by Rakes Reward
‘But you cannot!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am not your— Oh, heavens! Look at me!’ She put her hands to her hair, desperately trying to put it into some kind of order. ‘I must go back to Lady Luce’s house…where I belong. I must… Oh, what will she think of me? How shall I ever explain?’
Kit pushed the ruined stockings under the seat where Marina could not see them. ‘You will tell her the truth,’ he said, with emphasis. ‘Or I shall. You ran out to save a life.’
‘But I—’
‘And you succeeded. You are a very brave woman, Marina Beaumont.’
Kit looked his fill at her. She was flushed with passion—and now with embarrassment, too. She was so beautiful, he caught his breath.
A sharp rap on the roof brought him back to earth. It took him a moment to realise that they were no longer moving. He let down the glass and stuck his head out. ‘Why have we stopped?’
‘We are at Fitzwilliam House, y’r honour,’ said Hugo respectfully.
‘Are we, indeed? Well, turn this blasted carriage round and take the lady home.’
‘Home, y’r honour?’ Hugo queried.
‘Yes. Back to the Dowager’s house. The abduction has been postponed.’
Kit insisted on carrying Marina into the Dowager’s house. His long dark coat was wrapped around her to protect her modesty from the servants’ prying eyes, but there was no disguising the fact that her hair had come down and her feet were bare. He could almost feel her shame as he carried her up to the drawing room.
The Dowager had not yet returned.
‘I could carry you up to your bedchamber,’ he said.
‘No!’ It was almost a scream. ‘It is bad enough that you have carried me here. I— Put me down, sir. And then, please leave.’
So that was to be the way of it. Well, it was time she learned otherwise. ‘Marina, I will leave when you promise to stop behaving like an idiot.’ He lowered her gently into a wing chair. ‘What is the matter with you?’
‘Lady Stratton said that your engagement to Miss Blaine was at an end. Is…is that true?’ She was staring at her hands again.
‘How could you think otherwise? After all, you were the one who secured my release, with those clever hands of yours. I don’t believe I have thanked you for that.’ He bowed formally. ‘A woman like Tilly Blaine would drive a man to murder, you know. I need a woman who knows the value of silence—’
‘Oh,’ she sighed.
‘And courage. My wife must—’
The door was thrown open. ‘Good God!’ exclaimed the Dowager. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were—’ She turned and waved the butler away. Then she tottered across the room and almost fell into her chair.
Marina attempted to rise. ‘Are you all right, ma’am? You—’
Kit pressed Marina back into her chair with a firm hand on her shoulder. ‘Stay where you are. I will see to her.’ He poured a generous measure of brandy and put it into the old lady’s shaking hand. ‘Drink this, ma’am. You will feel better for it.’
The Dowager, it seemed, needed no prompting from Kit. She tossed it off and immediately held out her empty glass to be refilled. With the second measure, however, she sipped in a more ladylike fashion, using her free hand to straighten her wig. ‘That’s better,’ she announced.
Kit grinned across at Marina. His cynical mask had vanished, replaced by open delight…and love. Marina felt her insides melting at the intimacy of it. That icy husk around her heart—how vainly she had worked to nurture it!—had disappeared in the glowing warmth of his response. And he had talked of his wife… No, it was impossible.
‘I suppose your being here would account for it,’ said the old lady suddenly, setting down her glass.
‘I’m afraid I do not quite… Account for what, precisely, ma’am?’ Kit asked tersely.
Marina could see that Kit was determined to control his temper. He was finding it difficult.
‘For your being here,’ Lady Luce repeated. ‘If you’re here, you can’t be there, can you? And that would account for it.’
The old lady was definitely rattled this time. She was talking in riddles. ‘Did something happen, ma’am?’ Marina asked gently. ‘At your card party?’
The Dowager nodded a little shakily. ‘Went to Méchante’s after all. Some ruffians arrived. They were demanding money from Méchante. Apparently, for services she had arranged.’ She cast a very scornful look in Kit’s direction. ‘I collect that they failed in their task. Naturally, she refused to pay, so they started to break up the house. Made a pretty good fist of it, too. It will cost her a small fortune to put all to rights.’
‘Were you hurt, ma’am?’ Kit asked quietly.
Marina realised that he was genuinely concerned. He knew, at first hand, that any one of those bruisers could have broken the Dowager’s bones at a touch.
The Dowager shook her head. Then she gave a choke of laughter. ‘Méchante was, though. They misliked the way she tried to order them out. She will be more than a little bruised tomorrow. Black eye, too, I dare say.’
Marina caught her breath, and then sighed. Perhaps Lady Marchant had received no more than she deserved.
‘And you think I am well served, too, eh? Don’t you?’ added the Dowager tartly.
Kit said nothing. He was looking at Marina.
The Dowager appeared not to have noticed. ‘Well, perhaps you are right. I had rather hoped those devils would change your looks, but…having seen them in action, I admit I was wrong to…’ She pushed herself up from her chair. ‘I want to go to bed. You, sir, should not be here. You must leave. Pull the bell.’
Kit did so and then politely offered her his arm. ‘I had understood, ma’am,’ he said quietly, ‘that, even under your stern rules, a betrothed couple were permitted to be alone together.’
Lady Luce’s gasp was so loud that it drowned out Marina’s. For probably the only time in her life, the Dowager was totally at a loss for words. And as for Marina…
He led the Dowager towards the door. ‘You should know that Miss Beaumont has done me the honour of agreeing to be my wife, ma’am. But I know you have had a distressing evening. Tomorrow will suffice for your congratulations. Marina will be removing to Fitzwilliam House in the morning. You will be very welcome to call on her there.’
‘Kit! You—!’
‘Later, Marina, my love. Later. Do not embarrass Lady Luce with such shameless protestations of affection. She needs her rest.’ He smiled over his shoulder at her, but his expression was quite serious again by the time he had turned back to Lady Luce and her hovering abigail. ‘Goodnight, ma’am,’ he said, bowing. ‘Sleep well.’
He closed the door firmly on them and returned to Marina. She was bristling. Again. She probably had cause.
‘If I had been able, Kit Stratton, I should have run across the room and slapped that stupid smile from your arrogant face. How could you say such things?’
He tried to look sheepish. She was not deceived. She laughed. It was the glorious, joyous sound he had longed to hear. ‘You are a rogue, sir, as well as a rake. And I have not agreed to marry you. You—’
He reached for her and drew her into his arms. Then he kissed her, thoroughly, until she had stopped resisting. ‘Now, Marina, I am going to send for hot water and towels to bathe your feet and you, my sweet, are not going to protest. Indeed, you may sing to me while I see to your hurts. After that, I shall carry you up to your room—’
‘No!’
‘Accompanied, for propriety’s sake, by one of the maids. Tomorrow, you will remove to Fitzwilliam House while I make arrangements to convey you home to Yorkshire and—’
‘Stop, stop! You are impossible, Kit Stratton. I will not permit you to order my life like a…a…’ She could not think of a suitably insulting description of his high-handed behaviour. And she did not really wish to try very hard. Not now, when there were more important things to be said. ‘Besides, I have not said that I love you. Or that I will marry you—’
‘But
you do, don’t you?’ he said, planting tiny kisses on the side of her neck until she melted into his arms once more. ‘And you will.’
‘Only if you love me,’ she whispered.
‘To distraction,’ he said and found her lips.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3994-4
RAKE’S REWARD
First North American Publication 2004
Copyright © 2003 by Joanna Maitland
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