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

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  Michael sighed. "They’ve been asking me the same thing. But don’t you see, he’ll want to give up being Earl, and I don’t want it. I never did. Especially not after all my injuries. I’m a lot better than I was before Bryony came into my life, but I’ll never be completely able-bodied."

  "He doesn’t care about the title. All he wants is love and friendship. Yet even when he gets it, he pushes it away, feels it is his penance for what he did to Francis."

  Michael sighed. "I would like to believe you, really, but I think you’re too good-hearted to understand how I’d be received. Even if Randall wants me back, my mother—"

  "Would be overjoyed to see you, I’m sure. She and I have become closer with each passing day as she regains her strength and comes out of her torpor."

  But Michael ploughed on as though she had not interrupted him. "It would caused everyone a great deal of unnecessary pain and grief to resurrect me after so many years presumed dead. Please, just leave it alone. You are welcome to call on me and my wife, to tell me if there is anything Randall or Mother need. But otherwise I ask you to keep your word and never tell anyone that I’m alive, that you’ve seen me."

  "You’re asking me to keep secrets from my husband."

  "I thought he was keeping things from you?" he pointed out.

  Isolde shook her head ruefully. "No, I don’t think he was now, not after seeing you. It was my fault for not trusting him. I can see it all now."

  "It’s a pity he nearly ruined his life over that snake in the grass Clarissa, and did what he did to poor Francis, but Francis was going to his own ruination anyway consorting with her and our awful cousin Chauncey Howell. So the past is the past. Randall has you now, and you evidently adore him. That will be enough. He doesn’t need me coming back and turning his whole life upside down again.

  "He is too honourable and decent to ever be happy remaining the Earl if he finds out I'm still alive. He would consider it worse even than what he did to Francis, taking my ordained place. Think what giving up the earldom would mean to you and your children—"

  "Nothing if he’s happy because you are back in his life!"

  Michael sighed. "You’re so young, Isolde. You have no idea—"

  "I know Randall," she said firmly. "I’ve seen into his heart and soul as much as any wife can. While I have misunderstood some of what I’ve seen, Arabella warned me not to do anything foolish until I was sure of my facts.

  "I’ve waited all these weeks, harboring these terrible suspicions. I’m only sorry I didn’t come sooner. I feel as if every kiss I’ve given him has been false, bestowed with less than my whole heart. He needs to trust in my love. I need to trust in his. It will be no hardship to give up the Earldom, if only we can have a good home where we can all be happy together. If you will let us stay in the house here in Somerset—"

  "My dear, of course you can. I would never—"

  Bryony intervened at this point. "Does that mean you are reconsidering your position, Michael?"

  He shook his head and reached for his wife's hand. "No, not for a moment. I'm merely reassuring Isolde that this changes nothing. I am not going to tell him I’m alive."

  "Not even if it helps him?" Isolde challenged.

  "Not if it's going to hurt us or our family." He looked at Bryony for support, and she nodded.

  "It won’t!"

  "It will," he said, his tone cynical. "Money, power, fortune, they all change people whether they want them to or not. By all accounts Mark became quite the little tyrant when he was being groomed up for the post—"

  "Your father drove him to be a true-blue Tory. Randall isn’t like that. He’s a good man, a model earl. He’s done so much for the different charities. Just ask any of the Rakehells."

  He nodded. "I had heard he was improving, becoming more active with various charities."

  "I know I’m biased because I love him, but he really is a credit to you all. And far more Radical than most MPs who carry that label, for all their lip service to questions of reform regarding chimney sweeps and slavery."

  "Yes, the Earl's speech was quite remarkable. It certainly got the most impressive coverage in the Times . I was pleasantly surprised and very proud. I thought it was my father, finally coming to his senses. I had no idea it was Randall, of all people."

  "Half of Parliament was shocked to the core, not to mention Prinny."

  "The Prince of Wales is a twit. But Randall is taking a hard road trying to be so advance, revolutionary, even."

  She raised her chin proudly. "He’s not going to cross the floor if he can’t be certain the Radicals are any better than the Whigs or Tories. And as for the scandal, well, he’s braved it all beautifully. He’s never once doubted his father's character, and I’m going to try to see if there isn’t some way of restoring his good name so that Randall will not have to live under such a taint. And it's the least I can do, since my father Viscount Linley was the one who accused him of peculation."

  "I see. On what grounds?"

  "I don't know, but I've asked my brother to help me. Just as I'm asking you to help Randall. Unless you don't think he's worth the trouble after what I've just told you."

  "More than worth it. Randall is a good man. I’ve always been so proud of him. He's made mistakes, but then, haven't we all. Tell me, I suppose he’s had to give up the painting now that he’s so busy."

  She shook his head. "No, not at all. I insist he has time every day. It’s part of who he is. It would be unfair for any of us to deny him the right and freedom to do something he loves, and is so talented at."

  Michael smiled. "I can see you really do love him. Most wives would never be so understanding."

  "I love him all my heart. Which is why I’m asking you to please consider my request, and come home."

  "Home?" He indicated his study and his wife with a sweep of his hand. "I am home. I’m sorry, I can’t—"

  "Sooner or later one of the Rakehells is going to slip. Or you’re going to run into each other here in Bath," she argued impatiently.

  "I will deal with that when and if it arises. In the meantime, I shall say nothing about Francis, if you'll say nothing about me."

  Isolde sucked in a breath as if she had been scalded. "What kind of monster are you! You care so little about—"

  "You have no idea! I didn’t get the appellation of ‘The Grim Reaper’ in the Army because I was a nice chap! It’s because I do care so much about Randall and Mother that I’m not going to trespass upon them. Please, all this arguing is fruitless. I would like you to leave now, Isolde."

  "But Randall needs you! Grim Reaper or not!"

  Michael shook his head. "He has you. That is going to have to be enough for him. If you love him as much as you say you do, it will be enough. Bryony’s love is enough for me. I’m not going to risk my family being damaged by being dragged into the limelight. I just want to be left alone."

  He lifted the papers he had been scrutinising in front of his face, signalling the interview was at an end.

  Isolde looked over at their other companion. Bryony gave her a sympathetic smile and shrug.

  She could see that the woman understood her position, but she was loyal to her husband and would not intervene on her behalf.

  "Thank you for seeing me. It was good to meet you, and thank you for being so understanding. I'll go now. I'm so sorry to have taken up so much of your valuable time. All I ask is that you think a bit more about what I've said," Isolde sighed. She lifted her reticule, and left without another word.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Randall returned from London with Philip several days later, he greeted all the children heartily, and was more than eager to see his wife. He had done nothing but think about and miss his family the whole time he had been gone, and was desperate to reassure himself that she was all right.

  He had set the wheels in motion against Howell, and just had to see where they stopped spinning. He only prayed Howell's campaign of revenge upon he and his wife
had not gone too far.

  He found Isolde issuing orders for the reception rooms downstairs to all be lit and filled with food and wine and card tables.

  "Are we having guests?" he asked in surprise.

  "Yes, the Rakehells and the other local families. An open house and charity whist drive for the clinic. How could you have forgotten? We planned it weeks ago," she said, hurt that he had not remembered.

  She tried to keep her temper, having missed him, and debated at length as to whether she should tell him about Michael or not.

  Isolde knew she had been wrong about what he had been getting up to in Bath, but that did not mean she was wrong about his strange trips to London.

  She hated herself for thinking that way, but just when she thought they were getting closer, she would find another wall thrown up, or something he had neglected to tell her.

  "Sorry, dearest," he said, giving her a warm kiss that she leaned into with a sigh. "One look at you befuddles my wits."

  Isolde gave him a long look, worried about just what else was going to become befuddled tonight as the pick of the county came to their home.

  All the women flocked around him no matter where he went; the only men who attracted more attention were Philip and the Duke of Ellesmere. She regretted now ever having planned the event. Or that Randall had come home in time for it.

  He looked pensive, and tried to wheedle her into going upstairs with him. "But darling, can’t we just leave Sarah and Alexander in charge, and have a quiet night—"

  She removed herself from his questing hands impatiently. "Are you ashamed of me? Is that why we rarely go to any social functions together these days? It’s almost like you make an excuse every time to—"

  "Not ashamed, no!"

  "What then?"

  "Worried that you’re going to be attacked again. Worried that you are going to meet someone who thinks ill of me, or Howell or one of his friends," he admitted.

  "Then we have to put on a united front, show them that no matter what, we will not be separated. That we love each other and the past can’t harm us. That is, unless I’m restricting your opportunities for dalliance," she accused, her tone hurt.

  "Aye, you are, wench," he growled lustily, cupping her to his massive erection. "I can’t dally with you when you’re in a room full of people!"

  Her brother Stephen came in now and said with a laugh, "Oh, I don’t know. I saw the two of you hunting the figgy pudding once on the second floor landing. Must just try that position myself. Very discreet."

  Randall and Isolde rolled their eyes, and Isolde pointed at him to leave.

  "If it’s an open house and Howell comes here, he’ll cause trouble, mark my words. I will not have him distressing you," he said as soon as her brother had gone.

  She took both of his hands in her own. "Please, Randall, I need to hold my head high in my own home. Anyone would think from the way you’re reacting that you have something to hide."

  "Nothing, my love. I swear it," he vowed. "I just can’t bear to think of you being hurt. Of what could have happened—"

  "I shan’t be. I just need the truth from you."

  He sighed. "When are they arriving?"

  "Eight."

  "In that case, I’m going to make the most of having you alone with me until then." He scooped her up into his arms, and carried her straight through the house.

  Heedless of the giggles of the staff and children, he took her to their room and bolted the door behind them.

  Randall had been completely in earnest, and rampagingly ardent after his week away. So much so that Isolde just about managed to drag on a gown and tie her hair back a la Grecque when the first carriage appeared in the drive.

  She looked well and truly made love to, from her bright eyes to her flushed cheeks, and was a marked contrast to the pale Society beauties who paraded past Randall and practically drooled down his sapphire silk waistcoat.

  Blonde Georgina Jerome looked pristinely beautiful in a white gown trimmed with blue to match her eyes. She gave Isolde a wide smile which did not light those azure orbs as she shook hands before moving on to Randall and practically purring. She had heard dozens of stories about the famous rake, but thus far had not had a chance to make a proper run at him. Well, all their plans were in place now...

  She was determined to succeed at her first attempt. She had got nowhere with Philip Marshall the last few times she had seen him, and was beginning to grow desperate for a really good skewering. Why, oh why, could no one ever please her the way her fiance Oliver had?

  In any event, her new-found friend Chauncey Howell had not been much use in doing the brasswork for all his bondage, spanking and sex toys. He clearly didn't have the sap to keep the old knob well polished.

  But he had told her that he would pay her handsomely if he were to succeed in winning Randall and thus driving a wedge between him and his wife, whom Howell wanted for himself.

  Watching the couple together, Georgina grew even more lividly jealous than her own circumstances could warrant. She enjoyed wrecking marriages. Even if the man in question wasn’t worth a swive, she exulted in the sense of power she got from succeeding where it was forbidden she should. And power equalled money, for she could threaten to twiddle and tell. All the poor fools simply caved in after that, and paid her whatever she asked.

  Howell would pay her handsomely as well, once the rest of his plans fell into place, though she was not privy to precisely what they were. She knew he probably bragged as much as the next man, but he was burning for vengeance. She had no doubt whatever he had up his sleeve, he would succeed. She knew the thought of Isolde having been snatched away from his grasp was more than he could stand.

  Given Randall’s reputation, few except the Rakehells could have ever believed Randall could possibly have settled down and foregone the pleasures of the flesh. Howell had bided their time in the hopes that Randall would show his true colors and Isolde would now be more than willing to believe the worst of him. There was plenty of that to be believed, for he had been a prodigious rake prior to his marriage, and less than discreet.

  Chauncey and Georgina had been most thorough. They had each overheard things, got the women of the Ton to recount some of their experiences with the notorious Randall Avenel. They had paid dearly for the information, and were eager to use it. The rest Georgina could make up as she went along, to shock the poor little country mouse into fleeing her disreputable husband.

  She certainly had more than enough experience of depravity to fill in the gaps to make a credible tale. The stakes were high, the game was set to begin.

  As soon as Georgina managed to make it seem natural, she got Isolde alone on the pretext of setting up more card tables, and sympathised with her on her disastrous marriage.

  "Oh my dear, I'm more sorry than I can say. Such a terrible thing to have befallen you."

  "What’s so terrible?" Isolde asked, thinking she was referring to the loss of her father.

  "Being married to a degenerate like Randall, of course. Why, in January alone he had at least eight mistresses at the same time in Paris. Three in the same bed once."

  "Are you trying to tell me-"

  "Bath is a great deal smaller, as is this district, but still not without its charms. And has he ever played the game where you pretend to be a virgin? That’s his favourite. That and tying up women and—"

  Clarissa then described the game in detail in an eager little whisper.

  Isolde tried to leave, but Georgina clung onto her arm, saying, "I’m telling you this for your own good, so that you will know what he does when he goes up to Bath and the Town."

  "I don’t believe you. He’s been here with me for weeks, in bed with me every night. Not up to Town alone once. And he’s never—"

  "Well, he may be on his best behaviour now, but once the novelty of marriage wears off, he will be up to his old tricks." She shrugged her elegant shoulders. "You know we can always be friends. We’re both women of the world, af
ter all, and men will be men."

  "I don’t believe you!" Isolde put her hands up to her ears. Randall had sworn to her….

  But she could feel herself growing more and more ill as Georgina provided convincing details, a mark on his thigh for example when he had impaled himself climbing a ricketty stile.

  So he had lied to her. He had bedded Georgina after all, was her hasty conclusion. Bedded her, and was planning on keeping her as his mistress if the trull was to be believed.

  Isolde ran up to her room to flee from the appalling string of lies and half-truths that Georgina had been spewing forth, and came across Randall in their room changing his clothes, for someone’s stray elbow had jostled an entire tray of drinks down his front.