The Rake

by Mary Jo Putney

  “Of course,” he agreed. “The fact that you look ravishing is strictly secondary. But surely you must have noticed how every man at Strickland looks at you.”

  “I’m their supervisor,” she said reasonably. “Of course they notice me.”

  “I own the estate and pay their wages, but they don’t look at me that way.” There was laughter in his voice. “As for your belief that you are too masculine—whatever that means—no one who has ever looked at you could possibly think you masculine. Every gorgeous inch of you is pure woman.” He cupped her breasts and rubbed his face in the cleft between, the sensual rasp of his whiskers sending tingles through her entire body.

  “As for being too bossy ...” He raised his head and considered. “That’s absolutely true, but it doesn’t make you any less desirable.” Laughing, he dodged the playful swat she aimed at him and continued, “Last but not least, your eyes are beautiful.”

  Now sure that she was being teased, she tried to scowl at him, though her sense of well-being was too great to manage much of a glare. “You’re being ridiculous. Now I can’t believe anything else you said.”

  “You should—it’s all gospel truth.” He raised himself on one elbow and kissed the tip of her nose. “Besides having lashes a yard long, you have one lovely warm brown eye and one lovely, changeable gray eye. Where is it written that eyes must match?”

  She dissolved into laughter at his absurdity. Humor was something else that she had not expected to find with a lover.

  He finished triumphantly, “And your dimples drive me absolutely wild,” before proceeding to kiss them as well.

  From there he nibbled down her throat to her breasts. After several minutes he rolled away. “I keep getting distracted, but there’s much that needs to be said.”

  He propped his head on one elbow, his expression serious. “Allie, sex is a very basic part of the human animal, and it’s a great tragedy that men and women almost never talk freely about it. Respectable women are taught that ignorance and distaste are signs of refinement. Heaven knows how you survived that kind of upbringing with your passion intact, but don’t ever be ashamed of what you are, or what you feel.”

  She swallowed hard. “I ... I’ll try not to be.”

  “Sex is an area where everyone is vulnerable in some way.” He absently twined a strand of her hair around his finger. “A fundamental difference between the genders is that women worry about their desirability, while men worry about their performance.”

  She had thought herself alone in her fears, uniquely unalluring. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Your self-doubt runs far deeper than most women’s, and I intend to find out why, but I have never known a woman, even the most acclaimed of beauties, who did not worry about her attractiveness to men. In fact, the beauties worry the most because so much of their confidence is bound up in their appearance, and time will inevitably rob them. Even women who dislike the actual experience of intercourse usually want to be desired, because it gives them power over men.”

  Alys stared pensively at the shadowed ceiling as she thought about his words. There was so much she didn’t understand about men and women. Her gaze went to Reggie. “I have trouble believing that you worry much about your performance.”

  He grinned. “Less than most, perhaps, but believe me, it is a subject all men take very seriously.” Sobering, he said, “Allie, what happened that made you incapable of looking in a mirror and seeing what you are?”

  She shrugged and looked away uncomfortably. “Meredith is my ideal of perfect female beauty. Obviously I fall far short of that.”

  “Merry is graceful and golden and very pretty indeed, and I’m sure that to Julian she is the most beautiful woman in the world. But beauty comes in many forms that have nothing to do with mere prettiness.” Lightly he traced the lines of her cheekbones and jaw. “You have beauty in the bones, and that will never fade.”

  She closed her eyes, relaxing under his touch like a petted cat until, implacably, he said, “What happened, Allie? I am going to keep asking until you answer.”

  Even as happy as she was now, remembering caused a sting of tears under her lids. “It would be impossible to explain that without telling you most of my life story.”

  “Then you’d better start now, because I’m staying here until I hear it.” His deep voice was warm and encouraging.

  How many men knew or cared how a woman’s mind worked? Suddenly she wanted to tell him her story, not the identifying details, but the essence that had brought her to where she was today. “I was the only child of a ... rather prosperous family. My mother died when I was young and my father never remarried, so I was treated much like a son. That’s how I learned so much about farming. My father and I were very close. He’s a ferocious, domineering autocrat, and we had battles that threatened to blow the roof off Car ... off the house, but ... we understood each other very well.

  “When I was eighteen, I became betrothed. It was a perfect match. I adored Randolph, my father approved of him, and Randolph pretended to be in love with me.” Her throat closed, and her voice choked off.

  “Pretended?”

  Reggie’s even question helped her to go on. “His protestations of love were all lies. A few weeks before the wedding, he and a friend called unexpectedly. I was out riding, but I saw them drive up to the house and came rushing back.” Counting the days until her marriage, she had been overjoyed at the unexpected visit. “I knew he and his friend would be in the morning room, which had French doors, so I went directly there. I was just outside and the doors were open.”

  Even now she could see the softly waving blue damask draperies that concealed her from the men inside. She could hear the cool, contemptuous voices. “They couldn’t see me. The friend asked how Randolph could consider marrying a ... a bossy Long Meg like me. Ten feet tall and all bones, not the sort to warm a man at night, and with managing ways that would keep him under the cat’s paw. That was bad enough.”

  She shuddered over her whole body, “Far worse was being such a fool that I expected Randolph to defend me. He’d said often enough that he loved me. Instead he said ... he said that he was marrying me for money, of course. That once he had control of my fortune, he’d rule the roost.” The acutely remembered hurt was the source of her nightmares, and saying it aloud was like twisting a knife in her midriff.

  Then, miraculously, Reggie laid his hand on her solar plexus, right where the pain was centered. “Steady, Allie,” he said quietly. Warmth radiated from his palm, soothing her turbulent emotions.

  When she had mastered herself, she opened her eyes and said with more calm than she would have believed possible an hour earlier, “I daresay it sounds trivial, doesn’t it? You have survived far worse.”

  “Don’t discount your own pain,” Reggie said, his voice rough. “No matter how large or small the cause may appear, the only true measure of an injury is how deeply it hurts you. To be betrayed by the man you had trusted with your love—to have your very femininity disparaged—these are profound and terrible wounds.”

  She rolled over, burying her face against his shoulder. As she felt the knot of old pain slowly unwind and dissipate, she knew in her bones that while there would always be a scar, this part of her past no longer had power over her.

  Reggie said no more, only held her, sharing his warmth and stillness. How could he understand so much about pain and healing? A foolish question. She knew enough of his past to understand what a hard school he had learned in.

  Feeling lighter and freer than she had since her girlhood, Alys rolled onto her back and managed a creditable smile. “Thank you.”

  “Feel better now?” he asked gently, his eyes very warm. When she nodded, he asked, “What happened after you overheard those two young oafs?”

  Some of her well-being ebbed away. “I retrieved my horse and rode to the farthest end of the estate, not returning until long after dark. Randolph and his friend had left, since I couldn’t be found. When I c
ame home, I marched in to my father and said I wouldn’t marry Randolph if he were Adam and the only other choice was the serpent.”

  Her body began to tighten again. Reggie pulled the covers up and tucked them around her shoulders. She took a deep breath. “We had a battle royal. When I wouldn’t give him a reason for changing my mind, he thought I was being foolish and missish. But I couldn’t talk about what had happened. I couldn’t.”

  “Understandable,” Reggie said mildly.

  Once more his comprehension relaxed her. “My father got all medieval and swore that I was no daughter of his, and that he would disinherit me if I didn’t go through with the marriage. Then he locked me in my room.”

  “Bread and water?”

  She smiled wryly. “I didn’t stay around long enough to find out. I put on my breeches and packed what money I had and what clothes could be carried easily. At midnight I climbed down a rope of knotted sheets in the approved romantic fashion. Except that I wasn’t running to a man, but from one.”

  “Not one, but two. If your father had been more understanding, would you have left?” Reggie said quietly.

  “No.” Her voice was deeply sad. “Many women have had broken hearts and survived. Being betrayed by my father was far worse because he had been the center and foundation of my life.” She could not think of it, because that wound would never heal. “After I ran away, matters became rather sordid,” she said without inflection. “You know that I wasn’t a virgin.”

  His hand skimmed up her body until it rested over her heart. “Allie, you don’t have to explain anything to me. The woman you have become is a result of all the choices and mistakes you have made through the years. Don’t apologize for your past.”

  “But I want to tell you. I don’t understand myself why I did what I did then. Perhaps you will.” She closed her eyes, her face tight. “Two nights later I was staying at an inn, dressed like a female again. I was going down the hall to my room when I met a merchant who was staying there. He was drunk as a wheelbarrow, and he ... he made an advance.” She bit her lip, then forced herself to say, “And I accepted.”

  The merchant’s breath had been sour, his hands clumsy. He neither knew nor cared that she was a virgin. And she had lain there and allowed him to violate her.

  Alys swallowed, her mouth bitter with the taste of self-loathing. “I must have been insane. It was over quickly. He was too drunk to know or remember what happened, I think.”

  “Shall I find him and kill him for you?” Reggie said with deceptive gentleness.

  “No!” Alys felt a bubble of semi-hysterical laughter. Perhaps that was what Reggie had intended. “He didn’t force me. The fault was mine alone.”

  He pulled her closer. Her skin was warm, soft satin. “That must have been a very poor introduction to the delights of the flesh.”

  “It was. Worse, I despised myself afterward.” She looked at him, her eyes wide and pleading. “Can you tell me why I did such a revolting thing?”

  “Having suffered a devastating blow to your womanhood, you wanted to prove to yourself in the most basic way that a man could want you,” he said immediately. “At the same time, it was one in the eye to your father and the repellent Randolph, the kind of action that would most infuriate them if they knew.” His mouth twisted. “Unfortunately, it also left you with the idea that only a drunkard could want you.”

  After a long silence, she said, “Reggie, how do you know so much about people?”

  “I started studying humankind when I was very young. Not to mention the fact that I’m something of an expert in the theory and practice of self-destruction,” he said dryly. “I presume that after the episode with the drunk, you renounced men and lovemaking in favor of penitence and good works, but you couldn’t make your natural passion vanish.”

  She gave a crooked smile. “Right again. I’ve always adored men, but after that night, I knew I’d doomed myself to spinsterhood. The man I loved had rejected me, and I couldn’t imagine anyone else ever wanting me after what I had done. For a few hours I was on the verge of destroying myself, no matter what the cost to my immortal soul. I even chopped off my hair and burned it.” She shivered and burrowed closer to him, taking comfort in the feel of lean muscles and hard bone.

  “What brought you back from the brink?” he prompted.

  “The next day my groom found me. He’d seen me after I’d overheard Randolph, and knew something was terribly wrong. The next morning he discovered that my horse was gone, and came after me without telling anyone. I think he hoped that if he caught me soon enough, he could persuade me to come back before there was a scandal. But it took him several days to find me, and when he did, I refused to return. He said he wouldn’t force me, but he wouldn’t leave me unprotected, either.”

  Reggie inhaled, enlightenment dawning. “Don’t tell me—Jamie Palmer.”

  “Exactly. We had always been friends. He had no family and no reason to go back to my father’s estate, so he stayed with me. I was grateful to have someone nearby who cared what became of me.” She smiled fondly. “My first position was as history and Latin mistress at a small school near here. Jamie found work in the stables. Later I became a governess with Mrs. Spenser, and he moved along and found another position. When I started the pottery and needed someone I could trust to supervise, he took it on even though he prefers horses. He’s been a good friend.”

  “Is he in love with you?” Reggie asked, trying not to sound jealous again.

  She shook her head, not without some regret. “He never thought of me that way. To him I was the young mistress, far above his touch, even when I became a working woman. Several years ago he married one of the Herald girls. She’s sweet and much more his style.” Alys exhaled roughly. “The rest of the story you know.”

  “Have you ever thought of going back to your father?”

  “Never.” The single word was flat and uncompromising.

  “It would be one thing if you hate him, but from what you said, that isn’t the case,” Reggie pointed out. “Don’t you want to make peace with him? He won’t live forever—he might have died already.”

  “He isn’t dead.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I would have heard.”

  Alys in this mood could give lessons to an oyster on staying mum, but Reggie persisted. It was one of the things he did best. “Allie, take it from someone who knows—living with anger is bad for the soul.”

  “Which interests you more, my soul or my potential fortune?” she snapped.

  He refused to be drawn. “Give me some credit. Lord Markham might have called me a fortune hunter, but if I had ever wished to marry an heiress, I assure you I would have been successful in my quest.”

  She smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. But I can’t go back, not ever.”

  “Because your father will never forgive you?”

  She stared at the ceiling. “That’s half the reason. The other is that I can’t forgive him. The one time above all others that I needed him to understand, to show that he cared, he failed me.” Her voice broke. “Call it pride or stubbornness or sheer bloody-mindedness, but I will never return and ask for his forgiveness. Not now, not even if I knew he would restore me as his heir. Even when he dies, I won’t go back.”

  Sheer bloody-mindedness was another thing that Reggie was an expert on, but he wasn’t quite ready to drop the topic. “Would you return if he asked you to?”

  Her tone was sad and tired. “My father has never admitted a mistake or made an apology in his life. He would never ask me back.”

  There was another kind of pain in her voice now. “A pity that you don’t hate your father,” he said softly. “That would make this easier for you.”

  Her expression hardened. “I don’t need my father or his money. I haven’t done badly on my own.”

  “No, you haven’t,” Reggie agreed, tenderly brushing the hair from her face. Beautiful, stubborn, honorable Lady
Alys, whose veins pulsed with matchless passion. Their lovemaking had been extraordinary, and not only because it had been months since he’d lain with a woman.

  He thought back, and winced inwardly when he remembered that the last occasion had been that coarse, mindless coupling with Stella. He hated even to think of that when he was holding Alys in his arms. There had been wonder in their joining, a sense of discovery that took him back decades to the day when he’d lost his virginity with a lusty, good-natured dairymaid. He suppressed that thought as well. The only woman in the world who mattered now was Alys.

  Was this the right time to ask her to marry him? The idea had been growing in the back of his mind for weeks. He had intended to wait longer, to prove to her—and him—that he was sober and would remain that way. But tonight had changed everything. There was no way they could live under the same roof and not continue as lovers.

  He was reasonably confident that she would accept. Allie was not indifferent to him, she loved Strickland, and she wanted children of her own.

  And he loved her. Strange that he hadn’t realized before. At some point in the last weeks, lust and respect and companionship and gratitude had fused, and the result far transcended the sum of the parts. In an utterly conventional way, he wanted her to be his woman, forsaking all others, until death did them part.

  He had never made such a declaration, but he opened his mouth, hoping that sincerity would compensate for lack of style. Then, before he could speak, the part of his mind that never rested began assembling random pieces of information into a new and stunning picture.

  His hand stilled, coming to rest on one of her lovely breasts. Julian had told him of the missing heir to the Duke of Durweston, a girl who had been betrothed to the younger son of the Marquess of Kinross. The marquess’s younger son was Lord Randolph Lennox. Reggie knew him slightly. He was a handsome man a few years Reggie’s junior, a paragon of gentlemanly virtues. The ideal mate for a girl who would one day be a duchess in her own right. Then Durweston’s daughter had allegedly run off with her groom—a dozen years earlier, when the girl was eighteen.