Chapter Four
“What did you say to her?” Henley Rosewood, Viscount Allendale, twisted his lips as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees across from Hawthorne.
“Good afternoon to you as well.”
“Ah, yes, pleasantries aside. Whatever you did was enough to make her evaluate her decisions. That’s more than I’ve been able to do.” Henley waved his hand and leaned back, perfectly at ease. His boots—polished to a mirror sheen—caught the firelight like twin smug smiles.
Gabriel Ashford, Marquess of Hawthorne, was anything but at ease—and it was his own bloody study. “She is your sister.”
“Yes.” Henley nodded once.
Gabriel decided he needed to help his friend connect the dots. “And thus, you should know her better than I do.”
“That is a given. Yet, somehow, you made it past her stubbornness and did the impossible.”
“Which was?” Gabriel lifted a brow, feigning interest.
“You made her question her decision to reform a rake.”
“Ah. Good.”
“How?”
Gabriel frowned. “What is it with you and your sister and that particular question? She asked me the same thing several times last evening.”
“We’re an inquisitive sort.”
“Lucky me,” Gabriel replied dryly.
Henley only shrugged. “The question stands.”
“Ah, yes. How.” Gabriel sighed, beleaguered. “I simply told her that, as one of the very sort she’s attempting to reform, her efforts would be in vain, and she would end up the one reformed—or ruined.”
He watched Henley carefully. His words were frank, especially for a man not related by blood. He doubted Henley would be insulted, but one could never be certain.
“And?” Henley blinked.
“And?” Gabriel shuffled a few parchments on his desk before meeting his friend’s gaze. “That’s it.”
Henley tipped his head thoughtfully. “That’s … exactly what I told her.”
“Then perhaps you should have delivered it with more flair,” Gabriel drawled. “A lecture is just a lecture. A waltz, however, is a battlefield.”
Was this conversation ending? Gabriel certainly hoped so. Discussing a stubborn debutante was the last way he wanted to spend his time. There were far better delights awaiting him at his clubs, and if he could rid himself of Henley, he could even fit in a quick nap before the evening’s activities.
“Did you hear me?”
Gabriel shook his head, dispelling thoughts far too erotic for his own good. He tried not to glare at his friend. His one friend. Good Lord, that sounded pathetic.
“No. Repeat the question. I was considering my evening plans.”
“Ah, are you attending the Gatemoores’s rout as well?”
Gabriel’s eyes flicked to the pile of unopened invitations on his desk. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
Henley hesitated, his expression calculating as he leaned back and studied Gabriel. Unease stirred in Gabriel’s chest as he waited.
At last, impatience won out. “Yes? Is there a reason you’re evaluating me so seriously? I promise you, you’re looking far too deep into a man who prides himself on being rather shallow.”
Henley chuckled. “Sure.” But he pressed on. “With my elder brother gallivanting on the Continent, it falls to me to care for my sister. And while I am her favorite brother—”
“Not difficult, considering the competition,” Gabriel cut in.
Henley frowned slightly.
“I know Edwin as well as anyone and even consider him a friend, but don’t pretend you’re offended by the truth. Besides, you’re married to your sister’s best friend. That certainly helps.”
Henley paused. “Be that as it may—”
Gabriel gestured for him to continue.
“As you don’t have siblings, I don’t expect you to understand, but it’s difficult to balance the guardian’s role with that of elder brother.
So, I’d like to request your help. In those areas where she won’t listen to me, I give you leave to use your frank nature and offer her some much-needed honesty. ”
“No.” Gabriel stood and gestured to the door.
“I know it’s a strong request—”
“It’s bloody impossible. If you’d heard her words to me, you wouldn’t think I made her consider anything beyond homicide.”
Henley chuckled. “You’d be surprised how often I’ve thought the same.”
“I’m not related. I have no right.”
“Exactly. Which is why your words carry weight.”
“I don’t want to do this.”
“You don’t actually have to. I’m just saying…” Henley stood, palms raised in surrender. “If you waltz with her again, you have my permission to call her out on whatever scheme she’s plotting. I won’t be offended. I’d welcome it.”
Gabriel drew a slow breath. “You could have said that the first time.”
“Forgive me for lacking the charm of one of London’s most beloved rakes.”
Against his better judgment, Gabriel chuckled. “I think that’s what angered your sister most…” He paused, then decided to disclose what had likely been the turning point with Lady Peregrine.
“Yes?”
“Henley, your sister was furious because I charmed my way into her head so well she began to question if I was the rake to reform. Then I turned on her—showed her how shallow the charm could be, how easily discarded. I hope it frightened her. And that is what you’re asking me to use against her. Do you fully understand?”
Henley chuckled dryly, glancing down at his boot. “That makes a lot more sense. Yes. I understand. Use it if you must. But for the love of heaven and earth, don’t put her in a compromising position. You know my reputation as well as I know yours.”
Gabriel glanced at Henley’s hands, remembering the infamous right hook that had once ended a man’s life. The message was clear. “Understood. Now, if we’ve come to a conclusion, I must rest before this evening.”
“Of course.” Henley bowed and moved toward the door. “I’ll send word of where we’ll be this week, in case you wish to take on the ton.”
“I’ll wait with bated breath,” Gabriel retorted, earning a laugh as Henley departed.
Sinking back into his chair, Gabriel closed his eyes. If he was a devil of a rake, why did it feel as though he had just made a deal with the devil—one that looked remarkably like Henley Rosewood?
“Reform a rake,” he muttered to the empty room. “I’d sooner reform the weather.”