The Rake's Redemption

Chapter Five

H aving slept suitably late to compensate for not getting to bed until six in the morning, Charles sauntered into White’s Club in the early afternoon. He moved towards the bow window where Beau Brummell, Alvanley and others had once sat to watch any female brave enough to walk along St. James.

He nodded to several acquaintances and angled to where his brother sat near the window reading The Times. Charles sank into the overstuffed leather chair closest to George. His brother was tall and slim with golden brown hair and matching eyes. Their sister took after George.

Charles stretched out his long legs with a sigh of pleasure. ‘What are you doing away from your beautiful bride and bouncing baby Robert?’

Lord George Hawthorne looked up and smiled at his brother. ‘I was reading the paper, quietly minding my own business.’ His gaze shifted to his brother’s coat, and he rolled his eyes. ‘And what are you doing with a sweet pea in your lapel?’

Charles grinned. ‘Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.’

‘Just like old times, huh?’ George set down the paper he wasn’t going to read for awhile. ‘I left Rose and Robert in the company of Juliet. Adam is at Tattersall’s looking at horseflesh. They plan on touring the Continent, and he wants to take his own conveniences.’

‘Oh, Adam.’ Charles scowled as he thought of his disreputable brother-in-law.

‘Still on that note?’ George shook his head. ‘He’s reformed, and he makes her happy.’

Charles’s scowl lightened marginally. ‘True on both counts, but that doesn’t mean I have to like the situation.’

‘What about you and the Stockton chit? Is your behaviour any better?’

Charles bristled. ‘You are no one to be talking about the Stocktons and how we treat the women in that family.’

George paled but he held Charles’s gaze. ‘You are right. I did poorly by Miss Stockton. The only redeeming feature of that incident—which I tell myself—is that I did not love her and she didn’t love me. Ours was to be a marriage of convenience. I am now married for love and happier than I have ever been, and Miss Stockton has the chance to find a man who will value her like I could not have.’ He stared into space for a minute. ‘Love is a powerful emotion. I found just how much it could change me.’ He looked back at Charles. ‘I hope some day you have the experience.’

‘Yes, yes.’

Charles found himself unwilling to talk about Emma Stockton and her finding a suitable marriage partner. Something about the topic made his stomach twist. Nor did he want to talk about finding love. So far, he was not impressed with what love had made his siblings do.

‘As for the sweet pea in my lapel.’ He grinned again. ‘I am performing a test.’

One of George’s golden brows rose.

‘Yes, a test. To see how many sheep there are in the ton.’

‘Sheep in the ton? In other words, how many men will have a sweet pea in their lapel by this evening or tomorrow.’ George shook his head. ‘You are incorrigible.’

Charles made a mocking bow from his sitting position. ‘I try.’

Even as he bantered with George, raised voices caught Charles’s attention. Glancing in the direction of the commotion, he saw a group sitting by a window. One of the men was Bertram Stockton. All Charles’s former ire at his brother-in-law, the injustices done to Miss Emma Stockton and young Green several nights before, and other emotions he could no more describe than he could banish, surfaced.

‘What is that good-for-nothing doing here?’

George looked over his shoulder. ‘You mean Stockton?’

‘Who else?’

‘I imagine the same thing we are. Looking for company and entertainment on an otherwise boring afternoon.’

‘He shouldn’t even be in London.’

George’s eyebrow rose again. ‘And why is that?’

Charles gave him a scathing look. ‘Because the man is in debt—he’s deep in the River Tick and likely going deeper. He will make it impossible for Amy Stockton or Miss Stockton to make suitable marriages because of the family debt they will expect their prospective husbands to pay off.’

‘Ah, that explains your interest and irritation.’ George drawled the words as he put one hand up to cover the smile he couldn’t stop. ‘And what about your past? Aren’t you the pot calling the kettle black?’

Charles sat up straight. ‘My peccadilloes are in the past. And what I did only impacted on me. My losses made no difference to your future or Juliet’s. I hurt no one.’ A muscle in his jaw twitched. ‘I learned the hard way and don’t want to see anyone else in the position I was in several years ago.’

‘I am sorry for that.’

Charles knew George blamed himself for the plight Charles had got himself into. ‘Don’t be. I did it to myself and I am doing my best not to do it again. My business interests pay me well even though trade is not considered respectable by the ton. I do not gamble anymore and I stay within my means. It was a hard lesson to learn.’

‘I know. I didn’t know any other way to help you.’

‘There wasn’t.’

Still, if he let the memories take him, they were painful. He did his best to keep them at bay. Just as he stayed away from gambling dens, knowing how hard it was to resist temptation. The other night had been the first time in three years that he had entered a gaming establishment. But his club was different. More than gaming went on here.

‘I am merely out to make enough money to do the things that are important to me.’

‘And those things are…’

Charles waved a hand to indicate White’s. ‘Belonging here. Good horseflesh. My estate…’

‘And women.’ George’s voice held a hint of exasperation.

Charles’s eyes flashed. ‘You are certainly on your high horse today. I shouldn’t think what I do is any concern of yours.’

George smiled gently. ‘Everything someone in my family does is of concern to me. I care for you.’

‘I am not duelling and I am not breaking any laws.’ Charles felt as though he were in the witness box defending himself to a judge. ‘Nor am I going to mend my current ways.’ He sighed. ‘I have made the only major change I intend to.’

George nodded. ‘And I know it was hard for you. I admire your strength. But think how hard it was for you and maybe you will find a little compassion in your heart for Bertram Stockton.’

‘I didn’t lose my family’s fortune and force my sister to put herself on the Marriage Mart to save us from ruin.’

‘True. Even when you lost everything, I was able to cover your debts. Today you are more careful with money than I am even if you are still reckless with women.’ He paused to consider. ‘But then, women encourage you shamelessly.’

Tired of the subject and more than a little defensive, Charles stood. ‘I am going to go and see what is going on.’

‘It really isn’t any of your business,’ George said reasonably.

Charles looked down at him, his black brows a V of ire. ‘Someone must stop the man from gambling away what he doesn’t have.’

‘That someone isn’t you,’ George said pointedly. ‘And you don’t know if they are gaming.’

Charles stared at his brother, knowing George was right. His impulsiveness and tendency to fight for the underdog—or in this case, underlady—had nearly put him into a position that was untenable for him and for the Stockton ladies. It was not as though he was engaged to either one of them or owed them more than common courtesy and manners required. No matter that baiting Miss Emma Stockton seemed to occupy more of his thoughts than it should.

He sat back down with a thud, his usual gracefulness gone. ‘You are right.’ Charles beckoned for one of the waiters. ‘A bottle of port.’

‘A little early isn’t it?’

‘No.’

As though the waiter’s movement had started a chain reaction, Bertram Stockton broke off whatever he was saying to the man beside him and looked at Charles. Their eyes met. Charles looked away without acknowledging the other man, giving Stockton the cut direct. He was being unreasonable, but couldn’t help his anger over the burden Emma Stockton bore. She was an underdog.

The port arrived at that instant and Charles sniffed the cork, approved the wine and then accepted the glass poured by the waiter. He took a long swallow, wishing he could wash away the bad taste left in his mouth from Stockton’s presence, and knowing he couldn’t. So he watched the man who was to blame for Emma Stockton’s situation.

Charles finished his wine and poured another glass. He didn’t even like Emma Stockton. He merely enjoyed irritating her and even that was to stop. He had no wish to further compromise either her or her younger sister. Nor did he want to be responsible for another rift between the sisters.

Perhaps it was time to stop provoking Miss Stockton.

Bertram Stockton said something to the man he was with and turned and headed toward Charles. Charles’s eyes narrowed to slits as he watched Stockton approach. The man had nerve after receiving a direct cut.

‘Charles Hawthorne.’

Charles gazed up at the man who had a paler version of Emma Stockton’s red hair and hazel eyes instead of Miss Stockton’s striking grey ones. He was in no mood to be polite.

‘I don’t believe we have anything to discuss.’ Charles’s tone would have chilled every bottle of wine White’s had.

Stockton turned an unbecoming shade of red. ‘I am not here to discuss anything with you.’

‘Good,’ Charles drawled. ‘Go away.’

‘Gentlemen,’ George interjected, ‘it is time my brother and I left.’ He stood. ‘Good to see you, Stockton.’

Stockton turned his attention to the man who had all but jilted his oldest sister. ‘I can’t say the same, Hawthorne.’ He turned back to Charles. ‘As for you. Leave my sister alone.’

Charles stood. His height and lean physique gave him the advantage over the other man. ‘And what if I don’t?’ He insolently took another sip of port.

‘Then we will meet on the field of honour.’

Charles nearly spewed the wine at Stockton’s absurdity. ‘You jest. From what I hear, you can’t fence and you can’t fire a pistol from ten feet and hit the target, let alone fight with your fists. What field of honour do you propose we meet on?’

Every word had been meant to insult, and the mottled red on Stockton’s face gave Charles a modicum of satisfaction. When George put his hand on Charles’s shoulder and squeezed hard, Charles didn’t need the reminder that his behaviour was irrational, not to mention rude to the point of being inexcusable. He already knew that. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

On one level, Charles sensed the attention of every man within sight. Still, he focused on the man in front of him as time seemed to stand still while he waited for Stockton’s response.

Stockton was tall and thin, with a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He looked like a youth even though Charles knew him to be at least George’s age. His clothes were of the latest style. His Hessians gleamed in the watery sunlight coming through the nearby window. A quizzing glass hung from his waistcoat pocket and his gloves were pristine. His shirt points were high enough to make it impossible for him to turn his head. A dandy.

Stockton took one of those immaculate gloves from his hand, the gesture not as smooth as Charles knew the man would have liked. The fine kid-leather stuck as though Stockton’s palm sweated.

A tiny cruel smile formed on Charles’s perfect mouth. Anticipation tightened his gut. He refused to think about the emotion or wonder why he felt it. He just waited.

A quick swipe and Stockton’s white glove slapped Charles’s jaw. The impact made a sound like that of a shot, and though it wasn’t loud, Charles was sure every man in the room heard it.

‘That is for introducing my sisters to Harriette Wilson. The entire town is talking about them.’

Fury leached the colour from Charles’s face. Stockton was right, he shouldn’t have introduced the women to the courtesan and particularly not in Rotten Row. Still, a challenge was a challenge.

‘Pistols,’ Charles stated without hesitation.

As the one challenged, it was his right to choose the weapon. He would have preferred fists for the sheer pleasure of the physical exertion, but that was more ungentlemanly than even he was prepared to go. Nor was it considered a duel, and this was a duel.

‘Send your second ’round.’ Stockton’s voice was flat, his face so pale the freckles stood out like splotches. ‘Do not see my sister from this point on.’

Charles’s smile widened, showing white, predatory teeth in a slash. ‘I shall do as I please, when I please, Stockton. Best you learn that now.’

Stockton pivoted on the heel of his boot and strode off, not sparing a glance for anyone else. Charles wondered that the man left what appeared to be a game of chance, a pastime Stockton preferred before all others.

‘The fox is in with the hens now,’ George said dryly. ‘I’ve seen you do some harebrained things before, but this takes the wager. Whatever got into you?’

Charles shrugged and swallowed down the remainder of the port in one long gulp that made his Adam’s apple move above the perfect crease of his cravat. ‘The man irritates me. Always has.’

George frowned. ‘You don’t even know the man above a passing acquaintance.’

Charles looked sideways at his brother as he carefully set the empty glass on the table. ‘I know about the man. That is enough.’

George shook his head. ‘Don’t you mean, you know his sister?’

Charles glanced around, saw all the attention still on them and motioned with his hand. ‘White’s isn’t the place to discuss this.’

George moved to the door. ‘This wasn’t the place for any of this.’

They collected their beaver hats, canes and top coats from the servant and exited onto St. James Street. Charles set his hat at an angle and swung his ebony cane with its silver tip. Now that it was done, he felt a fierce gladness. There was no going back from a duel of honour.

‘It isn’t your place.’ George’s sober voice intruded on Charles’s thoughts. ‘Stockton had the right of it. You have been paying a too marked attention toward Amy Stockton. She’s barely out of the schoolroom. It isn’t like you to pursue someone of her innocence. Nor is it proper. And that is just for starters. I won’t mention the introduction which is indeed the latest crim con.’

Heat rose in Charles’s cheeks. ‘Was it right for you to pursue Rose when you were engaged to Miss Stockton?’

‘No.’

‘Then leave off, George. Stockton is a cad who has wagered his family fortune until there is nothing left. Emma Stockton became engaged to you in hopes you’d bail her family out of debt. When you put her in the untenable position of having to call off the engagement because of your far from respectable behaviour, you put paid to that plan. Now she is considered the spinster on the shelf and Miss Amy is the fatted calf set on the Marriage Mart as the sacrifice for her father and brother’s vices.’

George’s voice cut sarcastically through Charles’s tirade. ‘And you have appointed yourself seducer and knight in shining armour all in one package? You’re overdoing it.’

Some of the jauntiness left Charles’s walk. He knew George was right. What George had done had been wrong, but that didn’t make what Charles had just done right.

George continued. ‘Not to mention what this duel will do to Miss Amy and Miss Stockton’s reputations when it gets about. As you say, Miss Stockton is on the shelf, but Miss Amy had the opportunity to make an advantageous marriage.’

‘Had being the key word?’

Disgust at George’s honesty and his own stupidity made Charles as sarcastic as his brother. He had botched things up, but there was no going back. If he retracted his acceptance of the duel, he’d be branded a coward and his standing in the ton ruined. All the social pleasures he enjoyed would be denied him. His way of life would be over. He was not ready to give that up merely to keep from meeting Bertram Stockton at dawn.

They were halfway to George’s town house when the rain started. ‘Bloody nasty ending to a bloody nasty day,’ Charles groused.

George looked at his younger brother, who had never been known for his patience and often known for his impassioned impetuosity. ‘You can still back down.’

‘No. I can’t.’ Charles stared at the rain-slicked cobbles, feeling the water drip from the brim of his beaver hat. He slapped his thigh with the ebony cane and cursed his own stupidity. ‘It would ruin me.’

‘I see.’

Charles stopped and rounded on his brother. ‘No, you don’t. You have everything. I have to make my own way in the world. I am doing that through trade. Already I am on the fringes of acceptable society. If I were branded a coward, not even my male friends would acknowledge me. Bertram Stockton isn’t worth the sacrifice.’

George’s eyes widened and he stepped back. ‘I didn’t realise you felt that way. I can arrange a larger settlement for you.’

Charles sighed and ran a hand down his face, wiping away the water that dripped from the brim of his hat. ‘No. No. I don’t envy you the inheritance. Never have. But I never want to repeat my stay in the Fleet. And my business investments will ensure that.’ He paused. ‘If I back down, I will be a laughing stock. It is bad enough already being a criminal.’

His mouth twisted. He turned away and stepped forward, trying to ignore the fact that things were getting too complicated.

A carriage pulled up alongside them and one of the windows opened. Adam Glenfinning leaned out.

‘Care for a ride?’

George grinned. ‘You are in the nick of time. I can feel the wet sinking through my coat, and I know it has ruined my boots.’

Charles scowled at the man who had recently married his sister. ‘I’ll walk, thank you.’

Adam looked at him as though he wanted to say something very scathing. ‘Suit yourself, old man.’

George glanced at Charles. ‘I’ll walk with you then.’

‘No,’ Charles said. ‘Go with Adam. Just because I am deranged enough to stay in this downpour doesn’t mean you should.’

George studied his brother for a long moment. ‘I’ll see you at the house then.’

Charles nodded and waved them on, continuing to trudge through the wet. The last thing he should have done was to provoke Bertram Stockton into challenging him. He had honestly not thought the man had the stomach to do so. He had misjudged him and now he had to face the man and delope for he could not in good conscience shoot the man when he was right. And he had to consider what to do about the reputations of the two Stockton sisters. He was the worst thing that could have happened to them.

He groaned. This was complicated.

Inside the carriage, George sat opposite Adam and took off his wet beaver. ‘Ruined.’

‘I wasn’t in the nick of time?’ Adam said with a sardonic twist of very fine lips.

His brown eyes held a glint of amusement that went very well with the deep creases bracketing them. He was a large man with not an ounce of fat on him. Unlike his wife’s brothers, he was not a style setter, but his clothes were wellmade and well-fitted.

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