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

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  He had come home from college for a surprise visit, and seen Francis and Clarissa in the barn together. He still felt the rage now, which had made him storm up to his brother's chestnut stallion and saw jaggedly through the girth strap before running off back to Oxford like the coward he was.

  He imagined his parents' and other brothers' devastated faces as they had gathered around the family vault, felt the crushing sense of darkness, his own evil. Plus there had been the overwhelming relief that he had never had to see Clarissa again, and his hope he would never ever have to look into the face of the bitch who had betrayed him.

  She was there, her blond hair spread like her legs, her blue eyes cracking with something unfathomable? Passion, desire, cunning....

  Then his brother was there, handsome, dark-haired, with blue eyes like a storm-tossed sea. One worm wriggled out from his eye socket, and the mass of putrescent decay dissolved into a flood of red. The horror of the nightmare now too much to bear, he sat up screaming and sobbing.

  "Francis, no. I'm sorry. Oh God, I'm so sorry!" he rasped, gripping the covers so hard he was sure he would tear them in two.

  Isolde clutched his juddering shoulders, cradling him against her bare bosom until he couldn't help himself, and his welter of emotions fused into one mass of need and desire to flee the haunting images. He scarcely even noticed Isolde was shaking as well as he turned into her arms. She had seen what he had in her own dreams.

  At first she had wondered where the appalling images had come from. Now she was sure, and felt a cold chill envelope her soul. She almost resisted as he moved between her thighs, but he begged, "Oh, Lord, Isolde, help me, please. Love me."

  "I do, Randall, I do," she promised, despite her doubts and fears swirling within, and accepted him whole, body and soul.

  She could still see the black and red auras around Randall, but knew her strength would be more than a match for them if only she could love him without conditions or fear. It was the hardest lesson for anyone to learn, she knew. To give up one's body in marriage was truly to give of one's self.

  But give she did, driving him on with her tenderness and sensuality until he held poised within her so tensely he was sure his spine was going to crack.

  Then he was plunging and diving, and she thrust her hips up fiercely to meet each thunderous stroke. Isolde offered her body up like a sacrifice to his driving need. In return she was granted the blessed peace of complete and utterly breathtaking fulfillment, and rode the wave of pleasure with the man Fate had most surely sent her to rescue from his darkest despair.

  An hour later, Isolde managed to swing her trembling legs out of the bed to ring the bell for some refreshment. She put on her dressing gown, issued her orders to the maidservant, and went into the bathroom for a moment.

  She scrubbed her flushed face with cold water, and turned on the tub taps. When she had completed her brief toilette she heard a rap at the door and went to accept the tea tray from Hopkins.

  When she turned to face Randall to see if he was still drowsing, he avoided her look and said flatly, "We need to talk now, Isolde. That dream- I feel like I'm being ripped apart. I want you to let me speak first, and then you can ask questions. Otherwise I don't think I'll have the courage to go through with telling you my sorry tale."

  She went to turn off the water in the tub. Returning to the bedroom, she brought two cups over and set them down on the bedside table, and then sat facing him at the edge of the bed. She stretched out one hand to him in a gesture of support. He took it in a tentative grip, and traced her fingers lightly with one of his.

  He shivered, and then began his sorry confession.

  "I never dreamt I would have a wife, for the simple reason that I never imagined I would ever find a woman I could ever tell the entire unvarnished truth to. Or ever trust. But you're special, Isolde. I knew it from the moment I touched your hand. Please believe me when I say I want to tell you the whole truth, and please don't be angry with me for doing so. I want there to be complete honesty within our marriage."

  "I'll try to understand whatever it is you wish to tell me. It's about the visions I've seen, the dream you had, isn't it?"

  He nodded, and plunged. "Isolde, I need to tell you about my fiancee, my family. It's not a pretty story. I did a terrible-"

  The loud hammering on the downstairs door caused them both to start.

  Randall bit off an expletive. He might have known things were going too smoothly with their wedding and wedding night...

  "Randall, what on earth?"

  "Trust me, all will be well. We'll talk when I've done with our er, visitors. Just get back in bed where it's warm."

  She could tell by the look on his face that he was worried. "But don't you need me to--"

  "It will be fine, I promise."

  He was already up and struggling into his clothes. He wrapped his discarded dressing gown around her and planted a kiss on her brow. She shivered with the contact, and the warmth of his body which still lingered upon the garment. "Stay here, unless I specifically send for you."

  "But Randall-"

  He was already hurrying down the hall, for Hopkins had opened the front door at last, and he could hear intruders clattering in.

  He ran down the corridor and stopped short at the top of the stairs when he saw who his visitors were. Philip Marshall, a tall, young bookish-looking man, Howell and Parkins all entered.

  Howell immediately started up the stairs.

  "Now, Howell, you said you wouldn't do anything hasty!" Philip called.

  He was not unduly alarmed, however, for he had seen a much younger Randall best everyone in school whom he had ever fought with. Fortunately it had not been often. Randall was a gentle man, an artist, but huge, and often that was more than enough provocation for a small man to try to have a go at someone his size just to prove something.

  Howell launched his fist at Randall's head, but he ducked nimbly, grabbed the arm, and twisted it up behind Howell's back before frog-marching him down the stairs and into the small blue drawing room.

  "Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?" Randall asked when he had flung him into a chair.

  "That's what I'd like to know!"

  "Why are the four of you here?"

  "Because you have impugned Miss Drake's honor, and must be dealt with."

  "Miss Drake?" he asked coolly.

  Howell looked confused. "Don't you dare pretend-"

  "There is no longer any Miss Isolde Drake, but Isolde Avenel, my wife."

  Philip tried to restrain a smile, and failed utterly.

  "Is this a joke?" Howell hissed. "Her family would never have permitted-"

  Randall replied coolly, "Since they are all upstairs, all attended the nuptials, and in fact are still at the wedding breakfast in the large upstairs suite my mother resides in, you may ask them yourself."

  He shook his head."I don't believe it. She was pre-contracted to me. You've tricked her in some. Drugged her. Debauched her in the most depraved- You cad!" Howell shouted, ready to take another swing at him.

  "I wasn't aware that telling the truth constituted being one."

  "I'll have to call you out for what you've said and done."

  "Are you not listening to him, man?" Philip said in exasperation. "He's done nothing to the girl. You can't call out a man for marrying his own wife! Isolde is fine. Stop making a fool of yourself, Howell, and let's go."

  "I'm telling you, she didn't know what she was saying, doing. There was blood everywhere. She's a respectable aristocratic woman, not some trollop. He's deceived and harmed her, and he shall pay one way or the other."

  "In what way, pray tell, do you wish me to pay? I've already married her, Howell."

  Philip and Isolde's cousin Dr. Herriott looked at each other knowingly.

  "And when did this wedding take place?" Howell demanded.

  "This morning, with the whole of her family as witnesses," Randall maintained. "They're right upstairs. There
has been no trickery, no coercion or compulsion. We're in love and she married me of her own free will."

  "You're a liar! She was mine!" Howell barked, the veins on his forehead purpling.

  "WAS is the operative word. But she tells me that you were the one who threw her over because of her sudden change of financial circumstances, and she has chosen to marry me. Clearly any responsibility you might have concerning her is at an end."

  "Damn you, Avenel--"

  "I shall ignore your impugning my veracity on the grounds that you evidently feel you have a prior claim and are concerned for her welfare. That you are acting in this manner and bringing in the cavalry, so to speak, because you believe that I might have harmed her. But she is fast my wife, her full consent freely given, the marriage consummated."

  "I wish to speak with her and her family now," Howell insisted mulishly. He subsided into the chair now with his arms folded in a most decisive manner, while Parkins stood gaping as though watching the most wondrous Christmas play.

  Philip rolled his eyes now, but said to Randall, "If that's the only way he'll be satisfied, do you mind?"

  Randall rang the bell. "Of course I don't mind, old chap. I have nothing to hide, and neither does Isolde. Hopkins, please ask my wife to come here, and conduct all my in-laws to the main drawing room. Tell Isolde it's just a little misunderstanding, nothing to worry about, but to please do us the kindness of coming to see her cousins who have called to wish us well."

  He smiled charmingly at Antony Herriot, and began to pour refreshments for them all from the decanter on the side table as if he hadn't a care in the world.

  Isolde came down a few moments later, clad in nothing but the dressing gown, her magnificent auburn hair flowing down her back in complete disarray. There was no need to guess what she had been doing recently.

  As soon as she entered, Howell jumped to his feet, and her cousin Antony choked.

  "How nice to see you again, Isolde," Philip said smoothly, and moved to take her hand. So she really was married to Randall Avenel? How on earth had such a miracle come about...

  "Sirs, allow me to proudly introduce my new wife, Isolde Drake Avenel. I believe you know all these gentlemen, dearest?"

  "Yes, of course." She nodded warmly to everyone except Howell.

  Randall turned to Isolde. "Darling, can you please tell them about our wedding?"

  She stuck out her hand to indicate the wedding band, and then told them of the ceremony, giving them all the pertinent details. "And Jonathan Deveril performed the ceremony. I can provide chapter and verse if you like," she said, the sarcasm evident in her tone. "In fact, let him do it himself. I'm sure he and his wife Pamela are still here."

  "There now, are you satisfied, Howell?" Dr. Herriott demanded.

  "There's obviously been some mistake," he said, his face like granite.

  "Yes, and you made it, Mr. Howell, when you tried to manipulate me and the Earl of Hazelmere. He is fast my husband, and I will thank you to not interfere in family matters which are no longer any of your concern," Isolde said angrily.

  "Well, sorry to barge in like this, Randall," Philip said. "Howell came to us, said Isolde was in a dreadful spot of bother, and needed our help. You understand, don't you?"

  "Yes, of course," Randall said with a stiff bow.

  "Yes, so sorry we missed the wedding," Dr. Herriott said with a warm kiss for his cousin. "You're all right physically? I mean-" He blushed as all eyes turned to them.

  "I'm fine. A very happy new wife. I know all about conjugal relations, after all, from my time at the clinic, Antony, so no need to worry on that score. I've had the good fortune to marry a most considerate man. Really, there's no harm done. And no need to look so sheepish. You were just making sure all was well. But really, Randall is a most tender and considerate husband."

  "Congratulations. Wonderful news," Antony said, though Howell's eyes bulged at the intimacies she had revealed, and he looked as though he was about to choke. "I'm sure you'll both be very happy."

  "We shall be indeed," she said with a broad smile.

  Parkins shook his head. "Sirens."

  Philip stared at the scatterbrained young man, and then looked closely at Isolde for a few moments. Randall had certainly met his match in this feisty young woman.

  "I've tried to protected Miss Drake and her family, but I've evidently come too late," Howell gritted out, "I'm sorry for my mistake." He strode from the parlor, swallowing his ire for the moment, but already beginning to formulate other plans to tear the couple apart.

  They were wed, true, but there was such a thing as scandal, divorce, and widowhood...

  Dr. Herriott shook Randall's hand, and went out the main drawing room to speak with his aunt, Stephen, and his other two cousins.

  Philip was about to follow, when he turned to address them both. "One day you shall tell me how all of this came about. Especially you, Isolde, when you were supposed to be heading down to Somerset with us. But for now, be happy, and be very careful. Howell was hell bent on getting your fortune and you into his bed. I'm afraid he's not going to let this rest."

  Isolde shook her head. "He'll have to. There is no fortune with Father gone, and I love Randall. He was trying for Fanny's fortune next, but she loves Stephen. Whatever plans he had concerning her have been thwarted there as well."

  Parkins looked surprised, and began to hurry for the door.

  Philip stared at the scuttling figure for a moment, then sighed. "I hope you're right, my dear, but Howell may not take so practical a view of the matter. I gather he's in pretty deep and it won't take the vultures long to circle around his carcass."

  "Let him come. I'm ready," Randall growled.

  Isolde looked squarely at her cousin. "I wish I could sympathise, but I certainly don't hold with gambling, and I am not some possession to be bandied about and toyed with."

  She looked from one man to the other, but neither of them said another word, though she was sure some unspoken male communication on a primal level was going on.

  At length, Philip bowed. "I apologise again for the disturbance. Isolde, if you're pleased with this rather sudden by no means unwelcome turn of events, then I am delighted for you, as my wife Jasmine will be when she hears your happy news. She and I were married quite suddenly, you know, and caused a bit of a tizzy in the Town, but it soon passed."

  "We hope so," Randall said stiffly.

  "I am sorry that you won't be coming to Somerset--"

  "Oh, we will, given time," she said with a smile at her husband. "But for the moment, we thank you again for your kind offer of a cottage, and though we would have been delighted, I am happy to report that thanks to Randall's kindness, Mama and the children will be able to remain in Surrey for as long as they wish."

  He gazed at her closely with his worldly sherry brown eyes. "Excellent news, my dear. I shall go see them in the next room to extend my congratulations. Just so long as you know that the offer still stands at any time. Or for our home here in London."

  "Thank you."

  He hesitated, and then said, "And if you're ever in a spot of legal bother, you will look me up, and Alistair Grant, my employer, won't you?"

  Randall's brows raised, but he nodded. "I remember him as a good friend of Michael's. My eldest brother," he added for Isolde's benefit.

  "Aye, a clever man, Alistair. I think I'll take the liberty of mentioning what happened here with Howell, just in case."

  "Actually, I would be more grateful if you might consider acting on Stephen's behalf, with the family creditors, and tracing what's become of his fortune and his father's will," Randall put in.

  "I see."

  Isolde nodded.

  "I mean, I'm more than happy to assist them until such time as matters are settled, but it seems unfair to make the family feel obliged to me as if I'm giving them charity, when a few inquiries from someone as talented as Alistair will probably illuminate the whole muddle."

  "Indeed. I believe you mig
ht be onto something there. I shall see what we can do forthwith." He looked from one to the other, and then out the open door. "An ugly word, conspiracy, don't you think?"

  With that he strode out of the room, leaving Isolde and her husband alone once more.

  "What WAS that all about?" she asked in confusion once they were gone.

  Randall shrugged. "It was just Howell trying to get you away from me again. Have me challenged to a duel once more. He must have known Stephen didn't rise to his bait yesterday and so tried to get Antony's and Philip's ire roused, which believe me, can be considerable for the right cause."

  "I see."