The Rake Enraptured (15 page)

"In fact these past mon
ths I have been a yokel myself," said Colin with calm deliberation.

Julia turned her head to him, the first time she had met his eyes directly this evening, and raised a single eyebrow. "You?"

"I. I've discovered the delight of estate management, far from the heaving bosom of the City and all its temptations."

"Heaving bosom indeed. You must have been distraught at the deprivation."

"Not at all. I found it refreshing. Clarifying too. It gave me a chance to reassess my life-"

"I'll leave you two to discuss i
t, shall I?" murmured Mr Carstairs, and Colin ignored the man's faint smile as he turned and walked away, pleased with his mischief.

"I'm certain there are many heaving bosoms to be found in the countryside," she said, barely pausing until her employer was
out of earshot.

"I'm sure there are, if one seeks such a thing. I did not."

"So you say."

"And so it was. I do not lie. Not to you."

"Am I to be impressed by such nobility?"

"You damned well ought to be. It's you who brought it on."

"Mind your language, if you please."

"You're right. This is not how I meant to say this at all. This deuced audience. Will you not walk with me out on the terrace-"

"Are you mad? It is freezing out there. Besides, I'm not going anywhere with you. All too well do I remember what you are capable of."

"What
we
are capable of."

"Pardon?"

"We. You and I both, together. If I took liberties then so did you."

"I did no such thing."

"I'm wounded you do not remember, when I recall those moments so fondly. Your hands on me, your lips on mine, the feel of you against my bare skin. Quite wonderful memories," he said with a reminiscent smile. He could not resist the chance to see that glorious wash of color sweep up from the modest neckline of her navy blue gown all the way to her sharp cheekbones.

"Stop it. Stop remembering those things at once. How dare you."

"Your skin is smoother than silk, softer than rose petals, and warm. When you are so close I can smell you again-" she immediately took a step away, and only the knowledge of watching eyes kept him from matching her step for step, stalking her, the most delightful prey, her eyes wide and bewitched in her fine-boned face, "smell that scent like fresh-cut lavender, clean and light, and the woman beneath it. Our shared delight, with you standing with me in the darkness, then not quite standing but leaning, giving your weight to me as I taught you something new about yourself-"

"Stop it at
once. You are indecent."

"I was. I was indecent. You were right. But I changed. You wanted me to find a better path. I thought your fears were maidenly naivety but there was a deeper truth behind them. I have admired you for your perception. That you knew
me better than I knew myself. You had the wit to really see me-"

"You read too much into our brief - terribly brief - acquaintance. You make it out to be something it was not."

"Do I? Do I really? Was there no significance to it, then? No significance to the way you let me touch you, so intimately." He held a hand up between them. "My fingers know the tenderness of you, want to know you again, to bring you that pleasure again and again, a hundred thousand times."

She stared at his hand, seeming dazed for a
moment, her pupils very wide. Then she blinked and shook her head.

"Always you confuse these things." She shook her head again, her mouth pinched up tight. "You think physical satisfaction - even lust - is a justification in and of itself. You are wrong."

"What is it then? Explain it to me, how it is a woman can come to pleasure on a man's fingers and then dismiss it as nothing."

"I expect you've done the same to a hundred different women in a hundred different places,"

"Not a hundred-" he saw a spasm of feeling pass over her face, that looked like pain, and immediately realized even one other was too many for her. "Not one like you. Not one who had me drawn tight as a bow with longing and triumph to hold you, feel you tremble and hear you sigh against me. Not one to make the world tilt on its axis like that, Julia, my love. Not one."

"Words. Only words."

"Truth. Sweetheart, you drive me near despair. What more will you ask of me? I swear I will give it all to you, I will give you anything, only say you will marry me."

"You are dreadful," she whispered, and now her face was chalky white
, stricken and unearthly.

"Why
is my love dreadful? What is wrong? Julia?"

"My father was a charming man. Oh, how I loved him. Mother loved him too. Too much. Never marry a rak
e, she told me, and she cried and cried with her heart broken. Late in the night, and I would crawl into her bed and try to comfort her and she would clutch me and weep and make me promise I would never, ever marry a rake. A man who would go to fill the beds of other women and leave his family alone and longing for him. Do you know what it is to love someone and hate them at the same time? I know. No, Mr Holbrook, I will never marry you. No matter what you do, no matter what you say, I will never marry you."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

For a long moment she did not see him, so consumed was she by the memory of Maman's body shaking with sobs against hers, her cheeks wet with their mingled tears, and a gaping hole in in her own heart where she discovered love was not enough to keep a woman safe. Promises were not the same as deeds and a man's character could not be changed by wishes or prayers.

Maman might have learned that lesson too late, but not Julia. Never would she make the same mistake. Never would she be hurt like that by a man.

"Don't believe him when he says he loves you," Maman had exhorted, lapsing back to the French of her childhood. "Rakes lie. They tell you what you want to hear. They are masters at that game. Then when they are done with you, they move on."

"Will Papa move on from me?"

"No, sweet child. You are his daughter. You will always be his daughter. But I? I am only his wife. Which is to say I am nothing. Just one more woman. The only foolish woman stupid enough to tie herself to him for a whole life. What an imbecile. What a stupid, stupid imbecile."

"You are not an imbecile, Maman. You are clever, and you are beau
tiful. I love you. I shall love you always."

"Beautiful? What is that worth? There is always another woman more beautiful, younger, more enchanting. Be thankful you are not beautiful my darling. You will never have the misfortune to catch a rake. You will
marry a good man, one who will love you forever."

"I am not beautiful?"

"Oh, you are beautiful to me, my little English sparrow. But no, you have taken all the wrong things from Papa and me. Do not fret. Beauty is not everything. It is not anything, really. It cannot make you happy. You will be so happy, married to your good man. You can laugh at all the stupid, beautiful women who chase rakes, who see those handsome faces and charming ways and want to keep them forever. You can laugh. Let us laugh."

But Ma
man's laugh broke in the middle and then she was weeping again, wildly, so hysterical it made Julia terribly afraid. Surely the whole world must be falling apart if Maman could cry like this, like the howl of a wounded animal.

Over months, years, she had
learned it was best not to go to Maman in the nights, no matter what she heard. By morning Maman would be calm again, bitterness hidden away, and they would pretend all was well with such determination she could believe it was true.

Beautiful Maman. Sad Ma
man, who had been stupid enough to love a rake.

When she blinked again, back to this cheerful room full of neighbors and quiet conversations, she was not sure exactly what she had said to him. He had such a peculiar expression on his face, like recognition
, and pity, and horror too. She did not like to see it there, but it had been necessary he know. What had he been thinking, to come to her here like this? She had never deceived him about her feelings. As for his, she did not understand him. Why would a man who could woo and win anyone he wished - should he ever break all habit and decide on marriage - settle upon plain Julia Preston, bluestocking spinster, staid governess? He was clearly unbalanced. Months ago she had thought it some odd whim that he spoke of marrying, said lightly to win her over to seduction.

Now he was a hundred times more fervent, more determined, as if there was steel behind his intention, not the whimsy of the hour. Yet it was insane.

As was that part of her that longed to say, 'Yes!' to his ludicrous proposal, to take a chance, to gamble her whole life's happiness away. Insanity. She slammed the impulse away behind locked mental doors.

"What do I say to you?" he said, not at all despairing but as if he sought the information he needed
, another piece in the puzzle that was she. "What can I say to make you see me as I am, not as some faceless seducer of women but as-"

"No," she said, stood and walked away without excuse or explanation. She could feel deep tremors move through her core. M
r Kingsley turned her way in clear expectation but she walked past as if she had not noticed, wanting to run, to flee madly, but stilling the desire. Staying calm, looking like she was on some errand, sedately purposeful steps, out of the doors, away from the hum of polite small talk and the watching eyes. Down the candlelit hallway, up the small flight of stairs for the servants, faster now, feet hurrying, breath coming swiftly, almost sobbing in her throat.

Too much. It was too much to manage: to be sane
and rational and think clearly when a man like him came and said wild things to her like that. Too hard to hold together as he looked at her with those blue eyes, so fierce and compelling, as if he would draw love from her soul somehow. A look that told her there was something inside her that was his until she almost felt she believed it, that wildfire and his name ran through her veins and-

Craziness. He made her as lunatic as himself.

She wanted him. Abruptly she stopped her mad flight, panting, on the third floor now, near a window that let in the streaming moonlight. She sat down in a pool of it, splashed harshly over the stairs, and buried her face in her hands. Never had Mr Kingsley made her heart leap as Colin did. Never had she longed to lean into him and feel the hard strength of him wrap around her, to take away thought and give her something new and better.

What a fool. As susceptible as the next woman, for a pretty face and a charming way. A well-delivered line that she - even she, frustrated spin
ster - was woman enough to wish was true.

Did he believe it himself? She wished he did, wished it so hard she could not believe her own senses that whispered he spoke the truth.

Even if he did, he did not know for certain he could be faithful. Not for certain.

A faithless nature, that took life cheaply. That played with it as with a toy. Too much success with women in the past that taught him how easy it was to dispose of one and find another. As he would dispose of her one day when he found someone or som
ething better than her. The day would come, if she harnessed her fate to him. Even if he did not believe it was true, she knew it was. Knew it with every fiber of her being. She choked on a sob, on an excess of foolish feeling. She could not breathe. Why did it have to hurt so much to be wise? Why was life so cruel as this?

The staircase was deserted and silent, the house quiet this high, where the children slept, and she stifled the sounds of her grief and got to her feet again, wearily
, feeling a hundred years old. No, a thousand. Infinitely old, to feel the yearning of a headstrong heart and deny it.

She would send him away. Of course there was no choice. A lifetime was too long a time to make a decision based on whim. On lust. On passion.

She would send him away.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"I came," he said, stepping through an archway of the ruins that looked onto a pristine expanse of fallen snow. She fell back a step, startled despite herself, then regained her composure. He came no closer, though she saw his eyes burned with a fierce light. She could not bear to look at him.

Swiftly. She would do it swiftly and then be gone before the children had finished their luncheon and she was missed.

"I wanted to be very clear, before you embarrass me in public as you did at the Trents'-"

"I am sorry for that. I was careless-"

"You were thoughtless. And reckless. You are not used to taking care of others, of thinking how the world might be for someone outside your skin."

"Perhaps not. But I learn swiftly, when I
've reason to. You give me reason."

"Enough. Let us not repeat ourselves. I simply wish you to be quite clear. Mr Kingsley has offered for me, and I have accepted. It is done. You will leave me in peace."

All tenderness was stripped from his face in an instant. "Do not say so, Julia," he said, very softly.

"I don't give you the right to use my name. As for the other, it is simple fact."

"There has been no announcement."

"It will come very soon."

"You have not announced it because you are not certain yet. You are not certain of your own mind." He started forward and caught her suddenly by the shoulders, his gloved hands hard through the layers of her dress and pelisse. His face was intent. "Take back your word. He will understand. It was good to keep it private. No one will know."

"No. I will not. Let go of me."

"Julia. Julia." He stepped even closer, wrapped his arms around her, so close she was forced to look upwards into his face. "This is wrong. You cannot be his. There is no way under heaven this is meant to be."

"I said let go of me. I was foolish to trust you'd be a gentleman. I should never have met you here. One more sign I can't trust you."

"Trust me?" he said, and there was suddenly a wild note in his voice. "You say you never can, that there is no way you will. I strive and strive to show you how wrong you are, yet never will you believe in me. So let it be. Enough of playing by your rules. Now I play by my own."

"What are you saying?" she demanded, not understanding him but frightened by the reckles
sness she heard in his voice.

"Do not scream." With an abrupt motion he snatched her up onto his shoulder. She let out a screech and immediately she was back on the ground, his hand over her mouth. "None of that. We're too close to the house." He changed h
is grip so she was tucked under one arm and the next moment a linen scarf was wrapped around her head, covering her mouth. As he drew it tight she gave a wordless protest. "Now hush. I don't want to cram my kerchief in there underneath that, but I will if I have to. I know how to take a prisoner and keep him silent, and you're a tiny thing. Don't try me."

She twisted her head to glare up at him in incredulity, and he met the gaze with defiance. "You had your chance for civility. I'm done with words. Now we
ride."

Still she did not believe him, but a moment later she was back on his shoulder, his grip steady on her thighs, and though she jerked and writhed and beat with her fists on his back and pulled his hair he held firm, though his hat was knocked off int
o the snow. She bellowed and while he did not carry out his threat to gag her more thoroughly, he went even faster out of the ruins, following his own tracks in the snow, sure-footed and swift.

There was a horse tethered there, a handsome bay that sidled
nervously as they came up beside it but calmed at a quiet word from Mr Holbrook, underneath the racket of her formless shouts. He put her up onto the saddle bow with firm but gentle hands, the pressure against her chest and stomach making it hard to breathe. But a moment later he was up behind her and adjusting her upright, her legs falling to one side, his arm an iron bar around her torso, his other hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him, but could not get a grip on his gloved hand. He even rearranged her skirt so her ankles no longer showed. Suddenly she bucked and thrashed, trying to be thrown free. It was no use. His strength easily over-matched hers.

He was abducting her.

Of all the ludicrous things for a man to do, this was unbelievable. And to abduct
her
, of all people! Staid Julia Preston. Inconceivable!

"I'm not going to harm you. You know that, don't you? But I've had enough of politely following rules and waiting until you're ready to believe me. We're going to-" She flailed again, and his
grip tightened fiercely. "No, you'll only get hurt if you fall off. Be still."

If she could only speak clearly she would set his ears aflame with the things she would say to him; the names she would call him. How dare he. Wretched scoundrel! He could not k
eep her silent forever. The moment he went near any sort of habitation she would bellow, and even if she could not form words, the sound would draw help. He would be vilified for trying to abduct her. Cast out of decent society. For a moment she dwelt on the image with relish.

But what of her? Notoriety would not reflect well on her at all. Would the Carstairs forgive this second victimization? They had been unfailingly kind, but they had to consider their own good name. Would this put her beyond the pale?

No, it must be hushed up, if possible. If there was some way to be rescued without causing a stir-

She could not imagine it possible. She would have to rescue herself.

Brass-plated scoundrel.

It began to snow, and she scowled at the bleak gray sky through
flakes that quickened, blowing in a flurry across their path. Rotten luck. This would hide their tracks. She had taken some care not to be seen coming from the house. Without the story of her abduction written in the snow by the ruins, the only information the Carstairs would have was the two of them had disappeared at roughly the same hour.

They would not think she had chosen to go. Not without any of her clothes, her possessions.

The snow came thicker yet, gathering on the elderly fur trim around her hood. She shuddered with the deepening cold, and Mr Holbrook urged her closer to his chest. She did not wish to relax the fierce stiffness of her posture, fighting him as best she might, showing she did not capitulate to this. For long minutes she bore the cold, the tip of her nose growing icy. Finally she turned her head into the protection of his neck, hating the implied surrender of it.

This was not to make his task easier. It was only to ease her own suffering.

Bastard. Yes,
bastard
. Misbegotten son of pig manure.

He slowed the pace from a canter to a walk. Did it snow too hard for visibility? How well did he know the terrain? Perhaps not at all. If he continued to head blindly away from the house and out onto the estate they would most likely stumble
into the yard of some crofter.

She would settle for that. A crofter as a chance for rescue. After all, Mr
Holbrook was hardly a dangerous character. If she could only get this gag off she could appeal to his better nature or - failing that - verbally scourge him until he changed his mind.

It was so cold. She could not halt her shivering, even seated on a warm horse and Mr
Holbrook, as close to his chest as she could burrow herself. The air stole the heat out from under her inadequate coat. She felt ill.

She began to cry, pathetic tears that swiftly became sobs.

Mr Holbrook pulled up.

"Here now, love. Don't be sad. It's not as bad as that."
He pulled back from her, and she looked up mournfully into his frowning face. "Julia, sweetheart, don't cry."

But a
command from him would not change her miserable state. She sobbed again and choked slightly, finding it difficult to manage breathing as her nose became blocked.

He swore softly under his breath, and the next moment his gloved fingers fumbled at the knot
of his kerchief. When that failed, he cursed again and a moment later she felt the sharp chill of a knife laid against her cheek. "Stay very still, now," he urged, and her eyes widened. It only took a moment for him to slice through the fine cloth, which fell down around her neck.

"Bastard."

"Undoubtedly. No, don't look at me with such eyes. I've had the very devil of a time lately, and must be excused any and all unpardonable behavior."

"Do you expect me to pity you? Revolting cur."

"Yes, naturally, all that. Come on, we best find you someplace warm to hole up."

"Take me back this instant."

"Of course not. That defeats the whole purpose of the exercise."

"Which is?"

But he did not answer, instead urging his patient horse back into motion. They were traveling down a slope now, and though Julia would have said she knew the estate well, having walked a great deal of it in the past several months, the snow made everything unfamiliar, all white and silent apart from the muffled sound of hooves and the clink and creak of bridle and saddle.

"Please take me back. You know me for a reasoning creature. This is no way to convince me of anything."

"I know you think yourself reasonable. You are not, though. You persist in thinking me a certain sort of man. I am not he."

"A man who abducts women is hardly an improvement!"

"Yes, well," and here he laughed softly, "I admit it's a new experience for me too. I can't say I planned it at all."

"The famous cavalry spirit," she mocked sardonically. "Independe
nce of thought, quickness in decision and boldness in action. Delightful. One need only add stupidity in execution."

"Quite," he said affably. "Though possibly the end will justify the means. Ah, this might do."

"What is it?" She twisted in the saddle, hoping to see some friendly golden light shining through a window. But the dim grayness was unbroken.

"There," he said, and tilted his body slightly to their right, the horse moving with him, altering course. "Some sort of farm building I think. It will be o
ut of the wind, at least."

It proved to be a cow byre, and occupied by half a dozen lean cows who looked up curiously as they entered, Mr
Holbrook leading the horse and with his arm still wrapped tightly around Julia. She halted for a cautious moment, pushing back hard against him, but the cows only held out their heads to take deep snuffs of the air and scent their visitors, before peacefully continuing to chew their cuds.

It was very dim and she peered around, looking in vain for some sort of perch off th
e floor. There was nothing.

Mr
Holbrook let her go and turned to his horse, unbuckling the girth and taking hold of the saddle. She darted around him and out into the blank whiteness, ran on down the slope, hoping for a farmhouse or some sign of human habitation. It was difficult to plow onward with her skirts wrapped around her ankles, her petticoats swiftly dampening. She pulled her skirt up before her and bounded on gamely, straining her eyes to see.

Mr
Holbrook grabbed her suddenly from behind, lifting her clear off the ground, and she screeched and hit at him, bucking and heaving.

"You're a game little thing," he said admiringly. "Come on. You'll only get yourself saturated running off like that. I'm content to strip you off if you truly insist, but I'v
e an inkling you'd rather stay clothed. In all good conscience, I can't let you sit around in wet clothing. You'll catch your death of a cold."

"Savage," she said with great feeling, and gave up her futile struggle. It was only tiring her out, though at le
ast all the thrashing about had warmed her a little.

"I begin to think so. Poor little love." He transferred his grip so she was cradled in his arms, and started back to the dark hunch of the byre. "You will be very cold in a moment. I'll have to think of
something to keep you warm."

"Don't," she said in a warning tone, and he laughed.

"Really? I'm disappointed. Tell me if you change your mind."

"Not in a thousand lifetimes. I'd rather freeze to death."

"Very inconvenient for us both. You'll do no one any good as an icicle."

"You are unspeakable."

"Not noticeably. You seem to have plenty to say about me." He was making excellent progress back along the short path she had cleared with her skirt, and a moment later he ducked low to clear the doorway.

"I can't
stay here with you. They'll be wondering where I am."

"It's best not to fret about things you can't change."

"Let me go. Please."

"You know," he said ruefully, "it's amazingly difficult to say no to you when you ask with just such a tone."

"Then say yes."