The Rake (25 page)

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Authors: Mary Jo Putney

BOOK: The Rake
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Alys glanced at Reggie just as his eyes turned to hers. For a moment they wordlessly commiserated about the painful tribulations of youth. Then he performed the introductions. The speed with which Meredith rallied and gave Julian a dazzling smile was a credit to her aplomb. Within moments the young people were chatting easily.
While William went to investigate the chaise and team, Alys gestured Reggie to one side and asked in a low voice, “As a good guardian, I'd better find out if your friend is eligible.”
“Very,” he said succinctly. “Heir to a viscountcy and a substantial fortune, no major vices, and a gentleman to the bone.”
“A paragon,” Alys murmured. “How on earth did the two of you become friends?”
Just as she realized how insulting that sounded, Reggie grinned wickedly at her. “For the best of all possible reasons—because our friendship infuriates his father.”
“I am properly chastened,” she said with a laugh. “Tell me, did you ask him down with matchmaking in mind?”
A slight smile quirked his mouth. “Not precisely, but the thought did cross my mind that he and Merry might suit. A match would solve your concerns about finding a worthy husband for the girl, and Julian would be lucky to have her. Merry has far more to offer than most of the chits that come onto the London Marriage Mart.”
Alys was oddly touched that he was concerned for the welfare of her wards. She glanced at Merry and Julian, who were laughing together. Obviously there was mutual attraction, in spite of Meredith's deplorable gown. The two of them looked very well together, and not only because both were exceptionally good looking. Perhaps it was the general air of intelligence and good nature they had in common.
But in a practical world, it took much more than looks, compatibility of mind, or even love, to make a marriage. “Would his family object to his marrying a girl whose birth and fortune are lackluster by society's standards?”
“They would not be enthralled,” Reggie admitted, “but Julian could probably bring his parents around if he wanted to.”
Alys was relieved to hear that. Of course it was absurd to speculate about a match when the young people in question had only just met, but she had quickly learned that worrying was part of being a parent, even a surrogate one.
Alys and Reggie broke off their conversation as Merry and Julian approached. Deciding that being a gracious hostess was more important than stewarding, Alys suggested, “Would you like some refreshment after your journey, Mr. Markham?”
He smiled. “Thank you, Miss Weston, I'd like that very much.”
Alys collected her wards—easily in the case of Merry, who was anxious to change, with some difficulty in the case of William—and carried them off to give the men a few minutes of privacy.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Julian demanded, “Why didn't you tell me Miss Spenser was such a stunner, Reg? I would have chucked my other obligations and been here a fortnight ago.” Then an alarmed expression crossed his face. “Unless ... is she your ... ?” He stopped, too embarrassed to continue.
“My
petite amie
?” Reggie suggested helpfully. “Nonsense. Surely it is obvious that she is a lady.”
Julian flushed. looking very young. “Sorry. Of course she is.”
Nemesis trotted up, tail wagging. As the collie started to rear up on Julian's immaculate pantaloons, Reggie said sharply, “Nemesis!”
The dog settled back on her haunches, tail still hopefully sweeping back and forth on the ground. “My dog, brainless but amiable,” Reggie said wryly. “Don't let her climb all over you. She has enough bad habits.”
“You're getting very bucolic. All you need now is the pack of foxhounds.” Julian ruffled Nemesis's ears. “You'd better explain how matters stand here before I commit some dreadful faux pas. Are Miss Spenser and her brother visiting Miss Weston, are they neighbors, or what?”
Reggie entered the paddock. “They live here, along with a middle brother.” As he untethered the gray gelding and led it inside, he described how Alys had come to be steward and guardian of the Spensers, and the fire that had left them homeless.
Much intrigued, Julian said, “I thought Dorset was supposed to be a quiet county! It sounds like you've had no shortage of excitement. But then, excitement follows you around. You're the only man in England who would acquire an estate that not only has a female steward, but one who is a splendid Amazon.”
Reggie felt a flash of irritation. “Lady Alys is not your type,” he said shortly as he uncinched the gelding's saddle.
“Is she yours?” Julian said with a gleam of speculation.
“Did you lose your wits on the journey down from London?” Reggie said scathingly as he turned the gelding over to a stable lad for grooming. “All women are my type. Or none. It comes to the same thing.”
Properly chastened, Julian accompanied his friend into the manor house. He should have known that Reggie would have no interest in a virtuous spinster. Even one who was a splendid Amazon.
 
 
Strickland became much livelier after Julian Markham's arrival. Within a day the guest was on first-name terms with everyone in the household. While William continued to dog Reggie's heels, along with the real dog, Peter Spenser found in Julian a new idol, one more approachable and less alarming than Reggie. Peter immediately began to mimic Julian's manners, his neck cloth knot, even his turns of speech.
Alys suspected that Julian was a little amused, but he was young enough to remember the awkwardness of fifteen. He was also kind enough to be tolerant of the imitation. He really was a fine young man, exactly the sort she would wish for Merry.
Her pleasure was tempered by concern. Clearly Merry and Julian were attracted to each other, sharing laughter and endless conversation. Alys would have been delighted, except for the fear her ward would be unacceptable to the Markham family.
She had a brief word with Meredith about not developing expectations. Merry laughed and said that Julian was behaving with perfect propriety and had given her no reason to build feather castles. Nonetheless, Alys worried. Though Merry might not admit to having her feelings engaged, there was a suspicious glow about her.
On a more positive note, Alys was relieved that Reggie was finding sobriety less difficult. He talked and smiled more easily, and his air of tension had diminished. He did continue to push himself physically with estate work and horse training, but Julian didn't seem to mind being left to the devices of the younger members of the household. Excursions were planned to various local points of interest.
Alys went along on the first, but she disliked taking time from her work during the estate's busiest season. Also, she realized that her chaperonage was not required. A gentleman who cheerfully accepted the company of a girl's young brothers had to be trustworthy.
The subject of the assembly in Dorchester came up at dinner after Julian had been at Strickland for a week. With twinkling eyes, Meredith suggested that they make up a party to go to the assembly so Julian could see what high style they kept in Dorset.
Julian laughed. “Does that mean the waltz has come to the provinces?”
“There's a rumor that it will be introduced at this assembly,” Merry replied. “But there is fear that even if one is played, no one will know how to dance it!”
“What a catastrophe that would be. I shall teach you to waltz.” He glanced across the table. “That is, if you permit, Lady Alys.”
“I would like to see how it is done myself,” Alys admitted. “Any dance so thoroughly condemned by high-sticklers must be interesting.”
In a spirit of general merriment everyone adjourned to the drawing room, even William, who had nothing better to do and was not ready for bed. Alys was thumbing through the sheet music, looking for the waltzes Merry had ordered from London, when Reggie stopped her. “Peter wants to learn also, so you'll be needed as a partner. I'll play the accompaniment.”
Alys was startled. “I didn't know you played the piano.”
“Wait until you've heard me before you decide,” he advised as he seated himself at the instrument.
In fact, Reggie played very well. As Alys watched his long, beautiful fingers stroke the keys, first tentatively in a series of rippling scales, then confidently as he sight-read the score, she wondered when a rake found time to practice the piano. Between orgies, perhaps? Then she remembered the times, late at night, when she'd thought she'd heard distant music. So that hadn't been her imagination.
Alys joined the others and watched as Julian demonstrated the steps of the waltz. Ever punctilious, he would dance first with Merry, then Alys. Peter partnered whichever female wasn't benefiting from Julian's superior skill. Within half an hour there were two couples twirling about the drawing room, while William watched with glazed boredom.
By the time the tea tray came, Alys was exhilarated. She had loved dancing in her salad days, even if she was far too tall. It was fortunate that she was now in the ranks of chaperones, and wouldn't have the chance to make a fool of herself in public.
On the day of the assembly, Alys's path intersected Reggie's in the stables at the end of the afternoon. The annual sheepshearing had begun, and with his usual interest in trying everything himself, Reggie had participated. Alys had been otherwise engaged, so she asked, “How did the sheepshearing go?”
Reggie removed the saddle and blanket from the mare he had been riding. “It certainly requires more skill than washing the foolish beasts. Did you know that to shear a sheep's foreleg, you have only to press a spot under the shoulder and the leg will shoot straight out for clipping? Quite extraordinary.”
When Alys grinned, he continued, “Yes, of course you would know that. I knew it once, but had forgotten. Gabe Mitford spent some time teaching me the basics of shearing, but it was obvious from the pained expression on his face that I wasn't up to his standards. Every time I made a cut, he winced, as if I had just ruined the entire fleece.”
“Well, it's easy to do that, and wool is one of our most important products,” Alys said. “Did you ruin any?”
“One or two,” he admitted. “However, Gabe allowed that I wasn't doing badly for a beginner.”
Reggie moved to the far side of the mare and took a handful of clean straw. As he began brushing sweat and foam from the brown hide, Alys asked on impulse, “How are you doing with sobriety?”
He raised his head and regarded her with eyes as cold as chipped ice. “I can't imagine what business that is of yours.”
She felt a hot flush of color rise in her face. “None at all. I am merely an employee who has no choice but to tolerate your bad temper.”
She pivoted on her heel and was heading toward the stable door when he said in a low voice, “Allie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you.”
She stopped, still fuming, then turned back to him.
His hands lay quiet on the horse's back and his long, dark face was rueful. “I know I've been difficult lately. I've tried to be as silent as possible to minimize the effects of my evil temper. Forgive me?”
Alys knew how hard it was to apologize; she wasn't very good at doing that herself. “Forgiven and forgotten. I've been known to be irritable a time or two myself. And I
was
impertinent.”
“Then I'll cancel your remark out with an impertinence of my own,” he said with a faint smile. “Wear that gold dress tonight instead of one of your dark chaperon dresses.”
Her brows rose. “How biblical, an impertinence for an impertinence.”
“Well, I'm much better at impertinence than I am at sheepshearing,” he said reasonably.
“No one would deny it,” she agreed as she left the stables. She was not entirely displeased that he had an interest in her appearance.
Chapter 16
Public assemblies were gatherings of the families of local gentry, professional men, and prosperous merchants, not the most exclusive of company. Furthermore, the low-ceilinged assembly room attached to the King's Head in Dorchester should have seemed paltry to a woman who had had a London Season.
But to Alys, the long room with its simple floral decorations was lovely. She had brought Merry here several times, but there was something special about tonight. Perhaps it was because of Julian Markham, so handsome that every female eye in the room swiveled to look at him when their party entered. Or perhaps they watched Reggie, who looked very tall, dark, and devilishly attractive in immaculate black evening garb. And of course Merry was stunning in a simple muslin gown trimmed in forget-me-not blue ribbons that matched her eyes.
Or perhaps it was Alys herself who felt special. The low-cut golden gown Reggie had requested was the most dashing garment she had ever owned. Merry had pulled Alys's thick glossy hair back into a loose twist, then let it tumble in curls down her back with one lock falling forward over her bare shoulder. Alys studied her reflection with pleasure and some alarm. She did not look like a chaperone.
She'd felt nervous when she came down from her bedchamber, but Julian and Peter had complimented her looks extravagantly. Best of all, Reggie had studied her from crown to toe with a slow, approving smile on his face. Yes, the night was special.
Alys and Merry knew almost everyone at the assembly, and the girl was immediately besieged by admirers. Alys herself was considered an Original, not at all what one would wish one's own daughter to become, but she was generally well accepted.
Tonight, however, she was wondrously popular. Mothers of nubile daughters came from all directions to offer greetings and sympathy about the fire. Then they waited expectantly to be introduced to Julian and Reggie, who were the most attractive men present, as well as the most eligible.
The attention put a sardonic gleam into Reggie's eyes. During a pause in the rush, he murmured to Alys, “A few months ago, most of these good matrons would have had their husbands call me out if I so much as said hello to their darling daughters.”
“Timing is so important in life,” she returned sweetly, “and now is your time to be deliciously in demand.” She nodded to an approaching woman. “So nice to see you again, Mrs. Baird. Have you met Mr. Davenport yet?”
During the introductions, Mrs. Baird examined Reggie with scowling intensity, as if half expecting him to ravish her on the spot. Then she tried to probe Alys about Julian Markham's background and expectations. Blandly Alys turned the queries aside.
When Mrs. Baird withdrew in defeat, Reggie said under his breath, “That woman resembles nothing so much as a ship of the line in full sail.”
Alys chuckled. “She has three daughters who are more like frigates. Give them a few years, and they'll be in the same nautical class as their mother.”
Reggie groaned at her bad joke, then escaped to talk with some of the men whom he had met in the last few weeks. Alys watched him for a moment. From the way the gentleman welcomed him, he was well on his way to being established in the county.
Then she returned to her duties, chattering with the other older women and keeping an eye on Meredith. After one dance with Merry, Julian gave a sterling example of noblesse oblige by asking the shyest, plainest girls in the room to stand up with him.
Having herself been plain and shy, Alys knew just how wonderful it was to have a young man like Julian claim a dance. Besides his good looks and exquisite manners, he had the ability to make a female feel like she was the only woman in the world while he was with her. Tonight he was giving a dozen girls shining memories they could cherish their whole lives.
The dancing started promptly at eight and would end at midnight. At ten o'clock, after a portentous pause, the musicians struck up the first public waltz to be played in Dorchester. For a dozen bars the dance floor was empty.
Then Squire Richards and his wife, who often visited London, stepped onto the floor, followed by another couple. Julian had been saving his second dance with Merry in hopes of a waltz, and now he led her out. They were both so beautiful that they drew every eye as they swirled into the waltz. Merry laughed up at her partner, her golden hair spilling back over her gauzy gown.
Alys was watching her ward fondly when Reggie materialized, taking her elbow. “Shall we show them how it is done?” Before she could refuse on the grounds of age, dignity, or propriety, he swept her onto the dance floor.
She tensed, afraid that she would disgrace herself and become an object of derision. When she had danced in public as a girl, she was always miserably aware of her height. But with Reggie that was not a problem. Here was a man she could literally look up to. She relaxed, raising her gaze to meet his.
He drew her into waltz position, one strong hand on her waist and the other clasping her gloved hand firmly. “Good girl,” he said softly as they began dancing.
“I'm hardly a girl,” she murmured, profoundly aware of his nearness.
“No, for which be thanked, but you are hardly in your dotage, either.” His eyes were very blue, his steps very sure, and a faint smile curved his lips.
When they had first met, she had thought him almost handsome. Now she could not imagine why she had qualified her appraisal. He was more than handsome—he was devastating. Like the shy young girls who had danced with Julian, she savored her moment of magic.
She should have known that if Reggie chose to dance, he would do it well. She didn't talk, simply enjoyed, her body pliant, her golden dress belling out behind her.
Though they had shared passionate kisses, there was a different kind of eroticism in this waltz. With only a handful of couples on the floor, there was room to move freely, to yield one's self to the passion of the music. Secure in his arms, Alys understood why the waltz was considered so improper. Certainly her thoughts were as she gave herself over to delight, feeling the slow fire of his touch stealing through her body.
Far too soon the music ended. Breathless with exertion and proximity, Alys laughed and swept into a deep, formal court curtsy before her partner, not even considering how odd it would appear that she knew how to do such a thing.
With a lurking smile Reggie bowed in reply, then led her from the floor. “Now that I have revealed that I know how to dance, I suppose I must stand up for a few more sets or be thought rude,” he said with resignation.
Alys dimpled. “Very proper of you.”
“That's what I was afraid of,” he muttered before going to ask Meredith for the quadrille that was forming.
Alys thought her moment's frivolity was over, but Julian came over and insisted she join him. “Leave it to Reg to persuade you to dance,” he said admiringly. “If I had known you could be convinced, I would have asked earlier.”
Julian was a delightful partner, and she enjoyed the quadrille, though it was not the same as being with Reggie. The musicians then struck up another waltz. Wistfully Alys recognized that Reggie really couldn't ask her again. Instead he asked Mrs. Richards, and sturdy Squire Richards led Alys out.
This time more couples were willing to reveal steps practiced in secret, and the floor filled up. Though it was not like dancing with Reggie, Alys enjoyed herself again. She didn't even mind that the top of Squire Richards' head came only to her nose. The squire was a skilled dancer, and he complimented her freely on her own mastery. “Been hiding your light under a bushel, Miss Weston,” he beamed.
It was the closest Alys had ever come to being the belle of a ball. It was quite close enough.
The party of well-dressed strangers arrived shortly after eleven o'clock. Three women and two men entered and stayed in a cluster by the door as they gazed around with bored condescension. The musicians were taking a short break, so the newcomers' loud, slurred voices were readily audible. All were dressed in the height of fashion, the women with a flamboyance that suggested the muslin company. Alys guessed they were Londoners who happened to be in the neighborhood, coming to observe the natives from lack of any better amusement.
After a brief examination of the newcomers, Alys turned back to Reggie and resumed her explanation of how fleeces were stored and shipped. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the newly arrived females catch sight of Reggie. The woman's face brightened, and she started across the room. She was redheaded and floridly attractive, with a gown cut so low that it made Alys's dress seem positively puritanical.
Completely ignoring Alys, the redhead laid one hand possessively on Reggie's sleeve and cooed, “Reggie, darling, I had no idea that you were in the neighborhood. What are you doing so frightfully far from town?”
He said coolly, “I live here.”
“Here?” she asked incredulously. “Amongst these rustics?”
Finally noticing Reggie's companion, the redhead made a leisurely scan, tilting her head up as if Alys's head was scraping clouds. “Good Lord, Reggie, where did you find such a strapping creature?” She giggled tipsily. “Her eyes are peculiar.”
In the face of the redhead's petite, voluptuous prettiness, Alys's buoyant pleasure in the evening evaporated, leaving her feeling horribly gawky and unattractive. Not to mention homicidal as she watched the woman's provocative behavior to Reggie.
Reggie removed the redhead's clinging hand as if it were an unwanted thread. “What are you doing in Dorset if you mislike it so, Stella? It
is
Stella, isn't it?”
Stella's hazel eyes flared angrily before she smiled with dagger-edged sweetness. Slanting a glance at Alys, she cooed, “If you prefer, you can use some of the names you whispered the last time we were ... together.”
Alys had no doubt about what “together” meant in this case. Perhaps she should feel flattered that this trollop seemed to consider Alys a rival, but fury was her predominant emotion. She was tempted to stalk away. A combination of embarrassment and morbid curiosity kept her rooted to the spot. Curiosity, plus the belief that Reggie was no more pleased at what was happening than Alys was.
When Reggie ignored her last remarks, Stella said pettishly, “I wouldn't be here if I had a choice, but George has taken a house nearby. Some dreary aunt of his is dying, and he visits her regularly so she won't forget him in her will. It's incredibly tedious, but he says we'll go to Brighton soon.”
“Where is George now?” Reggie asked, his expression bored.
Stella shrugged, an action that almost unmoored her gown entirely. “Outside with the carriage. He'll be along in a moment.”
Her companions had drifted after her. One of the men moved forward and clapped Reggie on the shoulder. “'Lo, Davenport,” he said with alcoholic good humor. “Haven't seen you in town lately.”
“That's because I haven't been there, Wildon,” Reggie said with barely restrained impatience. Wildon was an acquaintance, not a friend, and Reggie disliked familiarity from a near-stranger. Was he himself equally oafish when in his cups? An unattractive thought. The sooner he got himself and Allie away, the better.
Cursing the fate that had brought London acquaintances like Stella and her protector to Shaftesbury, he took Alys's arm. “Good to see you all. Give my regards to Blakeford. Sorry I missed him, but we were just leaving.”
Under his fingers he felt Alys's muscles spasm. He couldn't blame her for being upset. As if Stella's rudeness wasn't bad enough, by this time they were the objects of attention of a circle of curious Dorset gentry.
Before Reggie could retreat, Stella made one last bid for attention. “Do settle a question for us, Reggie darling. On our way over, we were talking about whether chivalry is dead. Martin here”—she waved at the nearest foxed gentleman— “says that defending a lady's honor is old-fashioned, utterly passé.”
While Reggie tried to remember why he had been willing to fornicate with this coarse slut, even when he was roaring drunk, she fluttered her darkened lashes and undulated her bountiful curves. Then she continued huskily, “I say that Martin is wrong. You're a gentleman. Wouldn't you fight for my honor?”
“Why should I?” Reggie said in a clear, carrying voice. “You never did.”
The horrified silence that greeted his words had a gelid quality. Except for one weak gasp, the circle of Dorset gentry might have been carved from stone.
Stella's mouth went slack with shock as she absorbed what he had said. Then her face turned murderous, all her pouty prettiness gone.
Having delivered his lightning bolt, Reggie was momentarily nonplussed. He had made his share of scenes in his life, but usually when he was so drunk that he hadn't cared what happened next. Stone-cold sober was quite a different matter.
Feeling a tremor in Allie's arm, he gave her a swift glance. Her face was rigid, as if she was trying her hardest to suppress laughter or strong hysterics. Or more likely, both. He had to get her away.

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