The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 4 (The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Sets)

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  Isolde waved as she watched the Sandersons' carriage pull away, and then went into the house to face her husband.

  Randall greeted her warmly and she stared up at him, tracing his sensual lips with her finger.

  "What is it, what’s the matter?" he asked when she continued to stare.

  "Nothing, really. I’m just so glad to see you're home."

  "Where else would I be?"

  "Where indeed. Er, out painting."

  "Nay, too much to do today, with all the rents coming in. I say, my love, are you sure you’re all right? You look a bit pale, darling. Please, come up to our room. You can have supper on a tray and—"

  "No, supper. I couldn’t manage a bite." She was stiff in his arms for a moment, then relaxed against his chest. Twenty-two hours, twenty-two—

  Isolde gave Randall one of her most sultry smiles, guaranteed to make him melt. "Not a bite of food, anyway."

  Chapter Ten

  Randall had no idea what had triggered off Isolde’s unbridled response, but he began to grow fearful that he had caused this, that she was getting restive. That he wasn’t enough for her. That he had corrupted her despite his best efforts to give up his rakish mind set.

  He tried to distance himself from her, not constantly be like a wild boar in rut, and spent more time alone with his painting.

  He had found the most remarkable sites not far from Millcote Forest, with the most breathtaking decorated stones. He mentioned them to Isolde, and she was reminded uneasily of her conversation with Arabella in Bath. Twenty-two hours, he's mine for twenty-two—

  Sure she was becoming restless with their burdensome marriage and was seeking more worldly excitement, Randall determined to make her go out to socialise more, and began to take her around to all the events in the district.

  Unfortunately, it also meant that Howell and she encountered each other, and whilst he never said a word to her, he was a grim presence in the background that she could have done without.

  Randall grew uneasy when he discovered he had actually prevailed upon Clarissa’s parents for accommodation in the area, but there was little he could do against what he suspected was an unholy alliance against him.

  Howell had done nothing, her parents were elderly. He just had to grin and bear it.

  At the end of June, Randall insisted Isolde attend the monthly County ball at the Assembly Hall. She was not keen to go, for she found the attentions of the men unwelcome, and the way that women looked at Randall bordered on the lewd.

  She kept an eye out for any petite raven-haired beauties, but apart from the Rakehell wives, there were none. She was sure it could not possibly have been any of them. The woman had been a complete stranger to her. She had returned a couple of times to Bath to try to see them again, but thus far she had met with no success. Nor had she gained any certainty about what Randall was up to one way or the other. He brought home his paintings proudly. Well, he had said he would just futter and fly...

  She pushed that thought to one side as she dressed with care in a fine white muslin embroidered with tiny purple and gold flowers, with long purple gloves and gold garters to hold them up.

  She noted that none of the gowns Randall had selected for her were very decollete . She was surprised considering how lusty he was, but it suited her fine. She did not want anyone to ogle her charms but him, and sometimes less was more. She added a fine purple lace insert which complemented the purple embroidery around the neckline, ensuring that not a speck of cleavage would show.

  "You look lovely, my dear," he said, his eyes resting warmly upon her voluptuous figure for a moment with evident approval and relief.

  "I just need to put a stitch in each side to hold the lace in place, and then we can be off."

  He said quietly, "You don’t have to, you know. Just to make me feel better."

  She shook her head. "I know. It makes me feel better. The only people I want seeing my amplitudes as you call them are my husband, and my infants when I nurse them."

  He kissed her hard, almost overcome by the erotic image of her with a babe at her breast. That was the only thing he could think of that would make her even more beautiful to him that she was already. When he whispered this thought in her ear, she too began to feel the tempo of her breathing change.

  "Still not yet, darling, but one day soon, I promise," she said, kissing him warmly, her mouth open to receive his tongue.

  He pulled away first. "Finish with the dress, and then we have to go, before we’re late. But hold that thought for when we get back."

  "I’ll hold a few other things for you in the carriage of you like," she said with a impish smile.

  He cupped her on the rump then, which set them both to giggling. "I’m really beginning to wonder which one of us was the rake around her. You seem to have an infinite capacity for loving, not to mention an uncanny ability to shock me at times with your boldness."

  "You used the right word. It’s loving, Randall. All of it. From watching you shave in the morning to hearing you read at night with your head in my lap. It’s the sharing, day after day, night after night, all the little things, and big. That horse in the field today, a cup of tea in bed every morning."

  "I never knew. Never even suspected."

  "Neither did I. Nor do a lot of people, I suppose. If they did, they would never marry for wealth or power."

  She finished stitching the lace insert into the bosom of her gown. She was about to put on her gloves when he held out his hand and took them from her. She raised her brows in surprise.

  "You did promise to hold a few things for me in the carriage, now didn’t you?" He grinned.

  She blushed and giggled. "I did indeed."

  "Well, let’s try it with the gloves off first, shall we? And then see how we go from there."

  Randall and Isolde very nearly did not get out at the Assembly Hall, and appeared late and flustered, her lace insert askew, and her gloves tumbling down her elbows.

  "Here, let me help you," Arabella said, casting a knowing look at the tall dark husband of her friend. "Are you well?"

  "Yes, fine, thank you."

  "You and Randall look happy."

  "Yes, yes we are," she said firmly.

  "Good, I’m glad. I understand he’s been painting out in the forest every day. Perhaps you can go visit him there some time. Ride out, share a picnic with him, perhaps? I know it's hard with the children around, but you should never miss an opportunity to keep the romance alive in your marriage."

  "Are you saying what he’s doing is my fault?" she hissed.

  "Forgive me, Isolde, but I wasn’t aware Randall was doing anything other than painting. But if he's spending more time away from you, perhaps it’s because he feels that you don’t value him as much as you should."

  Isolde could feel the tears welling up."Arabella, please, this is driving me mad. I need to know."

  The other woman sighed, looked around, then said in a low voice, "Go to Bath any Thursday then. If you really want to seek answers. But once you do, there will be no turning back for any of you."

  "Ripping the veil off the illusion?" Isolde said with a shake of her head.

  Arabella nodded and sighed. "Yes. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I believe it will actually be an excellent one in the long term for everyone concerned. But everything has consequences. And Randall can’t be strong without your faith and love."

  "I’ll try to remember that. But he has to trust me too. Trust me enough to tell me the truth."

  "Sometimes he can be confused too, jealous. Scared of the love between you. It happens with men. Blake was terrified of our love at first. Once he learned to trust it, though, there was no stopping him."

  "Thank you for your help, Arabella. I really do appreciate it."

  "Don’t mention it. I hope I'm helping all of you, though good intentions can sometimes backfire with the most shocking consequences."

  "Consequences?" she echoed, biting her lower lip.

  "
Not for you, I don't think, but certainly your life and Randall's will change if you take this step."

  Isolde considered this for a moment, then said, "I have to know. I feel like I've been frozen ever since I saw, well, what I saw.I need to be able to move on one way or the other."

  Arabella patted her shoulder. "You and Randall shall, I swear it. Now come, let’s join our friends, and dance until we can’t stand up."

  Isolde entered the assembly hall and immediately saw many familiar faces. She also saw the blatant manner in which many of the women ogled her husband. Georgina Jerome practically left a puddle where she was sitting.

  If Isolde had not been so preoccupied with the women, she might have noticed what Randall most certainly did, that every man in the room was staring at her . Some with lust, others with curiosity, still others with friendship, he tried to remind himself, as the Rakehells came up to shake hands with them both.

  "All the Rakehells together again," Jonathan said with a grin.

  Isolde could not help but grimace at the nickname, since it was too close to the truth in Randall’s case.

  "Oh, er, sorry. My big mouth. Let’s quickly change the subject to that letter in the Times about the need for public sanitation and a fever hospital here in Brimley. Why, Blake thinks we could save so many lives if we only..."

  Jonathan led Randall away before she even got a chance to dance with him. A sea of men pressed forward to present themselves, but Philip, sensing trouble, offered his arm gallantly. She thanked him and joined the Duke of Ellesmere’s set for the quadrille at the top of the hall.

  Randall gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on what Jonathan was saying. He scarcely noticed the women all thronging the wall nearby in the hopes of catching his eye. He did not see anyone he knew except his friend’s wives, but even if he had, the only woman he wanted to dance with was taken.

  Charlotte shook her head. "He has got it bad, hasn’t he?"

  "As bad as she does," Vanessa Stone observed as she saw Isolde staring across the room at the flock of women all trying to bill and coo with Randall.

  "Trust is a hard thing in a marriage."

  "Don’t we both know it. In his case, though, he has no reason to mistrust her."

  "I think he's just so desperately in love with Isolde, he can’t help it."

  "Well, give her her due, Charlotte. She is lovely. Such remarkable eyes and hair."

  "Not unlike yours, my dear."

  "Except the swains steered clear of me because I was thought mad."

  "No, just a bluestocking."

  Vanessa grinned. "Some men would say that was the same thing."

  Charlotte giggled. "Well, they certainly aren't steering clear of her, more's the pity."

  "I suspect she's being considered fair game whether she likes it or not."

  "Aye, not least because some young or old buck is going to view her as a challenge, and she seems so innocent and untouched, it’s like a spur to their lusts."

  Vanessa shook her own auburn locks. "Isolde is with Philip and Thomas, two most decent men, if I may say so about your husband. What can possibly happen to her?"

  "What indeed," Charlotte said with rising horror as she saw two of the most fearsome rattles in the district making a beeline for the lovely auburn-haired woman.

  Her wedding ring was enough to deter one of them, but Tobias Parke was not known for his faint heart. He actually presumed to try to cut in, to the point where the only way to not cause a scene was for Isolde to agree to dance with him, leaving Philip standing nearby.

  Howell moved at the edge of the crowd, observing both Randall and especially Isolde. Life with the Earl of Hazelmere certainly seemed to agree with the little whore. But then, Randall was such a rake, she was probably expanding her education in all sorts of delicious ways.

  He had been biding his time, waiting for her to eventually see she had made a mistake. He couldn’t believe for a minute that Randall was being faithful to her. And even if he were, there would be plenty of women who would like to make sure he was not for long. They were swarming around him like beetles a mound of dung, and he gritted his teeth. If he had had a title, ready cash, he would have had his pick of all these women. Not now, but soon.

  He stared at Isolde, wondering if the little tart was breeding yet. It had been this fear that had provoked him to muster his resources and put his plan into operation. It would be bound to happen sooner or later, even if Randall was twiddling his knob with half the County.

  A legitimate child of their union would be one inconvenience he would have to be certain was removed, though he had heard that breeding women often had the most extreme tastes.

  Well, if not abortion, then a pillow over the face when the time was right would suit him fine. No son of Randall’s was ever going to inherit the Hazelmere title. It would all be his. Starting tonight.

  He nodded to his friend Jarvis, an innocent looking young man with a large carbuncle on his neck who was the most debauched of the set with whom Howell gambled.

  Jarvis bided his time at the ball until the crush was large enough to conceal his approach. "It’s Isolde Drake, isn’t it?"

  "That’s right. Avenel now."

  "We met at Lady Pemberton’s last year, if you would be so kind as to recall."

  "Oh yes, of course. Mr. Jarvis, isn’t it?"

  "Yes, indeed. How kind of you to remember."

  She peered at the awkward-looking young man, and reflected that time had not improve his looks or social graces. He wore thick spectacles, and was covered in the most inflamed pustules. Still, he was part of the Pemberton set, and as such not to be despised.

  "Would you care to dance?"

  "Oh, no, um…"

  "Please, this one, or the next if you are already engaged."

  "It’s just that it’s so crowded, I can’t see my husband." She looked for him desperately, but soon caught a glimpse of Randall speaking to the voluptuous Georgina Jerome in an animated fashion.

  "Very well then. I can see he is busy. Thank you for the offer," she said, inwardly seething as she stepped onto the floor.

  "No, really, I have to find my wife for this next dance," Randall said urgently, trying to disengage himself from the flirtatious young miss.

  She put a hand on his chest, and Isolde saw this and missed a step in the dance, landing right on her partner’s foot.

  "Oh Lord, I am so sorry."

  Jarvis pretended to be more injured than he really was, the better to get her off the dance floor and outside the safety of the Assembly Hall.

  Fortunately, Charlotte and Vanessa had been keeping an eye on her, and now her self-appointed guardians signalled to the Duke. Arabella saw their alarm, and dropped her partner’s hand right in the middle of the set and fled. They all followed Isolde as fast as they could get through the crowd.

  Randall had seen his wife leaving with another man, and now tore through the crush in a furious rage. How could she!

  The young man pounced on Isolde as soon as she got out the door. She began to struggle as he attempted to drag her into a waiting gig at the side entrance to the Assembly Hall.

  "Help! Help!" The last word was muffled as he clamped his hand over her mouth and nose and continued to drag her forward.

  Philip Marshall, just coming out to smoke a cheroot with Clifford Stone, stared in amazement, and they ran down the steps quickly.

  "You there! Unhand that woman!" Philip bellowed, moving with surprising speed for some so large.

  "I’ll grab the horses," Clifford said, running in the direction of the carriage.

  Jarvis, realising he was severely outnumbered, tried to scurry into the undergrowth, but Philip was too fast for him. He shoved Isolde into his arms and fled. Isolde, half-faint from lack of air, flailed her arms as she began to tumble.

  Philip tried to stop her headlong fall, but her fist caught the edge of his groin. He groaned and grabbed her wrist and then rolled to the ground in an attempt to break her fall as s
he continued to struggle for balance.

  Thus when Randall came up from the front entrance, he saw his wife and Philip on the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, her shoulders and hand below his waist.

  "Philip! You bastard!"

  Randall began to drag both of them up off the ground, Philip by his neckcloth, Isolde by the sleeve of her gown. It shredded in his hand, so that her left breast nearly spilled right out of it in front of all her friends.

  "Perfect. Advertising your wares now. Any other takers? Thomas? Clifford?"