Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(9)

Chapter Four


A rake is never alone, yet always alone. Allow me to explain. A rake must exude his individuality while still managing to be the most popular gentleman about Town. At night, his bed must be warmed by a willing participant or participants, whatever his flavor. In the daytime, he must not rise too early, lest he raise suspicion that he has ambitions outside of whoring around, gambling, and drinking. He must always appear as if he has just had a tumble with one of his many mistresses, and at all costs — and this is a point on which I dare not waiver — he must always wear black. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox



“Going to a funeral, Wilde?” Anthony filled his plate with food and went to sit at the large table.

“Yours. If I’m so lucky.” Colin glared and poured himself a cup of steaming coffee. The night previous had not been kind to him. After his run-in with Gemma in the hall, he had thought it a brilliant idea to try his hand at the tables and see how much whiskey he could consume before the pain in his chest went away.

The answer was more than the host had available.

And his blasted chest still hurt.

Along with his head and his hand. Though he had no idea how he managed to injure his hand. He had hoped that upon seeing Anthony the mystery would be solved, for the only man he had wanted to wound, other than himself, had been Anthony, his dearest friend.

“Oh, Wilde, good morning.” Lady Maddox strolled into the room and kissed her husband on the head.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

“Who died?” This she asked as she eyed Colin up and down, tilting her head this way and that.

“My question exactly,” Anthony interjected. “Though I daresay it is his mind that has been buried deep in the ground, never to return. I am sure his heart is down there somewhere, as well as his valet, considering he has refused to wear any color for the past four months.”

“Thank you,” Colin said through gritted teeth. “If my head did not feel like it had been trampled by a carriage, I’d have a witty response to your inane observation. As it stands, all I can manage at the moment is a curse. However, there is a lady present.”

Lady Maddox grinned and swatted Anthony, who at that moment did let out a curse as he threw his newspaper to the ground. “Are you truly this bent on destruction, then? You want the rakish lifestyle and everything that goes along with it? By the by, you’re dressing differently, leading women into darkened hallways—”

Lady Maddox cocked an eyebrow and regarded Colin. “Wilde, it sounds suspiciously like you have been reading my husband’s private journal. Tell me you aren’t following in Anthony’s ghastly footsteps.”

Anthony turned crimson.

Lady Maddox giggled. “Oh, yes. I’ve read it. Truly a work of art, darling. Ever think of having it published?”

“Please tell me you did not just admit to reading that piece of—”

“Fine literature,” Lady Maddox finished. “And to be precise, Cordelia and I happened upon it. Quite interesting. I had no idea it was possible for a woman to—”

“Stop.” Anthony held up his hand and looked helplessly around the room. “We are not discussing what is past. We are discussing Wilde’s current path of self-destruction! Look at him!” Anthony pointed. Lady Maddox offered Colin a sympathetic smile and turned back to her husband.

“He is drinking coffee, my dear. He seems fine.” She patted Anthony on the hand and sighed. “Besides, before we were married, every article of clothing in your possession was black or gray. Perhaps he is taking after your impeccable sense of style, hmm?”

Colin laughed at Anthony’s irritated expression. Couldn’t really argue that point, considering Colin was only mimicking Anthony’s own good taste. He leaned forward and drummed his fingers against the table.

“Fine.” Anthony exhaled. “But truly, I wrote those journals when I was but a lad of one-and-twenty. Rules have, er… changed.”

“Have they?” Colin and Lady Maddox asked in unison.

“Of course.” Anthony stared into his coffee.

“And how, my dear, would you know this?” Lady Maddox asked, crossing her arms.

“My dear, up until last year I was…”

“Whoring around,” Colin finished for him. “Yes, we know. Now, will you help me or not? I mean to make certain my name is on the lips of as many women as possible. After all, does not your journal discuss the importance of keeping several mistresses at once?” He left out the part about Gemma’s face last night and how her expression had finally pushed him to desperation. He’d hurt her just like she’d hurt him. Funnily enough, those brief few seconds when their eyes had met, he hadn’t felt a thing. Not a blasted thing. He was finally numb. He’d looked into her eyes and his heart actually seemed to stop beating. He’d finally gone too far. If turning into a rake kept his heart in the same condition as it had felt in those brief minutes, then he would do it and never look back. It hurt too blasted much to continue on in this way. To continue living a life without Gemma in it.

Anthony choked on his coffee. “Apologies, memory’s quite fuzzy on that one.”

“Indeed,” Lady Maddox added. “Shall I leave you to your plans then, gentlemen?”