The Rake

by Mary Jo Putney

  Alys curled up in the wing chair opposite, legs tucked under her, and sipped her drink. The restlessness that had kept her awake dissolved, replaced by contentment. Enjoying the slow burn of the brandy on her tongue, she said softly, “You’re right about the dark watches of the night. They can be very lonely indeed.”

  “Sometimes. Often.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Always.”

  His clear light eyes met hers with no trace of the reserve he wore like armor. She could not decipher the complex blend of emotions in his gaze—surely vulnerability could not be among them?—but she became acutely conscious of the fact that it was very late, and that they were alone. The tautness in her midriff changed as a more pleasurable kind of tension coiled deep within her.

  “What keeps you awake late at night, Allie?” he asked, his voice soft and intimate. “Don’t hard work and a clear conscience count for anything?”

  His openness called for a like response. She replied, “Who among us has a really clear conscience?”

  “I certainly don’t.” He finished the brandy in his goblet, then leaned over to pour more. “Though in all modesty, I’m sure that my sins utterly surpass yours.”

  She smiled faintly. “If even half the stories about you are true, you’re probably correct.”

  “I should think that about half is the correct proportion. The question for you is ...” He paused, an amused glint in his eyes. “Which half?”

  “Would you tell me what was true if I asked?” she inquired, her head tilted and her heavy braid falling over her shoulder.

  “Probably. I generally answer direct questions. Most people are too well-bred or too afraid of the answers to ask.” His amusement deepened. “It would be interesting to see if you are as unshockable as you claim.”

  Perhaps it was the brandy, or perhaps her intense curiosity about him, but she recklessly decided to take Reggie up on his willingness to be forthright. And she might as well start with the worst. “Did you really have a pregnant mistress run away to you, kill her husband in a duel, and then abandon her?”

  For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer. “A good place to start,” he said finally, “since that story is exactly half true.”

  “Which half?”

  “The lady in question did indeed seek my protection, I did kill her husband in a duel, and we did not marry.” His words were cool and precise.

  Chilled, Alys wondered how he could admit to such monstrous behavior so calmly. “In what way is the other half false?”

  He leaned his head against the chair back and watched her through half-closed eyes. “She wasn’t my mistress, and I didn’t abandon her.”

  Feeling irrationally relieved, she settled more deeply into her chair. “It sounds like an interesting story. May I hear the rest?”

  She saw him subtly relax. Had he thought she would not believe him?

  “Sarah was the sister of a school friend of mine, Theo. Since my guardian and I shared a profound mutual dislike, I spent most of my school holidays with Theo’s family. Those were some of the better memories of my youth. His sister was a pretty little thing who tagged around after us.”

  He took another sip of brandy, his gaze distant. “After Eton, Theo’s father bought him a pair of colors. We had once planned on going into the army together, but ... well, it didn’t happen. He and I continued to correspond, but I lost touch with the rest of his family. In that time his sister married, and both of his parents died.

  “Then one day Sarah showed up on my doorstep, bloody and beaten within an inch of her life.” His voice was coldly angry. “Her husband was a vicious devil who regularly bounced her off the walls when he was in a jealous fit, which was often. When she became pregnant, he decided she had been unfaithful to him, and damned near killed her. Her brother was fighting in the Peninsula, too far away to know what was happening. But he had told her once that if she ever needed help, she should come to me.”

  Reggie shrugged, his powerful shoulders flexing under his white shirt. “Since her brother couldn’t protect her, I did.”

  Amazing how different his version of the story was from what Junius Harper had said. Alys released the breath she had been holding. “You eliminated her husband?”

  “Exactly.” His flexible mouth twisted. “If her husband had assaulted another woman as he did her, he could have been convicted and jailed. But since she was his wife, beating her was perfectly legal, unless he actually murdered her. There was no possibility of divorce. Violence isn’t enough to free a wife of her husband.”

  “After Sarah took refuge with you, did her husband challenge you to a duel?”

  “Not precisely.” Reggie smiled unpleasantly. “He hired a couple of bully boys to murder me in an alley. When I escaped more or less unscathed, I challenged him.”

  Alys’s goblet was forgotten in her lap, her fingers locked around the stem. “And then you killed him.”

  “I executed him,” he corrected. “Since the law didn’t offer justice, I took it into my own hands.”

  “And Sarah?”

  “I offered to marry her if that would make her situation easier, but she said the last thing she wanted was another husband.” He shrugged. “I’ll admit I was grateful that she didn’t accept, though I think we would have dealt tolerably well together.

  “After her son was born, even her late husband’s vengeful relatives admitted that the boy looked just like his father. To the outrage of the entire county of Lincoln, Sarah went back to her husband’s estate and took control of the property on her son’s behalf,” Reggie smiled. “Last year, she scandalized the county all over again by marrying a local physician, a man quite beneath her in fortune and birth. From her letters she’s entirely pleased with her life, though the high-sticklers won’t receive her.” He glanced at Alys. “She’s rather like you—a strong-minded woman.”

  Ignoring his last sentence, Alys said thoughtfully, “So you let the world think what it wished, and of course it preferred the most scandalous interpretation.”

  “Of course.”

  “Is it hard to kill someone?”

  He was surprised at first, then thoughtful. “If you’re asking whether I enjoy killing, the answer is no. However, on the occasions when I have found it necessary, I have felt little compunction and no remorse. The world was not a better place for having Sarah’s husband in it. My conscience would have troubled me infinitely more if I had attended her funeral, knowing I had done nothing to help her while she was alive.”

  Alys nodded, understanding perfectly. Fascinated by this glimpse of the masculine world, she wanted to take full advantage of Reggie’s willingness to talk. Next question. “Have you fought many duels?”

  He pursed his lips. “Between twelve and fifteen, I suppose. I’ve never actually counted.”

  “Was Junius accurate about the number that ... were fatal?”

  “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 overindulgence?”

  “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 right—I 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 question—I won’t call her a lady—captured 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 myse
lf 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 now—it 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.