A Rake's Redemption

by Cynthia Breeding

  And he was going to be hers.

  She didn’t for a moment believe he would not visit her again. The other women in that silly club might sigh and bemoan the fact he only bedded them once, but they probably didn’t know how to pleasure a man like she did. She had wondered, though, why he hadn’t gotten in touch since their night together. Now she knew. That red-headed hoyden had her claws into him.

  His groom. That had to be the flimsiest excuse she’d ever heard. Did Alex really think anyone would believe that? Of course, he probably didn’t want to admit he was dallying with a stage actress. The trollop must have put on quite an act to have him actually take her to Madame Dubois. How did this slattern merit such attention?

  A thought struck Miranda with such force she actually fell back against the seat. What if that red-haired baggage was actually his mistress? Not just a passing diversion? By the gods and demons. Was Alex purchasing a wardrobe for that strumpet? What if he had set her up in a small house outside Mayfair and provided an allowance?

  She closed her eyes and imagined raking her nails across the little hussy’s face instead. She had to find out who the damn bitch was. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes as the carriage slowed in front of her house. She remembered her personal maid saying she had a sister who’d applied for a position at Dansworth House. At the time, Miranda hadn’t thought much about it. Perhaps the sister—Miranda thought her name was Fern—had been hired. If she was, Miranda would be able to get all the information she needed.

  She smiled. No mistress was going to get in her way.

  Chapter Eight

  As Inis led Goldie into her stall on Friday, she’d decided perhaps she’d made too much of Alex’s taking her to the modiste shop. She shouldn’t have told him she knew what she’d agreed to do and not do. Since Monday, he had been nothing but formally polite when they met, which hadn’t been often since he’d spent most of this week at his office near Fleet Street.

  Her cheeks warmed in embarrassment. He had made no innuendos about personal favors. She was the one who couldn’t stop recalling that he’d told her she’d look beautiful in the blue gown. No one had ever called her beautiful, but that was the word he’d used. And she couldn’t help remembering how, instead of feeling small and skinny, she’d felt feminine and delicate when his arms had encircled her and she’d bumped against his granite-like chest.

  It didn’t help that Caroline had dropped by yesterday afternoon with the news that gossip was already spreading. She’d seemed agitated to find Alex gone and hadn’t stayed long, so Inis didn’t have a chance to question her about what was being said. And, the saints preserve her, for an instant she’d allowed herself to relish the idea that those ladies thought Alex found her desirable.

  She sighed as she finished brushing Goldie’s coat and gave the filly a lingering pat. “Your owner has the charm of Lucifer himself,” she said softly to the animal. “I would nae be surprised if the mon could sprout horns.”

  “I can assure you I do not sprout horns.”

  Inis froze, her hand still on the filly’s mane, and stared straight ahead. Sweet Mary.

  “I will take it as a compliment that you find me charming,” Alex said from behind her.

  He’d come closer. Her face was so hot she was afraid she might actually set the straw on fire in the stall.

  “Even though I am not sure the devil is all that charming,” Alex continued.

  He wasn’t going to go away. She was trapped. She couldn’t just stand there in the stall and stare at the wall over Goldie’s withers. She took a deep breath, turned around, and nearly bumped into that rock-like chest she’d been thinking about earlier. She swallowed hard. “I did nae mean to call ye a devil.”

  Alex smiled. “I have been called worse.” He leaned down, his longish hair falling forward to tickle her nose, and picked up her free hand.

  “What…what are ye doing?”

  “Letting you check for yourself to see if I have horns,” he said and placed her hand on his head.

  Her fingers curled instinctively through the strands. Dear Lord in heaven. His hair was soft as silk, and she could smell the clean scent of the soap he’d used.

  “Find any horns?” he asked, his voice warm and sultry and much too close to her ear. “Continue your exploration for as long as you need.”

  By the saints. What was she doing? She stared at her hand as though it were something not a part of her. And maybe it wasn’t since her fingers were massaging his scalp and working their way to his nape. She jerked her hand away, positive this time her smoldering face would serve as tinder to the straw.

  “I am sorry—”

  “Don’t be,” Alex said and straightened. For a moment, his eyes darkened to the shades of a shadowed forest. Then he shook his head and stepped back. “I got carried away. I came out here to let you know Madame Dubois sent over your dresses.”

  “Thank ye,” Inis said, not quite trusting her voice. “I intend to pay ye back for the cost from my wages.”

  Alex smiled. “In that case, Miss O’Brien, you will be with me for a long time.” He turned and walked out before she could reply, leaving her to stare after him.

  What did he mean by that?

  She found out a short time later when she made her way up to her small chamber. Elsie was already inside, surrounded by enough boxes to make Inis think it was Christmas. “What is all this?”

  The maid beamed at her. “Your wardrobe, I imagine.”

  “My wardrobe?” Inis looked around at the assorted sizes of the boxes. “I only ordered one dress.”

  Elsie giggled. “I think there is more than one dress here.”

  “But…”

  “Do you want a bath first?” Elsie asked. “Or I could open everything for you.”

  Inis hesitated. She probably smelled like the barn. The maid was no doubt excited to open the boxes, but Inis didn’t want anyone seeing the blue gown. “I will do it after I bathe. I already asked for water to be sent up.” Elsie looked disappointed, but who knew what was in so many boxes? Inis didn’t want to take the chance on that. “I really do nae expect ye to wait on me.”

  Elsie gave the boxes a dubious look as she nodded and left. Inis sighed. The servants would be brimming over with curiosity. She certainly didn’t want to provoke more gossip by keeping the contents secret. Maybe she could hide the blue gown and then ask Elsie to help her put away the day dresses.

  Satisfied with that compromise, she waited for the hot water, then made quick work of the bath. Wrapped in a serviceable flannel wrapper borrowed from Elsie, she sat down on her narrow bed and pulled the first box toward her. It contained the light green dress she’d ordered.

  The next two boxes contained day dresses in the lilac and yellow Madame Dubois had agreed would be good colors. The fourth box held the blue gown. Inis had to admit it was lovely. The high-fitted bodice had two layers of small ruched pleats that would make her appear more buxom as well as a fichu of lighter blue lace that would fill in for lack of cleavage. The same shade of lace trimmed the short, puffed sleeves and several narrow strips had been sewn onto the slim, flowing skirt. It was simple, but elegant without being too daring. At the bottom of the box were matching satin slippers that, to Inis’s surprise, fit perfectly.

  She took a moment to admire the ensemble before folding the gown carefully and putting it back in the box. It seemed a shame to hide something so pretty, but it would never do to have the servants think Alex was purchasing a ball gown for her. Especially one she had no intention of wearing. She replaced the cover and slid the box under her bed. Since she cleaned her own room, it should be safe there.

  She turned to the remaining boxes, wondering what else Alex had added to the wardrobe. She finished unpacking and then stood and gaped at everything lying on her bed. Lord have mercy. Madame Dubois must have employed a dozen seamstresses to get this done. There was a pair of long gloves for the gown, as well as a pair of short kid gloves and a pelisse of superfine dark b
lue broadcloth, warmly lined. What amazed Inis even more was the rest of what she’d unpacked. Two cotton-lawn night rails and a soft, woolen wrapper, matching slippers for her day dresses as well as a pair of half boots, several pairs of silk stockings, and three muslin chemises so finely woven they might have been silk. And pantaloons with pink satin drawstrings. She felt her face warm at the thought Alex had ordered those.

  A small fortune was amassed on Inis’s bed. No wonder he’d said she would be employed for a long time. It would take more than a year’s wages, maybe two, to pay for all this. She drew her brows together. Had he done this on purpose so she would have to stay? He’d said he didn’t believe in indenturing servants, but what else was she now? Most of it had been custom made, so she couldn’t return it.

  She’d hoped to save enough money to find a small place of her own in a remote village and be independent. Perhaps do some traveling eventually. Now those dreams would have to wait until she could repay Alex for a wardrobe she did not want.

  A sinking feeling settled in her stomach, and she sat down on the straight-back chair next to a small table before her legs decided not to support her. When the rest of the staff saw the amount and quality of clothing, they would only come to one conclusion. Alex was lavishing a great deal of money on her because he had taken her for his leman, or intended to. The staff would think she had been given a private chamber on the fourth floor to make nocturnal visits convenient for him. He hadn’t assigned her any duties other than working with Goldie, which would also be seen as showing her favor.

  Another thought crept unbidden into her mind. Was it possible that was what Alex meant to do? The idea was ludicrous of course. She wasn’t one of the big-bosomed women with a plump behind and feminine curves that men liked to ogle. Nor did she try to interest a man by being coy and flirtatious. She’d watched too many girls do that and thought the whole idea silly, although men seemed to fall all over their own feet at such interchanges.

  Why would he even be interested in her? She wasn’t even sure why she was thinking about such a thing. Probably because of the incident in the barn earlier when he’d stepped close and lowered his head so she could feel for horns. Horns. She’d acted like a wanton and actually run her fingers through his hair. Sweet Mary. How could a man’s hair feel so soft and smell so clean?

  A flush swept over her entire body, and she squirmed. Was he toying with her? He had a reputation of being a rake. Maybe he was one of those men who saw every woman as a challenge, like a trophy he had to win, regardless of what shape or size they were. Caroline had said that Alex had a list of female conquests. It sounded like they’d all been willingly seduced, too. Well, that wasn’t going to happen with her.

  She looked at the clothing and sighed again. Just because she would not allow herself to fall for Alex’s beguiling ways, didn’t mean the staff would believe her. She might be able to keep the blue ball gown from being seen, but she couldn’t hide the rest of the clothes. The servants had seen the boxes delivered. Gossip was probably swirling about faster than an autumn leaf in a windstorm.

  Drat the man for putting her in this position. She knew if she tried to explain—or deny—any interest in her employer, it would only make her appear more involved. She squared her shoulders. The only thing she could do was make sure she acted as prim and proper as a convent nun around Alexander Ashley.

  …

  “You have been nursing that drink for more than an hour,” Brice said to Alex as they sat at White’s that evening. “If you are not in the mood to drink or game, why not just go home?”

  Because he was a coward.

  Alex didn’t voice the thought, but he felt like one. How upset would Inis be when she discovered what he’d done? He’d scurried out of the house like a rat leaving the proverbial sinking ship before she’d had a chance to go to her chamber and see the actual number of boxes that had been delivered.

  She had been adamant she needed only one dress. He’d never known any female that didn’t want more than one dress. He knew she had pride and didn’t want to accept charity. He wished he could simply tell her he had more than sufficient funds, thanks to a trust that even his brother couldn’t breach, to cover the costs many times over. But that would sound like bragging to someone who grew up poor. He didn’t want to insult her. He could offer to increase her wages, although he figured she’d probably be too stubborn to accept that idea. Or he could have Madame Dubois present him with a bill substantially lower than the amount he’d spent. Inis probably had no idea of what fine clothing cost.

  “Your body is planted in the chair, but I am wondering if your mind has taken flight?”

  Alex pulled himself out of his mental dilemma. “Sorry. I was thinking about cost overruns.”

  “On which business?”

  “Not a business exactly,” Alex replied. “Although I suppose in a sense it is.”

  Brice gave him an apprising look. “Does this have to do with that Irish girl hostler you hired? And that harebrained scheme of yours?”

  Alex nodded and took a sip of brandy. “How did you know?”

  Brice grinned. “Fairly easy to figure, old chap. First, you take in an orphan girl. Then you offer to teach her to be a lady with all the trappings that go along with that position. It is only natural for her to take advantage of that. What is she demanding? Silks? Furs? Jewels?”

  “No.” Alex set his glass down. “Exactly the opposite. At the modiste shop, she insisted one day dress would be enough, and she turned down an offer of sapphires.”

  Brice nearly choked on his cognac. “No such female creature exists.”

  Alex grimaced. “I can assure you one does.” When he finished telling Brice what had taken place at the shop and how he’d arranged for a few extra things to be made, his friend whistled.

  “A few ‘extra things’ is not a full, costly wardrobe, my friend. There is not a woman alive naive enough to think such a windfall is not a bribe for sexual favors. Most women would probably acquiesce, knowing there is more where that came from.” Brice shook his head. “Somehow, I get the idea that Inis is not one of those females.”

  Alex frowned. “You are right about that.” He hadn’t really considered Inis would think he was trying to buy his way into her bed. While he had no qualms about plundering and pillaging his way through the bedrooms of aristocratic wives, he didn’t ever want to put a servant in the position of feeling obligated to do more than her job. He took note that Brice was watching him with a skeptical expression. “What?”

  Brice swirled his cognac and took a slow sip before answering. “I am wondering if bedding the girl is not exactly what you want to do.”

  Alex glared at him. “I am not that much of a blackguard.”

  “I did not say you were,” his friend answered. “I think you might actually like this one.”

  “Of course, I like her,” Alex said, trying to keep irritation out of his voice. “She is refreshingly unassuming.”

  Brice grinned. “That would be unique.”

  Alex opened his mouth, closed it, then reached for his brandy so he wouldn’t have to respond. He knew he was attracted to Inis for her free spirit. He admired her courage in trying to be independent after her parents’ deaths. He knew it couldn’t be easy to be a young woman alone in a foreign country, with no money or prospects. He even liked Inis’s stubborn streak, which was more of a challenge than anything else. That’s why he’d bought the wardrobe. He looked forward to persuading her into accepting it. Or did he? He had made a cowardly run for White’s, after all.

  “You know I have a rule about servants,” Alex finally said.

  “I quite agree,” Brice replied. “Maids have a hard enough time of it without being coerced by an employer.” He took another sip of cognac. “But is Inis really a servant? A hostler generally is a contractor for wage.”

  That was the gist of it. Alex didn’t think about Inis as a servant. Apart from being too independent minded and opinionated to be subservient
to anyone, she didn’t fit into the ranks of maids, from below-stairs scullery and laundry to above-stairs chamber or parlor. She wasn’t a stable boy or coachman or even truly a groom. She was training Goldie and, from what Jameson told him, she was also breaking several other fillies to halter and one colt to saddle. Brice was right that most of the time, hostlers were paid outright without obligation. But these circumstances were different.

  “Inis is living under my roof,” Alex said.

  “Perhaps you should give her her freedom, then,” Brice answered.

  “I do not own her. She is free to leave if she wishes.” Even before he finished speaking, Alex knew the words weren’t true. If he couldn’t persuade her to accept the wardrobe and she insisted on paying him back, she’d be in debt for at least a year. She couldn’t afford to live on her own. Not that the thought of her living elsewhere sat well with him.

  Brice shrugged. “I was thinking it might ease your conscience if you bedded the girl and she were not part of your household staff.”

  He should not—would not—entertain ideas of making Inis his mistress. No, no, no. Alex put his glass down and stood to leave. “This conversation is becoming ridiculous. I only have intentions of befriending Inis.”

  Brice grinned again. “If that is what you want to call it.”

  …

  Miranda tried to rein in her impatience as she waited for her maid, Leah, to return from visiting her sister on Saturday afternoon. Not being able to sit still, she wiped her palms on an embroidered handkerchief and paced the sitting room of her suite after shutting the door to the inner bedchamber. The bed only reminded her of the delightful time she’d had in it with Alex Ashley.

  She wanted him back in that bed. Or, more to the point, she wanted him. Anywhere. Any place. Actually, the less conventional the place, the better.