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

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  He was one of the three children who had been his friend William’s children, and while it was true he was legitimate and thus had better prospects than the other five children, he did not need to rub their noses in it. His brother Edward and sister Sarah, at seven and six, were much more quiet and humble, and fit in well.

  The baby of the group, Adeline, only three, was easy to love and spoil, but Isolde warned that they all had to be treated as equally as possible. They were all made to share a bedchamber each, a boys’ and a girls’ room, and all the toys and clothes were held in common as far as possible. If one needed something new, they all got something new. If someone broke something, they had to do chores to pay for it and replace it if it were essential, and most particularly if it were not their own.

  The Gibsons were a kindly middle-aged couple who helped keep the brood in order, and whilst they had been dubious at first about the abilities of the new young lady to keep order, and her interest in the children, they were soon won over by Isolde’s kind ways and dedication.

  Isolde got to know each child as a person, learned their likes and dislikes, their hopes and fears. David and Daniel, six and five, were as close as real brothers, and doted on Kitty, aged five, and Adeline. Adam, the youngest of the boys at only four, was shy and easy to pick on if no one took his part.

  The girls did, but he had been the butt of James’ negative attentions until Isolde had intervened with some loving kindness. She paired the children off for all sorts of different chores and even their lessons, for Adam was such an adept little scholar that he could even teach Edward sums. His languages soon became first rate with some help from Randall, and he blossomed.

  So too did the timid six-year old Sarah, who had been in the house when her unfortunate mother had been assaulted by a paying customer in the small garrett she had used as her place of business. Sarah had been ill with a fever and put into the corner tied to a chair. As a result of her beating, her mother had eventually died, but not before she had consigned the children to Randall’s care.

  Sarah had nightmares, and was exceptionally shy around every single one of the Rakehells, though she took to their wives and their sons and daughters readily enough.

  Under Isolde’s steady if gentle influence, Barkston House became the family home Randall had recalled from his childhood. His pride and love for his wife soared, and he longed to be worthy of her in every way. Each waking moment was a new revelation. They sang, performed music, read, taught, played all sorts of games with the children, and spent time with his mother, and every day their new family closeness grew.

  The days were full, the nights fuller. She worried about Randall pushing himself too far to be the perfect landlord, earl, husband, father, son.

  At the end of their first month together as a complete family, as they lay collapsed in the bed just holding one another, she said to him softly, "You don’t have to be so anxious about everything all the time. Everything will be fine. We’ll be happy. It just takes one day after another to build a life. We’re laying the foundations for a beautiful one together."

  "How can you be so sure?" he sighed.

  "I just have a feeling."

  "Well, I’ll trust your intuition as you call it. It wasn’t wrong about me, now was it?"

  She smiled up at him, and he curled his huge hard body around hers as though he would never let her go. "No, indeed, Randall. It was perfectly right. You are and will always be the man of my dreams."

  "And you the woman of mine."

  She finally ventured to ask him a question she had been wondering about for some time. "Randall?"

  "Yes, my love?"

  "How did you lose you virginity?"

  He shrugged. "A high-class Incognita whom I asked to initiate me into love’s mysteries. I wanted to learn from an expert all about pleasure. Oh, it wasn’t just for the sexual titillation, believe me. The truth is that more than even the physical release, I wanted the emotional one. I wanted to try to find out how Francis could have been so enthralled by Clarissa that he would have betrayed everyone he loved and cared about."

  "Did you ever find out?"

  "No. It was never so intense until I met you. I kept looking, but..." He shrugged.

  "And do you know now?" she asked softly.

  He nodded. "Yes, in the sense that I’ve never experienced anything so soul-shattering in my life. But I don’t think it’s the same. I don’t think your love has made me narrow and selfish. Instead it’s ennobled me. I’ve become a better son, father because of you. Want to be a better husband. A better man. As good a man as you are a woman.

  "For you are, you know. So passionate and loving my heart bursts with pride to see you. I don’t forget my duty and love for my family. You anchor me to it, remind me all the time of what's at stake if I ever tried to be selfish or foolish."

  "Does that mean you feel tied down?" she asked worriedly.

  "No, not tied. Anchored firmly in a swirling sea. Stable, filled with absolute certainty for the first time in my life. And so lascivious that one look from your eyes is enough to make me—"

  She kissed him warmly, a full open-mouthed kiss. "So all these tricks you learnt from your instructor?" she asked quietly.

  He shook his head. "No, darling, it’s all been you. There was never any fantasy or joy before. It was just a, well, means to an end. Some pleasure. But now that I’ve been with you, I know what that word really means."

  "Show me."

  He gaped. "Pardon?"

  "Show me what you like. The touches and so on. I mean, I know some of it, but your most special, what was it you’ve called them, erogenous zones?"

  He grinned from ear to ear. "Well, since you’ve asked so nicely. So long as you show me more of yours."

  "Are you sure you haven’t found them all already?" she asked with a shy sideways glance at him.

  "I’m always willing to hunt up a few more."

  "Thank you, dear."

  He stroked one finger around the swirl of her outer ear. "Not all. It really is my pleasure."

  "Our pleasure," she giggled happily.

  "Yes, most certainly ours. And I hope you won’t mind if this lasts for hours."

  "Mind?" she purred. "I would be sorry if it didn’t."

  "Then lie back and enjoy the ride."

  "Oh no, you’re supposed to, with me in the saddle."

  "We’ll take in turns then. We’ll both work our magic together." He took her hand and place it upon him. "Now you know how much I adore that, but if you just—aaaah."

  Chapter Eight

  During the fourth month of their marriage, Randall began to relax into his role as earl more, but there always seemed that much more to do. Parliament was going to re-open soon, and they had spent hours discussing his maiden speech.

  But that was the least of his worries, for there was always an endless list of chores and things requiring his personal attention. Isolde suggested that they needed to organise their time better, set some limits and boundaries so they did not feel taken over so much by their new duties. They began by setting aside the two hours before dinner to do something they really enjoyed themselves.

  Eventually Isolde even persuaded him to go on his own little excursions. She wanted to prove she trusted him, and would be safe without him. She was certain Howell had not given up on her, that he was lurking in the background watching her-she had caught sight of him a couple of times in the district but this far had not had to confront him.

  But Randall couldn’t possibly spend all his time watching her like a hawk. He loved her, she was sure, and the children, but there were other strong loves within him as well that she did not wish to have thwarted.

  Isolde searched the attics, and unpacked all of his art supplies which had been put up there when they had relocated, and never been taken down since.

  "Oh no, it’s pure indulgence," he said with a shake of his head when she made the suggestion.

  "But it makes you happy."

 
; "There’s so much to do," he protested.

  "You can’t work all the time, darling."

  "But Mother, and the children—"

  "We have so many servants, and I’m here. Painting is part of who you are. There are all sorts of lovely landscapes you can paint hereabouts. You don’t even have to go far. Just step out onto the lawn and paint what you see. You’ll be in calling distance if we need you for anything."

  "And what do you get in exchange? You need some time to yourself too."

  "Oh, an occasional trip to Bath shopping? I promise to take one of the Rakehell wives with me."

  "All right, I agree. So long as you spend obscene amounts of money indulging yourself."

  She flashed him a grin. "If you don’t mind, I would rather you indulge me. And you certainly don’t need any money for what I have in mind."

  So Randall took to going out with his paintbox and easel, and it wasn’t long until the walls of their room began to fill with all of his lovely creations.

  From the lawn to the woods, he then started to range further afield, and to spend more time at it. Isolde didn’t begrudge him, though it meant her spending more and more time with his mother and going over the estate business herself, and less time to see him, be alone with him, without short-changing the children.

  But she held her tongue, for she saw a new sparkle in his eye and quickness in his step which she was sure betokened happiness in their marriage.

  Or at least she wished to be sure. She tried to tell herself her suspicions were unfounded, but he was also being less demonstrative with her, both in bed and out, more distracted. Just because he had been a rake once did not mean—

  But other things separated them as well. When he was home it appeared they had a never-ending list of chores, and whilst she adored the children, they seemed to have less and less privacy, with the usual round of childhood illnesses, bumps and scrapes occupying her attention.

  She knew it was what motherhood was all about, and the little bruises and other minor mishaps and small domestic crises could not be factored into their packed daily schedule.

  Randall felt happy with his painting, but at times he wondered if his new bride were slipping away from him. Every time he returned to the house from a painting expedition, she seemed more and more frazzled.

  He offered to give them up on several occasions and stay home, but she always waved him away with an almost absent-minded kiss and told him to enjoy himself. He knew what he would really enjoy...

  But then someone would come in and she would spring away from him in embarrassment and the moment would be lost.

  One day he decided enough was enough.

  "Oh, good, you’re home," she said, trying to keep any hint of accusation out of her voice.

  "Are you glad to see me?" he said with a warm smile.

  "Always," she said, bestowing a smacking kiss on his lips which was all too fleeting for his tastes, and then seating herself at the desk. "We have to finish this letter to the Committee on Public Sanitation, and then there are the stocks and shares to check, and after that there’s the—"

  His arms came up around her, his hands on her breasts causing her to jump. "Randall, it’s broad daylight, and someone might come in," she gasped.

  "Let them. I need you, Isolde. Need you now. So badly I can taste it. Taste you. I want to—" He began whispering in her ear as he held her in place in the chair, until she wiggled and squirmed at the urgent passion of his words.

  "Oh, Randall, yes, please," she breathed, shocked and thrilled at his ardour.

  "Which?" he murmured huskily.

  "All of it. Any fantasy you like so long as you’re inside me."

  He pulled her from the chair and turned her to face him in one fluid movement. His mouth covered hers in an instant, seeking, insistent. Any further protest she might have made about the time or place died on his lips as his tongue penetrated her in one long, sultry stroke which left her in no doubt of what was about to happen next.

  "Mmm, upstairs, bed, please?" she gasped, his hands already unfastening her gown.

  He swung her up into his arms and took the stairs two at a time, and then shoved the door shut with one foot and she locked it.

  "I’m sorry, love. We have all the time in the world, but for this instant I’m absolutely bursting with need for you."

  Her drawers fell about her ankles and he entered her a second later. Her head fell back against the door hard, and he sucked in a little breath and cradled her skull in his huge hand, rubbing the soreness away even as he rubbed her to climax below.

  The combination of tenderness and raw male passion turned her bones to liquid and she hung on tightly to his shoulders and bent her knees to deepen his pulsing rhythm.

  "Isolde, my love."

  "Randall, please."

  He lifted her by her buttocks, strode over to the bed, and laid her down at the edge. Angling her body, he rubbed her silken flesh until her hips arched upwards. Then he grasped her by the waist with his huge hands and pulled and thrust relentlessly until all the stars were falling embers which rained down over them, living her insensate with fulfillment yet eager for more.

  Panting, he withdrew from her and lifted her until she was comfortable against the pillows, and he began to undress her tenderly, like a small child, smoothing the tousled hair back from her flushed face.

  "There, there, poor baby. You look all feverish. Nothing a little time in bed wouldn’t cure, my pet."

  "Yes, bed would be just the thing," she agreed meekly, wondering at the mischievous light in his eyes. "But only if you have nothing else to do."

  He put one finger to her lips. "Nothing more important than looking after my darling girl. Catering to your every need."

  His sultry emphasis on the last two words was enhanced by his hands trailing down her now bare flesh. The tips of his fingers whispered over her nipples, circling her distended aureoles until finally he touched the delicate peaks, wringing a ripple of pure pleasure from deep within her.

  His hand moved in a leisurely manner all over her ribs and waist, the dips and hollows of her hips, and he did a gradual strip for her, stopping every so often to remove another item of clothing from his magnificent body, making her throat almost raw with desire as she looked at his beauty and grace.

  Once he was bare, he said, "But you’re still looking rather flushed my dear. We’ll simply have to examine you."

  Oh Lord, she thought, her nerve endings already aquiver. She was certain no part of the front of the body remained unexamined by his hands and mouth, and he told her how lovely she was, how much he worshipped her, until she wanted to believe him with all her heart. That he really did love her, and wanted no other. That they could be happy together.

  If they had lost the wonderful spontaneity of their life in London now that they had a huge welter of duties and responsibilities, perhaps they could get it back or even improve upon it, if only she could trust him?

  He had by now reached her auburn mound, and he spread her legs wide and brushed her lightly, causing her to gasp in eager anticipation. She was about to reach for him when his words stilled her.

  "What’s this? It looks like you’ve been swived," he said sternly, dipping his fingers into her deeply until she let out a little moan. "Who have you been futtering, you naughty girl? Tell me what he did to you?"

  "Oh, please, it wasn’t my fault," she said, giving her voice a breathless innocent quality. "I didn’t want to. I was minding my own business walking down the street when this mysterious man came up to me and told me he wanted to speak to me. He led me to a private room and well, put his hands on me."

  "How? Show me. Put your hands on yourself."

  She did as he asked, shivering with pleasure.

  "And did you like it?" he demanded, still exploring her flesh below, curling one long hard finger inside her.

  "It was scary and wonderful."

  "And do you like touching yourself now?

  She licked her
suddenly dry lips. "I would rather have you touching me."

  His finger glided out, and he trailed it wetly upwards to her navel. "Show me. Show me how you want it."

  She grasped the backs of his hands and shimmered them over her aching nipples until they were so swollen and full she tingled right down to her knees.

  "But what about this?" he asked after a time, returning his hand to the now engorged area below her waist.