Rakehell's Daughters

by Gayle Eden

  “I likely will. Often.” Megan was not giving an inch.

  Nevertheless, Aric smiled. “As will I…if you intend to be stubborn. I’ll have to keep you on your back all the time.”

  Megan punched him in the gut.

  He caught that little fist after grunting, and kissed her knuckles. “Of course, you can put me on mine whenever you like.”

  “Stop that. Jo is standing here.”

  He looked at Jo, then back to his wife. “She wouldn’t have you wed a man who wasn’t lusty, no more than you’d want one.”

  “That’s nothing to do with love.”

  “It is. However, just to clear something up, I liked you last year, and if I did not care for you, I certainly would not have squired you about. It just happened that us wanting each other got me off course.”

  “No. Your insults and apologies did.”

  “Woman. I did not insult you. And as for the sorry, that was for…never mind.” Aric snapped, and tugged her hand. “Come, toast with me, dance with me, I’ll warm your sheets so hot tonight you’re brothers will be putting pillows over their head.”

  Snorting at Megan’s slight scream of outrage, Jo watched them head toward the cluster that included the Campbell men.

  “They’ll do all right.”

  The Marquis came up and put her hand on his arm, leading her down to join the crowd.

  “I think so. Eventually.”

  Alexander reached her a chilly beer and got his own, sipping before saying, “Do you want my advice?”

  Uncanny how he read her, Jo mused and shook her head.

  “You have my blessing. Either way. Although, it is all so obvious.”

  She saw Sascha turn from talking to a group by the fire. He nodded to her father, the smiled faintly at her.

  Jo’s shuddered breath was telling.

  “Don’t be afraid. You’re the most fearless of my daughters.”

  “It is not fear so much as it is, I’d make a much better lover than wife.”

  “Nonsense. For a man like that, he needs a strong woman, one who loves adventure, who is passionate and loyal. You’re perfect for him.”

  “I’m not but—”

  “But?”

  Her father was gazing at her and Jo shrugged. “I want to believe him. I want to believe he thought of me, wanted me, that he aches for me that much.” Leaning, she kissed her father’s cheek, and then went to join the others.

  They danced around the bonfire and along the dock, Alex, and even Megan and Jo, several London ladies. They laughed and teased Megan, because Jo knew she was going to be all right. Aric was not a fool. He knew Megan was a strong woman. He would prove his love.

  Skin damp and breathless, Jo, after dancing with her cousins, found a moment to sit on the dock and dangle her feet in the water. Laughter rang amid the crackle of fire and mingled with soft sound of a violin someone played. She loved these gatherings, this celebration, and she loved how her father had made a home for all of them where they could be free and be themselves.

  Johanna turned to watch people, finding her father standing, his silver hair glinting from the illumination. She remembered Alex telling her that he’d picked Edmund for her, and she wondered if his instincts were so well that he had done the same when he had brought Sascha into the circle of his friends.

  Silly thought, considering.

  Yet when she found Auttenburg with her gaze, Jo flushed. Her heart squeezed a bit even as her mind went over his words. Of course, she loved him. She loved him beyond words. When with him, making love, it nearly killed her not to say so. She wanted to hate, blame, and resent him. That only worked whilst he was away.

  She loved the way he looked, all his hard edges, his sensual eyes and mouth. She loved his strength and determination to build his life brick by brick. She even loved his old house, and enjoyed too much doing the mundane work there. It went without analyzing, that she loved the look in his eyes, the way he touched her, tasted her, and drove her mad with passion.

  Those thoughts consumed her for a long time.

  Jo finally arose and slipped up to the house. She changed her clothing and packed a bag. Out in the stable, she had their horses saddled.

  The look on everyone’s face when she came down leading the mounts was something she would remember the rest of her life. Not her father’s though, he was grinning. Alex just looked delighted.

  Jo was only half-aware that everyone stopped talking by the time she reached Sascha, who had watched her where he stood beside Edmund and Aric.

  In her boots and trousers, a long cape, Jo did not jest or smile. She said clear but husky, “If we ride fast enough, we can be wed and be back by morning.”

  Sascha handed Edmund his cup and then went to Jo first, giving her a leg up. He climbed on his black stud. Their gazes met before he glanced at the Marquis.

  Alexander, smiling, nodded, and raised his glass.

  Sascha smiled back. His heart was open and obvious for all to see. “I’ll make her happy, my friend.”

  Jo said, “A wise fellow, to be sure.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Before turning, Sascha leaned to take her hand and kiss it.

  Everyone heard Jo say, “I love you, too. But then, you probably already knew that.”

  “I hoped. Now, let’s go make you my wife, before you change your stubborn mind.”

  Chapter Eight

  Two Months Later

  It was blustery out. Fall was giving its last brilliant burst of color. Johanna sat in a chair, wearing one of Sascha’s oversized fishermen sweaters. She had been reading, her bare foot skimming her husband’s buttock and hip where he lay on the floor before the fire, reading one of the gentleman’s quarterlies.

  “Do you think we should go check on father?”

  He grunted and rolled to his back. Taking that foot and holding it still on his flat stomach. “Are you jesting? You just told me an hour ago that the duchess was at Hawksmoor and you’d hoped that those two finally stopped walking circles around each other.”

  “I know.” Jo put the book aside and wrinkled her nose. “But father has almost too much patience. Look how long he’s carried this….thing…for her, and they’re nothing but polite.”

  “Perhaps she—”

  “She does feel something. I sense it. I’ve seen it.”

  He tugged and half rose, forcing her out of the chair, laughing as she sprawled atop him. Lying back then, he brushed her hair back from her face.

  “You can’t do this for him.”

  “But he’s done so much for us. He’s seen us all happy.”

  Sascha’s gaze searched her face. “Are you—happy?”

  “What kind of question is that?” She whispered.

  “Logical. Considering our adventurous life thus far has consisted of recovering furniture, bringing in a fall harvest and modernizing a kitchen and our bathing rooms.”

  “I enjoyed it.” She smiled pert. “Particularly when you hauled me off to make love in the middle of gathering squash, and we got all wet redoing those ancient pipes and ended up nearly flooding the upstairs—because you got so excited when my blouse became see-through, you had to have me right then.”

  He was grinning. “As if, you did not make every excuse to rub against my arse that time. And—as for the squash—you should be ashamed for caressing food that explicit way…”

  Jo Laughed softly. “Well, there are these times, too. And I find anything we do together an adventure.”

  “As do I.”

  She kissed his chin. “But about father…”

  “No, my dear.” He rolled her to her back and leaned over her. “I’m afraid they’re on their own.”

  Whilst he was kissing her, or rather in between, Jo managed, “We should go for a ride before dark.”

  “Excellent idea. I’m about to practice my seat.”

  By the time he was deep inside her, Jo moaned, “Perfect, you do that flawlessly.”

  He squeezed her b
ackside. “I’ll let you take a turn next.”

  “You’re my favorite mount.”

  He laughed low and sexy. “Brazen wench. You’re trying to make me lose control.”

  “Not at all. If I were doing that…I’d do this…” Jo found his nipple and latched on while she grabbed a handful of his own backside and spread her legs wider, raised them higher.

  He gave that sound, that submerged and drowning one, she loved. “Jo…Johanna. My God…how I love you.”

  She answered, “And I you, Sascha. Love me. Love me, harder!”

  He did. As always, he gave her everything she could stand, and more.

  The End

  A Rakehell’s Heart

  Chapter One

  She had made her first mistake. This thought went through the Duchess of Summerton’s head whilst she paced her guest chambers at Hawksmoor. The northern estate belonged to the Marquis of Hawksmoor, better known as the Rakehell Marquis in previous years. It was a somewhat wild and untamed landscape, yet perfect in its unspoiled woodlands and lakes. Sonja, as the family knew her, had visited many times since her brother, Edmund, Earl of Sotherton, and had wed the Marquis daughter, Alexandria—one of his illegitimate daughters, of the three he had claimed when their parents and guardians passed away.

  It was not for Sonja to judge that decision. She knew he loved them, and they him. She did not have so perfect a past as to cast aspersions on others, even if his title of Rakehell was not well earned—and it was, obviously. Her own rep in society was more from gossip after the cruel duke she’d wed had died.

  The ton was rather harsh on her as a young widow then, even knowing what a wicked person her elder husband had been. They had not so subtly pushed her to the outer limits of society. Thus, Sonja had built her own life, a circle of people who had then used her London residence for trysts. It was not as if valuable discussions did not go on and socializing, as with any salon, but rep was what counted and that was what she had gained, in a negative manner. It was fine with her. After surviving Albert—she no longer wanted to kill herself pleasing people. She could not do that anymore.

  However, up until the time that Edmund married Alexandria, she had not even allowed him to make it known they were siblings. Her younger brother was a lofty man. A cool headed, and in control, one—embraced by the ton for those qualities. That and the fact he had been one of its most eligible and wealthy bachelors, kept her from allowing the connection to be known back then.

  It surprised her when he’d wed the Rakehell’s daughter, but delighted her too. She’d had an inkling when the young Alex dared a clandestine meeting with him years ago, that something good would come of it.

  She was aware that Edmund’s life had been much colored by their parent’s treatment of her. He had been utterly appalled when they had wed her so young to such a cruel despot. He had not easily gotten over a feeling of obligation to her, because he had been treated the exact opposite, being the heir.

  It was mostly through Alex and their relationship, that Edmund had freed himself of that guilt. Sonja was thankful for it. She never blamed him. He was just a boy then, and she certainly was not the only girl to have her husband picked for her. When Albert’s abuse was at its worse, she had been trapped and cadged like many young girls, who were wed to men like that at a tender age, and beaten down eventually, knowing no other existence. Distance saved her sanity. That and his death, she was certain.

  That was the past. Edmund and Alex now had a son. The other daughters of the Marquis, Valerie and Johanna, were happily wed. Valerie had a daughter.

  She suspected the Marquis picked those men for his daughters. Certainly had he not brought them into his circle, they were not likely to have met. As for herself, he had insisted, no matter how she resisted, that she was a part of his intimate circle too. Thus she had been around for the journey of his daughters, the finding their heart mate, and happiness. It was a delight for her too, since she liked them all and considered them friends, a new and much cherished type of relationship in her life.

  Had they not been born of different circumstance, shunned in their way, and faced adversity, she knew they would not have understood. The fact they did so was something she would never take for granted.

  Age was irrelevant in their circumstances, and friendship was a blessing.

  Sonja was no spring chicken. She was reaching her mid-forties although other than a streak of silver in the front of her jet hair she hardly looked it. She had perfected her own aloof poise, her sophisticated style of dress. She and Edmund shared that trait of being regal and graceful, both tall, herself full figured. Yet much of that were the doors they closed off inside themselves.

  Edmund was not like that around family now. Only in society did he don that mask. Sonja’s went much deeper. She designed her gowns to flatter her coloring and figure, true. However, she always wore wraps or had lace and such sewn to cover her upper back and shoulders. They hid scars, whip marks, from Albert’s so- called discipline and training of his young wife. Too visible a reminder every time she tried to forget.

  Sonja stopped her pacing and stared out the window. The mistake, had been accepting the invite from the Marquis, on the flimsy excuse to look at a horse he thought she would be interested in. Whilst Sonja was an expert horsewoman, enjoying the hunt too, she had known since the last gathering at Hawksmoor, when the Marquis brushed his mouth against hers that he was going to change the rules of his game.

  Yes, yes of course, they had chemistry. All through their social and family obligations, in each other’s presence, under that polite talk, the cool exchanges, it had hummed like a tangible thing. Sonja was not a fool. She had indulged in two brief encounters, years ago, right after coming to London. Neither were satisfying. She had not been trying to do more than prove to herself she was still a woman anyway. She had selected safe, frivolous men. Nothing much came of it. Because of the scars, she did not strip down nude. Because of the inner pain, she did not trust, and because of Albert’s cruelty, she was a long time evolving from the absolute nothing she had felt.

  The silver-haired and lavender-eyed Hawksmoor had everything those previous men did not. He had given up his mistress years ago and seemed completely focused on his daughters. He had wisely invested, knew and intermingled with a variety of powerful men—but he still could not shed that cloak completely. With darker skin and those eyes, an aristocratic face and fit body, Alexander was made to draw a woman’s eyes. He had it all, charm, effortless attractiveness, and sophistication. He was not shallow. No one could call the Marquis that.

  Alexander could do things with his eyes; something intimate in the way he met a gaze, that melted a woman. Even one as aloof and detached as she had been—or endeavored to be.

  He was polite, even warm, toward her. He made every effort, public and private, to let anyone know that she was a close friend to them all. He flattered her. He charmed her. He attracted her, as he did thousands, no doubt. He had everything desirable. It had been a long, ongoing battle, with herself to show none of how he affected her.

  They could be discussing a book, a play, and yet he made every look feel like a touch, every smile intimate. His compliments were not personal per se, save for the fact he had excellent fashion sense and when he complimented her gown, her hair, it was genuine. He oft said he also liked her independent mind, her taking control of her life—and what he called her nerve of steel in social gatherings. He found a way, someway, to get under her substantial guard.

  Nevertheless, she had hid it, despite hints from his daughters, and even a quiet talk from Edmund—her brother, attempting to remind her how long she had been free of Albert, and how in contrast the Marquis was. How wonderful… a life of passion could be.

  Before this time, she had covered her visits by coming with Edmund and Alex, or by invite of his daughters. There were none of those to cover this trip, and she felt a tightening coil of trepidation in her stomach—because by coming, not making excuses—she’d let him
change tactics and done a sort of acquiesce.

  Sonja pushed the shutter wider, looking over the rugged landscape, past the main estate. If only he was not deep and complicated. If only. He was simply a rake and flirt. If only… she did not sense that Alexander was always reading and studying her. Of course, she knew that he was attracted to her.

  Bloody hell.

  She swallowed and wrapped her arms around herself. He had gotten behind her protective wall, slowly, over the years and months. He had done it.

  Whatever had she been thinking?

  She may know more about male/female relations in the abstract than she had years ago, but she was no match for the handsome and seductive Marquis. She did not like being susceptible. Sonja could want in secret, desire in the most private corner of her mind, and wonder. Nevertheless, she did not like anything she could not control.

  Chapter Two

  Alexander Ramsey, Marquis of Hawksmoor, did a quick inspection, to make sure the housekeeper had lunch prepared on the back courtyard, per his request. With autumn having dressed the landscape in brilliant hues; orange, gold, burgundy, and red, it was the perfect spot to view the woodlands beyond the more manicured lawn.

  He scanned the covered silver plates, chilling wine and arrangement of apples and other fruit between them. At length, he went inside, casting only a quick glance at the long hall mirror, reflecting his black trousers, boots, white silk shirt—without cravat, and a suede black evening coat. It was not formal by any means, but enough so that he would match what he knew was Sonja’s custom of dressing for meals. His once black hair, now a sleek silver mane to his shoulders, was a bit windblown, but so too was skin a bit more tawny from spending his days out riding, fishing, hunting, and at other sports. Sonja would be used to his appearance by now.

  At first, after Johanna had wed, he had tried to fill every moment with something—because it had not taken him long to get used to having his daughters around.