Rake with a Frozen Heart

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Your doing so will be seen to simply confirm your guilt.’

  ‘I know, but I could not think of any other—’

  ‘By rights I should hand you over to the authorities, let you take your chances. You are, after all, innocent. The problem is you have, by your actions, behaved guiltily and worse, implicated me.’

  ‘But no one saw me climb into your carriage, and…’

  ‘They do know that I found you. They know that I was involved in sending you back to Helen Ipswich’s. When it becomes also known that I left Woodfield at about the same time you disappeared, even a Bow Street Runner will put two and two together. You have placed me in an impossible position. I cannot turn you in without risking being found guilty by association, but neither can I in all conscience simply abandon you.’

  Rafe was not a man given to chivalry. He was not a man much given to impulsive action, either, but Henrietta Markham’s endearing courage, her genuine horror at the accusations levelled against her and the very real dangers that she faced, roused him now to both. Whether he wanted to be or not, he was involved in this farce. That his involvement would, of necessity, postpone the unpleasant task of putting his grandmother straight was a small bonus. ‘I have no choice. I’ll help you,’ he said, nodding to himself. It was the only way.

  ‘Help me to do what?’

  ‘Find the thief. The emeralds. Whatever it takes to clear your name.’

  ‘I am perfectly capable of doing that myself,’ Henrietta said indignantly and quite contrarily, because for a moment there, when he had offered, her heart had leapt in relief.

  ‘How?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Have you contacts in the underworld?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Do you have any idea how to go about tracing stolen property?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Admit it, Henrietta, you have no idea at all how to go about anything, have you? No plan.’

  ‘No, none whatsoever.’

  Rafe’s smile lurked. His pleasure at her admission was quite out of proportion. It was a small enough victory, but it felt significant. He liked that she did not prevaricate even when it cost her dear. ‘Then it is very fortunate that I do,’ he said. The pleasure he took in her smile was also quite out of proportion.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Obviously you need someone to assist you,’ Rafe said, allowing his own smile to widen. ‘A man with contacts in the underworld, who can trace the stolen jewellery, the thief or ideally both.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Henrietta replied, feeling slightly dazed by the prospect. ‘Next you will tell me how I should go about finding such a man?’

  ‘There is no need. You have already found him. Me.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘You?’ Henrietta said incredulously.

  She was staring at him as if he had just escaped from Bedlam. Once more, he had to bite his lip to suppress his smile. ‘I have an acquaintance in London who has any number of contacts in such circles,’ Rafe explained. ‘A prize haul such as the Ipswich emeralds should not be too difficult to trace for someone in the know.’

  ‘You are making a May game of me, you must be. How do you come to know such a person? And even if you did—I mean do—I mean, I don’t understand. Why would you?’

  ‘Under the circumstances, you have left me no option but to help you sort out this appalling mess.’ The prospect was surprisingly appealing, but Rafe chose not to share this information. Indeed, he barely acknowledged it himself.

  But, annoyingly, Henrietta shook her head most decidedly. ‘Truly, I am much obliged for your generous offer, but my plight is my responsibility.’

  ‘You would be most unwise to refuse my offer of help.’

  She chewed her lip. What other options did she have, really? What was worse, placing herself in the hands of a rake who might or might not have designs on her virtue, but seemed honestly to be intent upon clearing her name, or taking the risk of being imprisoned, perhaps condemned? What use was virtue if she was deported or dead? And for goodness’ sake, it wasn’t as if she was about to surrender her virtue, anyway. It wasn’t as if her virtue was to be payment. Was it? Was kissing to be considered payment for his helping her? Was there a higher price to be paid? Would he expect more?

  She was being ridiculous. No matter what his expectations, she would not oblige him and one thing of which she was certain was that he would not take what was not given. He could have done that this morning. She was perfectly safe from him. Provided she was sure of herself. Which she was. Of course she was.

  Henrietta nodded to herself. Rafe St Alban was clearly the lesser of two evils. The only sensible option. She would be a fool not to accept his offer. ‘You are right, I don’t have any choice,’ she said.

  ‘Very sensible, Miss Markham.’

  ‘I like to think I am.’

  ‘So you will trust me?’

  She hesitated, alerted by the hint of something in his voice. ‘To help me. Yes, I will trust you to do that.’

  ‘Very careful and very wise, Henrietta. An equivocal response.’

  ‘Lord Pentland…’

  ‘Rafe will do. I think we’ve gone well beyond observing the niceties.’

  ‘Rafe. It suits you.’

  ‘Thank you. Let me return the compliment. I have never before been acquainted with a Henrietta, but the name seems to be made for you.’

  ‘Thank you. I think. I was named for Papa.’

  The way he was looking at her was giving her a shivery feeling, as if she were standing on the brink of something. Was she really thinking of throwing her lot in with him, an incredibly, devastatingly handsome stranger who had a reputation? ‘Won’t people be expecting you in town?’

  Rafe considered that. There was his grandmother, with her list of eligible brides waiting for his approval. There were no doubt a new stack of gilt-edged invitations on his desk, for the Season was in full swing. Despite his notorious reclusiveness—exclusiveness, as Lucas liked to refer to it—Lord Pentland’s attendance at any party or rout or ball was a feather in the hostess’s cap, so he continued to receive them by the hatful.

  ‘Save for Lucas, to be honest, I don’t think there’s a single person who will really miss me, any more than I can think of a single engagement which I would actually enjoy attending.’

  ‘Who is Lucas?’

  ‘The Right Honourable Lucas Hamilton. One of my oldest friends. We met at the Falls of Tivoli while on our respective Grand Tours. Hadrian’s Villa is near there, you know, so it’s de rigueur to visit, though I have to say I was disappointed by it. We found we were both destined for Greece and met up again there. Lucas’s ancient Greek put mine to shame. He’s much more of a scholar than I, though he keeps that fact very quiet. Prefers to be known for his prowess in the ring.’

  ‘He fights?’

  Rafe laughed. ‘Not professionally—though he’d be up for it, most likely, if it were offered. No, whatever you may say of him, Lucas is ever the gentleman. He boxes only with fellow gentlemen at Jackson’s. He fences with fellow gentlemen at Angelo’s. And he drinks every fellow gentleman who is up for the challenge under the table.’

  ‘He sounds a very colourful character,’ Henrietta said doubtfully.

  ‘He does get into some scrapes when I’m not around to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘It sounds as if he’s very lucky to have you.’

  Rafe’s smile faded. ‘I’m Lucas’s friend, not his keeper. For reasons known only to himself, Lucas seems hellbent on self-destruction. He will do that whether I am there to take care of him or not. You know, I can’t think why I’m telling you this. In any event it should only take a few days to clean this emeralds business up. Lucas can look after himself until then.’

  ‘How can you know that it will only take us a few days?’

  ‘Distinctive emeralds and a very distinctive housebreaker must leave a distinctive trail, if one knows where to look. I’m pretty sure we�
�ll be able to track one or both down very quickly. At least, my friend will.’

  ‘I’m very grateful for your help. Truly I am.’

  ‘I am very glad to offer it,’ Rafe said, surprising himself with the truth. She was dressed quite atrociously in badly cut and patchily darned brown. He had never seen quite such a lopsided bow on a bonnet, but she was looking at him as if her life depended upon him and he supposed that at present it did. ‘Really and truly.’

  Whatever the next few days held in store for him, it was unlikely to be boring. Anxious, now that he had committed himself, to be gone, Rafe set about untethering the horses.

  * * *

  Sitting beside him on the narrow seat of the phaeton, Henrietta was acutely aware of Rafe’s presence. Her thigh brushed against his. She nudged his whip hand by mistake. Was she insane to be setting out with him like this? She knew almost nothing about him save that he was rich and titled and a rake and a very accomplished kisser. Probably on account of being a rake. And yet here she was, sitting nonchalantly—sort of nonchalantly—beside him. She must be mad! She ought to think so, and certainly her inner governess did think so, but Henrietta was finding it increasingly easy to ignore her inner governess.

  What an odd picture they must make, she in her ancient cloak and out-of-date bonnet and he the epitome of fashion. She counted at least six capes on his drab driving coat. His gloves were of the softest York tan leather; his buckskins fitted so tightly that they looked as if he had been sewn into them; his black boots had light-brown tops, which she had once heard one of her charges describe as all the crack. It made her horribly conscious of her own shabby attire. She pulled the carriage blanket more tightly around her in an effort to disguise it.

  ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘No. Oh, no. I was just thinking that I wished my clothes were more appropriate for your elegant carriage,’ Henrietta replied, ‘I’m afraid governesses are not accustomed to dressing in silk and lace.’

  ‘For what it’s worth, I think silk and lace would suit you very well,’ Rafe said, and then wondered at his saying so. The image was appealing. His thoughts seemed to be increasingly straying to the carnal. Maybe it was time he selected a new mistress from the many willing volunteers available to him. The idea filled him with ennui.

  Henrietta, whose imagination ran rather to silk promenade dresses than lace peignoirs, was looking wistful. ‘I have never owned a silk gown, or even gone to a ball. Not that I can dance. Anyway, Mama says that clothes do not make a woman.’

  ‘Mama has obviously never visited Almack’s on a Wednesday night,’ Rafe said drily. ‘What about Papa—what has he to say on the subject?’

  Henrietta giggled. ‘I don’t think the topic has ever come up.’ A few hours ago, the question would have set her on edge. She was no longer so nervous that she allowed her tongue to run away with her, though it could not by any stretch of the imagination be said that she was relaxed.

  ‘Never?’ Rafe said in mock astonishment. ‘Has Papa no ambition to find you a husband?’

  Annoyed by what she took to be implied criticism, Henrietta bristled. ‘Papa would not consider a husband found at a dance to be particularly suitable.’

  ‘How refreshing,’ Rafe said ironically, ‘and quite contrary to the opinion of all the other papas of my acquaintance.’

  ‘That does not make him wrong and there is no need to be so rude.’

  ‘I apologise. I did not intend to insult your father.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ Henrietta said forthrightly.

  Rafe was not used to people saying what they meant and certainly not women, but Henrietta was not at all like any other woman he had ever met. ‘I did,’ he admitted, ‘but I will endeavour not do so again.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You are most welcome. At least now I know why you have reached the ripe old age of what—twenty-one?’

  ‘I am three and twenty.’

  ‘Three and twenty, and you are still unattached. Most young ladies would consider themselves practically on the shelf. You must learn to dance, Henrietta, while there is still time.’

  She knew he was teasing her because she could see his mouth twitch, as if he were suppressing a smile. ‘Oh, you mistake the matter entirely,’ she said airily. ‘Papa and Mama have already introduced me to several eligible young men of their acquaintance.’

  ‘What happened, did none of them come up to scratch?’

  ‘If you mean did they propose, then, yes. And each one was more worthy and more sincere than the last.’

  ‘And therefore unutterably dull and boring.’

  ‘Yes! Oh, now look what you have made me say.’

  ‘Henrietta Markham, you ought to be ashamed.’

  ‘Oh, I am.’ She bit her lip, but it was impossible not to laugh when he looked at her just so. ‘Oh dear. I know I ought to be, but…’

  ‘But you are a romantic and you wish to be swept off your feet and cannot be ashamed of being disappointed by the worthy young men your father has presented to you?’

  ‘What is wrong with that? Every woman wants to be swept off her feet. I mean, respect and worthiness are all very well, but…’

  ‘You want to fall in love.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Doesn’t everyone?’

  ‘Certainly everyone says so, though they rarely mean it. I love you is what people say when they think it will get them what they want.’

  His mouth was still smiling, but it seemed to have frozen. ‘That’s very cynical,’ Henrietta said, thinking of the beautiful woman in the portrait. She touched his sleeve sympathetically. ‘I know you don’t mean it, it is probably that you are still grieving.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Mrs Peters told me about your wife.’

  ‘Told you what, exactly?’

  ‘Only that she died tragically young. She showed me her portrait. She was very beautiful.’

  ‘I don’t wish to discuss her,’ Rafe snapped. ‘I see I shall have to take steps to ensure that my housekeeper is reminded of the value I put upon discretion.’

  ‘Oh, indeed, it was not her fault, it was mine. I was surprised you had not mentioned—I said I did not know you were married, and then she said that you were a widower and then—oh dear, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get her into trouble. I didn’t mean to intrude.’

  ‘And yet you have done so. I will not tolerate people prying behind my back.’

  ‘I was not prying, I was just curious. It’s a natural enough thing to ask. After all, you have just asked me the same sort of questions about my family.’

  ‘It is not the same,’ Rafe said curtly.

  ‘Very well, then, I shall keep quiet.’ Henrietta folded her lips and her arms, and sat back, turning her attention firmly to the passing scenery. ‘Very quiet,’ she said, a few minutes later. She had said the wrong thing again, clearly, but how was she to know what was the right thing? What was wrong with him, that he couldn’t even have a perfectly normal conversation about his dead wife? His dead, beautiful wife with the soulless eyes, who had presumably known him before he acquired the cynicism that he wore like a suit of armour.

  Shifting in her seat, she took covert surveillance of the brooding bulk of man at her side. He didn’t like to be questioned and didn’t like to be contradicted. He most certainly didn’t like to explain himself. Could such a man really fall in love? But then, maybe all those years ago he had been a different man. Maybe all those years ago he had been happy. He certainly wasn’t happy now. What had happened to make him so? The question, which had hovered upon her lips almost from the moment she had first set eyes on him, refused to go away.

  Henrietta continued to study him from the shadow of her poke bonnet. Five years he had been a widower. Five years was a long time. The Earl of Pentland could surely have his pick of marriageable ladies. Why had he not remarried?

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Only when he spoke did Henrietta realise to her utter horror that
she had posed the question aloud. She stared at him, too stricken to reply.

  ‘I have no wish to marry again.’

  ‘You mean never?’ Henrietta said incredulously.

  ‘Never.’ Rafe’s tone was positively glacial, but he should have known by now that Henrietta would take no heed.

  She did not, too astonished to even notice. ‘I would have thought that you would need to remarry, if for no other reason than to produce an heir to pass the title on to. Unless—oh, it didn’t occur to me, do you have a child already?’

  It seemed a natural enough question given that he had been married, but she saw at once that Rafe did not think so. His countenance did an excellent impression of turning to granite.

  ‘Nor did it occur to you that your impertinence knows no bounds,’ he said. He cracked the whip to urge the horses into a gallop. An hour passed, with Henrietta increasingly conscious of the strained silence, of the anger simmering in the man sitting rigidly by her side, horribly aware that she had touched some very private and painful wound. He had visibly retreated from her; she could almost see the dark cloud which hovered over him. Miserably aware that she had been the one to summon it, albeit unwittingly, she was also quite unable to summon up the courage to do anything about it, for fear of being further rebuffed.

  * * *

  It was early evening as they neared London. The traffic on the road became noticeably heavier, forcing Rafe to concentrate on his driving. Carts, drays and gigs jostled for position with lumbering stagecoaches, town coaches and other sporting vehicles. The mail thundered past in a cloud of dust.

  Henrietta became more tense with every passing mile. Though the noise and bustle of the city-bound traffic were exciting and it was most certainly busy enough to give her ample opportunity to admire Rafe’s consummate driving skills, she was concerned with more mundane matters. For a start she had almost no money. It was one thing to accept Rafe’s help, quite another to be beholden to him. She had no idea how much a night at a London hostelry would cost, but suspected her meagre finances would not run to more than one or two.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I was wondering, shall we meet up with your—your friend tonight?’