The Rake

by Mary Jo Putney

  “Alyson?”

  His soft voice had a questioning note, and it broke Alys’s abstraction. “Hello, Randolph.” She smiled and offered her hand, determined to carry this off in a civilized fashion, as if a dozen years of anguish didn’t lie between them. “Am I so changed that you can’t recognize me?”

  Randolph returned her smile with relief, and she realized that he was as nervous as she. How strange.

  He crossed the room and kissed her hand, then continued to hold it as he straightened up. “You look marvelous, Alyson. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

  Alys pulled her hand away. “What, a Long Meg like me, ten feet tall, all bones and bossy? Of course, there is still the fortune.” Then she winced, aghast. So much for being civilized. She had not meant to say those brittle, angry words, and now they hung in the air like the stench of burned flesh.

  Randolph shut his eyes, a spasm of emotion crossing his face. More to himself than her, he whispered, “God help me, that was the reason.”

  He drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes again. “For the last dozen years I’ve racked my brain, trying to understand why you ran away. Since your father said you had wanted to break our betrothal just before you left, I feared that you might have heard those words, but I prayed that I was wrong.”

  For years Lord Randolph had loomed in Alys’s mind as a cynical, mocking betrayer. That image crumbled at the sight of his stricken face. She said coolly, “Perhaps we should sit down. It seems that we have matters to discuss.”

  They chose facing chairs. Alys explained, “I had returned from riding and was just outside the French doors, and heard what your friend said. And I heard your answer.” Once more she saw the fluttering draperies and felt the twist of shock in her solar plexus, yet it was all very distant. What she felt now was not pain, but the memory of pain.

  Randolph’s face tightened. “Of course you thought I agreed with what he said.”

  “How could I not?” she asked dryly. “I heard you with my own ears. After your claims of love undying, it was rather—unpleasant—to learn that my fortune was my principal attraction.”

  “It wasn’t, you know,” he said quietly. “The truth was that I loved you, more than I had ever put into words.”

  “Ah, yes, who could not love all that beautiful money?” she murmured, an edge of bitterness in her voice. Randolph had a very respectable fortune of his own, or he would never have been acceptable to her father. But her fortune was many times the size of his, and it was often the rich who are the greediest.

  He gave a quick, sharp shake of the head. “Alyson, I am a wealthy man in my own right. Oh, no one objects to more money, but I had no reason to marry a girl unless I cared for her deeply. As I did you. You were unlike anyone I’d ever met. Intelligent, enthusiastic, caring about those less fortunate. Amusing, sometimes imperious, more often oblivious to dignity. And so lovely that I could hardly keep my hands off you.”

  She flushed. “Don’t mock me, Randolph. I prefer honest insults to false compliments.”

  His slate-blue eyes met hers with patent sincerity. “Alyson, I never lied to you. The only dishonest thing you ever heard me say was my answer to Fogarty’s stupid question that day.”

  She took an unsteady breath. Oddly, she believed him. “If you really did care for me, how could you say what you did?” she said in a low voice. She was discovering that remembered pain could still hurt.

  He sighed. “I don’t know if you can understand this, but young men don’t admit to having deep feelings. Lust perhaps, but never love. Most of my friends were amazed that I wanted to get married rather than drown myself in opera dancers. They could have understood better if you had been a conventional golden-haired china doll, but you were different.”

  Her mouth twisted. “So we’re back to ten feet tall, all bones, and unable to keep a man warm at night.”

  He winced. “You were like a young foal, all legs and great eyes, not yet having found your balance, not at all in the common way,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But to me you were beautiful. I knew that as time passed, you would only become more beautiful. As you have.”

  Sudden tears stung Alys’s eyes. She closed them sharply.

  “Are you all right?” Randolph said, concerned.

  “I’m fine.” She bit her lip, then opened her eyes. “You’re very convincing. But, then”—her tone hardened—“you always were.”

  A muscle jerked in his handsome jaw. “I suppose I deserve that.”

  Nervously she brushed back her hair. “Why, Randolph? Why did you tell your friend you were marrying me for money when he asked why you were doing it?”

  “Because it was a reason he could understand.” He sighed. “Fogarty would have laughed at me if I had tried to explain how I felt about you. Love makes one vulnerable. It was hard enough to tell you about my deepest feelings. Revealing them to a doltish male friend was impossible.”

  Alys regarded him with wonder. “It was as simple as that?”

  “As simple as that,” he agreed with a smile that held no humor.

  Alys stared unseeing across the chamber. It was impossible to disbelieve Randolph. Even though a dozen years had passed, it couldn’t have been easy for him to come here and expose himself in this way. “I don’t know whether this is tragedy or farce. My whole life was changed by hearing an insult that wasn’t even intended.”

  “You spent a dozen years in exile because in a moment of weakness, I denied my own heart,” Randolph said, his expression bleak. “I’ll never forgive myself for that. Nor do I expect you to forgive me. All of these years I’ve feared that it was my words that sent you away. It’s almost a relief to know the worst.”

  He got to his feet. “I can’t imagine that you’ll want to see me again. I spend much of my time in the country, so I should be able to stay out of your path. I’m sorry, Alyson. That’s hardly adequate for having ruined your life, but ... it’s the best I can do.”

  Alys stood also. “Don’t run away. Have some tea.”

  Before he could object, she rang for refreshments, then waved him back to the chair. As she assimilated Randolph’s words, her predominant emotions were relief and an upswelling of confidence. One man finding her lovely and desirable could be attributable to insanity or perverse taste, but two men had made such statements recently. She couldn’t believe they were both mad. Between them, they were healing the crippling blow to her self-esteem that had occurred a dozen years earlier.

  She seated herself again. “You were not solely responsible for me haring off the way I did. My father is at least as much to blame. And looking back, it was rather bird-witted of me to run away.” She gave him a rueful grin. “Once I did, the pride of the Blakefords took over. I would have died rather than come back and admit that I was wrong. If a ... friend hadn’t interceded, I would not be here today.”

  The tea arrived. She paused to pour them each a cup and offer a plate of delicate pastries to Randolph, who was much more at ease than when he had arrived. After a blissful bite—her father kept the best chefs in Britain—she said, “You can also disabuse yourself of the notion that you ruined my life. Mind you, I have no desire to go back to being a history mistress, but experiencing the world outside the golden bars of Carleon has vastly improved me.”

  He regarded her gravely. “Are you saying that just to make me feel better?”

  “Not in the least.” Alys reached for another pastry, then decided against it. She was going to have to be careful about such things now that she wasn’t as active. She gave him a mischievous smile. “Do I look ruined?”

  He gave a long, slow smile. “You look splendid, and you have grown into the remarkable woman I always knew you would be.”

  If Alys had been the sort of female who could toss her head coquettishly, she would have done so. Regretfully she decided that it simply wasn’t her style. She would have to learn how to accept compliments with dignity. She poured more tea. “Now that all that ancient hi
story has been disposed of, tell me about yourself, Randolph. Surely you are married now, with a family.”

  “No. For years I hoped that you would return. I couldn’t really look at another woman.” A shadow crossed his face. “I finally gave up and married four years ago. She died in childbirth.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Alys said with compassion. Perhaps Randolph’s momentary lapse had ruined his life more than hers. She changed the subject, and they drifted into easy conversation, with Alys describing some of the more amusing aspects of her working career. Randolph made an appreciative and admiring audience.

  When he finally took his leave, he paused at the door, his handsome face intent. “I don’t suppose that it is possible to begin again.”

  He had kind eyes. Alys studied him for a moment, then shook her head. “It would have worked then, but not now.”

  He nodded, kissed her hand with regret, and left.

  Filled with gentle nostalgia, Alys went up to her chamber. Randolph was a thoroughly nice gentleman who was born to make some lucky woman a good and loving husband. She hoped that his luck would improve in the future.

  Of one thing she was sure: he would be wasted on a woman who had a regrettable preference for rakes.

  Alys was brushing out her hair in preparation for going to bed when she heard a tap on the door. Guessing that it was her eldest ward, who had just returned from visiting her future in-laws, she called, “Come in, Merry.”

  Meredith, exquisite in a blue velvet dressing gown, entered and made herself comfortable in the wing chair. “I had a good visit with the Markhams, but it’s nice to be home.” She smiled mischievously. “Home is defined by where you are, since I never set foot in Durweston House before today. Or dreamed of doing so, either!”

  Alys smiled, touched by her ward’s definition of home. “Would you like to be married from here? That should impress Julian’s family.”

  “It’s definitely worth considering. I’ll write Julian and see what he thinks.” Merry made a face. “But much as I look forward to marriage, I’m going to miss our talks.”

  Alys would, too. So much of her life had changed, and so quickly. With a sigh she perched on the bed and began braiding her hair. “Tell me more about your visit.”

  Merry obliged. She and Julian had also visited the estate at Moreton, where they would live after their marriage, and she was bubbling with ideas for what they would do there. All Alys had to do was nod and make an occasional comment, until Merry asked, “When are you going back to Strickland?”

  Alys drew her long legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees in an unconscious reaction to the question. “I’m not going back.”

  “Of course you’re going back,” Merry retorted. “What will Reggie do without you?”

  “He doesn’t want me there.” Alys tried to sound casual, but her voice broke on the words. “He made that quite clear.”

  Merry looked at her guardian in astonishment. “And you believed him?”

  “What else could I do?” Alys asked stiffly. “He never wanted to have a female steward in the first place. He’s quite capable of running the estate himself.”

  Merry gave her a pitying look. “What has that to do with it? The man is mad about you. He may not need you as a steward, but he certainly does as a woman.”

  Alys’s emotions were very raw, and to her horror she found herself on the edge of tears. As she bowed her head, Merry moved to the bed and put a comforting arm around her guardian—something of a stretch—in a reversal of their usual roles.

  “If he needs me that much,” Alys managed to say, “why did he tell me I didn’t belong there?”

  “Misplaced nobility,” Merry said calmly.

  When Alys raised her head in surprise, the younger woman continued, “Alys, you are the cleverest, most capable woman I’ve ever met, but your judgment about men is lamentable. Because Reggie really cares about you, he is bending over backward to do the right thing. Given his lurid reputation and your exalted breeding, that translates into removing himself from the picture so you can find a mate more worthy of you.”

  “Nonsense,” Alys snapped.

  “Oh? Think about it.”

  Alys opened her mouth to protest again, then stopped. Actually, her instincts had said that she and Reggie shared something magical, and that the caring was not only on her side. Then she’d revealed enough for him to guess her identity, and everything had changed. Given her terrible doubts about her desirability, she had dismissed her instincts as wrong.

  She frowned. Would he really think himself unworthy of her? She considered how the world would view such a match, and decided that it was entirely possible. Perhaps she had been too easily persuaded to leave.

  She turned to her ward, eyes narrowed. “Are you really, really sure that Reggie cares about me as ... as more than just a friend?”

  “I guarantee it. As you’ve said more than once, I was born understanding men. The way he looked at you when you were absorbed in other things ...” Merry shook her head. “It was like you were his last hope of heaven.”

  “Really?” Alys asked in amazement.

  “As God is my witness,” Merry said solemnly. “When you were around, there was a kind of ... intentness, as if half of his attention was always turned to you. To be honest, I always felt that he was only a step away from sweeping you up to his room and locking the door for a week.”

  Alys blushed. Reggie had said as much himself. “You shouldn’t be speaking of such things,” she said automatically as she struggled with her thoughts.

  “I’m on the verge of marriage,” Merry pointed out. “I’m practicing how to sound like a wicked wife.”

  Alys had to smile, but it faded quickly. Good heavens, if Merry was right, what about Reggie’s drinking? If he was lonely and miserable, might he return to it? It didn’t bear thinking about, not after what he had suffered to stop. She jumped from the bed and went to her clothespress.

  As she opened a drawer, Merry said, “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Packing to go back to Strickland.”

  Laughing affectionately, Merry said, “You can’t leave in the middle of the night.”

  Alys paused. “I could, but I suppose I shouldn’t. I must talk to my father, among other things. Tomorrow morning should be soon enough.” She prayed that it would be.

  Meredith rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin on her folded hands, now more the tomboy than the young lady. “Do I need to give you any hints on how to persuade Reggie to a proper acceptance of the inevitable?”

  Alys smiled. “No need. If you’re sure he really wants me, I have a few methods of persuasion myself.”

  Meredith nodded with approval. Now that Alys had been put on the scent, Reggie hadn’t a chance of escape. Not that he would want to.

  The Duke of Durweston was not pleased by his daughter’s announcement that she was returning to Strickland for a visit of indefinite length. “It’s Davenport, isn’t it?” he asked gruffly. They were meeting in his office, a chamber that the Sun King himself would have felt at home in.

  “Yes. I left much too abruptly.” Alys paced across her father’s office, impatient to be on her way. “Reggie and I have unfinished business.”

  “How can you throw yourself at a rake, Alyson, a man with the most sordid of reputations?” the duke snapped. “Have you no pride?”

  She considered. “In general, yes. Where Reggie is concerned, not much.”

  His mouth thinned into a hard line. “Will he marry you?”

  She pulled on her gloves. “I hope so, but I wouldn’t insist on it.”

  Perhaps that was too much candor; her father turned the color of aged port wine. “I can disinherit you, you know,” he growled. “The title and entail only go to a daughter if her father thinks her worthy of receiving it. I always thought George Blakeford’s younger brother would make a decent duke, and he is next in line.”

  “Choosing an heir is your affair.” She met his gray-gree
n eyes with her own steely gaze. “I walked away from all this”—she waved her hand at the luxury around them—“once before. I’ve proved I am capable of supporting myself comfortably. Do you really think I am more likely to bow to your will at thirty than I was at eighteen?”

  Her father’s face was a study in conflicting emotions. Taking pity on him, she went to his chair and kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Father, don’t let us become estranged over this. I have missed you too much.”

  He blinked rapidly. “I’ve missed you, too, girl. But why can’t you marry someone like Lord Randolph? He’s a fine man, and he’d renew his proposal in a minute if you were willing.”

  “I know, but he’s much too nice for me.” She gave a teasing smile. “I’d keep him under the cat’s paw for sure.”

  “He wouldn’t mind.”

  “No, but I would. I don’t want a husband I can dominate, any more than I want one who will try to bully me.” She looked at her father sternly. “You just don’t like Reggie because he’s too much like you. I’ve heard the stories about your wild youth. Except for the difference of a million pounds or so, you two are like peas in a pod.”

  “Don’t try to turn me up sweet, girl.” The duke snorted and tried with limited success to suppress a smile. “And a million pounds is a substantial difference.”

  “Substantial, yes,” she admitted, “but not significant.”

  She gave her father a good-bye kiss, then sailed out. She wasn’t going to let it be significant, and that was that.

  Chapter 26

  Going without Allie was rather like stopping drinking, only worse. The pleasures of the bottle had been limited, the punishment almost immediate. With Allie, the pleasures had been infinitely varied, from the rarified to the earthily sensual, and if there was a negative aspect, he hadn’t discovered it.

  Reggie was dining alone, and even a hard day of physical labor didn’t give him much appetite for the roast fowl. Pushing his plate aside, he absently began to eat a dish of raspberry fool. He was going to have to do better with his eating, or the cook would be insulted. Feeding two boys who approached every meal like a biblical plague of locusts had spoiled her.