night rather than nursing a head cold. A rake can never
be too careful. Many years ago a certain gentleman turned rake, forgot this little
rule , and was discovered drinking tea at a gambling hell. Tea! The next day he was laughed
out of the country. So you see my point. Liquor, my friends, l iquor. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox
“Are you sure this is wise?” Colin asked the following night at Beaumont’s dinner
party.
“But of course,” Anthony assured him. “After all, you are halfway there. To be a true
rake you must not be too polite, yet your smile must always be given freely to women.”
Colin smiled.
Anthony shuddered. “Not like that; a man only smiles that wide when he wants one thing,
and it isn’t a woman. No, it’s a good clout to the jaw. Now watch.”
Anthony demonstrated the perfect rakish smile. Colin followed his example.
“I think you’ve got it.” Anthony stepped back. “I have nothing left to teach you.
Go on, young friend, find a willing woman, enjoy your drink, and do try to appear
as if you are not still pining over Lady Gemma.”
“Done.” Colin smiled and left Anthony in search of a willing woman, one who would
not only spread rumors of his rakish charm, but kiss away the pain of Lady Gemma’s
rejection. He took a turn about the room and froze.
Gemma was leaning against the wall, pinned was more like it, by a lothario of the
first order, Sir Ainsworth, not the most dangerous of the group, but clearly not the
type of man Gemma should be consorting with.
Without thinking, Colin pushed his way through the crowds and approached Gemma. He
hated that he felt the need to rescue her, but clearly she was in over her head.
“I believe you promised me this dance,” Colin said, smoothly taking her arm within
his own.
“You remembered.” She winked. Devil take him! When had she ever winked? Or shown any
outward sign of emotion in a large group?
“That I did.” Colin chuckled. “Oh, apologies, Ainsworth, I did not see you there.
Must be that dreadful jacket, almost blends into the wall. Tell me, are you part of
the decorations for this evening?”
The man glared.
Colin grinned. “Well then, that answers that. A good evening to you.” His grip was
probably a bit tight for Gemma’s hand, but his irritation made it so. “What the devil
do you think you are doing? You cannot seduce that man! He is not even a rake!”
Was he yelling?
Gemma grinned and fell into step with him as they danced. “Odd, he seemed perfectly
rakish to me. What did you find lacking?”
Colin cursed and looked away. “Everything about him is disagreeable. The man cannot
even dress! He should fire his valet, and he was eyeing you as if you were his dessert.”
“Perhaps I wish to be dessert.”
Colin growled. “At the rate you’re going, I doubt you’ll make it through the dance
without me strangling you.”
“Is that so?” She tilted her head and exhaled, her breath so near his neck that chills
ran down his spine.
“Y-yes,” he said hoarsely, then forced his eyes away from hers. “You must quit this
foolishness about wanting to seduce a rake. It will not happen. You are too…”
Blast him. He was going to hurt her feelings again.
“Too what?” She purred.
When had her voice become so low? So feminine?
“Innocent,” he snapped. “It will never work.”
“Every woman begins that way.” She chewed her lower lip and looked straight into his
soul with her piercing blue eyes. “So you do not think my little ploy will work? I
lack the ability to seduce any type of rake?”
“Absolutely.” Though he doubted it the minute he said it. The woman could seduce a
priest if she so desired.
“Very well. I shall simply have to strive harder.” Her nails dug into the flesh of
his back as she drew closer to him. “After all, don’t they say that practice makes
perfect?”
His breathing became labored as he
Learning to Kill: Stories