Page 25 of To Defend a Damaged Duke (Regency Rossingley #2)

“In my experience,” said Rossingley coolly, “Molly houses and the clergy are not mutually exclusive.”

“Of course I’m not suggesting you join the clergy, Benedict!” Francis exclaimed. “My plan is even simpler than that!” He spread his arms expansively. “We must turn you into the ton ’s most notorious rake!”

A disbelieving silence followed. The sort of silence so profound that Tommy fancied he could hear buds in the garden beyond, unfurling into blossom.

The duke was the first to break it.

“A rake,” he repeated. And blinked twice. “That is what you said, is it not?”

“Yes,” Francis clarified. “Your ears do not deceive you. A rake.”

“A rake?” Tommy queried. “As in r-a-k-e?”

“Rake?” mouthed Mr Angel to Rossingley, a dark eyebrow arched.

Francis cursed. “Is there an echo in here? Yes, a bloody rake!”

Rossingley raised his own searching eyebrow. “You must mean of the gardening tool variety, surely. If you could pull that little magic trick off, it would most certainly divert attention, but I’m not convinced it is necessarily in Ashington’s long-term interests.”

“Of course not! I mean of the don’t-let-him-within-sniffing-distance-of-my-daughter variety.

Don’t you see? Thanks to Mr L’Esquire’s henchman, we have a fortnight’s grace until Lyndon’s face returns to its usual state of affairs.

The Horton ball is a week later. In between now and then, we must ensure Benedict is seen to be seducing every eligible miss the ton has to offer. Perhaps a few ineligible ones too.”

“Good heavens, that sounds…exhausting.” The duke gulped back his brandy. “Not to mention horrifically frightening and also that this is probably a good moment to point out you may be confusing me with someone else. Someone rakish, for instance?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” responded Francis, waving him off.

“I know it’s going to take some effort on your part.

Starting with a whole new wardrobe and a new personality.

But just imagine Lyndon’s flabbergasted expression when he declares to a packed ballroom that you’ve been making the beast with two backs with some fella down Soho way, and everyone turns around to see you spread over the cheese trolley, knee-deep in the Marchioness of Cholmondley! ”

Another three buds unfurled. With a cry of sorrow, a leaf floated down from a tree.

“I think this plan may need some finessing,” murmured Rossingley, his face ashen.

“A lot of finessing,” interjected the duke. “Especially the knees part. Francis, I have no idea where you get these coarse modern terms from, but really, I’m not sure I approve.”

“Well, you should. And if you’re going to be a rake by the end of the month, you’ll need to get used to them.” Francis smacked his head. “Good lord, I’ve come up with an even better idea.”

“Surely not. My heart won’t stand another.”

“Even more misdirection,” Francis said triumphantly. “A two-pronged attack of misdirection to match Lyndon’s two-pronged attack on us. More gossip. More scandal. Honestly, Lyndon’s big reveal will be such a side note, it won’t even make the pages of The Morning Herald .”

“Out with it.” Ashington sighed. “And less prong chat.”

“Well.” Francis drew a deep breath. “As everybody here is all too aware, I am desperate to marry Lady Isabella Knightley, but Lord Ludham is insisting she waits until someone better comes along.”

“Not possible,” muttered the duke.

“And bravo for making this all about you,” Rossingley purred.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Anyhow, if by some teeny-weeny stroke of bad luck our turning-Benedict-into-the-biggest-rake-ever-to-squash-a-lump-of-cheddar plan fails, and everyone discovers he’s a raving catamite, Lord Ludham will never allow me to marry Isabella.

So, I need him to accept my offer of marriage before Lyndon attempts his big reveal. And I know exactly how.”

“A switchblade to his throat?” supplied Rossingley, with, in Tommy’s estimation, rather too much glee.

“No.” Francis grinned. “I actually quite like the man, even if my current state of carnal inactivity is starting to feel like a terminal illness. We must create another diversionary scandal. We must find a couple of rogues to attempt to seduce Isabella. She will encourage them, and a furious Lord Ludham will realise his only sensible option is to accept my suit. We’ll have it all happen on the same night.

What with Benedict here excavating some poor woman or other’s tonsils and Lady Isabella fighting off undesirables, the ton won’t know which way to turn. ”

The dumbfounded silence following this outlandish plan was even more protracted than the rake silence.

Eventually, Rossingley found his voice. He cocked his head on one side. “Francis, my darling, you’re an untapped well of surprises.” His pale gaze skirted the assembled gentlemen, lingering suspiciously longer on Tommy and Mr Angel. “Now, if only we knew a pair of undesirables.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. Spotted by the duke, they exchanged a brief, conspiratorial smile. When he wasn’t in such a brown study, the man was unfairly beautiful.

“Obviously,” claimed Rossingley, “I’d be the first to volunteer myself, if I wasn’t so above reproach.”

A few more seconds ticked by as the men contemplated the merits of the plan.

“I’m terribly undesirable,” offered Mr Angel at last.

It was only the second time he’d properly spoken, and everyone turned to look at him, casually lounging in a burgundy Chesterfield, legs loosely crossed and one hand cradling his brandy balloon.

Tommy concurred. Mr Angel was exactly the kind of chap a well-bred lady would and wouldn’t like to meet alone in a shady corner of Vauxhall.

Aware he was under scrutiny, Angel tucked a few strands of his wavy black locks behind his left ear from where they’d escaped his ribbon. A single gold hoop glinted between those busy, coin-flipping fingers, and the lambent light from the coals in the hearth danced across his dark cheek.

“Not from where I’m sitting, darling,” Rossingley cooed, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Tommy heaved a long-suffering sigh. The man was nothing if not predictable.

Lord Francis’s eyes, meanwhile, popped out on stalks.

“I say, chaps. I do believe I’ve been inhabiting a parallel universe all these years.

” Like a pendulum, his astounded gaze swung between Rossingley and Mr Angel, then back to his brother, trying to hide his amusement behind his hand but clearly failing.

“Are you really…all of you? Weren’t you…

weren’t you once married, Rossingley? And you… with Mr Ang…? Oh, I say.”

“Spot on,” said Rossingley warmly as if Francis’s mutterings made perfect sense. “I couldn’t have summarised the situation better myself. Now, if you would be so kind, Mr Angel, please attempt to convince Lord Francis here of your undesirability. His lips quirked. “Prepare to fail.”

With a lazy half-smile, Angel held up a hand, counting off his fingers.

“Firstly, I have very little in the way of family and only one home—not ancestral. There is enough colour in my skin to suggest Rom blood courses through my veins, and more importantly to the fickle folks for whom these matters have value, I have appeared in Society from nowhere. Furthermore, under direction inquisition, I steadfastly refuse to explain my origins; I refuse to flatter or engage the ton ’s mamas in idle gossip.

In addition to that, I dance despicably well, so I must be a foreigner, and I favour long hair and an earring.

All things considered, I am perfectly undesirable in the eyes of every God-fearing father of the ton .

” He downed a large swallow of brandy. “Thank the Lord.”

Laid out so comprehensively, it was hard to disagree.

“I’ll save you the bother of pointing it out, Lordy.

” Tommy threw a wry smile at the earl. “But I fear I’m undesirable too.

In fact, I’d go so far as to say I’m Lord Ludham’s worst nightmare.

I run gaming establishments and race stands.

And—close your ears, Lord Francis, as I’m clean out of smelling salts—I own several brothels. ”

“Heavens above, pass the brandy,” croaked Lord Francis. “I’m in the company of heathens.”

“Yes, but think of all the fun you’re having.

” Rossingley sighed happily. “So that’s settled.

By the time our new rakish duke has acquainted himself with the cheeseboard, and Mr Angel and young Mr L’Esquire here have done their very worst, Lord Ludham will be practically biting Francis’s hand off, and Lyndon will be an insignificance.

Now, talking of undesirable character traits, it’s high time Mr Angel and I pushed off home. ”

“But we haven’t discussed the horse nobbling yet,” cried Francis. “We can’t call it a night just as we reach the part where I might actually be of practical use. I’ve been nothing but ornamental so far.”

“And may I say what a very handsome ornament you are, poppet,” said Rossingley rising from his seat. “And, if I’m not mistaken, I suspect your big brother came up with a solution for the horse problem within minutes of hearing of it.”

Modest as ever, the duke looked abashed and proud all at once. Tommy found it utterly charming. “Thank you, and yes, I have indeed. If I may beg just one moment longer of everyone’s time.”

He could have several moments of Tommy’s time. All of them in fact. Something Tommy planned on making perfectly clear after everyone else buggered off.

Crossing over to the mantelpiece, the duke laid his hand upon the cool, solid marble as if garnering strength from it.

In his fragile and tormented state, one could overlook he was a duke, but now, towering over them, he wore the first confident, hopeful smile Tommy had seen since, well, far too many years hence.