The Rake to Ruin Her

  His father nodded. ‘Probably a wise move. Live retired for a year or two, breed some sons, let the memory of the scandals die down. By that time, when you come back to London, I’ll probably be able to find a position for you.’

  A cold anger rose in him, surprising in its intensity. ‘There’s no need, Father. I’m sure whichever flunky with whom you’re now working is performing quite adequately, else you’d have turned him off, too. In any event, Colonel Brandon is soliciting a post for me in the War Department. If you’ll excuse me, I must see what is keeping the priest.’

  With a nod to his father, Max strode across the room and out into the foyer.

  He closed the door, his hands still shaking with the force of his fury and, acknowledging that, his lips curved in a wry smile. Apparently the resentment and hurt over his father’s abandonment ran far deeper than he’d thought.

  Taking a shaky breath, he was wondering if he should hide out in the gardens until the priest summoned him for the ceremony when the bridal party appeared at the entry door.

  Then he saw Caro and his anger at his father was swept away by wonder.

  He’d known since first discovering her ‘disguise’ that she was attractive. He’d been anticipating seeing her garbed in a more flattering gown—and taking her out of it. Still, he was not prepared for the enchanting vision that now met his appreciative eyes.

  Vanished with the ugly gowns was any chance her unusual activities could lead one to find her mannish or unfeminine. Sunlight shining through the open doorway haloed her in gold, while its beams burnished to copper the artful arrangement of her auburn curls. The soft sage colour of her gown set off the cream of her shoulders and the rounded tops of her breasts that swelled up from beneath the fashionably low neckline. The long skirt and demi-train, mercifully unadorned, draped and flowed about her waist and hips, showing off her shapely, slender figure to perfection.

  While he drank in the sight of her, she must have seen him, for she froze in mid-step on the threshold, her hand clutching at her stepmother’s arm. With her dark eyes staring at him, she looked as uncertain and wary as a startled doe poised to flee.

  This was no creature of salons and ballrooms, skilled in meaningless chat and empty flattery, but a pure, untamed soul whose words mirrored her actions and showed her to be exactly what she claimed: a woman who emanated a fierce independence and a feral energy that triggered a primitive response in him.

  He wanted to devour her in one gulp.

  But that would be for later...if the time was right. Max sighed. Nervous as she’d been this last week and still looked, that time probably wouldn’t be tonight.

  The priest entered and nodded at them both. ‘Are you ready to proceed?’

  Max walked over to claim her hand. He wasn’t surprised to find it cold. ‘Shall we do this?’ he murmured, half-expecting her to say ‘no’.

  Taking a deep breath, she seemed to gather her composure. ‘Yes. I’m ready.’

  ‘Let us begin, then, Father Denton,’ Max told him.

  Within moments, they had taken their places before the altar. For Max, unable to wrench his wondering gaze from Caro, the ceremony afterwards was a blur. He barely registered his father watching sombrely, Lady Denby dabbing at her eyes, the delight on Felicity and Caro’s stepsister’s faces, the pleasure on Jane’s and Aunt Grace’s.

  In some miraculous transformation, the nervous bride had disappeared, replaced by a serene lady lovelier than he could have imagined, who repeated her vows in a calm voice. From time to time, she glanced up at him shyly, golden motes dancing in huge dark eyes he could lose himself in.

  Then the priest clasped hands together, pronouncing them husband and wife, and led them off to sign the parish register.

  ‘Well, it’s done,’ she said quietly as she wrote her name in a firm hand.

  ‘You look enchanting.’

  She angled her head at him, apparently assessing the genuineness of his compliment. ‘You truly think so?’

  ‘I do.’

  She smiled. ‘Then thank you. Was that your father, glowering at us? I would think he’d approve of your marrying a fortune, at least. Will he be at the wedding breakfast?’

  ‘No, thankfully. Mother should be and a handful of Jane’s friends. I hadn’t expected him here, either, or I would have warned you.’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m more nervous about your mother. Shock doubtless limited her conversation during the brief call we made on her; I fear she will want to corner me for a proper grilling this time, trying to discover how some country nobody made off with her son.’

  ‘You needn’t fear that. Aunt Grace has already told her what happened at Barton Abbey. She wants only to see me happy. Since you are now my wife, that means she wants you to be happy too.’

  Caro gave him a dubious look, but had no time to reply before Lady Gilford came over to give them each a hug. ‘A splendid wedding! Shall we return to the house? I expect guests will be arriving for the wedding breakfast soon.’

  Looking a bit alarmed, Miss Denby—no, Mrs Ransleigh, a title it was going to take Max some time to adjust to, he admitted—said, ‘There won’t be many, will there? Stepmama said it was to be just a small reception.’

  ‘Of course. In keeping with the story already circulating—which, Max tells me, was your invention, and very clever!—I thought it best to keep it very select, just immediate family and a few close friends.’

  Caro nodded. ‘Fewer people to gossip.’

  Lady Gilford gave a peal of laughter. ‘Oh, no, quite the opposite! With only the crème de la crème in attendance, those who weren’t present will envy those who were and want to know everything about it...so they can discuss it as if they, too, had been invited. It will be quite the talk of the town.’

  ‘Approving talk?’ Caro asked.

  ‘Definitely. Without wishing to sound arrogant, I do have a fair amount of influence. Where I and my friends approve, others follow...especially now that Max has done the sensible thing and got himself wed to a lady of intelligence and breeding.’

  ‘And beauty,’ Max said, pulling Caro’s hand up for a kiss that set his lips—and other parts—tingling.

  Blushing a bit, she pulled her hand free. ‘And large dowry,’ she added. ‘How much more sensible could any gentleman be?’

  So completely had Max concentrated on Caro’s flustered reaction—and the brief moment when her hand had tightened on his before pulling away—the sound of his father’s voice startled him.

  ‘Congratulations, Mrs Ransleigh, and welcome to the family,’ the earl was saying.

  ‘It was good of you to attend, my lord,’ Caro said, dipping him a curtsy.

  ‘I wanted all of London to know I approve of my son’s choice.’

  ‘This time, you mean?’

  In the sudden hush, Max could almost hear the gasp of indrawn breath; no one who knew the Earl dared risk inciting his famous temper. Max tensed, mentally scrambling for words to deflect what would probably be a stinging rejoinder.

  It must be bridal luck, for the earl merely gave a thin smile. ‘This choice, no one could dispute.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so and I’m sure he appreciates your taking the time to attend the service. I’m sorry we shall not see you at Lady Gilford’s breakfast, but as I understand your duties keep you excessively busy I shall bid you farewell here. Thank you again for attending, my lord.’ She made the earl another graceful curtsy.

  It was almost a...dismissal! Max thought, shocked. He’d assumed her initial, rather confrontational greeting to his sire was perhaps an awkward choice of words due to nervousness.

  But she didn’t appear nervous—quite the opposite. Her poised figure and cool manner seemed to indicate she neither feared, nor desired to impress, the powerful earl whose behaviour, her tone suggested, she disapproved of. Astounded, Max had to conclude she’d said exactly what she had wanted to say.

  Since he wasn’t sure how he might deflect a tongue-lashing from his fathe
r, thankfully the earl chose to be forbearing. With only a surprised lift of his eyebrow in Max’s direction, he bowed and kissed Caro’s hand. ‘Let me wish you both happy.’

  Max watched his father walk away. Still somewhat awed, he offered Caro his arm and led her to their waiting coach. As she settled into her seat, he said, ‘I should warn you not to tweak my father. Few who do so emerge unbloodied.’

  Caro merely shrugged. ‘Unless the earl can sell off my stud, I’ve nothing to fear from him. His approval means nothing to me—nor are your future prospects held hostage to his patronage any longer. Which is fortunate, since it’s certainly done you little enough good so far. I’m sorry if I sounded...ungracious; I do appreciate his recognition of you, however belated.’

  A flush of gratitude warmed Max at this unexpected avowal of support. Before he could summon a reply, Caro continued, ‘But how could he not approve? He’d look rather foolish if he refused to bless his son’s marriage to a girl of impeccable birth who brought a fortune into the family. As I possess no ties of childhood affection that make me anxious for his favour, I’ll not easily forgive him for refusing to assist you when you needed him most.’

  She halted the protest he’d been about to utter with a lift of her hand. ‘Oh, I understand he is a busy man with heavy responsibilities. But to my mind, there is no responsibility more important than helping your own kin.’

  ‘Being his son has brought me many advantages,’ Max replied, finding himself in the odd position of defending the man who’d hurt and angered him so deeply.

  ‘He gave you the advantages of birth and his approval when it cost him nothing...but didn’t lift a finger when assisting you might have made his own position more difficult,’ she retorted. ‘That is not what I call “affection” or “loyalty”. One deserves better from one’s family.’

  Like watching a stable mongrel run out to bite a pure-bred hunting dog twice its size, Max couldn’t quite get his mind around the audacity of little Caro Denby nipping at the mighty Earl of Swynford with her disapproval.

  ‘You intend to offer me better,’ he asked, bemused.

  Looking up at him, her face still fierce, she said, ‘Of course. I told you I would when you agreed to wed me. I just promised it again before God and those witnesses.’

  ‘My little warrior,’ he said. But her unexpected loyalty penetrated deep within him, soothing a place still raw and aching. He’d thought to protect and defend her from his father; he’d never expected her to defend him.

  ‘I know you must still want his approval; he is your father, after all. But you are no longer a puppet dancing as he pulls the strings, forced to settle for whatever he decrees. You have wealth of your own, a patron in Colonel Brandon who is independent of his influence. You can meet him on your terms now.’

  He’d never before considered it, but she was right. The idea of being truly out of his father’s shadow was...liberating. ‘You really are ferocious,’ he said, half-amused, half-serious. ‘Remind me never to cross you.’

  Her fierceness vanished in a grin. ‘That’s probably wise. I suppose I am passionate about those things I believe in.’

  ‘Like your horses.’

  ‘And your future. But I can’t disapprove of the earl completely. If he had supported you as he should, you wouldn’t have been exiled and at Barton Abbey to rescue me.’

  ‘I’ve become more thankful by the hour that I was.’

  As the coach bowled along, a gallery of the ladies he’d squired on one occasion or another suddenly ran through Max’s mind. All had been practically quivering with eagerness when he introduced them to the earl, echoing his father’s opinions, anxious to win his favour. His bride not only had made no such effort, she’d practically tweaked his father’s nose.

  Because the mighty earl had not stooped to stand by him.

  Max shook his head anew. He’d known from the moment they’d met that Caro was unique; how she continued to surprise him!

  * * *

  Having traversed the short distance between parish church and his cousin’s house, the coach halted and a footman ran up to let down the steps.

  Caro took a deep breath. ‘Well, here we are. I hope Lady Gilford spoke the truth when she promised there would be only a few close family and friends at the reception.’

  ‘If you can face down my father,’ Max said as the footman helped her out, ‘you can face down anyone.’

  She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I’m better at facing people down when I’m angry. Unless your family and friends incite my hostility by criticising you or the quality of the Denby Stud, I’d rather avoid conversation. I communicate much better with horses.’

  ‘Tell them to neigh,’ he suggested, eliciting a giggle as he led her in.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Caro paused uncertainly beside Max on the threshold of Lady Gilford’s reception room as the butler announced the bride and groom, to the applause of the assembled guests. Lady Gilford had told the truth; probably not more than thirty people stood within a spacious room that could have easily had many more.

  Their hostess immediately took Caro’s arm and led them along, introducing friends and relations. Caro tried to do her part, nodding, smiling, dredging up names to match faces from her vague memories of her brief London Season. She didn’t want to embarrass her hostess or Max by appearing to be the gauche, country bumpkin she truly was.

  She even managed to do tolerably well, she thought, when meeting again Max’s mother and his aunt, Mrs Grace Ransleigh, two ladies who had little reason to like her.

  Hiding whatever chagrin she must be feeling to find her splendid son married to a woman so lacking in all the society graces, Lady Swynford congratulated her and pronounced her charming. The hostess of Barton Abbey, whose house party she’d marred with scandal and whose private rooms she’d invaded, was equally forbearing when she begged that lady’s forgiveness.

  ‘I may have initially resented your actions, but your insistence on revealing the truth about you and Max won my gratitude in a moment,’ Mrs Ransleigh told her. ‘I’m delighted to wish you both very happy.’

  Thinking guiltily how disappointed both his mother and aunt would be if they knew the true terms of the bargain she’d made with Max, she said, ‘I hope to make him so.’

  Mrs Ransleigh gave her a shrewd glance. ‘I think he’s luckier than he knows.’

  ‘Indeed I am,’ Max agreed, reclaiming her arm, which set little shivers vibrating deep within her. ‘I can’t wait to discover just how much,’ he added in a murmur meant for her ears only, accompanying the words with a look that whispered of warm sheets and intimate caresses.

  The vibrations magnified, making her hands and lips tremble as a surge of both desire and panic washed through her. Her cheeks heating, she mumbled an incoherent reply to Mrs Ransleigh.

  Turning away from Max, who continued chatting with his mother, she found herself face to face with Alastair Ransleigh.

  After all the good will and compliments, his sardonic expression was a reviving slap, for which she uttered a silent thanks. Seductive innuendo confounded her, but the patent disapproval on his face she could deal with.

  ‘Mr Ransleigh,’ she acknowledged him with a curtsy. ‘I’m sure Max is happy you journeyed to London to celebrate with him.’

  ‘But you are not?’ he shot back.

  Shrugging, she raised her chin. ‘Whether or not you approve of my wedding him is a circumstance over which I have no control. I could assure you I meant the best for your cousin, but only time will prove the truth of that.’

  He inclined his head. ‘A clever response and correct on both counts, Mrs Ransleigh. I must warn you, there are four of us who have guarded each other’s backs since we were children. Play my cousin false, and you will have not just me, but three other Ransleighs to deal with.’

  Caro laughed. ‘Do you think to frighten me? I realise your opinion of ladies is very low, Mr Ransleigh, but not all women are cut from the same cloth. Just as ap
pearances in Vienna are not proof your cousin bears any blame in the attempt made on Lord Wellington.’

  ‘We agree on one point, then,’ Alastair replied.

  At that moment, Max turned back to her and discovered Alastair’s presence. After exchanging greetings, the two cousins shared a few moments of handshaking and hearty, man-to-man congratulations.

  Watching them, Caro had to smile. Their deep mutual affection was so obvious that, knowing Alastair Ransleigh’s sad history, she supposed she could forgive him his suspicions.

  But it had been a long, exhausting week; so weary was Caro that she silently rejoiced as the guests paid their respects to their hostess and began drifting out. For a short, cowardly moment, she wished she could go back upstairs to the chamber she’d shared last night with Eugenia and listen to her stepsister’s eager chatter until they both fell asleep.

  But she’d made a bargain and it was now time to begin fulfilling it. Instead of sleeping upstairs, she’d spend the night in a suite at the Pultney Hotel...with her new husband.

  She swallowed hard. Max had shown her nothing but kindness, had suffered scandal on her behalf, had been the instrument of saving her beloved horses. He’d given her much; now she must respond by doing the hardest thing that had ever been required of her: placing control of herself and her body in his hands.

  She wasn’t going to do it trembling like a coward.

  So she nodded with an appearance of cool self-possession as they took their leave of the party. Tried not to flinch when Max took her arm, too acutely conscious of his presence beside her to make any sense of the thanks he offered Lady Gilford.

  Then they were out of the door, down the steps and he was handing her into the hackney. As he climbed in after her, she tried to think of some polite and amusing topic of conversation. But the courage necessary to keep herself from trembling sapped all the strength she had left, leaving her mind an utter blank.

  Embarrassed, she hoped her nervousness was not as apparent to Max as it was to her. But since she jumped every time he touched her and he was not a stupid man, she figured miserably that he was probably only too aware of it.