The Rake

by Georgeanne Hayes

  “Indulge me, then.”

  Smiling, Demi leaned toward him as the coach lurched into motion and walked her fingers up his chest teasingly. “Gladly.”

  He caught her hand, but he chuckled. “As happily as I would accept that particular form of indulgence, I’ve been told I must be on my best behavior by both Fitzhugh and Sarah. And I can well imagine my mother would vociferously second them. I cannot allow you to lead me into further temptation … at the moment. Particularly since I’m well aware you’re still suffering the effects of the drug you took.

  “That was not at all wise of you, love. What possessed you to take so much?”

  Demi settled her cheek against his shoulder. “Aunt Alma said she would summon the footmen and make me take it if I was determined to be difficult. I knew she and Phoebe had taken it often enough for their nerves. I only thought that it would relax me, so I wouldn’t be so afra--nervous.”

  Garrett relaxed fractionally. “I’m relieved to hear it was no more than an oversight. You are most unfortunately accident prone, love. I can see I will have to keep my eye on you,” he said pensively. “As for your aunt … as much as it grieves me, I’m afraid there is little I can do in retaliation for what she put you through.”

  When they stopped at the first post, he sent Fitzhugh into the inn to procure a light luncheon in a basket for them. Demi thought it strange at first that they ate in the coach, but she said nothing, finally realizing that it was the impropriety of their situation. It hardly seemed to matter now. She felt certain she was the most scandalous of fallen women in all of England by now, but she didn’t particularly wish to be stared at, nor publicly shunned either.

  She wasn’t particularly hungry, despite the fact that she hadn’t eaten since she’d risen, but she ate a little at Garrett’s insistence. The food only seemed to make her more sleepy rather than less so, but to her relief, Garrett held her close and at last allowed her to sleep.

  It was dark when she awoke. She stirred sleepily, confused by the rocking of the coach and the hardness of her bed. Finally, she realized that Garrett had dragged her across his lap, cradling her head against his shoulder. She tipped her head back, placing a light kiss along his jaw.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  The moment she moved, her head had begun to pound as if someone was hammering on her skull. “Yes,” she lied, but groaned as he shifted, settling her on the seat beside him and leaning forward to stretch his cramped muscles. “My head hurts, though.”

  “I would be surprised if it didn’t,” he muttered. “In the future, you will avoid laudanum, my dear.”

  Demi massaged her throbbing temples. “I will certainly not be tempted to repeat the experience if it’s to have this effect, I can assure you.”

  “Good.” Leaning forward, he tapped on the panel. It slid open at once. “I believe I’ll get out and ride a bit.”

  “Very good, sir. We’ve reached the park.”

  “Good timing,” Garrett commented as he sat back and looked over at Demi.

  “You’re getting out?” Demi asked in dismay as the coach slowed and finally came to a halt.

  He patted her cheek and climbed down. “We’re almost home.”

  Demi frowned as she settled back against the seat cushions and the coach lurched into motion once more, wondering where ‘home’ was. In truth, she couldn’t remember more than snatches of the conversation they’d had since he’d pulled her from her aunt’s carriage, but she didn’t think they had discussed where they were going.

  She did remember being ill, unfortunately. She covered her face with her hands, mortified both by that memory, and remembrance of what she’d done directly before she’d been sick.

  Lord! Garrett must think she was-- She broke that thought off. Of course, he thought she was a completely wanton slut! What else could he think after the way she’d fallen all over herself to spread her legs for him any time he touched her.

  Possibly the worst of it was that only thinking about making love to him on the back of his horse made her feel warm all over again, in a purely carnal sense, not from shame, as it should have been.

  She was incorrigible--beyond redemption.

  It occurred to her, however, that perhaps that was what drew Garrett to her. Maybe he’d sensed that in her all along? Even though she hadn’t really known or understood the particulars regarding intimacy between a man and woman, she realized now that she had lusted for him the moment she’d set eyes on him. It was indeed love, as she believed, but far more than mere affection, respect, liking. Only looking at him had been enough to make her heart run away from her, to steal her breath, send warmth and need spiraling through her.

  And from the moment he’d touched her, she’d grown blind and deaf to everything she’d ever been taught about respectable, acceptable behavior.

  What could he think except that she was mad for him and perfectly happy to damn the world if only she could be with him?

  And what was to become of her now? Would he hide her away in a little cottage somewhere and come to her only when the whim struck him?

  How could he do anything else? She was disgraced. However much he might enjoy being with her, he could not be seen in public with her. He could not have her in his home. Society would not stand for such a blatant scandalous display and he would have to marry eventually, if for no other reason than to secure an heir.

  As unclear as her memory was, however, of all that had happened since she’d decided to take the laudanum to settle her nerves, she remembered the most pertinent parts--Her aunt had disowned her. The thought didn’t particularly wound her, but it frightened her.

  What would she do when Garrett tired of her? She knew, sooner or later, that he was bound to, and just as surely, he would discard her and look for a new mistress. Men always did. Would she be passed from one to another? Or would he be kind enough to buy that little cottage he’d once offered her?

  The slowing of the coach distracted her from her morbid thoughts. She glanced out of the window, but it was far too dark by now to see since the moon hadn’t risen above the trees as yet. She saw light before the coach, but she couldn’t tell if it was only the carriage lamps or if they were approaching the lights of a house.

  She settled back again, nervously checking her hair and clothing as she felt the coach lurch and begin to bounce along cobbles. Her heart leapt into her throat and lodged itself there as the coach drew up before an enormous mansion. Torches were lit on either side of the main door, throwing a flickering light over much of the exterior. Inside, the light of many candles lit the windows that faced the drive.

  Before she could recover her composure, the door opened and the steps were let down. Garrett, looking tired and drawn stood in the opening, holding his hand out to her. After a moment, Demi took it and allowed him to help her down. As they ascended the steps, the door to the manor opened abruptly and an attractive woman wearing a scandalously thin gown of the first stare of fashion seemed to float effortlessly down toward them. “You must be Miss Demitria Standish. Welcome to Wyndham Park, my dear.”

  Demi glanced uncertainly at Lord Wyndham and then back at the woman once more. Finally, remembering her manners, she curtsied. “Thank you.”

  The woman chuckled at her look of confusion, holding out her hand. “I’m Lady Wyndham.”

  Demi felt the blood rush from her face. A wave of dizziness followed it.

  “Goodness! You poor little thing. You’re all done in, aren’t you. You must come in at once and let me get you settled. I’ve arranged for you to have the blue room. Garrett, be a dear and see to her baggage,” she said distractedly.

  Demi glanced a little fearfully at Garrett as the woman slipped an arm around her waist and led her inside. He was frowning. She could tell nothing from his expression, however.

  She didn’t have time to consider it. They paused only briefly in the foyer, where Lady Wyndham issued orders to scurrying servants like a general situating his troops, and th
en she was led up the stairs. Servants were summoned to prepare a bath. By the time they reached the upper landing, two footman had struggled in through the front door, carrying a large trunk between them. Demi, drawn by the commotion, glanced down at the men, feeling the strange sense of being disconnected with her surroundings that is typical of dreams. She stared at the trunk curiously and without recognition, wondering why Garrett hadn’t told Lady Wyndham that she had no trunk … nothing to her name beyond the clothing she was standing in.

  She was too stunned to think beyond a specific point--Garrett had brought her to his home and handed her over to Lady Wyndham for some unfathomable reason. She was led into a small chamber where a tub had already been prepared, helped to undress, and assisted into the tub.

  “There now, my dear. That should set you to rights in no time at all. I’ve always found a nice hot bath very soothing to the nerves, and I’ve only to look at you to see you’ve had a very trying day. Would you prefer to dine in the dining room? Or should I have a tray prepared for you?”

  Demi stared at her blankly for several moments, revolted at the thought of sitting down to dine at Lady Wyndham’s table. “I’m not really hungry,” she said tentatively.

  Lady Wyndham’s brows rose. “You have eaten already?”

  Demi blushed. “We … uh … stopped for luncheon.”

  Lady Wyndham patted her on the cheek. “I will have a tray sent up. I can see you’re not feeling up to company just now. And when you’re settled, perhaps we’ll have a little chat?”

  Demi found when Lady Wyndham left that she’d been right. The hot bath went a long way toward relaxing her and reviving her flagging spirits. Some of the sense of drifting through a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, also dissipated, but the uneasiness of confusion lingered. What position, she wondered, was she to have in Lord Wyndham’s home? Why had he brought her here? He could not, surely, expect to house his wife and his mistress in the same place.

  She assumed Lady Wyndham was his wife. She looked to be several years Garrett’s senior, but she certainly didn’t appear to be old enough to be his mother.

  Finally, deciding she simply wasn’t up to dealing with anything more at the moment, she concentrated on her bath. When she’d finished washing her hair, one of the maid’s helped her rinse the soap from it and then wrung the excess water from it and twisted a length of linen around her head. The soap given her to bathe with was scented with roses and smelled divine. She lingered over her bath until her skin began to prune and finally, reluctantly, stood up and took the length of toweling the maid handed her. To her surprise, the maid disappeared for several moments and returned with her own clothing and helped her dress.

  Apparently the trunk that had been brought up actually had been her trunk, but the when and how of it stymied her. Obviously, Lady Moreland had had her things packed up in anticipation of moving them to the parsonage after the wedding, but how had the trunk ended in Garrett’s hands?

  Had it already been loaded into Lady Moreland’s carriage? Or had Fitzhugh, perhaps, waylaid the servants’ carriage as Garrett waylaid her aunt’s?

  Shaking it off as unanswerable, Demi followed the maid into the bedchamber that adjoined the small room where she’d bathed. It was an enormous room--far bigger than the room that had been hers at Moreland Abbey, and far more richly appointed.

  A large mahogany bed, in the Empire style, dominated the room, its canopy, hangings and coverlet all predominately blue. Two large carpets covered much of the gleaming wooden floor and these were also picked out in a similar shade of powder blue. A full length mirror was set in one corner and angled so that it caught much of the room in its reflection. Opposite the mirror was an enormous armoire, also of the Empire style. A maid was kneeling before it, busily unpacking the trunk that had been brought up and placing her clothing inside the cabinet in careful order.

  Along the wall between the armoire and the mirror was a huge fireplace. A small, but cheerful little fire had been built on the hearth, despite the fact that it was already well into spring and the room was only a little chilled from the night air.

  Feeling her tension of before return, Demi removed the linen from her head and moved to stand before the fire to allow the heat to dry her hair, surreptitiously studying the remainder of the room as the maid who’d assisted her with her bath went to retrieve a chemise and pantalets from her trunk.

  Two windows, easily twice her height, lined the wall on either side of the massive head board of the bed, swathed in heavy draperies of a solid blue slightly darker than the carpets. Along the wall opposite her was a long dressing table with a padded bench and a large mirror above it. Just beyond that was the door she’d entered through and in the corner of the inner wall--which led, she surmised, to the upper hallway--was an arrangement of two overstuffed chairs and several small tables. A long bench was situated at the foot of the massive bed and, near the hearth where she stood, a set of two comfortably overstuffed chairs with a small table between them.

  It looked like the sort of apartment one might set aside for visiting royalty, not the sort of room reserved for unwelcome guests of no social standing who also happened to be poverty stricken orphans, and certainly not a man’s mistress.

  “Would you prefer to dress? Or prepare for bed, Miss Demitria?” the maid asked when she’d helped Demi don her pantalets and chemise.

  Demi looked at her uncertainly. “Didn’t Lady Wyndham say she wished to speak to me? I think I should get dressed to receive her.”

  The maid nodded and returned a few moments later with a corset, which she helped Demi into and adjusted. “Which gown do you prefer, Miss?”

  Demi shook her head. “Whatever you think.”

  The maid brought one of the gowns her aunt had had made up for her marriage. Demi stared at it in revulsion, but she knew her other gowns looked the worse for wear and she didn’t particularly want to greet Lady Wyndham in her castoffs.

  The maid was just finishing when, after a quick rap on the door, Lady Wyndham entered, followed by a maid carrying a tray. The dinner was set up on the small table in the corner and, with some reluctance, Demi joined Lady Wyndham there, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the chair opposite the one Lady Wyndham had taken.

  Once they’d been served, Lady Wyndham shooed the servants out.

  “Now that we are quite alone, you must tell me all about yourself and my son. When are you to be married? I confess I have my heart set upon a very large, elaborate affair, but since it is your wedding, I suppose we will do it up however you prefer.”

  Demi stared at her blankly for several moments while it slowly sank into her mind that Lady Wyndham was not, as she’d feared, Garrett’s wife, but his mother.

  And she thought they were being married.

  Blood flooded her cheeks. As reluctant as she was to confess the situation to his mother, of all people, she knew she simply could not deal with any more subterfuge. “I don’t … that is, he hasn’t asked me to marry him, Lady Wyndham. I am … quite convinced he has no intention, or at least no desire, to do so,” she confessed weakly and then covered her face and promptly burst into tears.

  Chapter Fifteen

  To Demi’s stunned amazement, Lady Wyndham pulled her into a motherly embrace, rocking her slightly and patting her back. “There, there, my dear. It cannot, surely, be as bad as all that?”

  The embrace and the soothing words only made her wail harder. Or perhaps it was only that she couldn’t even recall a time when she had been comforted by the loving embrace of a mother. It occurred to her after a bit, however, that it was not her own mother who comforted her, but Garrett’s. With an effort, she regained control of her wayward emotions and began a frantic search for her handkerchief. Finding it at last, she pulled away from Lady Wyndham and mopped her face and blew her nose.

  Lady Wyndham sat back on her heels. After a moment, she rose and moved back to her own seat. When Demi finally nerved herself to look at the older woman, she saw that h
er face was a mask of carefully controlled anger. It sent a shaft of fear through her, effectively dashing the last of her urge to cry.

  “But … this is infamous! Outrageous!”

  Feeling the blood rush from her face, Demi stood abruptly. “I should go,” she said a little desperately, uncertain of where she might go, but feeling a great urge to remove herself from Wyndham Park as quickly as possible.

  Lady Wyndham gaped at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I do apologize for … for intruding on your hospitality. I didn’t realize that he was bringing me here or I would have objected.”

  Understanding dawned. “No, no! You misunderstood me, my dear. I meant it was infamous of my son! I certainly do not consider you at fault. In any case, it is not my hospitality, precisely. Wyndham Park is Garrett’s seat. But never mind that now. It’s of no consequence.

  “Do you mean to tell me that my son has seduced you … a young lady of good family … and carried you off without even having the grace to ask you to marry him?”

  Demi stared a Lady Wyndham in horror, wishing the floor would open and swallow her. She couldn’t allow Garrett to be blamed for her bad behavior, however. “It was not like that,” she finally managed to say although she thought/hoped for several moments that she might simply faint dead away and be spared having to actually admit her transgressions aloud … to Garrett’s mother. “I … uh … I seduced him.”

  Lady Wyndham stared at her blankly for several moments. A chuckle escaped her and she clapped a hand to her mouth. When she removed her hand to speak, however, she began to giggle almost uncontrollably. “You seduced….” She fought another round with her mirth. “I’m sorry, child. Truly, I am. I realize this is very difficult for you. It’s only … darling you cannot be unaware of the fact that Garrett has the reputation of being a dreadful rake!”

  Demi reddened. “He does not have so bad a reputation as that!”

  Lady Wyndham bit her lip. “You are right. It’s unconscionable for me to blacken my own son’s name. He is not a very notorious rake, not considered beyond the pale, but he is most certainly considered a rake, nevertheless.”