Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square (3 page)

No!
Esme wanted to shout and wave her arms to call Croft back.

But it was too late. Any further protestations on her part would look odd, drawing speculation about why she was so adamant that no one see her sketches. When her siblings said that she had never before shown a great deal of modesty concerning her work, they were right.

Still, this could all turn out fine, so long as she didn’t panic. In the main, her sketchbook contained renderings of birds and animals, field flowers, trees in leaf, and the landscapes for which Grace had shown a partiality. The sketch of the man was at the back of the book. So long as she was careful, she could show only the innocent drawings in the front.

All too soon one of the footmen walked in, her blue clothbound sketchbook in hand. She leapt to her feet and hurried across to take it before anyone else could. “Thank you, Joseph.”

Quickly, she clutched the sketchbook against her chest, collecting herself. Then she turned to face the waiting company.

“Here we are,” she said brightly as she crossed to resume her seat. “Since you all wish to see, why don’t I just hold up the drawings rather than passing the book around?”

Slowly she cracked open the binding, careful to go nowhere near the back pages. She thumbed through, looking quickly for something she hadn’t already shown her family.

“Ah, here we are,” she said, relieved to have found a new sketch. “I drew this of the hills toward the village earlier today.”

Actually, she’d drawn it the previous week.

She held up the book, fingers tight on the pages.

Murmurs of appreciation went around the room.

“Lovely,” Lady Waxhaven said.

“Astounding,” Lord Eversley pronounced. “As I said before, you are a marvel, Lady Esme. Show us another.”

“All right.”

Bending over the book again, she found another new sketch, this one of her dog Burr lying under a tree.

She held it up, eliciting more positive remarks and smiles. From everyone except Lettice Waxhaven, that is. Lettice’s innocent mask had slipped again, her eyes filled with a bitterness that made her look as if she wished she’d never started this.

Well, that makes two of us,
Esme thought.

Esme showed them one last sketch of farmers working in the fields, then closed the book, holding it on her lap. “There, you have all had your art exhibition for the evening. Now, enough about me. Please go back to whatever you were doing before, talking and drinking and enjoying the evening.”

“Thank you, dear, for sharing your beautiful drawings with everyone. But Esme is right,” Claire said with a broad smile. “Let us make merry. Perhaps a game of cards or some dancing? I should dearly love to hear a tune.”

“That sounds wonderful, Duchess,” Lettice declared, openly enthusiastic. Her gaze went to Eversley. “Do you enjoy music, my lord?”

“Indeed,” he said. “Mayhap you could play for us, Miss Waxhaven? You’re quite accomplished on the pianoforte as I recall.” Then he turned to Esme. “Lady Esme, what about you? Would you care to take to the floor?”

Lettice Waxhaven’s face drained of color.

Esme actually did feel sorry for her—and rather cross with Lord Eversley for being so obtuse. She stood, intending to refuse him. But before she could, Lettice stalked forward and deliberately bumped into her
shoulder, though Lettice did a good job making it look unintentional.

The sketchbook flew out of Esme’s grasp, pages fluttering wide before the book spun and skidded to a halt on the floor.

She bent quickly to retrieve it, but Lettice Waxhaven’s loud gasp let her know it was already too late. Everyone else was turning and looking too.

Breath froze in her chest, her thoughts tumbling wildly one over the other as she tried to think exactly how to explain the page with the gloriously bare, unforgettably gorgeous male specimen lying open for all to see.

“What in the nine circles of Hell is that?” Lawrence said, his voice so loud she jumped.

“I believe we can all see
what
it is,” Leo answered, his face wearing the identical look of shock and dawning outrage as his twin’s. “The only thing I want to know is how we’re going to kill him.”

“Kill who?” Esme squeaked, suddenly finding her voice.

Leo and Lawrence’s gazes swung her way, while the rest of their family and friends looked on.

“Northcote.”
Leo said the name like it was a curse.

“Our neighbor from Cavendish Square,” Lawrence finished.

G
abriel poured himself a fresh brandy and leaned back in his chair. After taking a swallow of the alcohol, which left a fiery tang in his mouth and throat, he returned to his reading.

A fire crackled in the library hearth. The comfortably masculine, book-lined room was scented with a mixture of leather, parchment, woodsmoke and lavender.

Earlier, he’d considered venturing out to see what female sport might be had in the nearby village. But in spite of his admittedly strong sexual appetites, he’d come here for several days of rustication, not with the intention of trolling the local taverns in search of fresh bedmates.

He could find that sort of company anywhere, and lately he’d begun to grow bored with women who were easily had. Frankly, he was bored even with the ones who weren’t so easily had.

Naive virgins were strictly off-limits, of course, since they always expected a ring to accompany any deflowering, and he had no intention of falling prey to matrimonial shackles.

As for virtuous widows and repressed wives, now, they could be interesting game, especially the ones who needed a bit of coaxing before surrendering to the lustful desires they claimed not to have. Such women had long been a favorite hunting ground of his.

But recently, even they were leaving him cold.

Perhaps after years of determined debauchery, he was becoming jaded. A few of his former paramours had even accused him of cruelty, claiming he’d ruthlessly seduced them only to cast them aside with barely a backward glance.

But he felt no remorse. He believed in pleasure for pleasure’s sake and always left his partners thoroughly satisfied; there were never any complaints when it came to the sex itself. It was only later that matters sometimes grew unpleasant, particularly with the ones who fancied themselves in love.

They weren’t, of course; love was a delusion, a kind of temporary insanity that polluted the brain and the bloodstream, ravaging its unwitting victims like a disease until the fever eventually broke.

It wasn’t as if he had no understanding of the compulsion. He’d experienced the insanity of love once himself in his youth. But luckily he’d been shown the perfidious nature of the emotion, the shallow core of what was ultimately an excuse for self-delusion and personal debasement.

He sighed and drank more brandy, aware of the terrible ennui that plagued him. A hollow emptiness that nothing seemed to fill, not even the hot, mindless pleasure of sex. Of course he wasn’t about to turn celibate; he had lost neither his mind nor his basic male needs. But clearly he would have to find other means of entertaining himself.

He would also have to seek out fresh ways to antagonize dear uncle Sidney, other than hosting scandalous orgies at his town house, adding to his erotic art collection, and seducing the young wives and daughters of his uncle’s friends and political allies.

Pissing the old man off, now, that truly was one of life’s greatest pleasures.

He tossed back the last of his brandy, then returned to his book. He’d just turned a page to begin a new
chapter when a heavy knocking echoed from a distant part of the house.

He glanced up at the clock and saw that it was nearly midnight. Who would be banging on the front door at this hour? Well, whoever it was, Cray’s servants would send them on their way.

He’d barely had time to read another page when he heard the unmistakable sound of raised voices.

Men’s voices, several of them.

Then there were hurried footsteps.

A quick rap came at the library door. It opened without his permission, and in rushed the butler.

“Forgive the intrusion, my lord,” the servant said in a breathless voice. “There are several gentlemen here to see you. I explained to them about the late hour and that you are not receiving, but they are most insistent.”

“Did these gentlemen state the nature of their business?”

The butler shook his head. “No, but they are—” He paused and visibly gulped. “One of them is the Duke of Clybourne. The others are his brothers and his brother-in-law, Lord Gresham.”

They were men of whom he had heard but whom he had never met. Actually, the only members of the Byron family with whom he was acquainted were Lords Leopold and Lawrence, who were his neighbors in London. He knew that Braebourne, the great country estate of the Byrons, abutted Cray’s lands, but since he wasn’t here to socialize, he hadn’t bothered to pay calls on any of the local aristocrats or gentry. Given his dreadful reputation, most of them likely wouldn’t have welcomed a visit from him anyway.

So why the late-night call? He couldn’t fathom a reason. Unless they were here to carouse, but that seemed as unlikely, given the circumstances, as the visit itself.

He set his book aside. “Very well, show them in.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said a voice deep and
rich with natural authority. “We decided to let ourselves in.” The dark-haired man, who Gabriel presumed must be the Duke of Clybourne, flicked a glance toward the hapless butler. “You may go.”

The servant bobbed his head and fled.

One of the other men shut the door. Gabriel began counting Byrons—there were seven, or rather six, if you didn’t include the brother-in-law. They were all tall and powerfully built, and they were all wearing hard, angry expressions, even the twins, who were usually grinning or making some humorous jest over their latest scheme.

No, this was definitely not a social visit.

Gabriel gave no outward sign of concern as he rose slowly to his feet, his own great height putting him an inch above even the tallest of them. “Good evening, gentlemen. Lawrence. Leopold. Perhaps one of you might be so good as to do the introductions. I presume these are your brothers.”

A muscle ticked in Leo’s jaw—at least Gabriel thought it was Leo, since it wasn’t always easy to tell the twins apart; the two men looked so much alike.

Lawrence’s eyes narrowed and for a minute Gabriel thought he might refuse. “Lords Cade, Drake and Jack Byron,” Lawrence said, gesturing toward each one in turn. “Edward, Duke of Clybourne, and our brother-in-law, Adam, Lord Gresham.”

Gabriel inclined his head. “I would offer all of you refreshments but I have the feeling you are here on more important business. So, what may I do for you?”

Leo’s eyes flashed and he took a step forward as though Gabriel’s words had unleashed some self-imposed restraint. “You smug bastard. How dare you act like you have no idea why we’ve come. Or are you going to claim next that you didn’t have any idea it was her?”

“Her? Her who? Obviously this has to do with a woman.” He folded his arms. “You’ll have to enlighten me further, since I know a great many hers and sometimes it’s difficult to recall one from another.”

“Why you—” And suddenly Leo leapt the distance between them, his fist connecting with Gabriel’s jaw before he even knew the blow was coming.

His head snapped back as he absorbed the punishing blow. His own fists instinctively came up, deflecting a second punch, which would have landed in the center of his gut. He shifted stealthily out of the way and readied himself for more.

He’d heard about Leopold’s boxing prowess but had never been on the receiving end of it before. Now he knew why even formidable men thought twice about crossing Leopold Byron.

Before the fight could escalate further, two of his brothers, Jack and Drake, caught Leo around the chest and arms and wrestled him back.

Leo struggled. “Leave off. I’m not finished with him yet.”

“You can pummel him to bits later,” Jack said, “and it will be our pleasure to join in, won’t it, Drake?”

“Indubitably,” Drake agreed.

“But only after we’re done talking to him,” Jack said.

“What’s there to talk about?” Leo shot back. “It’s plain enough what he’s done.”

Lawrence pounded one balled up fist into his other hand. “I’m with Leo. Punishment first, then a hearing, once Northcote’s regained consciousness, that is.”

“That’s not very lawyerly of you,” Gabriel said. “Don’t I at least deserve a chance to know of what it is I’m accused? Innocent until proved guilty and all that.”

Lawrence shot Gabriel a furious glare. “Since we’re not in a court of law and I’m not acting as counsel, I believe I can set the finer points aside in your case.” He smacked his fist into his cupped hand again. “To think I considered you a friend, only to find out you would do such a no-good, reprehensible thing. This is beneath contempt, Northcote, even for you, and that is saying a very great deal.”

“Let me go,” Leo demanded in a voice that was
nearly a growl. “Let me hit the stinking blackguard just one more time.”

“Are you sure only once will do?” said Lord Cade, glaring menacingly.

“Yes, I’d say several times more seems fitting.” Adam Gresham tightened his fists, his knuckles popping.

Gabriel tensed, raising his own fists another defensive inch higher in case Leo broke free, or one of the others decided to have at him instead. He took a moment to assess his adversaries. The older Byron brothers, and Gresham, were unknown quantities, but they all looked to be lethal in a fight.

As for Lawrence, there was a curious kind of irony in their present circumstances considering the two of them had once fought side by side in a bruising tavern fight that had landed them both in gaol. Lawrence was a seasoned fighter and Gabriel knew not to underestimate him any more than his twin. But he could handle himself, having participated in his own share of dirty, bare-knuckle street fights and vicious brawls over the years. He’d rather not fight Lawrence, or Leo, come to that, but he would if necessary, even as badly outnumbered as he was.

“I’ll take you on, all of you, if that’s what you want,” Gabriel challenged. “Seven to one. I’ll make book on those odds.”

“I’m going to tear you apart, Northcote!” Leo struggled anew against his brothers’ hold; Jack and Drake suddenly looked as if they just might set him loose.

“Enough!” the duke ordered with a crisp authority that quieted everyone in an instant. “We will hear Lord Northcote out and see what explanations he can offer for his actions. Then we’ll decide how best to vent our collective fury. Even I would not be averse to a good old-fashioned horsewhipping; or mayhap some boiled tar and goose feathers might be better.”

Damn,
Gabriel thought,
but Clybourne just might be the most dangerous one of them all.

Leo gave a low grunt of frustration but ceased his
struggles, while Lawrence lowered his fists to his sides. The rest of the men stood down. Satisfied that Leo was no longer going to attack, Jack and Drake released him.

Slowly, Gabriel relaxed his fighting stance as well, letting his arms drop to his sides. “So, let’s hear what it is all of you think I’ve done. Or should I amend that to say
who
I’ve done, since you made mention of a ‘her.’”

The other men bristled.

Jack’s eyes flashed fire. “Why, you loathsome son of a—”

“Quiet,” Clybourne ordered in a hard, smooth tone that cut through the impending chaos. Once everyone had calmed again, the duke fixed Gabriel with a glacial stare. “I’m going to enjoy making you suffer for your insolence. Now, tell me how you come to know my sister.”

“Sister?” Gabriel scowled, racking his brain as he flipped quickly through his extensive list of current and former sexual partners. “Lady Mallory, do you mean?”

“Lady
Gresham
,” Adam Gresham shot back. “And what do you know of my wife, sir? How dare you impugn her reputation when she is an angel and wholly above reproach.”

“Yes, so I hear. The lady and I are scarcely even acquainted. I admit that I may have danced with her once, years and years ago. Is she ginger haired?”

“No, she most certainly is not.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Well then, there you are. I guess I do not know her, after all.”

Gresham made a sound like an angry bear.

“Calm yourself, Adam,” Clybourne told his brother-in-law in a low aside. “Mallory is not at issue here, and it’s clear he does not know her.”

“Then he ought not to have even mentioned her name,” Gresham said.

Gabriel briefly lifted his eyes to the ceiling before focusing again on the duke.

Clybourne looked back. “We are speaking of our other sister.”

“And what is her name?”

“Lady Esme.”

Silence fell, the others clearly waiting for his reaction so they could pounce again.

But he didn’t have one. “Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know her either. She’s not a ginger, is she, by any chance?”

Cries of outrage erupted.

“Bastard!”

“Blackguard!”

“Liar!”

“Lord Northcote,” Edward Byron said in voice so cold it could have frozen the Thames, “you are walking a very fine line. We all know you are lying and that you
do
know our sister. Tell us how it is you came to meet her and how long this”—the duke briefly closed his eyes as if he were in pain—“liaison has been going on. Was it at Cavendish Square? Did you see her perhaps when she was visiting one of her brothers, or Lady Leopold, and formed an acquaintance?”

Gabriel grew abruptly annoyed, his hands turning to fists at his sides. If there was one thing he disliked, it was being accused of deceit. “As I’ve told you already, I do not know her. I have never met Lady Esme Byron. I don’t even know any women named Esme.”

He shot looks at Leo and Lawrence, meeting their eyes. “The pair of you know me, at least a bit. Do you honestly believe I would seduce your sister? Your unwed sister, I presume, since there has been no mention of a cuckolded husband demanding we trade pistol fire at dawn. No, black as my reputation may be, and I in no way dispute the fact that it is every bit as bad as rumor claims, I am not in the habit of pursuing naive young girls.”

The twins gave identical frowns and exchanged looks with each other. Their silent debate went on for several tense moments before they returned their gazes to him.

“Very well, if it is as you say,” Lawrence stated in the erudite rhythms of a trained barrister, “and you take pains to avoid romantic dealings with innocent young ladies, then why is it our sister happens to have a drawing of you in her sketchbook?”