Chapter 1 #2
“Well,” Merevale began, “my life took a distinctly interesting turn when I was featured in the gossip columns.”
“Och, aye,” Kenneth cut in, “the Rake Review!” He grinned at Merevale, as if he hadn’t teased the man mercilessly at the time—before remembering that he was supposed to have just met him.
“I remember—they called ye Tipsy Trentham! That brazen Belle identified ye as a rake, and ultimately, that’s what led to yer marriage! ”
“Don’t listen to his nonsense, my lord.” Remmy flicked dismissive fingers toward Kenneth. “He’s just jealous he’s never been featured.”
“Ye’re right, I am!” Kenneth toasted his friend. “Ye ken how hard I work for that title? It would be nice to get some recognition—”
“For all your hard work, yes,” drawled Merevale, as Remmy chuckled. “Long hours?”
“He gets deep into it,” Remmy agreed mockingly.
Kenneth sipped his brandy placidly, then quipped, “What can I say? I like to be in the thick of things. Wouldnae do to go off half-cocked.”
“You are a blessing to the women of London,” Merevale deadpanned, his eyes sparkling with humor. “You thrust into their ranks, never dicking about.”
“In and out, in and out, all night long,” Remmy sighed. “Always coming…then going.”
Kenneth nodded solemnly. “Penis.”
Remmy hid his snort by gulping his drink.
“Sir Kenneth’s jealousy aside, Ives, the point stands.
” Merevale plastered on his preparing to educate the younger agents expression which Kenneth knew so well, and planted his forearms on the table.
“Being featured in an article like that ghastly Rake Review would have its benefits. I personally did not appreciate the notoriety, but I suppose someone in your position could use it to promote your theater.”
“And impress the ladies,” Kenneth smirked.
“And impress the ladies,” Merevale smoothly agreed. “Were that your goal—”
“It should always be yer goal.”
Remmy rolled his eyes at Kenneth’s unhelpful interruption. “I don’t need help when it comes to impressing ladies, but a bit of notoriety would be ideal. What would I have to do?”
The answer was immediate, was it not? “Become a rake. A famous rake. I could offer ye lessons, if ye wanted.”
Kenneth was ignored, to no surprise.
When Merevale grinned, it seemed calculating. His suggestion proved it. “A wager. You each are given a sufficiently rakish task, and whomever wins claims the title of rake.”
As Remmy exclaimed his approval, Kenneth sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowed as he considered Merevale. Why would the man make such a suggestion? Why would he be, even now, giving Kenneth a look, urging him to accept the wager?
Well, it wouldn’t be the first time Kenneth had jumped into the unknown, trusting another agent’s judgment. And if that’s what his superior wanted…
“A wager!” He slammed his palm down on the table and grinned enthusiastically.
“A fine idea. That will get ye noticed by the Brazen Belle and her Rake Review, Remmy! And if ye are, I promise to be pleased for ye and not mope about in despair because I still have no’ received the recognition I deserve! ”
Remmy opened his mouth but Merevale interrupted. “Since you consider yourself the wronged party, Fraser, you may choose Ives’ task.”
Hmmm. Kenneth sipped his brandy. “Something outrageous. Something public.” He watched Merevale from the corner of his eye, hoping for some hint at the direction he was supposed to go, but received nothing.
Perhaps Remmy’s task wasn’t the new Earl’s purpose.
So Kenneth shrugged. “Strip naked and go for a swim in the Serpentine. In the middle of The Fashionable Hour.”
Remmy’s gape turned into astonished laughter.
Even Merevale smiled approvingly. “That will most certainly get you notoriety, Mr. Ives. And for you, Fraser, since you pride yourself on your ability to seduce any female…” Merevale turned to Remmy. “What should his task be?”
Well, the Earl had all but stated it, hadn’t he? And Remmy took the hint. “Well, that’s easy. Kenneth has to seduce the least seducible of the Ton’s ladies. Seductible?”
“A true wallflower!” Merevale interrupted. “Excellent. I know just the one.”
Kenneth watched the Earl, trying to figure out the man’s angle. Why had he suggested such a wager? Why had he manipulated Kenneth’s focus in such a way? Why was he now brimming with enthusiasm for the seduction of one of those least interesting of ladies: a wallflower?
It was Remmy who prompted eagerly, “Who? Who?”
“Ye sound like an owl,” muttered Kenneth, but then he forced his expression into bland interest. “But aye, who is the meek flower of London Society I am to instruct in the art of pleasure?”
Merevale held his gaze for a long moment before nodding over his shoulder. “Miss Barbara Fokette.”
As one, Kenneth and Remmy twisted in their seats to stare through the door that opened into the ballroom, a sliver of the seats visible along the wall. Sitting alone, dressed in the blandest of a debutante’s pastels—was that gray or pink?—was a blonde woman.
Sitting was one way of describing what she was doing, but to call it that would mean passing up the opportunity to use descriptions such as waving a fan listlessly or studying the ceiling frescos with dull eyes or looking utterly bored and wishing she were anyplace else but here.
Och aye, a wallflower indeed.
Kenneth had little use for virgins, and even less for ladies who didn’t know what they liked.
Usually me.
But beside him, Remmy sucked in a breath. “Fokette? Isn’t she the Earl of Standish’s cousin?”
Merevale hummed. “His cousin’s daughter, actually.”
And suddenly, it all made sense.
Standish was hosting a ball despite the rumors swirling in certain circles about his treasonous activities.
Every good agent knew that the key to a successful infiltration was distraction; keep the mark looking elsewhere while you searched.
If Standish was close to his cousin’s family—was this the same cousin whose husband he’d been discussing that wet-jet amulet thingy with earlier?
—then he too would be affected by Miss Barbara’s seduction.
“And I need to seduce her completely?” Kenneth pressed, still studying the young lady. She was quite pretty, in a washed-out, bland sort of way. “Will ye take my word on it?”
Before Remmy could answer—because this had never been about the wager, never been about his parameters, had it?—Merevale cut in, his tone sharpening. “Whatever game we’re playing, Miss Fokette leaves it standing. I won’t see her crushed.” His gaze was hard. “Not even for your amusement.”
His message was clear; the purpose of this campaign was to distract Standish just enough to make investigating him easier, not to actually ruin the poor lass.
Of course, if Kenneth was busy charming Miss Fokette, then another agent would be sent to infiltrate the earl’s study…but that was fine by him. He was going to use his God-given talents of seduction to serve his country.
What more could a man wish for?
Slowly, Kenneth’s mouth curled into a grin. A charming one. A smile known and loved by the ladies of the Ton.
When he turned back to the table, Remmy groaned and rolled his eyes. “I’m going to lose, aren’t I?” he mumbled.
“Ye have yerself a wager.” Kenneth stood and straightened his jacket. “May the best rake win.”