Page 2 of The Rake’s Absolutely Devilish Reform (The Notorious Briarwoods #4)

L ord Hector Briarwood had never been so thoroughly or summarily dismissed by a young lady in all his lifetime. Oh, she was polite and good humored, but it was still a dismissal.

For as long as he could recall, ladies had loved him—all ladies, every single one. And it wasn’t because he was full of praise for them, which he was, or charming, which he was. But because he genuinely liked and listened to them. He’d always been that way.

Even when he was small. He could still remember going into Cook’s kitchen, admiring her scones, and asking her to carefully explain to him how she was capable of making them so akin to heaven.

Cook had beamed at him and gone into an entire lecture that, at such a young age, he had not understood. Still, he had noted how Cook had lit up at his interest, and he had realized that the best thing if one wished to have a better world was to genuinely listen, and compliment, and ask others questions rather than rabbiting on about oneself.

And so he had always done those things.

And there was also the fact he kept a devilishly happy disposition.

Life was meant to be lived and enjoyed, after all. That could have been the Briarwood credo.

If one could not be merry, what was the point of it all? There wasn’t much of a point unless one wished to simply roll about in misery and take misery wherever one went. And he supposed he was extremely lucky to be born to such a notoriously outrageous family. A family who believed that one should be happy .

It was not the general way of the ton.

Happiness was not something that most of the ton actually believed in. They believed in hedonism. Certainly, he’d seen more debauchery since growing up than one probably ever saw in ancient Rome. And that was saying something. People in London knew how to debauch themselves as well as the aristocrats in Paris.

He was not interested in all-out debauchery.

He had tried it and found it rather wanting, if he was honest. He didn’t like feeling empty. He liked feeling as if he had tasted the very best of life and woken up feeling full of bliss. Too much wine and the antics some of the ton got up to left one with a cracking head and a host of regrets.

He had no desire to foster regrets. Or bitterness.

And to avoid that? Well, one actually had to care. He didn’t believe in boredom or becoming jaded. No. One had to be fully engaged in life. And Lady Priscilla, as far as he could see, was fully engaged in life, rather like he was, except for the fact that she was not at liberty to go about as a man did. She could not give her opinions as freely as he could, though she was quite liberal with them in private, it seemed.

He did not want to go.

And as he stood lingering, staring at her in the moonlight, taking in her soft brown hair, her lovely face, her charming eyes, and the way she sat in her very expensive gown that was cut to flatter her, he felt himself changing .

He suddenly wished that he was not a rake, that he was an ardent young suitor getting ready to propose. It was a fleeting moment, a shocking thought. And one he shoved away quickly. He was not about to yield or give in to marriage!

He was tempted to disabuse her of the notion that he’d been engaged in grand passion just a few moments before. The truth was… He’d been taking a nap. He was between amours at present. And balls could take a great deal of energy. He knew so many people and always made certain to make everyone feel included and acknowledged. He’d needed a wee kip before he’d climbed out of the window. Though she might not believe he’d made his exit in such a way not because he’d been doing something he shouldn’t, but because he was ready to get away from everybody and simply wished for a little bit of peace before the second part of the night began.

Besides, she seemed to enjoy his reputation as a rake, even if it was now sending him away from her.

“My lord,” she piped. “You are still here.”

“Apologies,” he said, startled. How long had he been staring, captivated by her? “You are absolutely correct. And I should take you at your word.”

“Indeed you should, unless, of course, you are used to prevarication.”

“Ladies often cannot say exactly what they want. They must dance about it,” he allowed. “And that’s through no fault of their own, but through the rigorous rules that men have put about them.”

She blinked. “How very accurate and astute of you,” she replied.

He glanced back to the ball, but before he could force himself to depart he rushed, “I confess I don’t want to.”

“We must all do difficult things, my lord,” she returned before adding playfully, “I know I am positively marvelous. But alas, you must deny yourself.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “You rather are, Lady Priscilla. Marvelous, that is.” His laughter dimmed and he locked gazes with her.

A current raced between them then, and for a single moment, he could have sworn there was a cord between them—glowing, connecting, uniting them—as if it was always meant to be.

The thought was so powerful, so intense, and he couldn’t fathom it. And it shook him so that he coughed and took a quick step back.

“I shall give you a bow then.” And with that, he gave her an elaborate one.

He needed his brothers.

They would help him make sense of the bizarre feelings running riot through him, because now, as he slipped away from the lady, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. He caught her silhouette, her pert nose, her chin tilted up as she gazed at the moon and the stars.

Her curls, tumbling about her face and arranged carefully atop her head, framed her visage in a soft glow, and suddenly he knew that there would be no assignation tonight.

It was most confusing.

Hector panicked. It was a sensation he had not experienced in his entire life. No. Any sort of mental difficulty or gymnastics of emotion was his elder brother’s. Over the years, he’d always supported the duke through his rough seas, but Hector? Hector had always been as steady as the English love of tea.

So, this sudden onslaught of emotion was exceptionally perplexing.

He started to stumble into the shadows.

“Don’t trip on any more stones,” she called. “They are most mischievous.”

He did not dare look back at that. Instead, he straightened and strode on with as much dignity as he could possibly manage. He headed out into the night, knowing that his brothers were almost certainly in the East End.

He caught a hackney cab and sat in silence, horrified by the entire state of affairs. What had just happened to him? He had been in the company of a young, unmarried woman, and she had done the most impossible of things to him.

She had made him think…

No, he would not say the word.

No, he would not even contemplate it!

Marriage.

The word thundered through his head, unwilling to heed his commands.

But he had absolutely no intention of marrying for years! He was a man in his prime, who had absolutely no need to perpetuate a line. Leander, the eldest, had recently married. The Briarwoods would be fine.

Hector was free to make merry for as long as he chose.

And yet, he sat with his hands falling into fists upon his knees as he headed towards the East End. The hackney coach conveyed him to The Jolly Hangman’s Tavern.

He paid the driver, then jumped down quickly, his boots squelching in the mud. He strode in and searched out Ajax and Zephyr in the crowded room full of men and women drinking gin and ale, laughing, singing, and living as if this might be their last night on earth.

For some, it might be. London was a cruel mistress to many.

Yet the vitality of the place was undeniable.

He spotted his brothers at a wooden table, laughing and drinking gin.

Hector did not often get three sheets to the wind, nor did his brothers. None of them wished to become complete and total fools. Enough London gentlemen did that without the assistance of alcohol. Still, tonight he felt completely off foot and perhaps a gin or two, strong enough to strip copper pipe, was just the thing.

He strode up to his brothers, sat down, and slammed his hat upon the table. “I have just had the most horrifying experience.”

Lord Ajax and Lord Zephyr both gaped at him.

They had not expected him tonight.

“Good God, man, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Ajax growled.

“Did you run into the lady’s husband?” Zephyr asked more practically. “I’ve told you that married ladies, while supposedly safe, are not safe.”

“It’s true,” Ajax added. “I don’t care what anyone says. Husbands never like us getting involved with their wives. They simply can’t compete with us. So, there’s always going to be difficulty involved.”

“We all remember the affair with Lady Sophia,” Zephyr groaned.

Ajax shuddered. “Opera dancers. They are the best option. Independent and not starved for affection like ton wives. There’s a new dancer at—”

“Now listen, brother,” Hector at last cut in through gritted teeth. “I applaud your turn to dancers, but I haven’t forgotten Lady Amber.”

Ajax frowned and folded his arms across his exceptionally wide chest. Ajax had been in a complicated affair with a young woman not long ago. She had a husband who had seemed as if he did not care if his young wife had extramarital excitement as long as she produced an heir and spare. Which she had done. But for some reason, the fellow had been particularly threatened by Ajax’s size and had been unable to face the fact that his wife was having such fun with a veritable Greek hero in more than just name.

It had not ended well.

There had almost been a duel.

The entire thing had required careful negotiation, and the young lady was in the country now.

Ajax had felt terrible about it. Hence his vehemence about married women and the importance of independent opera dancers.

Still, Hector was careful. Far more carful than his younger brothers. He let out a sigh.

“This is entirely something else,” he confessed.

“What?” Zephyr asked, lifting his gin to his lips.

Hector grimaced. “I found someone.”

“Found someone,” Ajax prompted. “I wasn’t aware you’d lost someone.”

“That I thought about marrying!” he exclaimed tightly.

Zephyr spat out his gin.

The guttering candles danced. For one moment, Hector was half afraid the entire table would go up in flames and then the tavern.

And then the East End, given London’s vulnerability to fire.

He pounded his younger brother on the back. “That was an overreaction, don’t you think?”

“No,” Zephyr said, coughing.

“You? Marry?” gasped Ajax. “Madness.”

“Look, the entire family is mad. So anything is possible,” Zephyr said.

“Who is it?” Ajax demanded.

“What did she look like? A doe-eyed debutante?” Zephyr teased.

“And when will the bells ring?” Ajax asked, waggling his brows.

“The bells will never ring,” Hector returned, taking Ajax’s drink from his brother’s hand and downing half of it before returning it.

“Oh, indeed?” Ajax drawled as he stared at his sadly diminished cup. “We shall have to be the judge of that.”

“Tell us who she is, and we can tell you if wedding bells are in your future,” Zephyr pointed out.

“You know that the family always knows,” Ajax intoned.

And it was true. One of the odd quirks about the Briarwoods was that the family just about always knew when a soul mate had been found. The whole family knew before the person falling in love did.

It had always amused Hector, but he did not find it amusing now.

“Lady Priscilla,” he blurted out.

Ajax’s blond brows shot up. “Mercy’s friend?”

Zephyr’s hand shot to his heart, and he hung his head.

Ajax did the same before he and Zephyr exchanged a glance.

“What?” Hector demanded, his heart pounding.

Zephyr’s lips curled in a slow smile. “We like her.”

Rage crackled through Hector. “I’m going to rip your guts out through your nose—”

“No, no, no, we don’t mean like that,” Ajax cut in swiftly. “Bloody hell, man, pull yourself together.”

Hector flinched and then groaned, “Did I just act jealous?”

Ajax beamed. “Indeed you did, brother. Zephyr and I hung our heads in mourning, you see. You’re lost to us bachelors now.”

“A tragedy,” added Zephyr, even as his eyes danced.

“How long did you spend in this lady’s company, and what was exchanged between you?” Ajax asked, leaning forward as if he could not wait to hear every detail.

“Minutes,” Hector assured, panic rising in him again. “Only minutes,” he insisted. “I promise you it was nothing. Nothing .”

He’d come to his brothers to be straightened out, not cast into matrimony!

Zephyr began to smile again. “I like this nothing.”

“No,” Hector denounced. “Besides, she has no interest in me whatsoever. She thinks rakes are appalling.”

Ajax snorted. “All ladies think rakes are appalling until they’re reformed.”

Hector paused as a terrible thought hit him. “Oh God,” he groaned. “Is that what’s happening? Have I found the one who’s going to reform me?”

“I don’t know,” Ajax said softly. “Early days. You’ve just truly met her. But you know our family. We often know at the drop of a hat.”

Hector covered his face with his hands. “No, I can’t bear it. I’m too young.”

“Indeed you are,” Zephyr said. “We shall have to hold a funeral for your youth. I’ll get a new suit.”

Ajax grinned. “And I shall find a proper reading with which to bury your youth. Marlowe perhaps.”

Zephyr rolled his eyes. “Mother would never let you live that down. Marlowe, indeed.”

Hector scowled. “It’s all very well and good for you two to make light of this, but neither of you have experienced such a thing.”

“Thank God,” Ajax returned. “And long may I wait.”

Hector swung his gaze back and forth between his brothers. “Truly, this isn’t love. Or the beginnings of it. I was caught off guard, that’s all. I was exiting through a window.”

Zephyr laughed. “Well, one must be very careful when one is exiting through a window. One might fall in love and end up married.”

For anyone else, this would sound impossible. But for a Briarwood? Not only was it possible, but it was also very, very likely.