How To Tame a Rake (3 page)

‘My, that’s a lot.”

“There’s hardly a fish in this river,” he said. “And the woods are so overgrown you have to fight your way into them. My father let the lands run fallow.”

“Why not get the work done, then?”

“I haven’t been here much of late.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because I have business elsewhere,” he replied in frigid tones.

“I mean, it’s so lovely here. I’d want to be here as often as I could,” she said hastily.

“I’m glad you like it.” Blake walked a few paces off along the river.

She stood where she was and watched him, resisting the urge to follow him like an eager puppy. No doubt something he was used to from women.

* * * *

“I’m sorry, I was caught up in my thoughts,” Blake said, walking back to the girl.

“Contemplating nature has that affect on one,” she said.

At least she didn’t force idle chatter upon him. He looked down into her small face with its pointed, rather determined chin. Her riding outfit left much to be desired, another drab colour that didn’t suit her, but it couldn’t disguise the feminine curves beneath. Her large, serious grey eyes gazed into his and he had the uncomfortable feeling she could see into his very soul. It made him feel strangely hollow.

“Why doesn’t your father buy you nice gowns?” he asked almost savagely. “Doesn’t he care for you?”

Her delicate, fair skin flushed a fiery red. “There are five daughters, as you know,” she said stiffly. “We all need to be fed and clothed. Father’s not as wealthy as some.”

She made it sound like an accusation. Don’t say she was one of those modern misses that felt the landed classes should be a dying breed, he thought, sighing. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” He wanted to add that he seldom talked at any length to well-brought-up young women these days. He’d been avoiding them, since he appeared to be on every mamma’s prospective husband list.

“What do you do at home?” he asked, searching for a common thread of conversation. “Do you sew and paint?”

“Not a lot. I like to ride, help my father around the farm. I read a lot.”

He was suddenly hopeful that she may not wish to marry him, either. Perhaps she wanted to join that new suffrage movement he’d heard about.

She glanced at the sky. “Hadn’t we better be getting back? I don’t like the look of those clouds.”

He turned to see a bank of dark clouds advancing on the horizon. A fresh wind sent dead leaves swirling across the ground. Wilhelmina’s hat blew off. Her ash-blonde hair, turned to gold by a fleeting ray of sunshine, was ripped from its pins and went flying about, almost down to her waist.

He ran to retrieve her hat before it sailed into the river. “You have pretty hair,” he said, returning to hand it to her. He was surprised, and her flushed face looked pretty enough to kiss. He reached out and took her shoulders, pulling her to him. “A fiancé should have certain privileges, don’t you agree?”

He expected her to go all maidenly on him and protest. But she didn’t. When he kissed her, she kissed him back, keeping her mouth firmly closed. He toyed with the idea of prying her lips gently open, to read her reaction in her eyes. But it could lead to certain difficulties. It was neither the place nor the time. Quiet waters do run deep, he thought with amusement. Perhaps it would not be such a chore to teach her the pleasures of lovemaking. And make that baby. Then he would be free.

When he released her, she quickly turned away. Her fingers busily gathered up her hair, securing it with pins and combs. It looked like a swallow’s nest before she jammed on her hat.

It began to pour. Hard, stinging needles of rain attacked them and made the horses pull at their reins and neigh. Blake picked Willy up and set her on the saddle. He jumped onto his horse. Unfortunately, Thunder Clap proved to be well-named. As a flash of lightening hit a tree in the distance and deafening thunder rumbled across the heavens, he bucked violently. The terrified horse danced around on its hind legs, desperate to throw off its rider.

Willy peered through the blinding rain, her heart in her throat as Blake hung on. Filled with admiration, she watched him calm the stallion in a low tone. With a whinny and a shake of its head, the horse settled. Without giving her a chance to praise him, Blake galloped off towards the house.

She hurried to follow. Perhaps at the prospect of a feed and a dry stall, Silver Shadow got up a reasonable canter. Willy’s thoughts returned to Blake’s kiss. He’d given it so carelessly, as though it meant nothing to him. And to her, it meant so much. She kept reliving the touch of his lips on hers all the way back to the stable yard.

By the time they made it back to the house, they were both soaked through. Willy sneezed.

“You’d better get out of those wet things,” Blake said, eyeing the dismal riding habit clinging limply around her body in wet folds. “The first thing I shall do is obtain a lady’s maid for you.”

His look of disapproval made her feel as if he’d hit her. His sharp tone jolted her from her feeling of joy, back into reality. Her gaze flew up to meet his before she turned quickly away to hide the hurt in her eyes.

* * * *

Blake went to his room, his mind returning again to the easy friendliness of the upstairs maid, Sarah. She gave her favors willingly, no complications or demands. He swore under his breath. Who was he fooling? A wife would change his life completely.

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Chapter Three

At dinnertime, Wilhelmina failed to appear. An upstairs maid brought a note to the dining room. Blade read it. “She sends her apologies. She’s abed with a slight fever.”

“A fever! My goodness.” Lady Elizabeth put her hand to her throat. “I do hope it’s nothing catching.” She waved the maid away. “Tell Crowley to summon the apothecary.”

“We got soaked out riding this afternoon,” Blake said. “I should have been more alert to the weather.”

Lady Elizabeth raised her brows. “Perhaps you had more on your mind?” It was a still, humid night after the rain. She pushed away her plate and opened her fan.

He chose to ignore the provocative remark. “I agree that it’s too hot to eat.”

“Shall we retire to the drawing room?”

“I think I’ll go and see if Wilhelmina is all right.”

Elizabeth closed her fan with a snap. “To her bedchamber?”

“You may come with me if you wish, Mother. I’m not an ogre. I have no intention, indeed no desire, to ravage the girl.”

She opened her fan again, and studied him as she fanned herself. “I’m sorry Blake, for you and for Wilhelmina.”

He frowned as he came around to pull out her chair. “And what are you sorry about?”

Rising, she shook out her skirts. “A woman wants her husband to desire her.”

He read the sadness in her eyes. “Not all of em,” he said brusquely.

“No. Not all. But I think Wilhelmina would.”

He stared at her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m an old and wise woman,” she said firmly. “But I’ve said enough. Go if you must.”

* * * *

Blake knocked on Wilhelmina’s door. A croaky voice answered. “Come in.”

He swung the door open and gazed in. The draft made the candles gutter and threaten to go out, sending shadows oscillating over the walls.

He crossed to the window. “I’d better close this.”

“No, please don’t. I hate stuffy rooms. Shut the door.”

“That would be improper,” he said.

“I don’t care.” Willy sneezed.

“I suppose we need not bow to convention,” he said going to shut it, “As you are quite safe with me.”

“I have no doubt,” she said sniffing.

Blake walked to the side of the bed. Her nose was red and her small face looked lost among the pillows. A thick plait hung over a bare, rosy shoulder, making her appear even younger than her eighteen years.

“How are you feeling? We’ve sent for a doctor.”

“That’s kind of you, but you shouldn’t have bothered.”

“Nonsense. We must take care of you.” Blake perched on the edge of the bed and put his hand to her forehead, feeling her body tense beside him. Her brow was hot but not burning. Her big eyes gazed up at him. “This is my fault,” he said. “We shouldn’t have ridden so far.”

“Oh pish. I can ride all day. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.” She struggled up in the bed and the bedclothes fell away. He caught a glimpse of pert breasts beneath the white lawn nightgown, before she reefed the blanket up to her neck.

“Wilhelmina…”

“I wish you’d call me Willy. Everyone does.”

“Very well, Willy. When you’re feeling better I thought you might go to London, stay at Dangerfield House. Mother will take you shopping.”

She fumbled for her handkerchief. “I’m to return home on Wednesday.”

“Perhaps that can be changed.” There was a knock at the door, and he stood. “Enter.”

The door opened and a grey-haired gentleman came in with the maid. “Here’s the apothecary,” Blake said. “He’ll put you to rights.”

Blake left Willy in the care of the apothecary and went to join his mother. He’d come to the conclusion that if she was to be his wife, she would need instruction and a touch of town bronze. He was damned if he would be leg-shackled to a country waif. His mother would delight in taking care of it all. It would distract her from him and kill two birds with one stone, leaving him to take up life where he left off.

“But the season doesn’t start until Parliament begins,” she said. “London will be nigh-on deserted.”

“I thought you’d rush at the chance of a trip to London.”

She cocked her head. “I would, but I know your motives only too well, Blake.”

“It would be better for Willy to find her feet without too many social engagements to fill, don’t you agree?”

“It’s Willy, now is it?”

“That’s what she wishes me to call her,” he said frowning.

She laughed. “All right, you’ve convinced me. And I see you are right. I’ll send a message to her father. We’ll leave at the end of the week.” She looked into his face. “What do you plan to do while we are in London, by the way?”

Blake smiled at his mother’s acuity. “I must oversee the work needed about the estate. I’ll join you there shortly.”

* * * *

After the apothecary departed, leaving a foul-smelling brew for Willy to take twice daily, she lay back on the pillows and thought about Blake. This was not unusual, for her thoughts had hardly strayed from him since she was first told of his father’s wish for her to marry his son. She still didn’t understand why. She had only met Lord Dangerfield on a few occasions. The last had been when he’d helped her out of a tree with a stray kitten. He’d taken her to the kitchen and found a saucer of milk. Such a kind man. Blake
was
endeavouring to be kind, but that only made her feel a deep foreboding. She would use the months before their marriage to try and measure up to what he wanted. If only she was more of a natural flirt like Amabel. She fluttered her eye lashes at every man in proximity!

She sighed. It would be awful to marry a man who didn’t love her. And yet if she didn’t, he would lose Hawkeswood. That horrid will. If she couldn’t detect any sign of love in Blake’s irresistible blue eyes, she would leave straight after the wedding. But where could she go? Her father would be shocked if she returned home and she would be unable to wed anyone else, of course. Father may relish a companion when all the other girls had left home. And she might become a blue-stocking—reading was, after all, a favorite pastime. These thoughts lowered her spirits even further. She sighed again and closed her eyes, allowing Blake’s chiselled features and strong, manly body to swim into her mind’s eye. She could draw him perfectly from memory. In time she may have to.

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Chapter Four

Another day passed before Willy felt well enough to get up. She found the breakfast room empty and ate her muffins and tea by herself. Crowley told her that Blake rode out early and her aunt took breakfast in bed. It was not yet eight o’clock and one of those perfect autumn days when the sun still retained enough heat to warm one’s bones.

Donning her pelisse and bonnet, she ventured out and went for a long walk. The gardens were dressed in their autumn foliage, the trees a stunning variety of crimsons, russets and golds. She ambled along the path and down a graceful, stone stairway flanked by enormous marble urns. They led to a long sweep of lawn. Spying a statue on a plinth in the distance she strode towards it. Before she reached it, she saw something lying stretched out on the grass. At first, she thought it a pile of autumn leaves. On closer inspection she found a fox cub. As she knelt down to him, he lifted his head, his dark eyes pleading.

“Oh, you poor, poor thing,” she said, stroking the red-gold coat. How beautiful he was. He’d hurt a leg, probably in one of those horrid traps. It was broken, dangling at an odd angle. She knew just what to do about it. She’d splinted one of her dogs back home when he broke his leg jumping from a high wall.

Picking the cub up carefully, she cradled him against her chest. He didn’t struggle. Perhaps he knew that she was a friend, or was too weak to care.

Willy carried him along the path. As she rounded the corner of the house, she came face to face with Blake.

“I’m glad to see you out and about,” he began. He looked surprised. “What on earth do you have there?”

“A fox cub. He’s hurt his leg. I’ll have to splint it.”

“You’ll do what?”

“A splint. You use a straight piece of…”

“I know what a splint is, Willy! But this is fox hunting country. We can’t keep a fox here.”

“Why not? When his leg is healed he will go and join the other foxes.” Her lip trembled. “And then you can hunt him down and kill him.”

“For Lord’s sake!” Blake searched her face as she hugged the animal in her arms. “Come on, then. It’s destroying your gown. Fortunately, that’s no great loss.” He turned and headed back towards the stables. “We’ll get my groom to splint it.”

“And feed and water him until he’s strong again?” she called after him.

“All right!”

Early the next morning, Willy returned to the stables. Blake found her there. The fox had a stall all to itself. He was sitting up, his ears pricked. “Won’t be long before its leg is mended,” he said. “Then you must let it go, Willy.”