The Rake Enraptured

by Amelia Hart

  A faithless nature, that took life cheaply. That played with it as with a toy. Too much success with women in the past that taught him how easy it was to dispose of one and find another. As he would dispose of her one day when he found someone or something better than her. The day would come, if she harnessed her fate to him. Even if he did not believe it was true, she knew it was. Knew it with every fiber of her being. She choked on a sob, on an excess of foolish feeling. She could not breathe. Why did it have to hurt so much to be wise? Why was life so cruel as this?

  The staircase was deserted and silent, the house quiet this high, where the children slept, and she stifled the sounds of her grief and got to her feet again, wearily, feeling a hundred years old. No, a thousand. Infinitely old, to feel the yearning of a headstrong heart and deny it.

  She would send him away. Of course there was no choice. A lifetime was too long a time to make a decision based on whim. On lust. On passion.

  She would send him away.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "I came," he said, stepping through an archway of the ruins that looked onto a pristine expanse of fallen snow. She fell back a step, startled despite herself, then regained her composure. He came no closer, though she saw his eyes burned with a fierce light. She could not bear to look at him.

  Swiftly. She would do it swiftly and then be gone before the children had finished their luncheon and she was missed.

  "I wanted to be very clear, before you embarrass me in public as you did at the Trents'-"

  "I am sorry for that. I was careless-"

  "You were thoughtless. And reckless. You are not used to taking care of others, of thinking how the world might be for someone outside your skin."

  "Perhaps not. But I learn swiftly, when I've reason to. You give me reason."

  "Enough. Let us not repeat ourselves. I simply wish you to be quite clear. Mr Kingsley has offered for me, and I have accepted. It is done. You will leave me in peace."

  All tenderness was stripped from his face in an instant. "Do not say so, Julia," he said, very softly.

  "I don't give you the right to use my name. As for the other, it is simple fact."

  "There has been no announcement."

  "It will come very soon."

  "You have not announced it because you are not certain yet. You are not certain of your own mind." He started forward and caught her suddenly by the shoulders, his gloved hands hard through the layers of her dress and pelisse. His face was intent. "Take back your word. He will understand. It was good to keep it private. No one will know."

  "No. I will not. Let go of me."

  "Julia. Julia." He stepped even closer, wrapped his arms around her, so close she was forced to look upwards into his face. "This is wrong. You cannot be his. There is no way under heaven this is meant to be."

  "I said let go of me. I was foolish to trust you'd be a gentleman. I should never have met you here. One more sign I can't trust you."

  "Trust me?" he said, and there was suddenly a wild note in his voice. "You say you never can, that there is no way you will. I strive and strive to show you how wrong you are, yet never will you believe in me. So let it be. Enough of playing by your rules. Now I play by my own."

  "What are you saying?" she demanded, not understanding him but frightened by the recklessness she heard in his voice.

  "Do not scream." With an abrupt motion he snatched her up onto his shoulder. She let out a screech and immediately she was back on the ground, his hand over her mouth. "None of that. We're too close to the house." He changed his grip so she was tucked under one arm and the next moment a linen scarf was wrapped around her head, covering her mouth. As he drew it tight she gave a wordless protest. "Now hush. I don't want to cram my kerchief in there underneath that, but I will if I have to. I know how to take a prisoner and keep him silent, and you're a tiny thing. Don't try me."

  She twisted her head to glare up at him in incredulity, and he met the gaze with defiance. "You had your chance for civility. I'm done with words. Now we ride."

  Still she did not believe him, but a moment later she was back on his shoulder, his grip steady on her thighs, and though she jerked and writhed and beat with her fists on his back and pulled his hair he held firm, though his hat was knocked off into the snow. She bellowed and while he did not carry out his threat to gag her more thoroughly, he went even faster out of the ruins, following his own tracks in the snow, sure-footed and swift.

  There was a horse tethered there, a handsome bay that sidled nervously as they came up beside it but calmed at a quiet word from Mr Holbrook, underneath the racket of her formless shouts. He put her up onto the saddle bow with firm but gentle hands, the pressure against her chest and stomach making it hard to breathe. But a moment later he was up behind her and adjusting her upright, her legs falling to one side, his arm an iron bar around her torso, his other hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him, but could not get a grip on his gloved hand. He even rearranged her skirt so her ankles no longer showed. Suddenly she bucked and thrashed, trying to be thrown free. It was no use. His strength easily over-matched hers.

  He was abducting her.

  Of all the ludicrous things for a man to do, this was unbelievable. And to abduct her, of all people! Staid Julia Preston. Inconceivable!

  "I'm not going to harm you. You know that, don't you? But I've had enough of politely following rules and waiting until you're ready to believe me. We're going to-" She flailed again, and his grip tightened fiercely. "No, you'll only get hurt if you fall off. Be still."

  If she could only speak clearly she would set his ears aflame with the things she would say to him; the names she would call him. How dare he. Wretched scoundrel! He could not keep her silent forever. The moment he went near any sort of habitation she would bellow, and even if she could not form words, the sound would draw help. He would be vilified for trying to abduct her. Cast out of decent society. For a moment she dwelt on the image with relish.

  But what of her? Notoriety would not reflect well on her at all. Would the Carstairs forgive this second victimization? They had been unfailingly kind, but they had to consider their own good name. Would this put her beyond the pale?

  No, it must be hushed up, if possible. If there was some way to be rescued without causing a stir-

  She could not imagine it possible. She would have to rescue herself.

  Brass-plated scoundrel.

  It began to snow, and she scowled at the bleak gray sky through flakes that quickened, blowing in a flurry across their path. Rotten luck. This would hide their tracks. She had taken some care not to be seen coming from the house. Without the story of her abduction written in the snow by the ruins, the only information the Carstairs would have was the two of them had disappeared at roughly the same hour.

  They would not think she had chosen to go. Not without any of her clothes, her possessions.

  The snow came thicker yet, gathering on the elderly fur trim around her hood. She shuddered with the deepening cold, and Mr Holbrook urged her closer to his chest. She did not wish to relax the fierce stiffness of her posture, fighting him as best she might, showing she did not capitulate to this. For long minutes she bore the cold, the tip of her nose growing icy. Finally she turned her head into the protection of his neck, hating the implied surrender of it.

  This was not to make his task easier. It was only to ease her own suffering.

  Bastard. Yes, bastard. Misbegotten son of pig manure.

  He slowed the pace from a canter to a walk. Did it snow too hard for visibility? How well did he know the terrain? Perhaps not at all. If he continued to head blindly away from the house and out onto the estate they would most likely stumble into the yard of some crofter.

  She would settle for that. A crofter as a chance for rescue. After all, Mr Holbrook was hardly a dangerous character. If she could only get this gag off she could appeal to his better nature or - failing that - verbally scourge him until he changed his mind.

  It
was so cold. She could not halt her shivering, even seated on a warm horse and Mr Holbrook, as close to his chest as she could burrow herself. The air stole the heat out from under her inadequate coat. She felt ill.

  She began to cry, pathetic tears that swiftly became sobs.

  Mr Holbrook pulled up.

  "Here now, love. Don't be sad. It's not as bad as that." He pulled back from her, and she looked up mournfully into his frowning face. "Julia, sweetheart, don't cry."

  But a command from him would not change her miserable state. She sobbed again and choked slightly, finding it difficult to manage breathing as her nose became blocked.

  He swore softly under his breath, and the next moment his gloved fingers fumbled at the knot of his kerchief. When that failed, he cursed again and a moment later she felt the sharp chill of a knife laid against her cheek. "Stay very still, now," he urged, and her eyes widened. It only took a moment for him to slice through the fine cloth, which fell down around her neck.

  "Bastard."

  "Undoubtedly. No, don't look at me with such eyes. I've had the very devil of a time lately, and must be excused any and all unpardonable behavior."

  "Do you expect me to pity you? Revolting cur."

  "Yes, naturally, all that. Come on, we best find you someplace warm to hole up."

  "Take me back this instant."

  "Of course not. That defeats the whole purpose of the exercise."

  "Which is?"

  But he did not answer, instead urging his patient horse back into motion. They were traveling down a slope now, and though Julia would have said she knew the estate well, having walked a great deal of it in the past several months, the snow made everything unfamiliar, all white and silent apart from the muffled sound of hooves and the clink and creak of bridle and saddle.

  "Please take me back. You know me for a reasoning creature. This is no way to convince me of anything."

  "I know you think yourself reasonable. You are not, though. You persist in thinking me a certain sort of man. I am not he."

  "A man who abducts women is hardly an improvement!"

  "Yes, well," and here he laughed softly, "I admit it's a new experience for me too. I can't say I planned it at all."

  "The famous cavalry spirit," she mocked sardonically. "Independence of thought, quickness in decision and boldness in action. Delightful. One need only add stupidity in execution."

  "Quite," he said affably. "Though possibly the end will justify the means. Ah, this might do."

  "What is it?" She twisted in the saddle, hoping to see some friendly golden light shining through a window. But the dim grayness was unbroken.

  "There," he said, and tilted his body slightly to their right, the horse moving with him, altering course. "Some sort of farm building I think. It will be out of the wind, at least."

  It proved to be a cow byre, and occupied by half a dozen lean cows who looked up curiously as they entered, Mr Holbrook leading the horse and with his arm still wrapped tightly around Julia. She halted for a cautious moment, pushing back hard against him, but the cows only held out their heads to take deep snuffs of the air and scent their visitors, before peacefully continuing to chew their cuds.

  It was very dim and she peered around, looking in vain for some sort of perch off the floor. There was nothing.

  Mr Holbrook let her go and turned to his horse, unbuckling the girth and taking hold of the saddle. She darted around him and out into the blank whiteness, ran on down the slope, hoping for a farmhouse or some sign of human habitation. It was difficult to plow onward with her skirts wrapped around her ankles, her petticoats swiftly dampening. She pulled her skirt up before her and bounded on gamely, straining her eyes to see.

  Mr Holbrook grabbed her suddenly from behind, lifting her clear off the ground, and she screeched and hit at him, bucking and heaving.

  "You're a game little thing," he said admiringly. "Come on. You'll only get yourself saturated running off like that. I'm content to strip you off if you truly insist, but I've an inkling you'd rather stay clothed. In all good conscience, I can't let you sit around in wet clothing. You'll catch your death of a cold."

  "Savage," she said with great feeling, and gave up her futile struggle. It was only tiring her out, though at least all the thrashing about had warmed her a little.

  "I begin to think so. Poor little love." He transferred his grip so she was cradled in his arms, and started back to the dark hunch of the byre. "You will be very cold in a moment. I'll have to think of something to keep you warm."

  "Don't," she said in a warning tone, and he laughed.

  "Really? I'm disappointed. Tell me if you change your mind."

  "Not in a thousand lifetimes. I'd rather freeze to death."

  "Very inconvenient for us both. You'll do no one any good as an icicle."

  "You are unspeakable."

  "Not noticeably. You seem to have plenty to say about me." He was making excellent progress back along the short path she had cleared with her skirt, and a moment later he ducked low to clear the doorway.

  "I can't stay here with you. They'll be wondering where I am."

  "It's best not to fret about things you can't change."

  "Let me go. Please."

  "You know," he said ruefully, "it's amazingly difficult to say no to you when you ask with just such a tone."

  "Then say yes."

  He set her down, and she was chagrined to see he had taken the time to set up a seat against the wall - of saddle, and horse blanket spread next to it on what passed for a floor - before coming after her in a revoltingly leisurely way. He urged her towards the saddle and she sat with a vengeful flounce, hoping she broke it. She saw him wince a little, but the thing held, precarious but better than sitting in the heady mix of dirt and manure that was making the air so thick.

  "So this is your newest method of seduction? I can't say I think much of it."

  "It does leave something to be desired. If I had planned it better there would be a hunting lodge rented nearby, with obligingly invisible servants and nothing to worry about save how to lure you into some delicious indiscretion. His teeth shone pale as he grinned at her. "Instead you are serenaded by the belly rumblings of beasts, and we must keep you clothed against the chill. Though of course there are those damp petticoats to think of. You are welcome to shed them and curl up against me."

  She eyed him, letting her lip lift with scorn, though already the heat of exertion had fled and the arms he stretched out to her had unnatural appeal. He would be so warm-

  No. She was made of sterner stuff than that.

  "I will never forgive you for this."

  "Possibly not. It's a risk I have to take. If I don't do something then in the next moment you'll be married to that entirely virtuous, entirely tedious bore Kingsley."

  "Mr Kingsley is not a bore. He is a hugely admirable man with a bounty of good qualities."

  The grin faded from his face. "I find I do not like to hear you speak of him," he said a moment later, in a tone of quiet discovery. "Let us talk of something more pleasant."

  "No, let us speak of Mr Kingsley. Mr Kingsley, who treats me with respect and consideration. Who places my wishes above his own. Who cares for my wellbeing-"

  "I care for your damned wellbeing-"

  "Oh, do you? Very well, I think, when you burn my ears with curses and pen me up with stinking cows in the cold-"

  Immediately he flourished his arms spread wide in renewed welcome. "I am perfectly comfortable. This coat is particularly warm and I could wrap you up in it and make you very cozy. Exceedingly cozy."

  "If you were any sort of gentleman you would remove it and hand it to me."

  "I could do that," he said, giving the matter judicious consideration, "but you are determined to believe I’m no gentleman, no matter what I do. Thus it hardly matters that I behave like one when you will ignore the evidence before you. No, better I keep my coat, and remind you I’m ready to share at any moment. Then we may both ben
efit."

  "You are a pig, and certainly no gentleman of any sort."

  "Oh Julia, sweet Julia," he said in quite a different tone, no longer jesting, "if you only knew how I long to hold you close in my arms, warm you and heat your blood and see if your lips would be as soft and lush under mine as they look, as I remember, then you would also know how careful I am for you, how gentle. It may not mean much to you, with your impossible standards of virtue, but I swear it's true."

  His words - and the way he looked at her mouth as he said them - made her fall silent for a long moment as her heart beat faster, loud and thick in her ears. Such an intent expression, so fierce and so tender, as she had never thought to see on a man's face. Far less on his, handsome and noble as he still looked, with that face perversely carved as if to fit an angel and then mischievously applied to him. Naughty man. Awful to tempt her, to make her want something she should never, ever have.

  "Let me go," she pleaded in a whisper.

  "I can't, sweetheart. Not until you listen to me."

  "I'm listening then. Say it, if you must."

  "It is only this: You set me a task. I fulfilled it. You wanted me to be faithful to you, and I have been."

  "Pardon? You . . . what?"

  "I have been faithful."

  "You have not . . . I thought you were joking. Are you saying you have taken no more lovers?"

  "Not one."

  "But that's absurd. I don't believe you."

  "Believe it."

  "Why would you do such a thing?"

  "Because I love you, dammit." He took her icy hands from where she had them balled against her chest, chafed them then lifted them in his own cupped palms to blow on them, so close to his mouth she imagined she could feel the warmth of his lips against her half-numb skin. "I love you," he repeated more quietly. "Have you heard nothing I've said? I told you it would be a difficult task without you to sustain me in it, and so it was, but not as much as I had imagined. Habit was not stronger than my desire to be the man who could win you. Who will win you-"

  "You can't-"

  "I can. Don't keep saying that, damn it, Julia. Listen to me. Look at me. See me. I am not the man you think I am. I am someone else altogether. And I'm not going to harm you, or hurt you, or betray your trust-"