The Rake Enraptured

by Amelia Hart

"I could not say for certain, Ma'am. I do know a late invitation came for him, and he opened it, then dressed and departed."

  "So you think he may be there?"

  "I cannot say for certain."

  "Where is this invitation?"

  "I believe it is on his desk."

  She went towards the polished surface and saw there was indeed a piece of folded card lying there, separate from the stack she had carefully piled on the corner of his desk in quiet request for his company at any of them. She picked it up. It was not one she recognized, though the name-

  After a moment she dredged it from memory. The Harlows were the couple she had met last night. They had rudely introduced themselves rather than wait for a more formal introduction, begging pardon and pleading great intimacy with her husband. They had been very warm to her, more than she was used to, so she unbent and was pleasant enough, hoping to strike some middle ground between her desire not to offend Colin's friends, and her fear they were not good sort of people. The Harlows. She tall and dark-haired and pretty in a fine boned, delicate way. He much taller. There was an interesting air of mutual pride in each other, and collusion, between them. Some unusual connection. She felt they extended a subtle sort of understanding to her, a message she did not quite understand.

  Now here was an invitation from them, and Colin - who had left the stack of other invitations exactly where she had put them - had read this one and gone out. They must indeed be particular friends. He had left no word for her. Did he not want her there? But then she was his wife, and the invitation was for both of them. She should go, and stand by his side, and let him know she had not meant what she said last night.

  "Barton."

  "Yes, Mrs Holbrook?"

  "Please order the carriage for a half hour from now. I shall go out."

  "Yes, Mrs Holbrook."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  "Mrs Holbrook! I'm so delighted you could come. I'm afraid we had an early dinner, though I would be delighted to have the kitchen send up a repast."

  "Thank you, but no, I already ate," Julia lied. They had already finished dinner? But it was only seven o'clock. Those were country hours, and a very brief dinner at that. She felt a little awkward to be arriving so late in the scheduled entertainment, but Mrs Harlow seemed unperturbed.

  "Very well. Do let me know if I can get you anything. We are very informal here, on our social evenings. Perhaps you will find us unconventional."

  She seemed to be waiting for a response, so Julia said, "Conventionality can be overvalued," and hoped the statement was suitably ambiguous.

  "Precisely," said Mrs Harlow with a satisfied air. "That is exactly what I think. Now of course there is no requirement that you participate in anything that makes you uncomfortable. This evening is about whatever makes you happy. If you prefer to stay in these rooms we have cards and music and conversation, and sometimes there is even dancing. Not yet, tonight, but you never know how things will turn out."

  "That sounds very . . . relaxed."

  "Yes, relaxed is exactly the word. If you wish to be more . . . unconventional . . . you may visit any of the other rooms, or go upstairs if you prefer privacy. Please do not enter any room that has a closed door." Julia blinked, and nodded silently. "Ask me for an introduction to anyone if you like, but we do not follow any strict rules here. Feel free to approach anyone. The worst you'll hear is a 'no' and frankly that's not likely. Unless you prefer women of course. We do tend to be a little more selective." Then she laughed, as if at a shared joke.

  Julia plastered a smile on her face, suddenly crystal clear on what sort of gathering this was. "Do you know where Mr Holbrook is?" she asked, in as pleasant a tone as she could manage.

  "This way, the last time I saw him. Oh, and here's a special treat. The room has a watching point. Do you like to watch? Some of our guests love it above all things. Others adore being watched. Something for everyone. Let me just see . . . No, there's no one in here. You may go in. Such a handsome man, your husband. You are very lucky. I'll close the door for you. Enjoy!" She had ushered Julia into a closet-sized space hung about with long velvet curtains in a way that reminded Julia of a small box in the theater. The curtains were pulled back from the opposite wall, leaving a broad peephole with a chair set just in front of it. Alone in the unlit space now the door was pulled closed, she groped her way to the chair, sat and - with a sick feeling in her stomach - put her eye to the peephole.

  At first she was relieved. There was no naked flesh in the room. Her eyes went to the three people draped on a settee, two women and a man in a contorted and passionate clinch. Colin?

  But no, it was not him. Two other men sat nearby, talking quietly to another but watching the three, a woman walked about restlessly, and Colin sat facing away, towards her, next to another man who slouched in a chair, a wine glass in one hand.

  She searched Colin's figure, but he was tidily arrayed as always, and he ignored the three - who had started to peel off their clothing - as if they were not there.

  It was surreal, like some odd painting of people randomly combined by an artist to convey some significance of his own.

  "I never thought it of you, Colin," said the woman, moving to stand in front of him. He looked up at her, moody and . . . a little bored? Surely she was not correct. But his mouth was pulled down at the corners, and there was that wrinkle between his eyes he got when he was out of patience with something. "Well? Won't you talk to me?"

  "I find I'm not in the mood, Megan."

  "If you don't want to talk, perhaps there's something else you'd like." She walked towards him, more of a strut than a walk. A sultry sway. Julia realized she was hitching up the front of her dress as she went. Julia's mouth fell open.

  Colin looked away.

  "No, thank you," he said, as if refusing a cream bun.

  The woman halted and turned abruptly, letting go of her skirt with an abrupt gesture. She looked toward Julia, who saw she was a beauty. A great beauty, to be honest, with rosy lips and big blue eyes, very fair hair and a lusciously deep bosom. Her expression was unpleasant though, frustrated and pettish.

  She half turned back to Colin, cocking a sulky shoulder.

  "No to Susan, no to Francesca, no to Erin, no to me. What is this? Have you lost your bountiful appetite, Colin darling?"

  He looked at her, eyes and lips thinning. "Who can say? Perhaps this is not the evening for me."

  "Has your new wife gelded you?"

  "Leave him be, Megan," said the man beside Colin, lifting his head from his contemplation of the glass in his hand. "If you're so hungry, I'll satisfy you."

  "Thank you very much," she said sarcastically.

  "What of your appetite then? Quenched?" said the stranger, and grinned at her.

  She clenched and unclenched her fists, then swept forward and planted herself on Colin's knee. He put up automatic hands to steady her, a loose clasp at her waist. She leaned forward.

  "Would you like to see me beg?" she asked tenderly. "Please, Colin." She put her hand on the front of his breeches and rubbed at him. "Please take that big-"

  Julia stood and fumbled for the door. She had had enough. She found the knob, turned it and propelled herself through it at speed, rage almost choking her. There was another door, there in the wall, half open. She went in swift as an eagle stooping.

  Colin had captured the hand that had groped at him and held it away from his body, but the woman had lowered her face to his and was kissing him passionately. He was grimacing and pulling his head away. The moment Julia entered he looked up and met her gaze.

  His eyes widened and a look of purest horror came into them.

  Julia stalked forward, put her hands on the woman's shoulders and spun her away from Colin onto the floor. She sprawled full length.

  "He said no, you fool," cried Julia. "Weren't you listening?"

  The woman gaped up at her.

  "Go away. He does not want you."

  The woman drew back her l
ips in scorn and opened her mouth, but the man sitting next to Colin laughed. "Yes, run away, Megan. Quick. She's fierce as a tiger, this one. She'll skin you alive. Run if you don't want half your face scratched off."

  The woman hesitated, wrinkled up her face as if she might spit, gathered her skirts and stood. She was taller than Julia. Julia stood her ground and stared her down.

  The woman looked at Colin. "Gelded!" she said, and swept out.

  Julia stared at Colin. He was breathing hard and his eyes were despairing. "Julia," he said.

  "So this is where you belong," she said softly.

  "I swear, it isn't."

  "Here in this place, with all these people. This is what you do."

  "Julia. Sweetheart-"

  "I couldn't quite picture it before."

  "I wish you had not seen that. It wasn't what you think it was."

  "I am perfectly clear what it was. Let me be just as clear with you." She stepped forward until her skirts touched his knees, and set one hand on his broad collarbone, pressing him back into the chair. He looked up at her, his eyes very dark. "You are mine. I do not share. If you want to come to these places, it is with me. If you must do these things, it is with me. You do not go alone. I do not like this but if this is what you need then so be it."

  He frowned, lifted his hands and set them about her ribs, cradling her torso, urging her gently closer. "Julia?"

  She put her hand on his cheek. "Do not come here alone. Swear it to me."

  "I swear it."

  "Do not lie to me. Do not deceive me. If you must go, I go too."

  He gathered her up, brought her into his lap. She came but she did not break eye contact, fiercely determined. "Yes. But you don't understand. I do not need this."

  "I told you not to lie." She struck his shoulder for emphasis, not hard enough to hurt. "Don't lie!"

  "I'm not."

  "Then why come? Why do something so stupid?"

  "Because I was lonely without you. I wanted to need you less."

  She set her forehead on his. "Stupid."

  "Yes."

  There was a pause, as she breathed his breath. The three on the settee murmured, giggled and sighed. The man beside Julia and Colin stared at his wineglass.

  "Do you need me less?" she asked.

  He cupped her face in his palms. "I need you more than air and sunlight. I cannot stop."

  "Don't stop. Kiss me."

  He kissed her, soft, undemanding, a gentle affirmation.

  It was not what she wanted. She sealed her mouth to his, demanding more.

  He stiffened. "Julia?"

  "Mine."

  "Yes."

  "Kiss me."

  "Sweetheart, what is it you want?"

  She pulled back and looked at him, feeling outside of herself, outside of rules and boundaries, wanting to stake a claim that was unmistakable for anyone who might imagine their marriage was a dry and empty thing. Her hands went to his cravat. She started to untie it.

  Instantly his hands were on hers, stilling her. In his face was a question. In hers was a challenge.

  "You want to take me?" he asked, his voice husky. "Here and now?"

  She thrust her chin forward. "Yes."

  "Darling, no."

  "I say yes. Mrs Harlow said I may have exactly as I please, and that is you, here, now."

  He gave a soft, wondering laugh. She heard triumph in it. "Sweetheart, one moment."

  He lifted her in his arms, a jumble of skirts and petticoats, and stood.

  "Matthew, another time," he said to the man beside him.

  "Certainly. Good night," said he, and tipped his head affably to them.

  Colin carried her out of the house. Two or three people lifted their heads in vague interest as they passed rooms empty and occupied. Julia and Colin ignored them.

  "This is not what I meant," she told him.

  "I know."

  "I would have taken you inside."

  "I know. Wait."

  She did not know whether to be relieved or disgruntled. She waited. He went to the stables and ordered their carriage from the groom standing there. Their own groom emerged at the sound of his master's voice. At the sight of them he paused, blinked once in surprise, then professional calm dropped over his features. He touched his cap and turned to bring the horses out. They were swiftly hitched up to the small, smart brougham carriage.

  Colin immediately stepped forward and settled them into the leather upholstered seat, with her still on his lap. "Around the park, until I say otherwise," he told the groom, who closed the door. Colin lowered the blinds. "Now," he said, clasping her firmly. He lifted her and adjusted her legs and skirts so she could straddle him.

  "Why not inside?"

  "Because I don't want to."

  "Why not?" she asked him curiously, then was distracted by his fingers, busy under her skirts. They both sighed as he found the slit in her undergarments and put his hand inside it.

  "Because I'll be damned if I do that to you."

  "Language," she said dreamily.

  "Sod it. I've had a wretched day and I'm about to make it much, much better. Don't interfere with me, wife."

  "Very well." She shifted so she could unbutton the fall front of his breeches.

  "Good girl. That- God, yes."

  "Like this?" She manoeuvred him with her hand.

  "Who taught you that? Who were you watching in there? How long were you there before-"

  "Relax. I only saw you. I thought of this myself."

  "Ah. Inventive."

  "I thought you'd like it. Just here?"

  "No. No more. I have to be inside you this second."

  She shifted and sank down on him obligingly, head tilting back on a neck grown weak. He looped his arms around her waist, put his face into her neck and held her very tight. "Now sit still," he growled at her, his voice muffled.

  She leaned into him, put her arms around his shoulders and her fingertips in his hair, and breathed in the scent of him. They swayed together with the movement of the carriage.

  "Why not inside?"

  "Because you're beautifully pure, and I don't want to dirty you with that."

  "It's not dirty if it's with you."

  "I beg your pardon, but if there are an unknown number of people watching you, and making comment, and informing their friends of what you did, then it is dirty."

  "Such a prude."

  "No." He breathed into her neck. "And no, I'm not. It is only that making love to you is a drink of clean, clear water and when there are other people involved, there are complications and complexity and consequences. I like it to be only us. I like the simple goodness of it. It feels so right. I don't want to take you on a little tour of minor degradation so you can realize I'm right and wish a dozen things not done. Human sexuality can be ruined with the wrong experiences. I refuse to do it to you."

  "So eloquent." She shifted a little in reminder of their position. "It's a wonder you can think straight."

  "This is important," he said. "Don't distract me. I- ah. Love, if you- ah."

  "Pardon?"

  "I can't- Oh, never mind." He lifted her, then pulled her back down, with her willing cooperation, tilting his own pelvis to set up a relentless grind. She began to buck on him, feverishly hot, unable to move as she wanted, to feel his skin against hers. His hands were ruthless on her hips as if their experience at the Harlows' house had stripped away some veneer of civilization. He used her selfishly and she liked it, liked his hasty lack of control that reminded her of their first night together. Uncalculating and fervent, swept away from rational thought by his lust for her. Yes, she liked it. She urged him on, tried to help, kissed him when he turned his face to her. He put his hand underneath her and added his fingers to work on her, pushing her higher and higher on sensation until she soared, wild, torrid and unrefined, a rake's lightskirt in a carriage, gasping and clutching at him as he poured himself into her, shaking and swearing under his breath.

&n
bsp; CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  In the cool, faint morning light he looked so blameless, asleep on the pure white sheets. One would think it must be she who had led this sweet angel to fall. But instead she had joined him. She was so confused. To stand in that house as she had, see what she had seen, felt like a corrupt act. Had it not dirtied her?

  But he had made sense in that place. It was part of him. But not all of him. He was more than that too. She slid out from under the covers and put her feet on the floor, careful not to wake him. She could not face him in that moment.

  Who was she? She no longer knew. In daytime's clear night, the events of the darkness were half a dream. Her actions made no sense to her in the context of the person she knew herself to be. She was not lenient about sex. She did not exhibit her private self to others. She did not let her dignity lapse.

  Yet there had been no question in her mind it was right to do so. In that moment she had acted, and it all made sense to her then. In the dimness of that place, where anything was acceptable, it all made sense as long as it was the two of them.

  What was she becoming?

  She stole down the corridor to her own unused bedroom, naked in the silent hallway and feeling she must be invisible as a ghost. Not herself and not someone else either, insubstantial and lost. She dressed simply, quickly, in a warm walking dress, her hair a brisk knot shoved up inside a bonnet. She put on half-boots and a fur-lined cape and let herself out of the house.

  The foggy air was dank and unwelcoming, poking chill fingers down her neck. She put her hood up and hurried on, finding her way without difficulty. She had gone this way frequently since she had returned to London.

  The city was awake of course. Away from the quiet residential streets wagons rumbled into the great beating heart of the city, carrying sustenance. Oxen lowed and whips and shouts sang out on the main thoroughfares. She passed them by, walked around the edge of the park and on to an unfashionable neighborhood, where the houses were modest and a little tired, stone faces all the same. And here it was, tidy and unimposing. The house she had grown up in, once Maman and Papa were gone. The closest thing she had to a home.