A Rake’s Guide to Seduction Read online

  Anthony let out his breath in a long sigh. He was a fool, and a maudlin one at that, to stand here and pine for a woman he hadn’t seen in four years, who might not even remember him. And it hadn’t even been love he felt. It had been affection, with a strong touch of lust. That was slim basis to renew the acquaintance.

  No, he certainly would not go to Kent.

  Chapter Six

  The next two weeks passed in a blur for Celia. Her mother announced, quite out of the blue, that she was having a house party at Ainsley Park. Hannah seconded this plan so promptly Celia suspected they had planned it together for her benefit, and then Marcus gave it his approval as well, confirming that suspicion. She knew they meant well, so she said nothing and let herself be swept up in the preparations. Although she had just arrived in London, there was still a great deal to be done before leaving again.

  Despite her promise not to overtire Celia, Rosalind couldn’t seem to help herself from ordering a complete new wardrobe for her. She must have paid Madame Lescaut a fortune, because every day, twice a day, large boxes arrived from the dressmaker. The bright colors looked odd and out of place to Celia, who had become accustomed to unvaried black in her wardrobe. With some trepidation she put away her mourning clothes. They had become a comfortable shield of sorts. Stepping out of them made her feel bare, but it was time for her to put the blacks away.

  She discovered her mother’s guest list for the house party as people began writing to her. Old friends, people she barely remembered, people she hadn’t heard from in years sent her notes, welcoming her back to town and expressing sympathy on Bertie’s death. Only Jane Percy’s genuinely lifted her spirits. Despite her vow to do more with her family, Celia still didn’t feel at ease, and often she caught her mother watching her with worried eyes. Only Molly looked at her as just a normal person, without watching her every move with anxiety. Celia spent as much time as she possibly could with Molly, as much to escape her mother’s frenetic planning as to simply be herself.

  They arrived at Ainsley Park to find it scrubbed and polished to a shine, prepared for the guests who began arriving the day after the family arrived. Louisa Witherspoon, now Lady Elton, and her husband arrived, followed closely by Jane and Mr. Percy. Lady Throckmorton, Celia’s godmother, arrived with her two eldest daughters, Kitty and Daphne, then Lord Snowden, whose property bordered the Exeter lands. Every time she turned around, it seemed more guests were arriving.

  Finally she could take it no longer. Telling herself her mother and Hannah would see to the guests, she slipped out of the house. As nice as it was to see some of her friends again, she felt a bit suffocated. There were only so many times one could answer the question, “How have you been, Celia darling?” How was she supposed to answer, she wondered: truthfully? Politely? Neither option really made her feel better.

  Far across the lawns, another carriage was approaching, rolling along the long gravel drive. Celia stopped. Oh, dear. More guests.

  On impulse she turned and hurried around the house. It was rude of her, but she wasn’t in the mood to greet people. Head down, she followed the well-worn path that led past the stables to the wood beyond. It had been her favorite escape as a child, and her heart lifted at the prospect of visiting it again.

  Lost in her thoughts, she almost ran into the man before she saw him. “Oh,” she exclaimed, stopping abruptly as the tall figure loomed in front of her.

  He stopped, too. “Lady Celia,” he said, then corrected himself as he bowed. “Lady Bertram.”

  For a moment she simply stared at him. Mr. Hamilton, whom she’d not seen in years, looked much the same, but she would have known him just from his voice. The way he said “Lady Celia” at first, in a half-startled, half-pleased way, just as she remembered him calling her for years. But then he said “Lady Bertram,” in the low, condoling tone she had also come to know too well, the tone that reminded her she was Bertie’s widow. “Mr. Hamilton,” she murmured at last, dipping a brief curtsy. It seemed strange to stand on ceremony with him, but she’d not seen him in four years. They were strangers now, really.

  Anthony had no chance to prepare himself. She simply appeared right in front of him, and he responded on instinct, calling her what he had always called her. But then she blinked, and he jolted back to himself. She was no longer Lady Celia, of course, and he was no longer even a slight acquaintance of hers.

  He knew he should look away from her, but he couldn’t. She had always been fair, but now she was as pale as a shadow. The blue eyes that always sparkled and danced were now somber. Even her shining golden curls had been tamed into a subdued, almost spinsterly knot. He had told himself there was nothing to mourn, that he couldn’t miss what he’d never had. But as she stood there on the path in front of him, her lips parted in surprise, he couldn’t move. He had thought he was prepared to see her and was caught off guard by how wrong he was.

  “I was just seeing to my horse,” he said when he realized the silence had gone on too long. “I’ve just bought her from your brother.”

  “Oh! Oh, of course.” Faint color rose into her cheeks and for a moment she looked flustered. “I was just”—avoiding any arriving guests, she thought—“going for a walk.” She seemed to know it was a poor answer, for she bit her lip. But instead of the sheepish smile he instinctively expected, she merely looked dismayed.

  “My valet will be arriving with the baggage,” he went on, trying to fill in the awkward moment and lift that shadow from her expression. “I sent him in the carriage. He told me it simply would not do to arrive with just a horse, so I must send a carriage. And if a carriage were to be sent, he would agree to ride in it, and possibly continue to serve as my valet, provided it was a well-sprung carriage and he was not jostled overmuch on the trip.”

  The corners of her mouth softened, but not enough to be called a smile. “Are you still being taken advantage of by your servants?”

  He heaved a sigh. “It would appear so. There must be a sign above my door: Herein dwells an easy mark.”

  The faint curve of her lips grew. “I find that difficult to believe. Impossible, even. I don’t think anyone could fool you, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “I am a much bigger fool than you’ve ever imagined,” he told her with absolute sincerity.

  The nascent smile faded. “I’m sure not.” She hesitated. “It is good to see you again.”

  “I am glad to see you again as well.” Best to get it over with at once. “I was very sorry to hear of your loss.”

  If anything, her face grew sadder. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  For a moment they just stood there in silence, looking at each other. Anthony finally felt obliged to say something, even though he would rather just look at her some more. “Your brother—” he began, just as she said, “I don’t want—”

  They both stopped at the same time, and Anthony held up his hands. “My apologies. You were saying?”

  “I don’t want to keep you,” she said. “You must wish to change, or rest.”

  “Yes, of course.” He didn’t, much, but he could see she wanted an escape. “A pleasure, my lady.”

  That seemed to lift her mood some. “And mine.” She bobbed a slight curtsy. “Until dinner, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “Until dinner,” he murmured, bowing. She continued along the path, and Anthony turned to watch her go. When she vanished around the corner of the stable, he went on his way.

  His valet, Franklin, had arrived with his baggage. Anthony met him in the house as the Exeter butler was directing the footmen where to take the trunk. Franklin bowed when he saw Anthony.

  “Welcome to Ainsley Park, sir.” The very proper Exeter butler bowed as well. “His Grace bids you welcome and invites you to retire to your room or explore the estate. He is detained at the moment, but should you require anything, ring for it at once.”

  “Thank you.” Anthony inclined his head; it never paid to be short with the servants. “I shall.” The butler bowed again and led him upstairs, showing him into a spacious, well-appointed bedchamber where his trunk already resided.

  Anthony walked around the room after the butler had silently bowed out the door. “No troubles on the journey?”

  “No, sir.” Franklin went to the trunk and opened it to unpack. Anthony glanced out the windows. His room overlooked the stables. He looked, but there was no sign of Celia along the path. Had she gone into the woods?

  “Shall I draw a bath, sir?” Franklin interrupted his thoughts.

  “No,” he murmured, peering into the woods. “I shall take a walk before dinner, I believe. Prepare a bath when I return.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  He washed the dust from his face and changed out of his riding clothes, then made his way back outside. He cast a lingering glance toward the stables, but there was no one on the path. It would be too obvious to pay another visit to his horse; Celia—Lady Bertram—would be at dinner. Resolutely he turned toward the lake. He was not going to hound her.

  He was more than halfway to the water when he heard his name. “Hamilton, by God, wait.” David Reece strode up beside him, out of breath and a bit disheveled. “You came,” he said, shaking Anthony’s hand heartily.

  Anthony smiled. “So I did.”

  “You’re among the last to arrive.” David fell in step beside him. “The house is full to the rafters.” Anthony didn’t say anything, especially not that he had been torn, up until the last moment, on whether he would actually attend. Even now he couldn’t say what had decided him to come. “Rosalind is in her element,” David went on. “I’m glad to see you, for I thought you would not come.”

  “You told me to come.” Anthony clasped his hands behind him, looking out across the water. “Commanded, really. Even threatened me if I did not.”

  David laughed. “And you’ve never been frightened of anything I said, even when you should have been.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember promises of drowning that went unfulfilled.”

  “My father would have had my head on a platter if I’d drowned someone in the lake outside his own home.” His friend glanced at him. “Not that you didn’t deserve drowning at times.” Anthony just smirked as they reached a large flat rock projecting over the water, where they used to swim as boys. “You won everything at cards,” David grumbled. “It really wasn’t right. Did no one ever teach you proper respect for your elders?”

  “You certainly didn’t,” Anthony replied. “And I hardly think seven extra years makes you much my elder.”

  David snorted. “I ought to throw you in right now, and no one would ever know you were here.”

  “Ah, but Lady Bertram met me on the path, and she would call your bluff.” Anthony spoke lightly, trying to adjust to speaking of her again. He had never called her Lady Bertram in his mind but that’s who she was, of course.

  David sobered at once. “You met her? Good. In the crush of arrivals, she looked positively miserable.”

  That was not what he had intended to discuss. “She seemed quiet,” he settled for saying.

  Celia’s brother shook his head. “And was she ever quiet? Do you see now what I meant? Hopefully my stepmother is right, and this will restore her spirits.” He clapped Anthony’s shoulder. “Shall we go back?”

  Anthony took a deep breath, gazing across the lake. “No, I shall walk around.”

  “What, all the way?” Anthony nodded. “As you wish. I’ll see you at dinner.” David turned around, and Anthony resumed his walk.

  Celia didn’t return to the house until it was time to dress for dinner. Her maid was frantic when she finally reached her room.

  “La, madame, we shall have to rush!” Clucking in despair, Agnes hurried around the room, setting things out. “We shan’t have time for ringlets tonight, although your hair—madame, you’ve got twigs in it!”

  Celia smiled, trying to hold off the creeping tension in her shoulders. All the peace from her walk vanished in an instant as she contemplated the evening ahead. Just the thought of all those guests, looking at her, wondering about her health, her marriage, her state of mind…“Just brush it out, Agnes. I don’t care for ringlets tonight.”

  “Well, very well, madame, if you say so.” Shaking her head, Agnes did as she said, brushing out Celia’s hair and pinning it up in a simple arrangement. “And the blue tonight?”

  She looked at the dresses Agnes had laid out. A rich blue with white satin trim, a golden brown one, and a pale green. The darker the better, she thought. “Yes.”

  By the time she went downstairs to the drawing room, most of the other guests were already there. Her mother swooped down on her as she lingered in the doorway. “There you are!” Rosalind pressed her cheek to Celia’s, then gave her a quick look. “You look lovely, dearest,” she said fondly. “Blue suits you much better than black.” Without waiting for a reply, she tucked Celia’s arm through hers and led her across the room. “I don’t think you’ve met everyone. Lord War-field, may I present my daughter, Lady Bertram?”

  They stopped in front of a tall, rather rough-featured man. He bowed as Rosalind completed the introduction. “A great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Bertram,” he said in a deep voice with a hint of Scot.

  “And his cousin,” Rosalind went on, “Mr. Edward Childress.”

  Mr. Childress bowed. He was a very handsome man, with fine features and dark hair. “How do you do, Lady Bertram?”

  Celia murmured a reply. Oh, dear. How silly of her not to have realized earlier why Mr. Childress was here. He was not a friend of hers, nor even a friend of anyone in the family. She vaguely remembered her mother telling her he was quite the society darling, but Celia hadn’t paid much attention. Now she had no choice. Mr. Childress could not have been more obviously meant for her escort if he’d worn a sign around his neck. She would have to speak to her mother about this.

  But it only grew worse. There were more unmarried gentlemen, five in total, six if she included Lord Warfield, for all that he was surely twenty years older than she. Even the presence of their neighbor, Lord Snowden, began to look suspicious. All the gentlemen seemed perfectly polite and charming, but Celia was not looking for another husband. The people she genuinely wished to see, Jane and Louisa, were kept waiting as Rosalind led her around like a prize sow to meet every unmarried man in the room.

  “Lady Bertram!” cried Jane’s voice beside her as her mother talked with the last man, Lord Marbury. “It is so good to see you again.” She threw her arms around Celia and embraced her. “Do come sit with me so we can reacquaint ourselves. May I steal her away, Your Grace?” She smiled very sweetly at Rosalind, who had no choice but to smile back and nod.

  “Thank you,” Celia breathed as they walked away.

  “You looked like you were going to the gallows,” Jane returned. “I can’t think that would appeal to any man.”

  “I don’t mean to appeal to a man.” Celia sighed as they seated themselves on a small sofa. “My mother means well.”

  “But she’s a mother. She can’t help herself.” Jane smiled sympathetically. “And I can’t help but thank her for inviting us all. I declare, Ainsley Park is the finest estate I’ve ever seen. I should be very happy to spend a month here, no matter what the reason, but it shall be so much nicer that you are here.” She flipped open her fan and leaned close. “There is so much gossip to tell you, I don’t know where to begin!”

  “Tell me about you,” Celia said instead. “Where is Mr. Percy?” He wasn’t in the room.

  Jane made a face. “In the stables, no doubt. Percy thinks of nothing but horse racing at the moment. I’m sure he only came to Ainsley Park because Lord David is here.”

  “Oh,” Celia murmured. Mention of the stables made her think of Mr. Hamilton. He had arrived several hours ago, but he was not in the drawing room. Was he coming to dinner?

  As if on cue, a murmur went around the room, and Celia looked up to see him in the doorway, along with David and Mr. Percy. Celia was struck again by how different he appeared. As a younger man he had had an air about him that positively drew people to him; more charming than anyone that wicked ought to be, as one gossip had put it. Celia herself remembered how open he was, how he managed to make her feel as though she could say anything to him and he wouldn’t mock her or think her a simple child. Even as he had become more scandalous, people still seemed unable to ignore him.

  Now he appeared more mysterious, more remote, as if he were holding himself apart from the rest. He was just as handsome as ever, but there was something indefinably different—and distant—about him now. He might have been alone in the room, instead of the focus of so many eyes and so much attention. He wore a faint, cynical smile she didn’t remember as he strolled across the room. He looked colder, she thought; just like she felt.

  “Good heavens, he looks as wicked as his reputation,” said Jane behind her fan. Celia tore her eyes off Anthony, who had joined Lord Warfield and some other gentlemen.

  Jane, though, did not appear to notice. She was watching him with a naked interest that surprised Celia. She glanced again at Mr. Hamilton. Jane had been terrified of him four years ago, and now she looked as though she would eat him.

  “Jane, you’re staring,” she said under her breath.

  “Every woman in the room is,” replied Jane, still staring. “I can hardly believe he’s here, in truth.”

  Celia frowned a little. “David invited him, I believe.” She had overheard bits of conversation between her mother and Hannah. Her mother was not overly pleased Mr. Hamilton was here.

  “Well.” Jane gave her a sly glance. “My thanks to Lord David.”

  For some reason that didn’t sit well with Celia. She was still frowning, just a little, when they went in to dinner. Her mother had paired her with the earl of Marbury, a nice enough man but rather quiet. In fact, that could be said for nearly everyone at Celia’s end of the table. Celia was next to Lord Marbury, with Mr. Picton-Lewis on her other side. Lady Hillenby, the former Miss Mary Greene, was across from her, along with Mr. Childress, Lord Snowden, and Lady Throckmorton. Everyone was nice and very polite, but even with Hannah’s valiant efforts, the conversation lagged. In contrast, the other end of the table, where Jane and Louisa sat, was quite boisterous at times, with much laughing and talking. David and Mr. Percy seemed to be the chief bon vivants, Celia thought, stealing a glance down the table from time to time. She felt so odd, wanting to know what was so interesting and entertaining at the other end of the table, and yet terribly certain it wouldn’t seem half so interesting and entertaining to her if she were in the midst of it.

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