The Lure of a Rake by Christi Caldwell Page B

placed herself between that intimate part of her and the interloper.
    The door opened and Gillian stuck her head inside. “You did not go to Hyde Park.”
    Genevieve cocked her head.
    Her sister pushed the door open and took a tentative step forward. “You said you were to Hyde Park and you’ve not gone.”
    Her mind stalled. Yes, yes she had. Because ultimately, all she’d sought was escape. “I became distracted,” she admitted, fisting the fabric of her skirts.
    Sisters stood there, forever friends and, yet, strangers all at the same time. “I am to go to the museum with Honoria and Phoebe. I thought you might join us?”
    Except, Genevieve had been too long removed from the woman she’d been; easy to converse, eager for grand adventures alongside Gillian. “Go along without me,” she said. She’d become so accustomed to her solitary presence during the days, she no longer knew how to be the garrulous, effervescent young girl she’d been. “I am to Hyde Park.” Nor did she want to be that girl, ever again. “Thank you,” she added softly when Gillian made to leave.
    Her sister opened her mouth and then with a slight nod, left.
    When Gillian had gone, leaving Genevieve alone, she turned back to her collection of books. Gathering up the leather folio and her container of pastels, she started from the room.
    *
    RapRapRap
    The incessant knocking penetrated Cedric’s slumber. Through the thick haze of sleep, he forced his eyes open and turned to the window. The thick, gold brocade curtains blotted out all light, but a slight gap in the fabric revealed a crack of sunlight. With a low groan, he rolled onto his back and flung his arm across his eyes. By God, was his man, Avis, asking to be sacked? After ten years in his employ, the bugger surely knew Cedric did not wake before twelve o’clock.
    “My lord?”
    “Get the hell away,” he called to his valet and drifted between sleep and wake, drawing forth the dreams of his slumber—a barefoot lady and her kiss-swollen lips. His shaft stirred at the welcome remembrance and he burrowed deeper into the smooth satin sheets.
    RapRapRap
    Bloody hell. “You had better have a bloody good reason to—”
    “I have the information you requested, my lord.”
    Cedric lowered his arm to his side and stared up at the wicked mural painted above his bed. He furrowed his brow. “The information,” he mouthed trying to muddle through the fog of last night’s overindulgence in brandy and champagne, the haze of desire, and the godawful early hour.
    The servant cleared his throat. “You indicated I bring you the information about a certain—”
    With a curse, Cedric flung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. Naked, he stalked across the room and yanked the door open. His servant spilled into the room. He slammed the door behind them. “I said discreetly. I don’t need the whole of London knowing.” Following his exit from his father’s ball, Cedric had tasked his loyal servant with the charge of finding out where he might expect to see Lady Genevieve. It was not the first time he’d given Avis such an assignment. It was, however, of reasons different than all the other ones before it. Regardless, the last thing he needed were his servants bandying about gossip about the lady.
    When had he ever cared about that, though?
    “Uh, right. Yes, my lord.” The balding butler held out a folded sheet.
    “Nor did I believe you’d bring the information at this ungodly hour.” No sane person who valued the need and benefit of a good sleep would rise before the noon hour.
    “Forgive me, my lord. It seemed the kind of…er information you would care to be in possession of.”
    Cedric accepted the page, unfolded it, and skimmed. “Indeed,” he said and a slow grin turned his lips up. Yes. His servant’s inquiries of a certain Lady Genevieve proved just the manner of information a man of Cedric’s reputation would want in his hands. Immediately. Even if it was at this