a fig. For now, it was enough to walk beside that boldness, to feel his muscles flex with confidence and strength in the confines of his coat and revel in the knowledge that he had come for her when she’d called. Whatever he felt he owed her, the debt was paid.

At the entrance to their box, she slid him an appreciative glance. Good heavens, she could look at him all night and never tire of that face with its strong lines, long, straight nose and dark eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she managed to whisper, noticing for the first time that while he’d come for her, he’d not come dressed for the theatre. The realisation was both flattering and uncomfortable.

She cleared her throat. ‘Especially if I am taking you away from something else tonight.’ Or someone else, she thought belatedly. In her desperation, she’d not thought about where or how her note might find him or who he might be with. Had he been at Parkhurst House or had the message gone on to somewhere else? Guilt and curiosity pricked at her, along with something strongly akin to jealousy. Had he been with someone else? One of his mistresses perhaps? Or a ton nish widow?

‘Let’s allow the others to enter ahead of us,’ he murmured at her ear, dropping his hand to the small of her back, his touch warm and steady, unlike her pulse, which was just warm. ‘And, no, I was not doing anything I couldn’t leave,’ he said quietly as her mother and Amesbury moved past them.

At the seats, Amesbury allowed Mary’s mother to precede him and then took his seat, tossing Mary an expectant, almost predatory smile as she came down the short aisle of the box, Caine’s hand at her back lending her strength. With Caine beside her, she could tolerate Amesbury. She made to step into the seat and felt Caine’s hand press at her back in warning. ‘Perhaps you’d like to sit on the aisle, Lady Mary?’

She smiled, picking up on the reason for the unortho-dox suggestion. He would sit beside Amesbury. He would be a buffer, much to Amesbury’s evident chagrin.

‘I thought Lady Mary would want her seat back.’ Amesbury’s politeness bore a steely edge. Caine would defend her, she knew, but she could also defend herself.

‘I am fine on the aisle—thank you for your concern, though,’ Mary said sweetly, making it seem as if Amesbury had done her a favour. After all, if it was a favour, there was nothing to argue over. She’d effectively taken away any reason for him to be angry.

Mary gratefully took the aisle seat and sat back, relaxing. Caine would be her shield. It was more than she’d expected. She took a deep breath and then sniffed again. He didn’t have the usual scent about him. It was tainted with something. ‘Are you sure I haven’t taken you away from entertainment?’

‘Just a bridegroom’s final hours of freedom drinking in my drawing room.’ He gave her a wide smile. ‘Someone’s drink spilled on my coat and I didn’t stop to change it.’

The envious knot in her stomach eased. He’d not been with one of his mistresses. Not that she should care. But she did care. He’d kissed her . He’d made her burn, made her yearn for things she hadn’t even known she wanted. And she’d thought in the moment that he had burned, too. She didn’t like the idea of him burning with someone else. Did that make her wanton? She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks at the thought. How wicked she’d become since Caine Parkhurst had waltzed literally into her life.

The theatre went dark. Caine leaned close to her ear. ‘A penny for your thoughts, Minx. They must be quite decadent to put a blush on your cheeks.’

She gave a throaty laugh. ‘If so, maybe they’re worth more than a penny.’

‘Maybe they are,’ he whispered. ‘Enjoy the play, you’re safe as long as I am with you,’

‘But you cannot always be with me.’ Although how wondrous it would be to have such a champion.

‘Can’t I?’ He chuckled. ‘We’ll see about that.’ The curtain went up and she felt Caine’s hand slide around hers in the privacy of the darkness. For the first time since coming back from the failed house party in May, she felt safe, which was ridiculous, because Caine Parkhurst was anything but.