Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
“Pardon?” Colin was having a hard enough time breathing in and out and not punching
his friend in the face without having to listen to him spout nonsense.
Anthony cursed. “One cannot simply pull down a girl’s dress in such a fashion. The
corset will all but get in the way. You must loosen a few buttons from the back like
so.”
“Why the devil are you telling me how to undress a woman?”
“Clearly, if you are to take this whole rakish lifestyle seriously, you need help.
Blazes, you move as though you’ve never done this before. Besides, if I were explaining
how to undress a man, I would need more whiskey.”
Wilde swore and moved away from Anthony to sit on the nearest chair.
“If it was me, I would have already returned to the ball. Deed done, skirts tossed,
favors given—”
“Stop, please. I do not wish any such image of that in my mind.”
“They are lovely images; whatever is wrong with you? Besides, I’m happily married,
meaning the images are of the most beautiful woman in the world who can make a man—”
“Stop! Do you not recognize how traumatizing this conversation can be to a sane individual?”
“Well, there you have it.” Anthony shrugged. “We all know you’ve gone mad; therefore,
that is an invalid point.”
The man had a point. For Colin hadn’t felt sane since the day Gemma walked out of
his life. “How did you find me?”
“I followed the trail.”
“Trail?” Colin leaned forward. “This should be good. Dare I even ask?”
Anthony sat back on the chair and laughed. “The trail of seduction. The two discarded
glasses of wine, the flirtatious laughter trickling down the hallway, and finally
the poetic words you whispered into her ear about the view in the library. Really,
Wilde? The view? We must begin with your ability to lie. I find it offensive that
you would give all rakes such a bad name. Women do not go to libraries for the view.”
Colin rolled his eyes. “Then what do they follow men down darkened hallways for? Hmm?”
Anthony’s eyes closed as a smirk danced across his features. “What every woman hopes
for… they want a kiss. One deliciously wicked kiss before they are to be married.”
“I cannot simply tell a woman I mean to steal them away to kiss them!”
Anthony scrutinized him for a moment. “Whyever not?”
“Because it is—” Colin snapped his mouth shut. He wasn’t completely certain of the
answer to that question.
Anthony rose from his chair and approached Colin, stopping directly in front of the
chair and leaning down. “You simply close your eyes as if it hurts too much to stare
directly at the girl, then you reach up to caress her cheek, like so.” Anthony demonstrated,
to Colin’s absolute horror. “And then you say, ‘It is complete torture not knowing
what your lips feel like on mine.’”
A throat cleared. Anthony jerked back.
Ambrose, Anthony’s twin, was leaning against the wall, a look of concern on his face
as he drew his eyebrows in and coughed. “Hope I’m not intruding, but I was under the
impression Colin had been trying to seduce another innocent. Apologies. If I had known
it was my own brother, I would have run faster. Tell me, has he succeeded in lifting
your skirt, Anthony?”
Anthony cursed his brother and glared at Colin, as if it were his fault that Anthony
felt the need to demonstrate his seduction skills.
Ambrose shrugged. “Hmm… You must be out of practice. Since you are both still fully-clothed,
I must assume you are losing your touch, dear brother.”
Colin scowled and cursed. “Why must you two constantly plague me?”
“I have an answer to that,” Ambrose announced, thrusting his hand into the air.
“Let’s have it.” Colin gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to go back to the ball, but
being stuck in the library with two meddling friends was not on the top of his priority
list. Besides, he still hadn’t caught a glimpse of Gemma, and he’d promised himself
he would look at her tonight without allowing his heart to break in two. Tonight was
the night he was going to finally prove to himself and everyone else that he was done
with love, done with her, and done with being a proper gentleman.
“You are
sad
,” Ambrose stated. As if it was some sort of proclamation from the heavens.
“Any idiot can see that,” Anthony argued. “He is more than sad, however. The fellow
is positively despairing! Just look at him.”
Both men turned toward Colin. Anthony spoke first. “It’s the eyes. So lifeless, as
if a soul is no longer present.”
“And he’s been eating less.” Ambrose.
“And drinking more.” Anthony.
“You do realize I can hear you? Kindly have this discussion elsewhere.” Colin rose
to quit the room but was stopped by Anthony’s voice.
“We are only trying to help. Being a rake will get you nowhere except at the opposite
end of some angry husband’s pistol.”
“And Anthony would know. After all, he practically lived there for half his life.”
Ambrose laughed.
“When one is wicked, one has no time to love, and if one has no time to love, one
has no time to feel.” Colin reached the door and opened it.
“But how long can a person rely on their wickedness before it consumes them?” Anthony
called after him.
“Forever.”
I hope
. Colin briskly walked out of the room and back toward the noise of the ball.
A kiss is never just a kiss. If a rake desires to truly be different than other gentlem
e
n
,
he must learn the art of the kiss. If it were merely about two lips touching, then
every bloke out there could do it. But it is not. The prelude to the kiss is what
makes a
women crave rakes, not gentleme
n. A rake understands that a woman must first be teased, caressed
, touched, nibbled, if you will.
S
he must be breathless for more. You must give her the words she longs to hear, and
then when she is ripe for the picking, you sweep in and kiss her softly across the
mouth while slowly increasing the pressure
until she moans. When she moans,
y
ou h
ave her. If there is no moaning,
t
hen, my friend, it is safe to say, you are doing it
all wrong.
—The Private Journal
of Viscount Maddox
Gemma scanned the room for a glimpse of Sir Wilde. Her brother had only just allowed
her to return to London this week. For whatever reason, he had convinced her parents
of the necessity of the prolonged absence. They fully agreed that she should retire
to the country estate for a time, to recuperate from her episode with the man they
deemed below her station.
She wished she had never told her lady’s maid of what had transpired between her and
Sir Wilde. The disloyal girl had turned right around and passed the information directly
to Gemma’s brother, Hawke. Enraged, he had stormed from the house to find the offending
gentleman to teach him some manners.
To Gemma’s recollection, Wilde’s manner was altogether perfect. She closed her eyes
and remembered, replaying the stolen moments they had shared. A wistful sigh escaped
her lips before she could stop it.
“My lady, please,” Hawke whispered beside her, tightening his grasp on her arm. “Remember
yourself.”
“I am remembering, my lord.” She cast a sidelong glance at her brother and wriggled
her arm against his grip. “If you don’t mind, I am quite certain I no longer require
your assistance, and you are hurting me.”
His cold stare warned her against giving any sign of impropriety.
Hawke knew what buttons to push with Gemma. Her sense of propriety was ingrained in
every fiber of her being. In fact, it was that cursed sense that had mortified her
so desperately when she and Wilde had first been caught in the embrace. She’d reacted
with utter shame and disgrace at the time. But her long visit to Brookshire had given
her ample time to consider the matter.
Looking back on it, Gemma was certain the only thing she would have done differently
was insisting Wilde lock the door. That would have solved everything.
A warmth spread through her cheeks to her ears. Who was she fooling? Even yet, the
simple memory of Wilde’s lips on hers made her blush to the roots of her hair.
“Take care, sister,” Hawke warned as they approached a group of his acquaintances,
pasting a false grin on his face for their benefit. “Percival, Sumner, Everett, Lady
Judith, may I present my sister, Lady Gemma, recently returned from Brookshire for
the remainder of the Season.”
Gemma had never been introduced to any of them before, but she knew of them. She had
heard her parents and Hawke discuss Mr. Percival at great length. He was next in line
for the Earldom of Worcester, and one of the Royal Duke’s favorite cousins. No doubt
they had designs on him as a match for Gemma. They never said as much in her presence,
but they hinted often that she should set her aim higher.
Sir Wilde would never meet their lofty aspirations.
Mr. Sumner, who also was heir to an impressive title, ran a close second in her parents’
opinion, though from the daggers in Lady Judith’s green eyes, he was spoken for whether
he knew it or not.
Gemma tried a soft reassuring smile at the other woman, but it was not returned. Etiquette
required a curtsy, so Gemma offered it to them with practiced grace.
“Would you care to dance, Lady Gemma?” the gentleman Hawke had referred to as Everett
asked her, extending a hand. Then he glanced to her brother. “With your brother’s
permission, of course.”
Hawke nodded and lifted Gemma’s arm toward Everett.
Not that I have a choice.
“I’d be delighted, sir,” she replied, and slipped her hand onto the gentleman’s proffered
arm. If nothing else, it would get her out from under the watchful eye of her overzealous
brother for a few brief moments.
Hawke had become unbearable over the past few months. As though he had nothing better
to do in life than find his poor ruined sister a suitable prospective mate.
Fortunately, as dance partners went, Mr. Everett was exceptional. It was a quadrille,
and the movement of the dance offered Gemma a grand view of the ballroom. Since she
did not have to worry about her feet being unduly trampled, she had adequate time
to search the room. If Sir Wilde was there, she would see him.
Gemma had written him letters, explaining why she had left Town, but he hadn’t once
replied. If only she could speak with him for a moment, she was certain she could
clear the air, and eventually her parents would acquiesce. Wilde was well-connected
and not wholly untitled. And she loved him. Surely they would see that.
“Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but you seem preoccupied. Are you troubled?” Mr.
Everett asked. Concern marked his clear blue eyes as he escorted her off the floor.
“I apologize, Mr. Everett.” Embarrassment burned in her cheeks.
“It’s quite all right, Lady Gemma. It’s not the first time a lovely lady was woolgathering
in my presence. I have that effect on many. I fear my dancing leaves something to
be desired.”
“Not at all, sir. You are a remarkable partner.”
A wry grin creased his lips. “Perhaps simply stunned to silence by my rugged good
looks, then?”
Gemma regarded him a moment. He was handsome. With his thick brown hair and eyes the
color of bachelor’s buttons, he was nothing to sneeze at. She hadn’t noticed before,
not that it mattered a whit. Her heart belonged to Colin Wilde.
When she didn’t answer right away, Everett shifted his weight to his other foot and
glanced over her shoulder toward the dance floor. “Your silence is most reassuring.”
“Oh dear, I do apologize, Mr. Everett.” The shame burned her ears.
“Not to worry, my lady. Fortunately, my ego is nothing if not resilient. I shall simply
bid you adieu, return to the corner, and lick my wounds. Before you know it, I’ll
be dancing again with another young lady, equally as affected by my charms no doubt.”
A glint of humor danced in his eyes as he smiled and bowed over her hand to plant
a chaste kiss on her glove. Then he deposited her neatly with her brother and made
his way to the refreshment table.
“That seemed to go well,” Hawke said, nodding after the retreating Everett.
Gemma struggled to keep from rolling her eyes at him. “I believe I’ll see myself to
the ladies’ lounge.”
“Yourself? No, I think not. I shall escort you.”
“Truly? To the ladies’ lounge, my lord?”
It was her brother’s turn to blush crimson. “I beg your pardon, sister. I meant only
to see you safely to the door.”
Gemma was relatively certain she could make it the twenty steps unmolested. She shook
her head to show her disdain, then glanced toward the door to the corridor and froze.
Colin.
****
Colin eagerly scanned the room. He needed an escape. Actually he needed several escapes.
If he went back into Hades, what normal blokes would call the library, he would have
to deal with his two well-meaning friends. And he wasn’t altogether sure he could
speak without blubbering like an idiot or shooting someone.
His days were predictable like that. He was either so depressingly morose that he
wanted to jump out of his window, or anger clouded his thoughts and vision so much
that he was unable to think straight, let alone make sound decisions.
The only way out was in. Straight into the lion’s den, also known as the
ton
. He lifted his eyes heavenward, shrugged his shoulders, and took a deep breath.
Only the breath stayed in his body when it should have been expelled, for the minute
his eyes focused on the woman across the room, he was unable to do anything but stare.
He could feel his body tense as heat made its way through him until he thought he
might explode.
Gemma.
Slowly, he exhaled, and then of course, he did something stupid.
With a sneer, Colin tilted his head in her direction, promptly pulled the first woman
he saw to him, and patted her bottom.
Lucky for him, it was the Widow Darlington, a lady who had already made known her
desire for an assignation.
Guilt gnawed at his insides as he watched Gemma’s face fall. Was that a tear? She
pushed through the crowds and disappeared.
Lady Darlington giggled next to him. “My dear boy, was that an invitation?”
Colin straightened and gave her a cool glare. “Not at all. It was merely a test to
see if the goods were as worthwhile as you boasted.”
“And?” She purred.
“I find you lacking.” He smirked and walked off, wanting very much to trip on his
own feet and knock himself out so he wouldn’t have to look at himself in the mirror
in the morning.
He was living in a pit of his own making, and he had no clue how to get out of it.
And rather than try to climb out of the dark hole he daily found himself in, he decided
the only way out was to dig deeper.
So he’d read Anthony’s journal and dug.
He dug until his fingers bled.
And all he had to show for it was more darkness and more emptiness. Then again, what
did one expect when they were digging holes?
With a curse, he walked in the direction where Gemma had disappeared. The last thing
he wanted to do was apologize, but he could not go on with the rest of the Season
and pretend their history did not exist. Closure. He needed closure, and the only
way he knew how to achieve that was to have the final laugh, the end scene.
He nodded to his peers as he slowly paced around the room until he found the darkened
hallway he was certain Gemma had taken.
Ah, the ladies’ lounge.
He waited in the shadows.
Within minutes, Gemma emerged.
Saints alive, he had forgotten how beautiful she was. Smooth red hair was piled high
above her head, her soft cheekbones had the glow of youth, and her lips were just
begging for a kiss.
Let them beg.
“My lady.” Colin stepped out of the shadows only long enough to pull her around the
corner where they would not be seen. “May I have a word?”
Her lower lip trembled. She stared at him and nodded her head, just once.
“I will think of you no more,” Colin said, though his words seemed to tremble as they
poured out of his mouth.
Gemma’s eyes widened. A blush stained her cheeks. “What if I say I will think of you
forever?”
“Then you are a fool,” he spat, though his heart thumped wildly against his chest.
“I may be a fool, but at least I am not a coward.” Her eyes narrowed. She leaned forward,
her chin nearly resting on his chest.
“Coward?” Minutes ago Colin had wanted to kill Anthony; now he was grateful, for at
least he knew how to use his rakish charms against Gemma. Allow her to believe in
his cool indifference when really all he wanted to do was reach out and touch her,
pull her into his arms and never let go.
“Yes, I believe that is what I said. You are a coward.” Gemma’s blue eyes were glossy
with unshed tears.
“I see.” Colin slowly inhaled her scent and reached to tilt her chin toward his mouth.
Before he lost his nerve, he crushed his lips against hers, relishing the memory of
their first kiss. The day that changed everything. The day she abandoned him and chose
her family over love.
Her mouth was so soft, softer than he remembered. It was everything he wanted — everything
he needed. For a minute the darkness didn’t seem so dark. The hole seemed not so deep.
But it was an illusion, for she could not be trusted — not as a friend and surely
not as a lover. She would stomp on whatever was left of his heart and leave him in
utter darkness, even deeper in the hole of his own making.
With a laugh, he pushed her away. “Still as innocent as I remember. Thank you for
reminding me, dear Gemma.”
She stared at him in breathless shock. “Reminding you of what?”
“What I’m missing, of course.”
Her eyes shined with a sudden hope. Hope he knew he would crush as surely as she had
crushed his by rejecting his love last Season without as much as a goodbye. He answered
her silent question.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I bid you goodnight.”