The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  When all the cards had been handed out, Parks clapped his hands together. "Time to claim your partners, everyone."

  "Oh, but I am hostess. Perhaps I should—"

  "Go on, Sister. Young Parks here seems to know what he's about," the Duke urged.

  Parks did not dance in the first group or even in the second, she noted. But she had all to do to keep her wits about her as she waltzed in Will's arms.

  Despite his size he was most light on his feet, and the tempo which Monroe had struck up at the piano was as jaunty as a fast gallop on a wild stallion.

  She could feel herself becoming more and more breathless in Will's arms. When he brushed her bared arm with his gloveless hand, or took hers in his own, she heard a pounding in her ears like the sound of the sea. She felt as if she were swirling and falling, with Will holding her the only thing standing between her and disaster.

  Surely this grim-faced man couldn't have been her lover in the cave, could he? she wondered wildly. His eyes, so striking and storm-tossed, did not seem to pay her any particular regard.

  He was most pleasant, but seemed in no way lover like towards her as Parks and Fitzsimmons had been. Yet he was assuredly most handsome….

  Mitchell was next on her card, then Stewart, her brother, Clifford, the two Teague brothers, Sean Lynch, young Bob, Francis Baines, Parks, and eventually Marcus Fitzsimmons.

  Marcus did his utmost to be charming, and she could feel herself growing warm under his effusive admiration. He was merely a competent dancer, so she did not get the incredible feeling of being swept off her feet as she had done with Wilfred Joyce. That had to be why she had responded to him so. He was a very fine man, but so serious. But then, he had obviously been through much in the war….

  Fitzsimmons was much more easy-going, and seemed not to have such a complicated away of looking at the world. But nor was Will as flamboyant as his friend Parks, which in the circumstances was quite a relief.

  Fitzsimmons begged to be allowed another dance with her later. She looked up at his importunate expression and nodded.

  "We can try. The dance cards, you know."

  She looked at his eyes again. His words had been most flattering, but his gaze was still as flat as pewter. Again she looked at Parks and Will, and noted the warmth of their eyes, even if each face was not quite so animated as her recent dance partner's had been.

  They finished the evening with a long quadrille. Being not nearly so lively, and with her not held so closely in Will's arm, Elizabeth did not feel quite so heated as she had before. It must have been her imagination, too much to eat for supper, some such thing.

  She sighed. She was still no closer to guessing the identity of her mystery lover than she had been before. No, the only thing she had ended up with was more confusion than ever.

  "That's a rather big sigh for a dance. Would you like to sit?" Will asked.

  "No, not at all. I was just thinking of absent friends."

  His jaw tightened. "Anyone in particular?"

  "The Rakehells."

  "Pardon me?"

  She laughed lightly. "My brother's set are all known as the Rakehells. They were inseparable during the war. They are like one big extended family. They would love this. Enjoy meeting you. Jonathan would be only too happy to tell you of his experiences at Cuidad Roderigo and Badajoz, and show you his tattoos."

  His brows lofted. "Tattoos?"

  "They used them to identify themselves in case they were killed. An old army tradition, apparently."

  He nodded. "Yes, I know of the custom. Parks has one on his chest. The sword Excalibur, I believe. Very fine. Got it to cut a dash, don't you know."

  She completed the figure in the dance, and resumed her explanation. "Anyway, whenever they get together, they drink a toast, and Jonathan makes them all show their tattoos. They have these matching ones of George and the Dragon on their chests, here." She pointed. "Most beautiful workmanship."

  "I see." His jealousy over the thought of her viewing any other bare chest than his own nearly choked him. "And this man Jonathan. You're fond of him?" Will forced himself to ask.

  "Yes, of course. His our vicar. He and his sister Sarah are very dear to us all. Now that he's married at last, we shall be even closer. At least I hope so. After all, I shall be here in Ireland, so it could be difficult."

  Will was inwardly relieved to hear that this paragon was safely married.

  She pressed on, "And his sister has unexpectedly just married another of the Rakehells we did not even know was still alive, Alexander Davenport."

  Will stiffened and they missed a step. "Davenport, you say?" he asked in a tone which he just managed to keep level.

  "Yes. Completely a shock to us all, but they appear to be blissfully happy by all accounts. He was blind, with no memory. Sarah helped him and they fell in love."

  "How is he now?"

  "Very well. Still some problems with his eyes and back, but his memory has returned for the most part."

  "Good to hear it."

  At her puzzled look he said, "We're always happy to hear about a comrade recovering from their terrible experiences."

  She shook her head. "Oh, but I never said he was in the war."

  "Oh, um, but you said all the Rakehells served," he said quickly, trying to cover over his error.

  She nodded. "Most of them, true. But he was different, apparently. A merchant or something. I didn't get quite the whole story in the letter, I'm afraid. Sarah was too busy gushing over her joy, especially with the baby on the way."

  "I see. My mistake, sorry."

  Elizabeth once again had the sensation that she had missed something, but he swung her around the set so enthusiastically that she was forced to concentrate on keeping up with her very skilled partner.

  Only when the dance came to an end, and he put one hand upon her back did she feel that familiar shudder of desire again.

  Will had allowed himself one light intimate touch on the bare flesh between her shoulder blades and could feel the desire rocket within him.

  Her body seared his like a branding iron. His only saving grace had been that she had not touched his left shoulder again or else he would have been truly lost. He did not dare mention what had happened in the cave. He did not want her to feel cornered, obligated to him in any way. Nor did he wish her to feel ashamed of what they had shared. It had been delightful and natural, not disgusting.

  And what would be the point anyway. She was clearly not for him. A Duke's daughter, with such a set of the companions as the Rakehells, well, it was a wonder one of those paragons had not swept her up into matrimony already.

  The evening now at an end, Will was forced to relinquish her scintillating company. Elizabeth shook his hand as she said good night, and then turned to take her leave of the other guests as if he had already been dismissed from her mind completely.

  He sighed, seeing it was pointless to linger. She was already being surrounded by Parks and Fitzsimmons bidding her effusive good nights. He could not say anything about the cave. He needed her to forget she had ever been there.

  But as he watched the other men, his noble notions of giving her up grew like so many leaves on the wind. The spirit of competition, as well as his own passions, rose to the challenge. He had made her respond in the cave, not them. She might be wanton, but his ligh touches that evening had convinced him that it was a great deal more.

  Such passion was a gift, he knew. He might mention the cave in order to trigger further intimacy, but he wanted her to make her choice of beau with her head and heart, not her loins.

  So if Will was to win her for himself it, had to be fair and square, or not at all.

  Chapter Ten

  Will having no chance to win Elizabeth's hand at all was what it began to look like the next day as Will saw that several of the other men from the evening get-together the night before had come to visit even earlier than he and his family's party.

  After a restless night in which he had re
played every look, every word which had passed between them in his mind, he had risen before dawn, unable to sleep, and with his duties pressing.

  He knew he ought to cry off of the house party which had hastily been arranged after the dancing the night before, but Elizabeth was just too much of a temptation for him. He did not want to make an ass of himself in front of the whole of Ardmore when she spurned his advances, but something within compelled him to see her.

  In the end he had not been able to help himself. He had crawled back through the dank tunnel which led to the wine cellar of his house, and gone up to take a bath and dress with care.

  Even taking his time with his toilette and having a short distance to travel to Clancar Castle, he was very early. He waited impatiently while Vevina and Stewart dragged themselves out of bed.

  He passed the time helping the children get ready, and broke his fast with some eggs and sausage, even though he felt so choked up with nerves at the prospect of seeing Elizabeth again that he could barely swallow.

  Once he arrived at Ellesmere Manor, he saw that Monroe and Mitchell had been out riding, and stopped in to ask if she wanted to come. She had declined, but invited them in for breakfast.

  The Teague brothers had also decided to call, and her cousin Marcus Fitzsimmons. There would be no chance to get her alone now. What on earth could he do or say even if he did? If he ever dared presume again. He shook his head. Now that she had so many other far more eligible beaux, he would probably end up with a good tongue-lashing, and a sharp slap.

  Parks had come in with Will, Vevina and Stewart, and had managed to insinuate himself into the conversation quickly. Then he had thrust his friend into the seat which had been made available for him. Now Will sat on the sofa next to her in the small morning room, and observed his lady love.

  Dressed in an elegant day gown of Turkey red with small gold flowers, her hair tied with a simple red ribbon, she looked as innocent as a newborn kitten, and brought out just as fierce a desire within him to cuddle and stroke her until she purred as she had in the cave.

  He looked around the room and noted the gleams in the men's eyes, but they were not always due to her appearance, but rather the fine furnishings, tapestries, and silver.

  He sighed. Elizabeth was a lovely woman, bright, intelligent, war and loving; why then was she surrounded by people who only seemed to be able to see her fortune?

  Fitzsimmons didn't just see her fortune, though it was certainly a huge carrot for him. He saw a supple young body, firm breasts, and rosebud lips just ripe for all sort of delights. But he had learned his lesson the day before. The girl might be the most lusty wench this side of St. Stephen's Green's street corners, but her family had some odd notions about what women were for. Running an estate indeed. Being accomplished. Interested in politics.

  He had sneered to himself about their absurd ideas as he had strode up to the front door earlier, wanting to get the jump on everyone else, and being furious to find Monroe and Mitchell there before him. The serving maid he had just tumbled, and the one last night, had in no way taken the edge off his desire.

  He was not a man women said no to. They could dress it up with all sorts of flowery phrases: falling in love; a meeting of minds; finding their soul mate. But it was really just appetite, a different kind of hunger waiting to be fed. Whatever they called it, he was more than happy to cram the girl full of sausage.

  Only in Elizabeth Eltham's case, she was so arousing, and her fortune and connections so great, that he was going to do his utmost to win her for his wife. He had never planned to put his head in the noose—use them and lose them had always been his motto. But now…. Money, the prospect of rogering her until she screamed... What a triumph that would be. Becoming the Duke of Ellesmere's brother- in-law. Thomas' nose would be well and truly put out of joint.

  He had always tried to be polite to his vastly wealthy distant relation, but had always had the sense that Thomas looked down on him, though he affected to be a Radical. Hypocrites, the whole lot of them. It was easy to talk about helping the poor when you had twenty homes to choose from, each more grand than the next. His sister was a pretty little thing, young, a virgin. He had no doubt that Thomas would be vehemently opposed to the marriage.

  But if he could pluck the rose and shred her petals, he would be able to convince them both that marriage even to him was preferable to her living the rest of her life labeled as a strumpet.

  Fitzsimmons smiled into Elizabeth's face as he kissed her hand, bending down to get an eyeful of her cleavage. Then he sat on the sofa, his knees pressing against her thigh every so often as he feigned an interest in her needlework, all the while imagining all of the fascinating things she could do with her supple little hands, with those rosebud lips. His lap tingled at the prospect.

  Elizabeth remained blissfully unaware of her companion's lascivious thoughts. Though they boiled and churned in his brain like an evil brew, his eyes were still the same flat pewter color, dirty water in a stagnant pool.

  Yet he was most fulsome in his praises, and seemed to be going out of his way to make himself pleasant to the whole company, as well as herself.

  Of course, he was not in the shadow of Parks, but graciously allowed himself to be eclipsed when the young man strode in a short time after Will with Stewart and Vevina and asked if they wanted to have a go at archery.

  "We set up the butts this morning over at Clancar Castle. Everyone is welcome to come. That is, if you do not consider this a slight on your hospitality, Lady Elizabeth."

  "No, not at all. A walk and some exercise will do us all good. Then we can come back here for dinner."

  Fitzsimmons got up to let Parks sit, but he waved Will into the seat and went off to speak with Thomas and Charlotte.

  Elizabeth smiled at each of the newcomers and made small talk about the ball, glancing every so often at Will, who was now sitting next to her, still dressed in unrelieved black apart from his shirt. She was just about to address him directly when his sister brought the children closer.

  They held their arms out to him and he smiled at them in delight and embraced all three in his huge arms.

  "Excuse me. I'll just take them off into a corner here so they won't disturb you."

  She was about to say they would be no trouble at all, but he had already risen. Monroe took Will's place next to her and asked her if she would like to go riding with them all the following morning.

  By the time she had agreed and they had arranged the details, Will was some distance away from her. She noted the children all climbing over him most affectionately. She could not help notice how very patient he was with them. He was also free once more of the usual guarded expression on his face.

  Fitzsimmons saw where her gaze was resting, and misinterpreted her look. "Yes, awful little monkeys, aren't they?" he whispered. "Never still, always seeking attention. Children can be such dreadful things."

  "On the contrary, I find children charming. Vevina's in particular. They seem very well behaved and very devoted to their family."

  She stood up and went over to Will, seeing that he looked as though he were alarmed by something. She interpreted his white-lipped stiffness correctly, and hastened over to help little Arthur climb down to safety from off of his seemingly sore shoulder.

  They stood closely, practically hip to hip. It was all Will had to do not to lay his head on her bosom and fit his body to hers. He had to content himself with his niece's and nephews' warm affection.

  "They're very good children," she said with a smile.

  "Yes, indeed. We are most blessed."

  "Your niece and nephew are how old?"

  "They are all of them my nephews, including Bob, but you're right. The twins turned two not long ago, and Jack is seven months older. Bob will be fifteen soon, so far as any of us can tell. He was a orphan raised in a poor house. He fell in with a gang of thieves and joined the army to keep out of prison, you see."

  "Oh my."

  "But he'
s the best of lads, aren't you, Bob."

  Bob gave Will a big hug, and grabbed Elizabeth around the waist too. Then they were all tumbling down on the carpet, and began playing with the children's toy horses.

  "No tin soldiers?" she commented to Will.

  "Certainly not. No glorifying war with this lot. Or my own children either, if I'm ever fortune enough to marry and have any."

  He should have said marry again, he knew, but he did not want to blurt out the whole story now. Not in front of so many people, not when she was kneeling on the carpet so near to him that he could just move his head two inches and…

  "Really, Lady Elizabeth, your gown. It's much too lovely to ruin in so cavalier a manner," Fitzsimmons protested.