The Love of a Rake

by Linda Rae Sande

  Furrowing his brows so that a wrinkle of skin developed between his eyebrows, Daniel shook his head. “It’s a wonder you made it through last winter,” he commented.

  Constance’s eyes widened. “We have Mr. Bennett-Jones to thank for that,” she said. “He owns coal mines nearby and saw to it we had enough to get us through the coldest days.”

  Daniel continued to frown. Mr. Bennett-Jones? “Lord Bostwick, you mean?” he clarified.

  Her face coloring up a bit, Constance nodded. “Yes. I forget he’s a viscount now. He and his wife have been most kind, and not just because of his investment.”

  Blinking, Daniel stilled himself. “Investment?” he repeated.

  Constance nodded. “In the stables. He was determined to have his Arabian sire another colt with my Amasia, since she was the mare who gave birth to Mr. Tuttlebaum and Mr. Wiggins, so he has been helping with the expense of a stablehand to see to the horses at Fair Downs.”

  “Jesus,” Daniel murmured. He shook his head, realizing he had cursed. “I apologize. But I ... I had no idea you were forced to seek monetary help from him—”

  “Oh, but I wasn’t. George Bennett-Jones offered, you see. He’s quite determined to have a horse he can race in a few years,” she explained, “And I think Amasia has at least one more winner in her. She’s due to foal in the spring.”

  Daniel stared at his cousin for a long time. “It’s my belief your father intended for those stables to be your inheritance,” he said quietly.

  Constance blinked a few times, surprised at hearing the earl’s words. “But he knows I would never sell any of the horses,” Constance countered. “We need the work horses for haying, and I ride the Trotter, and I could never part with Amasia.”

  Angling his head to one side, Daniel considered her words. “I expect he thought you would collect stud fees for Mr. Tuttlebaum and race Mr. Wiggins,” he said.

  Constance shook her head. “But I could not. Mr. Wiggins would never have qualified when he was three years old. He wasn’t nearly fast enough.” After a pause, she eyed her cousin for a moment. “Now that he’s nearly six, though, he’s faster than Mr. Tuttelbaum was, so it might be possible for him to race in the Ascot at the end of the next Season.”

  Daniel regarded her for a moment. “I see,” he said with a nod. Having never owned a Thoroughbred and never having attended any of the race meetings, the earl was a bit out of his element. Then he remembered the visit by Lord Reading earlier that morning. Perhaps the marquess could see to it Mr. Wiggins was entered in the Ascot.

  A commotion outside the study door caught his attention. “We’ll pick this up in a moment. You’re about to meet some more cousins,” he said with an arched brow. He rose to his feet as his wife, Clarinda, swept into the room, her dark hair piled atop her head in a mass of curls and her yellow muslin skirts swirling about her legs as she carried a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms.

  “Miss Fitzwilliam! It’s so good to see you again,” Clarinda gushed as she hurried over to Daniel, bussing him on the cheek as she handed him the baby. The servant who had followed her into the room placed another in her arms. She hurried to where Daniel’s cousin sat and took the one remaining chair. “I’d like to introduce you to your late cousin David’s daughters,” she said as she angled the baby she held in Constance’s direction. “Lady Dahlia Davida ...” She motioned to the one Daniel held up. “And Lady Diana Dorothea. They’re just over three weeks old,” she said proudly.

  Both babies, wide awake and actively moving about inside their blankets, sported dark hair and chubby cheeks.

  “Oh, they’re beautiful,” Constance murmured as Clarinda settled Diana into her arms. Startled at the weight of the baby, Constance felt the oddest sensation as the baby’s eyes seem to focus on her. “Oh! Well, aren’t you just the most precious thing?” she whispered. She used a finger to push away the edge of the blanket and was startled when the baby’s fingers suddenly wrapped around it and her legs kicked up. “Oh!”

  Clarinda beamed as she watched Constance hold the older twin daughter. “They’re just now up from their morning nap. I wanted to be sure you met them, especially given your good news.”

  Constance turned her attention to the countess. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked, her attention back on the baby when it suddenly made a cooing sound.

  “Why, your having impressed Lord Reading, of course!” Clarinda said brightly. “He is a catch, to be sure, even if he’s better known as the Rake of Reading—”

  “Clare!” Daniel interrupted suddenly. His countess turned her attention his way. “I don’t believe the marquess has had the opportunity to ...” He allowed the sentence to trail off, one eyebrow arching in the process.

  “Oh, but surely Constance knows he’s about to make an offer,” she countered, not the least bit deterred by her husband’s warning.

  Constance gave a nervous laugh, her gaze on the baby finally broken. “I’m sure you must be mistaken, my lady. I’ve not been ... courted by anyone here in London, and I certainly don’t know Lord ... Reading, did you say?”

  Clarinda turned her attention from her husband to Constance and back again. “But, I thought you said he asked your permission this morning when he was here,” she argued.

  “He did,” Daniel acknowledged, his words clipped as he gave his head a quick shake in her direction.

  “Who is Lord Reading?” Constance asked then, her sudden confusion wiping away the grin she had been displaying for the baby. Diana frowned and appeared about to cry when Constance realized she needed to resume her playful faces or be holding an unhappy baby.

  “Why, the Marquess of Reading, of course,” Clarinda replied. “Randall Roderick. According to The Tattler, you were seen at Gunter’s Tea Shop with him only yesterday.”

  Her head jerking up suddenly, Constance regarded the countess with an open mouth and an expression that suggested she might faint at any moment. “But, that cannot be. He ... he never once mentioned he was a lord,” she managed to get out. And he never once implied he intended to make any kind of proposal.

  Sensing the distress of the one who held her, Diana’s face once again screwed up into a frown and she let out a cry. Instinctively, Constance raised the babe to her shoulder and patted its back.

  Clarinda exchanged a glance with Daniel and sighed. “He’s quite rich,” she offered with a shrug.

  “Yes, I did get that impression when he spoke of his house in Cavendish Square and his property in ...” Reading.

  Damnation! All the signs were there, and yet, because he hadn’t introduced himself as a titled gentleman, she had assumed he was merely a well-to-do cit.

  “And don’t forget the stables,” Daniel said, one of his fingers in the possession of the baby he held. “If Mr. Wiggins is race-ready, I’m certain Reading would have the contacts necessary to get him into the Ascot.”

  Constance gave him a nod. “No doubt,” she murmured, a bit of panic threatening her morning meal. “I really should be going,” she said suddenly.

  “But the tea will be here at any moment,” Clarinda replied as she moved to take the baby from Constance, realizing the woman was about to leave even if the tea arrived right then.

  The loss of the warm weight of the baby from her shoulder had Constance feeling even more stunned than she already did. She would never have one of her own to hold like that. Never have one to love like her cousin and wife did. “Thank you, but I really must take my leave,” she managed to get out before she stuffed the cheque into her reticule and curtsied.

  “You’re welcome anytime,” Daniel said as he quickly got to his feet, his bundle cooing with the sudden movement as he bowed.

  Constance curtsied again to the countess and took her leave of Norwick House.

  Clarinda and Daniel watched as his cousin hurried out of the study, their gazes turning on one another and then finally to the babes they held.

  “I made a cake of that, didn’t I?” Clarinda murmured to the daught
er she now held.

  Diana stared up at her mother and burped rather loudly.

  Chapter 37

  Truths Be Told

  One o’clock in the afternoon

  “You’re looking especially beautiful this afternoon, my lady” Randall said as he came abreast of the woman in scarlet and offered her his arm.

  Constance Fitzwilliam paused on the crushed granite path, apparently surprised to find the very man she had been thinking about right next to her, as if she had conjured him into appearing with her thoughts.

  She had been deep in thought—Lady Norwick’s words had been rattling about in her brain—and she hadn’t heard—or seen—his approach from the carriageway.

  “Hullo, Lord Reading,” she offered, giving a short curtsy to the man who had filled her dreams the night before.

  Randall sighed, holding out his arm again. Lord Reading? Well, either she had asked as to his entire identity or someone had told her. Norwick, probably. “As I said yesterday, I would prefer you call me ‘Randall’,” he murmured.

  Hesitating before placing her arm on his, Constance eyed the man with a bit of suspicion. “Calling you by your given name seems a bit ... informal, especially since you’re a lord, and we only just met yesterday morning.”

  The marquess considered her words. “We may have only just met, my lady, but it feels to me as if I have known you my entire life,” he countered. “I wonder why that is.”

  Gasping and once again pausing on the walkway, Constance shook her head. “I assure you, my lord, we had not met before yesterday,” she repeated, wondering if Lord Reading had her confused with another woman. Having just learned of his reputation from Clarinda, she now suspected his only reason for pursuing her on this day was to offer her carte blanche. Why else would a marquess wish to be in her company other than to offer her the position of mistress?

  Although the vocation would have alleviated her financial situation—she was quite sure he would have provided a townhouse and enough pin money for her to live on for at least a year—she certainly didn’t need to accept such an offer now that she had Daniel’s cheque in her reticule. Fifty-thousand pounds! She could return to Boxgrove and live on that sum very comfortably for the rest of her life.

  “I certainly don’t know why you would think you have met me before,” she finally answered. Recalling their discussion about her identity only the day before, she angled her head. “After your query about my true identity yesterday, it’s a wonder you made no mention of your full identity when you introduced yourself,” she accused, remembering how confused she had been upon hearing Clarinda’s comment. Lord Reading.

  The Rake of Reading.

  The marquess took a breath and held it a moment, realizing she did have a good point. “Touché, my lady,” he said with a grin.

  Although Constance thought she should feel some level of satisfaction at hearing the lord’s admission, she found she did not. It was far better to think of Randall as simply a well-to-do cit, a man who might have been amendable to a marriage of convenience should she need his funds to keep Fair Downs solvent. Given his lofty title, though, she suddenly found herself uncomfortable in his presence. Much like how she felt in the company of Daniel Fitzwilliam until he had welcomed her so warmly. Cousin Connie! As if there had never been that horrific night in the stables. As if they both hadn’t been aware of what David had done to her attacker that night.

  “I am happy to have found you this afternoon,” Randall said, hoping she wouldn’t realize he had simply followed her to the same place in the park where they had met the day before when he watched as she left Norwick House, her expression troubled and her steps rather slow. “We have much to discuss. And I ... I have a proposal I would like you to consider. One that I believe will be amenable to the two of us.”

  Constance could feel her cheeks start to burn with embarrassment. She had guessed right then, she realized. Unsure of how to respond, Constance took a step back. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I do not believe I should be considering anything you propose. I ... I must go,” she said suddenly, giving a quick curtsy before turning back from whence they had come.

  Caught off-guard by her cold response, Randall was about to ask what had her so upset and instead realized he felt rather offended by her comment. Reaching out with one hand, he hooked it into her elbow and pulled her back toward him. Spinning about and bit off-kilter, Constance let out a yelp as she suddenly collided with him.

  “Pardon me, my lady, but just what did you think I meant when I said I wanted to discuss a proposal with you?” he asked, his expression one of hurt more than anger.

  Regaining her footing and trying to do so without having to hang onto the marquess’ arm, Constance shook her head. “I thought you were going to offer to help me and then ... and then demand ... something in return,” she finally said, a tooth catching her lower lip. “But I don’t need your help.”

  Randall watched the tooth as it deformed the pillow of her lower lip, still wondering what she thought until it seemed to suddenly hit him upside the head. “Oh, my God! You thought I was going to ask that you be my mistress!” he whispered hoarsely. He angled his head back so he was suddenly regarding the white, puffy clouds above. He shook it and sighed loudly.

  Constance swallowed, her eyes widening at his apparent shock. “Clearly not what you had in mind,” she murmured, wondering why she felt a bit bereft that he wasn’t going to offer her carte blanche. She wouldn’t have accepted, of course, but to know he wanted her in his bed would have been a boon to her ego just then.

  “My lady, I am not looking for a mistress,” Randall stated quite firmly. “I’m looking for a wife!”

  Constance blinked. And blinked again as she considered his claim. Well, this is unexpected. She had to suppress the urge to laugh, both at herself and at him. “You cannot expect me to believe you’re having difficulty finding a wife, Lord Reading,” she said with humor she hadn’t felt in weeks. She could feel her cheeks heat up with embarrassment, feel the pink color her cheeks. Despite the seriousness of their earlier conversation, she found she couldn’t help but smile at his expense.

  A bit taken aback by her response, Randall gave a huff. “It’s not nearly as easy as it sounds,” he countered, rather glad the topic suddenly had her smiling. She was beautiful when she smiled, her blue eyes bright and her cheeks glowing as they lifted on her face.

  “You’re a marquess!” Constance stated suddenly, chiding him with her comment.

  Randall nodded. “I am,” he agreed, his smile matching hers. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, though. “However, I also have a reputation as a rake, as you have apparently discovered.” He sighed. “Norwick told you, I suppose?” he wondered.

  Her smile slowly fading, Constance shook her head. “His countess,” she murmured, realizing Clarinda’s reference to an offer meant a marriage proposal.

  Randall hissed, suddenly feeling a bit annoyed at Clarinda Fitzwilliam. “A reputation that does me no favors when pursuing a wife,” he remarked dryly.

  Constance sobered even more. “Why would a man such as yourself even be interested in me of all people?” Constance asked, her brows furrowed.

  Randall managed a shrug, realizing she had put forth a rather interesting query. Why, indeed, was he interested in her? Am I so desperate to marry that I merely selected the next woman with whom I came in contact after Lady Lily’s refusal?

  No. That wasn’t it.

  He was intrigued by Constance. Interested in her. Impressed with her. And she had horses, perhaps one who could race. “I cannot say exactly, my lady,” he finally replied, not sure what else he could say to answer her simple question.

  The young woman shook her head, obviously not believing his claim. “Cannot? Or won’t say?” she asked, her manner displaying her growing impatience.

  Randall swallowed, realizing he was going to have to tell her something. “I ... I found you ... intriguing, interesting, resourceful,” he fin
ally admitted. “And then, when I discovered your interest in horses and the unfortunate situation with your inheritance, I—”

  “What?” Constance interrupted, her hands suddenly clasping about the handle of her reticule. “How did you learn about my inheritance?”

  Realizing he had been caught, Randall nearly rolled his eyes. If he told her how he had learned of her missing inheritance, he would have to tell her everything.

  One hand went to his pocket, where the ring he had purchased the night before was wrapped in black velvet and nestled next to the slim box that contained the choker with the horse charm. He almost drew out the box, thinking he could deflect her question with the jewel. But then he figured if he didn’t tell her the truth now, it would no doubt come out at some point in the future, perhaps in conversation. Better he tell her now and risk her ire than try to fix it later, he decided. “I learned of your situation from your solicitor,” he said quietly.

  Feeling as if she had been punched in the stomach, Constance took a step back and regarded Randall with a look of confusion. “Did he ... did he hire you to look for it?” she asked, thinking that could be the only explanation for how he would know about her. Was he an investigator in addition to being the lord she had just learned him to be?

  “No,” Randall replied with a shake of his head. “I paid him a visit after you left his office. I ... I was concerned ...” He sighed. “Remember, I saw you go into his office. You seemed ... rather upset when you left.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “You followed me?” she asked in dismay, her breathing suddenly coming in short pants. “How dare you? Why ... why would you do that?”

  Randall took a deep breath, realizing she was quite incensed. He wondered if presenting her with the choker would help the situation or only make it worse. He glanced around as if he were looking for an escape. “I cannot say exactly,” he finally answered.

  Constance blinked. She had to relax her fingers If she hadn’t been wearing gloves, she was sure her nails would be leaving indentations in the palms of her hands. “You expect me to believe you cannot form a ... a reasonable explanation for your having followed me?”