Redeeming a Rake

by Cari Hislop

  Chapter 18

  Geoffrey quietly opened the door to Mrs Spencer’s private study and stood there several minutes waiting for her notice his presence, but she was absorbed in what appeared to be a sad letter. Three cold lonely weeks were finally over. Pain and anger evaporated like morning frost toasted by the rising sun. He was going to hold the angel by the end of the day come hell, high-water or special license. At last, he was going to be loved. Closing the door with a firm hand, she lifted her head and returned his stare like a rabbit cornered by a fox. Biting her lower lip, she slowly rose to her feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  Her eyes and nose were red as if she’d recently suffered a long bout of tears. She probably thought she’d never see him again. He dismissed her distress; she’d soon be crying tears of joy. Ignoring her unwelcoming remark he studied his surroundings for clues to his friend. The pleasant little room had pale blue silk covered walls hung with medieval sketches of knights on horseback. It was pleasantly feminine; the furniture elegant as well as functional. He admired the inkstand with ruby glass wells and then his eyes returned to the woman framed by a large window draped in pale blue silk. How could he have ever thought her plain? Enveloped in a halo of sunlight, without her ugly cap he could see her long plaits of white blond hair secured with silver combs. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen and she loved him. Pursing his lips in smug satisfaction he swaggered over to her desk, nonchalantly shoving a pile of letters out of his way he perched on the corner nearest his object of desire. “As the man you love, I think I merit a ‘Good morning my heart’ or at least ‘I’m so glad to see you’.” He pulled a ruby encrusted snuffbox from his pocket, put a pinch on the back of his hand and inhaled the snuff, all without breaking eye contact.

  “Good Morning my Lord, I wasn’t expecting you.”

  The snuffbox snapped shut with a vicious click. “You don’t sound very pleased to see me.” She didn’t deny it; she wasn’t pleased. He forcibly swallowed the lump in his throat. “If you didn’t wish to see me Madam, why was I allowed into your house without having to present my card? It appears I have your permission to enter at will. Does this mean I used to frequent all the rooms in your house, or were you just hoping I would?” Her pale cheeks flushed bright pink as he raised a cynical eyebrow. “Am I not as pleasing as my former self? Isn’t my hair combed correctly?”

  “You said you weren’t going to speak to me again, remember?”

  “It would seem that is the only thing I can remember. I mistakenly thought the threat would persuade you, a woman who claims to love me…” His lungs filled with anger as he raised his voice, “…to return to my sickbed!”

  She briefly met his eyes, but looked away. “Don’t raise your voice at me.”

  “Do you expect me to visit the Gypsies for a reading on my mysterious past? Would it not be more sensible to learn about my spent years from someone who claims to be my friend?”

  “Forgive me, of course you have questions. Wait here, I’ll be back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t address me in that odious tone.” Her own voice was gentle, but firm. “I’m going to get something for you.” His worried eyes followed her from the room as he fretted that she was fetching the footmen to have him thrown out.

  Fifteen minutes later a small entourage marched into the study. Two footmen carried a well padded armchair followed by a maid with a large tray of food followed by another maid carrying a small round table. He briefly glanced up to see her quietly ordered the servants to place the objects in the desired positions, ushered them out of the room and close the door. Absorbed back into a forgotten day, Geoffrey ignored everything as he devoured another letter written in his own hand. He didn’t look up as she stopped next to him and peered over his arm to see which letter he was reading. He set it down and picked up another one. “I brought you a comfortable chair.” He stared at her with an awed expression before getting up and removing to the chair with a stack of letters. “You can ask me questions later.” He didn’t respond. He was completely absorbed by events and feelings of his forgotten self. Briefly looking up to make sure his angel was still in the room he held her stare before watching her escape to the fire.

  He finished the pile of letters in his hand and flung them onto the desk and turned his attention to the woman who’d been haunting his thoughts for weeks. There was something strangely familiar about the curve of her cheek and white hair. How could he have forgotten such a smile? Looking at the back of her skirts wasn’t enough. He wanted her in his arms smiling at him in-between kisses. Eying the chocolate pot he saw an opportunity to retrieve her attention, “Pour me a cup?”

  She jumped and turned back to face him. “Did you say something?”

  “A cup of chocolate…will you pour me one?”

  “Of course…” The cup clattered on the saucer as she handed them over.

  “Am I making you nervous?”

  “No.”

  He took the cup and saucer with one hand and captured her shaking hand with the other. He brought it to his lips before letting go and smiled as she escaped back to her chair behind the desk. It had to be at least twelve years, that he could remember, since he’d made a female blush. The thought made his insides ache as he contemplated the unknown fate of the little angel who’d made him feel human for a few brief minutes. He forced the memory back into the dusty attic of his brain and returned his attention to the angel at hand. “Are all those letters from me?”

  “You were very good about answering my questions and telling me how you were progressing. I was…organising them…to put them away.”

  For someone trying to be organised she looked suspiciously absorbed in making one large random pile. She was trying to pretend his kiss hadn’t affected her and that meant his kiss had affected her. The thought made him feel like a hungry cat given a drop of cream. “You must have had an endless supply of questions. I appear to have written an encyclopaedia.”

  She glanced up and met his raised eyebrow with another blush. “You asked me to write to you while you were…away. I was your friend. It was perfectly genial…I mean it was perfectly innocent.”

  “I prefer genial. It brings to mind an intimate bond between two people who yearn to share their nakedness.”

  “There was nothing sordid about our friendship.”

  “Angel, an intimate bond is not automatically sordid, unless you’re one of those odd people who enjoy being tied up. When we make love I want to look into your eyes and see the pleasure caused by my nearness as you struggle for breath to tell me you love me.”

  “That is never going to happen.”

  “Why? Are you one of those ladies who enjoy riding St George? You’re blushing again. Does that mean…?”

  “It means I’m embarrassed. I’m your friend not your lover.”

  “There are many definitions for the term ‘lover’ one of them quite innocent and I dare say rather appropriate. I found your letters Angel. It’s no wonder I fell in love with you.”

  The woman behind the desk visibly jerked back in her chair. She looked shocked, no she looked heartbroken. “You’re reading too much into the letters. We were friends.”

  “Friends? Madam, I have no memory of writing anyone anything longer than three scribbled lines. I must have laboured at least an hour over each one of these. I could only be in love with you.”

  “You can’t know that…there are two whole years before we met that are unaccounted for. You may have taken to writing long epistles to…to all your friends.”

  “I may also have given up my title and all my worldly possessions to become a night soil collector. You’re cheeks betray you Madam. You know I loved you.”

  “You never said you loved me.”

  “Perhaps I didn’t have enough time?” He stood up and returned to the corner of her desk where he could feel the full force of her sunlight. “It doesn’t matter; I know I was planning to ask you to be my duche
ss. Besides, it’s what any sensible rake-hell would do after waking up with a cracked skull to find an angel tending his wounds. I need a duchess and you need someone to redeem your reputation. A match made in heaven…or hell, depending on your view.” He took the rolled parchment out of his coat pocket and pressed it into her numb hands. “Your wish has been granted. You’ll marry your dearest friend and I’ll save a fortune on whores.”

  Her eyes filled with tears as she dropped the roll and covered her face. “Come now Angel, rakes don’t do sea bathing.” He hopped off the desk and pulled her up into his arms. “I’m right here Angel. I’m going to marry you and restore your reputation. Everything is going to be sublime.” He smiled with satisfaction at finally having her in his arms again as he breathed in the haunting scent of orange blossoms. “I’ll be a good husband…” He couldn’t resist the temptation of her neck. Feeling her shudder with pleasure from his kiss made his head spin. He felt her hands on his waistcoat and sighed with pleasure into her ear, but before he could taste an earlobe she’d pushed him away. He picked up the marriage license and hid his hurt feelings by pulling a silver jewellery case wrapped in a pale blue ribbon out of his pocket and tossing it onto the desk. “This is for you.”

  “I want no payment for nursing you.”

  Geoffrey scowled as a painful knot formed in his stomach. “I found it wrapped up like that in my secret drawer. It was made for you.” He leaned over and hissed in her ear, “Refuse it and I’ll give it to the next whore who takes my fancy.”

  “How do you know it was made for me? He never gave me anything like this.”

  “Didn’t he?” She was apparently deaf to sarcasm. Geoffrey scowled as the angel pulled a handkerchief with his coat of arms out of her pocket and blew her nose. Clenching his teeth, he watched her untie the ribbon and carefully tuck it away like a treasure in her apron pocket. Undoing the catch her mouth fell open as she lifted the lid. His forgotten self had chosen well. She was visibly stunned by his ruby collection set in-between aquamarine gemstones in an intricate necklace with matching earrings.

  “You can’t give me this…this isn’t a gift for a friend.”

  He picked up the necklace as if it were paste and turned it over. “Look! Here on the back it says, ‘May every ruby remind my tolerant friend that I owe her my life.’” An awkward silence fell over the room as he watched in bafflement as emotions flickered over her face. She was remembering the vanished Geoffrey again. How could she miss him? He was standing right there with the same arms wanting to hold her. He suddenly needed to drag her attention back to him, the living man. “Apparently you’ve saved my life on a number of occasions. There’s certainly no other person in the world who’d be a tolerant friend to The Devil’s Corpse. Let me help you put it on.”

  “No!”

  Clenching his teeth, he inhaled through his nostrils and tried to subdue his anger. “If I was the Geoffrey who could remember the last two years…you’d let me drape it around your throat without a moment’s hesitation, wouldn’t you?” She ignored him as she reverently positioned the necklace back into the pale blue velvet lining and closed the lid. “I’m still in the dark as to why he was riding all over the countryside. Perhaps Madam, you’d be so kind as to paint me a clear picture of why his most cherished possession was a list of people he’d sinned against in your handwriting. I can only imagine he’d utterly lost his min. What possessed you to listen to me listing my sins? Most women would not have endured such a confession from a son or husband. My secretary, Hawkings, says he spent almost two years travelling about the countryside returning property and money. What the devil is that all about? I can understand the man being desperate to hold you, but surely he could have found a less costly route to your bed?”

  “Stop it!”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop talking in the third person as if you weren’t present.”

  “I beg your pardon, I didn’t realise it was something only you could do. I’m not dead Angel. I’m right here in the flesh, desperate to see you smile at me the same way you smiled at him. Shall I pretend that I enjoy being referred to in the third person? Will it give my courting an edge? What are you crying for? I’m the one being treated like a dead man. Oh hell…Angel, please don’t cry…don’t be angry with me.” He pulled her back into his arms and held her as she watered his waistcoat. Her nearness set in motion a tidal wave of desire that crashed into his brain and gushed in torrents through his veins. He felt like a callow youth in the arms of his first beautiful woman. What was he supposed to do next? He was torn between falling on his knees and begging her to marry him or… He was robbed of thought as she rubbed her cheek across his silk waistcoat and pressed her face into his chest. Was this what it felt like to be loved? The warm fluffy peace clouding his brain blew away his anger leaving him feeling young and euphoric. “Oh Angel,” he pressed his lips against her cheek. “I feel like I’ve fallen into a vat of sweet wine.” After several long seconds she lifted her head and stared at his lips. Sunlight filled the coldest corners of his heart as she accepted his parted lips. Words bounced around his brain like sunbeams off a shiny surface; sublime, Elysium, beloved. He reluctantly released her lips, but her head remained tilted, her eyes closed. She wanted more. He moaned with pleasure as the raging torrent of desire threatened to burst his heart as his hands gleefully explored generous curves.

  When he released her lips the second time she pressed her face against his chest. Debating his options he knew he had to prove that he could control his lust even if he didn’t want to. Gently disengaging her arms he stepped back, slowly kissed the palm of each hand and set her free. Gulping down air he bashfully smiled as he reclaimed the corner of her desk. He felt like a leaf on a summer breeze. He was no longer alone in the world; a beautiful ray of sunshine loved him. He was going to wake up every morning and make love to an angel. Feeling content he smiled as he contemplated the immediate future. In a few hours he’d remove her voluminous gown and for the first time in his life, make love to a woman who loved him. “I don’t think even my forgotten self could have kissed you so well, do you?”

  “I don’t know. I never kissed him.” His ecstatic smile slowly dissolved into a sour frown. “They were the most wonderful kisses Geoffrey. I’ll cherish them.”

  Her words implied that she wasn’t planning to repeat the pleasure. The thought punctured his heart. There was nothing he could do to staunch the flow of happiness draining away leaving him once again unloved and enraged. “Do you plan to pluck me from your life and throw me into the gutter like a piece of rubbish? Is this your devotion? Is this how you love me?”

  She lightly touched his cheek as she shook her head. “You’re woven into my soul Geoffrey, but you don’t remember the weaving. You’re a different man. You don’t love me. You only want to satisfy your lust.”

  Geoffrey blinked away liquid pain. “If I wanted a bed warmer I’d buy one for the night!” Crossing his arms he tried to cool his growing anger. “I want my Duchess to care whether I live or die. I want a Duchess who enjoys being held in my arms, who enjoys my company. I want to be loved. Do I expect too much?”

  “I do love you, but I can’t marry you. You don’t know me!”

  Pale blue eyes hardened into cut gems as his temper escaped its constraints. “I may not remember the day we met or all the times you’ve saved my life, but you are mine. Your heart belongs to me and if you dare give what is mine to any other man…I’ll kill him. Think twice before you wed some worm. He won’t live to bed you.”

  “I belong to no man Geoffrey Lindsey Grayson. You will address me with respect or you will leave my house. If you need any explanation why I can not marry you, you need only listen to yourself.”

  Geoffrey’s anger froze into fear. The frigid formality of her words stabbed his heart like a jagged icicle. “Please don’t speak to me in that cold voice. I’m sorry I lost my temper. I promise I’ll try not to kill my rivals, but please don’t give me up for dead. Let
me show you that I’m the same Geoffrey you fell in love with. I want you to smile at me the way you smiled at him. Let me hold you forever. Marry me, be my Duchess.” Hope bloomed as she turned and looked up at him with a searching gaze. “I notified my parish Vicar this morning. We can be married within the hour.” Geoffrey silently cursed his impatient tongue as her face crumpled.