The Rake (27 page)
Authors: Mary Jo Putney
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Julian asked for a private interview with Lady Alys later that day, after she had returned from the fields and bathed and dressed for dinner. She was delighted to grant his request for Merry's hand, with the proviso that there be no formal engagement before he had talked to his father. He saw that she had the same doubts as Merry about whether Lord Markham would approve.
The rest of the household had retired after an evening of music and charades when Julian broke the news to Reggie. The two men were lounging in the library, Julian sipping a glass of port, Reggie smoking a long, slim cheroot, and Nemesis snoring by the open French door. His friend's face split in a grin. “Wonderful, though not unexpected. A blind man could see what has been going on.”
Julian shook his head in mock despair. “And here I thought I'd been a model of discretion.” A besotted gleam in his eyes, he continued, “Isn't Merry the loveliest of creatures? And such a delightful disposition.”
Patiently Reggie spent the next half hour listening to similar paeans to the young lady's myriad perfections, making agreement noises as required. Finally Julian broke off with a laugh, “I'm babbling like an idiot, aren't I?”
“Yes, but anything less would be inappropriate to the occasion,” Reggie said genially, tapping ash off his cheroot.
Julian frowned at his port. “Both Merry and Lady Alys think that my father will oppose the marriage. What do you think?”
“I think it very likely,” Reggie admitted, “but I imagine that with persistence and tact you can win him around. While it isn't a brilliant match, it is respectable. If you have trouble persuading your father, just take Meredith to meet him.”
“A marvelous idea, Reg,” Julian said enthusiastically. “Who could resist her?”
Before he could continue in that line, Reggie held up one hand. “You needn't repeat her splendid qualities. I don't think they've changed in the last five minutes.”
With a sheepish expression, Julian rose and went to the liquor cabinet. He brought out a decanter of Reggie's best brandy. “Shall we have a toast to my success with my father, and to my future happiness?”
Reggie hesitated. “You must have noticed that I haven't been drinking.”
“True,” Julian said cheerfully, “but this is a special occasion.” He poured generous measures into two Venetian cut-glass goblets and brought one to Reggie.
Reggie accepted the goblet and stared at the clear amber liquid, wary of the fierce longing that literally caused his mouth to water and his heart to beat faster. He had vowed to stop drinking until the craving went away. It had subsided in the last fortnight, but there were still times when the desire for alcohol nearly overwhelmed him.
Then insight struck. Since he'd always enjoyed the taste of alcohol, it was unrealistic to wait for the craving to disappear. To do that was like assuming that abstinence would end sexual desire. On the contrary, abstinence increased desireâhe should have recognized that sooner. Not drinking was probably actually increasing his desire to drink.
Relief flowed through him. He had proved that he could stop. Now it was time to resume his normal habits.
He raised the goblet. “You're right, this is a very special occasion. May I be the first to wish you and Merry long life and every happiness?”
As Julian beamed, Reggie drank the entire glass of brandy in one long swallow. Then he hurled the empty goblet into the fireplace, as befitted a toast from the heart.
He watched the crystal shatter and spin away in glittering fragments, savoring the marvelous taste and feel of the brandy. The sweet burn tingled on his tongue, warmed his throat, then curled and soothed throughout his entire body, stilling the incessant longing that had consumed him since his last drink.
What a fool he had been, to torture himself unnecessarily for weeks. He could no longer remember why he'd thought it necessary to prove he could stop drinking.
Crossing to the liquor cabinet, he poured himself another glass of brandy, then turned to Julian with a smile. “What else can we drink to?”
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When Alys and Meredith retired early for the evening, they went to Merry's room for a comfortable coze. Alys expected her ward to be ecstatic at having won Julian's heart and hand. Instead Merry was deeply sad, convinced that when Julian left the next day his father would prevent him from ever returning. Nothing Alys said could change Merry's mind.
When Alys went to her own bed, she found herself unable to sleep even though she'd had a long and tiring day. Julian was a kind and thoroughly honorable young man; he would not have spoken to Meredith and her guardian if there was a serious likelihood that the match would be blocked. Nonetheless, Merry's conviction of disaster, coupled with Alys's own doubts, held sleep at bay.
Hours passed and Alys ached with fatigue, but her anxious mind allowed her no rest. Being a surrogate parent was so stressful that she didn't know how a real, biological parent managed to survive the experience.
Her bedroom allowed her to hear traffic on the stairs and in the halls, and eventually she heard Julian come upstairs and go to his room. She knew it wasn't Reggie; his step she always recognized.
Finally, after mauling her pillows and blanket with restlessness, she decided to go downstairs and see if Reggie was in the library. Her employer had considerable worldly experience, and surely was acquainted with Julian's father. Perhaps he could give an informed opinion on the likelihood of Lord Markham's accepting Merry into the family.
She fumbled in the dark to put on her robe and slippers, then made her way down to the library. As she'd expected, light still showed under the door. But the scene that greeted her eyes when she opened the door was unexpected, and deeply unwelcome. Alys halted in the doorway and surveyed the room with distaste.
Reggie was sprawled casually in his favorite chair, his long legs crossed in front of him. If she was right that his sobriety could measured by his neatness, he must be roaring drunk. His coat and cravat lay where they had been tossed on the floor, his white shirt and tan pantaloons were blotched by spilled liquor, and a miasma of brandy fumes hung in the air. One empty decanter lay on its side on the liquor cabinet, and another, nearly empty, sat on the table next to him.
Because the night was a warm one, the French doors were open and Nemesis lay by the sill. The dog jumped to her feet and pattered over to Alys, making whimpering sounds, as if seeking aid for her master.
Alerted by the collie, Reggie glanced up and gave a hazy smile. “Good ... good to see you, sweet Alys. Julian had 'nough and retired. Good lad, but no 'ead f'r drink. Night's young 'n I could use a drinking companion. 'Ave ... Have some brandy.” He lurched to his feet and poured the remaining brandy into another glass, spilling half of the spirits over the tabletop.
She had seen him foxed before, but his present state went far beyond that. The superbly conditioned, athletic body nearly fell over when he turned to bring her the glass.
“I didn't come here to drink,” she said coldly. “I wanted to talk about something important, but obviously you're in no state for that.”
He raised the glass and emptied it himself, a drop of brandy trickling from the side of his mouth. Grasping only part of her statement, he said with pleased surprise, “Glad you didn't come to drink. C'n think of better things to do m'self.”
For a drunk he moved with amazing speed as he closed the distance between them in two swift strides. He enfolded her in a hungry embrace. The lurch of his weight shoved Alys back until she was pinned against a bookcase, the warm weight of his body pressing against her from knees to chest.
His brandy-spiked kiss aroused the same fierce response that his touch always did, and for a startled moment she kissed him back. Then he shifted his hold and murmured into her ear, “'S been hard keeping my hands off you. Anyone ever tell you what a glorious body you have? 'S enough to drive a man mad.”
His words brought her to her senses. “Let go of me, you drunken rakehell,” she said acidly as she planted both hands on his chest and pushed. “The only time you ever notice my âglorious body' is when you're too drunk to care what female you're fondling. If you're randy, go find your housemaid.”
He almost fell as she twisted away, but managed to retain his grip on her left arm. “Coyness don't suit you, Allie,” he said reproachfully. “I know what you want, and be m ... more than happy to give it to you.” He slid one hand around her head in a travesty of the gentle gesture he had made in the garden of the King's Head.
Alys was not alarmed, not yet. As he drew her toward him again, she turned her face to the side. “You're drunk, Reggie. Just go to bed.”
Since her lips were unavailable, he concentrated on what was within his reach, trailing kisses across her cheek to her ear. Then he traced the outline of her ear with his tongue. Alys gasped as he cupped her breast with one hand, sensuously stroking the nipple to hardness through the gold velveteen. Perilous warmth flowed through her, melting her limbs and her resistance.
With horror, she realized how close she was to giving herself to a man too drunk to know or care who she was. A ghastly sense of déjà vu gave her the strength to shove him away again, this time furiously. “Damn you, get away from me!”
Taken by surprise, he staggered back into a small table carrying a globe. The table pitched over, the globe frame smashing and the colorful sphere bouncing across the carpet. Reggie managed to avoid falling, but only just, and when he regained his balance his expression was ugly.
With the volatility of the drunkard, he tilted from boozy goodwill to fury. “Don't play with me, y'r bloody ladyship. Don't you think I know why you're always twitching around me? Under that prim facade you're as hot as they come, and we both know it.”
The fact that he was right was unbearable. Alys wanted to weep. She also wanted to murder him, for seeing too much, for invading her heart and soul with such careless ease.
Anger was swiftly followed by fear as she realized that Reggie was moving toward her with dangerous deliberation. Gone was the amused, tolerant man she had worked and bantered with. This was a cold-eyed, angry stranger.
She would have to get by Reggie to reach either door. She gauged the distances, and knew that she was trapped. Slowly she backed away, keeping her gaze on him while her heart accelerated toward panic. Though she was tall and strong for a woman, she was no match for Reggie if he wanted to ravish her.
Her retreat ended in a corner with bookshelves stretching away on both sides. She tensed, ready to fight.
Into the angry breach came Nemesis, who trotted between the humans with soft nervous yelps. Reggie stumbled over the collie and almost fell. “Damned dog!”
He kicked at Nemesis and landed a glancing blow along the ribs. With a howl that was as much shock as pain, the collie bolted across the room and out the French doors.
The distraction gave Alys a moment to prepare. Arming herself with a heavy volume of French plays, she hissed, “Don't you come near me!” when Reggie resumed his stalking.
Ignoring the warning, he lunged toward her. Alys hurled the French plays into his stomach, then grabbed another book, a huge leather-bound edition of the complete works of Shakespeare. She heaved it blindly. The massive volume smashed into the side of Reggie's head, then clipped his knee on its downward journey.
“Christ!” he swore as he fell to the floor, gasping from the impact. “You
bitch
!”
bitch
!”
Not stopping to see how much damage she had done, Alys whipped past him and headed toward the door. Just short of the hall, she collided with Mac Cooper, who was racing into the library. The impact knocked her breathless, and only the servant's steadying hands saved her from falling.
She had seen little of Reggie's valet, knowing him mostly as a rather dapper, distant figure, but now his face was alive with concern. “Are you all right, Lady Alys?”
No, blast it, she wasn't! But she damned well wouldn't admit that to a stranger. “I'm fine, no thanks to your drunken master,” she said icily as she struggled for breath.
Mac released her and went to kneel by Reggie, who was being violently sick. Alys started to leave, but the valet looked up and said, “Don't go. I'm going to need help getting him upstairs.”
“Why not just leave him here?” she snapped. “A night on the floor in his own vomit might do him some good.”
Cooper grimaced. “Not when he won't even remember what happened.”
That at least was a blessing. As Alys hesitated uncertainly, Cooper waited until Reggie stopped retching. Then he said calmly, “Time for bed, Reg. Let me help you up.”
Groggy and green-faced, Reggie muttered, “Don't have to help me home, 'm already there.”
The valet tugged at one of his arms. Since he wasn't making much headway, an exasperated Alys went to help. Between them they managed to get the incoherently muttering Reggie up and moving.
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