“The estimable Mr. Harper is quite well-informed,” he answered obliquely.
“Tell me the about the other fatal ones.”
His brows rose. “What a bloodthirsty wench you are.”
“Not really.” Alys colored. “But I am curious. Though men make such a commotion about honor, I've never quite understood what is worth killing for.”
He made a face. “I did say I would answer direct questions. Once I killed a Captain Sharp fond of fleecing green boys from the country. Everyone agreed he was a disgrace, but no one did anything. A lad I knew slightly lost his fortune to the man, and shot himself the next morning. So I did something.”
“What about the duel in Paris last year?”
“The French had trouble accepting defeat, even after Waterloo. Some retaliated by forcing quarrels on Allied officers. They would then choose to fight with swords, with which most French officers are extremely skilled. Several Allied officers were killed.” He gave a bored shrug. “I didn't like that.”
“I have the feeling you are very good with a sword,” Alys murmured.
“Tolerably so,” he agreed, volunteering no more.
“Were your other duels also mercy missions?”
He sighed. “Don't think me heroic. On several occasions I felt impelled to administer rude justice, but most of my duels were the result of too much drink, too much temper, or quarrels forced on me which I could not easily avoid. When one has developed a reputation, a certain kind of man feels compelled to challenge it.”
“What of the other time you killed someone in a duel? Was that another occasion where you acted as justice?”
For the first time Reggie shifted restlessly. “Bacchus was the deity in that case. I never meant to kill the fellow. It was just a stupid quarrel over a woman, but ... I'd had far too much to drink. My aim was off.” His voice was very flat.
“The other deaths you can live with easily, but not that one,” she said softly
“Exactly so.” He gave her a satirical smile. “Are you satisfied in your pursuit of knowledge about rakes?”
“Not in the least.” Alys widened her eyes ingenuously. “Surely duels are only a small part of being a rake. On another occasion you explained about gaming, but there must be a multitude of other vices to explore.”
His face eased. “There are, but to be honest, I haven't tried every single one.”
“No?” she said in disappointment. “How about orgies? Have you ever participated in one?”
Caught in the middle of a swallow of brandy, he choked and began coughing. In a sputter of amusement, he asked, “What do you know about orgies?”
“Very little,” she admitted. “I was hoping that you would explain them to me.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “You may be unshockable, but I find that I'm not. Explaining what might be called an orgy would bring a blush to my manly cheek.”
She shook her head sorrowfully. “And here I thought the first requirement for aspiring rakes is an utter lack of embarrassment.”
He gave a wry smile. “No, the first requirement is to not give a damn about what other people think.”
“I expect that you were born that way.”
His amusement vanished as quickly as it had come. “Not born that way, but I learned it early.”
Wanting to erase his dark expression, she asked, “What are some of the other requirements for being a rake?”
He gave the matter serious consideration. “The one thing that is utterly indispensable is overindulgence in the fair sex.”
“Discreetly put,” she said with approval. “Exactly how many women must one indulge with in order for it to become
over
indulgence?”
“Ten,” he said promptly.
She burst out laughing, thinking that this was the most extraordinary conversation she ever had. Her behavior was every bit as outlandish as his. “That's it? Slake your wicked lust with ten different women, and you are automatically a rake?”
“Ten is the minimum requirement, but more is better,” he allowed.
“How many have you ... ?” Alys's voice trailed off as she realized that this was a question she did not want answered.
“Once again, I didn't keep count.” He sighed, his face suddenly weary. “Too many. Too damned many.”
Reggie stood and went to reshelve his book, his movements betraying him as his speech had not. He still had the grace of the born athlete, but there was a precise, slightly exaggerated quality to his actions, as if moving normally required conscious effort.
Alys disliked seeing him like this, being less than he should be. Yet if he were not drunk, they would not be having this remarkable conversation. Not wanting to analyze more deeply, she asked, “What were you reading?”
He slid the book into its slot, part of a matched set of volumes bound in blue leather. “The
Odyssey
.” He ran his long fingers lightly over the gold-tooled titles. “My father taught me to read Greek in this room.”
“Was he a scholar?”
“No, but like many men of his education and generation, he loved the classics. He spent over a year in Italy and Greece on his Grand Tour.” Reggie turned and propped his broad shoulders against the oak bookshelves. “He was a good teacher.”
She had a sudden poignant image of the father and son bending over the old volumes as sunlight slanted through the library windows, the man reminiscing of his travels, the boy listening eagerly, wanting to learn and to please his sire. She herself had learned mathematics and accounts that way. Did he miss his father as much as she missed hers? His father had died. She had lost hers to anger and implacable pride, a combination as final as death.
Throat tight, she said, “I'm not surprised that you enjoy the
Odyssey
. I rather fancy you as Odysseus.”
He smiled wryly. “The roguish hero who spent twenty years getting into trouble while he tried to find his way home again? Perhaps.”
“Exactly. I always thought the fellow sounded rather rakish. Just look at that business with Circe.” She regarded him with affection. “Though it took you longer than twenty years to find your way home.”
He folded his arms across his chest, saying dryly, “Odysseus had the incentive of a faithful Penelope waiting.”
“Well, he wasn't eight years old when he left for Troy,” she said reasonably. “You may have been precocious, but not that precocious.”
When he chuckled, she decided to probe further. “Among all those women you've overindulged with, surely there must have been a Penelope who wanted to wait for you?”
His laughter became sardonic. “Good God, Allie, while I have known many women, I doubt that any were fool enough to want to marry me. Females are practical creatures. Even the ones who pursued me rather than vice versa were interested in one thing only, and it wasn't marriage.”
Alys hoped the candlelight covered her blush. From the first moment he had come swaggering into her life, she had understood perfectly why a woman would pursue him. But there was so much more to Reggie than physical magnetism. She could not have been the first female to notice that.
“Perhaps some of them were interested, and you didn't notice since you didn't share their interest.” She swirled the brandy in her goblet reflectively. “I would have thought that at least once in your life, you considered giving up raking and settling down with one woman.”
His expression hardened. “Everyone is a fool for love at least once, and I was no exception. It's part of being young.”
She, too, had been such a fool. The pain of first love was not something that ever quite went away. “What happened?”
“Nothing much. I met a girl and became absolutely mad about her for reasons I can't begin to remember. For a few weeks she appeared to feel the same way.”
“And then?”
His expression became a self-mocking sneer. “After I made my impassioned declaration, she informed me that while I was well enough for a flirt, she certainly would never consider marrying a man with no expectations.”
Alys winced. The curtness of his tone revealed how deeply wounding that rebuff had been.
Recognizing her fellow feeling, he said harshly, “Don't waste any sympathy on me. She was quite rightâI was wholly ineligible. Besides,” he added with a bitter twist to his mouth, “I had my revenge.”
She cocked her head. “Not, I trust, by challenging her to a duel. I suppose it would have been easy to ruin her reputation.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I could have, but that isn't what I did.”
When he fell silent, Alys said, “You can't leave me in suspense after such a provocative statement.”
“I suppose not.” He sighed. “Very well, but don't blame me if this time you
are
shocked. The female in questionâI won't call her a ladyâcaptured an aging gentleman of substantial wealth. Then, after she was safely married, she indicated to me that she was available for ... extramarital activities.”
Alys watched in fascination. “And you turned her down?”
“On the contrary.” His eyes were ice pale. “I accepted, then exerted myself to the fullest to ensure her satisfaction.”
He fell silent until Alys asked in exasperation, “How was that revenge?”
“You're sure you want to know?” When she nodded, he continued, “Our little ... encounter was quite unlike anything she had experienced before. She positively panted for an encore.”
Suddenly Alys knew what was coming. “And you refused her.”
“Exactly so.” His voice was dry in the extreme. “With a few choice comments on how unrewarding I'd found her.”
Alys gasped at the sheer ruthlessness of using physical intimacy to enslave a woman, then callously rejecting her. His revenge was an eerie reflection of her own worst nightmares.
It was also a measure of how deeply hurt he had been by a heartless girl's casual cruelty. “That is quite wickedly clever,” she said slowly. “It was also absolutely appropriate.”
“You mean I still haven't shocked you?” His dark brows arched with surprise and a certain respect.
“A little, perhaps.” she admitted. “But there's a rough justice to what you did. In comparable circumstances, I might do something similar if I were sharp-witted enough.”
He laughed with real amusement. “More and more, I think that your proper appearance is no more than a facade. Underneath, you have the soul of a marauder.”
She considered. “Very likely you are right.”
His eyes met hers, pale and clear as aquamarine, and she could feel the energy change between them. His deep voice husky, he said, “Come here.”
Alys sat stone still for a moment. Earlier she had decided she could never embark on an affair in cold blood. But her blood was not cold nowâit sang warm and urgent in her veins.
She rose and walked to him, halting an arm's length away. His intense virility was drawing her as if they were opposite poles of a magnet, seeking their mates.
For a long moment they stood that way, motionless and utterly intent on each other. Then he raised his hands. She thought he would pull her close for a kiss, but instead he grasped her heavy braid and untied the ribbon at the end. After releasing her hair from its maidenly restraint, he raked the shining strands with his long fingers until they spilled in a silken mantle over her shoulders and tumbled halfway to her waist.
“You have beautiful hair,” he said softly, his fingertips drifting across her cheek and throat in a deeply erotic caress. The desire in his eyes was a potent aphrodisiac, releasing the hidden part of her nature as surely as he had unbound her hair. She caught her breath and her lips parted, wanting more, not knowing how to ask.
He lifted her chin with one finger. She had been uncomfortable with his height, but now she realized that he was exactly the right size, tall enough to make her feel fragile and feminine, not so tall that it took more than a slight inclination of his head to bring his lips to hers.
It was a brandy-flavored kiss, rich and heady and intoxicating. All her senses were heightened, and she was acutely aware of the pulse of blood in her veins, the subtle library scents of leather and oak, the strength of the arms that enfolded her.
They came together, and passion flamed between them, fierce and mindless. Tentative touch became crushing embrace. Ever since she had been an awkward, yearning girl, Alys had longed to learn love's mysteries. Now she had found her teacher in this improbable man, with his cynicism and mockery, his wry self-knowledge and dangerous sense of justice. She knew herself for a fool, and didn't care.
She was so sure of her desire, so totally immersed in the moment, that when he pulled back the shock of deprivation was like a splash of frost-bitter water. Dazed, she opened her eyes.