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

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  He instructed the modiste to wrap the clothes and make a couple of alterations on the gown she was to wear for her wedding, and he found a matching reticule and slippers for it.

  While they waited, Randall suggested they go across the street for some coffee.

  "No, really, I'm fine."

  "You've not eaten more than a few bites at dinner today when we went to see Mother."

  "I'm fine, really. We can perhaps have a special supper to celebrate when we get home?"

  "Most certainly, dearest. An excellent suggestion. I shall send orders to Cook just as soon as we return."

  Isolde waited patiently in the window seat for a time, until she caught him flinging a few more pretty gowns onto the pile, and some ribbons to match.

  "Randall, my dear, that's enough. There is no need to try to pamper me so, and if you don't stop acting so furtively, I will start to wonder what other things you are trying to get away with behind my back. Or right under my nose."

  It was a subtle warning, but enough to chasten him. "I'm sorry. I just think that dress would go well with you eyes, your hair," he said, pointing to a white lawn evening dress with a burgundy gauze overgown. "I won't do it again, I promise."

  "It's all right, so long as it's a sign of thoughtfulness and devotion, not a bribe or payment for services rendered," she said in a low tone.

  "Never, never that," he protested, taking her hand to kiss it. "On my life, I swear, never that. I want nothing to smack of a business transaction between us, ever."

  She wondered how many other women he had bedded in the room they had shared, how many other women he had helped with their baths in that great tub. But she remained silent. She did not want to know. She had to trust him. There could be no love and esteem without faith, as his mother had said.

  "Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"

  "No, thank you," she said, not wanting to let him out of her sight, yet also longing for privacy to subdue her tumultuous thoughts. "But you can go, please."

  He grinned. "Actually, I was just thinking that the carriage might be a bit more private for what I'm craving at the moment. A dish fit for the gods."

  She laughed tremulously. "In that case I'm staying here. Once we're home, I imagine there will be nothing stopping us."

  Randall took her hand and helped her up. "Only you, my dear. If you've had enough, you have only to say. I know this is all very new to you, and I would not hurt you with my clumsy stupidity, haste or selfishness."

  She kissed his hand. "None of those things. You are the most tender man I've ever met. And certainly not clumsy or stupid."

  "Ignorant of you, my dear, as I proved last night when I bedded you thinking you were a, well, you know. But I want to learn. I need to understand things better. I want there to be absolute trust between us in all aspects of our life together."

  She stared at him in surprise. It was what his mother had said. She laughed lightheartedly. "What, you mean even your business concerns, the running of your estates?"

  "All things. It's very difficult to do everything required as an earl. I could certainly use a wise helpmeet." He grinned, and kissed her hand again.

  "How refreshing. To find a man who does not want to confine me to the role of a mere ornament or piece of breeding stock."

  His brows shot up and his lips quirked into a smile. "If they did, they know you even less than I do, and we've only just met, my sweet." He rang his tongue along the back of her hand sensual, setting her to panting.

  "You see, perfect for me. Because as aroused as I make you, that's how you make me feel."

  "I'm glad."

  While they waited for the clothes to be finished, they settled into the window seat together and took the tea Mrs. Jenkins offered. They answered the modiste's questions every so often, while several women came in and out of the shop. Every pair of female eyes in the place sparked with recognition.

  And what? Isolde wondered to herself. Envy, anger? Shock at seeing her with him? It seemed more a genuine surprise that he was there at all, tete a tete with a woman, was her best guess.

  If Randall had paid any attention to the narrowed stares or singled out any one of the half-dozen attractive women in the shop, he certainly gave no sign. He had seen the fury or lust on some of the women's faces. He always did his best to be pleasantly neutral to his past conquests. No hard feelings, no chance to repeat the performance.

  All of the women were agog at his gall. Look at the little country mouse. Her gown, her hair. Both hastily done not that long ago. She might we have had to change in and out of her garments for the modiste, but there were no prizes for guessing what the pair had been up to with the lusty new earl.

  By Heavens, Randall Avenel was with a lover in the broad daylight buying gowns for her in front of half of London!

  Did the child not care that she was ruining herself? How could she be so foolish? And he be so brazen? Jealousy and a desire to warn her warred in their bosoms.

  One dark-haired woman entered, froze, shot Randall an indignant glare, and swept out straight back out. Her companion, a more timid blond widow, was equally distressed, but thought it only fair to try to tell the poor child she would regret it for the rest of her life if she ever gave herself to Randall Avenel.

  Unless of course she had already, in which case the poor thing was about to get her heart broken.

  Mrs. Samson said with a timid smile, "How nice to see you again, Randall. Hello, my dear. Charmed, I'm sure. I don't believe I have yet had the pleasure."

  "Mrs. Samson, this is Isolde Drake, Viscount Linley's daughter don't you know. My fiancee."

  The woman looked as though she had been pole-axed. The gasps around the room were audible.

  Isolde wished the maw of Hell would open up and swallow her, for never had she seen such cold or appalled looks. Only Mrs. Samson stared at her with anything resembling cordiality.

  "My dear, congratulations. You are so very young, though, and the circumstances between your families are such that--"

  "I know things have been rather strained, but sometimes adversity brings people closer. Besides, I may look young, but I know a fine man when I meet him, and while I am not as bright and talented as the Earl, I am intelligent enough to marry him and try to make his life complete, as he so lovingly has made mine."

  Mrs. Samson looked as though she had been slapped, and stepped backwards two paces.

  Isolde had said the words loudly enough for all to hear, effectively throwing down the gauntlet. Every woman in the room might have shared what she had with him last night for all she knew, but she had Randall now, and marriage was far different from a mere futter.

  Now that she had made up her mind to marry him, she was certainly not going to do anything by halves. She had every intention of fulfilling every commitment which marriage entailed, including being a good wife and bearing his children, though she hoped not quite yet.

  Isolde managed to keep her chin high and her eyes level as she looked at the elegant society dame, who with her fine gown made her feel little better than a serving wench.

  Yet inwardly she was not composed in the least. She felt sickened at the thought of him being with any other woman but her.

  Isolde quashed the thought before she ran fleeing from the shop full of breathtakingly beautiful and worldly women all goggling at her now as if they couldn't imagine for the life of them what trick she had used to win the Earl for herself.

  "Well, congratulations to you both, and best of luck, my dear." She turned and fled from the shop without a backward glance.

  Her tone had said it all: Best of luck, for you will certainly need it.

  Isolde took a deep steadying breath, trying not to let on how rattled she was. Some of the women now came over to introduce themselves, all of them sizing her up with envy, and some with a healthy respect.

  The girl might not be of the most fashionable set, and the two families were certainly in trouble with one another, but the girl was a
beauty of the first rank.

  Well, that was one silver lining to their otherwise stormy grey clouds. It would be fascinating to see who managed, or indeed how many managed, to cuckold the notorious rake Randall Avenel. That was assuming of course that he even cared about the chit. As if he had ever cared about any woman in his life, the coldhearted swine...

  She could hear them whispering to one another over the fabrics and trimmings as she sat in the window seat with her fiance's arm around her for support, and tried to force down the tea as though she hadn't a care in the world, even though she was sure she was about to be ill.

  "Now that he's the Earl, he probably felt duty bound to find some little thing with good blood lines."

  "Yes, and before his poor mother pops it."

  "Indeed, I wouldn't be surprised if it was a term in his father's will. Not one dime until he gets an heir and a spare."

  Another nodded. "He'll get a couple of brats on the chit and be back in circulation in no time."

  "What about all those little byblows of his?"

  Another whispered, "Too many to count, if you ask me. Who can tell who would be eldest to inherit, even if he went to the trouble of trying to get them recognised by the law and tried to make them up into gentlemen."

  "Aye, and who are their mothers? Mere nobodies. At least she's a Viscount's daughter."

  "Aye, but their fathers were sworn enemies...."

  "Randall's lawful wedded wife. How delicious," another drawled sarcastically, making it sound little better a title than that of a strumpet. Or a maidservant.

  But one dire prediction echoed in Isolde's ears like a knell of doom: The poor girl will never know a moment's security or love...

  Randall's face flamed, and he knew the most acute misery as he was forced to hold his tongue less he cause an even worse scene. He longed to defend Isolde, reveal the depth of his feelings for her, that she was worth a dozen of them, but knew he would be gossiped about even more rancorously if he dared.

  So he had to content himself with squeezing her around the waist affectionately, and offered her cake with a false smile that made him feel as though his face would crack.

  He hated their vitriol against himself, but at least he knew none of it was true. But he loathed what it was doing to the now pale and tender young woman by his side.

  Randall wanted to kick himself for his own naivete. He had expected to cause a bit of a sensation coming in here, but he never anticipated how livid and unforgiving the Ton would be to find he was setting up his nursery at last.

  Randall needed to prepare Isolde for the inevitable storm of rudeness, of being cut or mocked. And the inevitable train of ladies who were now going to try to compete with her. For in his experience women often went out of their way to pursue married men, looking upon them as even more of a challenge, forbidden fruit.

  And doubly convinced of the rightness of their action if the man had been spoken of as a rake. Many rakes did not settle down to married life, but enough did.

  As he looked at the woman as they paraded past and some even dared to wink at him, he vowed he would be a model of husbandly fidelity. He had so much to do with his mother and now his new family, he would ensure he did not even have a chance to stray. And why would he wish to with such a bride?

  He reached out to take her hand, mingling their fingers tightly. "Kiss me, my love?"

  She nodded and lifted her mouth to his.

  "Isolde, I'm sorry."

  "For kissing me?" she said pertly.

  "No, for the way these women are acting. I never gave any false promises. It was a temporary diversion, no more. They knew it-"

  "I think that even the act itself, unless the woman is very worldly, is seen as a commitment by a woman. After all, the consequences... Not to mention the act of, well, taking someone inside of ourselves, getting so close to our raw emotions, sharing our inner desires. It's so intimate. I imagine for some people it is literally flesh against flesh only, sport or entertainment, but for me-"

  "Yes?" he prompted softly.

  She blushed. "I could never share myself like that with anyone other than a man I cared for and respected above all else."

  "And I took that from you," he sighed.

  She shook her head. "No, not at all. I think on some deep level your soul and mine met last night. Certainly the last time, and this morning. And as I said, I could tell a great deal about you just from our correspondence and-" She clamped her mouth shut, not wishing to remind him of the reading.

  But he nodded. "Your vision. Just as I didn't want it to end. I wanted to prolong our lovemaking, find out all about you, outside and inside. A couple of hours of empty flirtation and a quick roll in the hay, and it was over with these women, I swear. From the moment I kissed you in the blue drawing room, I had visions of eternity never being enough to get to know the mystery inside of you. I don't think I had been with you for more than five minutes before I was going to ask you to be my mistress," he admitted.

  "That's still good enough for me if-"

  He shook his head. "Not good enough for me, or for you. You deserve everything I can give you, heart, body and soul. It won't be easy. I have no experience of making anyone happy. Promise to be patient with me?"

  She smiled up at him tenderly. "I have no experience of being a wife. So you'll have to promise the same to me as well."

  "You're a remarkable girl, Isolde. One in a million."

  "More like two million, by the looks of things," she could not resist saying with a glare at one particularly obvious flirt strutting past. "But you and I are to be married, and we'll both just have to work hard towards a happy marriage and family."

  He kissed her again, much harder this time. "I love the sound of that. Especially the last part."

  "Oh dear, then we'd better get back and start working on that part again. With just one proviso."

  He looked wary, but nodded. "Anything."

  "That you always be honest with me. Please don't ever try to conceal things because you think I'll be angry, or try to fob me off with half-truths or excuses because they're what you think I want to hear. Or because they're easier than revealing your true feelings, Randall, and trusting me with them. Trusting me to understand, and not hurt or reject you."

  Randall stood up abruptly, grasped the parcels already wrapped, and paid the bill. "Come, my dear. We can have the rest of things sent on. We have your gown for tomorrow and a few other things to tide you over until then. We need to get home to supper."

  Randall had an appetite all right, but it was most certainly not for food. He removed his gloves and took ample advantage of the privacy of the carriage.

  Isolde shuddered against him, gasping out his name as he pleasured her. Even one finger was enough to set her off, and he greedily watched her as she sat with her back against the side of the coach, her hem rucked up over her bare hips, her drawers stuffed in the pocket of his jacket.

  "Randall, someone might see," she protested mildly.

  "I've got the shutters down now."

  "But I want to please you."

  He brought her hand to rest upon his groin. "You do. Do you see?"

  She stroked him slightly, but he eased her hand up to his face.

  "Randall, please."

  "We're almost home. I promise."

  "But my family will be there."

  "We'll tell Hopkins we're not to be disturbed until nine."

  "But Randall--"

  "You come first, darling, after my mother, who is ill. So let's just pop in to see her, and then--"

  It was easy to trace the lovers' whereabouts once the carriage pulled up to the door, for their parcels were strewn from the front doorstep throughout the house as Randall began to drop them while Isolde tugged at him importunately.

  He hung on to the wedding gown and parcel of fine underthings he had seen them first wrap, and managed to plunk them down on the table in his mother's chamber. A brief visit to ascertain that she was well elicited a
knowing smile from the older woman.

  "Shoo, the pair of you, before you scare the servants. Young Stephen and I shall entertain the guests whilst you, er, rehearse for your wedding day, and night."

  "Thank you, Mother. We shall see you sooooooon," he called over his shoulder, as Isolde tugged him out the door and back to what she was now beginning to think of as their room.

  The door had barely swung shut before she unfastened him and rammed his back against the wall. He lifted her by her dainty bottom and impaled her on his massive arousal, and after only two strokes they exploded.