The Wicked Lord Rasenby

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Why, thank you, sir. It is rather hot.’ He was tall, much taller than Clarrie, and despite the domino she could see he was exceedingly well built. Somehow, she had expected him to be more dandified. But the Earl of Rasenby was obviously of athletic inclination, and favoured a simple elegance that relied on his physique and the quality of his tailoring, rather than decoration. For the first time in her life, Clarrie experienced a strong gust of sheer physical attraction that was both unexpected and unwelcome.

  Looking up, she could see little of his features behind the mask, only a pair of piercing dark eyes, looking into hers assessingly. So this was the man who wanted to steal Amelia’s virtue. This was the man who intended to sweep her sister—and with her, Clarissa and her mama—into a world of vice and degradation. Well, she could certainly see his appeal. What she needed to find out was just how serious he was in his intentions, before she decided to act. Clarissa still nourished a hope that Amelia had exaggerated—though in the light of Lady Constance’s revelations, it was but a faint one.

  ‘Do you not find these masked affairs somewhat tedious, sir? Why, I swear I know everyone here. ’Tis but an excuse to allow those who are so inclined to flirt a little more openly, is it not?’

  Clarissa’s voice, usually so low and musical, had assumed a slightly breathless quality. The combination of the role she had to play, and the physical awareness of this surprisingly attractive man, were already taking their toll. But she wouldn’t fail at the first hurdle, there was too much at stake. Under no illusions about her own attractions, she had studied Amelia closely, and she knew how to flirt—even if she was about to try it out for the first time.

  Kit looked down into those vibrant green eyes, surprised at the tone. He could have sworn she was nervous when he first approached her. ‘And do you know who I am, Miss Black Domino?’ Of course she did, else why flirt so obviously unless she knew her target?

  ‘I will hazard a guess, my lord. You are the Earl of Rasenby, are you not?’ Those green eyes looked up into his, a shadow of a doubt clouding them. What if she had been wrong? A flush of embarrassment swept over Clarissa, most of it mercifully hidden by the mask.

  ‘And if I am not, would you be disappointed?’

  ‘Of course I would be disappointed.’ Clarrie shook out her chicken-skin fan with a flourish, partly to hide her eyes, but more practically in an effort to hide her overheated countenance, and to give her time to pull herself together. ‘I’d be very disappointed, since I’ve heard so much about your lordship, and was counting on meeting you here.’

  ‘Were you, now? And may I ask, are you here at the invitation of Lady Teasborough, or have you taken a chance to come uninvited?’ Surely the only explanation was that she was some member of the demi-monde with an enterprising turn of mind?

  Clarissa, forgetting her part, was indignant at the accusation. ‘Of course I was invited, why would I be here otherwise?’

  The genuine flash of anger from those green eyes took Kit aback. Despite himself, he felt a faint trace of interest. He didn’t believe her for an instant, but any new ploy, after all, was at least a refreshing change. ‘I do beg your pardon. It’s just that you have the advantage of me. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?’

  ‘That is not important for now. And besides…’ Clarrie allowed herself a peep above the fan into those dark blue-black eyes ‘…it’s so much more intriguing, is it not, to save a little something for later?’ Nothing Amelia had told her about Kit Rasenby had led her to believe that he was anything more than a rich provider. She hadn’t expected him to be quite so like the villains of her favourite romances—Clarrie always empathised more with the villain than the hero, although she never liked to ask herself why!

  ‘So, I’m not to know your name, then? Am I to know your purpose in seeking me out?’

  ‘Eventually, of course, my lord. But first, perhaps we should get to know each other a little. Tell me, the lady you were dancing with, what thought you of her charms? Did you not think she danced rather ill?’

  ‘You can do better than that, surely?’ He was sardonic. Praising or disparaging one female to another was not a sport that he enjoyed.

  Closing her fan with a determined snap, Clarissa decided to go for the direct approach. The Earl was obviously not one for simpering females, and in truth, she didn’t do simpering very well. Perhaps if she played things her own way he would take her more seriously. ‘I know you not, Lord Rasenby, but you seem to me a man who prefers plain speaking. Mayhap we should dispense with the niceties and progress to my requirements from you?’

  ‘Much better.’ His tone remained sceptical, however. ‘Now you at least have my attention. Perhaps I should warn you, though, that if it’s money you’re after, I won’t be blackmailed. If you’ve come on behalf of one of your sisters in debauchery, you’ll find scant pickings here.’ Ignoring the gasp of indignation from Clarissa, he held his hand up to forestall interruption, and continued in the harsh voice of one used to seeing the worst in everyone. ‘I pay my debts direct. And there’s no use either, in trying to pretend that it’s you I owe—I may have sampled the wares of your like many times, but not enough to confuse me. I’d know you if I’d had you.’

  ‘Well, my lord! Well! Plain speaking indeed.’ Clarissa was completely unprepared for this turn in the conversation. He thought her a lightskirt. Well, that’s what she’d intended, but she hadn’t expected the flush of anger that such an assumption had caused. In fact, the more she thought about it, the angrier she became. The Earl of Rasenby was an arrogant pig, and he deserved to be put down.

  Forgetting all about Amelia, Clarrie gave free reign to her feelings, her temper made worse by the need to continue the conversation, in the middle of the ball as they were, sotto voce. ‘I am amazed, sir, at your arrogance. And I am sorry, truly sorry, for any of my poor—sisters, as you call them—who would be reduced to pleading with you, for you are obviously a hard case. You tell me you pay your debts direct—well, I can only hope that you do, sir, and that you pay them fully!’

  ‘What on earth do you mean? I pay what is owed and am generous. I have a reputation of being generous. But I won’t be blackmailed, so whatever your pathetic plan, abandon it.’ Kit was now more angry than intrigued. He had little reputation, and all of it bad, but one thing he had always been proud of was that he compensated—generously—any woman who had provided her services to him. He ensured, too, that there were never any consequences. To his knowledge, he had no natural children. The irony of this—that he, who had the blackest of characters, had the cleanest of stables—contributed to his weariness of the world in which he lived. He was more fastidious in his habits, and more generous in his payments, than most of his peers. It struck him, suddenly, as a poor enough boast.

  ‘Has it never occurred to you that money may not be enough, Lord Rasenby? Has it never occurred to you that some of these poor creatures that you pay off may have feelings? That they may have hoped for more from you than a few jewels and furs?’

  At this, Kit laughed. ‘It never occurs to me because there are no feelings in this world that cannot be compensated for financially. I should know.’ Looking down into those indignant green eyes, Kit felt a twinge of compassion. Perhaps, after all, there was some innocence there? But no, it was sure to be just another act—although a better one than he’d seen for some time. ‘I assure you, madam, the type of women I get involved with don’t have feelings. Simpering sentimentality appeals to me not. I trade in the more physical side of things, and that, if you don’t know already, is always short-lived. So, no, I don’t think I owe anything on account there to anyone.’

  For some reason, this statement shocked Clarissa more than any other. More than the knowledge that her Aunt Constance had been right in her character assessment. More than Lord Rasenby’s outrageously blunt speaking. The man had no feelings at all. She wondered what had forged his deep cynicism. Through the mask, Clarissa’s green eyes hinted at tears. ‘I’m truly sorry fo
r you, my lord, if you do feel like that.’ She touched her hand to his arm in a gesture of sympathy.

  Kit shook her off, angry—unreasonably angry—at the gesture. Who was she to question his behaviour, and then to patronise him with her tears and sympathy? ‘Don’t waste your energy, madam. I fear that whatever it was you had planned to say to me is wasted, too, for we can have nothing in common. Now, I must go and dance with another partner, lest Miss Haysham—the lady in the pink domino, since you were so interested—has her hopes raised.’

  ‘Forgive me, Lord Rasenby, I spoke out of turn, it was not my intention to judge you. But please, do stay and hear me out.’ There was desperation in Clarissa’s voice as, emerging from her own anger, she realised he was walking away and she had found out next to nothing of his intentions towards Amelia. And she needed to know, in order to decide whether the risk was worth taking.

  He turned at the appeal, unwillingly softened by it. There was something genuine about her, despite appearances, that still had him interested. ‘I don’t make a habit of ruining innocents, you know. I take only willing partners, who understand the game, and who don’t have any of these more tender feelings you refer to, I assure you. Come, what is it that you’re so determined I should hear, now that you’ve finished upbraiding me?’

  ‘Well, actually…’ Clarissa sniffed determinedly and took the plunge. ‘Well, I wanted to discuss a similar proposal with you myself.’ She glared at him through her mask, her expression anything but seductive. In fact, she was so far away from the flirtatious woman of the world that she had started out to be, she was questioning her own sanity. This was most definitely not going the way she had imagined it from the security of her bedchamber.

  Kit stared at her speechlessly. This slim female, a complete stranger, had sneaked into a society ball and sought him out. First she had flirted with him, then she had launched into a tirade at him, had questioned his generosity and his feelings, to say nothing of upbraiding his morals—such as they were! And now she was telling him that she wanted to make him an indecent proposal. Of a certainty she was unhinged. No matter how attractive the form under the domino and mask—and what he could see he found extremely attractive, for though she was slender, she curved most appealingly in all the right places—it couldn’t be worth it.

  And now she was glaring at him, as if it was he who had made the proposal to her. ‘I don’t think, madam, that you can have meant what you just said? Surely, you are not suggesting that you want to become another notch on my notorious bedpost yourself?’

  ‘I—well, yes, I suppose I am suggesting just that. But subject to my own conditions, of course.’ Clarissa flushed once more with embarrassment. This was not going at all to plan. For a start, her proposition was to have been later, once she’d found out a bit more about what he intended for Amelia, not something she should have blurted out at this first meeting. She hadn’t even thought it through properly.

  ‘Ah, your conditions. And what would they be, madam?’ He couldn’t help but be interested. This was all so very, very unexpected. Kit was glad, for once, that he’d come along to the ball. Mentally, he thanked Letitia—although he didn’t expect she’d be too thrilled if she ever found out.

  ‘Well, I’m not going to tell you right now, this is hardly the appropriate place. I thought we could discuss that on another occasion. I was supposed to get to know you a bit first.’

  Kit gave a sharp laugh. She was unhinged, but she was amusing. ‘Were you now? And who said you were to get to know me first? Who set you up for this, my little intriguer?’

  ‘No one, no one set me up, I’m acting on my own.’ The stamp of a little foot and the quick flush betrayed Clarrie again. Her temper, did she but know it, went with the auburn hair, and had been her father’s undoing. Normally it was easy to control, but there was something about this man that got under her skin. ‘I merely meant, Lord Rasenby, that I wanted to know a little more about you before we have such an intimate discussion. For a start, I wouldn’t want to make you any proposal if I’m mistaken as to your current state of attachment.’

  ‘Come now, I feel sure that someone as bold as you are would have done your research. Surely you are perfectly aware of my current state, as you call it?’

  ‘Yes, my lord, I am aware that you have an attachment to Miss du Pres, but I was more concerned with your intentions as to your immediate future. I have heard that you have been paying court to a Miss Warrington?’

  ‘You have been digging, haven’t you? And what have you heard about Miss Warrington and my intentions towards her?’

  ‘I have heard that you have been marking her out, my lord. I have heard that she has been the object of your affections for the last few weeks. I have heard that you have even raised expectations of a more honourable kind.’

  Kit gave another bark of laughter at this. ‘Whatever you have heard, I have nothing honourable in mind when it comes to Amelia Warrington. And I cannot believe that Miss Warrington imagines any such thing either. That girl is a chit who knows only the value of my purse, and aims to dig as deep into it as she can. Can it be that it is she who has set you on to me?’ Behind the mask, Kit’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, she does have a close companion, an insipid, simpering miss, but she bears no resemblance to you. Her name escapes me.’

  ‘Chloe.’ Clarissa realised her mistake immediately; the black brows opposite her snapped together with suspicion. ‘I believe that’s her name. Although I don’t really know Miss Warrington personally—at least, not very well.’ After today, that at least was true. Amelia was becoming a stranger to her. ‘I am merely repeating the latest gossip. And the rumours are that you intend marriage.’

  ‘I assure you, madam, I have no plans to marry. My intentions in that direction are not yet fixed. Miss Warrington is attractive, I’ll grant, and more than willing, that I know. I may have a proposal for her, but it would not be honourable.’ Kit smiled rakishly. Seeing Clarissa flinch at his words, he narrowed his eyes. ‘Did you think her one of those innocent victims you were throwing in my face earlier? Amelia Warrington knows exactly what is on offer, I have made that perfectly clear to her. And if she thinks to hold out on me in the hope of more, then she’ll quickly learn the better of it. If I ever deign to marry, it would certainly not be to someone as easy to touch as Miss Warrington.’

  Clarissa absorbed this assassination of her sister’s character with sadness, but a weary resignation. It was, after all, no more than what her aunt had said earlier. Even, although she hated to admit it, what she was coming to believe herself. But if Amelia could be prevented from making a fatal mistake with the Earl of Rasenby, if she could be prevented from ruining herself now, there would still be time for Clarissa to try, one more time, to establish her more genteelly. She had to secure this chance for her sister, even if it meant risking her own virtue.

  ‘I see. Very well, my lord, then I feel that the way is clear for you and me to discuss terms.’

  ‘You are either very naïve or very stupid. It is for the gentleman, you know, to make terms. And for the lady to accept. You cannot expect me to take you seriously.’ Lord Rasenby was by now, against his will, thoroughly interested. It was a trap, he had no doubt about it, but it was a good one, and merited his attention—at least until he discovered what it was.

  Clarrie, braced for rejection, was yet determined to prevent it. She had to give her sister a chance of escape. She had to get Lord Rasenby away from her for just a few days, a few weeks, enough to let him cool off, and for Amelia to have her sights pitched at a more achievable and more honourable target.

  ‘I realise that I am being a little unorthodox. But I thought you would appreciate both directness and a change. You are, as you admitted yourself, a little jaded in your taste. Perhaps a freshness of approach would restore your appetites?’ Clarrie smiled in what she hoped was a coy manner, although the effect was ruined somewhat by the pleading in her eyes.

  It was the pleading that succeeded. ‘I’ll give yo
u a chance then, for your boldness, if for nothing else. But you must rise to the challenge, and prove your good faith to me first.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll listen to your proposal in private. Tomorrow, not now. That will give you time to cool your temper, and to make sure that you really want to go through with this.’

  ‘I will be just as determined tomorrow, I know I will. Name the place, Lord Rasenby, and I will be there.’ With a toss of her head, and a determined point of her little chin, Clarrie glared into those deep blue eyes. She was anything but propitiating, but she was learning, and quickly, that Kit Rasenby responded badly to anything other than direct dealing.

  ‘Will you? I wonder?’ The soft tone sounded just a little threatening. ‘I don’t take kindly to being deceived, I’ll warn you now. I’ll have no truck with games and trickery. Come and dine with me tomorrow evening. At my house. On your own.’

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t. Why, that would be shocking. Oh, no. Can we not meet in the park, or perhaps take a drive? I couldn’t dine alone with you.’

  ‘Ah, ’tis as I thought. You are not nearly so bold as you promise. It was pleasant, exchanging views—’ his tone was heavily ironic ‘—but I’m afraid our acquaintance is now at an end. I bid you good evening.’

  ‘No! Wait!’ Once again, Clarrie was forced to take a dramatic—nay, huge—step forward. ‘I’ll be there. I’ll dine with you.’

  He was surprised at her agreeing, for it was a mad suggestion, even for him. No one could be under any illusion about a single lady dining alone in a gentleman’s house—he had never invited any before now. But he gave no sign of his surprise. ‘Very well, until tomorrow evening. I take it you know the address?’

  She nodded, mute at her own daring.

  ‘And am I to have a glimpse of the face under the mask before tomorrow? Perhaps even something on account?’

  But Clarissa shrank back at this, unable to comply, even for her sister. And she had achieved her objective for tonight, after all. ‘Wexford, my name is Wexford. As to my face—tomorrow will be soon enough. Unless, that is, you have more than one masked lady coming to dinner?’