Rake with a Frozen Heart

by Marguerite Kaye

  A swathe of grass rolled down to the wide, slow-moving river. Henrietta’s heart began to pound very hard and very loud—so loud she was sure it could be heard. Should she huddle down further or make a break for it? Should she stay to brazen it out, perhaps even request to be allowed to complete the journey? Or should she take her chances with her very limited funds and even more limited knowledge of where she was?

  The chassis tilted as the driver leapt down. He was tall. She caught a glimpse of a beaver hat before he disappeared round to the front of the horses, leading them down to the water and tethering them there. It was now or never, while he was tending to them, but panic made her freeze. Get out, get out, she chided herself, but her limbs wouldn’t move.

  ‘What the devil!’

  The blanket was yanked back. Henrietta blinked up at the figure looming over her.

  He was just as tall and dark and handsome as she remembered; he was looking at her as if she were every bit as unwelcome an intrusion into his life as she had been this morning. ‘Lord Pentland.’

  ‘Miss Markham, we meet again. What the hell are you doing in my carriage?’

  Her mouth seemed to have dried up, like her words. Henrietta sought desperately for an explanation he would find acceptable, but the shock was too much. ‘I didn’t know it was yours,’ she said lamely.

  ‘Whose did you think it was?’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ she said, feeling extremely foolish and extremely nervous. His winged brows were drawn together in his devilish look. Of all the people, why did it have to be him!

  ‘Get out.’

  He held out an imperious hand. She tried to move, but her legs were stiff and her petticoats had become entangled in her bandbox. With an exclamation of impatience, he pulled her towards him. For a brief moment she was in his arms, held high against his chest, then she was dumped unceremoniously on to her feet, her bandbox tumbling out with her, tipping its contents—its very personal contents—on to the grass. Her legs gave way. Henrietta plopped to the grass beside her undergarments and promptly burst into tears.

  Rafe’s anger at having harboured a stowaway gave way to a wholly inappropriate desire to laugh, for she looked absurdly like one of those mawkish drawings of an orphaned child. Gathering up the collection of intimate garments, hairbrushes, combs and other rather shabby paraphernalia, he squashed them back into the bandbox and pulled its owner back to her feet. ‘Come, stop that noise, else anyone passing will stop and accuse me of God knows what heinous crime.’

  He meant it as a jest, but it served only to make his woebegone companion sob harder. Realising that she was genuinely overwrought, Rafe picked up the blanket and led her over to his favourite spot on the riverbank, where he sat her down and handed her a large square of clean linen. ‘Dry your eyes and compose yourself, tears will get us nowhere.’

  ‘I know that. There is no need to tell me so, I know it perfectly well,’ Henrietta wailed. But it took her some moments of sniffing, dabbing and deep breaths to do as he urged, by which time she was certain she must look a very sorry sight indeed, with red cheeks and a redder nose.

  Watching her valiant attempts to regain control of herself, Rafe felt his conscience, normally the most complacent of creatures, stir and his anger subside. Obviously Henrietta had been dismissed. Obviously her ridiculous tale of housebreakers was at the root of it. Obviously Helen Ipswich hadn’t believed her. He hadn’t expected her to, but despite that fact, he had sent her off to face her fate alone. Faced with the sorry and very vulnerable-looking evidence of this act before him, Rafe felt genuine remorse. Those big chocolate-brown eyes of Henrietta Markham’s were still drowning in tears. Her full bottom lip was trembling. Not even the ordeal of lying in a ditch overnight had resulted in tears. Something drastic must have occurred. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said.

  The gentleness in his tone almost overset her again. The change in his manner, too, from that white-lipped fury to—to—almost, she could believe he cared. Almost. ‘It’s nothing. Nothing to do with you. I am just—it is nothing.’ Henrietta swallowed hard and stared resolutely at her hands. His kerchief was of the finest lawn, his initials embroidered in one corner. She could not have achieved such beautiful stitchery. She wondered who had sewn it. She sniffed again. Sneaking a look, she saw that his eyes were blue, not stormy-grey, that his mouth was formed into something that looked very like a sympathetic smile.

  ‘I take it that you have left Lady Ipswich’s employ?’

  Henrietta clenched her fists. ‘She accused me of theft.’

  He had not expected that. Unbelievable as her tale was, he had not thought for a moment that she was a thief. ‘You’re not serious?’

  ‘Yes, I am. She said I was in cahoots with the housebreaker. She said I opened the safe and broke a window to make it look as if he had broken in.’

  ‘A safe? Then whatever was stolen was of some value?’

  Henrietta nodded. ‘An heirloom. The Ipswich emeralds. The magistrate has summoned a Bow Street Runner. Lady Ipswich ordered me to stay in my room until he arrives to arrest me.’

  Rafe looked at her incredulously. ‘The Ipswich emeralds? Rich pickings indeed for a common housebreaker.’

  ‘Exactly. It’s a hanging matter. And she—she—by implicating me—she—I had to leave, else I would have been cast into gaol.’ Henrietta’s voice trembled, but a few more gulps of air stemmed the tears. ‘I don’t want to go to gaol.’

  Rafe tapped his riding crop on his booted foot. ‘Tell me exactly what was said when you returned this morning.’

  Henrietta did so, haltingly at first in her efforts to recall every detail, then with increasing vehemence as she recounted the astonishing accusations levelled at her. ‘I still can’t quite believe it. I would never, never do such a thing,’ she finished fervently. ‘I couldn’t just sit there and wait to be dragged off to prison. I couldn’t bear for Papa to be told that his only child was being held in gaol.’

  ‘So you stowed away in my carriage.’

  Rafe’s eyes were hooded by his lids again. She could not read his thoughts. She had never come across such an inscrutable countenance, nor one which could change so completely yet so subtly. ‘Yes, I did,’ she declared defensively. ‘I didn’t have any option, I had to get away.’

  ‘Do you realise that by doing so you have embroiled me, against my will, in your little melodrama? Did you think of that?’

  ‘No. I didn’t. It didn’t occur to me.’

  ‘Of course not, because you act as you speak, don’t you, without thinking?’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Henrietta said indignantly. She knew it was fair, but that fact made her all the more anxious to defend herself. ‘It’s your fault, you make me nervous; besides, I didn’t know it was your carriage.’

  ‘As well for you that it was. Did you think what might have happened if it had belonged to some buck?’ Rafe’s mouth thinned again. ‘But I forgot, it could not be worse, could it, for you are now at the mercy of a notorious rake. Consider that, Miss Markham.’

  ‘I am considering it,’ she threw back at him, angry enough now to speak the truth. ‘This morning I was even more at your mercy, in your bed in my underclothes, and you pretended to but really, you made no real attempt at all to—to…’

  ‘To what?’ He knew he was being unfair, but he could not help it. Something about her exasperated him. She made him want to shake the innocence out of her, yet at the same time he was fighting the quite contrary urge to protect her. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t try. ‘What, could it be that you are insulted by my gentlemanly behaviour? Did you want me to kiss you, Miss Markham?’

  Colour flooded her face. ‘Of course I did not. I was pleased you did not find me attractive.’

  ‘But you are quite mistaken. I do.’

  His tone was mocking, his expression almost predatory. His thigh was brushing hers. How had he come to be so close? She could feel the warmth of him, even through the heavy folds of her cape and gown. T
hough he had shaved this morning, she could already see a shadow of stubble on his jaw line. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Or as if her breath had become sharp. It hurt her throat. Her pulses were pounding. She felt afraid. Not afraid, exactly. Apprehension mixed with excitement. And for some reason, it was a nice feeling.

  She didn’t know how the conversation had taken this turn. All she could think about was that Rafe St Alban had admitted that he found her, Henrietta Markham, attractive. Even though she knew for a fact that she wasn’t beautiful. Mama was beautiful. Mama said that it was as well that Henrietta didn’t take after her, because such beauty was dangerous. It attracted the wrong sort of man. It attracted men like Rafe St Alban. Except Henrietta wasn’t a dangerous beauty and Rafe St Alban was apparently still attracted to her.

  ‘Lost for words, most verbose Miss Markham?’

  He was so close she could feel his breath on her face. She should move, but she couldn’t. Didn’t want to. ‘I don’t…’

  ‘Such a notorious rake as you think I am,’ Rafe said huskily, ‘it seems only fair that I should live up to my reputation. It seems only fair, my delectable stowaway, that you should pay the price for taking advantage of me. Twice, now, you have given me no option but to rescue you. I am entitled to some form of reward.’

  He hadn’t meant to do it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He hadn’t realised how much he had been tempted until he gave in and kissed her. He hadn’t realised just how much he wanted to, until he kissed the little tilt at the corner or her mouth, which made her look as if she was always on the verge of a smile. He had meant it as only a small rebuke, a mild punishment, but she tasted so sweet, she smelled so fresh, of sunshine and tears, and her mouth was quite the most kissable he had ever seen, that it was he who was punished by the eruption of unwelcome desire. Uncontrollable desire. Her mouth was plump, pink and soft. A veritable cushion for kisses. He allowed his lips to drift over hers and kissed her again, an appetiser of a kiss. And then, when she made no move to pull away, he teased her lips open with his tongue and kissed her again, and for the first time in a very, very long time, Rafe forgot all about where he was and who he was and how things were, and lost himself in the simple pleasure of a pair of soft, welcoming lips and the delight of a soft, welcoming body.

  For Henrietta, time stopped, though the birds still sang, the breeze still rustled in the tree above them. Her heart, too, seemed to stop. She was afraid to move, lest the spell be broken. Her first kiss. And such a kiss. His mouth so very different from hers. His touch on her shoulders, her back, moulding her into him. She allowed herself to be moulded. Then she began to relish it. She should be shocked, but she was not shocked. She was entranced.

  When he released her she could only stare, clutching at his coat in a most undignified manner, raising a hand to her mouth in wonder. ‘I’ve never been kissed before,’ she blurted out, then blushed vividly.

  ‘I could tell,’ Rafe said.

  ‘Oh. Was it—was I…?’

  ‘It was very nice.’ Much too nice—it had provoked a disconcerting reaction in him. He, who prided himself on his self-control, had felt something akin to abandon flare in him. Not lust, something more primal, more sensual. He shifted on the blanket in order to put some distance between them, to disguise the incontrovertible evidence of his own arousal.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I, on the other hand, am not nice. You would do well to remember that, Henrietta.’

  The warning in his voice was unmistakable. When he laughed, he looked like a different person, but already the shutters were coming back down, his lids shielding his eyes, his mouth straightening. ‘I think you would like me to think so,’ Henrietta replied daringly.

  ‘I thought you already did?’

  An ominous silence followed as Henrietta tried desperately to assemble her thoughts. ‘I did,’ she admitted finally, ‘but now I’m confused.’

  He admired her honesty, though he would not dream of emulating it. He was confused himself. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He had meant it as a punishment, but it had backfired. She had awoken something long dormant in him. A kiss with feeling. He didn’t want to kiss with feeling, any more than he wanted to deal with the problem of what to do with her.

  ‘I stopped here to eat,’ he said, getting quickly to his feet. ‘You must be hungry, too. Perhaps a full stomach will help us sort out this damned predicament you’ve placed me in.’

  Henrietta watched in something of a daze as Rafe strode over to the phaeton and began to haul out a hamper, which she hadn’t previously noticed, from behind his portmanteau. She touched her lips, which still tingled from his caress. He had kissed her! Rafe St Alban had kissed her, and she had kissed him back. She was a shameless hussy!

  Was she? She didn’t feel shameless. She felt—she had no idea how she felt. As if she did not know if she was on her head or her heels. As if her brain was cotton wool. As if the world had turned upside down and deposited her in a strange land. She felt as if she had drunk too much of the cherry brandy one of the villagers gave Papa at Christmas, or as if she were dreaming, for nothing that had happened in the last few hours bore any resemblance at all to her usual life. Especially not that kiss.

  She touched her lips again, trying to recapture it. Heady, like wine. Sweet, like honey. Melting. No wonder kisses led people astray. Another of Rafe St Alban’s kisses and she would willingly have been led astray. Wherever astray was. A place inhabited by rakes. Rakes who preyed upon the innocent. Once again, Henrietta reminded herself to be on her guard. The problem was, there was a rebellious part of her, a part which Rafe’s kiss had conjured into life, that wasn’t at all interested in being on guard. Mama implied that what maidens suffered at the hands of rakes was unpleasant. What Henrietta had suffered had been quite the contrary. Surely Mama could not be wrong?

  Rafe placed the hamper down on the blanket at Henrietta’s feet. ‘I often stop here on my journey between Woodfield and London, I much prefer it to a posting inn.’

  He began to unpack the food. There was a game pie, the pastry golden brown and flaky, a whole chicken roasted and fragrant with sage-and-onion stuffing, quails eggs, cold salmon in aspic jelly, a Derby cheese and a basket of early strawberries.

  ‘Goodness, there’s enough here to feed a small army,’ Henrietta said, looking at the delightful feast laid out before her with awe.

  Rafe was busy with bottles and glasses. ‘Is there? We are not obliged to eat it all, you know. Do you wish claret or burgundy? I’d recommend the claret myself, the burgundy is a little too heavy for alfresco eating.’

  Henrietta giggled. ‘Claret, please.’

  ‘What’s so amusing?’

  ‘This. You and me, the earl and the governess, having a meal by the Thames. I’ve never seen such a delicious picnic in my life.’

  ‘It’s plain enough fare.’

  ‘For you, maybe. I am used to much plainer at home.’

  Rafe helped them both to a generous wedge of pie. ‘Tell me more about your family.’

  ‘There’s nothing much to tell.’

  ‘Are you an only child?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you have no other relatives?’

  ‘I have an aunt, but I’ve never met her. Mama’s family considered Papa beneath them. They did not approve of the match and liked it a lot less when they realised he intended to spend his life helping other people to better themselves, rather than doing the same for his own family.’

  ‘You admire your father?’

  Henrietta considered this. ‘Yes, in a way. I don’t necessarily agree with how he goes about things, nor indeed with his priorities, but he is true to himself. And to Mama.’

  Her hand was hovering over a bowl of strawberries. Rafe picked one out and popped it into her mouth. The juice glistened on her lips. He leaned towards her, catching it with his thumb. Her tongue automatically flicked out to lick it clean. Awareness shot like an arrow through his blood, making him instantly hard
. He leaned closer, replacing his thumb with his mouth. A brief touch, no more, enough for her eyes to widen, her lips to soften in anticipation, his erection to harden.

  Enough and not nearly enough. ‘You have the most kissable lips I have ever come across, Henrietta Markham, you should be aware of that, and consider yourself warned. Have you had enough?’

  ‘Enough?’ She stared at him in incomprehension. Could he see the way her heart was beating? The way her flesh was covered in goose bumps? Could he sense the way she turned hot, then cold?

  ‘Have you had sufficient to eat? Because if you have, I feel it is time to address the thorny question of what the deuce I’m going to do with you.’

  ‘Do with me? You need do nothing more than deposit me in London, if you please.’

  ‘What do you intend to do there, go into hiding? This will not blow over, you know. The Ipswich emeralds are no fripperies.’

  ‘I know. Do you think me an idiot as well as a thief?’

  ‘I think you any number of things, but I don’t think you’re capable of stealing. You are far too honest.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You are also far too quick to share your opinions, even quicker to judge. You make wild assumptions based on nothing but hearsay, you see the world in black and white and refuse to acknowledge any sort of grey, but like your father, I suspect, you are true to yourself. I don’t think you are a thief.’

  She hadn’t realised until this point how much it mattered. To be thought of so ill had cut her to the quick. Even though he was a rake, it mattered. ‘So you believe me?’

  ‘Poor Henrietta, you have had a torrid time of it these last few hours.’

  ‘There are always people more unfortunate than oneself,’ Henrietta said stoutly. ‘That is what Papa says.’

  Rafe looked sceptical, wondering what Henrietta’s other-worldly father would make of his daughter’s current predicament. ‘Not so very many. You do realise that by running away you have made a difficult situation much worse?’

  ‘I know, but—’