The Lure of a Rake (The Heart of a Duke #9)(5)

A frisson of guilt unfurled inside for the sister who’d be so marked as an immoral creature, all because of Society’s opinion of her. “I am sorry,” she said softly and folded her hands on her lap. She studied the interlocked digits. With but four years separating them, Gillian had been her loyal friend; albeit a young one. She’d lain upon Genevieve’s coverlet and pleaded for tales of the balls and soirees she’d attended and the suitors who’d earned a dance.

And now, by her father’s account, Gillian had never known those perceived thrilling moments herself because of Genevieve’s scandal. That hungering to return to the obscurity of the countryside filled her and she launched her appeal. “I do not see how my being in London will serve to benefit Gillian. I can only serve as a reminder. Would it not be best if you allow me to return?” Please. Please let me go. Was there really much life for her in Kent, though? A voice needled at the back of her mind. Was that the future she dreamed of? One in which she was the detested, shameful child without any control of her future and fate?

Her father folded his arms at his chest and eyed her contemplatively. “We have tried purging your memory from Society. The whispers have only persisted because of your stay in the country. Speculation of a…” His cheeks turned a mottled red. “Child.”

“Ah, of course,” she said dryly, while inside she seethed with a gnawing fury. Her stay in the country? That was what they should call it? Not, the banishment forced upon her, but rather, a stay? She remained silent, wishing him to state his piece so she could be gone.

“No,” her father said at last. “We’ve tried hiding our dirty secret.” Which would be her. She was that dirty secret. “To no avail. The only thing we did not do…” She went still. Oh, good God, no. “Is face it head on.” No. No. The litany ran around her mind.

Genevieve gave her head a slow shake. “I do not understand,” she said with a calmness she did not feel. All the while praying that the long travel and fatigue muddled what he truly meant.

“You need to be reintroduced into Society.” That handful of words conjured a foreign beast removed from its natural habitat and reinserted into its proper home. Then, is that not how my own parents see me? “Society needs to see you are a proper lady now. Once Society’s fascination with you has died, then your sister can resume a normal life and find a suitable husband. It worked for the Moore chit after she was jilted and it will work for you.”

The least of import to that speech pertained to a young lady she did not know. For with the long-case ticking loudly, she stared unblinking at her father. That was his plan? Thrusting her back into the scornful world which had sharpened their claws on her once hopeful, whimsical self? She gave her head a shake. “No. That will not work.” For so many reasons. Too many to even enumerate. “Furthermore, who would marry me?” she blurted, interrupting him, just as he made to speak. No one. No one unless he was truly—

“A desperate gentleman,” her father supplied. “One who requires a wife.” With cool, methodical movements, he pulled open his desk drawer and withdrew a note from inside. He laid it on the table.

Even as she did not want to know what was contained on those pages, Genevieve craned her head and quickly skimmed the page.

Lord Tremaine?

She knew that name. Her mind muddled through. How did she know that name? Genevieve froze. Lord Tremaine, one of Father’s friends from his Oxford days. Widowed twice, with a bevy of daughters. She shook her head. Surely he was not suggesting…? Surely…?

“Tremaine’s wives never birthed him an heir.” The muscles of her stomach tightened reflexively. “He will be arriving in London within a fortnight to assess your suitability.”

“My suitability?” she choked out. As though she was a bloody broodmare.

He continued as though she’d not spoken in horrified shock. “He is not opposed to marrying a girl with a scandal, as long as she can be a proper wife and bear him an heir,” he said, tapping the page. “He’ll overlook your sins and restore this family to respectability.”

As the shock of his words abated, a healthy, seething rage built within her. “My sins?” She shook from the force of her fury. Layering her hands to the side of the chair, she gripped it to maintain calm. Yes, she had been a flirt. A shameful, wicked flirt. If she could go back and not be the coquette who’d seduced with her eyes, then she would have happiness, a family, and stability. But that had been the extent of her crime. She’d never been the whore the ton whispered of. Nor the liar her betrothed and his bastard of a brother had proven themselves to be.

“You are to conduct yourself with dignity and honor and proper decorum,” her father went on. He peeled his lip in a sneer and raked a hard stare over her, and she sank back under the force of the revulsion there.

As much as she despised herself for caring, how could a daughter not feel shame at such open loathing?

“You will wear colorless skirts.”

Did he truly believe she gave a jot about the fabric of her gown? “Would you have me don white or ivory?” she asked in a smoothly emotionless tone as she angled her chin up.

Either he failed to note or care about her mocking response, for he continued as though she’d not even spoken. “I’ll not have you batting your lashes at rakes and rogues. When you go out, you are to take your maid and a footman. When you attend ton functions, you are to sit primly on the sidelines with the matrons.” He ran through his perfunctory list with such precision her head spun. “You are not to attract any notice, whatsoever.”