The Rake to Reveal Her

by Julia Justiss

  ‘We’ll see,’ Theo replied diplomatically. ‘You’ll need to do lessons as well, though. Now, will you round up the others for me? It’s time we went back.’

  Jemmie nodded. ‘Whatever you say, Miss Theo.’ Turning to Ransleigh, he said, ‘Nice to meet you, sir. I expect we can manage on our own now.’

  After giving Ransleigh a bow, he trotted back towards the barn.

  ‘I think I’ve just been warned off,’ Ransleigh said, watching the boy walk away.

  Theo shook her head ruefully. ‘He’s grown quite protective since Papa died. Though he’s a boy still, he’s at that awkward age, not yet a man, but thinking to take on a man’s responsibilities.’ She laughed. ‘Which I guess explains why he tried so hard to demonstrate how clever I am and how well we are able to hold our own in the world, without anyone else’s help.’

  ‘You are clever. Nor do I think I’d want to cross swords with you when you’ve got your “colonel’s daughter” goin’.’

  ‘You already know I’m managing. I suppose it doesn’t take much of a stretch to think of me as manipulating as well.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I seem to remember a caller waiting on a wall in the rain until the reluctant host felt obliged to receive her.’

  She laughed again. ‘I object, sir! That was tactics, not manipulation.’

  ‘And quite effective,’ he admitted. ‘You’ve told me about the others, but what about the one he called “Master Charles”? Who’s not to attend the school, but to have a tutor?’

  ‘Ah, Charles.’ She gathered herself to give him the story she always told of how the boy had become like her own. ‘He is an orphan, but not the offspring of a common soldier. His late father, Lord Everly, was the youngest son of the Marquess of Wareton. Before joining his regiment on the Peninsula, Everly persuaded the daughter of a curate to run away with him. They were both of age, and wed by an army chaplain after their arrival, but the marquess, who was furious at his son’s union with a girl whose father was barely a gentleman, never recognised the marriage.’

  ‘Everly,’ Ransleigh said, frowning. ‘I knew him slightly. He was at Cambridge when I entered Oxford. Didn’t last long, as I recall; sent down before the first term ended. Wild to a fault. Poor girl.’

  ‘Poor girl, indeed. He got her with child almost immediately, and a very difficult time she was having of it. I persuaded her to accompany me back to London to my aunt’s house for the birth, but before we reached Lisbon, we received word that Lord Everly had been killed. Distraught and hysterical, she was unable to travel further. We ended up staying at a convent until the child was born, and sadly, she did not long survive his birth. I brought Charles back with me, only to learn upon my return that Lord Everly’s father had no intention of acknowledging the woman or a brat from a marriage he refused to recognise. So Papa and I kept Charles. Indeed, I look upon him as my own son now, and shall do my upmost to see that he receives an upbringing and education suitable to his birth—whether or not he is ever received by his grandfather.’

  ‘Raise a child on your own? Once again, a commendable aim, but isn’t that an even weightier responsibility for a young lady?’

  ‘With Papa gone now, too weighty, my aunt would say. But why should an innocent child suffer for the folly of his parents, the hard-heartedness of a grandfather and the death of a male sponsor? Especially as dear and clever a boy as Charles. Which is, of course, another reason a Season in London would only disappoint my aunt. I don’t imagine many gentlemen would be eager to court a lady who comes with a child attached, one whose blood family refuses to receive him. And I will never give him up.’

  Before Ransleigh could attempt a reply—fortunately, for Theo wasn’t sure what a gentleman could safely respond to such a startling revelation—Constancia trotted up with the children in tow.

  The full truth of her circumstances should effectively snuff out whatever attraction he might have felt for her, she thought, both relieved that the temptation he represented would soon be removed—and a little sad to lose it. Like the last vestiges of her youth, disappearing for good.

  Immured in the country, he might find flirting with a safe but willing female mildly attractive. Even flirting with one who had a troop of orphans to supervise might not be too daunting. But trying to flirt with a woman surrounded by a gaggle of orphans who also had a child clinging to her skirts would doubtless not seem worth the effort.

  ‘The children are all here, Senhorita Theo, except for Jemmie,’ Constancia said.

  Pulling herself back to the present, Theo said, ‘I thought he was doing the gathering. Where could he have got to?’

  She was about to call him when her attention was drawn to a flicker of movement glimpsed from the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw in the adjoining pasture the boy approach a tall, prancing stallion.

  Jemmie—drawing near the black beast who had nearly trampled her.

  At Theo’s gasp, Ransleigh saw them, too. ‘Great Lucifer, is the boy mad?’

  ‘Too late to warn him! What should we do?’

  ‘Stay here, and don’t call out to Jemmie!’ he said, restraining her when she would have run towards the fence. ‘Any loud noise or sudden movement could set the horse off and he’ll kick out, or run the boy down. Don’t come any closer, and for heaven’s sake, keep the rest of the children away!’

  But as he set off at a measured pace for the pasture, Maria gave a guttural cry and leapt forward. Before she could take a second step, Ransleigh grabbed her, murmuring soothingly to the child as he turned slowly, calmly towards Theo, who stepped forward to take the girl in her arms.

  ‘Keep her safe,’ he said softly, and set out again towards the pasture.

  Much as it chafed Theo to stand still and do nothing more useful than murmur reassurances to the trembling Maria, she knew Ransleigh, from his long association with the horse, would be more likely to safely rescue Jemmie.

  As she watched anxiously, Ransleigh approached the fence. Meanwhile, rather than retreating from the agitated stallion, Jemmie—whose neck she was going to wring once Ransleigh extracted him from the pasture—had moved slowly closer. As she held her breath, he leaned towards the huge beast, his lips moving, doubtless talking in the soothing tones he used with the army horses.

  The stallion stopped pawing the ground and watched the boy. Cautiously he extended his head, his nostrils quivering. A moment later, his body and muzzle relaxing, he let Jemmie stroke his neck.

  Slowly and silently Ransleigh scaled the fence, his gaze never leaving the boy and horse. As the stallion’s aggressive posture changed to curiosity and then acceptance, he walked slowly over to the pair and put a hand on Jemmie’s shoulder.

  ‘That’s enough of a visit for now,’ he said, giving Jemmie’s shoulder a tug.

  ‘Is he yours?’ the boy asked, awe in his tones. ‘What a prime goer he must be!’

  ‘He is, but with a disposition to match his name— Diablo,’ Ransleigh said, a touch of acid in his tone. ‘Let’s leave while he’s still feeling amiable.’ Keeping his body between the horse and the boy, he walked Jemmie back and over the fence.

  Theo rushed over to greet them. ‘Jemmie, what were you thinking? You shouldn’t just go right up to a horse you don’t know!’

  Jemmie looked at her, puzzled. ‘But I done that all the time, Miss Theo. The cavalry boys always wanted me to tend their horses.’

  ‘Yes, but we’re not with the army now, and Diablo isn’t a cavalry mount, he’s much less steady! Besides, one shouldn’t approach a horse in a private pasture without getting the owner’s permission first.’

  ‘Which would not have been granted, not for that horse!’ Ransleigh said. ‘You might have been bitten, at the least, kicked in the head at worst. I’ve seen Diablo scatter a stall full of grooms on a whim.’

  ‘He’d never hurt me, sir,’ J
emmie said. ‘I could see he were a bit riled up at first, but once I started talkin’ to him, he calmed down right quick. They generally do, once they know you understand them and don’t mean them no harm.’

  Ransleigh shook his head and looked at Theo.

  ‘He does have a way with horses,’ she explained.

  ‘That may be. But, young man, you are not to approach Diablo again. He was moved to be amenable today, but he can change in an instant. Promise me you won’t go near him.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry he’d be harmin’ me,’ Jemmie repeated confidently. ‘But it’s your horse, so I guess I have to promise. Will you let me visit him again?’

  ‘We’ll see about that later,’ Theo said. ‘Now, please help Constancia load the children back into the wagon.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Theo. Thank you again, sir, for lettin’ me talk to your horse.’

  ‘As if I’d given him permission,’ Ransleigh muttered to Theo as Jemmie ushered the children away. ‘He does have the touch, though. I’ve seen grooms with years of experience afraid to go near that horse.’

  ‘Perhaps Diablo allowed it because he sensed that Jemmie was not afraid. I, however, was terrified! Thank you so much for seeing him safely out!’

  Ransleigh made a gesture of dismissal. ‘It seems he would have been fine on his own. But I couldn’t risk that.’

  Theo felt a swell of gratitude, which only redoubled her admiration for him. ‘I do think Jemmie would make a fine trainer—which would be a better use of his skills than sending him to the army.’

  Ransleigh nodded agreement. ‘A skilled trainer can forge a fine career working for a large stable, like the Duke of Rutland’s racing stud. If he can quiet Diablo, Jemmie should be able to work wonders with more even-tempered beasts.’

  ‘From what you’ve told me of your work with horses, you should know.’ A sudden thought occurred, and Theo’s eyes lit. ‘Might you work with Jemmie? If you were able to train Diablo, there must be so much you could teach him!’

  As soon as the words left her lips, she caught herself. ‘No, don’t answer that,’ she said before he could speak. ‘Forgive me again! I get so caught up envisioning their futures, I blunder on as if everyone takes a similar interest. But I would ask one other, more acceptable favour.’

  He shook his head at her. ‘Poor Lady Coghlane. I sincerely doubt she’s going to be able to tempt you away to London. Now, what would that favour be?’

  ‘In your years of working with horses, you must have met any number of trainers. I do think it would be a perfect occupation for Jemmie. If you can think of a good one who might consider working at the school, I would very much appreciate the recommendation. I’d like to see Jemmie—all of them—become useful members of the society their fathers gave so much to protect.’

  ‘You may have trouble convincing the Lady Wentworths of the neighbourhood, but I wholeheartedly agree.’ He shook his head. ‘Despite the fright Jemmie gave me over Diablo, I’ll even see if I can think of a trainer you might use.’

  Nothing could incite her gratitude more than his engaging himself to help her orphans. ‘Thank you for understanding,’ she said fervently. ‘And for your compassion.’

  Impulsively she grasped his hand, intending to shake it. But the moment she touched him, a palpable current flashed between them, so strong she nearly gasped at its force.

  He must have felt it, too, for his pulse leapt under her fingers. But rather than pulling his hand away, he tightened his grip.

  Her breathing stopped, her vision narrowed until only he filled it—the handsome face with the slash of the scar running down from the eye patch, his vivid blue gaze watching her so intently. Her hand throbbed beneath his touch, the vibrations radiating from her fingers up her arm to the whole of her body.

  He murmured something, her name maybe, and bent his head. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips tingling in anticipation of his touch.

  A sharp tug at her gown snapped her eyes back open. Dazed, she looked down to find Charles beside her. Her face flaming, she yanked her fingers from Ransleigh’s.

  ‘Can we go back now, Miss Theo! I’m awfully hungry.’

  Shaken by what had passed between her and Ransleigh, she seized the boy and lifted him into her arms, hugging him against her, a reassuring reminder of where she belonged.

  Heavens, Theo, pull yourself together!

  ‘I’m ready to get in the wagon now,’ Charles said, squirming in her grasp.

  She set the boy down and gave Ransleigh a curtsy, her breathing still unsteady. ‘Thank you again for lending us your barn, Mr Ransleigh,’ she said, relieved that the words emerged in a natural tone, rather than a gasp. ‘Perhaps you will honour us with another visit after the school has begun, if your engagements permit.’

  ‘I expect they might. Good day to you, Miss Branwell,’ he said with a bow.

  She felt his gaze on her as she walked away, her body still humming and fizzing like a Congreve rocket about to erupt. Which she might have done, had Charles not interrupted them. Or would Ransleigh have come to his senses first?

  She’d need to regather her wits in order to drive the children home without running them into a tree, she thought as she hoisted Charles into the wagon and took her seat. And leave until later, when her brain was functioning again, the problem of figuring out how to halt the madness that seemed to overcome her every time she came near Dominic Ransleigh.

  Chapter Eight

  After watching Miss Branwell drive off with her orphans, Dom reclaimed his vehicle and set the tilbury in motion. What was it about the lady that affected him so strongly? Though she looked no more like a siren than a sparrow resembles a peacock, something about her seemed to light him off faster than a fuse touched to powder.

  She felt it too, he was certain, just as unbidden and just as strongly. And seemed to have no more idea where it came from or how to counter it than he had.

  It certainly wasn’t her beauty, nor a sophisticated wit that played seduction’s game. To be sure, she had a natural grace and a keen, if often biting, intellect. But far from trying to entice him, she proclaimed she had no interest in men or marriage. He had to believe her; the surprise and confusion with which she reacted, each time attraction flared between, was too convincing to be a sham. Besides, if she were trying to lure him on while playing the innocent, she’d surely allow a touch or a kiss, just to inflame him further.

  Even if she weren’t too straightforward to make those claims to try to cozen an eligible bachelor, the fact that she had taken in a child she intended to raise underlined the truth of her uninterest.

  A child she meant to keep even without her father to help smooth his way, she’d said, raising her little chin as if she meant to defy everyone and the world who might try to take him from her.

  Which should provide protection enough from seduction and wedlock. As she’d noted, few men would want to begin married life with someone else’s cuckoo in their nest, a boy his own blood family refused to recognise.

  Nor could he blame his reaction to her on the fact that he’d been too long without a woman—though it had been too long. Just two days ago, he’d kissed the hand of delectable blonde, blue-eyed Miss Wentworth, whom any sane man would consider far more beautiful than Theodora Branwell. And felt...nothing.

  Was it the passion so evident in her eloquent defence of her orphans and her brisk, restless movements that called to him? A strain of barely controlled wildness he sensed thrumming beneath her skin, which drove him on some instinctive level to try to free it?

  Whatever fomented it, the urge was strong. If that urchin hadn’t distracted her, he would have kissed her in full view of the whole group of orphans and their nurse. For no more reason than something primal in her called urgently to something in him.

  Just thinking about taking her mouth, pulling
that lithe, slim body against him, made his pulses race and his body harden further. He sighed and blew out a breath.

  Pay attention, Dominic Ransleigh, he told himself sternly. Had that long fever addled his brain? Nothing about Miss Branwell’s circumstances had changed since the last time he’d speculated about his attraction to her. She was still a gently born virgin, therefore not a female available for seduction.

  Unless he was thinking of marriage.

  Ah, there was a brake to halt this runaway carriage! Attracted he might be, but having just extricated himself from one attachment for the express purpose of discovering what he meant to do with his life before committing himself to anyone, he had no business letting his senses lead him into another entanglement. Miss Branwell was not some experienced widow or bored society matron, whom he could dally and then part with amicably, both satisfied with the arrangement and no one the wiser. Keep less than a stranglehold over his passions, and he might compromise her, forcing him to do the honourable thing and compelling into wedlock a girl who’d expressed even less desire to marry than he had.

  To save himself frustration—and temptation—he probably ought to avoid her.

  Except...he’d just more or less promised her he’d look into the matter of a trainer.

  Though he might know nothing about children, he did remember being a boy mad about horses, an enthusiasm he saw mirrored in Jemmie. He shuddered as he recalled the boy in the pasture with Diablo. A lad who could get near that beast without injury already possessed instincts that could not be taught, that needed only refining to turn him into a superb trainer.

  Maybe he should help, sharing his love of and skill with horses. Guiding the sergeant-major’s orphan into a secure future would be a worthy task.

  Then he had to laugh. Was that his destiny—becoming an orphanage instructor? He could just imagine the shock, disbelief, and derision among the toffs of the ton, were they to learn Dandy Dom had turned his hand to bear-leading youths.