The Rake (Boston Belles #4)(2)

On the outside, I was perfect.

On the inside, however, I was rotten to the bone.

At fourteen, I’d already slept with two of the servants’ daughters, managed to ride my father’s favorite horse to its untimely death, and flirted with cocaine and Special K (not the cereal).

Now, we were going foxhunting.

I quite hated foxhunting. And by quite, I meant a bloody lot. I detested it as a sport, a concept, and a hobby. I drew no pleasure from killing helpless animals.

Father said blood sport was a great English tradition, much like cheese rolling and Morris dancing. Personally, I thought some traditions did not, in fact, age as well as others. Burning heretics at the stake was one example, foxhunting another.

Noteworthy to distinguish foxhunting was—or shall I say is—illegal in the United Kingdom. But men of power, I’d come to learn, had a complex and oftentimes tempestuous relationship with the law. They enforced and determined it, yet disregarded it almost completely. My father and Byron Sr. enjoyed foxhunting all the more because it was forbidden to the lower classes. It gave the sport an added shine. An eternal reminder that they were born different. Better.

We were heading into the woods, passing the cobbled path to the grand iron-wrought gate of Whitehall Court Castle, my family’s estate in Kent. My stomach churned as I thought about what I was about to do. Kill innocent animals to mollify my father.

The soft tapping of Mary Janes clunked behind us, hitting the pebbles.

“Devvie, wait!”

The voice was breathless, needy.

I leaned back on Duchess, pushing my feet forward, pulling at the reins. The mare gaited back. Louisa appeared at my side, clutching something wrapped haphazardly. She was in her pink pajamas. Her teeth were covered in colorful, horrendous braces.

“I got you thomthing.” She slapped away pieces of the brown hair sticking to her forehead. Lou was two years my junior. I was at the unfortunate stage of adolescence where I found anything, including sharp objects and certain fruits, sexually appealing. But Lou was still a child. Loose-jointed and pocket-sized. Her eyes were big and inquisitive, drinking in the world in gulps. She was not exactly a looker, with her average features and boyish frame. And her braces gave her a speech impediment she was self-conscious about.

“Lou,” I drawled, quirking a brow. “Your mum’s going to have a fit if she finds you snuck out.”

“Don’t care.” She rose on her toes, handing me something wrapped in one of her sensible cardigan sweaters. I tossed her jumper, delighted to find my father’s engraved flask inside, heavy with bourbon.

“I know you dislike foxhunting, so I brought you thomthing to … how does Daddy say it? Thake the edge off.”

The others moved along, entering the thick, mossy woods bracketing Whitehall Court Castle, either unaware or disinterested in my absence.

“You little nutter.” I took a swig from the flask, feeling the sharp burn of the liquid rolling down my throat. “How’d you get your hands on this?”

Lou beamed with pride, cupping her mouth to cover all the metal. “I snuck into your papa’s study. No one ever notices me, so I can get away with loads of stuff!” The despondence in her voice made me sad for her. Lou dreamed of going to Australia and becoming a wildlife rescuer, surrounded by kangaroos and koalas. I hoped for her sake that she would. Wild animals, no matter how aggressive, were still superior to humans.

“I notice you.”

“Do you really?” Her eyes grew bigger, browner.

“Cross my heart.” I scratched behind Duchess’ ear. Females, I’d come to realize, were ridiculously easy to please. “You’ll never get rid of me.”

“I don’t want to be rid of you!” she said hotly. “I’ll do anything for you.”

“Oh, anything, now?” I chuckled. Lou and I had the relationship of an older brother and younger sister. She did things to try and win my affection, and I, in return, assured her she was nice and caring.

She nodded eagerly. “I’ll always have your back.”

“Right then.” I was ready to move along.

“Do you think you’ll ever tell your parents you’re vegetarian?” she blurted out. How did she know this?

“I noticed you shy away from meat and even fish when we dine.” She buried one of her Mary Janes in the pebbles, digging her toes in, looking down in embarrassment.

“No.” I shook my head, my tone cold. “There are some things my parents don’t need to know.”

And then, because we had nothing more to say, and maybe because I was afraid Papa would throw me in the dumbwaiter if he saw me loitering behind, I said, “Well, cheers for the drink.”

I raised the flask in salute, squeezed Duchess’ belly with my riding boots, and joined the others.

“Oh, look, if it isn’t Posh Spice.” Benedict, Lou’s middle brother, poked a finger to loosen the strap of his helmet. “What was the holdback?”

“Lou gave us a good luck charm, Baby Spice.” I tipped the flask in his direction. Unlike Louisa, who was a bit eager but overall agreeable, her brothers—for lack of better description—were complete and utter twats. Super-sized bullies who liked to pinch the maids on the arse and make an unnecessary mess just to watch others tidy after them.

“Bloody hell,” Byron snorted. “She’s pathetic.”