The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  He met her gaze levelly. "That thought had not even occurred to me. No, something has upset you apart from a damp gown. I should like you to tell me what it is."

  She snorted in derision, crossing her hands over her chest in a defensive posture. "What could possibly be troubling me? Being forced to marry a complete stranger when I love another. Your friends making so little attempt to be civil to me. Your female acquaintance nothing but a pair of trollops, and your male friends and you drunk and debauched at this hour of the day in a state of undress."

  He looked thunderstruck. "Charlotte, wait--"

  Charlotte's ire was in full flow now. "What sort of other depravities am I to be subjected to, I wonder, once we are irrevocably bound together? And if these are only the first of your guests, what other charming companions do I have to look forward to?" she said with a roll of her eyes to emphasise her biting sarcasm.

  He looked confused and concerned with her second and third charges, but a small smile played about his lips at her first and fourth complaints.

  "I shall take your points in order of the ease of explanation. I do apologise for the turn of events two nights ago, but the situation was not entirely of my own making, as I'm sure you will agree."

  She blushed and looked away shyly, but conceded his point with a small nod.

  "I thought you were more resolved in your own mind about our marriage, my dear. The other charges you have laid at my door have perhaps made you apprehensive once again about going through with the wedding."

  "There is no perhaps about it, sir!"

  He put his hand on his heart. "I give you my word, there is little cause for concern. We were not drunk, though we were drinking. We were toasting the health of our former comrades in the army, and remembering those lost. Several of our so-called Rakehell set served in Portugal and Spain since the start of the war over four years ago. The three of us have a tradition, silly I know, but we show our tattoos. One day we shall tell you the whole story, if you would like to hear it. But suffice it to say that we have a deep and abiding friendship which has transcended miles, and even death."

  He rolled up his right sleeve and showed her the words on his arm. "Thomas Eltham, Brimley, Somerset," was tattooed on his forearm in blue ink. Rolling up his left sleeve, the message was the same. "Forgive me, but in the interests of offering proof..." He parted his shirt to one side and showed her a George and the Dragon on his impressive pectoral muscle, then began to fasten his garment once more.

  She stared at his magnificent bare chest, dusted with a light coating of dark crisp hairs, her mind bursting with questions and the most shockingly explicit thoughts. Of running her hand over his bare skin and back, kissing down his flat copper-colored nipples...

  She only just managed to hold her tongue. In fact, she put her hand to her mouth shakily to check for saliva, he was so mouth-watering.

  He continued to dress himself as best he could in the moving coach as he explained, "As for the second and third accusations against us all, they are much more serious. I can comment on the second, since I was present. They were trying to make you feel welcome, to include you in our conversation. I admit we do go on sometimes. Our youthful idealism has not quite worn off. We're known as the Rakehells because we would laugh, fight and play hard, and we always played to win. Some of us even loved hard, though we're really more reformers than Rakes.

  "We don't just stir things up for the sake of it. We were and still are all Radicals. I know what you said before, but to speak truly, it sounded more like what your father would say than any well-formed opinion of your own."

  Her nostrils flared. "How dare you speak ill of my father!"

  He shook his head and replied patiently, "Nay, Charlotte, I do not. He is the best of men. He speaks his mind, and I admire him for his principled stance, even if I do not agree with it.

  "But I'm more interested in what you truly think yourself. I don't wish to browbeat you into agreeing with me. I would like you to at least try to consider other ways of perceiving, of seeing different sides of the same question."

  "What difference could it possibly make?" she asked waspishly. "I am a mere woman. My opinion, as I have discovered all too clearly these past few days, counts for nothing."

  Thomas shook his head. "I'm truly sorry if you feel that way, my dear. It was never my intention to make you feel so slighted, nor my friends' either."

  She flounced her hand into her lap dismissively. "Yet still you persist in this folly of insisting we marry!"

  He gazed at her levelly, his green eyes calm and patient. "You have just spoken of the status of women in society. You know what will happen if you are cast out by your father."

  "But if you were to call off the marriage--"

  He sat back in the coach seat with a sigh. "You would be seen as jilted."

  "Then let me call it off and--"

  He shook his dark head quickly. "That would be even worse for you, my dear. You would be seen as a conscienceless flirt. And let us be honest about the situation, shall we? Your gentleman friend will never support you after what has happened between us," Thomas lied, "and no one else of any consequence will receive you again if you were to throw me over, and try to marry him."

  She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning darkly. "Damnation! It simply isn't fair! Oh, why were I not born a man," she exclaimed in frustration.

  Thomas rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Do you honestly think we all have such an easy time of it? Oh, I will grant that many do, those who seek only pleasure, but for those with an intelligent, reflective mind, and a clear notion of duty, are tied down just as much as women by cares and responsibilities."

  "Like looking after Elizabeth?" she asked more calmly.

  "Yes, and the estate, and my tenants. And yet there are still larger questions for those of us who choose to look beyond our own narrow lot."

  "You mean like serving in the war?" she guessed, her curiosity piqued despite her wanting to remain aloof from this magnetic man.

  He nodded, pleased. "Precisely. I admit I felt a great deal of admiration for the French Revolution, until Robespierre and then Bonaparte turned tyrant. Then I knew I had to do my part and fight that tyranny and injustice, and help pull up the old order by the roots. That is the very meaning of the word Radical.

  "I don't expect you to understand or even sympathize, since it is not the way you were raised. Politics and social ills probably hold few attractions for a pretty and pampered young miss like yourself. But you could at least try to listen, perhaps join in? You may not agree with a word we say, it's true. but none of us are your enemy. None of us wish to harm or embarrass you, my dear. So will you at least make an effort to listen graciously to my friends and I for the sake of common politeness?"

  She nodded grudgingly. "I shall try, it's just..."

  He looked at her expectantly. "Go on, you can tell me the truth. I won't be angry."

  She sighed and looked away. "It is just that they make me feel, well, so stupid and frivolous. You all do. I wish, well, I find myself confused one minute, and wishing I were more like you the next," she admitted in a low tone, blushing.

  He smiled at her kindly. "I'm well aware of my station in life. I have had every privilege lavished upon me, and every advantage in being male in a society run by narrow-minded men who are eager to keep all the power for themselves. None of us can fault you for turning out to be anything other than what you are, Charlotte. There will be plenty of time for improvement and maturity later."

  She shot a resentful glance at him. "But that's just it, Your Grace. Thomas. Maybe I don't want to change. Maybe I was happy with things exactly the way they were before your friends arrived. Or before you pulled me out of my world and dragged me into yours."

  He considered her stinging accusation for a few moments. "I don't think you're so very unhappy now, my dear. It sounds to me more like a bad case of nerves, a bit of envy, and the denting of your sense of pride and accomplishment. I'm sor
ry you've been wounded. It has been entirely unintentional, and we shall all do our best to see that you don't feel slighted again. Is that fair?"

  She nodded.

  "But now we come to the last point. My female acquaintance a pair of trollops? Sarah and Vanessa are the best of women, above moral reproach. What on earth could they have said or done to lead you to that conclusion?" He would have laughed, had the charge not been so damaging to his friends.

  "Vanessa Stone said she did not have a fine gown because the circumstances of her wedding were highly irregular, and then Sarah Deveril began to talk about, well..." She blushed to the roots of her hair.

  "What, exactly?" he asked patiently, when the silence between them had lengthened to such a degree he began to grow alarmed.

  "Well, giving money to prostitutes," she said so quietly that he had to strain to catch the words.

  His brows raised in understanding at last. "Ah, for her clinic, you mean. Well, what is so wrong with that?"

  "It should be stamped out, not encouraged. That's what's wrong with it!" she hissed.

  He shook his head pityingly, and tried to remain calm. He saw red every time the subject was mentioned, but it would not do to take it out on Charlotte. She could never know what a lucky escape she had had....

  "It's a profession mentioned even in the Bible. I doubt it will ever be eradicated, so the best thing to do it to regulate it."

  "Whaaatt?" she gasped.

  "Make it legal, so the women don't have to go underground and be victimised by the authorities as well the people who use their services," he said with a shrug of one shoulder. "In that way, they won't have to hide in dark corners, where they are more likely to be harmed. Through proper clinics, we can make sure the women stay healthy, and are protected from venereal disease. If they should be unlucky enough to fall pregnant, we must make sure they don't do anything desperate to themselves or their babies."

  Charlotte paled.

  He saw her rapid change of expression and nodded. "Often they are subjected to cruel and brutal treatment. They are frequently forced into prostitution by a male relative or lover. At the clinic, which I provide funds for, they not only look after their physical well being, but their spiritual as well, if they want to escape their past and lead a better life. Before you judge these women, just think about your own privileged upbringing and be grateful for it, rather than being so priggish."

  He could have kicked himself for allowing the last sentence past his lips. But he was weary of always having to justify himself to the woman for whom he had turned his whole life upside down just because he had taken upon himself the task of rescuing her from the odious Herbert Paxton. It was infurating to think that despite everything he had done to make her feel welcome and cherished, Charlotte was persisting in pining for Paxton as though he were a paragon of virtue, when in fact he was even worse than the type of men he had just described.

  She gritted her teeth and said stiffly, "I'm sorry. I was not brought up to discuss such matters over the cucumber sandwiches."

  "Apology accepted."

  She shot him a startled look. "Really, how can you be so..."

  "Irritating?" he supplied with a grin.

  "That is the mildest word I can think of." She glowered at him. "And you still haven't denied my accusation against the women."

  He shrugged his shoulders, setting his impressive muscles rippling once more. "I didn't think I had to. But if you insist. Sarah is truly what she claims to be, the respectable sister of a vicar. As for Vanessa, I will let her tell you the story in her own way, since it is not my habit to discuss my friends' personal affairs. But suffice it to say that she was not eloping, as you were, or pregnant or compromised in any way, but in mourning for a deceased aunt. That is why she had a plain dress. And not everyone has a fancy gown to be wed in. You yourself complained my mother's gown was too fine. I do not expect you to always be sensible, Charlotte, but you might try applying the same standards to yourself as to others."

  She said stiffly, "I've already told you, I do not need an extravagant wedding."

  He gave a tight little smile. "But at least be willing to admit that you would love to have the chance to queen it a bit over your local rivals."

  "And give you and your friends even more opportunity to mock me?" she asked with a lift of her chin. "No thank you."

  He shook his head mildly, and reached across to pat her hand. "Not at all. These are perceived slights, not deliberate ones. I've told you, I have no intention of being cruel to you physically or mentally. Do you at least acknowledge that part of the fault may lie in you jumping to conclusions about what you heard or saw?"

  At length she admitted in a grudging tone, "All right, I own it. I was upset and angry. I felt at a disadvantage, a bit slighted, and did not give them a fair chance. I was determined to think ill of them all because I'm angry with you, Your Grace."

  Thomas flashed a tight smile. "There now, honesty isn't such a bad thing, is it?"

  She gazed at him levelly for a moment. "Perhaps not."

  "Is there any other reason you might be angry with me, apart from the obvious?" he asked softly.

  She sat back in her seat with a pout. "No, I think that's more than enough cause, don't you?"

  His emerald eyes sparkled now. "I do, but there can be no doubt that I ought not to allow my fiancee to feel neglected."

  He swung over to sit next to her on the facing seat, and put his arm around her.

  She tried to back away into a corner, but he cut off her retreat, pulling her into his arms for a soul-stirring kiss. She bunched her fists to press against his chest, but after her initial shock at the bold gesture, she could feel the by now familiar sensation of desire flooding through her.

  He was right, drat the man. She hated feeling ignored by him. Hated feeling there was some part of his life that she would never be able to comprehend or touch.

  After the initial embrace, he ran his hands lightly up and down her shoulders, so that she was free to pull away any time she chose. She noted it vaguely as she slanted her mouth across his, deepening the kiss, some determined devil in her brain intent upon breaking through the wall of his seeming indifference and calm.

  The fact that she might be playing with fire with a man she hardly knew did not occur to her, but it concerned Thomas not a little. Was she an innocent, or uncontrollable in her desires?

  She was most certainly a passionate woman. Days and nights with her would never be dull. But was she one of those ladies who simply had to have male attention no matter what? Or had something else set off this ardent embrace? Was it possible that she really did like him after all? In spite of how badly he had hurt her with his lies?

  Well, better the abortive elopement and the lies, than the reality of life with Herbert, a man who was no better than a degenerate and murderer so far as Thomas was concerned.

  As for relations between them, many couples had started off in worse circumstances, Vanessa and Clifford for one, with her gambled away by her half-brother, Gerald, who had been Clifford's sworn enemy. When Clifford had won her, there had been hell to pay, and a great deal of suspicion and mistrust to overcome. But they had learned to love each other, and were happy. Surely marriage would be what they chose to make of it, so long as they worked together as a true partnership.

  He would be more than happy if he could share this incredible bone-melting passion with her every night, he decided, relinquishing all thought at last as he kissed her back with equal ardor.

  At some point in the next few minutes, he realised their vehicle had stopped moving. "My dear," he murmured, lifting his lips at last, "we're here. Much as I would love you to continue with your tender demonstrations of regard for my humble person, your father will wonder if we do not get out of the carriage soon."

  Her blue eyes flew open, and started to focus at last. She blinked, and stared at him in horror.

  Her expression of utter dismay grated on a raw nerve, provoking Thomas to sa
y, "I can understand you pretending that I'm your other gentleman in order to make your situation more bearable, but it's rather unflattering. I am Thomas, or Tommy if you prefer, not Your Grace, or the Duke, or any other social formula you would care to use."

  "I, uh--" Her hand flew to her mouth, and she scurried out of the carriage and into the house as if all the demons of Hell were after her.

  Her father stood in the white and gilt marble foyer, looking at both of them speculatively as they each entered the house.. He took in his daughter's damp gown, spotted with what looked to be tea, but otherwise undamaged. Then he surveyed future son-in-law's disheveled appearance, and lack of cravat and waistcoat. Well, they were to be married in a couple of days. Where was the harm in a little rough and tumble? he decided.