The Rake to Reveal Her

by Julia Justiss

  She could do it, Theo told herself. The episode beside the dry creek in Portugal had led to shame, and the threat of losing her good name and being cast out of polite society that had hung over her for years. But like one of those storms that blew up over those dusty plains, sudden, furious and violent, it had spent itself and moved on. It was over now, over for ever. She could dare believe in a future—with the ardent man beside her.

  Fingers hot, shaky, he helped strip off her habit, stays and chemise, laughing as his hand tangled with hers trying to wrest him out of his garments. He laid her down on their jackets, and she pulled him down over her, his skin warming hers, a sense of peace and coming home sweeping through her as he slid into her. After being apart for days, their lovemaking was fast, urgent, and just a short time later, she found bliss in his embrace.

  Afterwards, they lay panting, listening to the rush and gurgle of the stream, the breeze ruffling the oak leaves above them. Through layers of contentment, Theo felt a subtle shift as the wind picked up, then a sprinkle of droplets.

  ‘I think it’s beginning to rain,’ she said, eying the clouds.

  Dom rolled to her side and drew her to him. ‘I believe you’re right.’

  As the wind increased in speed and volume, the sprinkle turned into a shower. Laughing, Dom sprang up, then grabbed her hand to pull her to her feet.

  ‘Dance with me!’ he cried, his face joyous. ‘We’ll waltz in the rain.’

  ‘Here?’ she asked, half-amused, half-incredulous.

  He gestured around them. ‘We have a strip of mossy ground as a ballroom floor, the swaying candelabra of oak branches above us, the music of the wind through the trees, and a heart full of melody because you’re back in my embrace again. How can I not want to dance, and shout my happiness to the world?’

  ‘Madman!’ she laughed. ‘Someone might see.’

  ‘They shouldn’t look. Come, let’s dance.’

  He stood gazing down at her, such unrestrained joy on his face, she couldn’t help smiling back. He was so uninhibited, so comfortable in himself. She wanted that assurance, that sense of liberation. She wanted him.

  An answering joy bubbling up, she threw her arms around him and let him waltz her around the bank, while the wind whistled and the stream burbled a melody. The precipitation increased, and she threw her head back, letting warm summer rain course down her face, washing away the dust of the ride.

  As she danced with him, drawing on his unconditional support and boundless optimism, Theo felt the burden she’d carried within for so many years rinsing away like that dust before the rain, until she felt so light, buoyed by his love, she thought she might float right up into the clouds.

  Dom had given her this, the gift of seeing herself through his eyes: without shame, without guilt, no longer waiting for a reckoning that was surely coming to punish her someday. Freeing her from fear of loss, bringing her to believe in a future.

  Marshall would always be dear to her, but the man who’d helped her do all that deserved her love, given unreservedly, just as she’d given him her body.

  Finally, laughing again, he halted, mopping his wet hair off his forehead. ‘I suppose we need to stop and dress.’ He bowed. ‘Thank you for the dance, my lady.’

  ‘Thank you for the dance, though it’s only just begun, my lord. My life. My love.’

  Bent halfway over, retrieving his jacket, he halted abruptly and looked back over his shoulder at her. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I love you, Dom. I’ve known it a long time, but been too frightened to admit it. Until you freed me of that fear, as our marriage has freed me from the past. I only wish I’d struggled out of it sooner.’

  Dropping the jacket, he came to her and drew her close. Trailing his fingers down her cheek in a caress, his gaze tender, he said, ‘It’s all right, beloved. We have the rest of our lives. Which, I promise you, will be a long, long time.’

  He placed a kiss on her forehead. ‘Now, we’d better get my bride dressed and home before we both contract an inflammation of the lungs. Besides, I brought you a gift which, by now, should be waiting at Bildenstone for you.’

  ‘A gift? You shouldn’t have! What is it?’

  ‘You’ll see soon enough. Now, help me with these wet ties.’

  She assisted him into his soggy garments and he helped her. Finished haphazardly dressing each other, she stood back to examine him and burst out laughing.

  ‘I can’t imagine what Wilton will think when we get back! We look like we’ve been kidnapped by gypsies, rolled through a hay meadow and then dunked in a stream.’

  ‘Or making love in the rain on a mossy bank?’

  She would be brave, as he was. ‘Or making love in the rain on your mossy bank beside your stream. My fearless lord.’

  * * *

  Almost giddy with happiness, Dom rode beside Theo back to Bildenstone, where they turned their horses over at the entrance and walked hand in hand up the stairs.

  Wilton opened the door to usher them inside. ‘The, ah...item you sent from Newmarket has arrived, sir, and has for the time being been installed—under much protest—in the small blue bedchamber.’

  ‘Very good. And don’t worry, Wilton. It won’t be there long.’

  ‘That is my present?’ she asked as they mounted stairs.

  ‘Yes. Let me show it to you before we wash and change. Ordinarily, for a lovely lady, I’d think of gems. But my Theo is hardly ordinary, and if the prospect of wearing the Ransleigh rubies didn’t tempt you, I knew no paltry diamonds would. But this—this I thought you might truly appreciate.’

  They reached the blue bedchamber, Dom opened the door and waved her in.

  The small figure standing by the window whirled to face them. Thin and grimy, his bony shoulders were encased in a ragged jacket that dwarfed his frame, the garment so old and dirty only the frogging and the few remaining buttons identified it as having once graced the back of a Ninety-Fifth Rifleman. Apparently awed and intimidated by his surroundings, he stared at them, fear and defiance in his eyes.

  ‘Theo, meet Tommy of No-Last-Name. He came out of the shadows of the stables in Newmarket, offering to hold my horse for a penny. Before I knew you, I might have tossed him a coin and passed him by with barely a glance. But one lucky day, I met a girl who showed me every one of God’s creatures is precious, even the abandoned and the maimed. That every one of us should have a chance to become more.’

  Blinking back tears, Theo pressed his hand. ‘You were right. This is the best present you could give me.’

  Smiling, Dom watched her walk over to kneel in front of the boy. ‘Hello, Tommy. Was your father a rifleman?’

  ‘Yes’m,’ the boy spoke at last. ‘No matter what summun said, he were me da. Me mum give me his jacket afore she died. I never stole it.’

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t. How did you get to Newmarket?’

  As Theo talked with the child, the trepidation on his face gradually faded, his defensive posture relaxed, and he took her hand.

  ‘Ring the bell, Dom, would you?’ she asked a few minutes later. ‘Tommy’s agreed to let Mrs Greenlow give him a bath before we drive him over to the school to meet the other children.’

  ‘Letting Mrs Greenlow do it? Wise woman,’ he teased. ‘Looks like he could bite and scratch.’

  ‘Nonsense. He’ll enjoy a bath. Won’t you, Tommy?’

  The boy looked up dubiously, leaving Dom confident he had no notion of what a bath actually entailed. But, with more reassurances from Theo that she would rejoin him as soon as she found him a shirt and breeches, he trotted off with the footman who answered Dom’s summons.

  She came dancing over to him, gratitude and delight on her face. ‘Thank you for my present! You are the handsomest, kindest, wisest man I’ve ever met!’

  ‘And I’m you
r dearest love, for ever,’ he said, hungry to hear the words again from her lips.

  She looked up, her eyes tender, her expression radiating affection and joy. ‘You are my dearest love, and I will love you for ever.’

  With that, she leaned up into his kiss.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A LADY FOR LORD RANDALL by Sarah Mallory.

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  Chapter One

  Randall glanced at the clock. Had it only been an hour since they had arrived at the Bentincks’? It felt longer. He was not naturally sociable, preferring the company of a few close friends to parties such as this where the room was crowded with strangers, but he knew he must try to make himself agreeable, for his sister Hattie’s sake. The Bentincks were a cheerful couple whose children had flown the nest and who now liked to fill their time and their house with interesting young people. The problem was, their idea of interesting was not Randall’s. Hattie had explained that the Bentincks’ house would be full of intellectuals, artists and atheists.

  ‘And tradesmen, too, no doubt,’ he had retorted.

  ‘They are invited because of their intelligence, not their rank,’ she told him and gave a little trill of laughter when Randall grimaced at the idea. ‘You must come, they will be quite delighted to have an earl, a real live peer of the realm in their midst. And a soldier, to boot.’

  ‘And does the Bishop approve of you and Graveney attending these parties?’ he had asked her, thinking of her husband, the rural dean.

  Hattie’s eyes had twinkled merrily at that.

  ‘Not at all, but Theo loves to go there, he approaches these evenings with all the zeal of a missionary. As he says, what is the point of always preaching to the converted?’

  Observing his brother-in-law across the Bentincks’ drawing room, Randall could well believe it. Theo Graveney was involved in a lively discussion with a group of gentlemen in loose coats and untidy hair. Arms were flying and voices were raised as the debate grew ever more heated.

  Randall’s gaze moved on. Most of the guests were writers or scholars, he guessed, his eyes dwelling on one or two shabbily dressed men with ink stains on their fingers. There were no military men present, save himself, the rest of the party being made up of tradesmen, artists and even a couple of French émigrés. They were all gathered in little groups, engaged in animated conversation. There was a smattering of women amongst the crowd, some of them pretty, in a blowsy sort of way, and all giving their opinions as decidedly as the men.

  Randall disliked such loud, overbearing society and he had retreated as soon as he could to a quiet corner. He had known how it would be and he should have remained at Somervil. Oh, Mrs Bentinck had greeted him warmly enough, but her first comment had warned him just what to expect from the evening:

  ‘We are very informal here, my lord, and stand on no ceremony. I shall make no introductions, you must take your chances like the rest of the guests.’

  She had carried Hattie away then, leaving Randall to mingle as he wished. But Randall did not wish. With Bonaparte even now marching through France and the country on the verge of war again, he was not to be distracted with idle conversation. His sister came up and handed him a glass of wine.

  ‘Well, Randall, what do you think of our little gathering?’

  ‘Little gathering, Hattie? Such a number would be considered a crush even in the Latymor town house.’

  ‘They travel from far and wide to attend the Bentincks’ soirées,’ she said proudly.

  ‘That may be so, but it is not to my taste,’ muttered Randall. ‘I am a soldier, plain and simple.’ A shout from the far corner caught their attention and he glanced to where a group of young men were now arguing noisily. ‘I have no patience with artistic tantrums.’

  ‘Pray do not be tiresome, Justin, there are more than just artists here, and plenty to entertain, if you are not too high in the instep.’ Hattie patted his arm, murmuring as she prepared to move away, ‘You should relax and enjoy yourself, dear brother. You are a man of the world, so I trust you not be shocked by the company we keep.’

  * * *

  Randall knew he could not stay in one spot all evening and he began to stroll around the room, listening to the conversations, but joining in with very few of them. He had not worn his uniform, but began to think he would have been more at home if he had done so. At least then it would have been plain what his role was and he would not have been asked for his opinion on so-and-so’s latest stanzas, or if he had read some new and profound religious tract. He was wondering how soon he could possibly retire without giving offence when a soft, musical voice sounded at his elbow.

  ‘You look a little lost, sir.’

  He turned, vexed to find himself addressed by a woman he did not know. But he should not be surprised at such brazen behaviour, given the company gathered here tonight. He could not recall seeing her before amongst the crowd, for there was certainly nothing blowsy about her. She was neatly dressed in a gown of cream muslin with her dark hair swept up on her head, unrelieved by ribbons or flowers. She carried herself with an assurance that seemed odd in one so young—she looked about two-and-twenty, the same age as his sister Sarah. The woman was regarding him with a humorous twinkle in her green eyes and he found himself wanting to respond with a smile. Impossible, of course. One did not encourage such persons. Still, he replied more politely that he was wont to do.

  ‘Not lost. Merely daydreaming.’

  ‘I have not seen you here before. I am Mary Endacott, I am presently staying here. Mrs Bentinck is my cousin.’

  She waited, clearly expecting him to introduce himself.

  ‘I’m Randall,’ he said shortly, rather taken aback by such forwardness.

  Her brows went up. ‘The earl, Harriett’s brother?’

  ‘You are surprised, ma’am?’

  His cold tone should have depressed any pretension, but Mary Endacott merely laughed at him.

  ‘Well, yes, I am. I would not have seen this as your normal milieu. The company is a little...radical.’

  ‘I arrived at short notice today.’

  ‘Ah, so you had no choice but to attend.’

  He said carefully, ‘I am very happy to be here.’

  ‘But you would rather not socialise with us. I have been watching you, my lord, and you do not look to be enjoying yourself.’

  ‘That is because my mind is occupied elsewhere.’

  ‘On the forthcoming confrontation with Napoleon, perhaps?’

  ‘Amongst other things.’

  She nodded. ‘It does seem rather frivolous to be discussing art and philosophy when the fate of Europe hangs in the balance.’

  ‘Just so.’ He glanced at her fingers, which were holding her closed fan. The right hand was folded over the left so he could not see any ring, but she had such poise and confidence that he guessed she was a married woman. He glanced about the room. ‘Which of these gentlemen is your husband?’

  ‘Oh, I am not married.’ She chuckled. ‘Actually, that applies to a number of the women here tonight, but in my case I am not in a union with anyone, ei
ther. Many here are opposed to the concept of marriage,’ she explained. ‘No church ceremony can bind a man and woman together, only love can do that. Love, and a commonality of intellectual interests, of course.’

  Her eyes were fixed on his face and he had the impression she was trying to shock him.

  ‘And is that your conviction, too?’

  He had the satisfaction of seeing that his blunt question had discomposed her, but then he was a little sorry when she looked away from him.

  ‘It is what I was brought up to believe.’

  He said, ‘It would require a great deal of trust on the woman’s part, I think, to enter into such a union without the blessing of the church. She would not have the protection of the man’s name.’

  ‘She would not become his property, either. The current law is a scandalous state of affairs and has serious disadvantages for a woman.’

  He inclined his head.

  ‘Very true, Miss Endacott.’

  A female of decided opinions. Not his type at all.

  ‘Ah, Mary, so you have met my brother.’

  He had not seen Harriett come up, but now she linked arms with Miss Endacott.

  ‘We introduced ourselves,’ he said shortly.

  ‘I would not have thought that necessary,’ said Harriett. ‘Did you not recognise the nose, Mary? All the Latymors have it, and any number of villagers, too, thanks to Papa. At home one could never walk through Chalfont Magna without encountering at least two of his by-blows. Oh, there is no need for you to look daggers at me, Randall, Mary knows all about our father’s dissolute ways. We are very old friends, you see. We were at Miss Burchell’s Academy together.’

  He relaxed, just a little. So the forward Miss Endacott was one of Harriett’s free-thinking school friends.

  ‘That explains a great deal,’ he murmured.

  Harriett’s eyes twinkled. ‘Has Mary outraged you with her radical ideas? Her parents were great admirers of Mrs Godwin—Mary Wollstonecraft—hence her name.’