Rakehell's Daughters

by Gayle Eden

  Archard recovered before Val and said something, sharing a wink with the men before he had excused them a moment, later returning before a flushed face Val.

  It was very nice. It was bloody wonderful, to see two of his daughters so happy, so loved, by good men.

  And now, Jo. Ah, Johanna. The child who fit her name to perfection.

  He sought out his daughter and spotted her talking with the duchess, Sonja. Half tempted to warm her backside, grown as she was, and half-feeling sympathy, because of the fix she got herself in with Auvary. That Earl—Alexander mentally groaned, was offering everything but his bloody arms and legs, as sacrifice for his sins.

  After the shock wore off, Alexander explained rather calmly that Jo was an adult. Adults made mistakes. He was not unfamiliar with the temptations his daughter presented. While he let Auvary take his share of blame, he could not see two people tying themselves together for life over a brief indiscretion. According to the hard-faced Earl’s strained and too polite explanation, it was brief indeed, and hardly could be called lovemaking. It sounded very awkward and rather disastrous in fact.

  It had taken all his skills not to laugh whilst his friend tried to be discreet and still explain the (incident). He could very well see where his daughter had initiated something that ended more embarrassing for them both. To a man of Auvary’s experience and skill, it was a worse horror.

  Auvary was going to have to come to terms with it being what it was. He thought the man was well on that path. Johanna already had moved past it. That did not mean the Marquis was not feeling a bit at wits end with her. But then, she was leaving for a while, and how would he stand the absence?

  Nearing the pair, Alexander was momentarily distracted by Sonja, as usual. He let his gaze go from the crown of her lush raven hair, down over that handsome face. She was dressed in a form fitting bronze gown that did everything for that magnificent figure and height. A light wrap across her shoulders, an ever-present reminder of why she would take patience to win.

  In the midst of listening to Jo, she raised her head and her eyes found him. Light from the fires sparked in the softest brown, wreaking havoc inside him. With any other woman, he would use his looks, his charm, and everything else at his disposal. He could simply say, come; let me show you that men are not all monsters. Then too, he had worked hard at being a rakehell, so he suspected she had anticipated empty lines from him.

  The way he approached her over time, was letting her see there was more to him. And whilst his body certainly responded to her, he checked that, developing a friendship of sorts—as much as she’d allow, in hopes she would someday open up to him. One thing experience and maturity gained one, was patience. She was worth it.

  Still, it was deuced difficult for a passionate man like himself to have to work at winning a woman. He could not draw on experience, because they had been easy to obtain. Nevertheless, she was more, much more. Her enigmatic nature and aloofness only added to the lure…

  “Hullo, father.”

  He jerked his eyes to Jo, a smile forming at her impish grin.

  “Daughter.” He moved to put his arm around her. “I was looking for you.”

  “I’ll leave you two and find Edmund and Alex.” Sonja nodded and left before he could delay her.

  However, Alexander did want a word with Jo.

  “You know?” she guessed depressingly.

  “Of course I do.” He led her to a pair of chairs, back from the gathering.

  “Are you calling me to the carpet? Please do not. It would only embarrass us both.”

  “As if that would do any good.” He grunted. “No.” He waved her to a chair, took the other chase and reached for her hand. “You’ve made a mistake. You’ll make more, doubtless.” The Marquis let his gaze roam her face a moment. She was a beauty, his Jo, the kind of vivid and passionate one who drove men daft. It was not classic; it was more the handsome and fiery.

  Jo dropped that smile for a pensive look, so he went on, “I’ll miss you whilst you are gone, Johanna. But please, don’t make me worry about you.”

  “I’ll miss you too.” She sighed and left her chair, coming to sit by his hip. “Worry? No. Do not fret, father. I am not going there to cut up and cause scandal. Not—that it will matter to society. But since they shall never embrace me any way—”

  “You don’t care a fig for that, Jo.”

  “No. I do not. But I need a change.”

  “Well, your mother’s kin are certainly as far from society as one could get.”

  “Be kind.”

  “I am being kind. I enjoy them for that fact.” He chuckled.

  She sighed and looked around, her hand patting his. “Was mama like this?”

  “Possibly. However, she had you, and that changed her, I think. She was very loyal. However, I did not live with her day to day, Jo. And whilst I lost my heart to her, and will never forget her spirit and passion, I cannot say—well, perhaps you should ask the family?”

  “I’d like to think if things had worked out with Sascha, I would have settled down.”

  “You were at a ripe age to fall in love. Sometimes, that is simply it. We don’t all get the ending we dream of whilst falling.”

  “True.”

  The Marquis murmured, “I sometimes wonder if he had stayed, would you still feel yourself in love with him.”

  Jo looked at him, blinking. “What?”

  Alexander shrugged. “It is something to think about. Love denied all the drama and yearning...”

  “I certainly wanted him beyond reason.”

  Smiling slightly, Alexander studied her beautiful face again. “My dear, you’ll want others eventually. What I desire is for you to be happy. I care not if you wed, Jo. I do not bloody care what anyone else thinks you should do. I want you happy and fulfilled. Don’t let your mistakes and impulses guide you somewhere— you can’t find that.”

  “I know. I won’t.” She kissed his hand. Then this time studied his face. “Father?”

  “What?”

  “You’re very taken with Sonja, aren’t you?”

  He sat up slowly and tried, “Don’t change the subject m’dear. You’re assuring me that you’ll be all right in Scotland.”

  “I will be. And talk about changing subjects—”

  He sighed and met her gaze, fumbling for a cheroot case he had slid in his boot, because he was in his shirtsleeves. “Taken with her—no, I do not think it is as simple as that.” He got a cheroot, lit it and blew the smoke tensely. “Since her past is no secret, and her dignity and restraint are evident, I seriously hope you will not speculate on anything between us, in her presence.”

  “Of course not.” Jo frowned at him and Alexander knew he was much too tense. She added softly, “It would be wonderful, certainly, for both of you. I weep, thinking about…well, you know. But you are likely handling it rightly.”

  He resisted rolling his eyes. Handling what? He sometimes did not know himself. However, Alexander reminded himself this conversation with Jo must take place before she left, and she would, early the next day.

  “Let’s get back to the discussion at hand, m’dear. You will write me, and often. You will enjoy yourself, and be careful. And do write to your sisters—”

  “Of course.”

  “Jo.” He shook his head and said emphatically, “Life is really not about knowing the answers ahead of time. It is not about always being certain you will end up where you are headed. It is just as important to enjoy the journey, especially at your age, and with your advantages.”

  “I understand that. I really do.”

  “I know you do.” He put his arm around her. Her head on his shoulder he uttered gruffly, “You make us all laugh, Jo. Your spirit and zest and passion, and lord, but the season will be dull indeed until you’re back.”

  She laughed. “I know that too.”

  Alexander smiled. Yes, Jo would find her way. The journey however, would likely be as fiery and tempestuous as she was. He
was expecting that. He loved her as he loved all his daughters, for their uniqueness.

  * * * *

  “I lied to you.” Archard stroked his wife’s arm, as they lay cuddled in their own bed at Whitestone, hours after the gathering.

  “Lied to me…” Val arched her head, to look up from his chest. He was propped against the headboard.

  “Not altogether. But when I said all of that … about your standing, and connections, when I proposed, I didn’t give a damn about that…”

  “Oh?” She raised her brow.

  He met her gaze. “And I had been working on the family quite a while. The uncle was sick, obviously, he passed. And…I stayed there… longer than required.”

  She pushed up, turning slightly on her stomach. Searching his face, Val murmured, “Why is that?”

  “I fell in love with you on sight. I waited so long and then, the chance came. I used whatever means I could. The truth is, I did not trust myself. I felt such euphoria when you were at last my wife. I wanted you—I love you, for a million reasons, Val. I ached for you beyond sanity. “

  Val thought on that with her usual awe of him. She let her gaze roam him too. “I understand that kind of ache and longing, now. I even understand why you took the advantage. I believe in my whole heart that we were meant to be together.”

  After a moment, he chanced almost hesitant, “Have you considered…a babe?” His eyes probed hers deeply.

  She did not flinch. “I hope to have your sons and daughters.”

  “Either will do. Even one,” his voice was gruff, Archard touched her cheek, “But if…if none comes from our loving, because of what happened with the first you carried. I will not love you any less. In fact, I shall love you even more. I simply need to know you’ll be happy, either way.”

  Her eyes watering, Val raked her teeth over her lip. Her voice came out thick, “I’m happy with you, Archard. With our lives. With what is, and what will, come.”

  He raised and rolled her on her back; looking down at her while those tears seeped out and tumbled into her hair. Archard whispered, “You wept the other eve, when I made love to you in the woods, why?”

  “Because you move me. Because—once, where I tried to explain away how intense you did so, how you look at me, touch me, complete me—I could not believe it. I did not feel worthy or even whole enough. But you always do, every time. Even, when you start out playful, like that day was. Even when you do not know I am looking at you—the expression on your face when you are inside of me—it overwhelms me. My heart overflows.”

  “Ah, love.” He leaned down and softly kissed her, raising his head again. “That’s what I feel. Exactly— what I feel.”

  Her hands found his firm sides. Val uttered, “I’m sorry it took me so long to find my way back. To see you, and all you felt for me. I wish I had known this was possible. I wish I had not wasted a second…”

  Archard supplied emphatically, “I would have waited forever, if that is what it took. I would have remained by your side, no matter what.”

  Yes. Val saw that in her Viking’s eyes. It stirred her soul to realize this amazingly intelligent, wonderfully wild and strong man, submitted himself completely to what he felt for her in his heart. From the moment he met her, he had committed himself. It was amazing.

  “I love you.” She put her mouth to his, her hands sliding up and fingers possessively holding him. “I love you.” She whispered against his lips, her tongue laving as her body rose to turn him to his back. Sliding up, she let him feel her body, before she began to nibble, suckle, and move down his own with kisses and laves and loving.

  Archard remembered whispering her name, but the rest was pleasure, all fire and roaring in his blood—the erotic mingled with bone deep love for his mate, his woman, his wife.

  The End

  Rakehell’s Daughter

  Johanna

  Prologue

  The previous year, London’s social season had been rather unexciting, due mostly to the absence of a certain titan haired daughter of the Marquis of Hawksmoor. Dubbed the “Brazen one” among the Marquis’ bastard daughters, Johanna, or Lady Jo, as she was called, certainly earned the title by creating scandal and talk. Not only with her daring, plunging gowns, but her shockingly wild and reckless behavior. Talk was not too loud, of course, given that Hawksmoor’s other daughter Alex, (Alexandria) had wed the lofty Earl of Sotherton, Edmund De Forrest, whom the ton found aloof and intimidating, but embraced for his flawless blue blood, wealth and titles. He was simply not a man to ignore.

  A shocking union indeed—between Ramsey’s daughter Alexandria, and a peer from the highest circles. They overlooked Edmund’s blood ties and open acceptance to the scandalous 40-year-old Duchess of Summerton, whom it turned out, was his sister.

  Oh, the tales that came out about those two that first season…wonderfully wicked stuff. It had to do with a certain set of private journals, and the duchess letting that bastard gel seduce her honorable brother, right under her roof!

  Society perfectly understood Edmund’s having to wed the chit, of course. And since the widowed duchess had sold her London house, a residence reputed to host trysts and all sorts of shocking goings on, after that enlightening journal was found during a break in) she’d become a regular guest at her brother’s London mansion, and the Marquis Country estate. Society supposed one could not shun family, however.

  There was Valerie, the oldest daughter; the first bastard the Marquis had claimed. First divorced from Viscount Bellemy, who was said to be the devil himself—rumors of kidnappings, ransom, and murder swirled before he was shot dead. Lady Valerie marrying his cousin—one Archard Van Wyc, after her divorce, a wealthy Swede, dubbed the Viking, and a close friend to the Marquis.

  The Viking’s younger brother, Aric Van Wyc had been seen about the Marquis’ family since that marriage. It was reported he had been the one who shot his own cousin, Lady Val’s first husband—dead between the eyes. And, some younger cousin, Roth—actually having some odd foreign name, Leuthold Rothstein, a young man barely out of university, was said to be seducing women left and right when he and Van Wyc’s brother were supposed to be handling the “Viking’s” businesses in his absence, shameful business that.

  However, what with Lady Valerie and her husband in Geneva, the Lady having birthed a daughter two months back, and Edmund not about much since the Countess, Alexandria had popped out an heir—a strapping son—a month ago—it was positively boring to be about town these days.

  There were no scandals to compare to the sort the Marquis and his family could create. Why—they were downright blatant about such outrageous goings on. Never so much as a blink at it. The Marquis himself, a former rakehell of the first order, and not much changed even at fifty; physically fit, suave, handsome with a silver mane and lavender eyes, bronze skin, was said to have picked his circle of friends, with possible matches to his daughters in mind.

  As if—society whispered, those bastard daughters were good enough to compete with their pure and genteel females.

  The talk had gone on, and the more secrets emerged, the more that family and circle of friends got up to, the better entertained society was—gasping, criticizing, and pronouncing dire judgments on them all.

  Deprived of that lately, since the siblings were away from society, and the Marquis was taking his usual break up north at Hawksmoor—the ton found itself contradicting the “good riddance” it had muttered when word came last season that Lady Jo was off to Scotland—joining some wild branch of Campbell cousins—and was wishing for her return, if only for a week or two, to liven up their tea time gossip.

  As hypocrites will do, they were prepared to send out invites not considered before to the Rakehell Marquis and his daughter, imagining that the lure of finally having that highest circle open to them, would certainly bring the “brazen chit” out of hiding.

  They began sending out lures early, writing polite notes to the Marquis, sending congratulations and gifts fo
r his grandchildren, and laying the breadcrumbs, so to speak. The Lady Johanna was twenty and five after all. The Marquis must be desperate to find someone to tame that wayward daughter by now.

  Chapter One

  Scotland

  “Letter for you, cousin!”

  Lady Johanna Ramsey rolled to her back on the plaid blanket, having been lying amid the heather, reading the latest lurid novel. She pushed her wild burgundy mane out of her face and peered up at one of her many, brawny, male cousins.

  “You didn’t have to bring it all the way out here.”

  Craig Campbell was sitting on his best black stud. He grinned down at her and replied as he took it from his pocket and tossed it, hitting her somewhere near her trouser clad bottom, “On my way to do some courting, anyhow.” He eyed the book and arched his brow. “Don’t worry yourself, I promise not to tell Ma what you were reading—if you polish my boots for me.”

  “Ha. Keep dreaming.” Jo moved to sit up and put the letter in the book. “I’d rather let Aunt Kat keep praying for my wicked soul—and I’ll wager your “courting” is more like “sporting,” since Eric already went off blathering about some comely wench down at the Tavern.’

  “He bloody well didn’t! He did not go off—”

  “Oh, yes.” She laughed. “Not an hour past.”

  Craig spurred the horse. “I’ll beat his blocked head in for him…”

  Folding her blanket, Jo was still chuckling while she strode to the sprawling castle. Having to traverse beautiful spans of heather thick hills, she breathed in the air and alluring bouquet. She envied the cousins their wonderful old estate. Six brothers, and one sister, Megan, lived here, with her mother’s sister, Kat, or Katherine—and various cousins and other kin on and off.

  The sprawling structure was far from quiet with strapping, energetic men about, as well as a variety of hounds, birds, cats and whatever they took in on a given day. Nevertheless, her aunt Kat, now sixty and two, was a woman of discipline and order, a very devout woman, who despite Craig’s teasing, could handle most facts of life and human foibles with a common sense turn.