Rescued by the Forbidden Rake

by Mary Brendan

  Faye’s eyes had widened in shock while she listened. ‘I’d sooner that wasn’t broadcast,’ she said flatly, although she knew it was a vain hope. ‘Peter was due to sail for Malta...he told me so at the summer fair...’ She suddenly realised how gullible that sounded given her recent experience with him.

  ‘He was fortunate to have got away with a dishonourable discharge; he might have faced a noose but for his senior position.’ Ryan approached Faye, his fingers massaging along her forearms as he drew her closer to him. ‘I know hearing the brutal truth is a shock. I would have spared you it if I could, but I’ll not lie to cover up what he’s done. He’s quite adept at doing that for himself.’

  ‘So on the last occasion that he visited Wilverton he had already lost his career and taken my investment.’ She spoke almost to herself. ‘How did you find out about all of this?’

  ‘I made it my business to find out and recruited detectives to snoop and ask questions and bribe people to tell what they knew. I’m sorry if you don’t like my methods. I want you to be happy, Faye, and that wouldn’t be possible with him by your side.’ He smiled self-mockingly. ‘Of course, I had a selfish reason for getting rid of him: I want you. I’ll protect you...care for you, you know I will.’ He paused, then said with a throb of sincerity, ‘I can make you happy...’

  ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘But how can I ever be content when there is so much about yourself that is puzzling, Viscount Kavanagh?’ She used his title as a pertinent reminder of how little she knew of that side of his life. Abruptly she removed herself from his hold and stepped away. It was too difficult to think straight with the scent of him in the air she breathed and the warmth of his hands branding into her bones. ‘You should go; please see yourself out as my aunt’s maid is up to her elbows in washing water.’

  ‘You don’t trust me.’

  ‘How can I when I have little on which to base that trust?’ She gestured in frustration. ‘I never again want to be involved with a man who keeps a secret side to himself. So shall I hire detectives to snoop on you? What would they tell me, I wonder, about your army career and your gypsy roots? Then there is your past involvement with the mother of your beautiful daughter, who doesn’t even know that she is your daughter. Will they report a scandal concerning Ryan Kavanagh and the mother of his illegitimate daughter? Are there more secret daughters...or sons?’

  ‘I’ve one child. And you don’t need to check up on me at all—’ his accent and his expression had hardened in frustration ‘—I’m not like your fiancé. But I’ll admit I regret not having found the courage to tell you all about myself sooner.’ He prowled towards her, cornering her when she backed away from him. Slowly he smoothed a thumb along her jaw. ‘I’ll tell you everything you want to know, I swear, but right now isn’t the time. Peter Collins must be on that ship leaving on tonight’s tide. If he stays, he’ll concoct lies about you to justify what he has done. The scandal you anticipated following Claire’s misconduct will be nothing as to what will mire you.’

  Their eyes held, strained, and for a moment Faye felt ready to forget about caution. She was tempted to throw her arms about him, trusting fate would be kind and her instinct right. He was a good man who was trying to do what was right for her, she was sure of it. What had observing duty and etiquette for all her adult life got her? Disintegrating dreams and wasted years. When she returned to Wilverton she was sure the master of Valeside would ask her again to be his mistress. Why not go with him, wherever that might be and for however long the adventure might endure? He wanted them to be happy, he’d said. He’d not mentioned love, but he desired her. And he cared for her and had proved it many times in his actions. Even her father had not always shown her such attention or generosity. She’d seen affection and tenderness in his eyes when he looked at her. Who was to say that in time it might not deepen into true love?

  Faye started to attention on hearing a hum of conversation. She identified her aunt’s voice, realising that the woman had come in through the garden door, and was talking to Betty in the washhouse.

  ‘My aunt is home,’ she hissed a warning. ‘As you are in a rush it might be prudent to go now before introductions and explanations are required.’

  Ryan gave a single nod, then, without warning, he suddenly pressed his mouth hard to hers. ‘I swear I will come back this evening and tell you everything you want to know...and more besides,’ he murmured against her pulsating lips. ‘And forget about Collins. He’s in the past.’

  He had gone from the house before Faye had properly surfaced from the sensual bliss that had exploded in her at the strength of his kiss. But her aunt’s sudden appearance soon brought her to her senses.

  ‘Betty tells me you had a visitor.’ Aunt Agatha had spotted her niece hovering on the parlour threshold. ‘Oh...who was it? Have I missed them?’ She sounded disappointed.

  ‘It was a gentleman called Mr Kavanagh.’ Faye had referred to him as she usually did, knowing any mention of a viscount having been in the house would give rise to excited questions. ‘He is a neighbour in Wilverton and called to say hello as he is in town, too,’ she rattled off. ‘As Betty was here I didn’t think there’d be any harm in receiving him.’

  ‘Of course there would not! You’re hardly a young debutante in need of a chaperon,’ Agatha said rather tactlessly. ‘I would have liked to meet him. So, did you have a nice time with your friend who is related to the vicar?’

  ‘I didn’t get that far...’ Faye had intended to see Anne’s relations, after she’d been to Peter’s lodgings. In the event she’d not had a chance to do so. ‘I bumped into my fiancé and we...that is, things came to a head between us.’

  Aunt Agatha heard the gravity in her niece’s voice. She quickly approached, taking Faye’s hands and giving them a little squeeze. ‘That sounds ominous, my dear. Do you want to talk about it? I’ll not badger you to do so.’

  ‘I’d like to have a talk as I’ve decided to go home tomorrow now I have jilted Peter.’

  ‘Let’s sit in the parlour,’ Aunt Agatha said, patting her niece’s arm. ‘And I expect some tea is in order to keep our tongues oiled. I can see that there’s much to chew over. You settle down and I’ll go and ask Betty to put the kettle on.’

  Chapter Twenty

  The supper things had been cleared away to the kitchen and Faye had helped her aunt with the washing up. Now the two women sat companionably in the parlour, but Faye couldn’t relax. Many hours had passed since Ryan had left the house and as the clock on the mantelshelf continued to tick away the minutes her imagination started to twist hither and thither and all manner of disasters began tormenting her.

  Had Peter refused after all to go abroad? Had he turned violent, perhaps with knife or gun, wanting to get his own back on Ryan for punching him and meddling in his affairs? Perhaps one or other of them...or, heaven forfend, both...lay unconscious and bleeding on a pitch-black wharf. Then there was always a chance that the commotion had brought the authorities to investigate and they were both under arrest.

  Faye might not have known her fiancé as well as she ought, but one thing she was certain of: he wouldn’t bow down easily to another man’s dictate...unless he had a vested interest to do so.

  ‘I think I will retire.’ Aunt Agatha broke into her niece’s feverish thoughts, gathering up the playing cards from the table where she’d had a game of solitaire. ‘I hadn’t realised it was almost ten o’clock.’ She glanced at her knitting, discarded by her side. ‘These old eyes feel too tired to do a few more rows.’

  Faye put down the Gothic novel that she’d made a show of reading. It was a warm August evening, close and sticky; hardly a breath of air stirred the velvet draping the open casement.

  Agatha was in the process of stretching her weary limbs when a bang on the door sounded, causing her to thump a hand to her breast. ‘Who in heaven’s name is that calling at th
is hour?’ She turned up the oil lamp on the table, frowning at her niece.

  Faye had got swiftly to her feet, her heart drumming in a mixture of excitement and uncertainty—surely Ryan wouldn’t call so late? ‘Wait here, Aunt Agatha. I’ll see who it is.’ Picking up a candle from the mantel, she shielded the flame with a hand as she hurried to the door.

  ‘Keep that chain firmly in place!’ Agatha instructed, hovering on the parlour threshold. She had few friends and even fewer relatives. She rarely got calls, even during social hours.

  Faye opened the door, just a little. She might be a country girl, but she knew that the city after dark was a dangerous place. Her aunt lived alone and was a prime target for a felon prepared to barge in and purloin what he could lay his hands to. Lifting the candle, she peeped out.

  ‘Miss Shawcross?’ A stranger with a drooping moustache raised his hat.

  ‘Yes... I am Miss Shawcross...’

  ‘I have a letter for you, special delivery.’ The man slid the parchment through the aperture then, doffing his hat again, scuttled on his way.

  ‘What is it?’ Agatha asked, pattering forward and drawing her shawl about her shoulders. She stared at the letter in her niece’s hand.

  ‘It is a note from Peter Collins.’ Faye had examined the script by candlelight and recognised the writing. Disappointment rippled through her. Although she’d known it was unlikely Ryan would outrage her aunt by visiting at such an hour, she’d hoped to see him. With Agatha in attendance, not much of import could have been said, but she would have read from his eyes if all had not gone as planned in his confrontation with Peter.

  ‘I expect your Mr Collins is feeling sorry for himself now you have jilted him and is trying to win you back. I have to say I think you have done the right thing...but it is a shame.’ Agatha cocked her head at her niece, noting the way she had thrust the letter into her pocket as though wishing herself rid of it. Faye’s agitation was proof that the poor girl needed more time to sort out her feelings and her future. At twenty-five years old she was mature enough to know that suitors for a woman past her prime would be thin on the ground. And Faye Shawcross was too sweet and beautiful to live out her life as an old maid. Faye had been a kind and dutiful soul to her father and her siblings and had paid too dear a price in Agatha’s opinion.

  ‘Come back into the parlour,’ she urged, steering her niece by the elbow. She gathered up her knitting from the chair she’d sat in. ‘I shall be off to bed and let you read your letter in peace. Then in the morning you might want to have a chat about it all. If you decide you wish to stay for a few more days rather than head straight home, then you are very welcome, my dear.’ Agatha approached her niece to give her a peck on the cheek. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight...’ Faye murmured. When the door had closed she set down the candle on the mantelshelf and took the letter from her pocket. There was no mistake; it was definitely Peter’s writing. She wondered if he had sent her a farewell message, begging her forgiveness. Had the fire been alight she might have tossed the parchment on to the flames. She wanted none of his apologies or explanations after what he’d done to her; whatever he said she’d not think him sincere. Her fingers ran over the paper in agitation and butted against a ridge as though something else were contained within the cover. Curiosity pricked at her and she broke the seal, unfolding one layer to find another note within.

  Faye stared in astonishment at a banker’s draft for the sum of two thousand and one hundred pounds. Westwood had told her that her fund would have been worth two thousand pounds had it performed as it ought. And, of course, it probably had, because she’d been lied to and cheated out of her bond. She guessed that Peter hadn’t willingly returned that money to her after having gone to the trouble of embezzling it. Ryan had forced him to repay her. Once again the master of Valeside had cared for her...and the ache within to see him again, to revel in his strong, warm embrace intensified so unbearably that a small moan rasped in her throat.

  Carefully she folded the draft and put it in her pocket. The covering note had just one word scrawled on it... Sorry...and Peter hadn’t even bothered to sign it. Faye scrunched that in a fist and dropped it into her pocket as well. She realised she was no longer consumed with anger, as earlier. Oddly, she felt more pity for Peter Collins than she did for herself. She had hopes and dreams for her future, and a family home to go to. What had he? Nowhere to call his own other than a seedy room to lodge in and no career either. She wondered if his parents might take him in, but the idea was soon nudged aside by thoughts of Ryan.

  She glanced at the clock as it chimed ten. She hoped that the night would pass quickly. In the morning she would wait indoors to see him; she was sure if no disaster had befallen that he would come before she set off for the coach station at noon. With a sigh she took the candle sconce to light her way up to bed.

  * * *

  It was only a dream, her subconscious mind reassured her, there was nothing in the room and she could sleep on. She’d dreamt of monsters and goblins when little and remembered her mother soothing her with words and touches while she drowsed with fantastical beasts leaping behind her eyelids. Nothing malign was close by...nothing to harm her...an inner voice murmured.

  A soft sigh escaped her lips and she rolled over towards a source of warmth, her limbs stretching languidly.

  ‘Faye...wake up, sweetheart...’

  The command was felt as a misty breath against her ear and, angling her head closer to it, she sensed a redolence of sandalwood and smoke, then masculine skin scraping her cheek. The touch of hard hot lips on her jaw brought her eyelids wide open.

  She would have jerked upright with a cry, but a pair of firm hands pinned her shoulders to the bed and a capturing mouth stifled her breath.

  ‘Hush...you’re quite safe. I couldn’t wait till tomorrow to come and see you,’ was murmured into her mouth. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late...’

  Ryan placed a long finger where his mouth had been, gently moving the digit over her parted lips. ‘You won’t scream, will you?’

  Panting softly, Faye shook her head. As he got up from the edge of the bed she struggled to a seated position.

  He lit the candle stump on the nightstand, holding it up so she could identify him while the flame dappled his face with a devilish hue.

  ‘I’m sorry if I startled you. I promise I won’t touch you. You’re not frightened, are you?’

  She shook her head, her loose blonde hair rippling against her nightgown. Swinging her legs off the bed, she stood up.

  Ryan gazed at her, wanting to scoop her up simply to lay her back down and feast on her womanly beauty. Beneath her plain nightgown he could glimpse the thrust of breast and hip contouring cotton. He grunted a laugh and put down the candle, standing before it so she was again hidden in shadow.

  ‘What is it?’ Faye realised he’d deliberately cut off the light a second after that sarcastic chuckle rasped in his throat.

  ‘Nothing... I’m just regretting not waiting until morning to see you. Either that or I shouldn’t have made that promise.’

  ‘I know you keep your promises.’ Her spontaneous joy at seeing him was making her breathing erratic. ‘I’m glad you came. I wanted you to. I’ve been waiting.’ The pull of his presence was overwhelming, even in the dark she was helplessly aware of him. Blindly she flew to where she knew he stood, hugging him about the waist. ‘How did you get in? Who let you in? I’ve been so worried,’ she whispered against his shoulder as his arm immediately bound her tight to his muscular body. His coat smelled of the docks, salty, tarry wool beneath her cheek.

  He gestured at the casement where the brocade curtain billowed gently in the breeze. ‘I let myself in. A bad gypsy trick, I know. I haven’t shinned up a drainpipe in quite some years.’

  ‘You broke in through the window?’ Faye sounded in equal part amused and appall
ed.

  ‘Be fair...it was open,’ he protested. ‘I can be imaginative in gaining entry to a lady’s bedroom. And then again before quitting it...’ he muttered as a dry afterthought. The fingers pressed to the middle of her back slid in a sensual caress, travelling up through a cascade of silken skeins of hair to splay against her nape. ‘You’re glad to see me, you say, but I’m thinking you’re going to tell me to keep other promises, or go.’

  ‘I am...’ Faye returned. Her small hand forked over his jaw, turning his face so the candlelight played upon it and she could read his expression. ‘You owe me that much before we go any further.’

  ‘Where are we headed?’ he asked, his low-lashed eyes watching her mouth.

  ‘I don’t know, Mr Kavanagh...but...’ She inhaled shakily before throwing caution to the wind. ‘I’m willing to go there with you if you stay true to your word and I believe what you say. Tell me what happened with Peter, then tell me about yourself, and about Shona and Ruby; or, if you’d rather, you may leave immediately in the manner in which you arrived.’

  Ryan’s mouth tugged up at a corner. ‘You’re throwing me out already?’

  ‘Yes,’ Faye said simply with a catch to her voice. ‘I’ve been tricked and lied to by Peter Collins. He’s made me feel a fool for trusting him. It won’t happen again with any man.’

  Ryan removed her soft fingers from his face, controlling their joined hands as he took them down. ‘You believe me no better than him?’

  ‘Of course I think you better than him! But you vowed to tell me who you really are. If you go back on your word, then why should I trust you?’

  ‘I’ll start by telling you what happened this evening, shall I?’

  ‘Please do...but I’ve guessed that it has all gone as planned.’ A short laugh preceded, ‘You are here and seem unharmed. You get what you want, don’t you, Mr Kavanagh?’ Faye freed her hand from his and went to perch on the edge of the mattress. ‘For a while this evening I fretted over what might occur between you two. Then I received a letter from Peter and guessed you had removed the risks. How did you coerce him to return my investment money and go quietly?’