Taming Wilde Read online

  Many a man have tried to follow in my footsteps, but how do you follow a legend? It is impossible, which is why every rake must set himself apart. I once knew a fellow who refused to wear a cravat. Women went mad. Another fellow would search the ballroom for one dance, and once he found someone desirable he would make a grand show of waltzing with her and leave the minute the dance was finished, with her on his arm! So, a fellow must ask himself, ‘What is it I am good at?’ Gentlemen, if you have to think too hard on this answer, then perhaps you should seek another goal. For a rake is good at everything and lacking in nothing. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox

  Colin couldn’t see straight. In fact, he was so angry that he walked directly out of the ballroom into the cool evening air.

  What the devil was she thinking? Seducing a rake! And the first man she encounters is that one? He bit down hard on his lower lip and crossed his arms. Where had the Gemma he fell in love with run off to? Granted, he liked her newfound confidence, a little too much if he was being honest with himself.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” a sultry voice said behind him. “I thought the balcony was empty.”

  “You and me both,” he answered and turned.

  Lady Priscilla gave him a saucy grin and winked. “I lied.”

  “Did you now?” Colin tried a rakish smile. After all, Lady Priscilla was quite famous amongst the gentlemen. Although she wasn’t truly a lady, it was what every man called her, for she was one of the highest-paid courtesans in the ton. Rumors had run rampant two weeks ago, after one of her latest conquests dumped her for a true lady.

  “What can I do for you?” Colin asked, clearing his throat and nearing the lady. Her perfume was so strong, he fought the urge to hold his breath and look away.

  She batted her eyelashes and drew closer. “Shall we discuss it over champagne?”

  “Of course.”

  With a ridiculously fake laugh, she threw her head back, exposing far too much flesh to the moonlight. “Wait for me right here.” With that she turned and went back through the door.

  “She loves chocolates,” came the unmistakable voice of Viscount Maddox on Colin’s right.

  “What the…?” He turned around and came face-to-face with Anthony. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?” Anthony grabbed Colin’s arm and pulled him away from the door. “I agreed to help you with your first seduction.”

  “This is not my first—”

  “Do you want my help or not?” Anthony demanded.

  “I do.” Colin sighed his resignation. Though he was certain this particular girl wouldn’t take much convincing. He examined his friend, who seemed to be sweating profusely. “I say, are you all right?”

  Anthony rolled his eyes. “Just thinking about my final resting place is all.” He sighed and straightened his shoulders. “Lady Priscilla is very sensitive. You must not offend her.”

  “Right.” Colin nodded.

  “Begin by comparing her to Lady Hawthorne. She adores her and has always aimed to be just like her in every aspect of life.”

  “Cordelia? Ambrose’s wife? Truly?” Colin wasn’t entirely convinced.

  Anthony scratched his head and looked away. “It is all truth. Also, and do not forget this lest you lose her before you even try to seduce the woman…” Anthony leaned in and whispered, “She loves poetry.”

  “Poetry?” Colin repeated. “But I am no poet! I hate poetry!”

  “Make it up.”

  “Do you know me at all? I cannot simply make something up on the spot. I’ll look like an idiot.”

  Anthony began to pace. “Allow me to help.” He cleared his throat and took a stance in front of Colin. “Your hair is like a cloud.”

  “A cloud?” Colin interrupted.

  “Have patience. I’m not finished,” Anthony ground out. “Your hair is a cloud, dripping with rain. Oh, if I were grass that I could drink up the water. You would soothe my soul and make me… smile.”

  “It does not even rhyme!” Colin shouted.

  “Poetry does not have to rhyme,” Anthony argued.

  “So you are a regular Byron now? Is it only a matter of time before I see you give a reading?”

  “Of course. I’ve been thinking a great deal about my future in… poetry.” Anthony coughed.

  Colin opened his mouth to speak, but Anthony jerked his head toward the door and disappeared into the shadows.

  “Ah, Lady Priscilla, a great pleasure.” Colin took the offered champagne and clinked his glass with hers.

  She gave a throaty laugh and sidled closer to him. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, Sir Wilde.” Closing the distance between them, she leaned up on her toes and rested against his chest.

  “As have I.” He took a soothing drink of the sparkling substance and set his face in his best smoldering rakish grin. “You remind me of Lady Hawthorne, so regal and beautiful.”

  “Lady Hawthorne?” Lady Priscilla repeated. Her face dropped into a frown and she rocked back on her heels. “Whyever would I remind you of that — that terrible woman! She is a nothing more than a… She stole Lord Hawthorne right out of my hands!” Lady Priscilla began to pace in front of him, then turned and poked Colin in the chest. “She stole everything I’d worked so hard to gain in that man! Eight months of fawning over him, and he drops me like a common, a common…”

  “Hoyden,” came a voice from beyond the balcony.

  Lady Priscilla’s head seemed to turn completely around and then finally face Colin again. Panicking, he did the only thing he could think of doing; he began reciting Anthony’s poem. “You remind me of clouds.” Cringing, he struggled to remember the rest of the poem.

  “Clouds?” Her voice wavered on the brink of insanity.

  “Yes, how they soak up the rain.” Did clouds soak up rain?

  “So now I am fat?”

  “No, no, no, no!” Colin laughed. Terrible time to suddenly find the woman amusing.

  Lady Priscilla’s eyebrows furrowed as she scowled and looked away.

  Colin cleared his throat and tried to salvage what was left of the poem. “It is just that your very face reminds me of…” What was the rest of the poem again?

  “An ostrich,” came a harsh whisper beneath the balcony. “Favorite animal.”

  “Ostrich!” Colin blurted.

  Her eyes widened and she looked as though she was considering the best way to murder him. This was a nightmare.

  “Oh, devil take it. What I am trying to say is, you are beautiful.”

  Softening, just slightly, Lady Priscilla batted her eyelashes and ran her fingers up and down Colin’s arms. “And you are so handsome and strong. Let us find a place where we can talk… privately.”

  “Chocolate, the chocolate,” Anthony mumbled beneath the balcony. Colin reached behind him and Anthony shoved a chocolate truffle into his hand. Must have stolen it from the dessert tables.

  Colin grinned. Chocolate could cover a multitude of sins. “But first, my lady, a gift. Close your eyes.”

  “I love surprises.” Her lids fluttered closed and a seductive smile curved her lips.

  “Open your mouth.”

  She purred. The woman actually purred as her lips parted. Colin placed just a bit of the truffle into her mouth and waited for it to work its magic.

  Lady Priscilla closed her mouth. “This is…” Horror washed over her features, and her eyes shot open. “Tell me that is not chocolate!”

  “Of course! Chocolate is a rare…” Colin glanced frantically around him and cursed. “Delicacy.”

  “It makes me ill!” Lady Priscilla’s lips began to swell. She leaned over the balcony and spit out the chocolate and cursed. With a final stomp of her foot she slapped Colin across the face and stormed away. Unfortunately, the balcony doors had just swung open, making it possible for the exchange to be witnessed by a few observant bystanders. The whispering began, and although Colin wanted the reputation of a rake, he
wasn’t about to face the gossip about what had just taken place on the balcony.

  Quickly, he ran down the stairs and hid underneath the balcony. He glared pointedly at Anthony, who was wiping what looked like the remnants of a chocolate mist from his face.

  “Chocolate? Poetry? Comparing her to Lady Hawthorne? I get the distinct feeling you are trying to sabotage me.”

  Anthony cursed and his face appeared to be the color of ash. “Sabotage? If you believe that, my friend, perhaps you should ask Ambrose for help. Or the infamous Sir Bryan! I am wounded to the heart, Wilde. To the soul!” He was protesting far too much, and the way he refused to meet Colin’s gaze was cause for some alarm. “Listen, Wilde, I am married now. It might be that I am out of…”

  “Intelligence,” Colin ground out. “As well as your common sense! You cannot simply whisper what I should say to the woman while I am trying to seduce her!”

  “I was going to say ‘practice.’” Anthony scowled at him. “And why shouldn’t I feed you your lines? I’m inclined to believe the trouble was in the delivery. It would have worked splendidly if you had done it right!”

  “You are wiping chocolate from your face. That is exactly how well it worked. And look at my face — the mark of your infallible advice. She slapped me.”

  “Yes. I am sorry about that.” But Anthony did not look the least bit sorry. “To be fair, I am going to Hell; therefore, I have lost any reason to do good deeds. Perhaps God is punishing me for my past?”

  “Punishing you? I’m the one who is suffering!” Colin shook his head. “No, my friend, he’s punishing me for sticking by you during your years of sin.”

  “No doubt,” Anthony agreed. “We will just have to try harder to make you desirable to the opposite sex.”

  “Are you saying I am not desirable?” Colin’s knees ached from crouching on the ground.

  Anthony shrugged. “You look too innocent.”

  “Me?” Colin looked around. “I look too innocent?”

  “You do not even have circles under your eyes. I’ve got it!” Anthony snapped his fingers. “Stay up all night. There is an establishment I used to frequent. I’ll let the proprietor know to expect you. We’ll have you looking like death in no time!”

  “Ah, music to my ears.”

  “Ha!” Anthony slapped his back and grinned. “This shall be fun!”

  Colin wasn’t so sure about that. Not after the way the evening had turned out. Although the private journal had encouraged seduction, he found he was too tired to think about anything save finding his bed and blocking out the memories of having Gemma in his arms for one dance.

  “Come along now. Let me show you how to live!” Anthony pointed toward the front of the house and laughed. Colin, however, cringed; especially considering the minute Anthony’s speech ended, feminine laughter was heard overhead. And where there was laughter, there was trouble.

  Chapter Eight

  Gentlemen, my wisdom has come at a cost. I have fought a duel over some beautiful woman, only to find that her husband is a crack shot. To prepare for any, er, unfortunate accidents to befall, I suggest a membership at Gentleman Jackson’s. You never know when a man may challenge you with his fists instead of a pistol. Also, it is always prudent to drink whiskey before one shoots his pistol; one never knows when a duel shall be given and a gentleman must always be prepared to hit his target even if whiskey clouds his vision. Practice makes perfect. Men, if you cannot shoot and you cannot fight, you have no business being a rake. To be honest, you have no business calling yourself a man but that is your business. Many wars have been fought over beautiful women, so tread carefully, my good men, and choose your battles wisely. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox

  When Miss Priscilla Standish entered the second time from the balcony, looking very upset, Bridget took Gemma by the arm and whispered to her, “I believe we should take some fresh air.”

  Gemma followed her swiftly around the room and through the open French doors onto the terrace. She glanced around and saw no one there. No one to have had dealings with Miss Standish.

  Bridget guided her to the rail and leaned over the edge slightly, seeming to be looking for something or someone. When she drew back, she winked at Gemma and pointed down silently. Her voice was louder than necessary.

  “Tell me, dear Gemma, who is it you’ve decided upon then? It’s been ages since we’ve spoken.”

  “I…” Gemma began softly, but Bridget frowned and nodded adamantly at her then gestured below them again. Of course! Wilde could hear them.

  She began again with exaggerated passion. “You know, of course, that my brother has been trying to pair me with one of his friends. A Mr. Percival in particular, but I cannot abide the man. And Hawke has been so unyielding in his treatment of me, I have decided to set my cap for someone he hates.”

  Bridget giggled. “Gemma, I never knew you to be so rebellious… I rather like it.” Her smile was genuine. Between the two of them, Bridget had always been much more adventurous, the one to step outside the normal boundaries of acceptable behavior in order to be herself. Gemma had always been confined in her role as a proper lady, though it hadn’t seemed restricting until recently. “So who is the fortunate gentleman?”

  “There are so many my brother despises that it seems I will have my choice of quite a wide range of rogues. What do you think of Willington?”

  From the ground below, something akin to a squirrel choking on a nut echoed up at them. Bridget smiled but spoke over the noise. “I don’t know. He rather looks like my Great Uncle Alfred. And that is not a good thing. Have you considered Riley?”

  “I suppose he would be acceptable. I’ve heard positively scandalous tales of what he does with his—”

  A fierce gurgling interrupted her point, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “That is to say, he has an interesting way of tying his cravat. Have you seen it?” she said after clearing her throat.

  “Hmmm… yes, I have seen that. So scandalous,” Bridget said. “I have heard some intriguing reports of the exploits of Lancaster’s heir. And he has always fit his breeches well, wouldn’t you say?”

  Gemma could feel the heat of embarrassment burn in her cheeks. The conversation truly bordered on indecency. If her mother were listening right now…

  Below them the hedge rustled violently, and Gemma was certain that the noise she heard then was what it must have sounded like immediately before the eruption of Vesuvius at the destruction of Pompeii.

  “Hawke does so despise that gentleman.” She had already crossed the line of propriety, but then, one did not eavesdrop on a lady’s conversation, even if that conversation was purely for the listener’s benefit.

  But the words that bellowed forth from the brush below were most certainly uncalled-for in any company.

  Gemma’s heart wedged in her throat when a dark form hoisted itself over the ledge of the balcony in an unbridled fury.

  ****

  “Lancaster’s heir! You cannot be serious! He has the face of a donkey and is half as intelligent!”

  “Ah, Sir Wilde, nice of you to appear out of nowhere,” Bridget said. Her mocking smirk took him somewhat by surprise. Had she been expecting him? It didn’t matter. Not when Gemma was in danger of making a grievous error.

  Nevertheless, he bowed his head in a contrite greeting. “Do pardon the interruption, Lady Maddox.” Then he turned to Gemma and nodded. “Lady Gemma.”

  She only stared at him expectantly and asked, “Did you have business with us, Sir Wilde?”

  He knew her choices no longer concerned him. He knew that she despised him and intended to marry a gentleman with a title. He knew they both moved toward different futures. But he would rather be drawn and quartered than let her become entangled with Oliver Quincy, the heir to the Duke of Lancaster. The man was an absolute menace.

  “You shall stay away from Lancaster’s heir or I will murder him in his sleep to effectively keep him f
rom… from…” Colin’s hand shook as he paced in front of Gemma. “From your ruin!”

  “So now you are my knight? Coming to my rescue?”

  Anthony climbed up the steps to the veranda and gave a sheepish wave in Bridget’s direction, then braced Colin’s shoulders. “He has had a rough go of it.”

  “What the devil do you have on your face, Anthony?” Bridget asked, peering at her husband.

  “Chocolate,” Colin grumbled. Too many distractions. If he could speak with Gemma alone, he was sure he could dissuade her from her current course. She didn’t want to be involved in scandal. She wanted to be properly wed. She had many times told him so. The very thought of anything else was pure madness. If only the others would leave, he could make her understand the folly of trying to seduce a dangerous rake. Colin could talk sense into the confused woman.

  A door clicked open behind them. Colin swore and prayed the ground would swallow him whole.

  “Chocolate? Late-night desserts with Anthony? My, my, Wilde. You do realize the point of a rakish lifestyle is to seduce women, do you not? All this time you are spending with Anthony doesn’t seem to fit, now, does it? By the by, was my brother the only willing participant to take you up on the offer of a late night… adventure?”

  Gemma pursed her lips together and turned away. Colin swore again and felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. There was no possibility of escaping this scene unscathed. Swallowing hard, he confessed. “Actually, I was speaking with Lady Priscilla. Out of nowhere, she began screaming at me. Though I only said what Anthony told me to say. I compared her to Lady Hawthorne, compared her to a cloud, and offered her chocolate.”

  Ambrose gasped, and then threw his head back and laughed. “Truly? Well then, you are an idiot. The woman despises Cordelia. She believes my wife seduced me. Imagine! Cordelia seducing anything but a potted plant is quite beyond me, but there it is. And poetry? Chocolate? There’s not a gentleman in all the ton who doesn’t know how Lady Priscilla feels about those things. I believe you have been the victim of some very poor advice, my friend.”