Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
A
rake
must at all times feign indifference, for if a man seems too interested
,
he risks losing the thrill of the chase. After all, what man desires to chase after
a woman when she is already his to begin with? Indifference
,
my friends! Do not easily offer your smile, nor your attention. Make them beg for
your gaze, your touch, your very words. And when the woman finally begs, when you
have her in your clutches, simply take what you want and leave. It is as simple as
that.
—The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox
The words cut like a hot blade straight into her heart. The memory of his lips burned
on hers, but his eyes were smoldering dark steel.
Gemma could say nothing to him in response. The thick emotion in her throat made speech
impossible, even if she could piece together a suitable response. They say the line
between love and hate is a thin one. Colin had crossed over. She saw it in his eyes.
He hated her. And she hated that she loved him still.
Swallowing back the inevitable sob, Gemma spun on her heel and fled.
She couldn’t stay there. Not another moment. She would find Hawke and make him take
her home.
Back inside the ballroom, she scanned the dancers for signs of her brother. He was
nowhere to be seen. Twirling about, she searched the outskirts of the room. Again,
no Hawke.
The irony served only to nauseate her further. He had been keeping such a close eye
on her every moment, so much so that he had suggested following her to the ladies’
lounge, and yet now when she truly needed him, he had disappeared into oblivion.
Groaning inwardly, she knew she would have to return to the corridor. She only hoped
she would not encounter Colin once more. With a deep breath, she resolved to find
her brother, no matter what it took.
Perhaps if she hadn’t been so lost in her despair, she would have sensed someone behind
her before turning abruptly, slamming straight into the broad chest of Lord Maddox,
the husband of Gemma’s bosom friend, Bridget. He grunted at the impact.
“Pardon me, my lady,” he muttered breathlessly.
“Oh Lord Maddox! I am so sorry!” Gemma felt overwrought. All she wanted was to find
her brother and leave that place.
“Lady Gemma?” He grasped her elbow to steady her on her feet. “Are you injured?”
“No, my lord. Only embarrassed. I should have taken more care with my direction.”
“No harm done, my dear.” Lord Maddox glanced around them as though searching out the
reason for her haste. “Is anything amiss? You seem rather distraught.”
“Everything is well. I was just on my way to find my brother. Have you seen Lord Van
Burge, perchance?”
“Yes, indeed. I just came from the tables where I persuaded him to take my place in
the game. He is there still. May I escort you to him?”
“No. Thank you, my lord. I can manage.” He released her and nodded, but as he stepped
away, a sudden fear gripped Gemma. If she were to meet with Colin again, she would
be alone. She needed someone to provide a buffer between her heart and the man’s scorn.
“Lord Maddox!” Her voice faltered into a frantic squeak.
He spun around to face her. His expression betrayed his concern. “Yes?”
“I… I would like you to escort me. Thank you. For offering.”
His golden-green eyes sparkled with humor, as if he knew why she’d changed her mind
and couldn’t help but mock her pain. After all, he and Colin were as thick as pirates
in the West Indies.
Gemma’s stomach turned uneasily, but she took his proffered arm and allowed him to
lead her into the gentlemen’s gaming den.
“There he is.” Lord Maddox lifted a hand to gesture toward Hawke, who seemed deep
in conversation with the gentlemen at his table. Not surprisingly, they were the same
fellows he had introduced her to earlier in the evening. Mr. Everett, Mr. Sumner,
and Mr. Percival laughed raucously at the point he had just made.
“I see him, thank you.”
“Then I shall excuse myself, my lady, to locate my party, by your leave.”
“Of course, my lord.”
She made her way closer to her brother, hoping to get his attention without having
to engage in pleasantries with the other gentlemen at the table. All she wanted was
to go home.
His table was near the corner of the room, located just behind a pillar. As Gemma
drew up behind him, pieces of the conversation from the table floated to her ears.
“That, gentlemen, is why I removed my sister from London for the winter.”
“You say your parents were against the match?”
“They were once I finished my description of the fellow. And, of course, his abysmal
rank of knight served only to support my cause.” The others laughed at his mocking
tone. “You know, of course, I’ve never liked Sir Wilde. I have no intention of letting
him worm his way into my sister’s affections.”
“She certainly deserves the best,” one of the gentlemen added. Gemma believed the
voice to be that of Mr. Everett. Though she could not see clearly from her place behind
the pillar.
“Right. And Wilde is nothing but a pretender. His reputation comes purely from the
company he keeps. None of it is of his own doing. And now, look at him. I was right
to keep them apart. He has deteriorated into the worst sort of creature.”
“How long did he continue in his suit?”
“Weeks. Months. Even after I ceased sending the missives on her behalf.”
“He is a persistent fellow,” Mr. Sumner said.
“As persistent as a rat after the cheese,” Hawke said with a disdainful laugh. “And
twice as repulsive.”
The rest of the gentleman laughed.
“Well, who can blame him? She is a tasty piece of cheese.” Mr. Percival raised his
glass. “To the cheese.”
“To the cheese,” the rest of them said in unison and raised their glasses in salute.
The sound of their mocking laughter sent a chill burning down Gemma’s spine. Colin.
Hawke was the reason he hated her. Some ancient grudge her brother held against Sir
Wilde was what had truly kept them apart. And Hawke had convinced their parents of
Colin’s unworthiness.
Indignation rose like bile in her throat, and she stepped from behind the pillar to
address her brother.
Instantly, Mr. Everett stood to his feet, and Mr. Percival choked on his brandy —served
the blackguard right, and Gemma hoped he’d never recover from it. A tasty piece of
cheese, indeed.
Hawke glanced up at her as though the conversation she had just overheard had never
happened.
“My lady,” he said with a sickeningly gallant grin, standing slowly.
“My lord, I beg your pardon. I have had my fill of dancing this evening. If it pleases
you, may we take our leave?” Her voice was level and in perfect control. A direct
contrast to the turmoil that raged within her mind and soul. Her lifetime of practicing
proper etiquette was her support now. She would not make a scene in front of the peerage
for the wide world.
“Of course, my dear.” He nodded and turned to his entourage, offering them a conspiratorial
wink and a slight bow. “Gentlemen.”
Mr. Everett bowed to Gemma. His smile was almost apologetic, but Gemma did not care
to determine the depth of it. After all, he had toasted the cheese along with the
rest of them.
Gemma curtsied and took her brother’s arm, though her mind was spinning with all the
ways she could injure him in the process.
Patience, Gemma,
she told herself. Soon enough they would be alone, and she would have her say.
****
Hawke led her back into the ballroom so they could say their farewells to the hosts.
She stood awkwardly to the side as he laughed and joked with Mr. Smythe. Had he any
idea how upset she was? Or how uncomfortable?
Gemma exhaled and crossed her arms, stealing a glance to her right, where the door
led outside. A few more feet and she would be rid of this awful, torturous night.
Wilde suddenly appeared across the room. He looked unsure on his feet as he stumbled
toward the door with a woman on one arm.
“Pity, for I would have liked to take my turn at taming that man tonight,” a feminine
voice said next to her. Gemma did not recognize the woman, but she was beautiful.
“Whatever do you mean?” Gemma asked, unable to tear her eyes away from Wilde as he
whispered something into his lady friend’s ear.
“The gossips have been absolutely dying with curiosity. Is he as heartbroken as everyone
claims? What happened to Sir Wilde last Season that turned him into such a delicious
rake? I would have liked to have my try at the man.” She giggled. “But it is of no
matter. I will simply be patient; after all, if he is as wild as everyone is saying,
he’ll be needing new companionship tomorrow evening.”
Gemma felt her face flush as she looked away from Wilde and directly at the woman.
“How do you mean to heal his broken heart? How does any woman successfully seduce
a rake?”
“My, you are innocent, aren’t you?” The woman threw her head back and laughed. “He
does not want to remember he has a heart. Men are vulnerable creatures; when they
offer a gift of love, and it is rejected, they are never the same. I aim to make him
forget he had a heart to begin with. And whatever woman was stupid enough to reject
him, well, I hope she is there to witness his behavior. After all, it is she who is
responsible for the man he has become.”
“The man he has become?” Gemma repeated as the feeling of dread descended into her
belly.
“Why, yes! At this rate, Sir Wilde will be one of the most delightful rakes this Season,
mark my words.” The lady sauntered off and approached Wilde. She leaned forward, whispered
something in his ear and waited. Wilde’s smile turned seductive as he nodded his head
once and then his eyes met Gemma’s.
With a wicked grin, he winked and walked off with not one, but both ladies.
Tears burned at the back of her throat as she watched the exchange, willing Wilde
to look back, to stop this ridiculous behavior. But he left.
“Are you ready?” Hawke said behind her. “It’s positively sweltering in this place.
Come along, dear.”
****
Once safely away from the prying eyes of the gossiping horde, Gemma regarded her brother,
who sat across from her in the carriage, speaking mindlessly of this lord and that
debutante.
She sat with her hands folded in her lap, as befitting a gently bred lady of the peerage.
With an almost imperceptible movement, she slipped her left hand from its place and
drew off her glove. A bare hand would intensify the sting, and it was her dearest
wish to leave a burning impression of her fury before he had a chance to realize what
had happened.
With her right hand she gestured out the window and said, “Isn’t that Sir Bryan?”
Hawke glanced out the window, leaning forward slightly to get a better view.
As he did so, she pulled her left arm high above her head and let loose a wild swing,
landing the full force of her strength squarely across his right cheek. Never had
she struck anyone in her life, let alone her brother, but the pain of it on her own
palm and the sound of Hawke’s cry was so satisfactory, she smiled wide in triumph.
Before her, Hawke clutched his face in agony and his eyes frantically searched hers.
“Gemma, what the h—”
“Truly?” Gemma interrupted his eruption. “Do not pretend, dearest brother, that you
are not deserving of ten times that!”
His shock at both her physical attack and her verbal outburst was obvious. She had
always been the sweet, proper lady with impeccable manners, no matter who was present.
The full measure of her anger surprised her as well, but she was past caring.
“You… you…” She couldn’t think of a word bad enough to capture his essence without
loosing a torrent of expressions that would make a pirate blush — and so she did.
Hawke’s face darkened into crimson. “Really, Gemma. Your language! Remember your station.”
“Remember my—” Gemma couldn’t believe his gall. Her control was long gone. She leveled
her finger in his face. “You are a marquess! Yet you sat amongst those men and referred
to me as a piece of…
a piece of cheese
! And you want me to remember
my
station?”
“Gemma,” his voice was soft, as though he hoped to placate her. “You misheard what
was spoken.”
“Did I?” She was yelling at the top of her voice. “Did I also mishear the words spoken
about you no longer sending my letters to Sir Wilde?” She lifted her hand as if to
slap him once more.
The anger surfaced in Hawke’s expression then, and he grabbed her hand and wrenched
it away from his face, tightening his grasp when she resisted.
“You shall remember yourself, sister. You shall conduct yourself as the daughter of
a duke, and you shall respect my authority regarding all decisions for your future.
Do you understand?”
He leaned forward, glowering dangerously into her eyes. He twisted her arm slightly
as if to emphasize his point.
Tears threatened to spill over, but Gemma held firm in her resolve not to let him
know he was hurting her.
“Do you understand?”
“I do not.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“What was that?”
“I do not. I do not understand you. I will not accept your authority over me for another
moment.”
His confidence faltered for a moment, and she tugged her wrist from his grip.
“All my life I have been careful to be proper at all times. The proper daughter, the
proper sister, the proper hostess, the proper lady. I’m done. And if you tell me I
must marry whom you choose, I am telling you now, I resolve to seduce the first unworthy
sod I meet. To the devil with the family name.”
A rake is never alone, yet always alone. Allow me to explain
.
A
rake must exude his individuality while still managing to be the most popular gentleman
about
T
own. At night, his bed must be warmed by a willing participant or participants, whatever
his
flavor. In the daytime, he must not rise too early, lest
he raise suspicion that he
has ambitions outside of whoring around, gambling, and drinking. He must always appear
as if he has just
had
a tumble with one of his m
any mistresses, and at all costs —
and this is
a point on which
I dare not waiver
—
h
e must always wear black.
—The
P
rivate
J
ournal of Viscount Maddox