London, 1811
"You are a scandal! It is a wonder you dare to show your
face here, after what you have done."
There was no mistaking the outrage in the high-pitched voice
of Dowager Lady Thornham. Nor was it possible to avoid it,
since her words echoed throughout the suddenly quiet
ballroom of Lady Bleasdale's soiree.
Georgiana Kirkwood sneaked a glance at the recipient of the
Dowager's outburst, and nearly laughed aloud.
The infamous Lord Rakehell was being publicly upbraided, yet
instead of his typical urbane appearance, he was the very
picture of an abashed schoolboy.
"I am sure you must be mistaken," he attempted.
"Do not try such nonsense with me, young man. You are
notorious for shocking the ton. I am forced to read about
your exploits in the newspapers." She rapped her fan against
the sleeve of his dark blue coat. "Each and every day. I
cannot abide such scandalous behavior."
He moved his arm out of range of the Dowager's fan, clasping
his hands behind his back and frowning as though deep in
thought. Georgiana could not halt her merriment this time,
though she covered her smile quickly, coughing into her
gloved hand.
If she were lucky, Lord Rakehell would not have noticed. . .
He tossed a wink her direction. Georgiana felt her cheeks
heat at being caught enjoying his predicament. He might not
know she was a permanent resident of Wallflower Row, but she
was well aware he was the impossibly attractive, wildly
adventurous, dashingly roguish Simon Blakely, Lord
Winbourne.
He had long been a favorite topic of the widows and
spinsters and bluestockings, providing them many hours of
entertainment the past several months. For some reason, this
evening the Dowager felt it necessary to take him to task
for it.
"Lady Thornham." His lips twitched but he continued in a
grave voice. "I can appreciate the amount of time you have
devoted to the eradication of scandalous behavior. But I
fervently believe you have mistaken me for another."
"That is impossible." The dowager's neck shook with her
barely-contained rage. "I may be ancient, but I am quite
capable of determining which rake is doing what these
days."" She glanced around, needing reinforcements.
Georgiana did her best to disappear into the shadows before
she could be dragged into the conversation, but to no avail.
"Miss Kirkwood! I have need of your advice."
"Of course," Georgiana answered, dreading the dowager's
glare if she were to refuse the summons. "I would be happy
to assist."
The dowager harrumphed, for no good reason other than that
is what she always did. "Allow me to introduce Miss
Georgiana Kirkwood."
Georgiana discovered that while Lord Rakehell was handsome
from a distance, he was even more remarkable up close, what
with his shiny chestnut hair in a careless style, and his
mischievously sparkling eyes trained on her. She decided
against a curtsy, for her knees were inexplicably wobbly at
that moment.
He lifted her fingers toward his lips, and she could do
nothing but watch, captivated. What might it be like to have
that sinful mouth against hers?
"Pleasure, Miss Kirkwood," he said in an intimate voice,
before depositing a brief kiss on her hand.
Pleasure. Yes, that is indeed what it would be, were they to
ever kiss. His touch practically promised it.
Georgiana shook her head at such foolishness, hoping her
wayward thoughts were not plastered across her features. She
could feel heat blossoming from her neckline to her
hairline. Yet for some reason she shivered at the same time.
She gave him a brief nod, hoping to escape before she could
make a complete fool of herself. "Lord—"
"They call him Lord Wastrel," the dowager said with a sniff,
"but he is actually Lord Weyson."
Georgiana bit back a smile. "Lady Thornham, you have indeed
confused this gentleman with another. This is—"
His eyebrow lifted as he waited for her to finish. Georgiana
would be forced to admit she knew of his exploits, and was
even able to distinguish them from those of his best friend,
Lord Wastrel.
The dowager frowned as she examined him through her
lorgnette. "No, I am confident this is Lord Wastrel. I
discuss his dalliances and peccadilloes every day when I
have tea with Lady Aldersley."
"We rakes and rogues do share several similar qualities," he
offered. "But I have been abroad the past fortnight, so I
cannot claim credit for my friend's scandals."
The dowager narrowed her eyes at the man, before turning to
Georgiana for confirmation.
"It is not difficult to see why you confused them." At the
dowager's deepening frown, Georgiana hastened to add, "I am
certain they discuss this knavish behavior at their club. It
is akin to a finishing school, for rogues."
Lord Rakehell coughed. "Quite. We have standards to which we
must adhere. Rakish rules and all that."
Georgiana fought to keep her smile at bay. "So it appears
Lord Wastrel is the culprit. Not—" She held her hand out
towards the rake in question.
"Lord Rakehell." He bowed, with more flourish than was
necessary. When he straightened, he caught Georgiana rolling
her eyes.
She did her best to ignore the broad grin he shot her
direction.
The Dowager harrumphed again, setting the ostrich feathers
in her cap to bouncing. "Well, mind your manners. And you
should see about the rascals with whom you associate." She
gave him another warning tap from her fan. "It is not
amusing to confound your elders in this fashion."
"I agree wholeheartedly." He brought the Dowager's hand to
his lips, lingering a bit too long, enough for her to
pretend being the object of his attention discomfited her.
He stepped back before he could be the recipient of her fan
once more.