Joanna Maitland

by Rakes Reward

  Kit shrugged his shoulders and let his hands fall. What did it matter? He did not care to kiss a woman who was more than half wildcat. And who would fight him every step of the way. This interview needed to be brought to a speedy, and final, conclusion.

  He crossed to the bell-rope and pulled vigorously. The door opened almost immediately. ‘Send the boy out for a hackney, Mrs Budge,’ he ordered. ‘My visitor is leaving.’

  The moment the door closed again, Miss Beaumont began to protest. ‘Mr Stratton, I have no desire for a cab. I shall leave on foot, as I came. Besides, we have not finished our business—’

  ‘Miss Beaumont, there is nothing more for you to say,’ said Kit firmly, advancing on her until she backed away. A low chair prevented her further retreat. ‘I suggest you sit down. Good. Now, in the matter of the hackney, there is nothing to discuss. It is not my habit to permit ladies to walk the streets of London alone. In that, at least, I am a gentleman. The boy will pay the jarvey to take you wherever you want to go.’

  She made to protest again but he stopped her with a raised hand.

  ‘As to our business… You want me to forgive Lady Luce’s debt. Twelve thousand pounds, payable in seven days. Very well, Miss Beaumont, I will do so.’

  Her eyes widened in surprise, but she said nothing. Perhaps words were beyond her. That would certainly be the case in a moment or two, he’d stake his honour on that.

  ‘There is a price, of course,’ he continued, ‘but you knew that when you accepted my invitation to visit me here, did you not?’ He paused, waiting for a reaction. There was none. ‘The price, Miss Beaumont, is you. In my bed. Willingly.’

  That had done it. She was truly terrified now. She had learned her lesson at last. She would not trouble him again.

  Not after this.

  ‘You—’ Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘You are very direct,’ she said hoarsely. ‘May I ask how this…arrangement is to be achieved?’

  Her response was much braver than he had expected. It was hardly surprising that she would not look straight at him now. Still, he must play this little charade to the end.

  ‘Nothing easier, Miss Beaumont,’ he said on the ghost of a laugh. ‘You will write to me here, naming the day for our…meeting. It will, of course, take place before the debt falls due,’ he added, watching her face for signs of duplicity. ‘On the agreed day, you will be walking early in the park, just as you were today. A plain, closed carriage will draw up beside you. It will have a white silk scarf tied to the handle of the door. You will step into it.’

  ‘And how, pray, is my absence to be explained to Lady Luce?’ Miss Beaumont asked witheringly. ‘She will wish to know where I have spent the day…and the night. And then she will dismiss me on the spot.’

  Kit delivered his coup de grâce. ‘Oh, do not fear that I shall detain you long, Miss Beaumont. Our…business can be quickly dealt with. Darkness is not required, you know. You will be home long before you have been missed.’

  Her head came up then. She was terrified still, but her fear was overlaid with loathing. There was a hint of something more, too—

  The door opened. The interruption could not have been worse timed. ‘The cab is at the door, sir. The driver has been paid.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Budge. Tell him to wait. The lady will be out in a moment.’

  As the door closed, the grey lady rose from her chair and stared proudly across at Kit. ‘I will go now, Mr Stratton,’ she said quietly, ‘but I shall take the liberty of telling you that you are not worthy to be called Hugo Stratton’s brother. For he is a man of honour. While you…’

  She turned on her heel. In the space of a heartbeat, she had whipped open the door and disappeared down the hallway.

  By the time Kit reached the front door, the hackney had almost turned the corner, its wheels throwing up great splashes of muddy water as it raced away.

  Marina leaned back against the creaking leather. She would not faint. Not now. She had kept her self-control throughout that appalling interview. There was no point in giving way, not now that it was over.

  Kit Stratton was a fiend. He was the very devil.

  Had not Lady Luce used those exact words? But she, Marina Beaumont, thinking she knew better, had not heeded the warning. She had broken all the rules to visit him in his lodgings— No, that was wrong. No man of means would live there. Even a stranger to London could tell that. Her erstwhile host probably used that modest little house to entertain his mistresses. If Marina accepted his bargain, he would probably bring her there to…to… Oh, she had been well served for her arrogance. Kit Stratton had offered to forgive the Dowager’s debt in return for Marina’s honour.

  He must have known she would not—could not—agree. He must have known.

  Why then had he made her such an offer? It made no sense. He neither liked nor admired her.

  What a stupid fool she had been, driven by her desperation to find some way of retaining her post. She had seen his arrogance, but she had thought she could find a way to move him, by appealing to his better nature.

  Madness! Kit Stratton had no better nature. He had no feelings at all.

  She closed her eyes, willing the memories to leave her. They returned, stronger than ever.

  She had been in his arms. She had fought him…but not enough.

  In all her life, she had never been kissed with any degree of passion. She had not known how it would feel. She had not imagined that she would respond, against everything she had been taught. Kit Stratton had been forcing himself upon her. She should have repulsed him but, for one incredible second, she had felt herself softening under his assault and welcoming the touch of his lips.

  He had been right to treat her like a street-walker. She had behaved no better!

  His final offer had proved it. He would take her innocence without thought for the consequences, as if her virtue was worth no more than the turn of a card on the Faro table. She would spend an hour—perhaps less—in his bed. And then he would send her back to Lady Luce, a little used, to be sure, but the bearer of a gift of twelve thousand pounds.

  Would Lady Luce be grateful? Marina doubted it. If she ever found out, the lady would probably laugh.

  No. Nothing would ever make Marina accept Kit Stratton’s humiliating offer. Not even—

  The hackney drew up outside Lady Luce’s house. The front door opened just as Marina was stepping down on to the flagway.

  The Earl’s corpulent figure seemed to fill the doorway. ‘So there you are at last, Miss Beaumont,’ he said ominously. ‘I shall not ask where you have been. We have much more important matters to discuss.’ He looked her up and down, taking note of her dishevelled state. ‘There is no need for you to change for this interview,’ he said with a sneer. ‘Our business will take but a very few minutes. How you dress thereafter will be your own affair.’

  Kit poured himself a second glass of madeira and downed it in a single swallow, as he had the first. He looked across at the window and shook his head at the drab grey skies. He had gone too far. She had been foolish and naïve in her quest, but still…he had gone too far. She was, after all, a lady, but he had treated her like the veriest doxy. That final remark about how long… Had he really said something so unforgivably crude?

  He must be losing his mind. He was definitely losing his self-control and he never did that with women. Never.

  Not for more than five years.

  Since that mad moment when he had compromised Emma Fitzwilliam, he had never allowed himself to utter a word or move so much as a finger without carefully calculating how the lady in question would react to his advances. He had thought he knew how to read them all.

  But Miss Beaumont was not predictable. She had not succumbed to his practised lovemaking. She had thrown his words back in his face. And she had even compared him unfavourably to—

  Hugo! How did Lady Luce’s grey companion come to know of Hugo Stratton? They could never have met, could they?
She would have been little more than a child when Hugo returned from the wars. And then he had married Emma Fitzwilliam.

  If the grey lady had had dealings with Hugo, they must have taken place since his marriage to Emma. Well, well. That did not sound in the least like his upright brother. But no…it made no sense. What could Hugo want with such a woman when he had Emma?

  Emma was blonde, beautiful, vivacious, loving—a perfect wife. Miss Beaumont was grey and rather gaunt. She did not seem to know how to laugh. And she prickled with pride. What could Hugo ever see in her?

  The unexpected.

  She was not like any of the women Kit had bedded. She fought him. And she spoke of honour, and of the worth of a gentleman.

  She could not be Hugo’s mistress. There must be something else between them. It was a puzzle. And it would plague him until he had resolved it.

  Kit rose and made his way to the door. No point in staying here. Katharina was long gone and could not be with him again for several days. Sometimes, unfortunately, a husband had to take precedence. Kit might as well go to his club and face the inevitable gossip.

  The cold brass handle served to remind him that the weather outside was foul and that he had no carriage in Chelsea. He opened the door to order another hackney, this time for himself.

  Had she gone straight back to Lady Luce? Would she ever dare to venture out alone again? She would not be found walking early in the park again, that was certain. She had fled from him like a frightened doe.

  He thought back through their tense encounter and found he was no longer quite so sure. He had never discovered precisely why she was so intent on begging him to forgive the Dowager’s debt. To be honest, he had given her no chance to explain anything. He had simply pounced on her.

  It would be madness for her to meet him again, knowing, as she did, what would happen between them. But how could he be sure—certain sure—that she would not accept his challenge?

  His answer was clear enough. He must leave orders that any letter was to be brought round to his lodgings immediately.

  And he must be prepared to hire himself a plain, closed carriage.

  Chapter Seven

  Marina only just succeeded in reaching her bedchamber. She did not even have the strength to reach the bed before her legs crumpled under her. She sank to the floor and dropped her head into her hands.

  She was dismissed!

  So much for the Dowager’s promise of protection. That had gained her nothing. Lord Luce was insisting she leave his mother’s house before the day was out. Mr Kit Stratton would wait in vain for her letter—Marina would be long gone.

  How would she ever explain to Mama? Was there even enough money in her purse to pay her fare back home?

  Damn Kit Stratton! It was all his fault!

  ‘Twelve thousand! Are you saying that stupid chit stood by and watched while you lost twelve thousand pounds?’

  ‘She did not stand and watch,’ Lady Luce snapped. ‘She was seated throughout.’

  He ground his teeth.

  ‘You need not play the martyr, William. The debt is mine, not yours.’

  ‘Indeed? And you have twelve thousand immediately to hand, do you, Mama?’

  For once she said nothing, pressing her lips together in a tight, angry line.

  ‘No. Nor do I. I shall have to go to the moneylenders until I can sell the unentailed land. And there will have to be strict economies. For both of us.’ He looked down at her, frowning darkly. ‘Your useless companion leaves today, of course, and this house—’

  ‘What? You have absolutely no right to dismiss her. How dare—?’

  ‘I pay her, Mama. She is become an expense I can no longer afford.’

  And his mother had long been another such, he thought grimly. It would be so very satisfying to tell her so. If only he could—

  ‘Petty revenge, William. You seek to humiliate your own mother. I had not thought even you could stoop so low.’ She looked at him with scorn.

  Lord Luce was shocked into silence for a moment. He would almost have said she hated him. ‘Mama, I…’ he began. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Mama, I truly cannot afford to pay Miss Beaumont. But, by all means, let her remain for a few days more. I admit it would be unkind to pack her off in this appalling weather.’

  His mother looked at him in sudden surprise. Then she nodded.

  ‘Perhaps you will tell her, Mama? If I am to arrange the money in time, I must set about matters immediately.’

  He made to leave, then stopped, hesitating. ‘Mama,’ he began in a softer voice, ‘please stop doing this. I grant that you have a right to choose how you order your own life. If I have seemed to interfere, I…I apologise. But if you continue to gamble, you will ruin us all. Truly. I beg of you to stop. For the sake of your grandchildren. Please.’

  He looked pleadingly across at his mother’s tiny figure. There was no sign of softening in her features. This time, his tactic had failed.

  ‘I see. No doubt we shall meet again in church tomorrow,’ he said with freezing formality. ‘I bid you good day.’ He bowed and left her.

  Lady Luce walked over to her favourite chair and slowly took her seat. For several minutes, she stared vacantly at the window and the street beyond. The driving rain was pouring down the panes so that it was difficult to see out.

  The Dowager’s bony hand reached for the bell on the table beside her. Almost before the sound had died away, the butler appeared.

  ‘Have you seen Miss Beaumont this morning, Tibbs?’

  ‘Why, yes, m’lady. She was with his lordship earlier, and then—’

  ‘Never mind that,’ snapped the Dowager. ‘What was she doing before that? I sent my woman to her room and she was not there.’

  ‘She…er…she went out early, m’lady. Walking, I supposed.’

  Lady Luce snorted. ‘When did she return?’

  ‘Er…just after his lordship arrived, m’lady. He interviewed her in the bookroom.’

  ‘I see. What are you waiting for, man? Go and fetch her! What is the point of having a companion who provides no company? Go and fetch her at once!’

  Marina paused at the foot of the stairs to straighten her skirts. At least she was no longer mud-spattered, as she had been during that degrading interview with Lord Luce. She would have looked even worse, if Kit Stratton had not sent her home in a cab. Should she be grateful? It had kept her dry. And she had not got lost, as she had done on the way to Chelsea. Then again, if she had been forced to walk, Lord Luce might have been long gone by the time she arrived back. A curse on Kit Stratton! Everything was his fault.

  Tibbs had already announced her. She had no option but to face her second accuser.

  ‘So there you are at last, miss!’ snapped Lady Luce, the moment the door closed behind Marina. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to explain where you were this morning?’

  Oh, dear. Marina had been almost sure that her ladyship would not wake before noon, that her absence would not be noticed. Yes, she had been a fool, on that count also.

  ‘I assumed that you would sleep late, ma’am,’ she said, ‘and so I went out for a walk. I—’

  ‘A walk? In the pouring rain?’ Lady Luce’s tone was scathing.

  Marina lifted her chin. ‘I am well used to the rain, ma’am,’ she said with quiet dignity. ‘In Yorkshire, it rains a great deal. If one ventured out only when the weather was fine, one would take no exercise at all.’ Marina looked directly at the old woman, marvelling at her own ability to fence with half-truths. Kit Stratton’s devilry was rubbing off on her, it seemed.

  Lady Luce snorted in disbelief. ‘Very well,’ she said sharply, ‘but in future I expect you to be here when I send for you.’

  ‘In f…future?’ Marina hid her hands in the folds of her drab gown to conceal their sudden trembling.

  ‘Sit down, girl. You are as white as a sheet…and if there is one thing I cannot abide, it is missish young females who swoon at the slightest reverse.�
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  ‘I shall not faint, ma’am,’ said Marina, trying to sound as if she was fully in control of herself. ‘It…it is just that his lordship said I must leave at once. I—’

  ‘His lordship was incensed by your behaviour. Not unnaturally,’ she added, in a voice that tried, but failed, to convey a degree of sympathy with her son’s feelings. ‘But he does not dispute that it is for me to decide whether you shall go or stay.’ Lady Luce gave a tight little smile that made Marina’s heart sink. ‘For the moment, I wish you to stay. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Marina meekly. What on earth was going on? The Dowager had won the battle with her son—that was clear—but why had she bothered to fight?

  ‘Now,’ said the Dowager briskly, ‘there are a number of matters that I must attend to this afternoon.’ She looked disdainfully at Marina’s shabby gown, wrinkling her nose in distaste. ‘The first of them shall be to find you a suitable gown.’

  ‘Ma’am—’

  ‘You are to be ready to accompany me in ten minutes. Do not be late. That is all.’

  There was nothing further to be said. Marina rose quickly, dropped a curtsy to the Dowager’s back, and hurried away to find her bonnet and pelisse.

  ‘Well? Do you, or do you not?’

  Marina came suddenly back to earth. What had the Dowager just said to her? ‘I beg pardon, ma’am. I fear I was wool-gathering. You asked…?’

  ‘I asked, miss, whether you were satisfied with this gown, or whether we must seek another,’ said Lady Luce testily. ‘Well?’

  Marina looked at herself in the glass. It was a very simple muslin gown, totally plain, but in a most becoming shade of pale green. She could not remember when she had ever worn anything but browns and greys, serviceable colours for a young woman who walked, and worked, in all weathers. This was sadly impractical…but she loved it. ‘It is delightful, ma’am, but—’ Marina tore her eyes from her reflection ‘—I fear I cannot afford to buy any gowns at all until I have my first quarter’s wages. And since Lord Luce said I was to leave, I do not think I should—’