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

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  His tone was so anguished, she simply had to take pity on him. "I believe you." She kissed his hand. "Go on."

  He let out a shaky sigh. "So one by one they've all been taken from me, until there's only me and Mother left, and now even she's slipping away from me. Four brothers, all gone, at least in part because of what I set in motion. I'm trying so hard to do what's expected of me as earl, to make them all proud. To make myself proud for a change, and above all my mother. But she's so frail, so grief-stricken. She's my last remaining link with the past. If she dies, I don't know what I'm going to do."

  She met his gaze tenderly. "It's terrible for her too. You can help each other through your loss. But you also have to stop letting your worries get the better of you. And I don't mean to sound callous, but in the normal way of things, the parent does pass away before the child. So unless you die too and truly leave her alone in the world, well, you're going to have to face her loss sooner or later no matter how much you struggle against it."

  He ran the fingers of one hand through his thcik ebony hair and sighed. "I know what you say is perfectly reasonable, my love, but my morbid fancies, those visions you keep seeing, perhaps, pursue me at every turn. I feel like death is stalking me, Isolde. Like that one angry act of youthful folly has left me open to having everything I care about stripped from me. Having a title and power is marvelous, as is having so much wealth, but it doesn't keep me warm at night. It doesn't make me laugh, or my heart sing."

  It was no wonder she kept seeing the red flicker. Here was a man who had been wounded and sinned, as she had seen. Who had been touched by death. Was that the black aura? Or was it something more?

  "I understand. You don't need to upset yourself by trying to convince me you do care, Randall. But we need to decide what we're going to do about our marriage now that I know the truth."

  "I don't know what to do. All of this has happened so suddenly, meeting you, us marrying. I want to have a bright future with you, but I feel, well, I just feel like I'm being sucked down into the quicksand of the past. I don't have any answers, my love. All I know is I need you, Isolde. You've been the only bright spot in all of this in months, years even. What we shared our first night together was so miraculous, it was like...." He paused for a moment. " It was like wishing on a falling star and bottling it to recapture the magic any time I touch your hand. I know you can rescue me from this dark despair, if only you'll--" He shrugged. "Trust me, I suppose. Continue being generous to me and my mother, as you have been. Just be your own sweet self, and let me at last be the real me."

  "And who is he?" she asked warily.

  "I don't know. And I'm not so sure I have the courage to find out on my own. I need you, Isolde. Please, don't hate me for marrying you without telling you the truth. And for having heaped scorn upon you visions, when you were right about me all along."

  She sat up on the bed and stared at him, unable to believe all he had told her. It was just too awful to contemplate what a huge mistake he had made. "So our marriage was nothing more than some sort of act of redemption? Is that why-"

  He shook his head. "No, of course not. There were many other reasons, as you well know. Saving you from that bastard Howell being the main one."

  She rolled out of the other side of the bed, and Randall rose to stop her from leaving with an outstretched hand.

  "Isolde, please, you need to hear me out. I'm not finished yet!"

  "I think I've heard quite enough for the moment!"

  Unable to get out of the room, Isolde skirted past him and fled into the bathroom, and slammed the door behind her with a resounding crash.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Randall gave Isolde time to collect herself in the bathroom, while he sat in the chair and tried to gather his failing strength. He felt emotionally drained, and the last part of his explanation was going to be the hardest. He was eager to see her, but bursting down the bathroom door after he had just confessed to killing his own brother was not the way to get her to trust him.

  He simply had to be patient. He knew she would have to come out sooner or later. She could not get out the window, and had no clothes in there at the moment even if she could.

  The truth... What was it? He wasn't sure even now. All he knew was he had wished for a wife to love, a normal life, and she had entered his life only moments later. It had to be a sign. He had not been able to keep his hands off her, stop thinking about her, stop the joy singing in his heart every time they were together or he thought of her.

  After about ten minutes she came out, her eyes reddened, but dry, her hair pulled back, the dressing gown clenched tightly about her throat and tied securely at the waist, so that no tempting curve of breast or thigh was showing. She took the chair in the corner, sitting on the edge of it as though about to bolt at any second if he so much as came near her.

  It pained him to see her looking so wary, but he did not make the mistake of trying to touch her.

  After a time she said, "I think we had got to the part about you fearing the loss of your family and wanting redemption. So I am to take it then that you married me so I could be your helpmeet, save you in some way?"

  "Yes. And to save you too, from Howell. And to save Fanny from him also, and help your brother."

  She fixed him with a hard stare. "Are you sure you don't just want revenge for the whole fracas regarding your father?"

  He sighed heavily. "I would be a liar if I said no. But your father's dead, and you were not responsible for what happened to mine. No, someone gave your father those papers to incriminate mine, and I will find him out. If you'll help me with my mother, I can focus on being a good son, and uncovering the truth at last. And a good earl. I can't do it all myself. It would break the back of a stronger man, let alone a sad sorry bugger like me."

  "Well, I was the one who came her wishing to apply for the role of nursemaid," she said with a sigh. "And now there is your mother to consider, and the children. You say you have only your mother left, Randall, but there's a whole new generation right there you can open your heart to, to atone for the past."

  His eyes lit at that. "Again, I'm willing to try if you'll help me."

  "I know a fair bit about babies from my sisters Rebecca and Susan being a good deal younger, and a couple of older married friends. I'm happy to try my best, and us to learn together,"

  "Thank you."

  "So, what's to be done about your mother?"

  "While we were otherwise engaged, the interviews went ahead as scheduled. Hopkins interviewed the other three ladies who came to apply the day after you arrived. None of them are as good as you, but if you want me to take on one of them-"

  "And dangle a few more eligible females in front of my rakish husband's nose? No thank you," she sniffed.

  "I have no idea what they look like, but I can ask Hopkins to let me know if any of them looked like a po-faced cow and hire her if that makes you feel any better."

  "No, thank you," she said stiffly. "I shall tend to your mother myself."

  "Good. You were my first choice of candidate for the post."

  "So delighted to hear it," she said with a tight smile.

  "And first and only in the matrimonial stakes. The truth is that I've never ever experienced anything in my life, in my mind, heart or body, compared with what we've shared. It's a sign, I'm sure of it. I told you that before. I could either go on in my career as a rake and swive myself into Hell, or I could take what you were offering me."

  She shook her head and laughed shortly. "What could I possibly have to offer a man of the world like you?"

  He sighed. "The one thing in the world I don't have, which can't be bought or stolen or bargained for. Love. Your love for me, and mine for you."

  "You tell me all this about Clarissa and how much you loved her, enough to kill for her, and now you want me to open my heart and let myself love you?" she asked in disbelief.

  When put like that it sounded insane even to his ears. He shrugged. "Why no
t? After all, I didn't know you that night you first came here, yet was already half in love with you by the time Howell ever showed up screaming. Completely in love with you by the time the morning came, and I found the bed beside me empty. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't caught you before you left. IIwould have raced down to Surrey to make you my bride, and hoped to hell that Howell hadn't harmed you. I'd have torn England apart looking for you, I have no doubt, to make you my own."

  "This is madness! How can you ever expect me to trust you? Esteem, respect you after what you've done?"

  "What exactly are you referring to?" he asked in a dangerously low voice.

  He expected her to say many things, but certainly not her next words.

  "Allowed someone as worthless as Clarissa to shape your whole life? To almost ruin it? Continue to ruin it even now by driving you to all sorts of madness and folly as a rake, to bring you to an almost suicidal despair?"

  He gazed at her in awe, hardly daring to breathe.

  "She wasn't worth it. No person is! Not even your own brother. You made the one mistake, allowed your jealousy to rage, and look what it cost you!"

  Gods above. Was it possible? She didn't judge him, hate him? Wasn't revolted by him?

  Isolde got up from the chair, and he had all to do not to run and snatch her hand to keep her from leaving.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Where I'm needed. To tend your mother," she said in a quiet, controlled tone.

  "T-t-t-thank you," he stammered, incredulous. How on earth could she be so calm? "But perhaps you shouldn't-"

  "Why not?" she asked impatiently.

  "I don't want you to. To be exposed to her madness and -"

  "Some women and even men aren't given the luxury of a sheltered life," she said with asperity. "I was, but worked at the clinic to learn. My cousin Philip has had a most shadowy past, as you probably know. You weren't given a sheltered life either. I'm a big girl. I can manage just fine with your mother." She lifted her valise from the corner in which she had set it.

  "I want to protect you, Isolde."

  She laughed bitterly. "I think it's far too late for that now, Randall, don't you? I need to have the truth, however unpalatable it might be. Will you promise me that, at least?"

  He hesitated.

  "You said you wanted to be completely honest, Randall. So that means about us being a family. My sharing the burdens, however bad they might be."

  She wrapped the dressing gown around herself tightly and left the room, leaving him little choice but to follow her as she headed down the hall.

  She spoke to his mother in a low tone at some length, trying to ascertain the source of her discomfort and symptoms. So far as she could tell at the end of the conversation, her grief had turned her in upon herself, and she too seemed to be tormented by nameless doubts and fears.

  Always at the center of her blue aura was a tall, dark-haired man. The centre of her love and her fear. And Randall was there too, flickering. And another tall man with piercing blue eyes? Another of the brothers? A past love?

  She rose from her chair, inspected everything without saying a word, and then turned to Randall at last. "I think I can help. The doctors have been very thorough, but they are also traditional. Bleeding, purging, enemas, they've run the gamut of so called cures rather than let nature take its course. It's weakened her, and combined with her melancholy state, she's been rendered unfit to cope."

  "Whatever you think, please do it."

  She nodded. "I will do my best, but I should like to have my cousin Dr. Herriot, Antony, to come see her."

  "Certainly. Another opinion would be fine. He is no doubt still with your mother downstairs, and I shall invite him for supper."

  "Thank you."

  She returned with him to his room, and sat on the edge of the bed facing him as he resumed his chair. "And there is one more thing we need to talk about. Our marriage. Your view of it."

  "Yes?"

  "You think me a nurse, evidently. Do you still think me a whore? A loose woman, for having given in to you so repeatedly?"

  He longed to touch her, to kiss her and make it all better, but he simply spread his hands in a hopeless gesture. "Neither, not after the first kiss, I swear. There is no shame in loving and being loved, if it's mutual. I know you are not the same class of woman as the blowsy tart who beat Howell out of here just in time before I did the same myself."

  They both grinned and shook their heads at that stunning piece of drama.

  "So the truth is," he continued, "I feel nothing but respect and esteem for my lovely new wife."

  "But how can you when I, well, gave myself so freely--"

  "Did you feel shamed and embarrassed at the time?"

  "No. I didn't, not until the morning when you, well, saw me in the sunlight and we, well, we.." She gestured. "I was a bit shocked. No one had ever seen me naked before, let alone...." She shook her head. "But it was lovely. I wasn't shamed. I was only worried that I wasn't doing things right, not for an experienced man like you. Or that I wasn't beautiful."

  "It couldn't have been more right," he said sincerely. "And I could never despise you for the generous gifting of yourself to me. As for beauty, you stun me every time I look at you, Isolde, my redhaired Irish princess. I gaze at you, think of all we've shared, and, well, I can't believe you're real."

  "Princess she might have been, but Isolde's story turned out to be a tragedy," she pointed out.

  "It would have been a tragedy for you to have given in to Howell's blandishments."

  "Or we had not been so reasonable with one another, and you or Stephen had been harmed or killed, or you forced to feel the country and leave your mother behind."

  He nodded.

  After a time she dared to ask, "How many other women have you done those things to?" she asked quietly.

  He paused to consider. "The obvious part, the intercourse itself, all of them when they were willing. If they changed their minds, we might do something else. But not like you, for hours, over and over. Fifteen minutes to a couple of hours. I wasn't a person to them, just a piece of flesh, a conquest, and I admit I thought the same of them. I usually couldn't bear listening to them prattle longer than that. End of story, and the less said about it for both of us, the better."

  "The refinements, play? Your little games?" she demanded, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

  He shrugged one shoulder and shook his head. "Them doing it for money, perhaps a few. For the sheer pleasure of seeing them enjoy themselves, none. For a whole night and morning, in broad daylight, never, ever. Not even all night. Not even more than an hour or two. In most cases I never even bothered to take off all my clothes."

  She looked daggers at him. "So that was what your most recent display for our wedding night was all about? Finding out all you had been missing? Dazzling me with your prowess? Trying for a baby over and over again to set your stamp upon me?"

  "No, I swear! I was trying to concentrate on making you completely happy."

  He saw her look of disbelief. "I want intimacy, not a quick quiddle, Isolde. That means getting to know all of you."

  "Thank you for your honesty, at least. I can't even imagine..."

  "What, exactly?"

  "Oh, not the sordid details. The incredible control. People think you a libertine, but you had no real freedom to even enjoy yourself with all of the self-imposed restrictions. No sleeping with them, no gifts. Always using protectors. Never making love in the day time. You've been as much a victim as the women you've used."

  "We used each other, that's all. I love you."

  "How can you be so sure?" she asked angrily. "You thought you loved Clarissa."

  "Because you came to me, gave yourself to me with no thought for anything other than my pleasure and your own. No ulterior motive, at least not for money or power."

  "No, you're right. I sensed you needed help. And you did say to make my own choice for once in my life. I chose to be
with you."

  "So you didn't do it thinking I was going to give you the job?"

  She frowned and shook her head. "No, quite the opposite. I was sure I had ruined any chance of that through my own selfish longings, and that the sooner I left, the better."

  He stroked her shoulder tenderly. "So you were there in bed with me that second time because you wanted to be. Because you trusted me. I can't tell you how moved I was, or how aroused."