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

H ector masticated furiously upon his rashers.

He was extremely irritated. He had not slept, and he was an excellent sleeper. Even if he came home just as dawn was coming up, he could usually get in a good few hours, which would leave him completely ready for the day.

That had not happened.

He had not been able to eradicate Lady Priscilla from his mind. It had all started at the tavern, whereupon they had then left and gone to a late-night boxing club and watched their dear friend, Hartigan Mulvaney, lay into another man and leave him barely standing.

The man had been able to hobble away, and it had been a great deal of fun until, of course, someone had bumped into Hector, assuming that he was an easy mark since he was a gentleman and out of his milieu. The thief had attempted to cut his purse, and Hector, having been trained by Mulvaney, had been aware.

The thief had hauled his fist back swiftly and cold-cocked Hector when he realized he’d been caught.

Luckily, Hector had not really needed to do much to send the fellow off. After the blow, Hector had honed his response. And all that was needed was a twist of the wrist with a shift of body weight.

The quick but strong maneuver had shocked the cutpurse enough that the man had scurried off.

Hector had felt good about that, but today his face looked a bit like tenderized meat. Not a good look for the ladies, and, frankly, it still hurt. He was used to it. Hartigan Mulvaney made certain that he and all of the Briarwood men were used to having tenderized flesh.

Still, as he chewed furiously, he winced. Even now, he could not rid Lady Priscilla from his thoughts. Yes, there she was again.

He could not shake the image of her sitting silhouetted by the moonlight, her face tilted upward. That face? He could gaze upon that face from now to eternity. He gripped his fork harder. It was an absurd thought. A rake did not fantasize about a young lady who had yet to know anything about the marriage bed.

And a rake certainly didn’t think about said young lady’s upturned face, gazing upon the moon. It was ridiculous.

“Good morning, my darling,” his mother trilled as she entered the breakfast chamber, looking as if the world was at her feet, which, quite frankly, it was.

She was a beloved mother and a wonderful one. She had married three children off successfully, and little could be said to gainsay her or give her difficulty. The only real dilemma that she faced at present was the absence of her youngest son, his brother, Achilles, who was still in France. They all waited every day for news, but the scoundrel simply would not show up or write. Frankly, given the way he’d been so thrown off kilter by Lady Priscilla, Hector was tempted to head immediately for the coast, sail to Calais, and locate his brother personally.

It would certainly be better than pining over Lady Priscilla, especially when Lady Priscilla had made it exceptionally clear that she had no wish for attention from him.

Was his reputation so very terrible?

“You look as if you got a bad kipper,” the duchess said as she placed herself down gently on the seat adjacent to his, took up the coffee pot, and poured herself a large cup.

She brought the delicate porcelain towards her, leaned forward, and allowed the aroma to waft to her. She let out a sigh as if she had just taken in the most divine of substances, then took a sip.

“Marvelous,” she said. “Still one of the best inventions ever made, I think. Really, the world is a most fascinating and marvelous place to produce a bean that could make this tonic.”

He laughed. His mother really was a wonder. She loved life. She had more money than most could ever hope for, and yet she reveled in a simple coffee bean, which was something enjoyed by the middle classes of London as well as the upper ones.

Coffee houses still abounded and were immensely popular places for city people to go.

Yes, his mother knew how to live.

Perhaps it was from her days as an actress, where she had lived by talent and intelligence.

She’d had to fight and scheme in a way that none of her children had. She’d not wanted them to know the hardships she had experienced, crawling her way up from the worst back streets of London to be a jewel of the stage and then selected by a duke to sparkle as his duchess.

How he adored her.

“Mama,” he began, “we cannot all look as captivating as you do in the morning.”

She was older, and her blond hair was now streaked with silver and there were lines upon her face as there should be. She was no girl and was a wise, mature woman.

His mother tsked. “My dear, if you would go to bed just a bit earlier.”

“I tried, Mama,” he said honestly. “Even with my usual antics, I did try.”

His mama snorted as she took a slice of toast. “Yes, your antics. You’re getting a bit old for those, aren’t you, my dear?”

He placed his fork down. “Mama, I am not too old to be a rake, and you know it. Besides, you have two married daughters and one married son who is the duke. What more could you possibly want?”

“All of my children married and happy,” she declared sincerely before she buttered her toast.

“Mama, many members of the ton are not happily married.”

“But all my children shall be,” she pronounced.

“Mama, you cannot be certain of that.”

She arched a brow and gave him a scandalized look. “Of course, I can,” she said. “And you know it too, which is why you are so worried about getting married and avoid it. Finding the right one is a great deal of pressure.”

He winced. It was, and what if… What if the one didn’t want him? It had never occurred to him that someone might not want him. He was Hector Briarwood! Who wouldn’t want Hector Briarwood?

Now, he supposed that there were ladies who might want larger titles. His was not significant as the brother of a duke. He was a lord. His children would have precedence over others, but then it would depreciate. He did not have multiple houses of his own, but he did have an estate. His father had made certain that all of his children were very well taken care of, but Lady Priscilla had not seemed at all impressed by him.

She had not seemed to have any desire to make him interested in her or to reform him.

He had never wanted to be reformed before and suddenly, horrifyingly, he did.

It was appalling.

“There it is again,” his mother mused. “That look.”

“I had a rather interesting incident.”

“Oh, dear heaven, my dear, please tell me you were not caught in flagrante delicto. We’ve weathered such things before, of course. Our family does like to make exhibitions of themselves.”

“No, Mama, nothing like that. I met—”

His mother suddenly stilled, her coffee cup suspended in midair. “You’ve met the one, my dear!”

He groaned. “I don’t know for certain. And it was quite an experience, Mama.” He hesitated. “There’s only one thing.”

“Yes, my dear?” she prompted, her eyes shining with anticipation.

“She has no interest in me.”

“Balderdash. Of course, she does. Look at you.”

“Mama, not everyone is as kind to us as you are, and the truth is I have my flaws.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, you have flaws, my dear. You are human. You are not a doll.”

“Thank you, Mama,” he replied. “I’m glad that you know that I am human, but what am I to do? I think she believes I’m completely frivolous.”

Her mother stared at him, then threw back her head and laughed. “You, frivolous? My dear, you are one of the most educated gentlemen of the ton. You don’t just go about throwing your life away.” But then she frowned. “I suppose to many, it might appear that way. You don’t advertise your merits. On that note, will you go to St. Giles today?”

“Of course. Whatever would I do if I did not take a bit of Shakespeare to my dear friends several days a week? They certainly understand the importance of living fully.” He let out a beleaguered sigh. “I never thought that having fun would make me so entirely unappealing.”

His mother considered this. “That’s because people don’t know how to have fun. They think the silliest things are fun, like drinking far too much sherry and dancing too many silly dances with silly people. They don’t know Shakespeare, or Greek mythology, or mathematics, or philosophy. Those sorts aren’t interested in anything of substance, so they have no idea what fun is. Perhaps, she’s the same.”

“I don’t think so,” he protested. “Actually, her sense of humor is quite good, and she is clearly educated. I fear it’s simply that she has no estimation for men of my character.”

“Who is it?” his mother suddenly asked.

“Lady Priscilla, Mercy’s friend.”

“Lady Priscilla? My goodness!” His mother’s brain clearly began to tick like the inner workings of a French clock, and then a slow smile began to tilt her lips.

A terrible wave of foreboding traveled through him.

“No, Mama,” he warned. “You mustn’t get involved.”

“Oh, but I must,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together, “Lady Priscilla is a darling, a gem! I wonder why I didn’t see it before. I shall—”

“Don’t, Mother,” he all but begged.

As if she could not hear him, she put her coffee cup down and stood. “There is so much to be done,” she declared. “I wonder why I do not know her mother.”

“Mama, I am not getting married to her! And Mama, the mother probably doesn’t want to know you. She seems not to be in society at all, and—”

“Yes, my dear. Yes,” she said, looking back over her shoulder and eyeing the exit, clearly ready to act.

“Mama, just because you think she is the one doesn’t mean she will be my wife.”

“Oh, my dear, that’s exactly what will happen.” His mother gave the most self-satisfied and confident of stares. “If I think it, it shall become true.”

There was no arguing with his mother on this particular point because, quite truthfully and historically, she was correct. Whenever his mother thought something would happen, it did. Somehow she managed to make it so. Whether it was magic, or simply her will, or unbeknownst to all of them, some strange arrangement she had made with the universe one day while dancing gaily underneath the moon, she always triumphed.

Suddenly, Hector felt as if his life had been taken out of his hands and cast into the cauldron of women. It wasn’t such a very bad thing. Women were often far cleverer than men, but it was still rather harrowing to suddenly feel as if he had lost control. He’d never lost control before. No, no. He had always been the one steering his own ship, but now he felt as if the winds had come for him.