The Rake (39 page)

Read The Rake Online

Authors: Mary Jo Putney

He regarded her gravely. “Are you saying that just to make me feel better?”
“Not in the least.” Alys reached for another pastry, then decided against it. She was going to have to be careful about such things now that she wasn't as active. She gave him a mischievous smile. “Do I look ruined?”
He gave a long, slow smile. “You look splendid, and you have grown into the remarkable woman I always knew you would be.”
If Alys had been the sort of female who could toss her head coquettishly, she would have done so. Regretfully she decided that it simply wasn't her style. She would have to learn how to accept compliments with dignity. She poured more tea. “Now that all that ancient history has been disposed of, tell me about yourself, Randolph. Surely you are married now, with a family.”
“No. For years I hoped that you would return. I couldn't really look at another woman.” A shadow crossed his face. “I finally gave up and married four years ago. She died in childbirth.”
“I'm so sorry,” Alys said with compassion. Perhaps Randolph's momentary lapse had ruined his life more than hers. She changed the subject, and they drifted into easy conversation, with Alys describing some of the more amusing aspects of her working career. Randolph made an appreciative and admiring audience.
When he finally took his leave, he paused at the door, his handsome face intent. “I don't suppose that it is possible to begin again.”
He had kind eyes. Alys studied him for a moment, then shook her head. “It would have worked then, but not now.”
He nodded, kissed her hand with regret, and left.
Filled with gentle nostalgia, Alys went up to her chamber. Randolph was a thoroughly nice gentleman who was born to make some lucky woman a good and loving husband. She hoped that his luck would improve in the future.
Of one thing she was sure: he would be wasted on a woman who had a regrettable preference for rakes.
 
 
Alys was brushing out her hair in preparation for going to bed when she heard a tap on the door. Guessing that it was her eldest ward, who had just returned from visiting her future in-laws, she called, “Come in, Merry.”
Meredith, exquisite in a blue velvet dressing gown, entered and made herself comfortable in the wing chair. “I had a good visit with the Markhams, but it's nice to be home.” She smiled mischievously. “Home is defined by where you are, since I never set foot in Durweston House before today. Or dreamed of doing so, either!”
Alys smiled, touched by her ward's definition of home. “Would you like to be married from here? That should impress Julian's family.”
“It's definitely worth considering. I'll write Julian and see what he thinks.” Merry made a face. “But much as I look forward to marriage, I'm going to miss our talks.”
Alys would, too. So much of her life had changed, and so quickly. With a sigh she perched on the bed and began braiding her hair. “Tell me more about your visit.”
Merry obliged. She and Julian had also visited the estate at Moreton, where they would live after their marriage, and she was bubbling with ideas for what they would do there. All Alys had to do was nod and make an occasional comment, until Merry asked, “When are you going back to Strickland?”
Alys drew her long legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees in an unconscious reaction to the question. “I'm not going back.”
“Of course you're going back,” Merry retorted. “What will Reggie do without you?”
“He doesn't want me there.” Alys tried to sound casual, but her voice broke on the words. “He made that quite clear.”
Merry looked at her guardian in astonishment. “And you
believed
him?”
“What else could I do?” Alys asked stiffly. “He never wanted to have a female steward in the first place. He's quite capable of running the estate himself.”
Merry gave her a pitying look. “What has that to do with it? The man is mad about you. He may not need you as a steward, but he certainly does as a woman.”
Alys's emotions were very raw, and to her horror she found herself on the edge of tears. As she bowed her head, Merry moved to the bed and put a comforting arm around her guardian—something of a stretch—in a reversal of their usual roles.
“If he needs me that much,” Alys managed to say, “why did he tell me I didn't belong there?”
“Misplaced nobility,” Merry said calmly.
When Alys raised her head in surprise, the younger woman continued, “Alys, you are the cleverest, most capable woman I've ever met, but your judgment about men is lamentable. Because Reggie really cares about you, he is bending over backward to do the right thing. Given his lurid reputation and your exalted breeding, that translates into removing himself from the picture so you can find a mate more worthy of you.”
“Nonsense,” Alys snapped.
“Oh? Think about it.”
Alys opened her mouth to protest again, then stopped. Actually, her instincts had said that she and Reggie shared something magical, and that the caring was not only on her side. Then she'd revealed enough for him to guess her identity, and everything had changed. Given her terrible doubts about her desirability, she had dismissed her instincts as wrong.
She frowned. Would he really think himself unworthy of her? She considered how the world would view such a match, and decided that it was entirely possible. Perhaps she had been too easily persuaded to leave.
She turned to her ward, eyes narrowed. “Are you really, really sure that Reggie cares about me as ... as more than just a friend?”
“I guarantee it. As you've said more than once, I was born understanding men. The way he looked at you when you were absorbed in other things ...” Merry shook her head. “It was like you were his last hope of heaven.”
“Really?” Alys asked in amazement.
“As God is my witness,” Merry said solemnly. “When you were around, there was a kind of ... intentness, as if half of his attention was always turned to you. To be honest, I always felt that he was only a step away from sweeping you up to his room and locking the door for a week.”
Alys blushed. Reggie had said as much himself. “You shouldn't be speaking of such things,” she said automatically as she struggled with her thoughts.
“I'm on the verge of marriage,” Merry pointed out. “I'm practicing how to sound like a wicked wife.”
Alys had to smile, but it faded quickly. Good heavens, if Merry was right, what about Reggie's drinking? If he was lonely and miserable, might he return to it? It didn't bear thinking about, not after what he had suffered to stop. She jumped from the bed and went to her clothespress.
As she opened a drawer, Merry said, “What on earth are you doing?”
“Packing to go back to Strickland.”
Laughing affectionately, Merry said, “You can't leave in the middle of the night.”
Alys paused. “I could, but I suppose I shouldn't. I must talk to my father, among other things. Tomorrow morning should be soon enough.” She prayed that it would be.
Meredith rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin on her folded hands, now more the tomboy than the young lady. “Do I need to give you any hints on how to persuade Reggie to a proper acceptance of the inevitable?”
Alys smiled. “No need. If you're sure he really wants me, I have a few methods of persuasion myself.”
Meredith nodded with approval. Now that Alys had been put on the scent, Reggie hadn't a chance of escape. Not that he would want to.
The Duke of Durweston was not pleased by his daughter's announcement that she was returning to Strickland for a visit of indefinite length. “It's Davenport, isn't it?” he asked gruffly. They were meeting in his office, a chamber that the Sun King himself would have felt at home in.
“Yes. I left much too abruptly.” Alys paced across her father's office, impatient to be on her way. “Reggie and I have unfinished business.”
“How can you throw yourself at a rake, Alyson, a man with the most sordid of reputations?” the duke snapped. “Have you no pride?”
She considered. “In general, yes. Where Reggie is concerned, not much.”
His mouth thinned into a hard line. “Will he marry you?”
She pulled on her gloves. “I hope so, but I wouldn't insist on it.”
Perhaps that was too much candor; her father turned the color of aged port wine. “I can disinherit you, you know,” he growled. “The title and entail only go to a daughter if her father thinks her worthy of receiving it. I always thought George Blakeford's younger brother would make a decent duke, and he is next in line.”
“Choosing an heir is your affair.” She met his gray-green eyes with her own steely gaze. “I walked away from all this”—she waved her hand at the luxury around them—“once before. I've proved I am capable of supporting myself comfortably. Do you really think I am more likely to bow to your will at thirty than I was at eighteen?”
Her father's face was a study in conflicting emotions. Taking pity on him, she went to his chair and kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Father, don't let us become estranged over this. I have missed you too much.”
He blinked rapidly. “I've missed you, too, girl. But why can't you marry someone like Lord Randolph? He's a fine man, and he'd renew his proposal in a minute if you were willing.”
“I know, but he's much too nice for me.” She gave a teasing smile. “I'd keep him under the cat's paw for sure.”
“He wouldn't mind.”
“No, but I would. I don't want a husband I can dominate, any more than I want one who will try to bully me.” She looked at her father sternly. “You just don't like Reggie because he's too much like you. I've heard the stories about your wild youth. Except for the difference of a million pounds or so, you two are like peas in a pod.”
“Don't try to turn me up sweet, girl.” The duke snorted and tried with limited success to suppress a smile. “And a million pounds is a substantial difference.”
“
Substantial,
yes,” she admitted, “but not
significant.
”
She gave her father a good-bye kiss, then sailed out. She wasn't going to let it be significant, and that was that.
Chapter 26
Going without Allie was rather like stopping drinking, only worse. The pleasures of the bottle had been limited, the punishment almost immediate. With Allie, the pleasures had been infinitely varied, from the rarified to the earthily sensual, and if there was a negative aspect, he hadn't discovered it.
Reggie was dining alone, and even a hard day of physical labor didn't give him much appetite for the roast fowl. Pushing his plate aside, he absently began to eat a dish of raspberry fool. He was going to have to do better with his eating, or the cook would be insulted. Feeding two boys who approached every meal like a biblical plague of locusts had spoiled her.
He smiled a little at the thought, but levity immediately vanished, replaced by a great heaviness of spirit. Helping Allie heal the breach with her father was one of the few entirely unselfish things he had ever done. He hoped that virtue would prove to be its own reward, because there weren't any others.
Abandoning his dinner, he headed for the music room. Playing the piano was usually a good distraction. He reminded himself that the first few weeks of sobriety had been the worst, but after that things had become easier. Surely in time Allie's loss would also become easier to bear.
It hadn't yet.
 
 
After two days rattling around the inside of the coach, Alys was tired and rumpled and questioning the wisdom of this mad trip. She stopped at the Silent Woman and booked the best room so she could rest and freshen up. Though she had flatly refused her father's offer of outriders, the crested Durweston traveling carriage was still the grandest equipage ever seen at the modest inn. She was recognized, of course, and time was wasted in greeting people, since she didn't want to appear too proud to talk to old friends.
After a short nap and a light meal, she prepared to go to Strickland. It was nearly dark, and a respectable female would have waited until morning, but she was in the process of abandoning all claims to respectability. Besides, her sense of urgency was too great. She could never have rested knowing that Reggie was only a few miles away.
Since she was acting like a scarlet woman, she had decided to dress like one. She'd brought her newly acquired French maid, who was a skilled hairstylist, and her carefully chosen gown was bittersweet red, a rich, subtle color that made her skin and hair glow. After donning the gown, she examined herself in the mirror.
“Madame looks
magnifique,
” her maid said admiringly.
“Madame looks like a strumpet,” Alys said dryly.
“
Oui,
but a lady at the same time,” the maid said, eyes twinkling. “Only the finest of modistes can do both in one garment.”
The maid was right—the gown was a triumph of the art of provocation. The silk was simply cut, clinging and swirling over the curves of breast and hip and thigh. Not only was the neckline extremely low, but Alys had ordered the modiste to put a knee-high slit in one side seam. She had been thinking of Reggie when she ordered the dress. Duke's daughter or not, she wasn't sure she was brave enough to wear such a revealing gown in public. It made her figure, never demure, look positively indecent.
Alys inhaled deeply and wriggled a bit, then nodded in satisfaction at the result. She looked her best. If Reggie thought her half as attractive as he claimed, he would never be able to resist her in the red dress. And if he could resist ... well, she would take stronger measures.
 
 
An hour of Mozart did nothing to quiet Reggie's restlessness. Impatient and irritable, he closed the pianoforte and stalked off to the library.
The evening was unusually chilly, so he knelt at the hearth and methodically built a fire. Most Britons would be aghast at having a fire before November, no matter what the temperature, but he could afford it. Small indulgences were compensation for what he didn't have. A very feeble compensation.
He tried to lose himself in
The Aeneid
—he'd always rather identified with the roguish Aeneas—but tonight none of the usual distractions helped. The lonely, empty hours stretched endlessly in front of him. Tomorrow would be just the same, unless it was worse.
What was the point?
What was the bloody point?
He ran his hands through his hair, then pulled his coat off and tossed it aside, edgy and uncomfortable in his own skin. A glass or two of brandy would help him through the night.
It wouldn't stop with a glass or two.
So what if it didn't? So what if he did drink himself to death? Who would be hurt? There was no Alys here to injure, or look stricken at what he was doing to himself. And one of the housemaids, Daisy or some such, had been eyeing him with interest. She was rather tall and had brown hair. If he was drunk enough, perhaps he could imagine, at least for a few moments, that she was Allie... .
Oh, God, Allie ...
A shudder went through him, chilling him to the bone. Then he pushed himself violently from his chair and stalked to the liquor cabinet. Not allowing himself to think about what he was doing, he lifted the Venetian glass decanter that replaced the one he had broken and poured a generous four fingers of brandy. Then he tilted the goblet and watched the play of light through the amber fluid as he prolonged the anticipation. The brandy glowed like topaz. Sweet poison. Sweet surcease.
As he lifted the goblet, Nemesis raised her head and whimpered from her station by his chair. “What's the matter, don't you approve?” He tilted the glass toward the collie in a mocking salute. “Here's to all well-intentioned females, and the men who aren't good enough for them.”
Then he raised the glass to his lips.
 
 
 
Having left her maid at the inn and her carriage and coachman in the stables, Alys quailed at the prospect of marching up to the front door. In spite of her boldness in coming here, she found that her new confidence was a fragile growth.
It would be best to check and see what Reggie was doing. It was full dark now, and the best lit room in the house was the library. Perhaps he had company. Perhaps he had another woman there—Cousin George's Stella must be in need of a new protector. Maybe Reggie had imported a whole damned harem. Even if he missed her, she doubted that monastic suffering was his style.
Walking softly around the house, she went to the library French doors. Luckily, the draperies hadn't been drawn, so she could see inside.
Reggie was there, alone. For a moment she simply admired the sight of him as he leaned against the mantel. He had removed coat and cravat and was in his shirtsleeves, all lithe power and dark male beauty.
Then he raised his arm. With a chill that iced her bones, she realized that his long fingers were wrapped around a goblet filled with a liquid the unmistakable color of brandy.
 
 
The cool touch of glass on his lips revived his common sense. Sweet Jesus, what was he doing?
Reggie lowered the goblet and stared at it. Anyone with the sense God gave a goose should know that drinking from loneliness would be a mistake of major proportions. He hadn't gotten sober for Allie's sake, or to live up to his parents' hopes, or for anyone else. He had done it for himself, for his own pride and dignity.
No, it hadn't been for pride. Pride was how one behaved when others were watching. Honor was what a man did when there was no one else to see. If he knew that he was going to die tomorrow, he would still not seek oblivion in drink. Whatever his life might hold in the future, for the sake of honor he would see it through sane and sober. And though he missed Allie hideously, he was not truly alone, had not been so since that night he had broken and been reborn.
With a fierce twist of his wrist, he tossed the brandy into the fire. Blue flames blazed up from the liquor. Then he carefully placed the empty goblet on the mantel. There would be no more smashed glassware; there had been enough high drama in his life. He was an honorable country gentleman, no more, and he intended to be no less.
As he watched the flames flicker and die, he heard a small sound from the direction of the French doors. He looked up. Then his jaw dropped, and he stared in stunned disbelief as Lady Alyson Blakeford swept into the library.
She was pale, but she offered a cheerful smile. “I'm so glad you threw that brandy away. It's always much easier to talk to you when you're sober.”
Attila streaked across the room and began banging against her ankles, making excited yowling noises. She bent over and scratched the tomcat's head affectionately. “I'm glad someone is pleased to see me.”
She straightened and removed her dark velvet cloak, laying it over a chair. Underneath she wore a shimmering dark red dress that showed an amazing amount of her splendid figure, and lovingly caressed the rest. Reggie felt himself tense all over. “What are you doing here?” he said harshly.
She strolled over to join him by the fireplace, leaning against the mantel with elaborate casualness. Her shining hair was pulled up loosely in a riot of curls that threatened to come tumbling down at a touch. She was like a grand and delectable confection suitable for a king. She looked like a duchess, not a steward.
Things had been much easier when she'd had hay in her hair.
Realizing that he was staring all too obviously at her lush body, he raised his gaze to her face. Her wide eyes sparkled with mischief, but underneath was uncertainty. “I have a contract with Strickland,” she said lightly. “It was very bad of me to go on holiday during the harvest.” She reached out and drew a slim finger across the back of his hand, where it lay on the mantelpiece.
Even that light touch almost destroyed his control. He snatched his hand away from her and retreated along the mantel. Building a fire had been a mistake; it was far too hot in the library. In fact, he was ready to go up in flames. “I released you from your contract. For God's sake, Allie, get back to London and live the life you were born to.”
“To release me without my consent and without cause is illegal,” she said blithely.
She was wearing some subtle cosmetic that made her lips look particularly ripe and kissable. He stared at her mouth, his breathing heavy and irregular. “In that case, you're fired. I'll pay your salary until the contract expires. Now,
go!
”
She dropped all pretense of lightness. “That's not the life I want, Reggie. I would much rather be here at Strickland.” She drew a deep breath, which did dramatic things to the minimal bodice of her dress, and still more dramatic things to his loins. “And even more than Strickland, I want you.”
He flung away from the fireplace, wishing she had had the grace to stay away rather than come here and make everything so much harder. When he'd put a safe distance between them, he turned to face her.
“Allie, you have a position and fortune that allow you more freedom than any other woman in England. You can do almost anything you want. You can have any man—or as
many
men—as you want,” he said bluntly. “You're just on the verge of taking wing and enjoying that freedom. The fact that I gave you your first real lesson on the delights of the flesh doesn't mean you have to spend the rest of your life with me. There is so much more for you to discover.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Do you mean that making love can be better than what we did?” she asked with disbelief.
Reggie's face tightened as vivid memories of that night eroded his will even further. “I can't speak for you, but from my point of view, it has never been better,” he said quietly. “But it wasn't only sex I was talking about. You can use your fortune and influence to help people on a scale impossible here at Strickland. You can rub elbows with the Prince Regent, or the prime minister or the poet laureate if you choose.”
“I can do that no matter where I make my home. Are those the only reasons you went to my father and told him where to find me?” She shifted her stance, and her silk gown flowed across her willowy body, revealing an enticing length of long, shapely leg.
He had known that she had a sensual nature, but now that she no longer believed herself hopelessly unattractive, she could teach Delilah a thing or two. Trying to steady his breathing, Reggie said quietly, “When you spoke of your father, I heard echoes of myself in you. I wasted many of the best years of my life locked in a meaningless feud with a man I hated. I didn't like seeing you do the same with a man you loved.”
Alys was deeply moved by his perception and generosity. She was also giddy with relief as she realized that Meredith was right: Reggie was being noble. Surely he could be cured of that.
“You're right. I was letting my life be shaped by anger and pride, and I didn't know myself just how much it was hurting me until the breach with my father was healed. It is far better to live a life shaped by love.” Brazen though she might be, it was almost impossible to say the next words. “That's why I'm here,” she said haltingly. “Because I love you.”

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