The Wicked Lord Rasenby

by Marguerite Kaye

The words sounded a death knell to her hopes, faint as they had been. The only thing now was to try, at least, to extract his promise to leave Amelia alone. With a deep breath, she began. ‘My name is Clarissa Warrington. I am Amelia Warrington’s sister.’

  With many pauses, stumbling over the words, and all the time waiting in vain for a reaction, any reaction, from Kit, silent and brooding in the chair, Clarissa told her story. Making little of her own trials, she still gave away enough to paint Kit a sorry picture of her circumstances. ‘I just feel that if Amelia had the chance to meet an honourable man who would be a calming influence on her, she would marry and could be happy. There is someone, a good man who loves her, and I am sure his feelings are reciprocated. But she has been so spoilt, and she is so beautiful, that the kinds of riches you can offer make it difficult for her to choose the honourable path.’

  Lacing her hands together as she concentrated on putting Amelia in the kindest light, Clarissa frowned. ‘She’s not a bad person, she’s just weak. So I thought if I removed temptation from her, it would give Edward a chance.’ Realising just how foolish this plan sounded, now that she told it aloud for the first time, made her shoulders sag with despair. What a fool she had been!

  Kit echoed her thoughts. ‘Well, if that really was your plan, I can only say that you must have windmills in your head. For God’s sake, Clarissa, do you really believe for a moment that my absence will make any difference at all? Merely, it means that Amelia will look for a replacement, and I can assure you that it will not be this worthy Edward, unless he has miraculously come into a fortune over the last couple of days.’

  ‘I know, it sounds so stupid now.’ Looking back, Clarissa was hard put to understand her own behaviour. To have believed that Kit’s mere absence would make a difference was ludicrous, not just stupid. With hindsight, of course, it was clear to her that her proposal to Kit had not been to save her sister, but to save Kit. Worse, she realised now, she had wanted Kit for herself from the first moment she had met him at the masked ball.

  ‘But you are not stupid, Clarissa. In fact, you are a very intelligent, well-informed young woman. I find it difficult to believe that you came up with this madcap idea merely to save your sister from an indecent proposal. And despite what you have said, I cannot believe either that you thought Amelia to be so very innocent. She is a scheming wretch, and you know it.’

  His words, so nearly reflecting her own thoughts, caught her unawares. Looking over at her, Kit saw a slightly hunted expression flit across her face. ‘I’m right then, Clarissa. The story you have told is not so simple, is it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean. I’ve told you the truth, I wanted to save Amelia. There is nothing more.’ Terrified that Kit had some inkling of her feelings, Clarissa sought desperately for something to say that would assuage his curiosity—anything but the real truth, the truth that was only just becoming apparent to Clarissa. She had thrown herself in Kit’s path from the start, not for her sister’s sake, but for her own. He must never find out.

  ‘Look at you. The lies are writ large across your face. What twist have you left out of your sorry story?’

  ‘I—well, if you must know, I—the truth is, my lord, that I discovered from my sister that she planned to trap you.’

  ‘Trap me? In what way, trap me?’

  ‘Into marriage, my lord. She knew, you see, that you intended only a—a dishonourable proposal, but she was sure that she could persuade you into matrimony but some underhand means.’

  ‘What means, exactly?’

  ‘I don’t know, I swear I don’t. I only know that she had some plan, something that was to take place over the next few days, and she was certain that you would fall for it. I—I could not condone it, I had to stop it. Marriage should not be based on deceit and lies. I tried to reason with Amelia, I tried to find out what she was planning, but she merely laughed at me.’

  ‘And knowing your sister so well as you say you do, did you really think she had the brains to carry off such a scheme? Did you think for one single minute that I would fall for anything that trollop had up her sleeve? You vastly overrate your sister if you do. I don’t believe you.’

  The temper on which Kit had been keeping such a tight rein was leased suddenly and wholly unexpectedly. ‘Do you think I’m so stupid? That a simpering girl with cotton wool for a brain, so obviously determined to sell herself to the highest bidder, would find a way to coerce me into marriage? Well, do you?’

  Without waiting for an answer, the words coming in a cold, harsh voice, Kit continued, all the while towering over her, his face a mask of white anger. ‘No, I don’t think for one second that is what you thought my fair, deceitful Clarissa. You are more like your sister than you admit. Though your plan was not quite so crude, was it? Not quite so obvious, but with the same intention.’

  ‘I don’t understand, I—’

  ‘Don’t bother to deny it, I am sick of your lies. You knew perfectly well Amelia could not succeed with me. But you thought you could, didn’t you? Well, didn’t you?’

  ‘No! No, oh no. Kit, no, I wouldn’t, I—’

  ‘Oh, spare me the injured innocent, madam, it cuts no ice. I see it all clearly now. It was you who were planning to seduce me all along. Not to save your precious sister, oh, no, this was no sacrificial seduction. No wonder you were so desperate to get back to London. You had never any intention of fulfilling your promise to me, but you had every intention of blackmailing me, did you not? No doubt your so-respectable aunt, or more likely your poor frail mama, was to be brought into play. A sad and sorry tale of abduction, perhaps? Yes, that would be it. A night away in my company, and then you return home, your mama cries rape, and you await my proposals. Not bad, as far as these sorts of things go, but it wouldn’t have worked, Clarissa. I’ve told you many times, I’m every bit as bad as my reputation. Mama could have published your tale of woe in a scandal sheet for the ton to read and it would have provoked no reaction from me.’

  Silenced by this onslaught, Clarissa sat, motionless and appalled at what she had done. Kit fell silent too, gazing unseeing into the fire, trying to come to terms with his own anger, which seemed out of all proportion to Clarissa’s crime. After all, he had known her to be deceitful from the first. Eventually, the black humour of the situation got the better of his temper. The scheme had at least the spark of originality he had come to expect from Clarissa. Placing himself at her side, Kit took hold of her cold hand. ‘Let us have done with all pretence. Admit I have discovered your plans, then we can kiss and make up.’

  Snatching her hand away, Clarissa moved as far from Kit as the sofa would allow. She did not trust herself to stand. ‘I admit nothing other than the truth. I wanted to protect Amelia from her own foolish self. And I wanted to save you from being tricked into marriage. I had no intentions, none whatever, I assure you most vehemently, of tricking you into any sort of proposal for myself. I meant it, Kit, I promise you, I do most truly believe that no relationship, marriage or otherwise, can be built on deceit. As to my mama’s involvement—well, all I can say is that if you knew my mama, you would know her incapable of any sort of plotting.’

  ‘Ah, I assume that Amelia takes after her then?’

  A subdued giggle gave him his answer. Clarissa’s sense of humour did not fail her, even in the midst of such emotional trauma. ‘I’m afraid so. Mama is rather—well, suffice to say that I am the practical one.’

  ‘The only one with any brains, you mean. It is time you put them to use. Admit that you have failed. Come clean with me, and we will call it quits.’

  ‘You mean I can go?’

  ‘No, I mean I will not be angry with you any more. I will save my energy for more enjoyable emotions. I still expect you to come to my bed. You can’t seriously have expected me to change my mind?’

  ‘But I never intended, I never meant—I mean, I didn’t think it would come to this. I can’t—please don’t ask me to, please, Kit.’

  Her green eyes
were for the second time in a short period drowned in tears, but she would not look away, nor shed them willingly. Beseechingly, Clarissa looked up at him, silently begging for mercy. But she could see no signs of softening in the harsh mask of his face.

  ‘Your tears won’t sway me, so dry your eyes. You’ve tried every trick in the book over the past few days, and this sight affects me no more than any of the others, save I am in awe at the breadth of your talents. And before you try the virtuous maiden on me once more, may I remind you that your kisses have given you away several times. You are no more a maiden than your sister.’

  Gently pulling Clarissa to him, Kit produced a large square of linen from his pocket, and applied himself to wiping her eyes. She lay compliant under his ministrations, almost drained of resistance, unable to think of any way out of this mesh she had woven.

  ‘There. Your plans have gone awry, but that is no reason to prevent us enjoying each other’s company.’ His hand tilted her chin towards him, and he looked close into her captive eyes. ‘No more tears. No more lies. Tonight you will fulfil your part of the bargain, and tomorrow you will go home. We will enjoy our coupling, you know we will. If our kisses are an indication, then it will be more than enjoyable, for we are extremely compatible, and I have tasted enough of you to know that you have been well schooled in the arts of pleasing a man.’

  ‘I can’t, Kit, please don’t make me.’

  ‘I won’t make you. I won’t have to. You will come to my bed of your own accord. You know you will.’

  ‘No! Once and for all, you are mistaken in me. I have no such experience. If you take me, it will ruin me. Please, my lord, I beg of you, let me go.’

  The hand on her chin tightened as his eyes darkened with anger, and something else. Dark desire, selfish need, frustrated passion—all the pent-up emotions Clarissa had roused, then dampened, then set on fire, then quelled, then blown once more into life until they burned as an inferno. Without warning, without thought, with only base, urgent need, Kit surrendered all restraint. Pushing Clarissa back on the sofa, trapping her under the hard length of his body, his mouth descended on hers in a revengeful, possessive kiss.

  She struggled, her hands beating ineffectually on his chest, his shoulders, his arms. The kiss went relentlessly on, his lips hard, his tongue seeking, controlling, his body taut, pushing against hers, demanding a response. And surely, as surely as a drug injected straight into her veins, mixing with her blood, he was having an effect. She fought, but more weakly. Her mouth softened, compliant under his, if not yet responding to his demands. Her body arched into his, relishing the feel of pulsating muscle, hard bone, rough skin, all the evidence of his overwhelming masculinity against her wholly feminine softness. With every second his mastery of her became more complete.

  Sensing the change in her, Kit’s kisses became more sensuous, his tongue more teasing, his hands stroking her into submission rather than holding her to ransom. Clarissa sighed, her own hands ceasing their fluttering against his back, to drop boneless by her sides. She was drowning, lost, swirling deep into the eddy of their mutual desire. The fingers of her right hand trailed on the floor beside the sofa, feeling the soft pile of the Turkish rug beneath them, the texture of the wool rough against her skin like the growth of Kit’s beard on her face.

  The strings of her reticule caught in her hand. It must have been under the sofa. Her reticule. She clung to the last desperate shreds of her weakening resistance and pulled the strings open, groping inside as Kit continued his assault on her mouth, as her own mouth started to co-operate, poised on the verge of making her own demands. A kerchief. Her purse. A small mirror. And something else, heavy, cold and sharp.

  Summoning a last strand of resolution, Clarissa extracted the small, jewelled dagger from the reticule. Calling on all her strength, she clutched it tight to the hilt and brought her hand up, the deadly blade glinting in the firelight. At the same time she placed her other hand on Kit’s chest and pushed with all her might, struggling free from under him. Taken by surprise, he rolled over onto the floor with Clarissa landing on top of him. Without thinking, she reached out to break her fall. The dagger slipped from her grip, glanced off the large brass button on Kit’s coat, and plunged into his arm.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Kit! Oh, my God, Kit! I’ve killed you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Clarissa. You’ve barely scratched me.’

  ‘Oh, you’re not dead. Thank you, God. Are you sure?’

  ‘Have you any idea how ludicrous a question that is? Do you think it’s my ghost talking? You do not kill a man by sticking a knife into his arm. It’s hardly even bleeding.’

  ‘Let me see. No, no, don’t stand. Sit there. No wait, take off your coat so I can bind it. No, wait, perhaps I should call a doctor? Or get you some brandy?’

  ‘Stop! Sit down, take a deep breath and for the Lord’s sake just be quiet for a minute and let me have a look at this grievous wound you have inflicted on me.’

  ‘But, Kit, I think you should—’

  ‘Clarissa, if you don’t just shut up for a few seconds, I swear I will be forced to murder you with that toy of yours. Where in damnation is the thing, anyway?’

  Reluctantly Clarissa sat, only to stand again instantly as the point of the dagger jabbed her thigh. ‘Ouch! Here, I think.’

  ‘Give me that. Serves you right.’ Kit grabbed the dagger from her hands, inspecting it with raised brows. Not a toy after all. Had it not been for his coat, she could well have injured him, seriously, if not fatally. Reluctantly, he was impressed. He had to give her top marks for originality, if nothing else—no one had ever managed to knife him before, though he was sure there were many who would have taken pleasure in it.

  ‘It was my father’s. It’s one of the few things of his that haven’t been sold off. I had it in my reticule. I’m sorry, truly sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  Kit raised his brows questioningly, a gleam of humour lurking in his dark eyes. ‘I find that difficult to believe, and I’m not sure a jury would take your side too readily. If you did not mean to hurt me, why did you try to stab me?’

  ‘I didn’t! I mean, yes, I did have the knife in my hand, but my intent was only to threaten you. I slipped, it was an accident. I just thought you would take me more seriously—I just thought—oh, I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, it’s certainly a drastic measure to take to escape my advances. I had no idea that you found me so unattractive.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  This time the denial was a whisper so soft he was not sure he had heard it. And even as he took it in, she had reverted to her concern over his injury.

  ‘Does it hurt? I think I should take a look, even if it is just a scratch. It will need to be dressed, you’ll probably need a sling.’

  The hopefulness in her tone was unmistakable. So, despite everything he had said, all that had passed between them in the last few hours, Clarissa was still determined to escape. Well, she could for now, for he was in no fit state for love-making at present, in need of some time to cool his temper, if nothing else. Some rest was what they both needed. ‘Very well, do your worst.’ With difficulty, Kit shrugged obligingly out of his tight-fitting coat, ruefully surveying the damage the knife had done to the expensive fabric.

  The wound was small and bleeding sluggishly, situated in the fleshy part of his left arm. At his behest Clarissa rang the bell, and to her astonishment it was answered in a remarkably quick time by a liveried servant. The man betrayed no sign of surprise at the sight of his master, wounded and half-undressed on the sofa, in the company of a somewhat dishevelled and tearful young woman. Her request for fresh linen, hot water and basilicum powder were received as if she had ordered tea and biscuits.

  ‘Are your servants used to seeing such sights?’

  ‘Hardly. I have never been wounded before nor am I accustomed to bringing my mistresses here. That is two firsts for you.’

  ‘I a
m not your mistress.’

  ‘No, but you will be soon.’

  ‘No, I won’t. I can’t. You can’t, that’s what I mean. Your arm, it will be in a sling, so you won’t be able to—well, you won’t want to—I mean, you won’t be up to—’

  ‘I think you’d better stop there, don’t you?’ His grin was tinged with wicked humour, but his voice showed signs of fatigue. Stifling a yawn, he smiled wanly. ‘I think you’re safe for the moment. You may bind my arm, then we could both do with some sleep—alone. When you are rested, you may command the servants to draw you a bath. We will dine together later. No—’ he raised his hand as she tried to speak ‘—do not, I beg of you, argue with me further. We are not returning to London tonight. Apart from anything else, your over-eager attempt to defend yourself has ensured that I am not fit to travel. And before you ask, no, you cannot go on your own. Now, once and for all, accept your fate and let us have an end to this futile discussion.’

  And for once Clarissa judged it best to take his advice. She vouchsafed no reply.

  The servant returned, placing a bowl of water on the table in front of her, the bandages, lint and powder to the side. His countenance, and the nod he gave to her as he did so, showed no trace of disrespect towards her. ‘Will that be all, my lord?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Robert. Wait. Tell Mrs Hatchings that we’ll dine at seven. And warn the kitchen that Miss—er—Warrington here, will be requiring a bath later. Oh, and before all that, get the housekeeper to prepare the red room for Miss Warrington as soon as possible.’ Turning to Clarissa, he held his arm out in resignation. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing. I wouldn’t put it beyond you to make it worse for your own devious purposes.’

  Ignoring the gasp of indignation aroused by this remark, Kit leaned back and closed his eyes.

  He awoke to find himself alone. His arm had been efficiently bandaged and mercifully left without a sling. The room was dark, the fire a heap of glowing embers. He must have been asleep for some time. Rising, Kit rang the bell, demanding hot water for his own bath, issuing a series of brisk, clear instructions for the morrow as he strode across the hallway and up the wide staircase. Refreshed by his sleep, a quiver of desire arrowed through him as he thought of Clarissa asleep in the room adjoining his own. He tried to remember the last time he had felt such a rush of anticipation, and couldn’t. He must needs make the most of it, for tomorrow she would be gone and out of his life for good.