Lord of the Rakes by Darcie Wilde Page B

find happiness by throwing yourself off a cliff, Caro.”
    “If that’s what you think I’m doing, why did you help me meet him?”
    “I’ve been wondering that myself.” Fi pressed the butter knife against the edge of her muffin and watched the pastry break. “The truth is, I almost ran after you last night, to try to change your mind. I know you’ve had a bad time of it, Caro, and it was such a relief to see you finally enjoy yourself.” Fi set the knife down. “I suppose I thought you’d have a flirtation in the garden and that would be that.”
    “Now you’re afraid you’ve assisted in my downfall.” Guilt circled behind Caroline’s words. Was it possible that in her recklessness she might hurt one of the few people she genuinely cared for? Gossip was sticky stuff, and it could spatter those who did no more than stand nearby.
    “It sounds so dramatic when you say it that way.” Fi dipped her bit of muffin into the coffee and nibbled.
    “It is dramatic, Fi.” Caroline spoke the words with more force than she intended. “But I promise, Fi, nothing happened that doesn’t happen in London houses every single day.”
Well, perhaps one or two things,
she added silently, thinking of the way Philip told her to touch him, the way he got her to laugh with him, and the way he drove her to madness with that light kiss against her palm. “But he’s offering me just what I need—an affair without strings or consequences.”
    “Did he actually say that?” inquired Fi, in a tone that meant “Did he dare say it?”
    “No, but, well, what else could one have with a man known as the Lord of the Rakes?”
    “There are always consequences when the heart is involved, Caro.”
    “Then isn’t it fortunate that my heart is not what’s involved.” Caroline smiled as she said this, but her quip did nothing to lighten her friend’s troubled expression. Fiona set her bit of muffin down and looked Caroline in the eye.
    “Caro, has it ever occurred to you that neither your father nor your mother had a realistic view of London life?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Your father saw London as a den of vice, and as far as he was concerned, women were helpless against its allure. Your mother saw town as some kind of incandescent fairyland she’d been cruelly ripped away from. It’s left you with the idea that life has to be all or nothing—severity or scandal.” Fi seized Caroline’s hand. “But that’s not the way it is. There are good people, in society and out of it, not just fops and flatterers. I’ve made friends here, kind, steady friends. I’m marrying a man who loves me and respects me. You know I enjoyed myself during my seasons, but I promise you, I didn’t have to pawn my future for that enjoyment.”
    “Fiona, how many times must I say it? I will not ever marry.”
    “I know that’s what you say. But if you’d just give yourself time, you’d see you do have a chance at true love . . .”
    Suspicion bubbled to the surface in Caroline’s thoughts. “Don’t tell me Harry’s said something?” Fiona had always held out fond, and not very secret, hopes that her brother Harold would work his way around to asking for Caroline’s hand.
    “No, Harry’s said nothing. I wish he had. But there were plenty of others asking for introductions at the ball last night, even after you left.”
    “Yes. It was quite clear last night that the matchmakers have already heard about my inheritance.” The words came out laced with far more bitterness than Caroline intended, and for a moment Fiona looked genuinely angry.
    “Do you honestly think I’m here to throw you to the fortune hunters?
Really,
Caroline.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry, Fi, I never should have said that. I know you wouldn’t ever wish me into a marriage with someone like Lewis Banbridge.” Having been kept away from London was supposed to have kept her innocent. Fiona had evidently forgotten how the darker aspects of society were all on