How to Ruin a Reputation (Rakes Beyond Redemption)

by Bronwyn Scott

  He came to her, gloriously naked and brazen. He drew her into his arms, the hard length of his phallus pressing against her unabashedly. There was no pretence or modesty between them. The bed was at her back, she could feel it against her knees. He urged her on to it and straddled her, his haunches taking his weight. He looked like an American native in the firelight as he rose above her with his dark hair framing his face.

  ‘You’re beautiful, Neva,’ he whispered hoarsely and she revelled in the power of knowing she could trigger this depth of desire in a man who could have any woman. She was Eve in that moment, or perhaps Lilith.

  His mouth found her bare breast, sucking and coaxing her nipple into erect hardness. She arched against him, her body begging for more, begging for the intuitive release that lay beyond even this pleasure.

  He moved his mouth to her navel and feathered it with a breath. ‘If we had wine, I could show you a trick,’ he murmured, his breath warm and arousing on the surface of her skin. She shuddered delightfully. Just the mere decadence of the suggestion was enough to set her on desire’s edge.

  Her hands stroked the muscled length of his back, cupping his buttocks, urging him to that most private place between her legs. At last he came, the moist tip of his phallus nudging at her entrance, his knee spreading her legs wider still for him and she welcomed him. There was more they might have done, more play they might have had, but they were ready for each other and the dance had gone on long enough for tonight.

  He rose and thrust and she took him in with a cry that bordered on joyous. He thrust again and again and she joined him in the rhythm his body created within her. Her hips rose to match him, her legs wrapped about him, holding him, her hands raking his back in abandon. He was fierce in his possession, their desire riding him hard, and she met it equally. They were in the throes of a magnificent madness. Suddenly the madness crested and then it broke all around her, shattering into a million fragments of desire achieved and passion spent.

  Ashe lay beside her, unquestionably as depleted as she. His breathing was ragged and his skin held the sheen of sweat in the firelight. She rested her head against the strength of his shoulder, their breathing slowing at last. And then, without words, she slept.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As a rule, Ashe hated mornings. They were bright and littered with realities. This morning was no different. He stretched and waited for the regrets to flood with the sunlight, but none came. He waited for his mind to chastise; he’d allowed himself to get caught up in sentiment last night. Beside him, Genevra slept soundly, no doubt exhausted by the evening activities. He’d taken her again twice more in the night, the last right before dawn.

  He should feel something, but he felt nothing of the usual recriminations, only an alien sense of deep contentment such as he had felt in the library. Only this time, it was far more intense. He also felt a sense of resolve. It was the sense of resolve that propelled him out of bed. Alex was waiting, counting on him to return. Ashe made a quick toilette and dressed before waking Genevra. He would slip downstairs and arrange for the carriage, giving her the privacy of the room to make her morning ablutions.

  Ashe sat on the side of the bed, pushing back her tousled hair to wake her. Even in sleep, she was a beauty beyond compare. ‘Neva, we must get up.’ She moaned a little at the intrusion. He was tempted to let her sleep, but decided against it. He wanted her with him. If Dr Lawrence tried to forcibly prevent Alex from leaving, Ashe wouldn’t have time to stop by the inn and pick Genevra up.

  Genevra stretched and rolled on to her back, the sheet slipping to reveal the swell of a breast. His body hardened. If there hadn’t been the business with Alex this morning, he’d gladly have slid back into bed. But the sooner he dealt with Alex’s situation, the better. What else might Alex tell him if put to the question?

  How much of it would be driven by the paranoia of his condition and how much of it was real? He kissed Genevra’s brow with a final admonition to get up and went downstairs before his body could launch an effective counter-argument.

  *

  Alex was dressed for the day and having breakfast when they arrived. Dr Lawrence had not been pleased to see them, nor had he been pleased with Ashe’s request for a private meeting after the visit. But Alex had been ecstatic over his return and that he’d brought Genevra. They pulled up chairs to the table and the three of them sat down to a breakfast of tea and pastries.

  ‘We have something to tell you,’ Genevra began after they’d all fixed their plates. Alex looked up from his food with interest and wariness.

  ‘I hope it’s not more bad news. The aunts are all fine, aren’t they?’

  Ashe was pleased by the response. Alex remembered everyone, was able to be concerned about them. Alex had always been alert to the needs of those around him. Such a quality would have made him a grand earl.

  Genevra reached out a comforting hand. ‘It’s nothing like that. They’re fine. It’s good news, actually. Ashe and I are getting married just as soon as we can and we’d like you to be with us for the wedding.’

  ‘You’re taking me home.’ The emotion of the simple statement nearly broke Ashe. He’d come as soon as he could. There’d been so much to do right away at the estate. But he wished he’d come sooner—the books, the will, the bills, the garden, even courting Genevra, be damned.

  Ashe stood up and walked to the window to gather himself. He let Genevra chat with Alex about the aunts and Bedevere and the plans for the garden. When his emotions were under control he returned to the table.

  ‘Congratulations, brother.’ Alex’s eyes sparkled with genuine affection. ‘Finally, there’s a woman who can settle you down.’ He winked at Genevra. ‘Has he told you all about his wild escapades in Italy or how he held Vienna in thrall with his piano playing? He even performed at Schonbrunn Palace.’

  Genevra shook her head in mock seriousness. ‘He has neglected to mention much of that to me. But he has played for me at Seaton Hall. He is magnificent.’

  ‘I’m standing right here, you know,’ Ashe put in. Alex meant well with his stories, but Ashe didn’t want him to tell too many. That was all in the past and not all of it was as rosy as Alex painted it.

  Genevra tossed him a smile and moved towards the window. ‘I’ll give the two of you a moment to talk.’

  ‘Alex, do you know why you’re here?’ Ashe asked, taking his seat again.

  Alex set down his cup and sighed, hanging his head. ‘I am not well, Ashe. They tell me on occasion I am given to bouts of paranoia and despondency where I don’t talk to anyone and I think everyone is conspiring against me.’

  Ashe leaned forwards. ‘Is now one of those occasions? Do you think you’re in your right mind?’

  Alex held his gaze with solemn dark eyes. ‘Yes, I am absolutely in my right mind for the time being. But I never know when an episode of madness might come upon me. That’s why I must stay here.’

  Ashe’s heart cracked at the admission. His brother had always been so confident, so certain of himself. Now, he was shadow of that former self. ‘Henry says you are a danger to yourself and to others.’

  ‘Ha! Henry. What does he know? He says and does whatever is best for Henry.

  You know that.’ For a moment Ashe glimpsed the old fire.

  ‘Henry said there was an incident with a firearm.’

  Alex snorted at this, very much like his former self when Henry would challenge him with absurd untruths in their youth. ‘It was hardly an incident. If I’d known what he’d make of it, I’d have shot him then and there and saved all of us the trouble. Next time I will.’

  The fire of his statement riveted Ashe. ‘What trouble would that be?’ Was this paranoia speaking or a genuine plot being uncovered?

  Alex leaned towards him across the table. ‘The trouble over Bedevere. Who is to rule Bedevere if I am unable? They call me the earl and I suppose nothing can change that except my death. That doesn’t serve Henry. He can commandeer Bedevere as a trustee
as long as I live. Heaven forbid I die, then you’re the earl and Henry loses all claims.’

  ‘Bedevere is broke—why does Henry want it at all?’

  Alex lowered his voice. ‘It’s for the coal. He believes he’ll mine Bedevere and make a fortune. I found out right before I got ill. He’s spent two years amassing investors and biding his time.’

  ‘And the Forsyth scandal?’ Ashe’s suspicions were on high alert. The coincidences were starting to mount. Very soon, he’d have another look at the books. Maybe with Alex’s memories to fill in the gaps, the odd entries would start to make sense.

  Alex shook his head. ‘Dr Lawrence says that must have been my first fit, although no one realised it. I have no recollection of ever having authorised those investments. I had the running of the household. Father was unable to do much of anything. It’s my signature on the receipts, but I don’t recall having done it.’

  The eyes that held Ashe’s were serious, earnest and entirely sane. How could he doubt his brother?

  Suddenly Alex grabbed his forearm. ‘Ashe, you do believe me? You are taking me home for good, not just for the wedding?’ The gesture stank of desperation and Ashe’s hopes fell. How was he to know if these were the ramblings of a man who needed care or a man who’d been marginalised and pushed out of the way by a scheming cousin who coveted his estate?

  It didn’t matter. Alex had never failed him. Ashe owed him this. Ill or not, Alex was coming home. Ashe covered Alex’s hand with his own and bowed his head until their dark heads met across the little table. ‘You’re walking out of here with me today. I promise. The Earl of Audley belongs at Bedevere.’ Then he called to Genevra, ‘It’s time to go. Take Alex straight to the carriage. I’ll settle things with Dr Lawrence.’

  *

  The interview with Dr Lawrence did not go well. Lawrence was visibly upset by the decision to remove Alex. He made all the usual arguments: Alex needed care, he needed doctors, one never knew when a fit might take him, he was a danger to himself. Ashe met each of them with a sharp emerald gaze and crossed arms.

  In the end, Ashe simply said, ‘Who pays your bills? Mr Bennington?’ Dr Lawrence paled at the mention of that particular fact. It had been a logical but lucky guess. Ashe pressed his advantage. ‘If so, I doubt you’d want those monies scrutinised. If I looked too closely, I might discover something much akin to bribery in those payments.’

  That silenced him. Ashe smiled coldly. ‘I thought as much.’ He also thought the terrified Dr Lawrence would have a letter posted to Henry within minutes of their departure. The other concern was whether or not Dr Lawrence would recover some modicum of courage such as it was and try to stop their departure from the city. For both those reasons, Ashe wanted to be well away with all haste.

  He joined Genevra and Alex in the carriage and gave the signal to be off. If their leave-taking resembled a getaway more than a departure, so be it. Ashe didn’t trust Dr Lawrence any further than he could throw his knife and that was about twenty feet.

  *

  The trip home was blessedly uneventful. Alex sat in relative silence, drawn carefully into conversation by Genevra. She chatted of the improvements being made at Bedevere, of Ashe’s plans for the gardens and of the aunts’ new designs for the summer fairs. Occasionally he would nod and smile, but for the most part he held himself rigid as if his good fortune would be shattered at any moment.

  Ashe watched them both: the woman he’d marry and the brother who needed him. What an odd family he was assembling. After years without one, he now had a family of ageing aunts, an ailing brother and an American bride. A very odd assortment indeed. Each in their own way were counting on him. He wouldn’t have it any other way. A primal desire to protect rose in him. With Alex coming home, everyone who was entitled to that protection would be under one roof: his. He would not let them down.

  *

  Henry was waiting for them when they arrived in the late afternoon. They’d no more than pulled into the drive than Henry was down the steps, livid with rage.

  Ashe grimaced as he stepped down from the carriage. He could guess the source of Henry’s fury. Henry hadn’t been there the night he’d announced his betrothal.

  ‘What were you thinking to take Genni with you?’ he thundered the moment Ashe’s feet touched the gravelled drive. ‘Have you no sense of decorum? People will talk. She will be ruined.’

  ‘We are to be married, cousin. No one will mind if we travelled together for Genevra to pick up a few essentials for the wedding.’ Ashe could not resist a cold smile as he delivered the news. He reached into the carriage to hand Genevra down. ‘Do wish us well.’

  ‘I cannot believe you left with nothing but a maid,’ Henry charged Genevra.

  ‘And my clothes,’ Genevra said just to be perverse. The spirit of her made Ashe laugh, but he could feel her grip on his arm tighten under the furious look Henry gave her.

  Henry was scandalised. ‘Genni!’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Henry, it was hardly a holiday,’ she scolded lightly. Ashe knew what the brave front cost her. Just days ago, Henry had tried to force his attentions upon her. She would not soon forget or forgive the imposition. If Henry didn’t voluntarily leave Bedevere before supper, Ashe would ‘suggest’ it.

  His protection started now.

  Ashe glared at Henry. He might have banished Henry right then if Alex hadn’t intervened. ‘It seems I am one of those wedding essentials,’ Alex said congenially, stepping down on his own. ‘It’s good to see you, Henry.’

  Henry’s anger over Genevra was nothing compared to the pale rage on his face when Alex emerged. He’d not expected that, Ashe thought.

  ‘What have you done?’ Henry turned his anger back to Ashe.

  ‘I have brought my brother home where he belongs,’ Ashe said sternly. ‘If I were you, I’d be more concerned about what you’ve done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to see my brother settled.’

  *

  Ashe was intoxicating like this, Genevra thought quietly, making her way to her borrowed chambers at Bedevere, all his authority unleashed as it had been the first day she’d seen him. She would let the family settle Alex. She had thoughts of her own to settle and she needed distance from Ashe’s potent sensuality. Her room at Bedevere was the best she could manage. There was no question of going to Seaton Hall. Henry’s gaze this afternoon had been venomous. She didn’t want to be caught alone and Henry’s recent behaviours suggested he wasn’t beyond such tactics.

  Whether she wanted it or not, Ashe’s protection was becoming very necessary.

  But it came with risks of

  it own.

  Up until last night she’d believed she could have her fantasy with Ashe and remain detached. She would satisfy her curiosity and nothing more. It was becoming more difficult to do that in practice.

  She had not guessed they would share something so monumental between them not once, but twice. Nor had she guessed the depths of loyalty he carried.

  Bringing home his brother was not the action of a man who thought only of himself and his pleasure. It was not the first time she’d glimpsed this about him.

  But his choice with Alex had certainly solidified that such behaviour was not an anomaly. It would be easier if it was.

  It would be far easier if Ashe Bedevere had turned out to be precisely the man she’d thought he was: a rake, a gambler, a seducer of women. Instead he’d turned out to be something far worse; he turned out to be a man she could love. That could make for a disastrous, lopsided marriage. Ashe had made it clear he would protect her and pleasure her, but he’d never promised he’d love her.

  *

  Still, there were small things to be thankful for. Ashe informed her as they went into supper that Henry had left the premises on a more permanent basis. Supper was a simple meal, but one full of celebration. Henry was gone, Alex had returned and a wedding loomed on the near-horizon.

  *

  By the end of dinner, the aunts and Ashe had de
cided it should take place on Friday, just two days away. Such haste was probably best, Genevra concurred.

  There was no need for lots of plans. The family was in mourning and she and Ashe knew what the wedding really was even if the rest of the family didn’t: a convenient merger. Such an alliance didn’t need to be heralded with ribbons and roses and other wedding fripperies. She would send to Seaton Hall for a good dress she had in mind for the occasion and that would be the extent of her preparations.

  The happy little group adjourned to the music room where Ashe played for them on the old Broadwood piano while the aunts chattered excitedly about Bedevere weddings past. Genevra listened to their tales with half an ear. She was more interested in the man who played the piano. What was it that Alex had said today? Ashe had played at Schonbrunn? It occurred to her she could ask Alex for more of the story, but that seemed hypocritical. If she wanted to know, she should ask Ashe himself, especially after her tirade over Ashe’s investigation of her background.

  Alex rose and went to the piano. Genevra followed his movements with her eyes. He murmured something to Ashe. Ashe stopped playing and shuffled through the sheet music until he found what he was looking for. Genevra was aware of Leticia setting aside her needlework in expectation.

  ‘The boys are going to sing like they used to,’ she said in an excited whisper, nudging Melisande and the others to the attention. ‘Alexander has a lovely tenor.’

  What followed was grand fun. Ashe and Alex entertained the group with lively songs that made the aunts laugh and they closed with a sad rendition of ‘Barbary Allen’ that left a tear in the aunts’ eyes. Even Genevra found herself wiping at wet eyes as the last notes faded. Ashe’s gaze caught her out as they all rose for bed.

  Their eyes met and held and Genevra understood. He would come to her soon.

  Chapter Nineteen