Marguerite Kaye - Rake with a Frozen Heart

‘None the less you did, Miss Markham. And I resent the implication.’

‘Well, it was a natural enough assumption to make, given your reputation,’ she retorted, placed firmly on the back foot, a position to which she was most unused.

‘On the contrary. One should never make assumptions until one has a full grasp of all the facts.’

‘What facts?’

‘You are, as you point out, in my bed, in your underwear, yet you have been neither ravaged nor despoiled.’

‘Haven’t I? No, of course I haven’t. I mean—do you mean that you’re not a rake, then?’

‘I am not, Miss Markham, in the habit of defending my character to you, or anyone else for that matter,’ Rafe said, no longer amused but furious. He might indeed be a rake, though he despised the term, but he was very far from being a libertine. The notion that he would wantonly sire children in pursuit of his own pleasure was a particular anathema to him. He prided himself on the fact that his rules of engagement were strict. His raking was confined to females who understood those rules, who expected nothing from him. His encounters were physical, not emotional. Innocents, even if they were wide-eyed and lying half-naked in his bed, were quite safe. Not that he was about to tell this particular innocent that.

Henrietta cowered against the pillow, taken aback by the shift in mood. If he was the rake common knowledge called him, then why should the earl take such umbrage? It was well known that all rakes were unprincipled, debauched, irresponsible….

But here her thoughts stuttered to a halt, having come full circle. He might be a rake, but he hadn’t—though perhaps that was because he didn’t find her attractive enough? A strangely deflating thought. And a ridiculous one! As if she should mind at all that a notorious rake thought so little of her that he hadn’t tried to seduce her. Which reminded her. ‘How did I come to be in your—I mean, this bed?’ she asked, grasping at this interesting and unanswered question with some relief.

‘I found you quite unconscious. I thought you were dead at first, and despite what you have been imagining, Miss Markham, I much prefer my conquests both compos mentis and willing. You can be reassured, I made no attempt to molest you. Had I done so, you would not have readily forgotten the experience. Something else I pride myself upon,’ Rafe said sardonically.

Henrietta shivered. She had absolutely no doubt that he was entitled to boast of his prowess. His look told her he had once again read her thoughts. Once again she dropped her gaze, plucking at the scalloped edge of the sheet. ‘Where did you find me?’

‘In a ditch. I rescued you from it.’

This information was so surprising that Henrietta let fall the bedclothes shielding her modesty. ‘Goodness! Really? Truly?’ She sat up quickly, forgetting all about her aching head, then sank back on to the pillows with a little moan as the pain hit her. ‘Where?’ she asked weakly. ‘I mean, where was this ditch?’

‘In the grounds of my estate.’

‘But how did I come to be there?’

‘I rather hoped you could tell me that.’

‘I don’t know if I can.’ Henrietta put her fingers carefully to the back of her head where a large lump was forming on her skull. ‘Someone hit me.’ She winced at the memory. ‘Hard. Why would someone do that?’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Rafe replied. ‘Perhaps whoever it was found your judgemental attitude tedious.’ The hurt expression on her face didn’t provide the usual sense of satisfaction he experienced when one of his well-aimed barbs struck home. On this occasion something more like guilt pricked him. She really was looking quite pale, too. Perhaps Mrs Peters was right, perhaps he should have summoned the local quack. ‘Apart from the blow to the head, how are you feeling?’

The true answer was awful, but it was obvious from the falsely solicitous tone of his voice that awful was not the answer he wished to hear. ‘I’m quite well,’ Henrietta said, striving and failing to keep the edge out of her voice, ‘at least I’m sure I will be directly. You need not concern yourself unduly.’

He had been ungracious, not something that would normally bother him, but her not pointing it out somehow did. Rather too quick with her opinions she most certainly was, but Henrietta Markham was not capricious. Her frankness, when it was not rude, was refreshing.

The memory of her curves pressed against him as he had lifted her from the ditch crept unbidden into his mind. Awareness took Rafe by surprise. It irked him that he remembered so clearly. Why should he? ‘You may, of course, take as long as you require to recuperate,’ he said. ‘What I want to know right now is who hit you and, more importantly, why they abandoned you on my land.’

‘What you really mean is, why didn’t they pick somewhere less inconvenient to dump me?’ Henrietta retorted. She gasped, pressed her hand over her mouth, but it was too late, the words were out.

Rafe laughed. He couldn’t help it, she was amusing in a strange kind of way. His laugh sounded odd. He realised it was because he hadn’t heard it for such a long time. ‘Yes, you are quite right,’ he said. ‘I would have happily seen you abandoned at the very gates of Hades instead, but you are here now.’

He had a nice laugh. And though he might be ungracious, at least he was honest. She liked that. Henrietta smiled tentatively. ‘I didn’t mean to be quite so frank.’

‘You are a dreadful liar, Miss Markham.’

‘I know. I mean—Oh dear.’

‘Hoist with your own petard, I think you would call that.’

The band of pain around Henrietta’s head tightened, making her wince. ‘ Touché , my lord. You want me gone, I am sure you have things to do. If I could just have a moment to collect myself, I will get dressed and be out of your way directly.’

She had turned quite pale. Rafe felt a twinge of compassion. As she had so clearly refrained from pointing out, it was not her fault she had landed on his doorstep, any more than it was his. ‘There is no rush. Perhaps if you had something to eat, you might feel a little better. Then you may remember what happened to you.’

‘I would not wish to put you out any more than I have already done,’ Henrietta said unconvincingly.

Once again, he felt his mouth quirk. ‘You are as poor a prevaricator as you are a liar. Come, the least I can do is give you breakfast before you go. Do you feel up to getting out of bed?’

He was not exactly smiling at her, but his expression had lost that hard edge, as if a smile might not be entirely beyond him. Also, she was ravenous. And he did deserve answers, if only she could come up with some. So Henrietta stoically told him that, yes, she would get out of bed, though the thought of it made her feel quite nauseous. He was already heading for the door. ‘My lord, please, wait.’

‘Yes?’ She had dropped the sheet in her anxiety to call him back. Long tendrils of chestnut hair, curling wildly, trailed over her white shoulders. Her chemise was made of serviceable white cotton. He could plainly see the ripe swell of her breasts, unconfined by stays. Rafe reluctantly dragged his gaze away.

‘My dress, where is it?’ Realising that she had dropped the sheet, Henrietta clutched it up around her neck, telling herself stoutly there was nothing to be ashamed of to be found to be wearing a plain white-cotton chemise which, after all, was clean. Nevertheless, clean or no, she couldn’t help wishing it hadn’t been quite so plain. She wondered who had removed her gown.

‘My housekeeper undressed you,’ the earl replied in answer to her unasked question. ‘Your dress was soaking wet and we did not wish you to catch a chill. I’ll lend you something until it is dry.’ He returned a few moments later with a large, and patently masculine, dressing gown, which he laid on the chair, informing her breakfast would be served in half an hour precisely, before striding purposefully out of the room.