Redeeming a Rake (16 page)

“Cursing me is hardly going to make me think
better of you.”

“I don’t care what you think of me. Take off
your clothes.”

“I think you should go to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep, my head hurts…”

“I’ll put a few drops of laudanum in some
water.”

“I don’t want laudanum, I want you.”

“Goodnight Geoffrey.”

The words had a finality that made Geoffrey
panic. He didn’t want to be alone, he wanted the smiling woman to
hold him and love him. “Don’t leave…Angel…come back here!” He held
his breath as she stopped in the doorway. She loved him. She’d come
back and ease his need. She’d hold him as he succumbed to the
sweetest sleep and when he awoke…

“I’m your friend, not your servant. Friends
have the option of choosing not to be abused. Goodnight
Geoffrey.”

Listening to her walk away Geoffrey noticed
the room chill again, as if her kindness had been warming the air.
After fifteen minutes feeling cold and unloved, he swung his weak
legs out of bed and wobbled to the door. He made it as far as the
top of the stairs where his aching head, spinning in dizzy circles,
nearly sent him tumbling to his death. He collapsed on the top step
and clutched the railings. “Angel…” He moaned as the pain in his
head overshadowed his tormenting lust. “Help me!”

The words echoed through the small entry
hall into the parlour where Tolerance was sitting in the yellow
armchair contemplating an awful future. Her beloved friend was
dead, but he wasn’t dead. Her stomach churned at the thought of
tearing herself from his life. She wanted to lie in his arms and
feel him breathe. She wanted to have his children. She wanted to be
his wife, but the man upstairs was a stranger, a thoughtless
rake-hell who’d use and discard her without hesitation. She was
mentally listing all the reasons why it would be best to send for
her carriage when she heard him call for her. Leaping to her feet
she ran out into the hall and looked up to see him sitting at the
top of the stairs with his sickly pale face pressed against the
railings of the bannister. “Angel!” The whimper pierced her heart
as she wiped away her tears and rushed up the stairs to help him.
After getting the tall man back to his bed he obediently drank a
dose of laudanum and closed his eyes. She held his hand until he
fell into a drug induced sleep. Knowing she might never see him
again, she gave into temptation. Kicking off her shoes, she crawled
under the covers fully clothed and snuggled up against the remains
of her friend. Her eyes filled with tears as he unconsciously
turned in his sleep and draped a possessive arm over her waist. She
lay there waiting for first light to tell her it was time to break
her heart.

***

Geoffrey woke late in the afternoon feeling
refreshed after a pleasurable dream of spending the night held in
the Angel’s arms. He could almost smell her orange blossom scent on
his pillow. Wanting to look his best for the smiling woman, he sent
for his barber. His face shaved and his hair trimmed, he was
shocked to learn he’d had short hair for over a year. What had made
him cut his hair? There was only a blank darkness in his head, but
the biggest shock was seeing his reflection. He barely recognised
himself. He looked like an ill but handsome aged version of his
youth. The Devil’s Corpse had been buried under healthy layers of
flesh. No wonder the angel loved him, but how had it happened?
Feeling awkward in clothes he couldn’t remember having fitted, he
put on an old dressing gown and sat in a chair by his fire. He was
ready to receive the angel. “Howard, tell Mrs Spencer that I wish
her to join me for luncheon. Tell her I give my word I’ll be a
gentleman.”

“Mrs Spencer returned home first light Your
Grace.”

The news made him scowl in irritation. Now
he’d have to wait that much longer. “Then send my carriage for the
woman. I don’t want to wait all day, I’m hungry.”

“I’m sorry Your Grace, but she took all her
belongings with her.”

“I don’t care what she took with her, fetch
the woman!”

Howard took a deep calming breath and
squared his shoulders. “Mrs Spencer informed me she would not be
returning Your Grace. She said that as you were out of danger and
you should consult the doctor.”

Geoffrey felt deathly cold as the blood
drain from his face. “What the devil do you mean she’s not
returning? What sort of friend leaves at first light without saying
goodbye? I suppose she asked you to wish me good health. Does she
expect my servants to tell me that she loves me?”

The old man stared respectfully at the wall.
“She left no message Your Grace.”

Silence thundered through the room as an
invisible fist punched Geoffrey in the chest. He turned his head
away from his servant and closed his eyes hoping to contain the
threatening storm. “Go tell that stubborn woman that I wish to see
her immediately. Inform her that if she doesn’t call on me today
I’ll never speak to her again.” His pain filled roar bounced off
the walls and back into his head like a lead ball through his
ears.

“Mrs Spencer looked ill Your Grace. She’s
not had a proper night’s sleep since your attack. She may have
taken to her…”

“I don’t care if she has the black plague.
Fetch her!” Geoffrey’s waiting was in vain. He finally gave up and
returned to his bed where he muttered curses on heartless angels.
He couldn’t think through the heavy pain in his scull or see
through the rain falling in his bedchamber. Weeks passed as he
waited for his plain beautiful friend to return and beg his
forgiveness, but she didn’t come. The loneliness ate away at him
until one morning he woke up knowing if he didn’t breathe the same
air as someone who loved him the hellish sensation in his chest
would eat him alive. Crawling out of bed he rang the bell with
force and clenched his teeth in defiance. He’d see the woman before
the day had ended or die trying.

Geoffrey quietly opened the door to Mrs
Spencer’s private study and stood there several minutes waiting for
her notice his presence, but she was absorbed in what appeared to
be a sad letter. Three cold lonely weeks were finally over. Pain
and anger evaporated like morning frost toasted by the rising sun.
He was going to hold the angel by the end of the day come hell,
high-water or special license. At last, he was going to be loved.
Closing the door with a firm hand, she lifted her head and returned
his stare like a rabbit cornered by a fox. Biting her lower lip,
she slowly rose to her feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Her eyes and nose were red as if she’d
recently suffered a long bout of tears. She probably thought she’d
never see him again. He dismissed her distress; she’d soon be
crying tears of joy. Ignoring her unwelcoming remark he studied his
surroundings for clues to his friend. The pleasant little room had
pale blue silk covered walls hung with medieval sketches of knights
on horseback. It was pleasantly feminine; the furniture elegant as
well as functional. He admired the inkstand with ruby glass wells
and then his eyes returned to the woman framed by a large window
draped in pale blue silk. How could he have ever thought her plain?
Enveloped in a halo of sunlight, without her ugly cap he could see
her long plaits of white blond hair secured with silver combs. She
was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen and she loved him.
Pursing his lips in smug satisfaction he swaggered over to her
desk, nonchalantly shoving a pile of letters out of his way he
perched on the corner nearest his object of desire. “As the man you
love, I think I merit a ‘Good morning my heart’ or at least ‘I’m so
glad to see you’.” He pulled a ruby encrusted snuffbox from his
pocket, put a pinch on the back of his hand and inhaled the snuff,
all without breaking eye contact.

“Good Morning my Lord, I wasn’t expecting
you.”

The snuffbox snapped shut with a vicious
click. “You don’t sound very pleased to see me.” She didn’t deny
it; she wasn’t pleased. He forcibly swallowed the lump in his
throat. “If you didn’t wish to see me Madam, why was I allowed into
your house without having to present my card? It appears I have
your permission to enter at will. Does this mean I used to frequent
all the rooms in your house, or were you just hoping I would?” Her
pale cheeks flushed bright pink as he raised a cynical eyebrow. “Am
I not as pleasing as my former self? Isn’t my hair combed
correctly?”

“You said you weren’t going to speak to me
again, remember?”

“It would seem that is the only thing I can
remember. I mistakenly thought the threat would persuade you, a
woman who claims to love me…” His lungs filled with anger as he
raised his voice, “…to return to my sickbed!”

She briefly met his eyes, but looked away.
“Don’t raise your voice at me.”

“Do you expect me to visit the Gypsies for a
reading on my mysterious past? Would it not be more sensible to
learn about my spent years from someone who claims to be my
friend?”

“Forgive me, of course you have questions.
Wait here, I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t address me in that odious tone.” Her
own voice was gentle, but firm. “I’m going to get something for
you.” His worried eyes followed her from the room as he fretted
that she was fetching the footmen to have him thrown out.

Fifteen minutes later a small entourage
marched into the study. Two footmen carried a well padded armchair
followed by a maid with a large tray of food followed by another
maid carrying a small round table. He briefly glanced up to see her
quietly ordered the servants to place the objects in the desired
positions, ushered them out of the room and close the door.
Absorbed back into a forgotten day, Geoffrey ignored everything as
he devoured another letter written in his own hand. He didn’t look
up as she stopped next to him and peered over his arm to see which
letter he was reading. He set it down and picked up another one. “I
brought you a comfortable chair.” He stared at her with an awed
expression before getting up and removing to the chair with a stack
of letters. “You can ask me questions later.” He didn’t respond. He
was completely absorbed by events and feelings of his forgotten
self. Briefly looking up to make sure his angel was still in the
room he held her stare before watching her escape to the fire.

He finished the pile of letters in his hand
and flung them onto the desk and turned his attention to the woman
who’d been haunting his thoughts for weeks. There was something
strangely familiar about the curve of her cheek and white hair. How
could he have forgotten such a smile? Looking at the back of her
skirts wasn’t enough. He wanted her in his arms smiling at him
in-between kisses. Eying the chocolate pot he saw an opportunity to
retrieve her attention, “Pour me a cup?”

She jumped and turned back to face him. “Did
you say something?”

“A cup of chocolate…will you pour me
one?”

“Of course…” The cup clattered on the saucer
as she handed them over.

“Am I making you nervous?”

“No.”

He took the cup and saucer with one hand and
captured her shaking hand with the other. He brought it to his lips
before letting go and smiled as she escaped back to her chair
behind the desk. It had to be at least twelve years, that he could
remember, since he’d made a female blush. The thought made his
insides ache as he contemplated the unknown fate of the little
angel who’d made him feel human for a few brief minutes. He forced
the memory back into the dusty attic of his brain and returned his
attention to the angel at hand. “Are all those letters from
me?”

“You were very good about answering my
questions and telling me how you were progressing. I was…organising
them…to put them away.”

For someone trying to be organised she
looked suspiciously absorbed in making one large random pile. She
was trying to pretend his kiss hadn’t affected her and that meant
his kiss had affected her. The thought made him feel like a hungry
cat given a drop of cream. “You must have had an endless supply of
questions. I appear to have written an encyclopaedia.”

She glanced up and met his raised eyebrow
with another blush. “You asked me to write to you while you
were…away. I was your friend. It was perfectly genial…I mean it was
perfectly innocent.”

“I prefer genial. It brings to mind an
intimate bond between two people who yearn to share their
nakedness.”

“There was nothing sordid about our
friendship.”

“Angel, an intimate bond is not
automatically sordid, unless you’re one of those odd people who
enjoy being tied up. When we make love I want to look into your
eyes and see the pleasure caused by my nearness as you struggle for
breath to tell me you love me.”

“That is never going to happen.”

“Why? Are you one of those
ladies who enjoy riding St George? You’re blushing again. Does that
mean…?”

“It means I’m embarrassed. I’m your friend
not your lover.”

“There are many definitions for the term
‘lover’ one of them quite innocent and I dare say rather
appropriate. I found your letters Angel. It’s no wonder I fell in
love with you.”

The woman behind the desk visibly jerked
back in her chair. She looked shocked, no she looked heartbroken.
“You’re reading too much into the letters. We were friends.”

“Friends? Madam, I have no memory of writing
anyone anything longer than three scribbled lines. I must have
laboured at least an hour over each one of these. I could only be
in love with you.”

“You can’t know that…there are two whole
years before we met that are unaccounted for. You may have taken to
writing long epistles to…to all your friends.”

“I may also have given up my title and all
my worldly possessions to become a night soil collector. You’re
cheeks betray you Madam. You know I loved you.”