Marguerite Kaye - Date with a Regency Rake

Giving her temper full reign, Amelia’s voice rose shrilly. Her face became unattractively red and tears flowed rather unbecomingly down her cheeks. A bout of crying was one of the few things that drew attention away from her charms. For a few moments, there was silence in the parlour, interrupted only by hearty sobbing. Amelia cried with a passion, her shoulders heaving, her face hidden in her arms, as she sprawled once more on a seat at the table.

Eventually the tears turned to hiccups and she looked up, a sorry sight, hair tangled and lying damp on her cheeks, eyes puffed and red, to continue her lamentations. ‘And if I’m to marry without a dowry, then it stands to reason that I’ll have to resort to some underhand behaviour , as some people have called it. It stands to reason that I’ll have to be less than honest in my dealings, as some may accuse me. It’s just that fate needs a helping hand sometimes. And if some people can’t see that, well, that’s their problem, not mine. And what’s more, if that’s the way some people think, well … then they’ll find that I’ll refuse to see them again. Not ever! Then they’ll be sorry.’ The sobbing resumed, but more quietly now. The storm had almost worn itself out.

Smiling inwardly, Clarissa realised they had finally come to the crux of the matter, the real reason for Amelia’s tears. Amelia’s plans for tricking Kit into marriage had obviously been in part revealed to Edward last night. And Mr Brompton, bless him for the honest man he must be, had obviously severely upbraided Amelia. The fact that Amelia had listened sufficiently to be able to quote his reservations back word for word this morning was evidence enough of her affections being engaged, would she just admit it. With satisfaction, Clarissa realised that Amelia was, rather astonishingly, falling in love with this sober and righteous young man.

Trying to persuade Amelia that Edward and his reservations should be paid heed was, however, beyond Clarissa’s capabilities for the present. With resolution borne of experience, Clarissa decided to sit back and let Amelia cry herself out, inwardly calmer herself now in the knowledge that she was right to pursue a course of separating her sister from Kit Rasenby. And hopeful too that Edward had played a part in putting at least some obstacles in the way of Amelia’s plot to trick Kit.

But it took the rest of the morning and well into the early afternoon for Amelia’s tears to run dry. Only then did she allow Clarissa to dose her with hartshorn and water, tuck her up in a darkened room, and leave her to sleep off the damage done to her complexion.

Which left Clarissa with little time to continue her own reflections before having to ready herself for her assignation with Kit in the park. He would say yes, he had to say yes. And if he turned her down—well, that simply wasn’t an option. She told herself, with more bravado than conviction, that she would persuade him—somehow—to come round to her way of thinking.

Had she been aware of just how Kit had spent his extremely busy morning, Clarissa would have been more than a little perturbed. As it was, she set out for the Green Park by hack, looking smart in a pale green merino walking dress and matching spencer, a gift from her aunt. Her feet were clad in boots of Morocco leather, and a reticule of her own design dangled from her wrist. A treasured pair of kid gloves and a simple poke hat completed the outfit. Clarissa was content with her appearance, and happy that she looked her best. She carried no muff, it was a luxury she could not afford, but the day was none too cold, and she was not anticipating being in the carriage for long.

With a heart fluttering with anticipation, despite having given herself a stern talking to on the subject of attractive rakes, their kissing abilities, and the need to avoid all such intimate contact in the future—somehow or other—Clarissa paid off the hack, and stepped lightly through the park gates.

Lord Rasenby was waiting in a high-perch phaeton to which two glossy, perfectly matched chestnuts were poled. They were restless, contained with some effort by the small tiger at their heads, and Clarissa looked up at their master, carelessly lounging in the seat of the vehicle, impossibly high off the ground, with some trepidation.

‘Don’t be alarmed, I assure you I have them well under control. Any rake worth his salt, you know, is an expert at mastering even the freshest of fillies.’ The sardonic look that always accompanied any mocking reference to his reputation was tempered by a slight smile. ‘It’s not so high as it looks, just place your foot on the step and I’ll help you up.’ Leaning over to take her hand, Kit pulled Clarrie easily into the carriage and briskly tucked a rug over her knees. His touch was cool and impersonal, but she flushed slightly all the same. With a curt nod of dismissal to the tiger, he jerked sharply on the reins, and the chestnuts set off at a brisk trot.

The few moments it took to get the horses under control allowed Clarissa to rein in her own feelings at the proximity of this man. His thigh brushed hers through the rug, for the seat was narrow. She could not but be aware of that hard, muscled body which his caped greatcoat did nothing to hide. He was every bit as overpowering as she remembered. Every bit as attractive. And every bit as dangerous , she chided herself. Think only of what you have to achieve, and make sure you do it with regard to your own safety, Clarissa Warrington.

‘I congratulate you for your punctuality, Clarissa, it’s not a trait common to your sex.’

His words startled her from her thoughts, and she replied with unthinking asperity. ‘As I believe I have been at pains to point out to you, sir, I am not inclined to be taken for the common herd. I pride myself on being punctual.’

‘And frank, too. You could not be accused of reticence.’

She laughed. ‘Yes, that too. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that—well, I hate being judged. I know you’ll think me foolish, but you’ve no idea how irritating it is when people assume you are just the same as every other young lady. I try not to be so predictable.’

‘You do me a disservice, madam. I sympathise with your frustration and assure you I understand only too well both your feelings and your reaction. But are you not being a little hypocritical, for did you not so judge me—as a rake—when first we met, in exactly the same way?’

‘Yes, I did, and it was wrong of me. Although I have to say that you’ve been at great pains to confirm me in my assumptions, have you not?’ A glance at him showed, from the lips firmly suppressed, that she had hit home. ‘And when I did point out that you were hiding behind your reputation, you were not best pleased.’ Another glance showed that he was not best pleased again. Oh dear, her unfortunate tongue—when would she learn to guard it? ‘I’m sorry. I fear I have offended you once more. And I so meant not to—offend you, I mean. I meant to be more propitiating .’

A crack of laughter made her look up, an answering sparkle in her own eyes.

‘You think that’s funny. I know what you’re thinking.’

‘I doubt it. Pray tell me.’

‘That my behaviour is hardly conducive to achieving my goal. Getting you to agree to my proposition, that is. And I do most abjectly apologise, for contrary to what I may have said, and even with the benefit of a night’s reflection, I do want you to agree.’

‘Actually, I was thinking that you’re the most unpredictable woman I’ve ever had dealings with. And I was thinking that I would very much like to kiss you again. So you see, my fair Clarissa, you’re not as able to read my mind as you think you are.’ A smile, warmer than before, softened the words.