by Rakes Reward
‘Balderdash!’ her ladyship declared. ‘You will leave when—and if—I say. And I refuse to have a scullery maid for a companion. What would your cousin, Lady Blaine, say if she saw you?’
‘But Lady Blaine has never laid eyes on me, ma’am, and—’
‘For heaven’s sake, child, will you never learn when to stop protesting? I say you shall have it. And the evening gown also. They are a gift. You will not be required to pay for them.’
‘Oh.’ Marina let out a long sigh. How wonderful. And now she would not have to meet Kit Stratton in her dowdy grey dress. He would not—
What was she thinking of? She was not going to meet that handsome devil at all. Never again. She had made up her mind to that, the moment she left his squalid little love-nest. She would not forfeit her honour, even to save her position with Lady Luce…even to save Mama from penury. It was impossible. Mama would be repelled by the very thought of such a sacrifice.
But Mama need never know.
Marina tried to close her mind against the siren voices trying to lure her to her doom. Mama might never know, but Marina herself would be only too aware of her transgressions. She did not think she would be able to live with herself, no matter how worthy the cause. She—
‘Marina! I am waiting!’ The Dowager was becoming angrier by the minute. This time she was clearly waiting for Marina to change back into her old gown, so that they could leave the modest dressmaker’s that the Dowager had thought appropriate for a penniless cousin of the Viscountess Blaine.
‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. Excuse me. I shall be ready in a very few moments.’
And this time, she was, having ruthlessly suppressed every urge to lapse yet again into wondering about the maybes and might-have-beens of her life.
It was much more difficult during the rest of the afternoon, however, for her ladyship rambled on and on about the places they visited, the people they saw, and the problems of life in London. Marina tried to play her companion’s role. She smiled, she nodded, she murmured agreement at, she hoped, the right moments, but she was not seeing what Lady Luce saw, nor sharing her ladyship’s thoughts. A terrifyingly handsome male face kept intruding into her mind. The skin of her arms and shoulders tingled as though his hands still held her. And her lips felt soft and yielding, waiting for the next brush of—
She groaned.
‘Are you ill, child? You cannot feel faint, surely? Not on account of a short carriage ride and two new gowns.’
Marina forced a smile.
‘I warn you,’ said Lady Luce sternly. ‘If you take to collapsing on me, I shall send you back to Yorkshire, no matter what your noble relations may think.’
This time Marina did not rise to the Dowager’s bait. She remained calm and matter of fact. ‘I have never fainted in my life, ma’am, and I do not intend to start now.’
Marina sank, fully clothed, on to her pillows. Peace at last! The blessed silence wrapped around her like the softest goose-down coverlet. Now she could try to resolve her future, without the Dowager’s never-ceasing commentary on Society life and living.
That was not really fair…and Marina knew it. In more settled circumstances, Lady Luce’s sharp-tongued comments would have been most entertaining but, today, too many of them had been directed at Marina herself. And she had deserved them all. She had never been one for allowing her thoughts to wander into might-have-beens. Indeed, her mother had often said that Marina was too commonsensical for her own good. Here, in London, she was supposed to be a paid companion, anxious for her lady’s comfort, not a day-dreaming fool who had constantly to be recalled to her duty.
It was all Kit Stratton’s fault!
He had disrupted her peace by his scandalous proposals and his even more scandalous behaviour. She had tried all day to banish his image, his voice, his touch…
She had failed. If she closed her eyes now, she could see him still, his beautiful features made sinister by the hard, calculating gaze he was bestowing on her.
She forced her eyes open. The image retreated. She dare not allow herself to sleep lest it come again. She was afraid of what she might do if she permitted Kit Stratton to invade her dreams. Here, waking, she had some shreds of morality to cling to. There, if he took her in his arms again, she might be tempted to forget them all. For just one more taste of those lips…
She jerked upright. Heavens, she was starting to doze. She must not. Not until she had reached her decision.
She sprang up from her bed and began to pace about the room. That was better. Sleep was banished now. She must think, and weigh, and decide.
She could not yield her person to Kit Stratton. It was wicked, and immoral, and against everything she had been taught. A woman should remain pure until she married. She should give herself to her husband alone, in order to bear his children. Marina had seen quite enough of the treatment meted out to fallen women, even in rural Yorkshire. It was a terrible fate.
And it could be hers if she gave herself to Kit Stratton.
He would use her and discard her. He would not suffer—it was the way of the world that men walked free while women bore the burden of both their sins—and he would probably condemn her for yielding to his threats.
And yet the yielding might be so sweet…
She touched her fingers to her lips, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers, the way the heat of him had seemed to light an answering fire in her limbs—
No! She must not! Kit Stratton was a practised seducer, an out-and-out rake. He had known exactly what he was doing to Marina. No doubt he had intended to make her melt in his arms, to welcome his advances. She must not imagine that he had felt anything for her. She was just one more poor gentlewoman to be conquered…and forgotten.
Marina’s pacing was becoming more and more frenzied. She forced herself to stop, holding on to a simple wooden chair for support. She must not permit him to rule her like this. She must find a way of giving him his own again. She must outwit him.
There must be a way. And it must be done soon, before the Dowager’s debt fell due.
She would find a way to best him if she had to spend all night devising it. He had thought to trick her into his bed, had he? Well, she had a trick or two up her sleeve also, and she could play as dishonourable a hand as any man alive.
She had found her solution.
Her father had taught her to cheat at cards. While she had never used her skills for real, she had become most adept. Her father and her uncle had laughed aloud when she trounced them, time and time again, so perfectly that neither of them could ever catch her out. Oh, how carefree they had all been then. She could still see her father’s smiling face and long, lean body, so well suited to the dark green of the rifle brigade. On their last leave, the two men had made much of her, a gawky fourteen-year-old with no pretence to beauty. For those few weeks, she had felt so very special. And then, in the depths of a Yorkshire winter, the terrible news had come. The laughter had disappeared for good from her mother’s eyes. In a single day, Mama had lost her only brother and the husband she loved, but Marina never saw her weep, even when they discovered that Papa’s gambling had left them almost penniless. Mama simply became silent and serious, devoting all her energies to finding a way of supporting her two young children. By calling on all her scholarly abilities, she had succeeded, though it had been hard for them all.
Marina twisted the mourning ring on her finger. It was all she had of her beloved father…apart from his lean looks, and an ability to fuzz the cards. She would use her skills against Kit Stratton, in a way that would have made even her father marvel!
She carried her candle to the little table by the window and sat down, pulling a sheet of paper towards her. She dipped her pen in the standish and wrote the salutation with a firm hand. To Mr Christopher Stratton. Sir…
She stopped, pen poised. What was she to say? He was expecting a letter naming the day for an assignation, not an invitation to a game of cards. And where was it to take place? I
t would be madness to go alone to his Chelsea house—if she wished to leave there with her virtue intact. Perhaps she could challenge him at Méchante’s? She would need to persuade the Dowager to take her there again—and soon—and not to betray that fact that Marina would be writing vowels with no money to back them. Perhaps—
Marina laid down her pen in disgust. Her common sense seemed to have deserted her completely. Was she going out of her mind? There was no way, no way at all, in which she could cheat Kit Stratton out of twelve thousand pounds in the next five days. Not unless she went alone to his house. There, she could—
No. There must be another solution.
She picked up the pen once more and rolled it round in her fingers. They were long, and clever, and—with a little practice to regain their old skills—they could produce a card as from nowhere, but in this case they would not provide the answer. She had been prepared to consider a thoroughly dishonourable course of conduct, in order to avoid even worse dishonour, but—
But there was another way. Less sure, perhaps, but still…
She dipped her pen once more and began to write, pausing now and then over her choice of words. The letter must appear totally innocuous, to anyone other than Kit Stratton. That was vital.
She wrote until, at last, she was sure she had achieved her aim. She sat back in her chair to read her completed letter.
Sir, it began, With reference to our recent discussions, you will appreciate that the property I have to offer is too valuable to be traded, except against payment in advance. I would therefore ask you to forward to me the paper in your possession at your earliest convenience. I will undertake to make all necessary arrangements for the conclusion of our business as soon as I am in receipt of the document in question.
She nodded in satisfaction and added her signature to the sheet. He would not mistake her meaning. Of that, she was sure. He would send the Dowager’s vowel for twelve thousand pounds, expecting Marina—as a woman of her word—to surrender her virtue to him. But she would not.
She could not!
Somehow, once she had the vowel in her possession, she would find a way of depriving Kit Stratton of his prize. The reward for his infamy should not be Marina’s virtue.
Even if she had to behave in a thoroughly dishonourable fashion to achieve it, she would make sure his wicked plans were thwarted. She would begin practising at once to regain her skills with the cards…just in case they were needed.
And she would laugh in his face when she triumphed.
Chapter Eight
Kit looked up, annoyed, as the study door opened. He had given specific orders that he was not to be disturbed.
‘Hugo!’ he cried, his frown clearing immediately. ‘What are you doing back in town? How long do you stay?’ He strode across the room to shake his brother’s hand.
‘A short time only, perhaps a week or two.’ Sir Hugo Stratton smiled enigmatically. ‘Business, Kit,’ he said.
Kit raised an eyebrow. He knew his older brother well enough to recognise that smile. ‘You mean that you have heard about my…er…exploits and wish to satisfy yourself that nothing untoward is afoot. You really ought to stop concerning yourself about me, you know, Hugo. I am well able to look after myself now.’
Hugo laughed. ‘That is what worries me. You do look after yourself. But someone has to look to the family’s reputation, and by all accounts, you are not…’ He stopped suddenly and put a friendly hand on Kit’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t you tell me what has been happening since last I saw you?’
Kit nodded. In this mood, his brother would not be thwarted. It was easier just to give in gracefully. ‘I will. Just give me a moment to finish this letter.’ He sat down at his desk again and set about folding and sealing the papers he had been working on when Hugo arrived. ‘Pull the bell, will you, Hugo? I must send this off.’
The door opened just as Kit rose with the thick letter in his hand. ‘See that this is delivered this afternoon,’ he said, handing it to the butler. ‘And make sure that the messenger remains anonymous.’ The butler bowed impassively and withdrew.
‘Can’t afford to let the good Baron know the source of his wife’s correspondence, can you?’ commented Hugo wryly. ‘I should do the same in your shoes, I suppose.’
Kit grinned. ‘I might have known you would have heard about Katharina. How do you do it? You are supposed to be buried in the country.’
Hugo laid a finger along his nose and tapped twice. ‘Family secret,’ he said, failing to keep the amusement out of his voice. ‘As head of the family, I have to have some advantages, you know.’
Kit shook his head resignedly and moved to pick up the heavy crystal decanter. ‘I collect that Emma’s formidable aunt has been gossiping again. Might I ask what tales she has told you this time?’
‘You are too sharp for your own good sometimes, Kit,’ replied Hugo, taking a glass of madeira and settling himself in the armchair opposite Kit’s mahogany desk. ‘You are right, of course. Emma’s Aunt Warenne has been keeping us up to date. She says that your Baroness is a diamond of the first water. And that she has a remarkably possessive husband.’ Hugo looked questioningly at his brother.
‘There is no need to worry, Hugo. He is possessive, I grant you, but he is a very poor shot.’
Hugo choked over his madeira.
‘Do take care, brother,’ said Kit impudently. ‘I really have no desire to take over your role as head of the family, even temporarily.’
‘By all accounts, you are unlikely to live long enough to do so,’ replied Hugo. ‘Even your possessive Baron could have a lucky shot, you know. I can understand that you wished to make her your mistress in Vienna, but it is bound to be much more dangerous to continue the liaison here in London. As a diplomat, the Baron has a very great deal to lose.’
‘True,’ said Kit. Hugo was clearly waiting for him to say something more, but Kit kept all his attention on his glass.
With a sigh, Hugo continued, ‘The on dit is that, since it took you almost a twelvemonth to seduce her from the path of virtue, you were unwilling to give up the spoils when her husband was called to London.’
Kit said nothing. He continued to savour his madeira.
‘I take it that the Baroness was the reason you would not return to England after John’s death?’
Kit swirled the wine in his glass. ‘She seemed to be…unaccountably attached to her virtue for a considerable time after I returned from the funeral,’ he said at last. ‘I am glad to say that she has tired of it now.’
‘Does it never occur to you, Kit, that seducing virtuous matrons is…is wicked?’
Kit tried to stifle a chortle.
‘Yes, very well, perhaps that was a rather melodramatic way to put it, but… Let me tell you, Kit, that if any man tried to seduce Emma, I should put a bullet in him without a moment’s thought.’
Kit looked up. One corner of his mouth tugged into a slightly mocking smile. ‘But I’d wager your Emma would never be seduced. That’s the difference, you see, Hugo. Katharina’s seduction was long and drawn out because she enjoyed the chase. Make no mistake, she had decided almost at the outset that she would succumb…eventually. Fortunately, I was the only one to see that. Most of the Embassy fellows were sure she was virtue incarnate. Wagered I’d never succeed with her. She won me a tidy sum, I’m delighted to say.’
‘How very calculating that sounds,’ said Hugo, with obvious distaste. ‘But if she means nothing to you, why did you follow her to London?’
‘Because it suited my other plans. If Society was convinced I was deep in love with the beautiful Baroness, the tabbies were unlikely to dwell on what else I might have in mind. I prefer my…er…victims to be taken unawares.’
Hugo laughed shortly. ‘And she was, I collect. To the tune of twelve thousand pounds. Was that not a bit steep, Kit? She won only five from you, after all.’
‘True,’ said Kit evenly, ‘but five years of exile adds a great deal to the debt, in my opinion
. I think twelve thousand would be a fair settlement.’
‘Would be?’ queried Hugo. ‘You don’t say Lady Luce will not pay?’
‘Cannot? Will not? What does it matter? I am sure that she cannot pay without calling on her son for help. And he is far from willing to support her gambling. All London knows that. On the other hand, how would it look if he—?’
‘If he left her hanging in the wind?’ finished Hugo. ‘We all know the answer to that. No one would receive either of them. Luce can’t allow that to happen, not with his top-lofty shrew of a wife. She would make his life a misery, without a doubt. Never met a woman so devilish high in the instep. Or one with so little cause.’
‘One of the dangers of parson’s mousetrap, Hugo,’ said Kit.
Hugo shook his head despairingly at his brother. ‘Not if you marry a woman who loves you, Kit. Don’t you think you—?’
Kit rose quickly from his seat and headed for the door before the conversation could take an even more unwelcome turn. He should never have mentioned marriage in the first place. ‘I’ve arranged to meet some friends at the club,’ he said lightly. ‘I take it you will accompany me? If we don’t leave now, we shall be late.’
Hugo cast his eyes up to the ceiling, but he did not try to pursue the topic any further. Kit was relieved. He had the greatest of respect for his brother, and he certainly did not wish to be at outs with him. On the other hand, if Hugo continued to drop these heavy hints about marriage…and love…
Women! They created nothing but problems!
Struck by a sudden thought, Kit wrenched open the door and called impatiently for his butler. ‘That letter I gave you,’ he said sharply, before the man had time to catch his breath. ‘Have you despatched it yet?’
