Authors: Mary Jo Putney
The Rake (20 page)
Chapter 13
Adjusting to life in the manor house proved painless. Even effervescent William recognized that the owner of the house was unused to the vagaries of children, and didn't press his attentions unless invited to.
Dinner was the only meal they took together, and it proved a comfortable occasion. Davenport tended to speak little, but watched the young people with obvious amusement. Soon everyone was relaxed and volunteering information on their respective activities. Peter screwed up his courage to ask for instruction in driving, and with dazed delight found himself the eager student of a veritable top-sawyer. William's heart was won when a lively pony, just the right size for him, appeared in the stables, while Merry quickly fell into a friendly, teasing relationship with Davenport.
After her initial surprise, Alys realized that it was only to be expected. The children had missed having a father, and if not precisely paternal, Davenport did make an excellent honorary uncle. Only with Alys did he maintain a certain reserve, friendly but not entirely relaxed. Perhaps he feared she would pursue him ruthlessly if he gave her any encouragement.
Nonetheless, he did make the effort to subvert the seamstress. When the last lot of clothing was delivered, it included several gowns Alys had not ordered, all in brighter colors and more daring cut than she usually wore. Meredith admitted with a smile that she and Davenport had planned it between them.
When Alys confronted him indignantly, he pointed out that she was no longer a governess, so why did she dress like one? Surely there could be no need to restrict herself to navy blue and brown when she was dining with her family. In fact, she owed it to the people who had to look at her to maintain a good appearance.
Half amused and half exasperated by his high-handed ways, she kept the gowns. In her fashionable youth she had been restricted to demure white muslins which did nothing for her coloring. It was a pleasure now to wear rich green or rust or gold. She thought she looked rather well. Certainly the children thought so, and the admiring warmth in Davenport's eyes sent a glow through her entire body.
The days quickly returned to the normal pattern of work and family. It was the nights that were difficult. Alys told herself the problem was a strange bed, but she was all too aware that she was sleeping under the same roof with a man of quite overpowering attractiveness. A man, moreover, who showed occasional signs of interest in the fact that she was a female.
As she endured her fourth night of insomnia, she finally asked herself exactly what she wanted from Reggie Davenport. An affair? While it was conceivable that in the heat of passion she might throw caution to the winds, it was quite impossible for sober, unglamorous Alys Weston to cold-bloodedly embark on such a wanton course.
In a burst of candor, she admitted to herself that the idea of being his mistress was enormously appealing. Yet how could she set such an example to the children? An affair could not be kept a secret for long, and would surely jeopardize her position as steward.
So an affair was out of the question, and there was no other possibility. Her employer appeared to enjoy her company, had even found her not wholly lacking in appeal, but he was certainly not going to marry her. If Davenport wanted to set up a nursery, there were any number of more eligible females in the area. Or he could go to London and have the pick of the crop. The very respectable fortune he had acquired would offset his rakish past, and with his personal magnetism he would have his choice of ladies who were far younger, prettier, and wealthier than she.
Alys reminded herself that if he ever did marry, he would doubtless make the very devil of a husband. However, she feared that her thoughts had a faint whiff of the fox complaining about unobtainable grapes.
As she rolled over in her bed, she faced her worse fear with brutal honesty: that in a moment of drunken indiscrimination, Davenport would take her to his bed, and find the experience too uninteresting to repeat. Even the thought brought a sick knot to her stomach. The least pain and humiliation lay in accepting that her present amiable, limited relationship was the best she could hope for.
Her logic was faultless, and there was a certain relief in having worked the matter through. Unfortunately, her stomach was still knotted with anxiety. Perhaps some brandy would help. With a sigh, she sat up and fumbled for her new dressing gown, an attractive garment in gold velveteen with braid trim.
The most convenient brandy supply was in the library. She expected the room to be empty at such a late hour, and was startled to see her employer lounging in his favorite wing chair, coat and cravat off and his feet on a brocade stool. It was a perfect picture of a gentleman at his leisure. Reggie had a book open in his lap and a half-empty goblet in his hand. Candlelight touched the tooled leather backs of the books and cast a warm glow across the room, and Nemesis snored peacefully by his feet.
Alys halted uncertainly in the door, admiring the play of light on the planes of his lean face. She was about to end her brief moment of self-indulgence and go away when he glanced up and saw her.
He gave her a lazy smile. “Come join me.”
“Are you sure I' m not disturbing you?” She hung back, even though she yearned to accept his invitation. “I didn't realize anyone else was still awake.”
“You're not disturbing me. It's no bad thing to have company in the dark watches of the night.” He raised his goblet in a wry toast, then drank deeply. Waving a casual hand at the decanter, he said, “Have some brandy.”
Usually he was impeccably dressed, but she had noticed that when he drank he became faintly disheveled. Tonight he looked distinctly rakish. She guessed that he had been drinking since she and the children had gone to bed. Still, his speech was clear and unslurred, so he could not be really foxed.
She went to pour herself a glass of brandy, and noticed that the book on his lap was in Greek. That shouldn't have surprised her, but it did. While he must have had the usual education of his class, he radiated such physical force that it was easy to forget how intelligent he was. She, who had worked with him, should know better.
Alys curled up in the wing chair opposite, legs tucked under her, and sipped her drink. The restlessness that had kept her awake dissolved, replaced by contentment. Enjoying the slow burn of the brandy on her tongue, she said softly, “You're right about the dark watches of the night. They can be very lonely indeed.”
“Sometimes. Often.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Always.”
His clear light eyes met hers with no trace of the reserve he wore like armor. She could not decipher the complex blend of emotions in his gazeâsurely vulnerability could not be among them?âbut she became acutely conscious of the fact that it was very late, and that they were alone. The tautness in her midriff changed as a more pleasurable kind of tension coiled deep within her.
“What keeps you awake late at night, Allie?” he asked, his voice soft and intimate. “Don't hard work and a clear conscience count for anything?”
His openness called for a like response. She replied, “Who among us has a really clear conscience?”
“I certainly don't.” He finished the brandy in his goblet, then leaned over to pour more. “Though in all modesty, I'm sure that my sins utterly surpass yours.”
She smiled faintly. “If even half the stories about you are true, you're probably correct.”
“I should think that about half is the correct proportion. The question for you is ...” He paused, an amused glint in his eyes. “Which half?”
“Would you tell me what was true if I asked?” she inquired, her head tilted and her heavy braid falling over her shoulder.
“Probably. I generally answer direct questions. Most people are too well-bred or too afraid of the answers to ask.” His amusement deepened. “It would be interesting to see if you are as unshockable as you claim.”
Perhaps it was the brandy, or perhaps her intense curiosity about him, but she recklessly decided to take Reggie up on his willingness to be forthright. And she might as well start with the worst. “Did you really have a pregnant mistress run away to you, kill her husband in a duel, and then abandon her?”
For a moment she thought he wouldn't answer. “A good place to start,” he said finally, “since that story is exactly half true.”
“Which half?”
“The lady in question did indeed seek my protection, I did kill her husband in a duel, and we did not marry.” His words were cool and precise.
Chilled, Alys wondered how he could admit to such monstrous behavior so calmly. “In what way is the other half false?”
He leaned his head against the chair back and watched her through half-closed eyes. “She wasn't my mistress, and I didn't abandon her.”
Feeling irrationally relieved, she settled more deeply into her chair. “It sounds like an interesting story. May I hear the rest?”
She saw him subtly relax. Had he thought she would not believe him?
“Sarah was the sister of a school friend of mine, Theo. Since my guardian and I shared a profound mutual dislike, I spent most of my school holidays with Theo's family. Those were some of the better memories of my youth. His sister was a pretty little thing who tagged around after us.”
He took another sip of brandy, his gaze distant. “After Eton, Theo's father bought him a pair of colors. We had once planned on going into the army together, but ... well, it didn't happen. He and I continued to correspond, but I lost touch with the rest of his family. In that time his sister married, and both of his parents died.
“Then one day Sarah showed up on my doorstep, bloody and beaten within an inch of her life.” His voice was coldly angry. “Her husband was a vicious devil who regularly bounced her off the walls when he was in a jealous fit, which was often. When she became pregnant, he decided she had been unfaithful to him, and damned near killed her. Her brother was fighting in the Peninsula, too far away to know what was happening. But he had told her once that if she ever needed help, she should come to me.”
Reggie shrugged, his powerful shoulders flexing under his white shirt. “Since her brother couldn't protect her, I did.”
Amazing how different his version of the story was from what Junius Harper had said. Alys released the breath she had been holding. “You eliminated her husband?”
“Exactly.” His flexible mouth twisted. “If her husband had assaulted another woman as he did her, he could have been convicted and jailed. But since she was his wife, beating her was perfectly legal, unless he actually murdered her. There was no possibility of divorce. Violence isn't enough to free a wife of her husband.”
“After Sarah took refuge with you, did her husband challenge you to a duel?”
“Not precisely.” Reggie smiled unpleasantly. “He hired a couple of bully boys to murder me in an alley. When I escaped more or less unscathed, I challenged him.”
Alys's goblet was forgotten in her lap, her fingers locked around the stem. “And then you killed him.”
“I executed him,” he corrected. “Since the law didn't offer justice, I took it into my own hands.”
“And Sarah?”
“I offered to marry her if that would make her situation easier, but she said the last thing she wanted was another husband.” He shrugged. “I'll admit I was grateful that she didn't accept, though I think we would have dealt tolerably well together.
“After her son was born, even her late husband's vengeful relatives admitted that the boy looked just like his father. To the outrage of the entire county of Lincoln, Sarah went back to her husband's estate and took control of the property on her son's behalf,” Reggie smiled. “Last year, she scandalized the county all over again by marrying a local physician, a man quite beneath her in fortune and birth. From her letters she's entirely pleased with her life, though the high-sticklers won't receive her.” He glanced at Alys. “She's rather like youâa strong-minded woman.”
Ignoring his last sentence, Alys said thoughtfully, “So you let the world think what it wished, and of course it preferred the most scandalous interpretation.”
“Of course.”
“Is it hard to kill someone?”
He was surprised at first, then thoughtful. “If you're asking whether I enjoy killing, the answer is no. However, on the occasions when I have found it necessary, I have felt little compunction and no remorse. The world was not a better place for having Sarah's husband in it. My conscience would have troubled me infinitely more if I had attended her funeral, knowing I had done nothing to help her while she was alive.”
Alys nodded, understanding perfectly. Fascinated by this glimpse of the masculine world, she wanted to take full advantage of Reggie's willingness to talk. Next question. “Have you fought many duels?”
He pursed his lips. “Between twelve and fifteen, I suppose. I've never actually counted.”
“Was Junius accurate about the number that ... were fatal?”
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