The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection #4

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  "I'm no saint, Randall. And I certainly made a dreadful mistake that first night."

  He shook his head. "No mistake. One touch and it was mean to be. Can't you feel it?"

  "I'm not sure. It was like a magic spell, but no, that wasn't what I meant about a mistake either." She sighed. "I mean about letting it go too far, and never having stopped to think about the consequences for us all. But the fact is, I knew what I was doing. I could have stopped at any time. I just wanted you so badly, one taste left me begging for more."

  He nodded. "And you also didn't walk out. You had every chance to leave, to tell me why you had really come, but you didn't."

  "No. You're right. I thought about it, but I decided I didn't wish to leave. I wanted you as my lover, to know one night of passion before I accepted the grim fate as a poor spinster that was awaiting me. Well, that or Howell forcing me to become his mistress." She stroked his cheek. "One kiss, and well, I was in too deep even then. I needed to know what happened next."

  "I see. Thank you for telling me that. I feel much less of a brute now for having continued what I thought was a harmless game."

  She gripped his hand hard. "It wasn't my intention to make you feel like one. As you say, you made a mistake as well."

  "Still, you have to believe me when I say I don't make a habit of despoiling virgins. I only went to bed with one once, ever, and she never ever told me she was until it was too late. It was dreadful for her and me."

  "You don't have to try to keep reassuring me that I'm special, darling. I do feel it, else you never would have married me, would you?"

  He nodded. "I've never experienced such uncontrollable pleasure. Or even any one I wanted to spend more than an hour or two with. Very few ladies, for more than a second or two, until you. Even then, I could resist them. But I could never, ever resist you. The fire in my veins...." He rubbed his eyes for a moment, and then pulled himself from the bed.

  "I've asked for a light repast to be prepared. Should I have someone bring it up here, or would you care to dine downstairs at table?"

  "I think I'll rise. I might as well see the rest of the house instead of just this bed," she quipped with a light-heartedness which she didn't quite feel. "And we wouldn't want Mama and the others to worry. Just give me a moment to slip into a day gown?"

  "Aye," he said. "Tap on my door when you're ready."

  She noted the one disadvantage of this new room was that the bathing chamber was not so luxuriously appointed, but it was better than what she was used to at home. She was soon ready save for her hair, which she brushed lightly, thinking all the while of how Randall, stroked it, causing herself to simmer with passion anew.

  Just what was it about his touch that drove her so wild?

  She dropped the brush as though burnt and hurried down the hall to call him.

  Once downstairs, she tried to keep her attention on the meal, sitting on his right hand side while the rest of her family ranged around the table and goggled at the newlywed shyly.

  The warmth of his eyes, the sound of his voice, the sight of his strong, lovely hands as they expertly worked the cutlery, filled her with the most lascivious thoughts. The champagne bubbled through her, and she had some interesting visions of the use she could put it to.

  His eyes lit up and his brows waggled suggestively. "Yes, it can be fun. Would you like to try?"

  Before she could respond he leaned towards her. He had taken a mouthful of the wine and now he fastened his mouth over hers and let it fizz into her mouth. Her nipples surged upwards almost painfully, and the fabric of her gown pressed against her peaking womanhood.

  "Mm," she groaned, swallowing the wine.

  His tongue glided in, the bubbles still upon it, causing her to shudder uncontrollably.

  Her knife and fork dropped to her plate with a clatter, but she tried to keep her distance from his importunate embrace by planting her hands on his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I just know so little of these things. About men, and women, and even my own body."

  "Or the power you have over me," he admitted with a shaky laugh. "I think we need to discuss something mundane like the weather before I find myself getting any more heated than I already am."

  Hopkins brought a large platter of vegetables to the table, and both of them could not resist looking at the parsnips.

  They looked away with a guilty start, and she laughed. "Goodness, I'm seeing all sorts of things I never saw before."

  "You innocence is well and truly gone now."

  "I've lost my paradise," she said with a sigh.

  "I hope you gained a new one."

  She met his gaze openly. "I did. Whether the price I have paid by biting the apple is worth it, I can't tell. Not yet, anyway."

  "I shall try to make it more than worth it, if you'll let me. "

  He was looking at her so longingly, she blushed.

  "Eat your dinner, and stop staring at that plate." He winked.

  "This must be most unusual," she whispered when she was sure no one else at the table was staring at them. "Feeling desire for you all the time, even when I'm doing something so ordinary as eating."

  "Not really. It is just a different kind of hunger. Women are often described in terms of food. Honey, sweet, tasty. Toothsome, as the old codgers say."

  "And men?"

  "I'm sure we could be, but I've never had anyone tell me that, rarely ever do that without wanting to be paid." He mimed, and she nodded and looked away.

  She said shyly, "I thought your skin was wonderful. You're delectable."

  "You, my dear, are delicious, every part of you. Just thinking about it makes me sparkle like the sun."

  She stared at him wide-eyed, recalling what they had shared that first morning together, which she couldn't get out of her mind.

  "In case I forgot to tell you at the time."

  She felt painfully embarrassed and directed her attention to her roast chicken once more. "Please, Randall, can we talk about something else? It may be important to you, a large part of your life, since you've been such a rake, but it does no good to dwell upon it, especially not in front of my family," she added in a whisper. We need to learn more about each other. The things that really matter."

  "This overwhelming passion between us does matter, a great deal," he asserted, kissing her hand. "I can tell you about all the unhappy couples that come about as a result of thinking what happens in bed doesn't matter. But you're right. Let me ask you more about yourself whilst we enjoy this fine family meal."

  "Such as what?"

  "Well, for starters, I don't even know how old you are, apart from you being of age."

  "Twenty in October. But I need to know more about you, Randall. Can you tell me of your childhood, if it's not too painful?"

  "Not painful, no, but it makes me so sad at times to think of how much I've lost." He looked around the room at the table full of young people, Stephen and his blushing young bride Fanny, Rebecca, Susan, and for a moment he could almost see himself with his four brothers during their happiest times.

  He told her his recollection of their trips to the seaside when he was small, their magnificent horses, parties, searching for tadpoles. Boyhood pranks. School at Eton. "I was a real scholar. I loved words, literature, Latin and Greek. Loved Shakespeare. I studied classics, but, well, things fell to pieces and it was never the same after that."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "Michael joined the army, took Robert with him. Robert was killed January 1812. I never saw Michael again, though I wrote to him, tried not to lose him. Father said he would never forgive him for going off to war and leaving behind all his responsibilities as a peer of the realm, and luring his younger brother to his death."

  "How terrible for you all."

  "I tried not to take sides. I knew Robert was his own man, for all he was younger than Michael by several years. I was closest to Michael despite the gap between us and the other boys in the middle. He was my best friend in a lot of respects. I'm
just so glad I never had to face him, tell him what I did."

  "I can only imagine," she said with a sigh. "What was your relationship like with your fourth brother?"

  "Mark? We were closest in age, very different in temperament. He was a simple soul. Bookish, though not very bright, handsome, but not flamboyant like me or Michael. Very uninterested in anything other than living up to my father's expectations. He had hoped he would have a career in politics like his own. Michael was the heir until he was killed April 1814. From then on Mark was groomed to be the perfect Earl of Hazelmere. Except that he died, and my father was horrified to think that me, the rake of the family, was now in charge."

  She shook her head. "Oh Randall, I'm sure not-"

  "You're very kind, but it's the truth," he said through stiff lips. "Michael was remarkable, Francis as well. Robert and Mark would certainly have done a dashed sight better than I ever could."

  "That's your natural modesty talking, darling," she soothed, stroking the back of his head and then his shoulder.

  He shrugged. "I did try my best, but I fear I was a disappointment to him. Oh, he never yelled or said anything, but he used to just get this faraway look in his eyes sometimes, and I swear-" He choked on a mouthful of food and actually spit it out into his napkin, too distressed to swallow.

  "What?" she asked softly. "What is it?"

  After a time he admitted, "I swear sometimes he didn't even know who I was. I think he might have believed me to be Michael sometimes, with some of the things he said to me. He apologised for his mistakes, for being harsh. But he never was with me, only with my brother."

  "I see. I'm so sorry."

  "Then once all my brothers were gone, I lost even my father."

  She put down her cutlery then, all pretence at eating at an end. "Yes, I have to admit I'm really not clear about what happened there. I should have thought after everything I would be the last woman on earth you would want to marry."

  He sighed heavily, and told her, "There isn't much to understand. You father accused mine of having fleeced the investment bank which he had become involved in, along with a few other partners whose names I have not been able to get the solicitors who set up the partnership to disclose. But we're talking thousands of pounds. I can't even begin to conceive what he could have done with the money. He was always most moderate."

  Isolde stared at him, then offered, "Many people have secret lives, debts-"

  Randall shook his head vehemently. "I'm telling you, my father never gambled, was never careless. All of my family had to suffer the consequences of your father's determination to ruin my father politically," he said angrily, putting down his cutlery and taking a long drink of water.

  Isolde's mother stared, but remained silent.

  "He exposed him publicly, when he could have simply gone to the authorities and had the matter investigated thoroughly out of the harsh glare of the Town's censure."

  Isolde patted his hand. "I have no idea why he didn't, except if the evidence was so compelling that he felt he had no choice."

  Lady Linley nodded.

  Randall's lapis eyes glittered darkly. "I expect you to defend him, since he was your father, but please don't do so in front of me. His actions stripped away the good reputation of a man who had served others his whole life. My father came home, laid down with a fierce headache, and never woke again. The apoplectic stroke took him in an instant, without any of us even having had a chance to say goodbye."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "Not half as sorry as I am. So now I am the Earl, with all the duties and responsibilities I've always shirked, a house full of children in the country, a sick mother, and a wife who despises me for being a rake."

  "Don't say that! Never, do you hear?" she gasped. "I could never despise you."

  She cast her glance around the room, meeting the gazes of her family, who all decided to withdraw for coffee into the parlor they had been using as their own.

  Lady Linley shooed them all out, then cast a look over her shoulder at her daugher, gave her most encouraging smile, and shut the double doors behind her.

  "I'm sorry," Randall said raggedly once they had gone. "Too many memories today, I suppose."

  "I don't despise you, darling," she insisted. "The trouble is how much you despite yourself. As for your raking, it's a part of the past now. You have me, and you have your vows and our marriage settlement to remind you of your duty even if I can't-"

  He scowled furiously. "Don't be silly. I don't need reminding. Why would I want to be unfaithful? With all the women I've tried? None could compare. Why risk losing you for an unattainable fantasy?"

  "Were there so many women that you can be so sure there's no one else in the world but me?" she dared to ask.

  He shrugged. "Enough. I paid attention to them as I would the buzzing of a flea. I've never needed or desired so thoroughly any woman until I met you."

  "Needed? In the sexual sense?"

  He nodded. "Yes. And others. Like someone to share the bath with, shopping, dinner. The way you make me feel when you take my hand or stroke my cheek."

  She leaned forward to do so and he sighed. "Thank you. May I?"

  He raised his hand palm upwards, and when she nodded, he moved it to cup her cheek lightly, then took a gulp of wine to steady himself. "Finish you're meal, and then we had better go in to see them all and reassure them that all is well between us."

  "Yes, indeed."

  His sophisticated veneer now firmly back in place, he began to tell her about all the cities in Europe he had visited after the war.

  She wondered how he could do it, rein in his emotions so skillfully. He was certainly a wonderful actor. Yet as hard as she tried, thus far she could still see no signs of insincerity. Wounded soul, yes, liar and rake, no. But it was early days yet in their marriage.

  He encouraged her to eat more, and kept up a fairly steady stream of interesting anecdotes as they finished their meal.

  At one stage she could not resist pointing out, "But most of what you've told me are about all your happy times from childhood. You would have lost them all anyway."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Your brother was almost full grown when he was killed?"

  He nodded. "Yes, at twenty-two."

  "So he would have grown up, married, and those times would have been lost to you anyway."

  "But he wouldn'y have been dead," he said bleakly.

  "You can't be sure! Disease, another accident, any number of things could have taken him off."

  He slammed his cutlery down onto the table, all pretense of eating his meal at an end. "I'm sorry. I've had enough for now. Can we please talk about something else?"

  "Very well then, your life now. How do you usually spend your time?"

  "In the morning, my mother, then my toilette, riding, visiting, shopping for books. In the afternoon, my mother, then reading, watercolors, trips to see friends in the country, keeping up with the newspapers, writing letters to them. Donating my time to certain worthwhile causes, including chimney sweeps and prevention of cruelty to animals, the anti-hunt group, and so on. Also rights for women, and protection for prostitutes. Prison reform. And public sanitation."

  Isolde was astonished, and quizzed him. She found he was not exaggerating, or trying to trick or flatter her. They really did have the most similar opinions, even if he did not consider himself to be a Radical. He just felt it was common sense, though his father would have debated with him until they were both blue in the face. It was a relief for Randall to converse with someone who did not want to undermine his arguments all the time, or make him feel naïve because of his beliefs.

  So he really was a Rakehell. Well, a former good friend of theirs until he had become a man of the world. He was a good man, and she was sure he would make a fine earl once he got over all his self-doubt.

  It was clear as he spoke that he needed her help, out of bed even more than in it. It would be a heavy burden to bear at times, but Isol
de had broad shoulders and a strong back.

  She had not been raised to be a shrinking violet by her parents. She was still a bit nervous about his selfish motives in marrying her, but she had no right to judge Randall. She was getting an awful lot out of the arrangement as well, she and her family.

  But nor would it be easy to trust him, given all that he had done in the past. And given that he had admitted he had never spent more than a couple of hours with the same woman, and might easily grow bored.

  "The meal was lovely. Thank you," she said when they had finished their dessert, "but we must go into the drawing room for coffee."