Snowbound With the Notorious Rake

by Sarah Mallory

  He was holding her very close, his cheek rubbing against her hair as her body leaned into him. Her heart was jumping in her throat, making speech difficult.

  ‘I…I did not wish to dance. I did not want to be near you.’

  ‘You enjoyed being near me last Christmas.’ His teeth nibbled gently at her ear and she bit down hard on her bottom lip to counteract the pleasure curling and growing inside her. ‘You called it an idyll.’

  ‘We knew it would not work. We agreed…’

  ‘We agreed that you were coming back here to marry Emsleigh. That has not happened.’

  ‘Single or wed, it makes no difference.’

  She put her hands against his chest, determined not to give in.

  ‘No?’ The single word was so low, so quiet, yet her body reacted; her breasts grew taut, almost painful as they pushed towards him, aching for his touch. He traced one finger down her cheek and drew it gently along the line of her jaw. Rose closed her eyes. She stopped trying to push him away and instead her fingers clutched at his jacket. This was madness. She could hear voices calling her. She looked up, trying to see his face; Lawrence had pulled her into a shallow alcove where the shadows were deep and black, adding to the unreality of the situation. The temptation to give in to him was almost irresistible. He was a devil to torment her so!

  ‘No,’ she managed at last. ‘Go back to Knightscote, Sir Lawrence. Better still, go back to London. I’ll have none of you.’

  ‘Too late for that, Rose. What if I tell your friends how you came calling upon me last Christmas Eve?’

  She caught her breath in dismay.

  ‘You would not do that. I would be ruined!’

  She felt the heartbeat’s hesitation before he replied.

  ‘No, I will say nothing, but if you continue to avoid me quite so blatantly people will begin to wonder why you shun me. It is only a matter of time before tongues begin to wag.’

  ‘You expect us to meet as…as indifferent acquaintances?’

  ‘We must, unless you wish to be something more…’

  ‘No!’ She hissed out the word, panic adding urgency. ‘Oh, will you not go away and leave me in peace?’

  His arms tightened. He said angrily, ‘Do you think I like this situation any more than you?’

  ‘Then leave, sir. My life is here. I cannot do so.’

  ‘No more can I, at least not yet!’

  It was as if the words had been forced out of him. Rose frowned.

  ‘Why should that be—what keeps you here?’

  He did not reply, and into the silence came the clatter of boots on the stair. She heard Magnus saying irritably, ‘She is not upstairs, nor in the retiring room. Where can she be?’

  Rose tensed. Any moment he might turn towards the shadows and discover her. The dark shape that was Lawrence drew her closer. He whispered in her ear.

  ‘Your friends are looking for you. You must go.’ His lips brushed her cheek. ‘The next time we meet at least treat me with some semblance of civility. I am going to be around for a good while yet, Rose, so you had best get used to it!’

  Lawrence gave Rose a little push and she stepped out of the shadows.

  ‘Rose! What in heaven’s name—!’

  Magnus came hurrying towards her, his breath clouding on the frosty air.

  Quickly she moved to meet him.

  ‘I…I dropped my fan…’ She waved her hand, implying that it had skittered into the darkness. A quick peep showed her that the alcove was empty.

  ‘Well, never mind that now, let us get you home and out of this cold.’

  He guided her to the carriage and she climbed in be side her mother.

  ‘Goodness, you are shivering,’ declared Mrs Molland. ‘You should have left your fan, my love. We could have walked up and retrieved it in the morning.’

  ‘Well, well, no harm done,’ declared Althea, her hands tucked snugly inside her swansdown muff. ‘Tell Lewis to drive on, Magnus. The sooner we have dropped Rose and Mrs Molland at Bluebell Cottage, the sooner we can be home.’

  Magnus jumped into the carriage and almost fell into his seat as they pulled away, the lamps of the inn yard momentarily lighting up the carriage.

  ‘My dear, whatever have you done to your corsage?’

  Magnus’s cry caused Rose to glance down. Her cloak had fallen open to reveal the neckline of her gown and on her shoulder were the sorry-looking remains of the three camellias, crushed flat against her gown.

  Magnus was muttering about the inordinate cost of obtaining such delicate flowers and guiltily Rose pulled her cloak together to hide the damage.

  ‘Oh, my,’ giggled Althea. ‘They look well and truly ravished!’

  Rose sank her teeth into her bottom lip and stared miserably out into the night.

  Ravished was exactly how she felt.

  Chapter Five

  From the deepest shadows Lawrence watched the Emsleigh carriage drive away, the horses’ hooves ringing on the cobbles. Hell and damnation, he should never have come here tonight. He thought savagely that if George Craven had not been in such a fix he would never have come back to Exmoor at all.

  Craven had come to him in London, when Lawrence was enjoying a solitary dinner at White’s.

  ‘Daunton, my friend. I have been looking for you all over.’

  ‘Good evening, George. Come and join me,’ Lawrence greeted him with the wave of his fork.

  ‘Heard you were in town,’ said Craven, sitting down at the table, ‘but you have not shown your face in any of your usual haunts.’

  ‘Turned over a new leaf, George.’

  ‘Aye, so it would appear.’ Craven grinned. ‘The ladies are bemoaning the absence of Rake Daunton from their drawing rooms. What have you been doing with yourself in town?’

  ‘Visiting my man of business.’

  ‘Dull work!’

  ‘Aye, but necessary. I spent the spring touring my estates in Surrey, and I have been in Hampshire for the past month, at Daunton, putting everything in order. Hadn’t realised just how run-down the place had become. Once my business here is ended then I shall be going back. I dare say I shall make my home there.’ He shot a sideways glance at his friend. ‘Does it surprise you, George, that I can give up town life so easily?’

  His friend shook his head.

  ‘I always thought you would, one day.’

  ‘The devil you did!’

  ‘You forget, Lawrence, we’ve known each other for ever. You always loved Daunton, but you began to avoid it when it became linked with marriage to my late, lovely, lamented sister. Never could quite bring yourself to make that final commitment, could you, Lawrence?’

  ‘Damn you, George, you know I always intended to go back.’ He pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. ‘We agreed we would wed when she was one and twenty, not before. But if she had only said the word I would have come back—’

  ‘No need to blame yourself, old friend. Belle wanted the marriage even less than you.’ He met Lawrence’s amazed gaze with a rueful smile. ‘I never thought much of it at the time, but she said to me once that she thought she would have liked to be a nun and dedicate her life to good works.’

  ‘Well, if you think of the way she lived, in the end that is what she did.’ Lawrence sighed, running a hand through his hair. ‘What must she have thought of me? I positively flaunted my indiscretions—I never denied any scandal, no matter how outrageous or untrue.’ George shrugged.

  ‘As for that, she knew better than to believe a half of what she read in the newspapers.’

  Lawrence sighed.

  ‘I still think I treated her abominably. I am surprised you did not call me out, George. I deserved it.’

  ‘Devil a bit, I could hardly pull caps with you over your behaviour when I was kicking up every sort of lark myself!’

  ‘No, it is good of you to say so, but I am ashamed of how I behaved towards your family. I wish I could make it up to you.’

  ‘Perhaps you can.’ Geor
ge signalled to the waiter to bring them another bottle.

  Lawrence frowned at him across the table. ‘I heard you had some pretty bad losses recently. What was it, cards? Hazard?’

  Craven shook his head, saying glumly, ‘I wish it had been! No, I decided I should be doing something more prudent with my money. Prudent, hah!’ Craven emptied his glass and refilled it. ‘I underwrote a merchant ship, sailing out of Bristol. Hadn’t even cleared the Channel before she foundered, ship and all the cargo lost.’

  ‘A disaster, then.’ Lawrence sat back. ‘Many lives lost?’

  ‘Only one. The bosun was lost overboard as the crew took to the boats. The rest were picked up by a passing vessel and brought safely ashore.’

  ‘Fortunate that there were enough boats on board to take them all.’

  ‘Aye, wasn’t it,’ muttered George Craven. He scowled. ‘And how thoughtful of the owner to issue promissory notes to his crew, in case the ship should miscarry.’

  ‘You suspect foul play?’

  ‘Aye, and so do my fellow underwriters. We haven’t paid out yet, and don’t intend to do so until more investigations have taken place.’ He leaned forwards. ‘Which is why I have come to you, Daunton.’

  ‘Me?’ Lawrence laughed. ‘I am no investigator!’

  ‘We sent an agent to Bristol to talk to the crew, but very few of them were local, and those he did find would not talk to him. So he went to Somerset to find the captain, but he came up with nothing.’

  ‘Then it seems a hopeless case. You will have to pay up.’

  ‘But you do not understand!’ George Craven banged his fist on the table, causing several of the other diners to look around. He chewed his lip for a moment. ‘I was greedy, I admit it. I was convinced there could be no risk. It was high summer, the journey a routine sailing from Bristol to France, albeit with a bigger cargo than usual, a valuable one, too: the best English woollen cloth, fine linen, porcelain and pewter—’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘What could possibly go wrong? I agreed to underwrite more than I could readily afford. If I have to pay out, I shall be ruined.’ He looked up. ‘I shall have to go to my father, and the only way he will be able to pay my debts will be to sell the Hampshire estate. It would kill my mother, I think, to leave the house she has lived in all her married life.’

  ‘Do you want me to loan you the money?’

  ‘No, no, I could not ask you for such a sum.’

  Lawrence shook his head.

  ‘Then I do not see how I can help you, my friend.’

  Craven leaned closer.

  ‘You have a property on Exmoor, do you not? The ship’s owner has a house there and Captain Morris lives nearby. Why, man, they are practically your neighbours. It is possible they will let something slip to you.’

  Lawrence shook his head.

  ‘I’m sorry, my friend, this is not my line of work. I have no plans to go back there.’

  ‘I’d go myself, but you know what it is like in these areas, any stranger is looked upon with suspicion. But if you were to go, well, no one would think anything of it.’ George reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses. ‘The bosun’s family live on that coast, too, near a small village called Mersecombe. These are seafaring people, Lawrence; you could talk to them, see what they think of the ship foundering. If there is the least chance that this was no accident, I want to know about it!’

  Lawrence lifted his glass, staring at the ruby-red contents.

  ‘I haven’t been to Knightscote this year,’ he murmured, almost to himself.

  ‘Then it is time you did, my friend,’ declared Craven. ‘What could be more natural than that you should visit the place now, with autumn coming on?’

  Lawrence paid him no heed. He was picturing an exquisite little face with large blue-grey eyes that smiled up at him so trustingly. He had given his word to Rose that he would not seek her out and, despite the fact that she was constantly in his thoughts, he would abide by that. She would be married by now to her dull and upright tradesman. She might even be with child.

  The idea wrenched at his gut, but suddenly he needed to know. To learn that Rose was happy and content in her new life would be painful, but nothing to the uncertainty that tortured him now. He sat very still, his hands clasped about his wineglass. What if he had business in Mersecombe, and they met by chance?

  He raised his eyes to look at his friend.

  ‘Very well, George. I make you no promises, but I will look into this case for you.’

  How Lawrence regretted that momentary weakness. To return, to see Rose again and find her every bit as alluring as he remembered had only brought back the memories he had spent the summer trying to suppress. She wanted nothing to do with him and to observe her tricks and evasions at the Assembly only rubbed salt into the wound.

  Lawrence had planned to stay at the Ship overnight, but he now decided he would prefer to ride back to Knightscote. He strode into the inn and gave instructions for his horse to be saddled.

  ‘You’ll never be travelling at this time o’night, sir!’ declared the landlord.

  ‘Why not, there’s a moon. You need not worry.’ Lawrence reached into his pocket for his purse. ‘I shall pay you for the bed, even though I won’t be sleeping in it!’

  Twenty minutes later he was trotting out of Mersecombe and making his way up over the moor towards Knightscote. The clouds had given way to a clear sky and a sharp frost now glittered in the moonlight, turning the world silver-grey. The bitter night air nipped at his cheeks, but he was glad of the icy chill; it cooled his anger and for the first time in hours he could think clearly.

  He had been a fool to go to the Assembly. He was no further forwards with his investigations and he had suffered the humiliation of being snubbed. It was a novel experience. During his years in town he had never been rejected by any woman. The stricter chaperons might keep their innocent young charges away from him, but they could not prevent the young ladies from casting longing glances in his direction. He had been so sure that Rose would at least dance with him. He had anticipated the thrill of it; to anyone listening they would be talking upon unexceptional topics, but their carefully coded words would refer to their time together at Knightscote. Even now he could imagine her eyes smiling into his, sharing the joke.

  He shivered. She had spent the evening running away from him and when at last he cornered her she had refused to dance, had avoided all contact with him, until that last stolen kiss in the darkness. Then she had responded to him, albeit reluctantly.

  For the first time in his adult life he doubted his ability to charm a woman. Perhaps Annabelle had never been as enamoured of him as he had believed: he remembered how incredulous he had been when Rose had suggested that his fiancée had preferred her single state. Perhaps she would have married him, to please her parents, to fulfil the contract that would combine two great estates. He would never know. He had never asked her, they had never talked. It was too late now to help Annabelle, but he would show Rose that there was more to him than smooth words and careless flirtations.

  With a sigh he looked up at the cloudless night sky. The deep blue reminded him of Rose’s gown. Heaven knew he had seen the back of her flowing skirts often enough as she spent the evening moving away from him.

  ‘You are nothing but a fool,’ he told himself angrily. ‘She has told you she wants nothing more to do with you so you had best let be.’

  He squared his shoulders and straightened in the saddle. Tonight had been a mistake. He would not go out of his way to see her again.

  Rose huddled in her corner of the carriage, thankful that she was not expected to contribute to the discussion of the night’s events. She was still shaken by being so roughly accosted by Sir Lawrence. That she had angered him was plain, but why did he not go away and leave her in peace? What reason could he have for lingering in Mersecombe, if he had not come to seek her out? She wondered if she had spoken this last thought aloud, for she heard Magnus say, ‘Dashed if I know why
the fellow showed up tonight. I know I told him of the Assembly, but I never really expected him to take me up on it. To my knowledge he has never before ventured away from Knightscote on his visits to Exmoor.’

  ‘Well, I expect him to call upon me at Emsleigh House very soon,’ replied Althea.

  Magnus chuckled.

  ‘I am not surprised, for you were making eyes at him all evening, you naughty puss. Well, if he calls, I suppose I shall have to invite him to dinner one night.’

  ‘You are not deterred by his reputation with the la dies, sir?’ asked Mrs Molland.

  ‘Pho! I confess I was a little wary of the fellow to begin with, but I saw nothing in his manner to alarm me. He made no attempt to flirt with anyone tonight. I dare say his reputation is much exaggerated. Sir Lawrence is a rich man and as such his every move in town attracts attention. And if he wishes to fix his interest with my sister, well, his birth is impeccable and with his wealth I would have no hesitation in welcoming him as a brother-in-law!’

  Rose shifted uncomfortably in her corner. She had seen Althea’s attempts to capture Lawrence’s interest and did not think they were successful, but what if she was wrong? In their last few moments together Lawrence had intimated that it would be necessary for them to meet. What if he was trying to fix his interest with Althea? Rose shivered. The idea was preposterous. Wasn’t it?

  Rose was glad to open up the little schoolroom the next morning. She needed to keep her mind away from the Assembly. To see Lawrence again had awoken all the memories she had tried so hard to bury, and when he had pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her in the black shadows at the edge of the inn yard, her emotions had rioted out of control. She wanted him so badly that it hurt.

  If she had been living in a fairy-tale world, she thought she would have given in to the demands of her body—and her heart. She could have danced with Lawrence, her infatuation clear for all the world to observe. The evening would have been one of unalloyed pleasure as they laughed and danced and talked together. But this was not a fairy tale. Any hint of impropriety and she would lose her position as teacher here in Mersecombe. Although it did not pay much, it provided a boost to her meagre savings and, more than that, the post carried with it the respect of the village. That meant a lot to her, not only for her own sake but for her mother’s, and for Sam. It was very hard for him, growing up in Mersecombe without a father—he must not feel ashamed of his mother.