The Rake Enraptured Read online

  "You should only bed a woman with whom you are certain you could spend the rest of your life."

  They walked several strides in silence, and she realized she was panting from the effort of walking quickly and talking at the same time. She slowed a trifle. Where were those children? They knew the park too well, hid too well. They could be anywhere by now, could even have circled around at the end of the wilderness, and be back at the house. The entire park was designed to conceal, to delight the visitor with sudden, unexpected vistas. It was easy to pass unseen if one wanted to.

  "That is very restrictive," he offered.

  "Yes. Quite."

  "I can't think it realistic."

  "And yet we are told it is God's will."

  "We are told. Yet if one takes the position-"

  "Enough of your positions. There are words, and then there are facts, and basic decency. We were made to cleave one to another. Not spread ourselves around like venereal disease."

  "Good heavens. You really are a woman of the world, Miss Preston."

  "Oh hush. Let me tell you, you will never achieve true joy and satisfaction in life until you discover a loving union blessed and sanctified by God. And since you are obviously incapable of such a state, you shall never be truly happy."

  "I am generally accounted a very happy man," he said meekly.

  "Delusion."

  "Again you seem very certain. Have you made such a study of me, then, to know me better than I know myself? Better than my closest friends know me?"

  "I know enough about people, and how we were intended to live."

  "Then how is it you yourself have not attained such a blessed state of happiness?"

  "I," she said loftily, "am discerning."

  He laughed softly. "Ah. And so we come full circle. I am to be guided by your solitary state of celibacy, I see."

  "There are worse fates."

  "Not that I can imagine."

  "You are harsh," she said, stung.

  "Honest. For it is such an intrinsic delight, such a basic life pleasure-"

  "Say rather base."

  "-that to deny oneself is to deny life itself," he went on as if she had not interrupted. "Such denial is a corruption of all that is good in our nature."

  "All that is good? How you undervalue humanity, Mr Holbrook. We are so much more than our base desires. We are-"

  "I can only suggest you say such things out of ignorance, Miss Preston."

  "Well of course I am ignorant. How else would you have me be? No, don't answer that," she added hastily as she saw him open his mouth, a delighted gleam in his eyes. "I have no interest in your preferences. But I am absolutely certain beyond all shadow of doubt that such congress is a tiny portion of the lives we must lead under heaven."

  "And I am absolutely certain such congress is heaven on earth."

  "Don't add blasphemy to your other sins."

  "Why would the God who so intelligently designed us, craft us to enjoy this so much if not because it fit his grand purpose?"

  "Certainly. Within the bounds of marriage."

  "But not all lovers are equal. Some are far more intriguing and delightful than others."

  "I would not know," she said forbiddingly.

  "Only think how you will have thwarted God's purpose for you if you settle for a mediocre lover as a husband."

  "I have greater faith."

  "I'm sure. And yet you can't deny you see the results of such unions everywhere you go. Husbands unhappy with wives; wives unhappy with husbands; rampant infidelity. You can't tell me this is a system functioning well. For a surety it is not."

  "What would you prefer, then? For us all to try out each and every prospective partner until we find the most . . ." she groped for a word, "suitable? How repulsive!"

  "Perhaps that is what I am doing. I am searching for the perfect companion of my heart."

  She could not explain why her own heart gave an odd lurch at his words. "Pretty mouthings cannot whitewash your choices."

  "Even I do not know what I seek," he confessed softly, and there was an uncomfortable ring of truth to the utterance, intimate in the quiet of the glade through which they passed, as he sought out her gaze. "I don't know what I'm looking for, beyond the immediacy of mutual pleasure. I don't know the reason for my restlessness. Call me a hedonist if you like, but I truly see no better alternative."

  "Try harder," she urged him, caught by this moment of vulnerability. "You could be better than you are."

  "You think?"

  "Well I . . . I would like to believe there is potential for everyone to move beyond darkness into light."

  "But the dark is so warm. So lusciously full of every sweet thing."

  She saw again the darkness of his bedroom, felt the hard heat of his naked chest against her body, his mouth on hers, drawing her in, the most perfect trap. "No. It is all trickery."

  "Would you lead me, Miss Preston? Julia? Would you take my hand and lead me into the light?" He reached out, clasped her hand and brought it to his mouth for a fervent kiss, pulling her to a halt as he looked at her under his brows, as darkly intent as his words.

  "I . . . You must find your own way, Mr Holbrook."

  "I cannot. I stumble on the path."

  "Try harder."

  "I fall by the wayside. Help me, Julia." His voice was husky, and there was a plea in it that was not in his eyes, which commanded her to do she knew not what.

  "I can't," she said, faltering.

  "You will not even try. You will not bring me to redemption."

  "I don't have the power. You are sunk too deep."

  "Only one such as you could have the power. A strong woman. A good woman. The best sort of temptation."

  Oh, and it was tempting. To think that she, Julia Preston, might save such a notorious rake, might guide him, set him upon a steadier life, a truer course. How much good would that bring to the world? Surely she would be selfish to deny him.

  But she searched his face, and found no remorse there. Only the subtle hint of satisfied anticipation, like a cat about to pounce. She pulled her hand away, and stood still, facing him.

  "I think you are very cunning," she said quietly. "And I think you are a waste. That your intellect, which could have been turned to greatness, is spent on such evil idleness-" she shook her head. "It is a tragedy. You show me the potential of you, and I swear it could bring me to tears." The truth of her own words brought wetness to her eyes and she was embarrassed but refused to falter. Let him see she really meant what she said. "You are wrong. Your choices are wrong. Be better, Mr Holbrook. And leave me alone. I will not let you drag me down."

  Then she turned and walked away.

  He did not follow.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  She sat at the top of a long slope that rolled away down to the ornamental lake. Just here a fold of the man-made hillside hid her from sight of the house, and she could pretend there was no one for miles. The water gleamed with a pearlescent luster, reflecting the pale blue sky, yellow at the horizon. The air was warm and still, the light buttery. Between her fingers the grass was a lush carpet. Her book lay open to one side, but she had been reading the letter from her grandmother that had arrived with the post this morning.

  Grandmere was a skillful writer and her vivacity shone out clearly between the lines, making Julia alternately laugh and shake her head at the woman’s reflections. The French comtesse had morals widely divergent from the staid, modern English norm. Each missive was full of scandal, and often intimate reflections. Hardly the sort of thing one should write of to a young descendant, but Grandmere was a law unto herself.

  Julia sighed fitfully. She would dearly love to see her grandmother, but she did not have the leisure for travel, and neither of them had enough money for it. In the two years since she had taken this post she had not seen London. Each year she had hoped the Trents would relocate the entire family for the season, and each year the Trents had decided they could manage perfectly well
without their children. No need to disturb their studies and distract them with the attractions of the City.

  There were times she regretted her wasted coming-out season, thought of the opportunities she had squandered. A more focused, determined woman would have found a husband who lived in town, and would be running her own household now. Might even have children, and more than five dresses to her name. Could see her grandmother any time she chose.

  The only casualty would be love. Though even that looked more unlikely with every year that passed. When she was at her most forlorn, she imagined she should have applied herself to the task of marriage and pursued it with no thought of romance or passion. Any husband was better than lonely spinsterhood.

  Today was not so glum. Today she felt certain the world was a kindly place, and she could trust to time to bring her love and a family of her own.

  She ran her fingers through the grass, and smiled a little.

  “I see your charges are missing. Safely in bed, I take it?”

  Her head wilted on her neck, so her face came to rest on her raised knees, and for a moment she hid there as if she could pretend to be still alone. Then she took a deep breath for courage, and sat up straight. She did not turn to him for another breath, trying to decide how to be with him. Harsh? Angry? Still, she could not summon the ardor to joust. The evening was to still, too peaceful and beautiful for quarreling.

  “Mr Holbrook,” she sighed in quiet acknowledgment.

  “Miss Preston. Has your day been pleasant?” He paused and waited for her answer as if he were truly interested.

  “Excellent.” She stared up at him, the perfection of his face, moulded over strong bones, gilded by the last light of the late afternoon sun, unreal almost, save for the two scars beneath his jawline, that from this angle she saw for the first time. So beautiful an outside, it was difficult to remember he was so flawed within. One wanted to believe there was a purpose to such beauty. A reason for it; that it was a physical embodiment of a goodness that dwelt within.

  Even as she acknowledged her own fallibility she could not help smiling at him, bemused by that face. Heavens, but he was attractive.

  His eyebrows went up and his own expression lightened. “You seem happy.”

  “It’s easy to be, in such surroundings.”

  “I can see why you’ve escaped here. I imagine the house is more raucous than you’re accustomed to.” He gestured towards the hidden house. “Congenial as the company is, conversation can pall after awhile.”

  “Yes,” she said with heavy significance, and he chuckled.

  “You poor creature. Especially for you, with children all day and then we annoying lot at night. I can’t imagine anything more exhausting.”

  “The children are not so terrible,” she said. “And they were attentive today, for a miracle. I think they find these hot days trying. A classroom is hardly a pleasant place to be.”

  “No. And I doubt they appreciate the boon of your own unwavering attention.” He looked down into her raised face, and she read approval in his expression. She lowered her eyelashes, and stared at the lake, her heart leaping inside her.

  “Of course not,” she said, a touch of derision turning the subtle compliment into a joke. “I’d be astonished if it were otherwise.”

  “None of them are natural scholars?”

  “Oh no. Well, Sophie might be if she thought there was any profit to it. But she’s been taught there’s nothing more important than pretty dresses and hats and ribbons, and I can’t get her to change her mind. Amy is far gone down that path, dreaming only of a husband, and thinks learning is pointless. Elizabeth is only five. And Albert believes there’s nothing I can teach him that the schoolmasters at Eton won’t know a hundred times as much about. He is tired of nannies and governesses, he tells me. Enough of the company of women.” She repeated the words lightly, though she had not been pleased to have him say it to her face.

  “Foolish boy,” said Mr Holbrook sardonically, and sat. “When he has been at that school a week or two, I think he will regret what he has lost.”

  “How so?”

  “It is not a gentle place.” He was barely two feet from her, and she fought the urge to draw her skirts in close around her legs as if it would increase the distance, suddenly self-conscious again. “Still, it’s a system that won’t change so long as the gentry persist in sending their sons there. There is a climate of hazing and almost ritualized abuse.”

  “How awful. You went to Eton?”

  “Yes, to my sorrow.” He said it lightly, and she did not know how to react. The thought of him tormented as a child was vastly uncomfortable, and very different from her knowledge of him.

  “Was it so horrid?” she said, tentative. “I don’t like to think of poor Bertie suffering.” Would Mr Holbrook have been as comparatively large or athletic as his peers when he was a boy? Perhaps he had once been small and vulnerable.

  “Not so bad when you have the way of it. And certainly some thrive. I was fortunate enough. But the induction process is harsh. If it’s any satisfaction, your Bertie will miss you more than you can imagine.”

  “No, it’s no comfort. Poor boy.” It was not only Albert she spoke of, but also that imagined little boy. Colin.

  “It must be difficult to care for children and watch them go out of your hands without having any say.”

  “It is the nature of things, for governesses.”

  “I imagine you’d prefer to teach your own children.”

  She tilted her head towards him, puzzled by this turn of conversation. “I think that would be very pleasant,” she said slowly.

  He met her eyes, and smiled a crooked, rueful smile, and shrugged. “I find I don’t like to think of you as sad.”

  “Then pray don’t, Mr Holbrook. I am quite content, I assure you.”

  A small breeze lifted and turned the pages of her book, and she transferred a hand to still them before they could reveal the letter folded inside, from her grandmother. She closed the book and set it aside. “You are in a very different sort of mood tonight.” She had never heard him speak of his past to anyone at all.

  “I could say the same for you.”

  Perhaps that was true. The day had gone well and swiftly, and with duties finished and a light meal eaten alone in her room, she had then enjoyed a good hour to herself here in the fresh air, reading the letter sent to her. Letters from Grandmere always lifted her spirits. “The lovely evening, as I said,” she excused her unnatural tolerance of him. “An aberration.” After reading even glancing references to Grandmere’s current affaire with Lord Admiral Horton, it was difficult to condemn him so thoroughly for his philandering. He was a product of his world.

  “The evening or your easy mood?”

  “Both, I’m sure,” she said, and smiled. “Was your day amusing?”

  “I find I am weary of picnics and promenades around the flower beds.”

  “Good heavens. Mrs Trent would be horrified if she knew. I suppose she imagined the wealth of young women would assuage any pangs of boredom among the gentlemen.”

  “Miss Preston!” He pretended shock.

  “I didn’t specify what you might do with those women to stave off boredom. You supplied that detail yourself, in your own mind.”

  “I did. That’s true,” he confessed readily. “The impropriety is all mine.”

  “Speaking of impropriety, you are doing this too often. Seeking me out, I mean.” She lifted her chin, determined to correct him despite that traitorous, well-hidden liking she had for his attentions. Best he halt this flirtation, strange product of her midnight visit to his room. “It has been noticed, and it is an embarrassment to me.”

  “Are you so easily influenced by the opinions of others?”

  “Of course. There is no place in the world for a scandalous governess.”

  “Are you always sensible? Can I not lure you into a little impulsiveness?” His tone was whimsical.

  “No.” Not mor
e than she had already indulged in.

  “So unequivocal?”

  “Of course. I have no leeway to be foolish. This is my livelihood-”

  “You are too serious. Life is too short to live with the regret of experiences missed.” He picked several strands of grass and rolled them between his fingertips.

  She could not help watching the movement, thought of his fingers on her body, and shivered. “And you are too flippant. About everything. Do you hold nothing sacred?”

  “Very little. Oh, once I was a romantic boy. I believed in the sacred and the divine, and valued innocence with a sweet and passionate fervor. But when it’s gone you have to find something new to believe in.”

  “Do you?” How had he had lost the innocence he had once thought precious?

  “I’m afraid so. We can’t live without belief in something.”

  “So what is it you believe now?”

  “That life is for living. Not for rules, not for blind convention or hypocrisy, but for play, for sensation-”

  “For hedonism and sin.” She said the words without heat, almost curious to hear his response.

  “You like that word, don’t you? Sin. You still have the security of your own innocence-”

  “Security? You mean ignorance, when you say it like that, but it is its own armor-”

  “I know, and I-”

  “And yet you would take it from me, if you could.” She saw his brows draw together in the beginning of a frown. “That is what this is all about, is it not? This pursuit of yours? You would like me to lose my certainties, so you can point your finger and say ‘see, now you are the same as I.’” She did not believe it, but she wanted to see him squirm.

  “I am not so petty. You misunderstand completely.”

  “Then why do it? Why persecute me as you do? Would you have me believe you wish to regain your lost innocence? To assume it through what? Proximity? You tell me the way you live is the natural outcome of your brokenness-”

  “I never said I was broken,” he said sharply.

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “You talk philosophy, but my intent is far simpler.” He turned towards her, and suddenly he was intent, looking at her with narrowed eyes under his dark brows. “I want to enjoy your body. I want you to enjoy it, to use it as it was made to be used-”