50 ways to ruin a rake, p.24
50 Ways to Ruin a Rake, page 24
Trevor’s lips compressed, and she watched his expression flash through torment before it settled into a bland frown. “My set doesn’t look for love, Mellie. Not in their wives.”
“I didn’t think I was affianced to your set.” She tried to stop talking, but it was like she was bleeding words. “I thought I was engaged to you.”
He didn’t respond, and for a moment she couldn’t understand why. And then she realized he was waiting for her to turn around. It was time for the cut direct, but she couldn’t move.
And when the moment stretched, he prompted her. “Was engaged?” he pressed. “So we are done then?”
She tried to say yes. She tried to nod or turn around or something, but her chest had frozen solid. No more words bled out of her. But inside, she was screaming.
Trevor!
He understood. She could see it in his eyes. He knew what she was thinking, knew that inside she was screaming.
Trevor!
“Everything will be all right,” he said softly. “Trust me.”
Fury—white and hot—blazed through her. She didn’t even know if he’d said that on purpose just to make her angry, or if he really was that stupid. He had to know that she was done trusting him, done trusting any man to know anything about what was best. Because they were all cow-dung stupid.
“I hate you all,” she said, and she truly, absolutely meant it. So she spun around, giving him her back. Then she focused on the one person closest to her, the one man who would most wound Trevor and best represented her disgust of his set. “Mr. Rausch, you were saying something about…about…”
Hell, she had no idea what the man had been talking about. Fortunately, he raised his arm and smiled as if she was the smartest girl on Earth.
“About bleaching creams. I understand you’ve been exploring their uses. But the air is foul in here, I think. Shall we step outside? The garden is quite lovely in moonlight.”
She didn’t bother answering. She remained unresisting as he took her fingers and set them on his arm. Then they strolled together to the French doors, stepping out to the night air. It was indeed cooler out there. And cooler inside her heart as well, as every step away from Trevor brought back the numbness. By the time they made it to the side of a sickly looking tree, her entire body was gone. A wooden doll again, though without the pat phrases from Eleanor. Her mind was filled with screams. First his name, then her anger, then a raw note that throbbed with every passing second.
She waited for the sound to fade, but it never did. It was there, at the edge of her awareness, never fully suppressed, but perhaps not as loud.
And then Mr. Rausch lifted her hand, pressed a kiss to the back of it while stroking the curve of her palm. On and on, just a slow circular stroke, until she finally, inevitably, looked up at him.
“Sir?”
“Ah. Welcome back. Are you able to manage conversation now?”
She flushed slightly at his words, knowing she’d probably been rude, but he didn’t seem insulted. Merely concerned. “You are very kind to help me like this.”
“No, Miss Smithson, I am not kind at all.” He paused a moment, clearly waiting to see if he had her attention. She mustered what she could and gave it to him. His lips curved in a slow smile, and he spoke a little slowly as if she were a dim-witted child. Apparently she was, because she had a great deal of difficulty following his words.
“Plain speaking is best, do you agree?” he asked.
“Uh, yes. Yes, of course.”
“I am not kind, Miss Smithson. I am greedy.”
She stared, replaying his words. This was the usual patter of social conversation. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
He smiled at that, and it was an unusual smile. Neither cruel nor supportive, and not even lascivious, or not in the usual way. What she saw in the curve of his lips was…avarice. Polished, intelligent, and careful greed.
“I like to acquire things, Miss Smithson. Unusual things. And people.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“You have perhaps noticed that my circle of friends is selective, have you not?”
She hadn’t, but now that she thought of it, the people that he’d called his friends were all unusual in some way. The brilliant chemist had caught her attention early, of course, even if he did speak in rapid sentences and pull on his hair often. But there was also the limping man who had a way of talking that drew one in and encouraged confidences. She’d intended to sit beside him at the supper table last night, but Trevor had pulled her away.
The others had less obviously unique qualities, but she could absolutely believe that they were each outstanding in their own way. And they all treated Mr. Rausch with respect and even admiration.
“It is rare that I allow a woman into my circle, Miss Smithson. But then again, you are a rare creature.”
She tried to feel insulted by that. He’d as much as called her odd. But the way he said it had an intensity that startled her. “I don’t know what to say.” Then she pressed her fingers to her lips. She hadn’t intended to say anything, and yet here again, words were falling from her lips even if they were inconsequential words.
“Yes, you do,” he said. “Tell me you want to know more.”
“About what?”
“About me. About how I find you exquisitely unique. About—”
“That would give you more information about me. You are asking me to reveal what I find most fascinating about you. And you are pressing me at a moment when—” Her throat closed down as that distant scream in her thoughts grew louder.
“When you are raw and unprotected. Yes, Miss Smithson, you are correct. But now is the only time I can say this and not have you slap me.” He stroked a finger across her jaw. It was almost clinical in the way he touched her, and yet she didn’t move away. “I want to have you,” he said. “Not just your body, but your mind as well. And I can make it worth your while.”
She stiffened and pulled back, her mouth separating on a gasp. He didn’t react to her shock until he seemed to look over her shoulder. Someone was coming, and his next rushed words confirmed it.
“Money, pleasure, and freedom. You can buy these things from me.”
“Buy them? With what?”
His grin widened. “Your mind, my dear. And your body. If you are bold enough. You give them to me, and I shall give you the rest.”
She stared at him, her mind struggling to understand. “What—”
“Melinda, darling,” Eleanor said as she came up beside her. “I’ve been so worried about you.” Mellie gathered her wits and tried to look at her, but her gaze was caught by the quirk of Mr. Rausch’s eyebrow. It seemed to taunt her—that lift of his brow—and she wondered if he could possibly deliver what he’d promised.
Money, certainly. Pleasure, without a doubt. But freedom? Now there was something to tempt her.
“Melinda?” Eleanor tried to pull her around, but when Mellie still looked at Mr. Rausch, she tugged sharply on Mellie’s chin. “What has he said to you?”
When Mellie didn’t answer, Eleanor rounded on the man. “I thought I liked you, sir. It turns out I do not. Pray excuse us.”
His lips curved in a mocking expression. “Really? I find my opinion of you has not changed in the least.”
Mellie’s face jerked up at that. It was so bizarre to hear someone speak rudely to Eleanor that the novelty of it broke her out of her paralysis. “We were merely conversing, Eleanor,” she said. The woman didn’t appear to hear her.
“This woman is my friend. If you hurt her, you hurt me. And I assure you, I strike back.”
His eyes changed then. They narrowed, even as his lips spread in a slow, lascivious grin. There was no avarice in that expression. This was pure sexuality, and Mellie found herself backing away. Not in fear. After her time with Trevor, sexuality intrigued her. But such a look was meant for two people, not three. Or rather, it was meant for Eleanor alone, who straightened to her full height complete with lifted chin and arched brow.
“Challenge me at your peril,” she said.
“I accept,” he answered, and then he bowed deeply before her. Was there mockery in his movements? Mellie couldn’t tell, and one glance at Eleanor’s face told her that the other woman was equally confused.
Fortunately, Eleanor recovered quickly. She tugged on Mellie’s sleeve and gestured toward the ballroom. “The first set is forming.” She spoke the words, but her gaze was still on Mr. Rausch.
“Is… Has…?” Damn, why couldn’t she say his name? And her verbal stumble at last drew Eleanor’s gaze to hers.
“Mr. Anaedsley has departed. The worst is over. You can relax now and enjoy the dancing.”
As if she’d ever enjoy dancing again. Well, that wasn’t true. There was some pleasure in it, but she’d only truly loved it when she’d waltzed with Trevor, but that was over now. He’d never take her in his arms again.
The scream in her thoughts grew louder again, so she focused on a new way to silence it. Or at least distract herself. Since dancing was an appropriate way to meet gentlemen, she would do it now. Perhaps someone else would be as successful as Mr. Rausch had been in temporarily grabbing her attention.
With that thought fixed in her mind, she headed inside to meet men.
* * *
Four weeks went by. A whole month, and not a single man measured up. Each day, each ball, each conversation added one more layer to the encrusted boredom of her existence. At least at home she had her laboratory experiments. She could always lose herself in science, but not here. Here she was on a husband-hunting mission, and the entire process bored her to the point of madness.
Two moments lightened the crushing sameness of it all. The first had been a visit from her uncle and father. Her uncle had repeated his request for the cosmetic formula. She had merely shaken her head. She intended that to be her dowry if her father decided to throw her over entirely. Then her father had asked if she wished to come home.
She nearly said yes. At least at home, she had her lab. But in London she had hopes of something better. At home, there was merely more of the same. And after her time with Trevor, she knew that she could never be content with the nothing of her existence before. Science could fill her mind, but she wanted something to fill the yawning blackness of her heart.
Once she had thought it would be love and children. Now she longed for something—anything—that would make it better. The only thing she knew for sure was that it couldn’t be found at home. Which meant her only hope was in London at least for the rest of the Season. So she had sent her father and uncle home and turned her attention to yet another round of excruciatingly similar balls.
The second moment was more of a series of sparks of interest, like tiny flickers of possibility, before her raised hopes inevitably fell flat. And every one of those moments came from Mr. Rausch.
He had made a point of attracting her attention. He was unfailingly polite, unless Lady Eleanor was around. Then he was sarcastic and rude. But mostly he worked to entertain her with scientific tidbits, unusual people, and once, a trained dog.
She inevitably smiled at something that happened. Her mood lightened for perhaps as much as ten minutes. But in the end, she fell back into the sameness of it all. The people he called friends were interesting, but there was only so much one could explore in the middle of a society function without other people intruding. And even the trained dog was just…well, a dog. It performed nicely, but still sat down at the end and licked its own balls. She didn’t even find that offensive, just very doglike in a very boring way.
So it was that on the return from her umpteenth ball with aching feet and a splitting headache that Mellie finally faced the truth.
She missed Trevor. More than that, she loved him, and he was an idiot for thinking she didn’t know her own mind. And lest he suggest that her attraction to him was simply the novelty of sexuality, she had spent every night of the last weeks trying a different form of masturbation. It was nothing like what she experienced with him. It had its moments, certainly, but she wanted him.
She was in love with him.
And she’d be damned if she let him hold her heart without making some attempt to capture his.
The problem was that she never saw him. He was never at any function she attended. Never. That was probably Eleanor’s doing, but it meant that she had only one choice. She had to go to his home at the only time she wasn’t being shuttled from one event to the next. Which meant now.
Right now.
In the middle of the night.
By herself.
Odd how just making the decision sped her heart to a frighteningly excited pace.
Twenty
When you risk everything on a rake, be sure he makes an equal wager.
Trevor was not a man who enjoyed drinking. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He liked the taste of it. He liked the sociability of it. Some of his best memories were of sitting with his mates drinking brandy. Sometimes they smoked, but he’d never acquired an appreciation of it. Sometimes they gambled as they played cards, but he’d never seen the full sense in that either. He simply enjoyed a good drink with his friends without becoming stupid.
Tonight he was spinning drunk.
Tonight—and for the last many nights—he’d stumbled home while singing a German drinking song with his closest friends. One had helped him up the stairs. Another had helped him out of his clothes. Then they all left, but not before repeating the phrase they’d been saying for a month now.
“Forget her, Trev. Don’t let a country cit be the ruin of you.”
It was that last phrase that upset him. Mellie wasn’t the ruin of him. At times he wondered if she might be the making of him. She had a way of making his path obvious. He thought more clearly when she was around. He could talk things through with her. He could sit with her in that beautiful house of hers and allow the quiet order of the place to clear the cobwebs from his mind.
For years he’d thought it was her father who did that, but Mr. Smithson was as cluttered as it was possible for a brilliant scientist to be. His lab was a mess, and his thoughts often skittered in different directions at once. But his notes and his experiments were usually pristine, the science behind them crystal clear. It was only now that he realized Mr. Smithson’s notes were in Mellie’s precise hand. Likely she helped her father organize his thoughts enough that everything else rolled out in neat lines.
Which is what she did. She made nice homes. She made people feel comfortable. She made him feel like he was a lazy, useless aristocrat because he’d had all the opportunity in the world but spent his days bouncing from party to party only sporadically doing his own research.
Hence the drinking. He’d known before that he wasn’t worthy of her. Now he saw how very much he wanted her and couldn’t have her. She had thrown him over and was daily courted by men who were smarter than him, whose family and friends weren’t desperately trying to break them apart, and who had at least a courtesy title, if not the real one.
He’d lost her. And so he’d looked for solace in his friends, in copious amounts of brandy, and cigars. Yes, he’d tried cigars again because the thought of burying himself in any of the myriad light skirts who’d been thrown his way only made him want to weep.
But he really hated cigars. Made him want to gag and left a foul taste in his mouth. Which meant tonight had been about the brandy. And the wine. And ale. And anything else alcoholic that could possibly be consumed while lamenting his failures.
He closed his eyes, allowing the room to spin him into unconsciousness. Of course, the room might spin, but his mind always conjured up her face. Her voice. Her luscious body.
“Trevor?”
Bloody hell, he loved her voice.
“The door was open, and I…well, I just came in. I’d like to talk to you. Trevor?”
Damn that sounded close. As if it were real. As if…
Someone touched his shoulder, and his eyes snapped opened. “Mellie!” he cried, though it was more a hoarse croak.
She frowned down at him. Or at least he thought she did. Then she turned and quickly lit a candle. He winced from the light, but couldn’t stop looking at her. Made for a bloody awkward position as he tried to stare and shut his eyes at the same time.
“Mellie?” he croaked again.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m bloody pissed, I am. Are you really here?”
“Yes, I’m here,” she said, her voice rueful. “And I can smell the drink on you. Did you swim in it?”
“Tried to,” he admitted. “Only way to stop thinking about you.” Then he shrugged. “But it doesn’t work.”
“So then why do it?”
Well, wasn’t that a bugger of a question. And right there was the whole damned point. She asked the right questions, which always led to the right answers. And here he’d thought all along it was him with the ideas. Well, it was, but only because she asked the right questions.
“Trevor?”
“Mellie, can I kiss you? I really miss kissing you.”
She touched his forehead, stroking his brow. “I need to talk to you. Can you focus for a moment?”
He could focus on anything that was her. So he rubbed his eyes, pushed up on his bed, and sat facing her. But his hands…damn, he needed to touch her, so even as she sat primly beside him on the bed, he had to feel her skin. He had to outline the length of her thigh, to stroke the creamy softness of her arm, to know the round firmness of her breast.
“Trevor.”
His gaze shot to hers. He noted with pleasure that her cheeks were flushed, her lips were moist, and most especially that her nipple had hardened under his caress. But then she trapped his hand, not pulling it away, but stilling his movements.
