Rakehell's Daughters

by Gayle Eden

“It’s all in good fun.”

  “Yes.” His gaze lingered on her mouth then moved up. “You looked quite marvelous dancing around the flames with firelight catching in that riot of curly hair.”

  “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll argue you on your dancing skill.” She turned to watch those by the fire. “You’re one of the most graceful men I’ve ever seen.”

  He had moved up, standing just behind her shoulder. “That’s another kind of dance.”

  “Edmund…” She sucked in her breath, eyes focused on the scene before them, but her body too aware of him, feeling him.

  He murmured low, “With your hair flowing and your skin dewing, shimmering in firelight, I wanted to grab you and drag you off and bury myself inside you.”

  “God.” She swallowed took a longer drink of beer, her gaze desperately looking for and finding Adam. He had finally stepped out but was sipping from a mug, talking to someone. Turn this way, look at me, and call me to you, she thought.

  A mere step, his body whisper close to hers, she heard the husk and hunger as Edmund husked, “I’d kiss you, touch you there, and you’d be hot and slick. I would be hard and full. You’d part your thighs and let me ease inside you—”

  “This is not you…this is not…” She made a step away.

  His hand on her arm detained her. His lips brushing her ear, he leaned down and said, “You have put me in a damnable position, Alex.”

  “Me!” She spun around to face him, her wrist hurting from his hold.

  Face almost savage, he replied, “Yes, you. Who made us lovers, Alexandria? Who said to me four years ago, no courtship, not marriage, not even an affair? Passion! Only passion. You have openly shown yourself to favor a close friend of mine.”

  “Edmund, I—”

  “Alex, are you all right?”

  Shaking, she jerked her wrist free and turned to find Adam walking toward her. “Yes of course.” Her smile was stiff. She met him, linking her arm through his. “Edmund and I were just having a spirited argument about—beer.”

  Adam’s dark eyes skimmed her face. He flickered a glance to Edmund. However, when Alex turned her head, he was gone.

  Guiding Adam toward the weathered docks and some chairs there, she said with a faux laugh, “I’m glad you survived the dancing.”

  His own grin was tight. When they reached the dock, she sat herself down in a chair whilst he leaned against one of the posts, lighting a cheroot.

  Her mind reeling from Edmund’s words, Alex absently noted the wind ruffle Adam’s curls, and that he was without coat, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, a few buttons undone to show a hard swarthy throat.

  He’s head turned, black eyes catching only a bit of the firelight but holding hers. “Odd that.”

  “What?” She was aware of the intense stillness of his face.

  “Edmund arguing. I have known him for years. No one who does would say that Edmund De Forrest engages in arguing. Too controlled for that.”

  “Ah, well. I provoke people.”

  He barely smiled, but his eyes were on her so focused that Alex turned to look out at the dark water.

  “Are you sure it was about—beer?”

  “Um.” She nodded and scooped her hair back, holding it at the nape.

  A long silence fell between them, filled only with the guests, and music beyond.

  Long after his cheroot had hissed out in the water, he came to sit on the flat wood arm of the chair. His hand went to her shoulder. His fingers flexed slightly. Alex reached up and covered it, in her muse turning her head and catching a glimpse of Edmund. He half lounged, part in light, part in shadow, on the slope, one knee bent. She imagined that in the darkness she could see his amber eyes focused on herself, and Adam.

  Chapter Eight

  Despite the late and eventful night, Alex awoke early and sat in the window seat sipping her coffee whilst the dawn fog was lifting off the lawn. It crept through the woods and filtered up from the lake. She spotted young lads hauling the charred wood away in carts, and smelled the acrid remnants of the bonfire being stirred.

  Her mouth full of the nutty brew, Alex next spied her father walking from the back of the house. He wore buff trousers, a white shirt with the sleeves turned up. He had his fishing tackle.

  Turning, she hurriedly finished her coffee and swallowed bites of tart while rushing into trousers, linen shirt and her boots. Gathering her hair, she tied it back and grabbed a riding jacket before hurrying out and down the hall. Exiting, she trot across the dewy lawn and down the slope, seeing the Marquis on the dock edge, with his trouser legs pushed up and feet in the water.

  Alex slowed when her boots hit the weathered boards. “Care for company?”

  “Love some, sweet.” He glanced up at her and then pat a space beside him.

  Alex removed her boots, tossed them with the Jacket, and sat beside him. For a bit she was content watching him bait his line and then cast. The morning sun crept in, but still played hide and seek with a few fluffy clouds. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “Troubles, daughter?”

  “Of my own making.” She laughed softly.

  His free hand came round her, holding her and absently rubbing her arm. “Passion is a complicated thing. It can be transcending and calm, fiery and silent.”

  Chewing her lip, Alex basked in his comfort, in the warm scent of his linen shirt and the sound of his voice. “Tell me about meeting mother.”

  “Ah.” He smiled and reeled in, laying the pole aside, he snuggled her to his side and rested his chin on her hair. “I was a miserable wreck in those days—having come to realize Johanna was done with me. I had been making my way across England, via every tavern I could stumble into. I was in such a way, that one day I woke up in Oxford—without remembering getting there, I had fallen off my horse and, the first thing before my eyes was your mother.”

  Alex smiled.

  “Course all that I saw was this female standing over me in the most hideous lace cap. A gown, with the neck line up to here.” He motioned to his chin. “But she had quite the most enchanting sherry eyes….”

  Alex sighed.

  “In any case, I recall my stomach was rolling, my head pounding, and it was about to storm. This hideously dressed baggage, hands upon her hips, says, well then, you certainly are a sorry looking creature. To which I muttered that I had bedded the most beautiful women in England, and something braggerlier I am sure. She laughed. Really, she laughed at me. At some point in my cursing, she hauled me up by the arm. Come then, she said, let us get you shelter before you lay here and drown.

  She half carried me whilst leading the horse, to her father’s house. The sky had opened up before then, and being drenched, I was tucked up in some sweltering room, under the eaves. Evidently, I passed out. I awoke, met your grandfather—who by the way, would frown at me under those intimidating brows of his.”

  Alex chuckled. “He was very good at that. It worked on his students, too.”

  “Hmm. Well. I was in no shape from months soaking up whiskey to do much but eat or sleep. I was convinced your mother brought me poison, every day, as she would show up the moment my eyes opened to pour something vile down my throat.” He shuddered and they chuckled.

  The Marquis said, “Your grandfather was up and gone early, so when I was able to rattle about, I thought at first I’d been cursed, and would go completely daft, surrounded by books and charts, and having nothing to look at but that awfully dressed female. I began to try conversation, out of desperation mind you—and she always had some answer I did not like. She would bustle about, cleaning and doing, talking to herself.”

  “Did she?”

  “Yes. In addition, when your grandpapa had students there, she prepared the room, and at night would check the lessons. Quite a brain she had, your mother. I recall her standing in for her father many times.

  However, to move along, I was about my brooding, standing at windows and longing for whiskey, and lyin
g awake doing a wonderful job at self-pity. A particular evening I did not bestir myself to go down to dinner and later she opened my door, leaning there to announce in her blunt manner, you have broken many hearts in your day, my lord. It is about time you feel the depth of it yourself.

  I did not welcome that very kindly. Nevertheless, disgusted with myself, I did begin to buck up. One noon I had gone out for a walk and returned to the house with the paper. Standing in the parlor I heard humming…sweet singing. I crept up the stairs and stopped at Jane’s door.”

  The Marquis shook his head and sighed. “It was open just a crack and I pushed it back, my mind and body in utter stillness at the vision there. She was leaning against the open window, the sun slanting in just so—and in a chemise that looked like some cloud wisping on her lithe body. Her hair—my lord, what had been hidden under that hideous cap was a glorious fall of caramel curls. She sensed me there and turned, and it was if I could not even speak.”

  “Serves you right, for thinking her hideous.”

  He laughed softly. “Those curls around her face and shoulders, her eyes, so wide and beautiful.” He sighed again. “I remember long moments of us standing there, before she whispered, well, if you are going to make love to me, you’d best get it done before my father returns.”

  “Oh, dear.” Alex grinned.

  “Um. A week of bliss. Of stolen moments, in the arms of the most giving woman I have ever known. It was a sweet, white, fire, a taste of heaven.”

  “And you left?”

  The Marquis’s tone was quiet now, “I awoke on a still morning to find my bags waiting in the hall. She leaned there, waiting for me to dress. I stood with that bag at my feet, still a bit lost in her eyes. I opened my mouth—I am sure to propose. But, she stepped up and covered my lips. Do not say it, Alexander. Your heart is taken, but I thank you for the most wonderful passion.”

  Alex leaned back and saw her father blinking before he cleared his throat, plainly moved by the memory.

  He said gruffly, “Her father sent word when she was with child. I sent proposals, every week. Sometimes, twice. She would always refuse with some sensible reply. When she was obviously not well, in those last months, I wanted to see her, but again, was refused. I came afterwards to claim you. However, your grandfather said, all that I had and loved was Jane. All in this world I loved.”

  He dropped his hand and leaned back, meeting Alex’s eyes. “I felt I had taken his daughter from him, when all she had done, was given to me.”

  “I understand.” Alex touched his face. “It’s a wonderful memory, isn’t it father.”

  His lavender eyes held shimmers. He smiled and covered her hand. “Most wonderful, my dear.”

  After dropping her hand, they sat side by side awhile, the sun finally turning less shy in a blue sky. White clouds drifted, and a tinged breezes floated over.

  “I think I’ll ride awhile.”

  When she got to her feet, he reached up and took her hand saying, “I couldn’t have pre written the love or the passion, the wonder and pain, too, in my life, Alex. I was busy living it. Looking back, I would not change a moment of it.”

  Alex nodded, and after parting, walked up the rise toward the stables. She caught sight of Adam coming from the house and called out to him, “Join me for a ride?”

  “I’d be pleased to.” He caught up with her wearing dove riding trousers and coat, a white shirt and black boots.

  They entered the stables and whilst he saddled his black, Alex got a leggy roan ready, and soon then, they were off. She took him down the road toward the tenant’s cottages, waving, calling out occasionally, when they spied some of her father’s tenants in the yards or fields.

  Glancing at him on and off, she saw he too was in a brooding mood, thus she took him by Mrs. Everly’s cottage, which had a fairyland of flowers and greenery. The elder woman grew them for the manor too.

  They sat on horseback talking awhile to the woman in her straw hat and yes, trousers and plaid shirt. She seemed to live among the acres of garden, for every time Alex had seen her she was inside the gates among the rainbow of textures and blooms, her ever-present basket with snips and twine on her arm.

  The heady scent rose up on the breeze amid the turned soil, and sharp and sweet aroma of clipped blossoms. The woman was talking as much to the flowers as she was to them.

  Alex peeked at Auvary to see a crooked smile on his face.

  Before they left, Mrs. Everly handed Auvary a perfect white rose. Her eyes so clear under the hat brim, that face wrinkled yet smooth at the same time, Alex heard her say with perfect clarity, “For young Jamie, God rest his soul.”

  Taking the bloom, Adam’s throat seemed locked, his face was a mask of pain in that split second before he nodded, and they turned to ride away. Later, as they rode through high grass in the meadow, cutting across to the road, she saw him put it to his lips before he tucked it in the pocket of his coat.

  “There is Val.” They had come to the road’s edge. Alex recognized the horse and buggy with Val handling the ribbons. Her hair tied back, a perky hat graced her head; Val was dressed in a summer suit, and wearing driving gloves.

  “Off to the village?” Adam asked, as they rode out to meet her when Val slowed.

  “Yes.

  “You need an escort,” Auvary insisted.

  “I know everyone around here. I’m perfectly safe.”

  “Do let Adam go along, Val. He can tie his horse to the back.” Alex smiled, thinking that perhaps some cheerful conversation with Val would lighten his mood. Besides, she felt as if her own efforts had been poor, and her company less than stimulating.

  “Very well. But you must not feel you have to.”

  Auvary was already dismounting and after nodding to Alex, tied the horse and climbed in. “Not at all. I need a few things myself, and I had such a brief stop there, I hadn’t the time to see it properly.”

  Alex waved as they were off. She heeled the mount and headed back toward the manor. She hated feeling guilty. She hated being confused. She hated it that Edmund was partly right. There was a game of cricket in progress when she had seen to the horse and gone on to house, Edmund, among the others, catching her eye too easily. She slipped inside and traded her trousers for a light cream white summer gown and slippers. The dress was scoop necked and off the shoulder. The best she could do with her hair was to put it up in a twist with combs.

  Outside again, she found the ladies sipping iced lemonade and coaxed them into a game of croquet on the shaded back lawn. Megan won of course, Jo closely behind, and the London ladies were giggling in fits and starts, at the competitiveness of the two.

  The game ran past lunch, as it seemed did the cricket match. When everyone finally went inside, Alex plopped down on a chaise at the back courtyard, her own iced drink in hand and her slippers off.

  She knew without looking when Edmund came out the French doors. He came into view, obviously having seen her slippers there on the flagstone. Hair damp, fresh shirt, trousers, the boots of supple leather, he carried a drink, and took the chair beside her.

  Studying him only a moment, having that dipping feeling in her stomach, she turned her head and gazed out, watching birds dance along the green lawn.

  “I noticed Adam did not return with you from the ride.”

  “No. We met Val, going into the village. He elected to go along.”

  There was a waft of breeze, a trill of birdsong before he murmured, “I quite envy the Marquis this place.”

  Alex glanced at him, seeing he was looking around. “I’m sure you have beautiful properties.”

  “A dozen.”

  “You don’t enjoy them?”

  “No.” He cast his eyes on her, their hue darker amber under the shade of the overhang.

  “Why ever not?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps because they remind me of all I have, and Sonja did not.”

  Alex scanned his face then met his eyes again. “Your lives were that dif
ferent?”

  “Mine was privileged. Hers was hell.”

  She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  He sighed and looked away, saying next. “I saw you with your father this morn, by the lake.”

  Alex informed softly, “He was telling me about my mother.”

  A nerve ticked in his cheek. “You are all very fortunate, Alex. Despite the circumstance.”

  She turned to stare at the deep green hedges, sensing he meant family, love perhaps, and other enviable things. She said, “I had my share of bitter times, of feeling restless and resentful. I had no notion my father was writing or sending money. Only what I’d read about him in the rags. It was not easy to get where we are now.”

  “But you did.”

  “Yes. Then, I had to forgive grandfather. To understand why he did it.”

  “There’s no excuse for mine. None.”

  Alex looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “You love your sister very much. It is obvious she loves and admires you. Something came out of it.” She glanced over to find him studying the liquid in his glass. A breeze wafted and ruffled through his raven hair. The sensual lines of his face were marred by some past bitterness.

  “It doesn’t erase the scars she carries, inside or out. It does not change the fact that even I could not help her. Or even the day I realized I could not find anything in the sire I was looking at, to love and admire.”

  “No.”

  Edmund glanced at her, over her face as curls crept free, and then down over the bodice of her summer gown. His eyes were on her lips as he said, “I would wager even when you felt those things growing up, you still did everything with passion. That’s something anyone who was here last night, who sees you with your sisters, all of you with the Marquis, observes.”

  His gaze flickered to her eyes. “There’s fearlessness in that, Alex. In just forgetting the world, and being free. In dancing joyously, around bonfires at night.”

  Alex felt something still in her, felt his pain and guilt, his inability to forgive himself, his parents, his having to come to terms with the fact that his parents could be heartless, that his life and all that was in it, meant nothing but the worst memories.