Never Trust a Rake

quavering voice, her recourse to the smelling salts as she teased out the details of the sordid squabble, the shocking proposal, and the subsequent depraved behaviour of the newly engaged couple. For weeks to come, she would have the cachet of being the woman in whose house the notorious rake, Lord Deben, had finally surrendered his bachelor status.

Lord Deben caught her eye at that point and it was clear to her, from the spark of amusement that flared between them, that he was thinking more or less the same thing.

‘I am sure my fiancée agrees with you,’ he said to Lady Twining, though he did not take his eyes from Henrietta for a second. ‘A respectable drawing room is the last place we wish to carry on.’

She knew he was about to do something even more scandalous before he’d swept her into his arms and off her feet.

‘We need privacy, do we not, my heart? Besides,’ he said to the room in general, ‘you all came here to listen to poetry, did you not? And Miss Lutterworth, I believe, has some ready to read to you.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Lady Twining, making frantic beckoning motions in Cynthia’s direction.

Nobody watched the hapless poetess as she mounted the podium. They were all enthralled by the spectacle of Lord Deben carrying his fiancée out of the room.

‘Poor Cynthia,’ said Henrietta as they reached the hall. ‘Nobody will pay her the slightest bit of attention now. They will all be far too busy discussing...us.’

‘At least they won’t be laughing at her behind their fans,’ said Lord Deben curtly. ‘Which is what you dreaded, was it not?’

All traces of amusement had left his face.

Now that they were alone in the hall, with no audience to perform for, it was as though he no longer saw any need to pretend to be deliriously happy. Or totally besotted. Or whatever impression he’d been trying to give in there.

He just looked weary.

‘What...’ she swallowed nervously ‘...what happens now?’

‘Now,’ he said, striding out of the front door and down the steps, ‘we go home.’ He nodded to the footman who’d come trotting out after them. ‘Fetch us a cab, would you?’

‘A cab? Don’t you have a coach waiting somewhere? And I have left my coat and outdoor shoes behind in the ladies’ retiring room.’

‘The reports of our betrothal, and the manner of it, and our hasty departure will soon reach my coachman. He can make his own way home. After all, he has the transport.’

‘Yes, but...’

‘And you don’t need outdoor shoes,’ he said, carrying her across the pavement to the cab, which had drawn up. He deposited her inside, stripped off his own tailcoat and wrapped it round her shoulders. ‘Nor do you need a coat for the short journey to Deben House.’

‘Deben House? Why are we going there?’

‘Because we need to talk. Somewhere where we won’t be interrupted. My servants will not dare to question my movements, in my own home. If I take you anywhere else, there’s bound to be someone who’ll try to make us pander to the conventions. We may be betrothed, but we still ought not to be alone with each other. So people will say. And I—hell!’ He raked his fingers through his thick dark curls as though almost at the end of his tether. ‘I cannot go on like this. It’s unbearable.’

She shrank into his coat and into the corner at the same time. It was unbearable?

‘Being betrothed to me, do you mean?’

‘No! How could you think that?’ He winced. ‘No, I know exactly how you could think that. I have not behaved...but—no. What I regret is the manner of my proposal. Kneeling there in silence, practically willing that oaf to goad you into it. He said he grew up with you. How could he not know that giving you a direct order would result in you doing the exact opposite? You all but said, so there, and stamped your foot when you told him you would jolly well marry me. How do you think it makes me feel, knowing you only accepted my proposal to spite him?’

‘I...I don’t know,’ she said in amazement. But it sounded almost as though it mattered to him. Which implied that he cared. More than just a little.

‘I thought it would be enough that I’d got you to say yes. But it seems where you are concerned, my conscience is particularly acute.’ He shut his eyes and threw his head back against the squabs. ‘God, before I met you I was not even aware I possessed a conscience.’