The Rake's Rainbow

by Allison Lane

  The note from Thomas also contributed to her contentment. Not until two days later was she brought up short.

  Jaimie Griggs, one of the tenant children, was laid up with a chill so she assembled a basket of remedies and foodstuffs to take to the family. Not having been raised to the aristocracy, she was not in the habit of leaving small tasks to the servants, so she walked to the stables instead of requesting that the dogcart be brought to the door. Thus she inadvertently overheard another exchange between Willy and Jacobs.

  “The master’s due back next week?” asked Willy, freezing her progress at the stable door.

  “That’s wot ‘e said,” confirmed Jacobs, “though ‘e may stay on a spell. Lady Darnley arrived jus’ afore I left.”

  “That one you claim he’s barmy on?”

  “Right-o, my lad. Ye shoulda seen ‘is face when ‘e caught sight of ‘er. Cor blimey! Mouth ‘angin’ open, eyes poppin’ out, and ‘is fists clenched like ‘e could ‘ardly keep ‘is ‘ands off’n the wench. But I told you what a beauty she is.”

  Caroline slipped unseen back to the house, threw herself across her bed, and cried till there was no emotion left in her heart.

  Why? She did not love him and had known that sooner or later Alicia and he were bound to meet again. And Alicia’s feelings were unknown. Her impression – admittedly based on one overheard conversation between two servants – was that the girl was a heartless flirt. Caroline had never expected love. Nor had she expected fidelity, so even the worst should neither surprise nor wound her.

  Thomas owed her nothing. Marrying her was an expedience that had been his least undesirable choice at the time. So why was she behaving in this odiously missish way, as if her dearest love had deliberately broken a vow of eternal faithfulness? She finally explained the unexpected pain as sadness that a basically decent gentleman could throw himself away on an undeserving baggage.

  On her own account, she must remain a helpful, uncomplaining, and undemanding wife, continuing her efforts to restore Crawley and assist him whenever asked. But she would not allow even the slightest tendre for this admittedly handsome rake. And that included permitting emotion to intrude on their bedroom activities. Physically, she could hardly help enjoying the things he did, for he was an accomplished lover and made sure that she was involved and satisfied. But she must remain detached. The alternative was a lifetime of unhappiness.

  Having soothed her feelings, she picked up the basket and asked Peters to summon the dogcart.

  Nor did her thinking change over the next several days. Her organizing skills soon had the estate functioning smoothly, leaving her with excess time on her hands. Evenings could be spent playing the pianoforte or mending linens and draperies. She began to devote a portion of her afternoons to drawing and watercolors. Not that she would ever match her sister’s work, but sketching served to fill the time and some of her pictures were passable. In fact, she framed two and hung them in the morning room to dress the otherwise bare walls until she found something better.

  Her gratitude for Thomas’s absence evolved into anxiety over his return. Better to face their next encounter than to remain in suspense. What had Alicia’s intrusion done to their relationship? Could they remain partners, if not friends? Or had they already moved down that road of estrangement she had envisioned once before that could only lead to separation?

  Chapter 6

  Alicia’s arrival increased Thomas’s strain. He had last set eyes on her at that single morning call following her betrothal and had looked forward to their next encounter. But he had expected some advance warning and time to prepare. Certainly it should have taken place in the context of London’s superficial social whirl, which would provide both a framework and a buffer. To meet in the country at an informal house party was dangerous. Her being the only lady in residence was worse. How could he seek her company without betraying his honor? Yet ignoring her was an exercise in futility. He was but a moth to the flame of her beauty.

  Each day he walked a precarious tightrope between honor and adoration, pain and passion, duty and desire. The sight and sound of her inflamed his senses while intellect and honor fought to control his actions. It did not help that she was even more alluring than he remembered, nor that she exuded a thinly disguised sensuality aimed pointedly in his direction. Too young to understand their changed relationship, she persisted in treating him as a much adored suitor, ignoring both his newly married status and her own very-much-alive husband.

  “It is so warm in here,” she murmured one night, too softly to be overheard. “Would you show me the conservatory, my love? It must be cooler there.”

  “That would be improper, as you well know,” Thomas reminded, wanting nothing more than to comply. His own temperature needed a dose of cooler air, though until she had voiced her request, he had considered the room chilly. He gave her no chance to coax a change of mind, beckoning a passing footman.

  “Lady Darnley has expressed a desire to see the conservatory. Would you conduct her there?” Ignoring her sad eyes, he joined Sharpton and immersed his thoughts in horses. Or tried to.

  Every day she loomed larger in his mind. Her natural grace lent a seductive sensuality to every movement. Her husky voice caressed his ears, even when uttering commonplace sentiments. How could he find the words horses bore me provocative? She lit up every room she entered, a mobile ray of sunshine whose presence left him burning.

  Fortunately, he had a great deal of will power. His code of honor had always reigned supreme. Even during his periods of deepest debauchery, he had never bedded another man’s wife. And though he had occasionally pursued widows of quality, he experienced twinges of guilt over the subsequent liaisons, preferring to conduct his affairs with courtesans, who freely bestowed their favors with no expectations beyond payment for services rendered.

  But neither could he tear himself away from Graystone while Alicia remained in residence. God knew he had tried. It seemed that fate was allowing him one last chance to enjoy her company, though memories of his uncontrolled debauch forced him to limit his attentions, both for the sake of his family’s sensibilities and to uphold his own dignity. Honor, honor, became his waking litany. He stayed away from her as much as possible, spending his days riding, working, and discussing horses with the other men. Only in the evenings did he allow himself to watch her.

  News of his marriage led to congratulations by all and sundry. Lord Darnley had initially looked askance at his presence, fully aware of his very public obsession. But the viscount relaxed when he discovered Thomas had since wed and observed that his attentions to Alicia were no more marked than the other gentlemen’s. With his noticeably failing health, he rarely appeared during the day, saving his waning energy to join the company in the evening for cards.

  Alicia made Thomas’s honor more difficult to uphold with each passing day. Her innocence worked on him like a drug, her sympathy with his pain enslaving him as much as her beauty, but capitulation would betray all he held dear. He drank in every sight of her, his eyes absorbing the tiniest nuance of her being, for he would have nought but memories to provide comfort in the future. Yet he refused to do more than look.

  “You must understand how wretched my life is,” she pleaded one night, tears trembling in her violet-blue eyes. With great difficulty he turned aside her determination to confess her troubles.

  “I feel so sorry for you,” she commiserated another day, “being tied to a country nobody in place of your love. We both face the same intolerable situation.” Again he deflected the conversation. Discussing his marriage would breach the rampart he had erected around his core, but that risked breaching his self-control.

  Every day she turned to him with her joys, fears, and curiosity. Yet he could not administer a set-down, understanding all too well her unhappiness. An innocent forced into marriage with an aged and ailing reprobate could find nought but fear and loathing in her marriage bed. And no sympathy out of it. Was it any wonder that she would turn
for support to the man she loved? Needing warmth to counter Darnley’s cold possessiveness, her turning to Thomas for comfort was understandable. She did not understand the burden her love placed on him. Even if he found the means to repudiate his own love – something honor knew he should do – he could not simply leave her dangling. Having courted her affections to assiduously, his victory made him responsible for her heart.

  So his responses tried to achieve the impossible – forging their mutual passion into friendship, not merely as a cloak, but in reality. Her naïveté made his efforts doubly difficult. Dear Lord, give me strength enough for both of us.

  Would will power be enough? He should leave. But he could not tear himself away. Only honor kept his instincts in check. Honor demanded fidelity – for both husband and wife – and explained his gratitude for Caroline’s passion. She could keep him fulfilled. The resentment that had driven him from Crawley had long since dissipated. He missed her, though he would not try to push for a close relationship when he returned home. Partnership would come in time if she proved herself worthy.

  Yet Alicia was right, as usual. Caroline was a country nobody. He must remain emotionally aloof until he discovered how maladept she proved in London. Until then, he would restrict their encounters to business and to bed.

  Meanwhile, he would feast his eyes on Alicia. Looking was no sin. Nor was dreaming. He had only to remain honor-bound.

  Or so he thought. He awoke one dawn knowing he must remove from Graystone immediately. He missed his nightly encounters with Caroline. Not since his first forays into the muslin company while still at Eton had he gone more than a few days without at least one woman. This was a terrible time to push his limits. A fortnight of celibacy was rapidly undermining his resolution. He had come within an hair’s breadth of joining Alicia the night before.

  She had appeared at dinner in a low-cut gown of the sheerest gold silk that clung to her figure, revealing every enticing curve. Daring for London, it was scandalous for a masculine house party. It was all he could do to keep from sweeping her out of sight of other eyes. Nor was his mental state improved when she accidentally brushed against his arm in the drawing room, her taut nipples sending waves of desire clear to his toes. Dear God, how he wanted her!

  Only a frenzied midnight hike under icy February skies had conquered the urge. He shivered. If he had been unable to leave the house, he would have succumbed to his lust, invading her room, even raping her. The idea appalled him. Nor could he guarantee that such measures would work in the future. His obsession – and he freely admitted the word – was growing stronger with each passing day. Dignity, respect, honor ... all were rapidly eroding under the force of unbridled passion, and he could not allow that to happen.

  He would inform Graylock at breakfast of his imminent departure. And he had excellent reasons to leave – Crawley, his new cattle, and a young bride. No one need know that his own weakness drove him away.

  Unfortunately, he never made it to breakfast.

  As he passed Darnley’s room, Alicia stumbled into the hall, cannonading into him before she was even aware of his presence.

  “Oh, Thomas, I am so thankful you are here,” she sobbed, anguish highlighting her face as she clutched the lapels of his coat.

  “Lady Darnley,” he chided her, forcibly removing her to a more discreet distance. “What is amiss?”

  “Darnley suffered a seizure, and I fear he is dying,” she cried, clutching his hand as a drowning sailor would a lifeline.

  His heart turned over. “Have you summoned the doctor?”

  “Of course. He just arrived.” She lifted her tear-stained face, sending a wave of longing through his breast. “Stay with me, my love,” she pleaded. “I cannot face the day alone.”

  He could not deny her plaintive request, though he retained enough sanity to escort her to the drawing room, seat her in a chair by the fire, and choose a second chair some distance away for himself. He immediately rang for chocolate. Servants made an excellent leash for runaway passions.

  Alicia regaled him with anguished details. Darnley’s valet had awakened her in the night and summoned her to her husband’s bedside. He was unconscious, one side of his face dragged down as though a clay sculpture had been carelessly handled. Nothing they tried would rouse him to any activity beyond breathing in irregular gasps, wheezes, and snorts that threatened to cease at any moment. Nor could those in the room put aside their terror as they agonized through lengthy periods of silence, waiting to see if he would breathe again.

  “I do hope he goes quickly,” she blurted, then answered his shocked expression by adding, “you of all people know how little I wanted this marriage, but he has been good to me in his fashion, and I would not wish him to suffer.”

  “Perhaps he will recover,” he offered, concentrating on finding words that would offer comfort while ignoring all thought of whom he addressed. Neither task proved easy. His body strained to move closer. He had little experience with illness and death, so could offer no insight. Nor did her description disclose what Darnley’s future would hold if he survived. That was Alicia’s greatest fear. Eyes glued to the fire, he mouthed banalities. When he could no longer stay aloof, he found the strength to excuse himself.

  But he could not leave for home.

  A bruising ride restored his equilibrium and gave him the courage to face another day. Please let this be resolved soon.

  Darnley did not die. His coma continued for the rest of the day and the night, but he awakened with the dawn. Thomas learned of the improvement at breakfast.

  “Word is Darnley will never completely recover,” commented Sharpton between mouthfuls of kidneys and eggs.

  “Tough on Lady Darnley,” was all Thomas could manage. He made a great show of spreading marmalade on his toast.

  “Heard she went into strong hysterics over his infirmities,” said Lord Crompton.

  Thomas’s stomach tightened. He continued to eat, despite a sudden loss of appetite.

  “I don’t know why,” snorted Sharpton. “Marrying a man old enough to be her grandfather! What did she expect?”

  Thomas closed his ears to the ensuing discussion of other May-December matches and the health problems the couples inevitably encountered. When he judged that he had consumed an unremarkable amount of food, he thankfully excused himself and escaped the breakfast room.

  You must escape before it is too late, urged his conscience. His feet turned to the book room that opened off the library. It was usually empty this time of day, so he could relax and pull himself together.

  Not until he crossed to the fireplace did he realize that someone had preceded him. He stifled a groan.

  “Thomas.” Alicia’s husky voice floated from the window. “Have you heard about Darnley?”

  “He has recovered.” Voice carefully expressionless, he wondered how he could escape. Already treacherous desire threatened to take control. Honor, honor, honor...

  “Recovered?” Her voice turned hysterical as she restlessly paced the floor. “You cannot understand one word in ten that he utters! He cannot move his right hand or arm. How is that recovered?”

  “Give him time, Lady Darnley,” he suggested calmly. “You know the effects of apoplexy frequently prove temporary.”

  “The doctor says he could remain in this state for years,” she sobbed. “How can I possibly live with that?”

  “You will find the strength,” he assured her. He had no doubt she could manage anything she set her mind to.

  “I cannot believe it to be possible,” she countered. “If I cared for him, perhaps it would be so. But you know my heart belongs to you.” She eyed the door, then deliberately shut it. “We are both married. I must talk to someone and cannot risk the servants overhearing.”

  “All right,” he agreed helplessly, nervous about spending so much time alone with her. His cravat was intolerably tight.

  “You must understand how things are. Father was so insistent about this match,” she c
hoked. “After he refused to allow me to marry you, it made no difference who I wed, so Darnley seemed acceptable. I did not expect him to live long and hoped the resulting freedom would allow me to fashion life on my own terms.”

  She sent him a smoldering look that declared more clearly than words that he had figured prominently in those future plans. His loins tightened despite his efforts to remain detached. He retreated to the far side of the fireplace as Alicia’s pacing edged closer. Why was she bringing up old history? Such a future was no longer possible. He tried to focus his thoughts on Caroline, but her dowdy image produced only cold shudders.

  “But I cannot tolerate being tied to an invalid. Can you see me severed from London society?” Her eyes glittered as she turned her full stare on him.

  “No,” he choked, rapidly lowering his gaze before he became lost in those violet depths. HONOR, HONOR, HONOR...

  “What am I to do?” she pleaded, her hands sliding up his chest. “He will not allow me to live in London without him, but I despise his estate. It is so utterly isolated. I need society... and gaiety... and you...” Sobs punctuated her words. Her unhappiness pierced his armor. Tears trembled on her curved lashes. He tried to push her away but that merely dragged one hand down his chest where it came to rest on his groin....

  Passion exploded through him, obliterating all else. His control shattered. Arms crushing her in a fierce embrace, he lowered his lips to hers. And once he tasted her, he could not stop. Nothing mattered but the woman in his arms. Endless dreams of making love to Alicia had tormented his nights for nearly a year. He entertained no thought beyond plundering her mouth and attacking the fastenings of her flimsy gown. Alicia. The culmination of his every desire.

  Nor did she offer any resistance to his overtures, her fingers frenziedly tearing at his buttons in return.

  “Alicia, my love, my angel. Dear God, how I need you,” he moaned, stripping her dress off even as he lowered her to the floor.