Taming the rake, p.2
Taming the Rake, page 2
Gladys closed her eyes. Oh, to be seventeen and carefree again, when all of this was new, and seemed like the start of a fairy tale adventure.
“Of course,” said Mother. “Come with me. Shall we bring something back for you, Gladys?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. With luck, I’ll be busy dancing by the time you return.”
Mother didn’t look as though she believed that fantasy to be any more likely than Gladys did, but she inclined her head and led Kitty off toward the refreshment stand.
Gladys assumed her usual position against the long, blank wall facing the dance floor. This was where the wallflowers stood. Within arm’s reach of the action. Short a partner for one of the country dances? Grabbing an eager soul from the wainscoting was as simple as plucking a petal from a flower.
Or would be, if anyone ever bothered to do it.
The orchestra had finished setting up, and launched into a rousing reel—the first dance of the night. Couples flooded the dance floor. Even more streamed in from the nearby pleasure gardens.
These assembly rooms were across the street from Marrywell’s enormous, sprawling botanical gardens. Although much smaller and less frequented, the land behind the assembly rooms boasted plenty of natural beauty of its own, with several walking paths through a pretty statue garden behind the assembly building.
Not that anyone was out there now. Easily a thousand bodies had crammed into the hall, most of which were hurrying toward the dance floor. Including… Gladys swallowed a gasp.
Her sister.
Kitty was twirling on the dance floor, punch and cakes forgotten, her arm locked with that of a handsome gentleman. Absolute delight radiated from Kitty’s upturned, smiling face.
Of course. Of course Gladys had spent four long, humiliating years waiting for her first dance, and Kitty was already in the midst of hers, after being out for all of four minutes.
It wasn’t a surprise. For her whole life, Gladys had been told her younger sister was the pretty one. The charming one. The desirable one. Though no one used those precise words, Gladys had understood the corollary to be true as well: She was the ugly one. The undesirable one. The unlovable one.
Four interminable seasons in Polite Society had given no evidence to the contrary. Kitty’s four minutes at a celebrated matchmaking ball only served to underscore the stark differences between their inevitable fates.
Gladys tore her gaze from her happy sister, and tried to smile at her fellow wallflowers instead.
The others were either too terrified to smile back, or as uninterested in Gladys as everyone else at the ball. After several fruitless minutes, she clenched her fingers and let out a frustrated breath. Looking approachable was absolutely impossible.
If this was how the entire week was going to go, she might as well—
Her breath caught at the sight of the handsomest man she’d ever seen and Gladys’s mouth fell open. Good God, was he real? His radiance eclipsed the many chandeliers sparkling overhead. Gladys took an involuntary step forward, away from the infernal wall, in her eagerness for a closer look. Her heart sang.
Impeccable evening wear, trim shoulders and hips, decidedly untrimmed golden hair tumbling carelessly across his forehead. White, with slightly flushed cheeks. Tall, but not gangly. Fit, but not hulking. Clearly moneyed, but not vulgar. Elegant, but… approachable, damn it. He flashed a roguish smile that said, I’d be delighted to show you a good time.
His sensual brown eyes met hers and time froze to a stop. It was love at first sight. Gladys was wholly, irrevocably, smitten.
Wait—his eyes didn’t meet hers. They skated over the wall exactly where she stood, but neither paused nor flickered in interest… or even acknowledgment of her presence. She was as invisible to him as she was to every other unmarried bachelor.
Her spirits crumpled. Complete obliviousness to her existence was exactly the reception Gladys had always garnered, and therefore it should neither surprise nor hurt her.
Somehow, it always did anyway.
One of the other wallflowers caught Gladys staring in longing and jerked her arm back toward the wall.
“Yes, that’s the finest man in England,” the girl hissed. “No, he is not interested in you. Or any of us.”
“Who is he?” Gladys whispered back, unable to tear her eyes away.
“Reuben Medford,” answered one of the other wallflowers. Her eyes widened at the blank expression on Gladys’s face. “You’ve never heard of Reuben Medford?”
Gladys didn’t want to admit that the only balls she’d ever attended were here at this public festival—and that she’d never met any man, Mr. Medford or otherwise. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”
The first wallflower snorted. “Ironic. You’re certain you haven’t heard the gossip?”
Gladys had no one to gossip with. Her best and only friend was her little sister, and neither was allowed to read the newspaper or scandal sheets for fear it might give them unladylike notions. They were too poor to entertain, which meant there were no adult conversations to eavesdrop upon at home, either. She and her sister weren’t even allowed to read novels, due to Mother’s fear the content might corrupt their impressionable minds and somehow make them unmarriageable.
The only thing Gladys had to draw on were fairy tales. Mr. Medford certainly seemed the embodiment of Prince Charming. Gladys would give anything for a fairy godmother to place her in his arms.
“I don’t gossip,” was all she said aloud. “But… I don’t mind if you do. Tell me about him. Please.”
“If you want my advice? Forget you ever saw him. Reuben Medford is heir presumptive to his uncle Viscount Oldfield, and therefore far above our humble status.”
“Medford is also well off in his own right,” another wallflower added. “If he already possessed a title, he’d be the most eligible bachelor of the ton.”
Gladys’s eyes widened in awe. Even a man like that must resort to a country matchmaking festival to find a bride? But of course he must be here for that reason. No unmarried gentlemen attended this matchmaking festival unless they were explicitly and actively hunting for a wife.
No problem at all, Mr. Medford. Gladys would happily nominate herself for the position. The trick was figuring out how to place herself in his path. And look approachable. And be biddable. And keep his attention.
Gladys’s shoulders slumped. That was too many tricks to perform at once. Especially since she’d never successfully managed any of them.
The other girl tilted her head at the dance floor. “He must be ready to take a wife at last.”
“Normally, Medford doesn’t attend these sorts of events, whether polite society or otherwise,” explained the other wallflower. “He could have his pick of the richest, prettiest, sparkliest diamonds in England. But the truth is, Reuben Medford is primarily known for—”
“There you are!” Gladys’s mother said loudly, as if finding her daughter wilting amongst a wall of wallflowers had involved keen investigative skills.
“Mother, I swear I was…” The words faded from Gladys’s throat. Her mother was not alone. There was a strange man standing next to her.
A man looking at Gladys.
“Mr. Alsop,” Mother said with syrupy sweetness, “it is my absolute pleasure to present my beloved daughter, Miss Bell.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Mr. Alsop said absently.
He was no longer looking at Gladys, but he hadn’t run off screaming. The orchestra’s reel had long since given way to a country-dance, which was just now coming to a close. Time stretched on uncomfortably.
Probably Gladys should say something. Anything at all. But she had never been in this position before. All her prior interactions with men had either been with relatives, paid tutors, or clergymen. Conversing with a real-life gentleman had, until this moment, still been wholly theoretical.
Mother cleared her throat with portent.
“Ah.” Mr. Alsop tilted his head as though listening to the change in music. “La Boulangere. A new set is beginning. Dare I hope you are free to join me?”
“Yes,” Gladys blurted out.
She lurched away from the stiff wainscoting that had been digging into her back and grabbed Mr. Alsop’s arm with unbecoming eagerness before he could change his mind and rescind the offer to dance.
“Enjoy yourselves.” Mother smiled at Gladys. “I’m going to find your father. I suppose there’s a card room somewhere he’ll have wandered off to.”
No mention of Kitty, which likely meant her dance card was already full for the rest of the evening, and she no longer required her mother’s assistance.
“I’ll enjoy myself,” Gladys babbled. “Yes. Already enjoying. Thank you, Mother.”
And thank the heavens for the matchmaking festival, which this year was apparently every bit as magical as it had been advertised to be.
She tried not to preen as he led her to the dance floor. Mr. Alsop was nothing like the gentleman Gladys had been ogling—no other man held a candle to the dashing and out-of-reach Reuben Medford—but absolutely nothing could dampen Gladys’s euphoria at having finally captured a man’s attention for the first time in her entire life.
A thousand witnesses were watching! Her veins buzzed with nervous excitement. She’d practiced this moment for years. She knew the steps to every possible dance, and would not embarrass herself or him.
“My dear Miss Bell,” Mr. Alsop began, as they launched into the steps of the Boulangère.
My dear Miss Bell! Ha! Gladys had never been any man’s dear anything before. Could there be a moment more splendid than this one?
“I’ve been looking for a property in Wales for some time,” he continued. “I initially approached your father with a deuced generous offer to buy his plot of land, but he refused to sell. The land I seek, it seems, is part of your dowry.”
It was the entirety of her dowry. And this was not the romantic conversation she’d been hoping to have.
“No other land will do, I’m afraid. You see my conundrum.” Mr. Alsop let out an irritated sigh. “That property will be mine. If I must marry you to acquire it, then so be it.”
Gladys nearly stumbled, but saved herself at the last second.
Mr. Alsop either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.
He also made no further attempt at conversation. He’d said his piece. She knew what he wanted, and now knew where she stood—which was between him and a hectare of cow pasture. Her wishes did not figure.
Or rather, her lifelong wish was for a husband, was it not? Mr. Alsop was therefore by definition a dream come true. Objectively, he wasn’t ancient or hideous. He was straightforward and honest. And, to be painfully frank, he was the best—and only—offer she was likely to get.
Worse, Gladys could not take offense at her dowry literally functioning as designed. It was there to entice suitors. It had enticed one. If Mr. Alsop wanted the carrot on the stick, she couldn’t hold its success against him.
Even if she wished he also wanted the wallflower that came with the carrot.
“I understand,” she said softly.
“I hoped you would.” He flashed her a distracted smile. “Don’t worry. Other than eventually begetting a few sons, I shan’t bother you. Between the nanny, the governess, and public schools, you won’t be needed for the children, either. I can promise you’ll be left fully alone.”
Marvelous. Her future husband didn’t want her, and her future children wouldn’t need her either. Even in marriage, Gladys was facing a life of endless loneliness. This wasn’t a dream come true. It was a nightmare.
“I’d like to call upon your father in the morning and make the transaction official.” Mr. Alsop paused. “Do I have your permission?”
Ah. Gladys was twenty-one, which meant she had her majority. She could not be compelled to marry against her wishes. Which meant whether or not Mr. Alsop got his hands on his cherished plot of land was completely up to Gladys. She could say no, and fade against the wainscoting for the rest of her life. Or she could say yes, and at least experience a few nights with a husband, and a few moments with a baby in her arms.
There was no choice but to nod her acquiescence.
“Brilliant,” said Mr. Alsop. “Then that’s settled.”
The Boulangère changed to a waltz. Gladys’s breath caught. At least they would have a romantic song to remember this moment by.
Mr. Alsop escorted her off the dance floor instead.
No waltz. It was to be cakes and punch instead. Her heart sank. Ah well, at least it no longer mattered if she spilt ratafia down her bodice or developed a full moustache of cake crumbs. They could find a quiet nook and spend the second half of their set talking about the future life they intended to build together.
But Mr. Alsop didn’t pause at the refreshment table as anticipated. He didn’t even head in that direction.
He dropped her back with the wallflowers and strode off without another word, as though he had much better things to do than spend a single unnecessary moment in the presence of his future wife.
Gladys’s shoulders slumped against the wall. If Mr. Alsop couldn’t even withstand her company for the full thirty minute set, their marriage was going to be even lonelier than forewarned.
“Lucky,” whispered one of the wallflowers. “I would kill for a dance.”
Gladys could not answer. A sob had lodged in her throat and was threatening to spill out. She needed air. Immediately.
She pushed clear of the wall and threaded her way around the dance floor, past the gaping entrance where ever more happy festival-goers streamed through, to the half-closed garden door in the far corner.
She stepped out into the brisk night and sucked in a bracing gulp of fresh spring air. Breathe. She was alone in the gardens, save for a smattering of statues and the expanse of distant stars overhead.
A flash of color caught her eye, just behind a hedgerow.
What was that? A night bird? Perhaps another lonely wallflower like herself, no longer able to stand one more minute in the company of so many laughing, smiling people having the best night of their lives.
She had to leave the walking path to investigate the strange rustling, but who cared? No one was here to see her. Even if this was a wild goose chase, no one would miss her. She could use a few moments of distraction from—
Reuben Medford! It was not a bird lurking behind the hedgerow, but the handsome gentleman every woman in the ballroom had been ogling!
“Oh,” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t mean…”
“To keep me waiting?” he purred, giving her a slow, wicked smile so hot it melted the ribbons off Gladys’s gown. “I’ve been dying to do this all night.”
With that, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
CHAPTER 2
Her first sensation was warmth. A full-body hug of delicious, forbidden heat. His lips were hot against hers, his arms wrapped tight around her in an unmistakably possessive embrace.
Which brought Gladys to the second sensation: strength. Reuben Medford was positively made of muscle. Oh, he wasn’t bulky or brawny, with limbs shaped like links of bulging sausage, but every bit of him was taut and firm and solid. She didn’t feel mauled by his touch. She felt protected. Which was yet another sensation she wasn’t certain she’d ever felt before.
No one had ever cradled her like this. As if she was delicate and precious and irreplaceable. As though touching her was a gift to be cherished, and her mouth a delectable treat to savor.
The combination was overwhelming. Not only could Gladys now perfectly understand the silly girls who swooned at the first brush of lips against theirs… but now she could not comprehend how anyone managed to stay upright and sensible with so many new feelings assailing them at once.
As if sensing her imbalance, Mr. Medford backed onto a wide stone bench and pulled Gladys down onto his lap, all without breaking the kiss.
How he’d managed it, she had no idea. Her befuddled brain could not process puzzles of logic at the moment. All of her thoughts were variations of He’s kissing me! and He’s still kissing me! and I like this! followed quickly by I like him! and He likes me, too!
She could scarcely fathom that he’d secretly been watching her, just as she’d been watching him.
“I’ve been dying to do this all night” were his exact words. Dying to wrap his arms around Gladys and kiss her senseless! Him! Her!
Obviously she was going to have to politely decline Mr. Alsop’s begrudging proposal. He was more likely to kiss the hallowed dirt in Wales than show Gladys even a fraction of Mr. Medford’s passion. Now that she knew what a husband’s embrace could be like, she could not bear the thought of subjecting herself to six decades of loneliness and isolation.
Not when she could be in a marriage like… this.
Giddiness overtook her, as though she’d drunk far too much ratafia, despite not having imbibed a single drop. There was no trace of alcohol in her system. It was Mr. Medford who made her feel drunk, each kiss more intoxicating than the last.
She hoped he would never stop, and didn’t know how to say so—or even if she should. She might have practiced every step of every dance in hopes of one day being invited onto the floor, but she didn’t have the least notion what to do in a situation like this. All she could do was grip his arms and hold on tight as he kissed her.
Phase one: look approachable. Accomplished. Full marks. She’d looked so approachable, he’d literally plucked her up off the grass and into his waiting arms. When it came to Mr. Medford, Gladys was the supreme empress of looking approachable. Huggable. Kissable. Irresistible.
So… what followed? She had never achieved phase one before, and had no idea what steps to take next. Kiss him back was the obvious answer, which she was doing with every fiber of her being.
She had no experience in these matters, which meant she was essentially copying his moves, pressing harder when he did, softer when he relaxed. Parting her lips when he did, opening her mouth like he did, losing her bloody mind when the tip of his tongue brushed hers and electrified every nerve ending throughout her body.
