The Rake (6 page)

He squeezed her buttocks tightly, holding
her still as he tore his lips from hers and buried his face along
the crook of her neck, breathing raggedly. Finally, he set her away
from him. She looked at him doubtfully, confused that he’d pushed
her away.

“
Go inside, Demi,” he said
harshly. “Now!”

She took a step back at the growled order
and finally turned and fled.

Chapter Four

Luck was not something Demi had more than a
passing familiarity with, but for once it came to her rescue. She
managed to make it into the house and up the servant’s stairs
without encountering anyone. Her maid, Sarah, was in her room when
Demi dashed inside and bolted the door behind her. Dragging in a
shuddering breath of relief, Demi leaned back against the door, her
eyes closed tightly.

“
Ye look as if ye’ve seen a
ghost.”

Demi opened her eyes and stared at her maid,
repressing a hysterical urge to giggle nervously. “A dragon more
like. I thought sure Aunt Alma would meet me on the way up.”

Sarah moved across the room, a finger to her
lips. “Ye’ve only missed her by a hair,” she said quietly. “How did
ye manage to get by without her seeing you?”

Demi grimaced. “I sneaked up the backstairs.
I … uh … was ill. I went out to the necessary.”

Sarah eyed her suspiciously. “An’ stopped by
yer dear departed uncle’s cellaret on the way back from the smell
of ye,” she responded tartly, leaning a little closer and
sniffing.

Clapping a hand to her mouth, Demi’s eyes
widened. “You can smell it!” she gasped in horror. “I only had a
sip.”

Sarah nodded. “An’ I suppose ye had no more
than a toke of one of his cigars while ye was at it?”

“
Good God!” Demi exclaimed,
fighting the rising tide of hysteria inside of her. “Help me
change! Quickly! Aunt Alma has the nose of a bloodhound. If you can
smell it, she certainly will.”

Without another word, Sarah helped her strip
her gown and shift off, bundling them into a ball as Demi rushed to
the washstand and quickly bathed her face and hands with soap. When
she turned, Sarah was holding out a linen hand towel. “Ye’ve the
look of a maiden that’s been thoroughly kissed, if you don’t mind
my saying so,” she commented, “and the smell of him on yer
clothes.”

Demi pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Have
I?” she asked self-consciously.

Sarah nodded. “I’m thinkin’ it weren’t the
Reverend Flemming, neither. He was that put out when he left a bit
ago.”

Demi moved to the bed and sat down weakly on
the edge of the mattress. “Aunt Alma will be furious with me.… He
didn’t…. You don’t think he called off the engagement, do you?”

Sarah studied her curiously for several
moments. “I’ve a notion I would’ve been belting back a bit o’ the
hard stuff if I found meself tied to that one. An’ I’m thinkin’ ye
agree with me on it. Would ye be that displeased if he did?”

Demi covered her face with her hands,
feeling the urge to weep sweep over her. With an effort, she
swallowed the knot of misery. “It’s not a matter of what I want.
It’s what Aunt Alma wants, and what he wants. I don’t have a choice
…. Aunt Alma all but said plain out that she would disown me if I
refused his offer. And I’ve got nowhere to go!”

Frowning, Sarah moved across the room.
Dropping the bundle of clothing near the door, she went to the
armoire and pulled a nightgown out for her mistress, then returned
and helped her remove her corset and slip the gown on. “What about
Lord Wyndham?”

Demi glanced at her sharply. “Lord Wyndham,”
she echoed faintly.

Sarah gave her a look. “It was him ye met in
the garden, weren’t it? I’ve seen the sheep’s eyes you been castin’
his way for the past six months and more, and the look on your face
whenever his name’s mentioned.”

Blood climbed into Demi’s cheeks. She looked
at Sarah in dismay. “I’ve been that obvious?”

Sarah smiled faintly. “Ye’ve no need to
worry anyone else noticed … except his lordship himself, that is.
There ain’t a soul in this household that ever notices anything
beyond their own nose.”

Demi felt only marginally better. “I’m sure
he didn’t notice. I never once even glanced his way when he was
looking in my direction.”

Sarah chuckled. “It’s been
almost comical to watch the two of you going to such pains
not
to glance at each
other. Lord Wyndham’d be loungin’ against a wall, or sprawled all
casual-like in a chair, watching your every move like a big, sleepy
cat ready to pounce and gobble you up the moment you came close
enough. An’ you flutterin’ all nervous around the room, like the
little bird that knows that old cat’s just waitin’ for you to make
the wrong move.”

Demi blushed all over again, but frowned as
she crawled into her bed and pulled the covers up. “You’re just
saying that,” she said, doubt and hope warring for dominance.

“
I wouldn’t say it if I
didn’t know it was true,” Sarah assured her, dampening a towel in
the washbowl and then moving to the small fire on the hearth and
holding the cloth out to catch the heat. “I’ve been around enough
to know what that look in a man’s eyes means.”

Demi sighed, stilling the nervous fluttering
of her heart with an effort, but she forced a smile. “I’m glad you
told me. At least that’s something … even though … even though
nothing could ever come of it.”

Sarah’s brows rose. “Why would nothing come
of it? He’s taken a fancy to you. You’ve taken a fancy to him.”

Demi shook her head. “He’s a peer of the
realm, Sarah. I’m … a nobody and as poor as a church mouse. It
wouldn’t be a suitable match. I know it, and he knows it, too, I
can assure you.”

Sarah flipped the towel over, fanning it.
“He’s poor, too?”

Demi grimaced. “I don’t
think so. Aunt Alma wouldn’t let him near her precious Phoebe if he
was. At any rate, if he was, it would be even more unsuitable, for
then he’d
have
to
marry a woman of wealth. What are you doing, anyway?”

Sarah grinned. “Yer aunt’ll be back. I’m
thinkin’ she’ll be less inclined to linger if yer hot and
flushed.”

Demi stared at the cloth for several moments
while that comment slowly sank in. Almost as if on cue, she heard
someone coming along the hallway. Signaling frantically for the
cloth, Demi pressed it to her face and lay back, listening
intently. She knew almost immediately that it was her aunt. It
seemed doubtful she would knock. She wasn’t in the habit of doing
so at any time, and she was convinced Demi was up to something
tonight. The moment the footsteps paused outside her door, Demi
snatched the cloth off her face and shoved it under the covers.

The door flew open. Demi raised up slightly,
peering through blurred eyes at the door. By the time she’d managed
to blink the steaming moisture from her eyes and focus, Alma
Moreland’s expression had gone from rage to one of suspicion.
Stalking across the room, she stared down at Demi for several
moments. “I came to check on you. Where have you been?”

Demi licked her dried lips. “I was ill. I
went out to the necessary.”

Her aunt’s lips tightened. After a moment’s
hesitation, she touched Demi’s face. “You may have a touch of
fever,” she concluded ungraciously. “Mr. Flemming was not at all
pleased with your behavior today. He’s to call tomorrow to take you
on an outing. Unless you’re at death’s door, I suggest you be ready
to greet him with more warmth.”

Turning, she stalked from the room and
slammed the door behind her.

Sarah glared indignantly at
the door, her hands on her hips. “
Might
have a touch of fever? An’ yer
face as red as blood and hot as fire!”

Demi couldn’t help but chuckle. “You know
very well I don’t have a fever,” she said, fishing the damp cloth
from beneath her coverlet and handing it to Sarah.

Sarah looked at her, but
she didn’t seem appeased in the least. “Aye, but
she
didn’t, the old
battle ax. Yer not goin’ to let her push ye into marryin’ that man,
are ye?”

Demi’s amusement vanished. “I don’t have a
choice.”

“
His lordship might have
somethin’ to say to that if someone was to let him
know.”

Demi swallowed against a sudden lump in her
throat. “You’re such a romantic, Sarah! He knows.”

“
But does he know yer sweet
on him?”

She blushed. “I think so.”

Sarah frowned. “Maybe he only needs a little
nudge.”

Demi sighed. “Aunt Alma would have me
shipped off to the workhouse faster than I could say squat if she
suspected for a moment that I was hanging after Phoebe’s beau.”

“
He’s not Phoebe’s beau,
never was. Haven’t I been tellin’ ye it’s you he’s had his eye on
the whole time. You may be blind, and he might be blind, but I’m
not!”

Demi wanted to believe her
in the worst kind of way, but, unfortunately, she was more inclined
to think her aunt might have been right than Sarah. If he
had
noticed her as Sarah
said, then his intentions toward her had almost certainly been
dishonorable. If they had been anything else, he would have
approached her openly, not clandestinely.

She should have been completely devastated
by the knowledge. She was certainly hurt, but there was a
bittersweet gladness, as well, that he at least found her
attractive on some level. She could’ve wished for far more, but she
was enough of a realist that it had never occurred to her that he
might actually court her. She hadn’t thought he would notice her at
all and she felt a faint stirring of happiness at the realization
that he had. Something was better than nothing, to her mind.

Shaking her head, Sarah gathered the bundle
of clothes by the door and left. Demi lay back, staring dreamily at
the ceiling as she allowed her mind to replay those moments with
him in the meadow. She’d been wrong, she realized. Being sick
hadn’t totally marred the memory. He’d been so kind, so matter of
fact about it, that her embarrassment had faded.

And then he’d kissed her and held her. He’d
desired her. She couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened
if she’d ignored his warning and stayed. It made her feel warm all
over trying to imagine what he might have done.

She was drifting dreamily when the door
opened abruptly. She sat up guiltily, staring at her maid. Sarah
was leaning against the door, her hand over her chest.

“
What is it?” Demi gasped a
little breathlessly.

“
I’d thought I might sneak
ye a bit to eat up the backstairs, but yer aunt was layin’ in wait
for me,” she gasped.

Demi bit her lip, trying to curb her
amusement at the look on Sarah’s face.

“
Aye, ye may laugh, but it
weren’t ye that had a run in with the old battle ax! Gave me a
nasty turn, it did!”

“
I’m so sorry. It was sweet
of you to think of it. I wish you hadn’t mentioned it, though. I
hardly ate anything at luncheon, and … well I lost that I was so
sick afterwards. Now I’m famished.”

Sarah darted away from the door, fishing a
biscuit from the pocket of her apron. “Bread and water’ll have to
hold ye. I lost the rest when Lady Firebreather crept up behind
me.” Dropping the biscuit in Demi’s outstretched hands, she hit for
the door again. “If she comes in while yer eatin’, yer on yer
own.”

The moment Sarah disappeared out the door,
Demi hopped from the bed and rushed over to latch it. Nibbling on
the biscuit, she headed for the pitcher of water on her washstand.
She’d just swallowed the last bite and lifted the pitcher for a
drink of water when something large and heavy crashed into her
door. A loud shriek followed. “Demitria Standish! Open this door
instantly!”

Demi almost dropped the pitcher. Swallowing
with an effort, she glanced around a little wildly, then, stalling
for time, called out weakly, “Is that you, Aunt Alma?”

Her cheeks felt perfectly cool when she
touched them. Darting on tiptoe around the bed, she looked around
frantically for the cloth she’d used before. Unfortunately, Sarah
had gathered it up and taken it with her soiled clothing. Scurrying
toward the fireplace, she leaned her face as close to the flames as
she dared. Almost instantly, the foul smell of singed hair hit her
and she drew back, checking her hair and eyebrows.

“
You know very well it’s
me! Why have you locked the door?”

“
I’m coming,” Demi called,
racing back to the bed and bouncing on it once before landing
beside it heavily.

Her aunt was livid when she finally opened
the door. Brushing past Demi, she searched the room suspiciously
before she whirled to confront her. “Why was the door locked?”

“
It was locked?” Demi
echoed, but she realized instantly that her aunt wasn’t likely to
fall for an act of innocence. “My head hurt. I’d forgotten I locked
it because I didn’t want anyone to wake me.”

Alma Moreland’s eyes narrowed. “I smell
burning hair.”

Demi touched her hair self-consciously,
wondering if she’d done more than merely singe it. “I was cold. I
guess I got a little too close to the fire.”

It was clear her aunt didn’t believe a word
of it, but after a moment she turned to go. “Remember what I said
earlier.”

Nodding, Demi closed the door, then, feeling
a burst of rebelliousness, locked it, making no attempt to slip the
bolt home quietly.

Her aunt paused just outside the door, but
apparently decided she wasn’t in the mood for another
confrontation. After a moment, she turned and left.