The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 4 (The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Sets)

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  She looked up at his snowy white shirt and stock, the silver brocade waistcoat and matching cravat. The only thing marring his perfect evening garb was the absence of gloves on his huge and capable but also very sensitive-looking hands. Other than that, he was so splendid, she was sure he would have put Beau Brummel to shame.

  She risked another peep at his eyes. They were easily his most magnificent attribute, a deep dark blue reminiscent of lapis lazuli, with some lighter and darker blue flecks interspersed. She had the odd sensation of them being both shadowy and candid.

  Here was a man with secrets, pain, she reflected. She tried to pull herself away from that chain of thought before it took her places she didn't want to go with this man, of all people. Her prospective employer, she reminded herself, if he was indeed the Earl.

  They continued to stare at one another assessingly in a silence strangely unawkward for a moment longer, until at last he coaxed, "Please, do sit, Miss Drake, and take some more tea."

  She stammered her thanks, feeling more and more draw to him, to his energies, his umbra, his shadow self that simmered just below his dazzlingly handsome surface.

  Her 'gift', as the wise women of her district had told her, was both a blessing and a curse.

  Isolde did not want to read this rake. He was to be her employer. He was no doubt married, and thus committed elsewhere. She certainly did not want to have such intimate contact with a man who was so far above her in every respect.

  Still, the fact that she was able to read him at all was a good thing. Since her family troubles had come upon them, her odd sixth sense had left her. She'd been unable to focus for more than a minute, to sense anything. It was as if all around her were dark, and she were living in some sort of cocoon just waiting to burst into the light.

  Except that it had been nothing but darkness in the end. After the scandal had broke, Father had died suddenly, leaving their estate in chaos and them without a penny until matters could be looked into properly.

  She reminded herself of that series of unfortunate events as she tore her eyes away from the feast of the senses that stood before her.

  She was here to beg for a job, not ogle the man like he was the main course at a banquet.

  Yet she couldn't seem to open her mouth to explain her boldness in coming here at this time of evening, without even having changed her travelling clothes.

  Even more mortfying than her shy silence was the the fact that the remarkable lapis eyes were gazing at her appreciatively in a way which made her acutely aware, almost for the first time, of the fact that she was a woman.

  At the same time, there was a deep-seated wariness such as she saw on some men's faces when they were playing cards, or meeting business acquaintances for the first time, and sizing up their potential partners. Or adversaries.

  For some reason he felt her to be a challenge and was trying to assess her, she sensed. She ought to have been insulted at the way he was looking at her. Instead she grew more flustered. Really, had he no shame? Ogling her so boldly?

  But perhaps she was misreading him. After all, he had every reason to find out more about her if she was to be employed in his household and charged with looking after someone he cared about. It was a position of great trust and delicacy, after all. She could only imagine how many people importuned the Earl for favors every day. She was just one amongst many. Perhaps she was more desperate than most, but by no means would she be a novelty for him.

  She only hoped his stare didn't mean he had already made up her mind that she would not be equal to the tasks of the position.

  But before she could follow that chain of thought, her special sense flapped at the edge of her consciousness, rising up so forcefully it could not be denied. She had a vision of a lovely raven-haired youth, a sandy-haired young man, an alluring young woman with hair like spun flax and eyes like ice.

  Then there was a horse, screams, and blackness. Not just blackness, a deep pit. She saw a stable block, and a blinding flash of red.

  She could feel the heat, hear the alarmed screech of horses. She sensed a dark figure, cold, scuttling... An icy hand closing around her neck.

  The last sensation was so real she started. One hand flew to her throat as she gasped aloud. Except that the Earl was still a good six feet away from her, uttering some meaningless pleasantry or another. He couldn't possibly have touched her.

  She blinked, and a black and red aura swirled around him now. She could see it as clearly as the teacup she was clenching so hard in her hand that it almost broke.

  The swirl of energy was so powerful, she wondered how he could bear it. She was so terrified for him she nearly shrieked. She had had readings before, but never ever so disturbing as this.

  Was THIS why she had come-not just for the job, but to help him, and his family? To save him? Had Fate sent her here to save them both?

  At this incredible notion Isolde blinked and swayed. Randall moved quickly to catch her by the elbows before she fell to the floor.

  He grinned in mild amusement, thinking it part of the game, the demure woman overpowered by masculine force. Except he hadn't even said anything even remotely suggestive, let alone touched her.

  Ah, but mayhap that was the game, to get him to touch her, the better to draw him in, he guessed.

  Yet it was Isolde who felt like the moth drawn to the flame as the heat of his hands scorched right through the thin sleeves of her summer-weight black woollen gown as he held her upright.

  Isolde let herself be held for a moment lest a struggle sprawl her out on the Turkey carpet. She forced herself to breathe evenly trying to dispel the images, which filled her field of vision and echoed her ears. The scream of the black stallion as it went over the embankment and... Well, it was nothing she would ever forget.

  She started to step sideways to the door, trying not to make a scene, but certainly unwilling to stay no matter how desperate she was for the post. Chauncey had sent her here. There was something wrong with all of this, she just needed time to piece it all together.

  Yet the Earl certainly did not look dangerous in the least as he stooped to pour for her.

  He almost sloshed the tea everywhere in his clumsy efforts to concentrate, when all the while he could barely take his eyes off her face. The Cytherean was the most spectacular-looking woman he had ever seen, with her auburn hair, flawless complexion, and wide blue eyes.

  Her face was a perfect oval, with high slanting cheekbones and brows, long lashes, a dainty nose and full ruby-red lips. She looked far too delicate for the life she was being forced to lead, for all she was pretending to be the Eternal Virgin.

  "You will forgive me if the house is not quite as you would wish. Things have been very difficult since my mother fell ill. You have evidently had a long, cold journey, judging from your spattered garments. Please, come closer to sit by the fire. I can send out for something hot to eat-"

  "No, no food, thank you. Your servant has been most kind." She blushed as the recollection that she had actually stuffed her reticule with the sandwiches and small pasties she had not already eaten, and all that was left were some pastries, and a few crumbs on the upper plate of the small stack she had created to as not to appear as though she ate like a cart horse.

  "Then please sit and enjoy your cup of tea."

  "Tay?" she echoed, her brows drawing down.

  "My old friend from school Lawrence is a tea trader, and I have it on his good authority that that's the way it is pronounced in the Far East."

  "I see. Fascinating. Imagine seeing so many wonders."

  "Though I hear the heat can be quite oppressive."

  "It sounds like heaven after this spate rather dire wintry weather we've been forced to endure," she said with a little shiver.

  "Then sit closer to the fire and warm your hands around this cup," he said, handing it to her carefully.

  "Thank you. But really, I should be pouring," she protested mildly.

  "Not at all. You're my guest, an
d I know the house is rather manorial, but I'm not quite so hidebound as my poor father was."

  The heat of the fire and his warm regard made her feel as though she were melting. Now that he was being so kind, and initiating a conversation, he did not seem so overpowering after all.

  "So you are in fact the Earl of Hazelmere?" she asked quietly, halting in her sidling attempt to escape without fleeing headlong.

  "Yes, I have that distinction, though sadly as a result of my father's passing."

  "I see. I am sorry."

  She pushed her strange visions to one side in order to focus on the matter at hand, getting the job she so desperately needed to help her family. They had to come first, no matter what feelings she had for the Earl of Hazelmere.

  She knew she looked young, but her skills which she had acquired at the women's clinic at Bethnal Green for the past two years were really quite substantial.

  "Now, come and sit, and take your ease. I can vouch for Cook's pastries," he said, commenting on the contents of the only plate she hadn't cleaned. "They literally melt in your mouth." He kissed his fingers. "I have had the privilege of tasting the finest cuisine in Paris after the war, but nothing in even the gastronomic capital of the world could rival those madeleines."

  "Yes, I had noticed," she admitted with a shy smile. "They are delicious. Thank you for your hospitality, and for seeing me at such short notice. I'm sure you're a busy man and-"

  "You know the old adage about all work and no play," he said with a wave of one hand. "Now is the time to play."

  "Though I hope I might be able to ease your burden with regard to work as well," she ventured timidly, moving closer to the chair she had been sitting in.

  My, but she was good, he decided, taking her appearance in from top to toe. She looked almost as though in mourning, in unrelieved black, which set off her coloring to perfection. She looked a bit thin, but was certainly rounded in all the right places.

  What a blooming little flower.... Perhaps Tubby and the others were not exaggerating after all...

  He thought about his own decision to play a role this evening, that of the carefree man about town, so he poured a second cup for himself, and sat back to enjoy the game.

  "And what would you like to do to er, ease my burdens," he drawled, gazing at her from beneath hooded lids.

  "I would not dare to presume to offer an opinion, my lord, until I knew more about your circumstances," she said modestly, lowering her eyes as she lowered herself once more into the chair.

  She was good, he had to admit. The downcast eyes, the simple hairstyle, lack of jewellery or any cosmetics, were all perfect. She really did look like a wide-eyed ingenue. Especially with the way she kept trying to peep at his face when she thought he wasn't looking.

  Well, if he could not tell by looks, he could most certainly tell by the way she responded to him physically. He would make an advance, she would respond like a practiced woman, and he would catch her out. Or have her, as the common parlance went, and at that thought, he began to feel the most intense excitement start to build.

  "My circumstances are that ever since I have become earl, I've been in a most desperate plight."

  "Oh?" she said with undisguised sympathy.

  "Indeed," he said, nodding. "I get so little pleasure throughout the day, and the nights are even longer without some, well, diversion."

  She nodded. "I understand. All your cares and duties have left you feeling, well, perhaps, drained might be the right word?"

  He nodded, smiling.

  "And you need something that will help you feel, umm, reinvigorated, perhaps," she said, before taking a sip of her tea.

  His smile was almost wolfish now. "Precisely."

  "Then it is your own health you should be looking to as well as that of your charge," she said softly, thinking of his strange umbra. "You've clearly been neglecting your own needs for far too long, overdoing things, when really, the most healthful thing is to live in balance and harmony."

  "Mmm, yes, I do think your right. Harmony seems a wonderful idea," he said, moving over to the armchair nearest the fire, and perching on the edge of it.

  "So you would agree then, that though I am young, I might have a lot to offer to ease your burdens?" she dared to ask as he loomed over her.

  He almost laughed aloud at how practised she was. "Youth and inexperience are not in and of themselves negatives. If your heart is in your efforts, they could well prove superior to all the skill and experience in the world."

  "Indeed," she said, nodding. "Exactly so. I knew you would understand."

  Her smile of pure relief was like a blast of summer sunshine, almost flooring him. For a moment she looked, well, like what she was pretending to be, Randall thought with an inner sigh.

  "So, when would you like me to begin to take matters in hand?" she asked, leaning closer in her enthusiasm.

  "Now might be the perfect time, my dear," he said with a broad grin.

  "If you like," she said without hesitation. "I'm very grateful for the faith and trust you're placing in me, and eager to prove myself in whatever way you wish, my lord."

  Her last words were like a caress on his loins. His mouth went dry, and despite his earlier decision to play the game and expose her as a fraud, so as to be rid of her quickly, he reached for her. His bare hands touched gripped the free hand not holding her cup, and another peculiar wave of sensation flooded through him, an odd sort of recognition on a visceral level which nearly swept him away.

  As he looked at her, he was sure he had never seen anyone so lovely in all his life. He certainly would have recalled them having met before. So how was it possible that she seemed so familiar?

  His touch sent a tremor through her that shook her to her very core. Once again she saw an image of him... as a young man, she guessed. As the images swam in her head, she decided it might also be a close relative, for he had the same handsome dark looks. He was in a stable. And had been in that stable for years, ever since....

  She saw the flash of red and black as she looked him, and blinked. No, it was only a trick of the light. It had to be...

  Isolde tried to take a sip from the tea cup she was still gripping like a lifeline. Before she realized what she was doing, she missed her mouth entirely, and nearly spilled the whole of its contents all over the front of her frock.

  Drat, she thought as she stood up and tried to mop up the mess with her own small handkerchief, rather than the snowy linen napkins he was offering her.

  "Oh, no, please, I wouldn't want to ruin your lovely-"

  He waved her protests away airily as he began to dab at her gown. "Nonsense, I have cupboards full of the silly things. Here, let me-"

  The contact of his hand on her thigh, perilously close to her most secret place, made her face flame, and her whole body clench and unclench like a morning glory opening to the rays of the sun.

  What on earth was wrong with her? She must have been far more tired than she had imagined, the stress and anxiety driving her on to London, but now leaving so fatigued that her emotions were poised on a knife-edge.

  She was having disturbing visions about a man who was the most infamous rake in the Ton, and now his least little touch was setting off the most powerful passions within her, revealing a side of herself that she hardly even dared admit existed.

  He had said yes to hiring her, but were his motives entirely honorable? Did she dare trust him? And even more importantly, she wondered as she half swayed against him, did she trust herself...

  "Really, no, I can manage, thank you, my lord," she said tightly, gripping the whole of the cloth now and stepping away, so that she could continue to sop up the spill before it got all over the carpet. "And truth to tell, I ought to go now, and not put you to any more trouble."

  "Trouble is the last word that springs to mind in relation to you," he said suavely.

  "Still, I'm supposed to be catering to your needs and wishes, not indulging my own," she protested.
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br />   He flashed her a smile of pure carnality. "Actually, I've found that the best arrangements are the ones that are the most mutually beneficial.That way no one feels let down or cheated."

  She continued to mop at the gown, thankful that the tea had not been so hot as to burn, but reflecting miserably that she was now even more damp than she had been before.

  "That's kind of you to say so, sir, but I'm content to keep to my place and perform my duties to the best of my ability. So if you'll forgive me, I'll just head off now, and come back when-"

  "Ah, but that would never do, Miss Drake, for I find myself in the most urgent need of your ministrations, and-"

  She paused, wide-eyed. "Why, sir, whatever is the matter?"