The Rake's Redemption. Georgina Devon

them.

      Charles escorted the young minx into the cool night air. A dimple showed in her cheek and her brilliant blue eyes peeked up at him through thick blond lashes. He knew he should have refused to bring her out here without a chaperone, but Amy Stockton intrigued him. As experienced as he was, and he was very experienced, she always managed to amuse him with her hoydenish ways. Very often she crossed that fine boundary between acceptable and not, and she seemed to care nothing for the consequences.

      Then there was Emma Stockton. He found it very entertaining to watch Amy’s older sister sputter and futilely try to clip the wings of this chick.

      He settled Amy near a wrought iron bench close enough that the light from the ballroom fell onto the girl’s skirts. A damask-red rosebush climbed the stone balustrade behind her, scenting the warm air.

      ‘What can I do for you, Miss Amy, that is so secret we must come out here?’

      She gave him a smile nearly as roguish as the one he was famous for. ‘Well…you are a rake and you do flout conventions all the time.’

      He nodded, wondering where this was leading and beginning to think he was going to have to bow out of her proposed escapade—and he didn’t even know where her wiles were heading. Not even he would compromise a girl barely out of the schoolroom.

      ‘I am all those things, but that does not mean I am your pet monkey to do as you bid me.’ He kept his tone light to counterbalance the baldness of his words.

      She sat down and beckoned him to join her. He shook his head and propped one elegantly clad foot on the base of the balustrade. ‘I think not,’ he murmured.

      She pouted. ‘But you won’t be able to hear me if you insist on staying so far away.’

      ‘You amaze me with your audacity, Miss Amy. Don’t you know well-bred young ladies keep their distance from men of my reputation?’

      ‘Oh, pooh! As though I care about that. I am in London to enjoy myself.’

      ‘And to find a suitable husband.’

      ‘You would do very nicely.’

      He shook his head and wondered what he had got himself into. ‘I have no intentions of marrying anyone, let alone someone as young as you are.’

      ‘You are not being very gallant.’

      Her brows drew together into a ferocious frown that he was sure normally got her whatever she wanted. He had used that ploy himself when he was younger and it had always worked. It was time to burst her bubble before the two of them got into something he could not extricate himself from.

      ‘I am being blunt and honest.’

      ‘Then why do you always come to my beck and call?’

      He pondered that. ‘For the pleasure of doing as I please. You see, like you, I have been spoilt and am used to having my own way.’

      ‘Exactly.’ She gave him a triumphant smile. ‘That is why I know you are just the one to do this.’

      He raised one brow.

      ‘Oh, yes.’ She was so excited her breath came as though she were running. ‘There is a masquerade tonight. I want to go.’

      He stepped back from her. ‘Then go.’

      ‘Don’t be stupid. I need someone to take me.’

      ‘Ask your sister.’

      ‘Ask me what,’ Emma Stockton said.

      Her voice was so cold that Charles immediately decided to see how far he could provoke her. It was a pastime he found entertaining.

      He turned and watched her stride across the balcony until she stood barely a foot from them. Her auburn brows formed a tight V and her usually full, peach-tinted lips formed a thin line of anger and disapproval. He found himself delighted.

      It always amazed him that he reacted to her this way. She was not voluptuous or even particularly beautiful, but she was striking and for some reason he couldn’t understand—didn’t want to spend the time trying to understand—she always made him want to bait her.

      ‘Your delightful sister has plans for later this night. I told her that she should ask you.’ He kept his voice to a soft drawl, which he knew would irritate her. It always had in the past. Ennui was so difficult to assuage.

      Emma turned her attention on her sister. ‘Amy?’

      The younger Stockton scowled at her sister for all she was worth, while casting appealing looks at Charles. ‘Really, Em. It is nothing. Mr Hawthorne is making something big out of something that doesn’t exist.’

      Charles nearly shook his head in amazement. Instead he laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The girl was a minx and the person assigned to control her couldn’t. He nearly pitied Emma Stockton.

      ‘What is so amusing, Mr Hawthorne?’ Emma Stockton’s voice dripped acid. ‘I find this entire situation skirting the boundary of acceptability. But then, I suppose, you already know that and choose to do as you wish. It seems to be a trait in your family.’

      Her sarcastic words, perfectly aimed, sobered him. ‘If you had a sword, Miss Stockton, you would have scored a very solid hit.’

      ‘I know that.’

      ‘Oh, stop bickering you two,’ Amy’s light voice intruded. ‘You are ruining the evening. It is supposed to be about fun and excitement and the two of you make it seem awful.’

      Charles found he could not look away from Emma Stockton, no matter what the girl said. The woman seemed fit to explode. Colour mounted her high cheekbones and her grey eyes seemed lit from within. Suddenly, he had had enough of taunting her.

      He made a brief leg. ‘I will be about my business, ladies. I wish you a good evening—what is left of it.’

      He departed without a backward glance, glad to be away before Emma Stockton went up in flames. Even he, as selfish and hedonistic as he was and bent on entertaining himself during a dull Season in any way possible, didn’t want to be around for the fireworks he knew were to come.

      Emma felt Charles Hawthorne’s departure in spite of herself. It was as though the warmth had fled, leaving only her cold anger at him and her sister.

      ‘Amy, you know you should not be out here with a man of Charles Hawthorne’s ilk. Think of your reputation.’

      Amy defiantly met Emma’s gaze. ‘There is nothing wrong. The doors are open and—’ she half turned and swept her arm in an indication of the gardens below ‘—there are people walking on the paths. Nothing would have happened.’

      Emma wondered if she had ever been this headstrong and bent on achieving her own purpose no matter what the cost. She didn’t think so. From the first, she had realised someone needed to be responsible and help Mama. Her anger softened at the memory.

      ‘Amy,’ she said gently, ‘it is not a matter of anything happening. Exactly. It is a matter of propriety, and young girls don’t go outside alone with a man like Charles Hawthorne.’ Amy stood so they were eye to eye. ‘Well, we might have been brother-and sister-in-law. Surely that counts for something.’

      ‘Amy,’ Emma said reproachfully, ‘you know better than that. If I had married Lord Hawthorne, things would have been different. But I didn’t, so you can’t use that as an excuse. Society will forgive much in a man that it won’t forgive in a woman. Always remember that.’

      ‘Humph!’

      Amy made to flounce around her sister but Emma grabbed her sister’s arm and held tight. ‘You still haven’t told me what the two of you came out here to discuss.’

      Amy simultaneously tossed her head and tried to wriggle from Emma’s grasp. Emma let her go.

      ‘Nothing.’

      ‘Amy.’