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

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  "Please, Lady Linley, I’ve made a mistake. This room is far too grandiose for a simple happy family party such as ours. Shall we adjourn to the more snug blue drawing room instead, my dear?"

  "Yes, Husband, whatever you think best."

  He liked the meek answer, but suspected Isolde would not always be so docile. He was sure she would stand up to him if the occasion warranted, and once she found her feet in the household.

  But she seemed most calm and even-tempered, not at all volatile or spiteful. The conversation was decent and thought-provoking, with none of the bitchiness he expected from four women in the same room. Not towards each other, nor directed at anyone else.

  They took no delight in doing down their acquaintance, but rather praised them mightily. Of course they had a bit to say about the Clarences, and Fanny in particular, but if they had any uneasiness over Stephen marrying, they kept their thoughts to themselves.

  "The Clarences are out calling upon some of their friends to tell them the remarkable news, and Stephen and his wife must still be upstairs in bed," her mother said without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

  "Feel free to do the same, you two, if this all gets to be too much for you. One more long smoldering look from you, my dear Randall, and my daughter’s clothes are going to go up in flames."

  He grinned and blushed. "So sorry, Lady Linley."

  "Not at all. And please, do call me Rose."

  Isolde laughed good-naturedly, and Randall reddened to the roots of his hair and went to get his portfolio of pictures. Rebecca sat down at the piano with her sister and they took turns entertaining the group.

  Hopkins brought in the coffee tray, and Isolde did the honours as if she had lived there all her life. Once she had poured, she patted the seat beside her. "Bring them here, by the fire."

  The watercolors were magnificent, as were all his sketches. Whole new vistas opened up as she stared at them.

  "But all landscapes. No people. No nudes, though you as a rake certainly saw enough naked women."

  He blushed again, and got a sympathetic smile from Antony.

  He murmured, "I will gladly sketch you, but I doubt I could do your goddess-like appearance justice. And I would be fearful of anyone ever seeing it except myself. You’re mine now, my treasure, my love. I don’t want to share you with anyone except our children, when we are finally so blessed."

  "You certainly sound sure of yourself," she said, her own cheeks flooding with colour as she handed him back his final sketch book.

  "I would like nothing better than a long honeymoon complete with a continuous and enthusiastic effort to try for a baby right now still stands."

  "I shall take it under advisement. But it’s too soon to even think…" She shook her head in awe.

  "It might have already happened, dearest," he reminded her quietly.

  "I know. We’ll deal with that if and when it arises."

  "Are you frightened?" he asked, his tone soft as a caress.

  She gazed up at his eyes, saw the bleakness had returned. "No, just unsure. I have no idea what kind of mother I would be."

  "The best. So kind, nurturing. You would be perfect."

  She gave him at tender kiss on the lips, and put her head on his shoulder. He snuggled her comfortably against him, his arms around her waist, comforting, undemanding. They gazed at the fire in silence. He had never known just how wonderful a simple thing like a holding someone could be.

  Neither had she. As Isolde remained entwined in her arms, she knew she could never leave him, no matter how much her mind told her she was a fool for ever trying to trust a rake and a libertine.

  Her family wisely found a couple of excuses to leave them alone, and now they kissed with more and more urgency, every single kiss and caress leaving them breathless and eager for more.

  But Isolde could feel herself growing weary too, despite the heat of their caresses. It had been an emotional day, and she felt she needed to be alone.

  The fact was, she was frightened. She had no idea how she had come to meet and marry the rakish Earl of Hazelmere, but it worried her that her mind and body seemed to have completely ceased to be her own.

  The more time she spent with Randall, the more she was drawn to him, but she wasn’t even sure that she could trust him after all he had said and done.

  She did not fear for herself, but there were a great number of obstacles to their happiness. Not least of which were their duties and responsibilities. It was wonderful being in bed with him, but there was more to married life than unbridled licentiousness. Though she couldn’t think of anything better... And if he had his own way all the time he might soon grow tired of her.

  "I think we need to stop," she said in a reedy whisper.

  He sat up straight and adjusted his own clothing and hers hastily. "Quite right," he agreed quickly, without the least hesitation. "We need to look in on Mother, and you need your rest."

  She sighed, feeling unaccountably disappointed. She didn’t know what was worse. Him not wanting to, or wanting to.

  "Of course, dearest. Tomorrow is another day. I would not dare suggest a ride in the morning given your no doubt tender state, but what about a trip in the carriage?"

  "I shall see how I feel when I wake," she said quietly.

  "Yes, of course." He rose and prepared their candles, and led the way up the stairs.

  They found his mother sleeping well. Apparently she had eaten quite heartily all day, small meals, but several of them, and even a bit of wedding cake. He kissed her on the brow, and then led his wife from the room.

  He stood outside the door to her chamber. "I shall say good night here. Try to sleep."

  "Easier said than done after everything that’s happened today."

  "I know. But try."

  "I will. You too."

  He gave her a warm kiss and disappeared into his own room, leaving her staring in confusion, and with shuddering longing, at the retreating back of the enigmatic man who was now her husband.

  Chapter Two

  Isolde was tired but restless, and sat up late reading, her mind only half on the book as she tried to take in all that had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours. She had gone from being respectable Viscount's daughter to fallen woman to wife with a dizzying rapidity which still felt her in breathless awe.

  Now she was wed to a notorious rake who had admitted the most heinous crime against his own brother. And worse still, was the son of her father's worst enemy.

  Of their enemies, she knew Chauncey Howell was not going to accept his loss of her or Fanny Clarence's fortune with any degree of equanimity. At least Isolde's brother Stephen and Fanny were safely married, and now her mother and sisters were safe.

  But she could see Howell had tried to ruin both her and Randall. Had been aching to goad him into a duel, in which she was sure he would not have fought fairly. When that had not worked, he had tried to send Stephen to his death. Her mind swam at the enormity of his cunning, and what he might try to do next.

  For she was sure they had not seen the last of him. Everything Randall had told her about his family's past with Howell made her certain of that.

  She looked around the charming bedchamber with a sigh. She had literally made her bed, and simply had to lie in it. She'd united her fate with Randall and his mother, and Randall's young wards. She would need to add loyal and loving daughter in law and mother to her roles, and only prayed she would be fit for them.

  Isolde eventually fell into a doze at about midnight, and was awakened by a tap at the door at ten the next morning.

  She took the tea tray from her maidservant, who introduced herself as Annie, and headed back to bed. She was glad she had slept so soundly.

  She was going to need all her wits about her if she was to cope with sudden and unexpected turn her life had taken. She felt as though she had been in perpetual motion ever since her father had died.

  She wondered what her life would be like if he were still alive.
If he had been, she never would have met Randall, fallen in love with him. Her brother never would have married Fanny. It was ever the nature of things, losses and gains, she knew. Still, it did not pain her any the less to have him gone.

  But compared to what Randall had suffered, with the loss of all 4 brothers and finally his father, she couldn’t complain at all. She hated to see his bleak look whenever he entered the green and gold room. She could read his thoughts all too clearly then. He feared finding his mother dead. He feared finding her alive, and in worse case than before.

  Isolde was surprised to see several letters addressed to her on the tray, notes of congratulation from Philip and Jasmine and a couple of the other Rakehells and their wives, and even two from her own school friends.

  That sent a certain frisson of fear running through her. How had everyone heard of her marriage so quickly? How on earth were they to undo the damage that Howell had undoubtedly caused ranting to all and sundry about the way he had been treated?

  The notes were a positive sign that she had support from her true friends, but she was certain Howell was going to become even more unreasonable when he grasped all that losing his plump little wealthy partridge Fanny would means. She had also escaped from his clutches, a most fortunate circumstance if even one iota of what Randall had said about him were true.

  She knew Stephen could be impetuous, and prayed Howell wouldn't goad him into a duel, or drag the Clarences through the mire over a breach of promise suit.

  Howell would also know that Stephen had only been able to undertake such a step as marriage and remaining in the family home through the good graces of Randall. It would be one more thing for Howell to hold against her husband.

  She took one more sip of tea and put her cup down with a sigh. It was too much of a muddle. She would discuss her fears with Randall after she had had a bath. They all had to present a united front. It would look even worse if they all told different stories about how their marriages had come to pass. All she knew was the Ton was no doubt completely abuzz after their visitors’ calls yesterday and rumours of duelling.

  As she had told her husband in the dressmaker’s shop the other day, the best thing to do was simply brazen it out.

  Isolde discovered that this might be easier said than done, however, when they had an unexpected call as they were finishing dinner that afternoon.

  She and Randall had greeted each other that morning with warm but relatively restrained kisses, and had spent some hours with his mother. Next had come a full tour of the house and its facilities so that Isolde could start taking over as mistress of the household.

  She had been impressed with how well-ordered everything was, though he complained he had grown lax about the housekeeping since his mother had been so ill and his duties had become more and more onerous.

  Her brows shot up in surprise as she surveyed a vast linen cupboard. "Lax? My dear, you would put my own fastidious mother to shame."

  "Still, some of the things have been neglected. We're a bit short handed, only get to do the laundry every other day instead of each."

  "What do you mean, you do the laundry every day?" she asked in surprise.

  Hopkins shrugged and looked at his employer.

  Randall cleared his throat, seemingly uncomfortable thought she could not see why. She took his hand.

  "It’s fine. Just unusual. My, what a wonderful collection of linens."

  She felt him twitch, and gripped his hand more tightly.

  "It’s all right. Everything is fine."

  He smiled at her in relief. Whatever was troubling him, he didn’t volunteer it. She decided not to push, and took his arm affectionately to ascend to the upper floor and his mother’s room once more, her tour at an end. She just had to content herself with knowing that he appeared to be a very competent employer and house owner, and not all of her questions were going to be answered immediately.

  Eventually he confessed that his brother Mark had been ill for some time, and his father had been prone to what his mother had termed night sweats, as she had been. There had been a great deal of illness and sadness in the house, and it appeared to Isolde that he was trying to cope manfully by evading his emotions in a welter of busy-ness. At least he felt he was doing something useful, even if he did not see any improvement in his mother’s condition.

  At dinner, they discussed her concerns over the amount of damage Howell’s could cause to her and her family. "I don't mind so much for myself, but the girls might be affected by it in the long term. I'm also afraid that Stephen might do or say something foolish in retaliation if Howell were to cut up nastily. I'm also sure that Howell will slap of breach of promise suit on the Clarences."

  "Aye," Randall said, nodding. "Anything to get money. If I know him, he's swimming up to his eyes in the River Tick. I could offer to pay him something to keep quiet and just go away."

  She shook her head. "But once you bow to blackmail you have to keep on paying. I suggest we just ignore him."

  "If you think so, dear, but a small allowance to make up for his, er, disappointments, which would only continue provided he continued to behave well, might go a long way towards peaceful relations with all our families."

  She looked doubtful, so much so that he came over to her side and took her hand. "He won’t harm any of us. I give you my word."

  She smiled up at him, reassured.

  "So, how do we explain to all the old tabbies how we met and married?"

  "We can say we were introduced through your charitable works. They will have no real idea of how long we can have known each other. If you were working at the clinic—"

  "A cause for scandal in itself," she pointed out.

  He shook his head. "Not one I would ever worry my head over. You are a good, virtuous young woman. I fell in love with your virtue, and you’ve reformed me."

  "Thank you, my dear."

  He kissed her hand. "I mean every word of it. You really are the best woman I’ve ever met, on a par with my own mother and the other inestimable ladies in your family. And the Rakehell wives."

  "What shall we say about Stephen and Fanny?" she said with a slight frown.

  "We will need to speak to them about it. They've been childhood friends, so it's not so strange."

  "Except for the haste. And the fact that she was pre-contracted to Howell."

  "A young woman has every right to change her mind. And while everyone might ordinarily think the haste was to avoid a seven-month child, I doubt in this case anyone is going to believe that. I mean, she’s perfectly sweet, but licentious?" He shook his head.

  "On the other hand, Stephen might like to be portrayed as a man of the world with uncontrollably rising sap."

  Randall guffawed, and would have made a sexy rejoinder, when Hopkins came into with two detectives. They could hear footsteps throughout the house, and the sound of things being searched.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Randall demanded, his face a livid mask which terrified her. She prayed he would not do something foolish, and hastened to his side to take his hand.

  "We're here to investigate charges brought against you that this is a house of ill repute, and that you have suborned this under age young lady away from her family with no intention of decent wedlock, and are keeping her here against her will."

  "Oh, for Heaven’s sake!" Randall growled impatiently, knowing that Howell had set this action against him in motion, probably before he had come himself, or simply to stir up trouble, remind them that he was out there, and out to get even.

  Isolde shot him a warning look. He understood it only too well. Let her do the talking.

  "Suborned me? Not at all. Randall is the most wonderfully attentive husband I could wish for. My husband is well known to the vicar Jonathan Deveril, a most moral and upright man. I'm sure you will find the marriage lines all in order."

  The taller of the two detectives stopped at this. "Marriage lines?"

  "As for a house of ill repute, what ca
n you be thinking? This is a respectable household, one frequently visited by decent people as if it were a museum. This is the Earl of Hazelmere, for Heaven’s sake!"

  "What about you being under age?" one of the men asked.

  "I am of age to wed even without consent, but the fact is, my mother was right here at the wedding. She is upstairs now, and will verify everything I have said.

  "My brother, who is sixteen, was also wed at the same time. Our new in-laws the Clarences are also staying here. You can have any number of witnesses who can aver that all is well."

  "Hopkins, make sure my mother is not disturbed, please? She has been ill for some time," Randall said tightly, "and if I discover you have upset her, I will have your jobs, do you hear me?"