by Amelia Grey
“They land on me from time to time when I’m outside. Especially on hot, dry days in midsummer. Wasps sting sometimes, but the pain doesn’t last long. I’ve learned that a cloth dipped in vinegar helps keep down the swelling.”
It usually irritated the devil out of Rath when anyone kept up a nervous chatter, but Miss Fast was entertaining him with her brave assertion that insects didn’t worry her.
He pulled a neatly folded handkerchief out of his coat pocket. Without considering what the miss, or the housekeeper who stood just inside the doorway, might think, he lightly wiped across her cheek.
Her head snapped up. Her long, dark, and velvety lashes fluttered.
“There,” he said in a satisfied tone.
“Is it gone?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes.”
“What was it? A ladybug? Did it fly away?”
He held the bit of white cloth up and showed her the soil from her cheek.
She glanced down at the handkerchief, took it from his hand for a closer inspection, before looking up at him again. Suddenly her eyes widened with indignation. A storm of anger gathered in their depths.
“Dirt!” she huffed, squeezing the cloth into a wad in the palm of her hand. “Is that all that was on my cheek?”
He nodded.
She puffed her annoyance once more and fiddled with her gardening basket yet again. “You forced me to be still and quiet so you could—”
“Wait, wait, please,” he said, holding up his hands to stop her from saying more. “You? Still? Quiet?”
“Yes,” she declared, exasperation flowing from her breaths and her determined glare.
If he thought her fetching with eyes sparkling and full of curiosity when he first saw her, she was now captivating with indignant irritation swirling through her like a fierce, icy wind.
“Now, that I must take exception to, Miss Fast. You never stopped talking though I urged you to more than once.”
“I’m sure I did.”
She paused as if to think over what she was saying. Rath remained silent.
“Anyway,” she continued. “That is neither here nor there. You are obviously guilty of everything I have heard and read about you.”
“I probably am.”
“No proper gentleman would ever touch a young lady without her permission.”
“I do know the rules, Miss Fast, whether or not I choose to obey them.”
Though truth be told, Rath wasn’t a plunderer of innocents. Well, perhaps there was one—or two, maybe a few when he was a very young man—but never one that wasn’t as desperately willing as he, and it was long before he realized the gravity of how little it took to break a young lady’s heart. Now he had no inclination to tumble and tangle the sheets with an untouched young lady, no matter that his reputation in clubs and scandal sheets extolled otherwise.
Rath took his pleasures elsewhere. Mistresses and widows seldom put their hearts into a relationship, and certainly not out in the open for all to see as did young ladies. Experienced women were skilled, generous, accommodating, and usually eager to give and receive satisfaction without wanting much in return. For some, companionship and gratification were reward enough to keep them sated if not content. And that’s the way Rath wanted it, too.
The good thing was that the fascinating Miss Fast was no longer fearful of him. Now she was incensed. That emotion was more familiar to him.
“I do have something of importance to discuss with you. We can continue to stand out here in the chill of the afternoon breeze on your front stoop, or, since your cousin is home, you can invite me inside.”
“Yes, of course,” she finally said, but not before giving the question more than its due consideration—again. “Please, come inside.” She motioned toward the door with her free arm.
Tut barked again and rushed across the threshold as if the invitation to enter the house had been issued directly to him. The housekeeper opened the door wider.
Rath nodded to Miss Fast and said, “After you.”
She hurried past him, and Rath caught a whiff of freshly dug earth and cut herbs. There was something primal, natural about both scents that pleased him and drew him even more to the miss. He placed his hat and cloak in the housekeeper’s outstretched hands and stepped inside.
“Mrs. Doddle, would you please rouse my cousin from her nap? Tell her we have a guest, ask her to join us, and then make tea.”
“Right away, miss,” the housekeeper responded as she laid Rath’s things on the vestibule table that stood against the wall under a large, ornately framed painting of a beautiful garden whose vistas seemed to go on forever.
Once inside, Miss Fast kept her back to him and placed her basket and his soiled handkerchief on the table beside his hat. He could tell she nervously worked at the bow under her chin. He heard more than one annoyed sigh. Something told him she’d somehow managed to knot the ribbon rather than untie it when, in vexation, she pushed the hat to her back, revealing a tumble of thick, lush golden-red hair that shone as if sunlight was directly on it. Rath had a sudden urge to lift it and bury his nose in the weight of its softness.
Her hands reached around to the back of her simple sprigged-muslin day dress. He watched delicate fingers pull on the sash of the apron fitted around her slim waist. But unlike the ribbon on her hat, when she pulled the bow, the apron strings fell apart and she laid the garment on top of the basket. If she’d had problems with it, he would have risked her shock and ire again and untied it for her.
And enjoyed every second of it.
He watched her take in a deep, solid breath. Her softly rounded shoulders lifted high and then slowly relaxed. There was a seductiveness to the nuances of watching her summon an inner strength that he’d never seen in any other lady. The lovely miss was trying to calm herself before turning to him. He admired her for that.
When she faced him her countenance was stronger, settled, and determined. That, he decided, was much better.
“My cousin will join us shortly,” she said. “We’ll wait for her in the drawing room.”
He followed Miss Fast down the short corridor and into a small appropriately decorated room. It looked cheerful with damask-covered settees and chairs, fairly new brocade draperies, and a figurine or two on the tables beside the lamps. Her cousin didn’t live in an elaborate home, but it was more than acceptable for a member of Society.
“Please, sit down.” She motioned to the floral-patterned settee with its bright spring flowers. “I don’t know how long my cousin will be.”
“I’ll stand for now,” he said, noticing the knot of ribbon that rested at the hollow of her throat. It couldn’t be comfortable where it lay. But what would she do if he tried to untie it for her? She was already indignant he’d touched her cheek with his handkerchief. What would she do if he reached for the ribbon?
And what would he do?
His fingertips, his knuckles, and, perhaps, even the backs of his hands would touch her delicate-looking skin. Instinctively, that thought sent a wave of tightening arousal rushing through him. Rath sucked in a hard breath. He could only attribute this awareness of her that gripped him to her being an appealing young lady and him a man. For surely he could have no designs on his ward.
“All right, Your Grace,” she said, impatiently. “For the fourth, fifth, or maybe even the sixth time, please tell me why you are here.”
That was the kind of spunk he expected from a lady who liked to play outside with frogs when she was a mere girl. Though he couldn’t possibly tell her the whole truth. He’d never admit that in a rare remorseful moment he’d thought about penitence for all the debauchery he’d succumbed to in his life. That for a brief time, he thought that by coming to this young lady’s aid, replacing her ailing guardian, he might in some way atone for all the young ladies he’d wronged with the secret admirer letters, and for never truly appreciating his father who’d always been a gentleman, as well as keeping the dukedom prosperous.
But there were more r
easons that were even harder for a man to admit. Too much brandy. The fact that his two best friends had recently married and settled into happier lives with their wives and were no longer at the clubs in the evenings or the card games that went on for days. There was no reason to tell any of that. He’d written the letter accepting Olingworth’s urgent request for help and that was all that mattered.
He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulled out a sealed envelope, and extended it to her. “This is from Mr. Olingworth and explains why I’m here.”
Taking the envelope from his grasp, she looked down at it before returning her attention to Rath. “I’m confused. How did you get a letter addressed to me from Mr. Olingworth?”
“It was included in a packet that he sent to me only yesterday.”
A quiver of humor hovered at the corners of her beautiful mouth. He found himself silently asking her to go ahead and smile at him without reserve.
Instead she said, “I’m always happy to hear from him, but why are you delivering this? I find it difficult to believe you have succumbed to becoming a common messenger.”
“Well said, Miss Fast.” He smiled at her. “Though I haven’t read the letter, I know what it says. I thought it best that I be here when you received it in case you had questions.”
“Why?”
“He’s telling you that his health continues to decline and he must transfer your guardianship to another.”
“Yes,” she whispered while expelling a deep breath. “Well. I knew it was coming. Just not when. He’s been ill for some time. I had feared he might be getting worse. His letters to me have become infrequent and almost illegible. Though I’ve asked several times in the past few months to be allowed to visit him, he always denies my requests.”
She suddenly turned away from Rath, walked over to the window, and looked out.
Rath stayed silent, giving her time to grasp what was happening to her future in her own way. There was no rush to do what must be done. He was content to watch her standing quietly, lovely with her straw hat resting on the back of her shoulders.
Tut wandered over to him and Rath reached down. This time Tut sniffed his hand and licked his fingers. Good boy, he thought. Rath rewarded him with a pat on the head and a rub down his warm neck and back.
After a few moments, Miss Fast slowly turned toward Rath. Her expression was quizzical.
He gave Tut a final stroke and then straightened to face her. She met his stare a few seconds longer before looking down at the sealed envelope again and tapping it against her palm a couple of times. He watched her expression turn thoughtful, resigned, and just when he was about to believe she had reconciled the matter to her satisfaction her brows knitted closer together, her lips pursed suspiciously.
“I’m curious, Your Grace. Why are you here delivering this news rather than a solicitor or my new guardian?”
The time had come. He’d delayed it as long as possible, hoping her cousin would decide to show herself and be present before he had to give Miss Fast the news.
“I am your new guardian.”
Chapter 2
He could be a rake if he looks so deeply into your eyes you know he sees all the way to your soul.
MISS HONORA TRUTH’S WORDS OF WISDOM AND WARNING ABOUT RAKES, SCOUNDRELS, ROGUES, AND LIBERTINES
Marlena Fast stared in awe at the Duke of Rathburne. Every word she’d ever read or heard about him was true. He was tall, broad in the shoulders, lean at the hips, and handsome beyond belief. He wore his title, privilege, and wealth as casually as he wore his neckcloth. He was a feast of handsome, desirous male for her eyes.
And he was to be her guardian?
Her guardian!
No, she wasn’t afraid. She’d always told herself she wasn’t frightened of anything. She’d had to say it to herself many times and would probably have to tell herself again there was no reason to be fearful. Her parents were with her. Watching over her just as they had when she was an infant and in danger. They had taken care of her then and they would now that she was under yet another guardian.
Marlena stared at the duke. No English duke should have hair that dark or eyes that penetrating. He looked more like the paintings she’d seen of dangerous pirates who captained their marauding ships on the high seas than the true highborn aristocrat she knew him to be. His waistcoat should have been made from braided wool and studded with metal buttons. Instead of fine trousers, he should be wearing trousers fashioned out of a thick, coarse burlap. A wide strip of black leather held together with a large silver buckle should have cinched his waist with the well-hammered hilt of a steel blade and a scabbard swinging by his side.
It was no wonder she’d felt light-headed, panicked even for a few moments after he’d identified himself. This man, who stood before her in all his male glory, was none other than the rake she’d written about for the past two and a half years in Miss Honora Truth’s Weekly Scandal Sheet. She’d just published a short book filled with snippets of warning to young ladies about this man and others like him! By all the saints in heaven, and if there were any on earth, too, she should have fainted.
What was she to do?
Fate had never favored her, and now it seemed as wicked as the rake standing before her.
It was no small wonder it took her so long to regain her composure and gather her scattered wits after he announced his name. She thought he’d come to expose her as the scandal columnist Miss Honora Truth. She assumed that, after much searching, he was the Rake of St. James who had finally figured out who Miss Truth really was, and he was making it his purpose to take her straight to Newgate, the gallows, or worse—if there was worse. However, at least for now, she was convinced the duke didn’t know her secret identity and he wasn’t there to have her arrested.
That and thoughts of her parents watching over her had calmed her.
Somewhat.
His arrival at her front door was nothing as simple as the rake coming with a band of armed guards to shackle her hands and feet and carry her off to a faraway dungeon in the middle of a dark forest. No, he was to be her guardian!
Marlena’s hands made fists. Denial rose up strong and eager inside her. She strode toward him while breathlessly whispering, “What you say can’t be true.”
“It is,” the duke answered without any uncertainty in his tone. “Olingworth asked me, and after much deliberation—and brandy—I accepted.”
Her heartbeat surged again. Rebuffing his assertion still seemed her best defense. “He wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t put me under the care of a—”
“Rake?” the duke asked as easily as he’d told her to shush before he’d wiped her cheek. He joined her in front of the fireplace. “I know what I am, Miss Fast. I had a difficult time believing Olingworth wanted me to do it, too. And even more difficulty when, the next day, I realized I had actually consented and the letter had been posted by my butler before I could retrieve it.”
“You agreed to be my guardian when you were inebriated?” she questioned in disbelief.
His ebony-dark eyes sparkled with playful mischief. “I’m afraid it’s the only defense I’ve been able to come up with for my unusual lapse in good judgment.”
“You? Good judgment?”
Marlena didn’t think she could become any more offended, but she just had. Where was this man’s honor? Oh, how had she forgotten, he had none. The duke was the epitome of the rogues she’d heard and read about. And had written about, too!
Now that she hadn’t been carted off to a cold dungeon to await the hangman’s noose, she was feeling strong and resilient.
“I can’t believe you’d admit something that outrageous.”
“It’s true, but I feel no pleasure or guilt in telling you.” He paused. “I know you’re thinking I’m the last person who should be in charge of an innocent young lady’s fate.”
“That, as well as many other things,” she answered from between tightly clinched teeth. “This is sheer madness
.”
“I agree.”
Marlena’s mind swirled with too many thoughts to properly sort them all out at the moment. She remembered how the duke had studied her intently when he first saw her. She couldn’t blame him. She must have looked affright with her soiled garden apron and dirt on her cheek.
“Why would you accept this obligation for me knowing you are a scoundrel and you shouldn’t even be in Society? I take it no one was holding a pistol to your head and forcing you to do this no matter the amount of swill you had ingested.”
He grimaced. For a moment she thought she might have gone too far with her cutting words, but then his mouth relaxed into another smile and he chuckled softly. It was a husky, inviting, and intriguing sound that stirred her in a way she’d never felt before. He looked so natural and pleasing while finding pleasure in her discomfort that Marlena wanted to stomp her foot in frustration over the unfairness of it.
“The distiller of the brandy I drink would not take kindly to you calling his fine cognac swill, Miss Fast. But that aside, Olingworth wanted me to do this because it’s what is best for you.”
“Surely you jest.”
“That’s not in my nature.”
Yes, she could see by the look in his eyes that it wasn’t. She’d never know it, though, by the lack of starch in his collar and the relaxed bow in his neckcloth. Was it even a bow? She wasn’t sure. It was so carelessly tied, it looked as if he hadn’t even tried to manage it properly. Most noblemen wore their collar points so high and stiff they could hardly move their necks, which forced their chins into an abnormally high lift. And according to all she’d heard, titled men were usually just as rigid. The duke’s chin wasn’t haughty, just handsome. Maybe it was the more comfortable appearance of his clothing that added to the mesmerizing charm so many ladies in the ton swore he had.
“Olingworth knows my father would have done it for him if he’d still been alive. He believes because I’m my father’s son and a duke I will see to it that you make a good match, and I will.”
Marlena looked down at the envelope she held. Suddenly she felt as if she were choking again. She reached up and pulled on the narrow strip of satin around her neck, but knew it wasn’t the weight of the straw hat on her shoulders that made it feel as if her throat were closing. It was all the raw emotions stirring inside her like an apothecary’s brew in a steaming cauldron. Other than losing her parents so early in life, the Duke of Rathburne becoming her guardian was the worst thing that could have occurred.