Page 54 of One Night with a Rake

Now if she chose ruin, that would be another matter entirely. What man wouldn’t help a lady into disaster if she was set on it?

A gentleman, his conscience answered.

Good thing there is none here, the devil on his other shoulder quipped.

He rose from bed and wandered over to the window to look down on the marchioness’s garden. The clumps of bushes and statuary were awash in shades of gray and ghostly white. The silent fountain was silver-edged where moonlight danced on the cold granite.

What’s the worst that could happen?

If Georgette did come to him and they were discovered together, they’d be forced to marry in haste.

Nate decided that might not be so bad. Of course, her parents would be furious with him till the Last Trump sounded for destroying their royal hopes. It would upset Georgette, but that animosity might be tempered once they were presented with grandchildren.

His family would likely cut him off if there was a scandal. He wouldn’t blame them. They’d have to in order to protect Caro’s interests. Besides, he hadn’t relied on his allowance for years, letting the quarterly stipend draw interest at the Bank of London. There was enough there to see that he and Georgette had a comfortable, if not fashionable, start.

There’d be no dowry, for certain. But that didn’t trouble him. He’d managed to keep body and soul together and do it in style through occasional evenings at cards. He couldn’t even rightly call it gambling. The fools at White’s were easier to read than the Times.

Of course, there’d be little left after all the philanthropy Georgette was so keen on. Perhaps she’d learn to moderate her giving nature.

And pigs will learn to fly.

He owned a little property in Kent with a storybook-sized cottage. It supported a thriving dairy herd, which was husbanded by a dependable fellow and his good wife who lived in the even smaller caretakers’ cottage. The couple kept bees and made their own cheese and sent scrupulously honest accounts to him each year.

Would Georgette enjoy rusticating in the country?

The idea held real appeal for him. He was tired of London society. Tired of politics. And unspeakably weary of whispers and jabs about his time in the military and the disaster of Maubeuge. Even if Alcock did come through with Nate’s promised exoneration, it wouldn’t change the fact that he and his friends had led their men into a stunning defeat. He was certain they’d been set up to fail, but even so, it didn’t change the failure. His men were still dead.

He shoved the French battle from his mind. To do otherwise was the path to madness. He turned his thoughts back to Georgette instead.

Surprisingly enough, even though he’d expected to live out his days in confirmed bachelorhood, the idea of marrying her did not curdle his gullet.

In fact, he was warming to it by the minute.

So if she came to him by night—which was such a remote possibility it was laughable, really—he couldn’t see much argument against taking her maidenhead in a joyous rut to end all rutting. No, it would definitely not be the worst thing that could happen.

Having her discover that he came to Yorkingham House with the goal of stealing her virtue in the first place won that dubious prize. That would be the worst.

That’s why when the door creaked behind him and the light scent of violets drifted under his nostrils, he was almost afraid to turn around.

She might read deceit on his features.

She cleared her throat and he was forced to admit he wasn’t imagining that she was there.

“Though you were keen on inviting me here, I confess I’m underwhelmed by my welcome,” she whispered.

She needn’t have bothered. No one else would hear her. Guests at Yorkingham House were accommodated in chambers located in a different wing and on a floor lower than the rooms used by the family. He turned to look at her.

Moonlight made it seem as if she stood in a pool of liquid silver. Her hair was unbound, her wrapper loosely cinched at her waist. Normally he would have let his gaze linger over her curves, but the expression on her face arrested him.

Her lips were softly parted, her eyes enormous. Gone was the staunch crusader for virtue. In its place was simply a woman, her vulnerability bare, her need for him plain.

Nathaniel walked toward her and reached for her hand. He ran his thumb over her knuckles and then traced along each of her fingers. Her skin was soft, the hand of a true lady.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said.

“I didn’t think so either.”

He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss between her second and third knuckle. “It will be all right. I’ll make sure of it.”