The Rake's Enticing Proposal

by Lara Temple

  His only comfort was that this urge would eventually peak and pass, and perhaps in another dozen years he would look back on this interlude with amused compassion for a youthful folly. It was not as if he would do anything about this unwelcome fascination. He did have some sense of honour after all. He might be uncomfortable, but he was safe.

  He leaned on the wall and watched her approach. The wind had settled a little, but it still whipped the skirts of her dull brown coat about her legs, tangling between them as he would have loved to do. Then she stopped by the stile and smiled.

  He pressed his gloved hands on the uneven stones. Hard.

  ‘What a good idea this is,’ she said, brushing the fluttering ribbons of her bonnet away from her cheek. ‘I feel more human already. Fresh air and a hint of sun is a marvellous way of putting the world in perspective. I didn’t know there were tors in Sussex.’

  ‘There aren’t. It is merely a hill, but that was a little tame for us so we dubbed it the Tor.’

  ‘I like that. I think I shall name the duck pond near Whitworth Loch Walsh, then I can be Madame Ambrosia of Loch Walsh. Do you think we could see where Henry is from up there?’

  He held out his hand, but she clambered over the stile without his help and he watched the fabric of her skirt shift over her legs and hips.

  Lucky skirt. Lucky Henry.

  ‘Do you know, Mr Sinclair, I have been thinking about the notebooks and...’

  He held up his hands.

  ‘I appreciate your help, Ellie Walsh, but I suggested we walk to clear our heads, not clutter them further. Sometimes the best way to approach a problem is to put it aside and allow it to stew. So while out here we will talk of anything but my cousin’s conundrum. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed. I shall add it to my problem stew and put a lid on it. For now.’

  They reached the top of the Tor too quickly for his pleasure, but her gasp of appreciation was compensation enough for her speed.

  ‘It is beautiful!’

  He looked out over the stretch of green fields fading at the edges into the sky and the sea.

  ‘Some people find the view too plain.’

  ‘It can be plain and still be beautiful. Beauty isn’t merely to be found in rose gardens.’

  Her words reflected his thoughts about her too closely for comfort, but he merely smiled and kept his gaze on the view.

  ‘Look! There is Henry! My goodness, what a lot of sheep there are.’ She gestured out over the fields that stretched out on the other side of the Manor.

  ‘Careful, don’t lean over that ledge. The stones are still slippery from the rain.’ He caught her arm as she leaned past the outcropping of boulders to get a better view of the figures on horseback moving along the low stone walls and she laughed up at him over her shoulder.

  ‘I’m not a child, Mr Sinclair. You shan’t have my broken leg on your conscience. Can we reach the top of the Tor?’

  ‘Not while it is still damp and certainly not in those shoes. It is all rock from here and some of it is loose. My brother Lucas nearly broke his neck there one summer trying to prove how sure footed he was.’

  ‘Are you two very competitive?’

  ‘Lucas and I? Not at all.’

  ‘That is rather surprising. Henry said there are only two years between you. In my experience siblings so close in age are often competitive.’

  ‘Well, perhaps we were when we were very young, but our mother was never strong after...once we left England and we did not wish to upset her, so competition was a luxury we rarely indulged.’

  Her frown caught at him again. It was almost as hard to resist as her smile.

  ‘Were you very young when your father died?’

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘I am so sorry. Hugh was eight—sometimes I think he felt my father’s death most violently. He could make no sense of it.’

  ‘There often isn’t any sense to be made.’

  ‘No.’ Her hand rose as if to take his and he pushed his own hands deeper into his pockets. Two swallows swirled past, very close, their sleek forms tangling in an airy dance.

  ‘Henry said your father died in a duel.’ Her voice was tentative, knowingly stepping out on to a plank. He should push her back as he did everyone else.

  ‘Yes. Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier if he had died in a different way. Something mundane like a fever or falling off a horse,’ he said to the view of the sea.

  ‘I think so. Well, not much easier, but there wouldn’t be that...shadow. Something lingering. When Hugh learned Father drowned in a ditch of rainwater he had dreams of being trapped under a ceiling of water, alive but not able to find his way through.’

  ‘Sounds like a version of purgatory. Does he still have those dreams?’

  ‘Not recently. When he was younger I would often wake and sit by him at night so I could be there when they happened. I remember wishing there was someone who could take my place. I hope the dreams haven’t returned now I am away...’ Her voice wavered into silence and he moved closer.

  ‘Sam suffered from bad dreams as well as a child. She was quite young when it happened, but through the years she heard gossip about the duel and my father’s alleged betrayals and...unfortunately she has a very vivid imagination.’

  ‘Poor girl.’ Her brows twitched together abruptly, dimming the vivid compassion in her eyes. ‘You have used that word before regarding your father—alleged.’

  He smiled. The girl had a lawyer’s mind to snag on such details. It really was no concern of hers, but he wondered what it would feel like to share this new reality with someone other than his close family.

  ‘We recently discovered the duel and the scandals were not of his making. I’m only sorry my mother died not knowing the truth.’

  ‘How horrible. For all of you.’

  ‘Still better than the previous version where he was a coward and a cuckolder. My mother never recovered from those revelations.’

  ‘I am truly sorry for her, but glad for you and your siblings. Still, even if you are relieved he was not at fault, the discovery must have made you relive it all over again and grieve for this different man.’

  ‘At least this time we could grieve for a man we actually remembered. It meant a great deal to Lucas and Sam.’

  ‘You are doing it again.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Removing yourself from the equation. Surely it meant as much for you as it did for them?’

  ‘I feel everything less keenly than my siblings. I’m the valley between two mountains. There are no soaring highs or crashing lows here, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Just your boring, middle-of-the-road rogue.’ Her eyes were laughing, but they also held an expression he had seen innumerable times on his Uncle Oswald’s face—his words were being weighed for messages he was not even aware of. It annoyed him when Oswald did it, but having this prim bluestocking do it felt like an invasion of his private sanctuary and not through a doorway, either, but by a bludgeoning of walls. Before he could think of a way to divert her she looked away.

  ‘It is good you have each other.’

  ‘Yes, siblings are quite useful when they aren’t being a complete nuisance.’

  Her eyes brightened with laughter, accepting his withdrawal. ‘They can be, but I don’t know what I would do without them. I was always sad for Henry that he had no siblings. For his father as well.’

  ‘You loved him.’

  ‘Henry’s father? Oh, yes. Very much. He was a wonderful man and our families were very close. We all miss him dreadfully.’

  ‘More than your own father?’

  The warmth in her eyes faded a little.

  ‘We miss him, too, but he was a different presence in our lives. If anything, it was rather as if he was our uncle and Mr Whelford was our true father. He was everything that
was most admirable in a man, while my father... I think the test was how little we were willing to make demands upon him. He was often away in London and I remember as a child sitting in church during Mr Whelford’s sermons, trying to negotiate pacts with God to arrange his speedy return home, promising all manner of good behaviour and assurances. My promises became quite elaborate until I realised they were rather pointless since my father always did as he pleased and was highly unlikely to be swayed by anyone’s wishes, divine or not.’

  ‘So you stopped praying?’

  ‘I changed my tactics and resorted to cunning instead. As Mr Whelford told us every week—the Lord helps he, or she, who help themselves, so when my father did return home I tried to make myself indispensable so he would stay.’

  Her smile flashed again and he leaned back against the outcropping of boulders, the cool stone a solid pressure between his shoulder blades and a welcome counter to the warmth elsewhere. He should put an end to this discussion—each guileless admission was sinking him deeper and deeper.

  ‘What did that entail?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, anything and everything I could think of. Mending pens and helping him with his correspondence including disposing of unwanted bills, reading aloud, turning the pages when he played the pianoforte for us. He was a very fine musician and Mama had a lovely singing voice. They always looked happy when there was music. I have no talents whatsoever, but I became general factotum. That seems to often happen to the eldest sibling.’

  He nodded.

  ‘My brother is a little like that.’

  ‘I thought he was a desperate rake before he married?’ Her smile took the bite out of her words.

  ‘Not desperate. He merely chose which rules he wished to follow. But once he chose them, he followed them to the letter.’

  ‘Do you like his wife?’

  ‘Olivia? Very much. You remind me of her a little. She also is good at cataloguing things.’

  She flushed and turned back towards the view.

  ‘That is hardly a virtue.’

  He smiled, remembering the near-disastrous results of one of Olivia’s lists of Lucas’s qualities, but stopped short of informing Miss Walsh he liked her for very different reasons as well.

  ‘It is a quality, not a virtue. Shall I list your virtues? I don’t know if we have enough time before supper, though.’

  ‘Do not be foolish, Mr Sinclair.’

  Predictably, her confiding warmth faded at the first sign of his gallantry. It was damnable that he kept forgetting she was practically a stranger. It didn’t feel like that, but she was. He shrugged.

  ‘Come, I want to stop by the Folly on our way back and see what remains to be done there. Or I could see you back to the Manor first, if you prefer.’

  ‘No, I should like to see it one last...once more.’

  * * *

  ‘Your valet is very thorough,’ Ellie stated as she inspected the room. It was empty but for several large wooden trunks and the now-bare desk. ‘Was there nothing here that was of use to you?’

  ‘Nothing, I’m afraid. And not a notebook in sight. Huxley must have moved his more valued possessions to the study when he became ill. When he was younger he often worked here and would sit out on the roof at night and watch the stars over the sea.’

  ‘Can you see that far?’

  He smiled at the light that returned to her eyes.

  ‘Would you like to see?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Chase led her up the narrow stone stairs that hugged the wall, swinging open the hatch to the roof. The breeze caught them immediately and he followed Ellie as she did a circuit of the embattlements. Then she stopped abruptly and he turned to see what caught her attention.

  From this vantage point they could see past the gardens to the wall marking the fields. They were dotted with clumps of sheep and at one end two horses grazed and next to them, on a bench, sat Henry and Dru. Henry’s sandy curls were very close to Drusilla’s straw bonnet with its black ribbon. There was a lamb on Drusilla’s lap and Henry’s hand was stroking the animal. Chase’s hand went instinctively to turn her away from the sight, but he stopped it.

  ‘Straight out of a Flemish painting. Perhaps you should remind your betrothed that petting the livestock can be misconstrued.’

  ‘I think it is a good sign they have made their peace. I told Henry that since Dru is practically as knowledgeable about the estate as the steward, it makes sense for them to work together rather than forever goading one another.’

  ‘I hate repeating myself, but I meant what I said yesterday, Ellie. Henry might be following your advice, but poor Dru is likely to misread his gesture and I wouldn’t put it past Henry to be swayed by these tender moments himself. He is very impressionable.

  ‘No reply, Ellie? Are you really not in the least concerned he will be touched by the obvious attraction that she tries and fails to hide? Especially when you treat him more like a brother than a lover from what I can see during meal times.’

  She shrugged and brushed the fluttering ribbon of her bonnet away from her mouth, but beyond the defiance he thought he could see the same deep weariness he noticed in Huxley’s study, as if she was losing some internal battle to stay afloat in choppy waters.

  He had no right to prod her like that. She kept so much hidden from the world, he might have caused her real pain and she would not show it. The fact that he actually wished to disillusion her about Henry only made it worse. She was a good person and he wanted her to be happy. That was all he should be thinking of. If he was halfway decent he would help her, not harass her.

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, Ellie. If Henry has half a brain he won’t possibly prefer Dru. Are you worried?’

  She shrugged again.

  ‘No, I’m not. I trust Henry.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s the problem. If you aren’t teasing Henry, you are taking him for granted. I would hazard a guess that you treat your own siblings with just that mix of affection and highhandedness. This is the boy...the man you are planning to marry. Have you even ever allowed him to kiss you? And don’t trot out some nonsense about proprieties. You would never have agreed to help me in Huxley’s study if you held such store by propriety. He hasn’t even kissed you, has he?’ he continued as she remained silent. ‘You would have tossed it in my face if he had.’

  * * *

  Ellie pressed her hands to her cheeks to calm the burning heat there, wishing she could laugh away his words. He could not possibly know how often she had thought of being kissed recently and not by Henry.

  She shook her head, the truth hovering on her tongue like a trapped butterfly.

  But he was watching her, a slight frown between his brows. He was so unfairly handsome, so...self-contained. Like the Folly tower, set apart from the rest of the world. Was this what he did? Tease and beguile until people came to him of their own accord without ever really giving of himself?

  ‘Is that so important? It is only a kiss.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be asking me that if he had done it. Or at least if he had done it properly. No wonder he’s wandering. One good kiss and he’ll follow you like one of Drusilla’s lambs.’

  ‘Is that what men do when they are kissed?’ she scoffed, which was a mistake because he moved a little closer, positioning himself between her and the view, too close to the low parapet for comfort. Her hands half-rose as if to pull him back from that precarious position, but she forced them down.

  ‘No. Shall I tell you what they do when they are kissed?’

  ‘I know what they do when they are kissed, Mr Sinclair. I am twenty-six after all. Henry might be too much a gentleman to take advantage of me, but I am not completely naïve.’

  ‘Did someone take advantage of you? Is that why you chose someone who doesn’t threaten you?’

  She blinked, more than a little surprise
d by the shift in his tone. She had not expected her little boast to spark such a burn of anger in his eyes. She had forgotten how protective he could be.

  ‘N...no. I mean, if anything I took advantage. I was curious and...well... That was very long ago, during my first and only Season. There has certainly been no one since my parents died... And this is a most improper conversation. We should return.’

  ‘In a moment. So why not with Henry? Did your experiment give you a distaste for the pastime?’

  ‘I’ve never heard it referred to as a pastime. But to answer your question, no, it didn’t. but neither did it convince me a kiss is worth risking one’s reputation for. As soon as I ascertained that, I desisted in my experiments, as you called them.’

  ‘Failed experiments.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Had your experiments been successful, you would know precisely why one good kiss would have Henry toeing the line.’

  ‘I presume you know what a good kiss entails, Mr Sinclair, however—’

  ‘I do,’ he interrupted. ‘A good kiss is like a good book.’

  She wavered. She should put an end to this improper conversation before she revealed as much as Drusilla did every time she looked at Henry, but another need, far more powerful, held her where she was—buffeted by the wind, by her curiosity and by sensations she did not even understand.

  She heard the words leave her mouth before she could even process them. Opening the door.

  ‘Why is a kiss like a good book?’

  He shifted closer, creating a human shield from the gusts of sea-scented air, and the tendrils of hair that had been stinging her face fluttered down. With his other hand he brushed away one that settled on her cheek and straightened the ribbon that threw itself up over the crown of her bonnet. They were small gestures that might have been innocent, but weren’t. He’d hardly touched her cheek, but it felt branded, twice the size of its twin, as if she had the toothache. Finally, he answered and his voice was lower, thrumming like the rush of the wind around them, a little like anger but not angry.