The Rake's Handbook (6 page)

“No,” she said in a steadfast voice, hoping he would drop the distasteful subject forever.

“No?” He took a quick step forward until a mere inch separated them. “Not even at a later date reconsider your neighbor's wishes?”

Her heartbeat escalated. With no desire to observe his expression, she focused on his snowy cravat rising and falling with each breath. They stilled for what seemed like minutes. She moved first when her bracelet chose this—of all times—to fall to her wrist. Using a single move, she shoved the ornament far up her arm until it pinched her skin and remained in place.

Mr. Thornbury shifted his position to stare at the golden snake.

She felt it slipping again, but did not dare move.

The bracelet fell.

“Please, madam. I appeal to your generosity and request you visit a similar low-pressure steam engine in person to witness the smoke.” He reached out until one hand held hers, while his other hand enclosed the offending bracelet. Using his warm palm, he pushed the snake up her forearm. When it easily stopped, he inhaled sharply. “Come with me to see the smoke from a similar working chimney at a nearby coal mine, yes?”

“No.” She held her breath.

“Allow me.” He forced the bracelet higher with a sudden push.

“Oh!” She stared at his mouth, attempting to calm her thoughts.

His chest rose from ragged breaths, and she felt the moisture he exhaled on her forehead. “Don't deny me,” he whispered. His focus returned to the golden band cinching her upper arm, while his deft fingers surrounded the bracelet. He rocked it back and forth for several moments until she was breathing hard. Wrapping his forefinger under the gilt circle, he caught her gaze and slowly pulled the band down to her wrist. Her skin tingled along every inch from his touch. They stood for minutes, both staring at the gold snake resting around her wrist.

She tried to stop her rapid pants. The scoundrel was trying to influence her with disingenuous, rakish charm. That realization didn't help her, because she remained fixed in place regardless.

“No?” he asked again in a rough whisper, raising her hand close to his lips. He didn't kiss her, but his breath warmed her fingers.

She became dizzy, expecting her legs to collapse.

“No? The foundry will help others, provide employment.”

Speech eluded her. His fervent blue gaze forced away all semblance of reason.

He brushed his lips across her knuckles, while the stare from those sky-blue eyes never left her face. Then a gentleman's kiss graced the top of her hand before he turned her palm up and leisurely kissed its center.

Her control of the situation escaped, and she feared her insides might boil.
Going
mad? Possible. Fainting? Certain.

He wore the wicked smile of a male certain he would succeed. Still holding her hand, he pulled it behind him and took a step forward to close the distance between them.

She stood dazed, unable to move, her breasts touching his waistcoat. All she could think of was a simple chant: do not faint, do not faint, do not faint.

“No?” he repeated in a quiet, rumbling baritone. “Consider my request, or consider the consequences.”

She raised her hand to his chest to push him away, but instead her palm traveled over his coat's rough surface and clutched his wool lapel.

He must have taken this gesture as a “yes,” because he leaned forward and kissed her neck. The slow caress of his lips led her into a familiar current, where she instinctively flowed with the tide. He cupped her backside and pressed her against his solid frame, while his hot breath warmed her sensitive neck.

Summing up Herculean strength, she pulled herself out of the sensuous daze he created. All she had to do was repeat that he was a true rake and reaffirm that William would forever remain her only love. Armed with this truth, she found the will to push him away.

“Please,” he said, “will you consider my offer?”

“My turn to use the word.” She smiled with a certain measure of pride. “No.”

Now
he
gaped. Half a minute passed before he chuckled and planted a swift kiss on her cheek. “I will explain the advantages of my plan later. You win…but only for now.”

Dr. Potts shouted, “Sir!”

Startled, they both took a quick step backwards to put distance between them.

Dr. Potts strode up and for a moment remained silent, his face reddening. A tall widower with a military bearing and his short hair styled
à la Brutus
, he straightened his posture even more rigid than usual. The doctor struggled to contain his words. In rushed speech, he explained that he had examined Berdy, found the boy well, and offered to immediately escort her home.

“I will remain at Blackwell, thank you,” she said. “But I'll see you off. I would like to hear more about Berdy's condition.” She joined the doctor, and they started to walk toward the house.

Mr. Thornbury remained behind, unmoving.

Dr. Potts's face had become scarlet. “I witnessed that scoundrel kiss you. Shall I go back now and give the villain a few strong words? Call the man out?”

“Please, no, not today.”

“The swine.” Dr. Potts tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat. “Has he made advances before this? You know I have your best interests at heart. In the future, I will accompany you when you speak to him. Tomorrow I will join you bright and early. Don't worry. I will protect you.”

“Thank you.” Since she had failed twice to control her response to Mr. Thornbury's seductive manners, and the bracelet failed to preserve her wits, in the future she must speak with him only in the company of one of her knights, Dr. Potts or Henry. While grateful for the doctor's offer, she decided it would be best to ask Henry to explain to Mr. Thornbury why she could never sign his lease.

Dr. Potts mumbled on about his efforts on behalf of Berdy and reassured her of the young man's eventual recovery.

Thankfully, he needed no reply. She barely understood him anyway, because there was a buzzing in her ears. What ailed her she didn't want to consider, much less look up in a book. She turned to catch a final glimpse of Mr. Thornbury.

That gentleman held his arm high in farewell and in a raised voice said, “In regard to my handbook, we've read chapter one, and today we finished chapter two. I promise you even greater pleasure when we read
chapter
three
.”

On the following day, Ross entered Blackwell's stables to admire his new filly, Charybdis. Purchased using the profits from his handbook, the horse was his sole self-extravagance, an equine vision in jet black. Even in the brightest sun, her eyes, coat, hooves, and mane appeared a uniform black and could be differentiated only by texture. Her heart, too, was all you would expect in a two-year-old filly—fearless and fun. He pictured the races she'd win one day, and the admiration to follow. Stroking her soft muzzle, he swiftly kissed her firm cheek.

As he stared into her fathomless black eye, his mind strayed to his dream of the previous night.
Naked.
He dreamt a sweltering red fog swirled around Mrs. Colton as she opened her arms and skipped toward him—laughing and naked. He tried to capture her, but she spun and disappeared into the boiling fog. He chased her, only to find her bending over with her pert, round backside offered to him. The thick fog seared his ankles before it rose to blind him. He reached out, and his hands found her rear, but upon his touch, together they went up in flames.

Females.
Last thing he needed was unsettling, carnal dreams.

His gaze traveled to the stable yard outside. A light rain transformed the yard into a hazy mist. He must ask Lucy's father to let them marry soon. That way he could escape this damn lust, and merry widows with ample backsides would no longer beckon from within his dreams.

Females.
If only he knew the name of Mrs. Colton's man of business. Then
his
man could discuss terms with
her
man, and no distracting backsides or dimples would intrude upon the negotiations. He congratulated himself upon his clear understanding of commerce. Men dealing with men always ensured success. So with a newfound confidence that he would eventually change the widow's mind, he held his filly's rear leg up to inspect her new shoes.

Ten minutes later, Rowbottom stepped inside the stable doors to announce the arrival of a Mr. Henry Browne and a Mr. Mabbs.

Ross straightened and turned to greet the gentleman. Browne was a handsome man and appeared prosperous. Yet he projected a stiff manner, in all likelihood due to his overstarched cravat and tight gold brocade waistcoat. While Mabbs wore the serviceable brown attire of a tradesman, his less than straight nose indicated a possible pugilist.

Charybdis snorted.

The sound halted the men's approach.

Browne stood with the general air of a man who did not brook opposition and spoke first. “Mr. Thornbury, may I present myself. My name is Henry Browne of Gracehall, a local attorney. I am your neighbor to the south by the Holiday farm. This is Mr. Mabbs, the owner of the large cattle herd to the southwest of your lake.”

Ross never expected a morning call this early, but perchance the men were fellow sportsmen. “Welcome to Blackwell, Mr. Browne, Mr. Mabbs. Since entering the county, I plan to call upon all of my neighbors, but familiarizing myself with the estate has kept me busy. I've taken possession only within the last year, so there is a great deal of deferred business to address. Are you perchance sporting men? Do you shoot?”

“No, sir,” Mabbs said, shuffling his feet and appearing discomfited by the invitation.

A fly buzzed past Browne's nose, and he waved his right hand in front of his face. “No, I, too, rarely have time for such trivial pursuits.”

Ross raised an eyebrow and leaned against the stall. “Are you gentlemen here on business, or is this a social call?”

Browne glanced around the stables. Leaning on a support post with a similar casual air, he jerked his elbow close to his chest, like the post was a column of fire, before carefully brushing his coat sleeve. “I guess you would call it a matter of business. Since Deane's accident, you've probably made the acquaintance of Mrs. Colton. Did she mention the rumor of great concern to our little community here?”

Ross started, unsure of the meaning behind Browne's question. “I understand there have been many rumors.”

“It is our understanding you intend to construct a steam engine manufactory on your estate near the river.”

“And?”

“And we want to know if it is true.”

“Why?” He wondered why these gentlemen felt it necessary to make Mrs. Colton's concerns their business.

“So we can put a stop to it, of course.” Browne's reply sounded like the slow intonation used to teach children one plus one equals two. “We don't want our rivers befouled, and if that isn't bad enough, the smoke emitted by your foundry has a pernicious effect upon healthy living no gentleman could be unaware of.”

Charybdis pranced restlessly, loudly bumping the stall with her rear flank.

Ross moved to stroke his filly's quivering neck. “Shh.” He waited until the horse calmed before he replied. “Perhaps you've traveled far, Mr. Browne, but in England a gentleman still has a right to use his property as he sees fit.”

Browne's eyes widened before narrowing into slits. “I grant you have the right to build a foundry, but you have no right to foul the river or darken our homes with soot.” He took a quick step forward. “Clean water is
publici
juris
—”

“You are a good attorney, sir. Since your words make the law incomprehensible.”

Mabbs snickered.

“Yes, and because I am a good attorney, I recommend you heed my advice. I gather you are determined to build this foundry?”

Ross shoved his fists into the bottom of his coat pockets. “Yes. Nuisance from either smoke or effluent into the river is not likely from the operation of our foundry. Mrs. Colton's home will not be destroyed by smoke. The house is too far away from the proposed chimney, and the wind too strong.” Ross believed her house would not be affected, except for, at the very worst, a slight haze when the wind was just right. Why then did this stubborn widow believe her home would be destroyed?

“You don't know that for sure,” Browne said.

“You don't know that for sure,” parroted Mabbs.

“Then my engineers must all be wrong. You gentlemen are aware the foundry will provide jobs? Both the profits and the employment created will benefit the entire county.”

Browne pointed his finger. “I tell you nobody will care if workers benefit. We do not want coarse, unlettered, and unkempt workers in our rural community.”

Mabbs widened his eyes. “Steady on.”

“I'll wager the workers care,” Ross replied.

“Now, Mr. Browne,” Mabbs said, “Our concerns are about the smoke and turning our water foul, nothing more.”

Browne turned to Mabbs. “Yes, of course. If you would please excuse us, Mr. Mabbs. I have some private matters to discuss with Mr. Thornbury.”

Mabbs hesitated and appeared to weigh the situation. “As you wish, sir. I came to express my opinion in regard to the water, and I have. I take my leave of you now. Mr. Thornbury, thank you for hearing my concerns.” He bowed. “Gentlemen.” Mabbs left the stables.

“I warn you.” Browne shook his finger at Ross. “There will be consequences of your recklessness. The gentry in this vicinity will
not
be pleased. Moreover, your neighbors have vowed to stop construction of the foundry by any means possible. It also goes without saying that you will be shunned by decent society. Indeed, invitations have already been withheld because of your famed libertine propensities expressed in that handbook of yours—scandalous—just scandalous.”

“Have you actually read this scandalous handbook, Mr. Browne?”

“Of course not. I never read vulgar books. I understand from many in the local society that the book is scandalous.”

“The local lending library has a copy then?”

“You insult our library, sir,” Browne replied.

Ross reached the limits of his patience. The man's conversation consisted of insults and veiled threats. Either Browne would have to leave, or he would. “Shunned by society and nibbled by ducks. I worry about both.”

Browne took another step toward Ross, his wide stance like a boxer ready to unleash a facer. “You leave me no choice. On behalf of Mrs. Colton, I will indict you at the quarter sessions for nuisance.”

“Indict!” Ross stepped toward Browne. “Nibbled by ducks
and
indicted for nuisance, very troublesome. I'm surprised Mrs. Colton approves of your suit.” He paused. “Or did she suggest it? Still, the foundry is not even built yet. How can you indict for nuisance?”

“Well…I know it
will
become a nuisance. Despite what your engineers tell you. So I will indict on the first day of operation.” Mr. Browne tugged on his waistcoat again. “One more matter of business. I've been told Mrs. Colton and her nephew are residing under your roof at present.”

“Yes, young Deane damaged his foot and will remain at Blackwell until he recovers.” Ross wanted this man to leave his company before his civility escaped him entirely. He strolled toward the stable doors hoping Browne would follow.

Browne shuffled after him. “I must make a matter of some delicacy understood. Since I am Mrs. Colton's nearest relative, she is under my protection. Since the death of her husband, I myself provide for her needs and dispense the objective male guidance all females require. She now depends upon me as she would a husband, and shows regard for my opinion in all matters.”

Ross turned to stare at him and met a defiant look from narrowed eyes. If Browne was Mrs. Colton's man of business, his plans would be damned forever, and the foundry lost. “I understand you well, sir. Although your relationship to Mrs. Colton is not my concern.” He never anticipated this topic of conversation, and it kept him from having Browne immediately escorted off of his property. He'd seen Mrs. Colton at the assembly with several gentlemen, but he did not recall her in Browne's company. His mother had mentioned something about their possible engagement, but he failed to remember her precise words.

Browne huffed. “You, sir, are an unmarried gentleman of a…certain foul reputation, and Mrs. Colton is a widow young enough to require protection. Her residence here without a chaperone may compromise her reputation.”

“Compromise her reputation? You—”

Charybdis kicked a board lining her stall with a resounding crack.

Ross strode back to quiet her and compose himself. It seemed ironic now that he had once expected to be free of unfounded rumors and find peace in the countryside. “You are wrong, sir. Mrs. Colton spends only the day here, and she has company with her, as my mother is in residence. Even Deane is old enough to be a competent chaperone. Your widow holds no interest for me except as a neighbor.” He turned his back to Browne, grabbed a brush, and eased his frustration by grooming Charybdis.

“There has been talk already,” Browne said. “I recommend, for her sake, you avoid being seen in her company. She suffered greatly from the seclusion required of mourning, and it is my duty to prevent further isolation due to some reckless scandal of your making.”

Ross stilled his hand, the brush resting on Charybdis.

Rowbottom then entered the stables to announce Mrs. Colton's arrival. He also indicated that she went immediately upstairs to check on her nephew.

“Ah, Rowbottom, please escort Mr. Browne to Mr. Deane's room,” Ross said.

Browne glared at him first before following the butler out of the stables.

Once Browne left, Ross resisted the urge to jump up and make a fresh attempt to change Mrs. Colton's mind in regard to the lease. Before he approached her again, he'd have to regain his composure. Then think of a new plan or better enticement to win her consent. Anyhow, yesterday's refusal still stung. He expected her to agree to his proposal, and had even apologized for his previous behavior, so there should have been no impediment to his request. One glance at that taunting dimple and the pink flesh swelling around that insufferable snake, and his reason had become ambushed by lust. As a result, he'd strayed from the “proper gentleman's” handbook and returned to his old ways of dealing with females. In the immediate future, it would be best to avoid her like a contagion, until he could lure her into reconsidering his proposal, or perhaps persuade her to visit a working steam engine to witness the smoke for herself. So for the next couple of days, he resolved to visit the sickroom only after she had left. Besides, this morning he could not tolerate failure at the hands of a dimple.

Ross threw the brush into a corner of the stall.

Now he must instruct his man of business to investigate nuisance law. The Earl of Northwold had an iron foundry to the east, close to the Derbyshire border, so there had to be precedent. He would also instruct his man to examine the cost of building a canal or using wagons to haul materials to the turnpike. He sighed, shook his head, and sat on a bale of hay. Clearly his neighbors were backward louts if they didn't understand the amazing revolution happening around them. Small, low-cost steam engines were needed for the manufacture of goods. And here around the Midlands, they had a front-row seat to witness England's industrial future.

Charybdis nudged his back.

Ross turned to pat her broad neck. “Well, pretty girl, how does a respectable gentleman negotiate business with a reluctant female, especially if it would be to her advantage? Do you know? Because I have no damn idea.”

A loud snort from Charybdis answered his question.

Ross decided to learn more about Mrs. Colton's acquaintances, such as her relationship with Dr. Potts. Perhaps he might find a local man, other than Browne or Mabbs, to convince her of his lease's benefits. Then this Browne person, and whoever hired his services, could be stopped from filing a lawsuit. Nevertheless, after his forward behavior to her yesterday, he'd have to apologize—again.

Brushing horsehair off his coat, he stomped to the stable doors. That abominable Browne hinted he was a scoundrel of the worst sort toward women, and that this behavior took place with his mother nearby. Well, yes, there was that one moment where he kissed her neck, but that moment was more like an accident, really. In the future, he'd be more circumspect. This respectable behavior would put an end to his torrid dreams, as well.