Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(14)

“I apologize for interrupting, my lord, but if I might steer the conversation back to my predicament,” Gemma said softly. The whole discussion was the height of impropriety, and she felt that she could sink into the floor from the weight of her shame.

Lord Maddox seemed to remember himself then and retreated a step, putting a respectable distance between him and his wife.

“Certainly, Lady Gemma. I do apologize.”

“I believe you were right, my dear,” Bridget said to him, a wry smile on her lips. “You are going straight to Perdition. Now, run along and do your penance. We will discuss your rakish employments later at length.” She offered him a saucy wink that made Gemma’s skin crawl with embarrassment.

Lord Maddox’s wide, mischievous smile as he bowed only deepened Gemma’s mortification. He planted a lingering kiss on his wife’s fingers.

Gemma coughed lightly. “Perhaps you would like to move into a private room?” she whispered, half to herself. Her cheeks burned when she realized Lord Maddox had heard her.

He looked to Bridget and cocked an eyebrow questioningly, as though seriously considering Gemma’s suggestion.

“No,” Bridget said, though it was hesitant and hardly the resounding answer Gemma was expecting. “Go. Find Sir Wilde. Spread your rakish message to those who need it most.”

“Just…” Gemma interjected once again before she could stop herself. “Don’t do it overly well.”

The viscount laughed. “My lady, I shall do my utmost worst.”





Chapter Seven


Many a man have tried to follow in my footsteps, but how do you follow a legend? It is impossible, which is why every rake must set himself apart. I once knew a fellow who refused to wear a cravat. Women went mad. Another fellow would search the ballroom for one dance, and once he found someone desirable he would make a grand show of waltzing with her and leave the minute the dance was finished, with her on his arm! So, a fellow must ask himself, ‘What is it I am good at?’ Gentlemen, if you have to think too hard on this answer, then perhaps you should seek another goal. For a rake is good at everything and lacking in nothing. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox



Colin couldn’t see straight. In fact, he was so angry that he walked directly out of the ballroom into the cool evening air.

What the devil was she thinking? Seducing a rake! And the first man she encounters is that one? He bit down hard on his lower lip and crossed his arms. Where had the Gemma he fell in love with run off to? Granted, he liked her newfound confidence, a little too much if he was being honest with himself.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a sultry voice said behind him. “I thought the balcony was empty.”

“You and me both,” he answered and turned.

Lady Priscilla gave him a saucy grin and winked. “I lied.”

“Did you now?” Colin tried a rakish smile. After all, Lady Priscilla was quite famous amongst the gentlemen. Although she wasn’t truly a lady, it was what every man called her, for she was one of the highest-paid courtesans in the ton. Rumors had run rampant two weeks ago, after one of her latest conquests dumped her for a true lady.



“What can I do for you?” Colin asked, clearing his throat and nearing the lady. Her perfume was so strong, he fought the urge to hold his breath and look away.

She batted her eyelashes and drew closer. “Shall we discuss it over champagne?”



“Of course.”



With a ridiculously fake laugh, she threw her head back, exposing far too much flesh to the moonlight. “Wait for me right here.” With that she turned and went back through the door.

“She loves chocolates,” came the unmistakable voice of Viscount Maddox on Colin’s right.

“What the…?” He turned around and came face-to-face with Anthony. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Anthony grabbed Colin’s arm and pulled him away from the door. “I agreed to help you with your first seduction.”

“This is not my first—”

“Do you want my help or not?” Anthony demanded.

“I do.” Colin sighed his resignation. Though he was certain this particular girl wouldn’t take much convincing. He examined his friend, who seemed to be sweating profusely. “I say, are you all right?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Just thinking about my final resting place is all.” He sighed and straightened his shoulders. “Lady Priscilla is very sensitive. You must not offend her.”

“Right.” Colin nodded.

“Begin by comparing her to Lady Hawthorne. She adores her and has always aimed to be just like her in every aspect of life.”

“Cordelia? Ambrose’s wife? Truly?” Colin wasn’t entirely convinced.

Anthony scratched his head and looked away. “It is all truth. Also, and do not forget this lest you lose her before you even try to seduce the woman…” Anthony leaned in and whispered, “She loves poetry.”

“Poetry?” Colin repeated. “But I am no poet! I hate poetry!”

“Make it up.”

“Do you know me at all? I cannot simply make something up on the spot. I’ll look like an idiot.”