Читать книгу Date with a Regency Rake - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 10

On her return from the ball Clarissa went straight upstairs to bed, but the long night brought her little comfort. She dreamt of surrendering to a passionate figure in a black domino, a dream that left her hot, flushed, and far from rested. Sitting up in bed to drink her morning chocolate—her one indulgence before facing the day—she tried to shake off the mists of sleep. Kit Rasenby, she reminded herself, was not a man to whom she should surrender anything, not even in her dreams! But the image of his strong, muscular body, his voice husky and flushed with passion, pressed naked against her own flesh, remained obstinately in her mind.

In person, Kit Rasenby had been completely unexpected. She had not counted on the strong pull of attraction she could feel between them, nor had she counted on him being so plain spoken. Amelia’s description had led her to expect a man of the world, that was true, but one like the rest of the ton. Instead, Lord Rasenby stood out from the crowd, and his attractions were not those of a primped and perfect macaroni, but of a clean-cut, athletic, very masculine man.

Clarissa reminded herself once again not to confuse the outer man with the inner. He only looked clean cut and honest. His bitter remark, that all women wanted to be recompensed for their favours one way or another, came from deep within. In many ways, Clarissa could empathise with this. In fact, thinking about her sister, she could understand completely why Lord Rasenby was so very cynical. She fought the urge, growing deep in the recesses of her mind, to prove him wrong. She was not such a woman. She could be his equal. Only by recalling her mission, to save her sister—and her virtue—from his clutches, did she remind herself that her interests in him as a man, a lost cause, or any sort of acquaintance would be of necessity of very short duration. When Kit Rasenby found her out as a deceiver, she had no doubt he would never forgive her.

But she couldn’t subdue the wistful thought that during their short time together, she might prove to him that women—or at least one woman—could be different.

Sitting in the small parlour after breakfast, Clarissa attempted to put together the week’s menus. Amelia’s seemingly endless requests for new dresses, new shoes, and new hats, made economy an absolute necessity, which meant that their meals were very plain fare indeed. Menu-planning was one of Clarissa’s most hated tasks. It was not surprising, therefore, that it took a while for Lady Maria’s strange behaviour to penetrate her consciousness. Eventually, though, Clarissa became aware that her mama was a little more animated than normal. Instead of occupying her usual position on the chaise lounge, she was sitting upright at the little writing desk, frantically scribbling in a notebook.

‘Mama, what is it that you are working on? May I help?’

Lady Maria jumped and tried, not very successfully, to assume an air of nonchalance. ‘Help? No, no, dear, not at all. I’m just doing some sums, trying to look at our expenses, you know. Amelia needs a new dress, she was saying just yesterday, and her dancing slippers are quite worn away again.’

‘Mama, you know that you have no head for figures. Here, let me help you.’ Wresting the notebook from Lady Maria’s grasp, Clarissa failed to notice her mama’s aghast expression. But looking at the vast sums that had been scribbled, in writing that became less legible with each number, she turned to her in dismay.

‘What on earth are all these numbers? These are far too large to be household expenses. Mama, what can they be?’

‘It’s nothing for you to worry about, Clarissa, dear. They’re just jottings. Give them back to me.’

Ignoring her mother’s desperate attempt to reclaim the notebook, Clarissa continued to look in confusion at the numbers. ‘Mama, please tell me what these are. Come, let us sit down and talk comfortably. Where is your tisane, for you look in need of it to me?’ As she spoke, Clarissa ushered her mother over on to her habitual seat, and, pulling up a stool, sat down beside her. ‘Now, what can be so awful that you can’t tell me?’

‘They’re my gambling debts.’ The bald statement was blurted out with relief. Surely, now that she had confessed, thought Lady Maria, Clarrie would fix it. She always did.

But for once her daughter, transfixed with horror, had nothing to say.

‘You see, I thought, if I could win, then I could help with Amelia’s gowns,’ Lady Maria explained. ‘For if she is to save our fortunes through a good marriage then she needs to be tricked out properly—even you would agree, Clarrie. And she says that she’s so close to finalising things with Lord Rasenby, I thought I could help. But I kept losing. And then a nice man at the party said he would assist me with my stake money, and I thought, surely I couldn’t lose for ever. But I did, Clarrie, I did. And now that nice man is dunning me, and I just don’t know what to do.’

‘Mama, don’t, please don’t tell me that you’ve actually borrowed money to gamble with?’

The abject horror in her voice made Lady Maria defensive. ‘What of it? Everyone does it, Mrs Barrington says, and why should I not do so, when I’m bound to win soon.’

‘Mrs Barrington? And what, pray, has she to say to this?’

‘Well, she first introduced me to the party where I’ve been playing. And last night, when I had a quiet word with her, she said not to worry, she’d speak to the young man who is dunning me. Except, Clarrie, I can’t help but feel I’d rather have you sort things out, you’re so very good at it. I’d rather not rely on strangers, even if Mrs Barrington is such a good friend to Amelia, when I know can rely on you. My own trusty Clarissa.’

Lady Maria beamed gratefully at her daughter. She felt hugely better, having relieved her conscience and passed the burden, as always, to Clarissa.

But Clarissa was flabbergasted. The sums she owed, if the notebook was accurate, were beyond belief. ‘Mama, you have not made any more arrangements for funds with Mrs Barrington, have you?’

‘No, no, I promise. I just mentioned it in passing last night, I haven’t exactly committed to anything.’

‘And this man who is dunning you, when does he expect payment?’

‘Well, as to that, I couldn’t say. He merely says that he wants something on account soon, if I am to rely on him for further stake money.’

‘Mama! You must not, under any circumstances whatsoever, take more money from him. You must stop this gambling at once. You won’t win, you know, you will only put us further in debt. Please, I beg you, promise me, Mama, that you will stop.’

‘Well, I—well, but do you think you can fix things, Clarrie? For Amelia must have her dress, you know. We can’t expect Lord Rasenby to put us in funds until after they are married, once a settlement is agreed. And that is probably at least a month or so hence.’

‘There is no question of Amelia marrying Lord Rasenby, absolutely none. We must sort out this mess ourselves, and you must refrain—Mama, you must—from further gambling in the meantime.’

‘But, Clarrie, Amelia assures me that Lord Rasenby is about to propose. And if he does not, where will we be? No, no, Amelia cannot be wrong. She was born to make a sensational match, and she will.’

‘Mama!’ Clarissa’s temper was rising rapidly beyond her control for the second time in two days. Taking a deep breath, knowing that harsh words would only give Lady Maria one of her turns, she tried once more for calm. ‘Believe me, Lord Rasenby’s intentions towards Amelia are purely dishonourable, no matter what Amelia may say. I know. Nay, I am certain of it. Amelia must be made to give him up, or she will bring us all to ruin.’

‘Well, dear, if you say so,’ said Lady Maria dubiously, torn between doubt and an unwillingness to give up her vision of Lord Rasenby as their saviour. ‘Perhaps, then, a carte blanche—strictly as a temporary measure, you understand—would be a good thing, Clarrie? Then we could see ourselves clear of debt, and after that, Amelia can still make a good marriage. What do you say?’

‘What do I say? Am I the only sane person in this family? Aunt Constance was right, we will be ruined.’

‘Oh, don’t talk to me about your precious Aunt Constance. She is so ridiculously strait-laced as to be positively old-fashioned. And anyway, she’s never been short of a penny, so what does she know? You take after that side of the family, Clarissa, I have always said so. Amelia is so much more like me, the darling girl.’

‘Thank you, Mama, but I am pleased to take after Aunt Constance, if it means I have some moral fibre! I beg you, please, leave this in my hands. Do nothing further to get us deeper in debt. And get it out of your head that Amelia will receive any proposal from Lord Rasenby, honourable or otherwise.’

Lady Maria was far too used to Clarissa sorting their problems to question her abilities to cope with such huge debts, so she sighed, tucked her scarf around herself more comfortably, and dozed peacefully for the rest of the morning. Clarissa retired to her room with her head spinning to try to make sense of the situation.

Amelia flounced in some time later, disrupting her meditations. ‘Why so glum, Clarrie? I hope you’re not still fretting over my virtue. It’s safe enough—for now at any rate.’

‘Did you have a nice night?’

‘Yes, I did, thank you very much, and as I promised, saw no trace of Rasenby. Mr Brompton was most attentive, though. I do like him.’

‘Do you, Amelia? Enough to marry him?’

‘Lord, Clarrie, not that again. I’ve told you, Edward is a clerk in a lawyer’s office, he can hardly keep himself in cravats, never mind marry me. Although, perhaps as a last little fling before I tie myself to Rasenby, he’ll do well enough.’ Amelia laughed contemptuously at Clarissa’s face. ‘You’re so easy to shock, sister dear. Provided that Rasenby gets no whiff of it, why should I not have Edward first? It’s not as if Rasenby would be coming to the marriage bed pure.’

Amelia paused for a moment to reflect. Really, it was too, too vile of Edward to be so poor. And virtuous into the bargain. She was not at all convinced that he would take her to bed unless it was as his wife—even if she paraded naked in front of him! He had found out from Chloe some of Amelia’s doings with Rasenby, and had had the temerity to lecture her. He could lecture her all he wanted if he had the funds. But he didn’t. Frustrated at the unwonted feelings of tenderness Edward aroused in her, and at the necessity of deceiving him, Amelia turned once more on her sister. ‘Yes, I warrant I like Edward enough to marry him. But he has not the means. It’s Rasenby or the poor house, and I will not be going to the poor house.’

Clarissa was shocked. She had not realised just how perfidious her sister had become. She was horrified, too, at how she planned to treat Rasenby. Even had she not already resolved to remove Amelia from his grasp, she would have been forced into warning Rasenby about Amelia! ‘Perhaps you may find that if this Edward is so much to your taste you may settle for him after all?’

‘No, I’ve told you, Clarissa, my plans for Rasenby are unchanged. A few more days and all will be resolved between us, one way or another.’

‘He won’t be trapped into marriage, no matter what your plan.’ Clarissa’s tone was dry. ‘He is far too clever for that. Are you so sure that he is as mad for you as you say?’

‘Of course he’s mad for me, I’m never wrong about these things.’ This with a determined toss of golden curls. ‘I have him wrapped around my finger. And there he’ll stay, be assured, Clarrie, until he puts a ring on it.’

‘That he will never do, I am sure of it. But what of you? How can you contemplate a life of matrimony based on deceit and trickery?’

A scornful laugh was Amelia’s reply to this. ‘Why do you care? It’s not you who’s being tricked. He deserves to be played at his own game, it will serve him well.’

‘No, he never relies on trickery, he is honest in that sense. Really, he does not deserve such treatment.’

‘What are you talking about, Clarissa Warrington? You’ve never met him—what do you know?’

The suspicion in Amelia’s voice reminded Clarissa of the need for secrecy. But it would seem that rather than save Amelia from Lord Rasenby, Clarissa was now intent on saving Lord Rasenby from Amelia. When had come about this switch in loyalty?

‘No, I don’t know him, except by reputation. But it seems to me that, rake as he is, he deals honestly with his conquests. And he does not deserve to be tricked into matrimony. It is a recipe for disaster. For all, including you, Amelia, don’t you see? Dearest, you’d be miserable.’

‘Lord, Clarrie, there’s no reasoning with you. You like to think you’re so practical, but you’re the most pathetic romantic, deep down. I won’t discuss it further. I merely came in to ask you to come for a walk with me. Edward gets an hour for luncheon, and he said he may take the air in the park, so I thought we might bump into him. Do come, Clarrie, you’d like him.’ Amelia’s tone was conciliating, but for once Clarissa was not to be won over.

‘No, I won’t be party to your assignations. It sounds like poor Edward is going to be another man let down by your plotting and scheming. Take Chloe, I’m sure you can persuade her easily enough.’

Amelia flounced out before Clarissa finished her sentence. It wasn’t like Clarrie to be obstinate. Well, she’d show her!

Alone, Clarissa resolved on action. She was sure that there was more to Amelia’s feelings for Edward, if only money were not the issue. If money, in the form of Rasenby, were removed as a temptation, Amelia would have a chance to see more of Edward. And he sounded like a determined young man; he would surely take the chance himself to secure Amelia. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start. And if Edward didn’t come up to scratch, she could always come clean with Rasenby, tell him her sister’s plan. She was not going to stand by and let Amelia trick anyone into marriage. And she was going to do all she could to give her sister a chance at happiness—virtuous happiness.

Only Rasenby stood in the way. And by now, Clarissa had a good enough idea of his character to guess at what would interest him. A challenge, that’s what he would like. And a bit of intrigue. She could do it. Clarissa turned her mind towards tonight, ignoring the thrill of anticipation she felt at the contest she was about to invoke. She was excited at seeing a means to save Amelia from herself, that was all. It was nothing at all to do with pitting her wits against such an opponent. Nothing to do with the charms of the opponent either. Certainly not!

Depositing her at the front door of Lord Rasenby’s mansion in Grosvenor Square, the jarvey slid Clarissa a calculating look. Single ladies visiting these mansions did not normally travel in hacks. Nor did they arrive after dark, alone and wearing evening dress. Giving up the attempt to square all of these things with his passenger’s cultured voice and genteel manner, he shrugged philosophically, and headed off into the night. She might be a toff, but she was up to no good, that was for sure.

As Clarissa tugged the bell and waited nervously at the front door, her thoughts mirrored those of the hackney driver. She felt like a woman of the streets. The look of contempt she received from the butler as he removed her cloak in the spacious hallway confirmed that he too shared this belief.

The hallway smelt of lavender polish, and was warmed by a huge fire burning to the left of the door. The rugs were Turkish, the large clock ticking softly against the panelled wall antique. There was a palpable air of wealth stretching back generations. Clarissa had no money, but there was nothing wrong with her breeding, and she had pride too. A martial flush gathered on her high cheekbones and sparkled in her eyes as she thanked the butler in frigid tones. Clarrie was getting ready to do battle, and she was not about to be put out by a mere servant.

As with the hackney driver, her cultured tones gave the butler a shock, confusing him. Handing her cloak over to the footman, his voice became more propitiating. ‘Lord Rasenby is expecting you, madam. I will show you to the parlour, if you’d be kind enough to follow me.’

A quick check in the mirror reassured her—she would do. Amelia’s gown of palest blue silk with an overdress of twilled sarsenet was a little too large for Clarissa’s more slender frame, and the décolletage way too low, showing far more of her creamy white skin than she had ever done before, but none of her own gowns were grand enough—or fashionable enough—to wear. Following Amelia’s example, she had dampened the skirt so that it clung to her long slim legs, making the gauzy material almost transparent in the candlelight. Her glossy auburn hair had been cajoled into a Grecian knot, the curls falling over her white shoulder, and her slim arms were covered by long kid gloves. She had forsworn any cosmetics, fearing that she had not a light enough touch, but there was an attractive natural flush across her cheeks.

It was now or never. Head high, Clarrie entered the room and glided gracefully over to Lord Rasenby, hand extended. He was standing with his back to the fireplace, dressed simply but elegantly in an impeccably cut dark-blue coat, his pantaloons of a biscuit hue and glossy Hessians adding a touch of informality. Taking her gloved fingertips, he pressed a whisper of a kiss on the back of her hand, then quite blatantly looked her over.

‘Well, Miss—Wexford, I think you said?’ A quizzical raised brow told Clarissa he knew perfectly well that she had given an assumed name. ‘You’ve surprised me on two counts.’

‘I have, sir?’ Clarissa retrieved her hand and, placing it behind her back, retreated a few paces, finding Lord Rasenby’s presence somewhat overpowering. The tilt of her chin, did she but know it, was challenging.

‘Yes, you have.’ So, she was a little on edge, the fake Miss Wexford. Well, he wasn’t surprised—it was a brazen enough act to dine with him, and he admired her courage, if not her honesty. ‘I wasn’t convinced that you’d come, for a start. And, seeing you without the mask for the first time, I’m also surprised at just what perfection you kept hidden from me.’

Clarissa flushed. Tricked out in Amelia’s finery, even she had to admit that she looked well enough. But having no great opinion of herself, she was inclined to dismiss his lordship’s compliment as flummery. ‘Thank you, sir, you are very kind.’ A small curtsy of acknowledgement. ‘At least I can be sure now that you will listen to my proposal without disgust.’

Kit laughed, finding himself once again confused by this woman. She was beautiful, although not in the common way. Her hair was not a fashionable gold, but burnished copper in the firelight, and the reddish flecks in it hinted at a temper. Those huge emerald eyes were too wide open, a little too perceptive, and had a disconcertingly honest look. Her mouth, with its full bottom lip, was not the cupid’s bow that society decreed beauty, but it was, to Kit’s eyes, far more sensual. And that chin—it was determined and defiant at the same time. Definitely not a simpering miss, but one with a real spark of fire.

He had been right to make this assignation. He was going to be anything but bored, dealing with the challenging Miss Wexford and her proposition, whatever that turned out to be. Having just this day made the arrangements for his final trip to France on the Sea Wolf, Kit was aware that he was in dire need of distraction. It pained him already, knowing this was to be the last of such adventures, and he knew he would miss it sorely. He worried that boredom would turn him to old quarrels and to new depths of depravity. And that thought, too, bored him.

Almost as an afterthought, he had paid off Charlotte du Pres. She didn’t know it, but Miss Wexford’s timing was excellent—she was just what he needed right now to take his mind off things. ‘So, madam, you have no taste for compliments. We shall deal well then, for I favour plain speaking myself.’

Handing her a small glass of Canary wine, Kit ushered Clarrie into a seat by the fire. ‘I thought we’d dine here, without the aid of servants. So much more comfortable, if you don’t object to helping yourself?’ Seating himself opposite her, he watched her take a nervous sip of the wine, and nod her assent. ‘I thought, too, that we’d postpone our discussion until after we’ve eaten. It would be nice to become better acquainted first, don’t you agree?’

Clarissa was staring into the flames, wallowing in the all-enveloping warmth, and only nodded, absently, at his words. The room was beautiful, in a restrained way. The furniture was light wood and highly polished, with a marked absence of the rococo gilt and ormolu currently so à la mode. With a sensuality she didn’t even know she possessed, Clarrie snuggled deeper into the chair, and stretched, her white skin picking up a glow from the flickering flames, the red tints in her hair alive with colour. A small smile curled up at the edges of her mouth, and she sighed, deeply.

‘Perhaps, you would prefer I left you to the comfort of the fire, and your own company?’ Kit had been at first beguiled, then disconcerted, at her behaviour. He was not used to being ignored. He was a little piqued, and more than a little aroused. She was like a sensuous cat, stretching luxuriatingly in front of him.

The sharpness of his tone recalled Clarissa to her situation. She sat up abruptly, spilling a little of her wine on to Amelia’s dress. ‘I am so sorry. It’s the heat, it’s a little overpowering.’ She rubbed at the dress with her handkerchief, but was succeeding only in making it worse.

‘Here, let me.’ Lord Rasenby bent over her, his own large handkerchief of white linen in his hand. ‘There, that’s better. Now, if you can force yourself to stay awake for a while, we’d better dine, I think.’

His touch, light as it was, made her shiver, and she drew back abruptly. ‘Thank you.’

Kit eyed her quizzically. She was as nervous as a kitten under that veneer of calm. More and more, he was intrigued. But he would let her set the pace. For now, he was content to watch—and be entertained.

Over dinner, of which Clarissa partook little, confining herself to the duck and peas, she set out to charm. She had a fair idea by now of Kit Rasenby’s preconceptions of her sex, and rather than make the expected idle small talk, conversed instead on the politics of the day. Her conversation was informed, thanks to her Aunt Constance’s tutelage, and she was not frightened of expressing an opinion.

‘I can’t help but feel that things in France are not as settled as they claim. It seems to me that there will be another war, do you not agree? And then, perhaps all the émigrés presently here in England will become our enemies?’

‘Yes, war seems to be inevitable. As to the émigrés I have no views at all. Some will turn, some—those who have found a home here—will not. ‘Tis human nature to follow the easiest path.’

‘That is a sadly cynical point of view, my lord. Do you grant no room, in human nature, for loyalty to a cause? Must everyone be so selfish?’

‘Do not tell me you are a do-gooder, for you are far too pretty. You are obviously an intelligent woman, and unaccountably well informed, but believe me when I tell you that the French are no different than anyone else. People do what is easiest and most lucrative for them, naught more.’

‘Well …’ Clarissa pursed her lips and frowned ‘… I think that we will simply have to differ on the subject. For I choose to believe there is some good in everyone that is not simply self-interest!’

The challenge was accompanied again by that tilt of the chin, and a flash from those green eyes. She looked so sure of herself that Kit almost laughed. He contented himself with an inward smile, however, and merely offered her a dish of cream. She helped herself with relish, blissfully unaware of her naïvety.

‘You sound like the heroine in one of those dreadful novels my sister raves about,’ Kit said. ‘Virtuous despite the overwhelming odds. How would you cope, I wonder, locked up in a castle like Udolpho, faced with the vile Signor Montoni?’

‘So you’ve read it, then, Udolpho, although you despise it? I’d like to think I’d have a bit more presence of mind, and would escape. And I don’t believe in blind virtue, just that there’s more to people than self-interest.’ Temporarily distracted, Clarrie wondered whether to continue this line of conversation, but quickly abandoned the idea. Ruefully, she realised that a discussion of virtue didn’t really fit with her proposition for his lordship. ‘We were talking of the French. Do you know anything of them, personally, Lord Rasenby—the émigrés, I mean? I have often thought that they must have such romantic tales to tell of escape. Far more exciting than Mrs Radcliffe’s novel.’

‘On the contrary, it’s not at all romantic. They escape with no wealth, often only the possessions they can carry. And they have to rely on the goodwill of friends and relatives in order to survive when they land abroad. To see it as romantic is to persist in holding an uninformed point of view.’

‘And yet, I cannot help but do so. I would so much like to see for myself what such rescues involve.’

‘I think you wouldn’t find it such fun if you were present. Have you eaten sufficient? I think it’s time we talked terms, as you called it last evening.’ Kit’s tone brooked no argument.

‘Yes. Yes, you are right.’ Now it came to the bit, Clarissa was more than a little apprehensive. She knew what she had to say, but she wasn’t convinced it would work. And if it did, she was worried it might work too well—for this man would want more than talk. How to go through with her plan and keep her own virtue intact? Especially when, it seemed, she was becoming less inclined to do so. Kit Rasenby was not just attractive, he was interesting. Becoming better acquainted was proving no hardship at all.

Taking a deep breath, Clarrie launched into her proposition with no thought for preliminaries, determined on seeing it through before her courage failed her—or her common sense intervened. ‘I think, my lord, that it would be no exaggeration to say that you are rather bored with your life? Well, I wish to offer you a temporary diversion.’

‘Bored? Well, that’s one way of putting it, yes. I think you should realise there’s not much you can offer that I haven’t tried, one way or another, though. You are no doubt aware, madam, of my very dreadful reputation when it comes to your sex? After all, we touched on it last night.’

‘Yes, and if you don’t mind me saying so, I think that you’re rather maligned by society, my lord.’

A cynical smile twisted Kit’s lips, as he looked down into her honest-seeming emerald eyes. Was she truly naïve, this woman, or was she just an excellent actress? ‘You know, if you hope to redeem me in some way, there’s no point. I am, according to my mother and sister, long past redemption.’

‘Oh, no, no one is ever past redemption. I can’t help but think, Lord Rasenby, that you cling rather too much to your reputation. You seem to actually enjoy being an outcast. By your own admission, you do have principles, although you keep them well hidden. You deal far more honestly than some, but you don’t like people to see that, do you? You like to be the bad Lord Rasenby. And I can quite see why that would be convenient.’

‘Pray do give me the benefit of your insight, then—why would my being bad be convenient?’

‘Why, it means people expect less of you, of course. They can’t rely on you, and therefore they won’t be likely to turn to you when they need help, will they?’ Clarissa held up her hand, as Kit tried to interrupt, too taken up with her line of argument to let him. ‘I know what you’re going to say, you told me yourself, that people do rely on you—for money. I’m sure that your mama and your sister and your mistresses all get plenty of that from you. But that’s easy. What you don’t give is anything of yourself.’

‘I’m not sure I follow. Is bleeding me dry not enough of myself to give?’ There was bitterness in the words. Kit was so wealthy that it would take more than his mama and Charlotte du Pres to ruin him, but they certainly tried. Paying Charlotte off had cost him a fortune and a diamond bracelet to boot, and his mother was hinting at new hangings for the Dower House. To say nothing of his nephew Jeremy and his regularly accumulated bad debts.

‘You understand me perfectly well, my lord.’ Clarissa’s voice was terse. She hated deliberate avoidance, and Lord Rasenby was no fool. ‘You substitute money for everything, and then you don’t like it when you get nothing back.’ Seeing his brow crease, she realised that she’d gone too far again. Lord Rasenby might like plain speaking, but he didn’t like home truths. Clarrie cursed her blunt tongue, it was always getting her into trouble. And it wouldn’t get her anywhere with this man.

Biting her lip, but failing to look totally contrite, she apologised. ‘I beg your pardon. I get carried away sometimes, and speak without thinking. Let us talk of more congenial matters.’ She smiled cajolingly up at him.

‘Yes, but you’re not truly sorry at all, are you—it’s just that you’ve realised you’ve angered me.’ With an effort, Kit dismissed the idea that she’d managed to see through him with ease—and that she’d echoed, almost to the word, his own thoughts. It was just luck. He wasn’t so transparent. He was more than ever sure she was playing some sort of game, but it was a deep, and therefore challenging, one.

‘Come clean, Miss Wexford. For a start, I know that’s not your real name. What can I call you? If we are to talk openly, I would like some element of truth in our conversation.’

‘Very well, you can call me Clarissa. Since we are to be informal.’

‘So we are to be informal, Clarissa? The name suits you. And will you call me Kit?’

‘Kit. It too suits you.’ The humour was reflected in her eyes as she echoed his words. ‘I think, since our relationship is to be both informal and of short duration, that we can manage on such intimate terms. It’s not as if there will be any witnesses.’

‘You intrigue me. I take it, then, that you do not aspire to Charlotte du Pres’s position?’

A flash of anger was quickly disguised. ‘No, I want no such relationship with you. Nor do I want any financial recompense, nor any presents nor anything at all of that sort. Let us be clear on that now, Lord—Kit, please.’ She reached out, touched his arm lightly with the tips of her fingers, then quickly withdrew. Even such a tiny touch sent tingles up and down her skin.

‘I can see you are serious. You are not someone who lies easily, are you? Whatever your game, you have honest eyes,’ Kit said wryly. ‘So, no presents. Well, it will be a refreshing change, certainly. But you are happy for Charlotte’s position to remain unchallenged?’ Kit had already decided she didn’t need to know that Charlotte was already history.

His question gave Clarissa pause. If he got rid of Charlotte du Pres, then it created a vacancy, and it was likely he’d offer it to Amelia. It had been no part of her plan to comment on his current mistress, but perhaps, now that the opportunity had arisen, it was worth while?

‘Are you contemplating a replacement? I thought you said last night that the rumours concerning Miss Warrington had no substance?’

‘I said she would not be my wife. I have no need of a wife, when I can take my pleasures outside the marriage bed. From what I have seen of matrimony, there are few pleasures to be had there. Daily, the scandal sheets give us another tale of adultery and bastard children. And behind it, heartbreak for someone—the children, at the very least. Matrimony does not require affection. I have no wish to sample the insipid and dutiful caresses of a virgin wife. There is naught to substitute for experience. But you already know my feelings on this subject. I’m more interested in why you bring Amelia Warrington into the conversation again. Has she put you up to this?’

‘No, no, I assure you she has not.’ At least that was the truth. In fact, if Amelia found out, she would never forgive her. ‘But I am a little acquainted with her, and I cannot feel she would make you a very good mistress. She wants to be your wife—she is hardly likely to be happy settling for less. No, on consideration, I think Charlotte du Pres is much more suited to your needs.’

Kit smiled, humour lurking deep in his midnight-blue eyes. Looking into them, laughing complicitly, Clarrie was suddenly breathless. His mouth, which he normally held in a firm, hard line, had softened, and there was a slight growth of stubble on his jaw. She had a sudden urge to run her hand along it, to feel the contrast between the roughness there and the smooth contours of his lips. Clarrie felt her mouth go dry at the thought, and licked her own lips nervously. She had never felt such blatant attraction emanating from a man.

Reminding herself that it was exactly this attraction he traded on, she looked away. ‘I didn’t come here to give you advice about your mistresses, but you did ask. I am aware that this is not really a conversation we should be having.’

Kit laughed out loud at this. ‘My dear Clarissa, you shouldn’t even be here, let alone discussing such intimate matters with me. But that hasn’t stopped you. However, I think you’re right about Amelia Warrington, I think she is likely to be rather too demanding. And virgins, you know, can be so unsatisfying. I prefer my women to know what pleasures a man.’

‘Oh! Well—well, I think then you can quite safely dismiss Amelia Warrington.’

‘You seem sure of her. She won’t be a virgin for long, you know. It may not be me, but she will be plucked soon. And likely not by a husband. She aims high.’

‘Is she really so bad? She is young, you know, but not—not calculating.’

‘You don’t know her at all well if you think so. She is a pretty and very ambitious young woman. Though in my experience, she has the kind of looks that fade quickly. Any man can see that he has no need to offer marriage to have her. It’s just a question of how high she’ll sell herself. I’m not personally convinced it’s a price worth paying.’ Looking at Clarissa, he was surprised to see the hurt on her face. He possessed himself of her hand. ‘It’s the way of the world. She will take me not because she likes me better, but because I have more money. You are wasting your energies, concerning yourself with such a one. She will go her own way, and no friend will stop her.’

Looking into Kit’s eyes, such a piercing, deep, dark blue colour, and for once showing such genuine concern, Clarissa acknowledged that he spoke the truth. But Amelia was her sister. She couldn’t give up on her, it wasn’t yet too late. And if nothing else, she could make sure that Amelia didn’t throw herself away on this man.

With a sigh, and a renewed determination to get her proposition finally out of the way this evening, Clarrie smiled up at Kit. ‘We’ve wasted enough time discussing other women. I’ve no aspirations to replace them in your affections. What I want from you is temporary.’

‘You’re frank, at least. Tell me then, precisely what is it you want me for—temporarily.’

‘I will, then. But you must hear me out without interruptions, for it is vital that I make the terms as clear as possible—do you understand?’

His lips twitched as he repressed a smile, but Kit simply nodded his assent and sat back to watch her. This was proving to be worth every minute. Not once this evening had he been bored.

‘I said I did not want to replace Miss du Pres, or anyone else—any of your opera singers or bits of fancy or whatever term you prefer.’ Clarissa looked up, flushing. ‘You’re laughing at me?’

‘No, no, I promise. I am merely impressed at your opinion of my prowess. Just how many of these bits of fancy am I supposed to be maintaining at one time? I am but a man, you know.’

A small gurgle of laughter escaped Clarrie. Shocking as this conversation was, it was more shockingly fun. ‘Well, you told me yourself that your reputation is very bad, so I naturally assumed that you would place quantity over quality.’

At this, Kit gave an amused chuckle. ‘No, I assure you, Clarissa, you are mistaken. I very much prefer quality, it’s just that it is so difficult to come by. However, I am interrupting you once again. Please do continue, this is most—most—intriguing.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear you say that you would prefer quality, because that’s what I’m offering. I’m four-and-twenty, and it is way past time I was married. But marriage, as you’ve said yourself, is a lifetime commitment to boredom, and for a lady, especially, promises no real pleasure.’ A deep blush was stealing over Clarissa’s cheeks, but she was determined to get this over with, no matter how embarrassing it all was. ‘However, married I must be, and soon, or I will be too old.’

Looking up, Clarissa saw unease writ large on Kit’s handsome face. She hastened to reassure him. ‘Fear not, I have no matrimonial expectations of you. I am under no illusions there, and must aim rather lower, for I have neither dowry nor traditional beauty. I have someone in mind, you know, but the problem is that he is just a little staid and more than a little old.’ Ruthlessly thrusting her neighbour Bingley Smythington into the role to give her lies some authenticity, Clarrie shuddered effectively. Bingley had clammy hands, and such a bumptious manner, as well as being nearer fifty than forty, that she had no qualms about using him so ill. ‘So I thought, while I resigned myself to a life of propriety, that I might indulge myself first, and have one little adventure.’

Clarrie stopped talking, and looked at Kit, trying to assess his reaction to her words, but he merely raised an eyebrow, indicating that she should continue. She had thought through this approach so carefully, knowing she had to come up with something that would surprise him, that she forgot her modesty in her determination to make him agree.

‘So, you see, that is why our relationship would have to be kept very private. And of short duration. I must on no account be publicly compromised. And I picked you because you said you had no qualms, you see, about seducing virgins, provided that they were willing. And I am willing, provided that it’s fun. And of course, I know it will be—fun, that is—since your reputation as a ladies’ man must mean—well, you know what I mean.’ Clarrie paused, flushed at the path her thoughts had taken. Of course it would be pleasurable, sharing herself with this man, she had no doubt at all on that score. But she wasn’t actually going to go that far, she had to remind herself. So really, she had to stop thinking about it.

With a shake of her curls to dispel the images she had conjured up, Clarrie returned to her proposition, finding that Kit was watching her with an amused, and slightly bewildered, look upon his face. ‘I must insist that you promise to abandon—for just a little while—your pursuit of any other females. Indeed, I must make it a condition of your acceptance that you do so. What I want first and foremost is for you to surprise me. I want an adventure, not just a liaison.’

Once again, she held her hand up to stop him speaking. This was the tricky bit. ‘I know you said that lack of experience was not something you relished. And I can’t pretend that I have the skills of the likes of Charlotte du Pres. But I’m willing to learn, and I’m sure you won’t find me bashful or—or unsatisfying, if you’re willing to take a chance.’

She sat back, amazed at her own temerity. She had said it. She had been as blunt as she could be, and as clear about her terms. Surely he wouldn’t resist the challenge? This evening had shown to her, if nothing else, that he was ripe for a change, and surely she had offered just that?

‘Let me get this straight—for I have to tell you that I’ve never heard anything like it in my life.’ Kit ran a distracted hand through his hair. He didn’t believe her, but he was tempted, just to see how far she’d go. The claim of virginal innocence, he dismissed immediately. No virgin discussed such things so openly. It was a mere ploy to whet his appetite. And it was working. Virgin or no virgin, he wanted her.

‘I have to forgo all other women for the duration of our acquaintance. I must see you only in secret. And you want nothing from me other than this—no recompense, only my silence?’

‘Yes.’

‘Further, you wish what you call an adventure in my company. I take it you mean something other than the adventure of sharing our bodies?’

She was blushing furiously now, and managed only a slight nod. Really, she was an excellent actress.

‘And you cannot be more specific as to the nature of this?’

‘No. That is your payment, you see. You arrange something out of the ordinary, something illicit, something thrilling, something I can remember when I’m old. And something too that you will enjoy, of course. As a prelude. I thought that you’d relish the challenge, that it would help, for a while, to ease your boredom. I thought—well, I thought we could have some fun together.’

‘Fun? Good God, I don’t think I’ve ever had fun with a woman. I’m not even sure I would know what you mean by it.’

He was looking at her assessingly now, and Clarissa desperately wanted him not to turn her down flat. The whole idea of an adventure was just a delaying tactic. The longer he took to organise something, the more time she had to separate Amelia from him. And until he could arrange whatever he was going to arrange, Clarrie was free from any threat to her virtue. She also needed time to think over what she had done—for she really had no idea yet how she was to manage to pull this off.

‘Perhaps it would be best if I were to leave now, and we can discuss this further once you have reflected?’

‘You’re right, I need time to think. I’ll meet you in Hyde Park tomorrow at four.’

‘No, no,’ Clarrie said agitatedly, ‘that is the fashionable hour. We will be seen. I will meet you at the gates of Green Park—no one goes there at that time.’

‘Very well.’ Kit stood and raised a hand to help her out of her seat. Taking her by surprise, he pulled her close, one arm around her slim waist, cool on her skin through the thin fabric of her dress, the other tilting her chin upwards. ‘No women other than you? You ask a lot of me. I think a sample of the merchandise would be appropriate, don’t you agree? Just to prove you are worth the sacrifice. I warn you, my fair Clarissa, I won’t be cheated, and I won’t let you go back on your bargain. You do realise that?’

Clarrie licked her full bottom lip nervously, but made no move to escape. The sensation of his hand on her body was sending shivers up her spine. She had never been so close to a man before, and had no idea that it could be so very exciting. ‘A kiss to seal a bargain, then,’ she whispered.

Kit laughed, low and aroused. ‘You are sealing a bargain with the devil.’ His lips brushed hers, smooth and cool at first, a featherlight touch at the corners of her mouth. He ran his tongue over her full bottom lip. She smelled of roses and vanilla, she tasted sweet and hot. Her breath was warm, her breathing shallow.

Clarrie sighed at his touch, leaning closer in to the hard wall of Kit’s chest, inviting him to deepen the contact. She could feel the heat from his body building a slow fire somewhere deep inside her. Experimentally, she let the tip of her tongue run over Kit’s lower lip, mimicking his actions, feeling him groan in response. His lips took possession of her mouth fully, one hand on the sensitive nape of her neck, holding her carefully close, the other at her waist.

Clarrie surrendered to temptation and let an instinct she didn’t know she possessed take over. Tongues met in a kiss that took them both by surprise. In an instant, Clarrie moved from warm tingles to searing heat. Kit’s lips were soft and hard at the same time. He was kissing and licking her mouth in a way that left her weak with wanting. His tongue flicked to the sensitive corners of her lips, then back to tangle with hers. He licked along the length of her lower lip, then his mouth fastened fully on hers again.

She wanted more. She ran her hand over the nape of his neck and up into the short cropped hair on his head, relishing the rough feel of it, contrasting it with the soft, hard, smooth feel of his mouth on hers. Her nipples hardened as she pressed into his chest, rubbing against him, relishing the small shivers and the pleasure-pain feeling that the contact gave her, even through their clothes.

Kit groaned softly, and pulled back. His breathing slowed. He eyed her through heavy lids, careful not let her see how much she had aroused him. All her pretence of virginity must be at an end. This woman knew exactly what she was doing. ‘Enough. That is definitely enough for now, I think. You have proved yourself entirely, madam.’

Clarrie, still trying in vain to control her overwhelming and totally unexpected response to his kiss, could do no more than blink up at him, confused. ‘I—I—I’ll get better in time, sir.’

‘A word of warning. I will play these games only so far. You can abandon, once and for all, this pretence of innocent virginity, for the passion in your kisses prove you to be far from innocent.’ Looking down at her, he was taken aback to see a sheen of tears glazing her speaking emerald eyes.

‘Rest assured, your lack of innocence does your case no harm. Had you really been the virgin you claim to be, I would have hesitated. I need now have no scruples, and can consider your proposition with a clear conscience. The footman will call a hack for you. Good night.’

With a slight bow, he turned away from her, ringing the bell for the servant. Clarissa stumbled out to the waiting hack, her mind a swirl of abject confusion and unexpected hurt.

So distressed was she that she failed to notice the figure turning the corner into the street. Lord Robert Alchester, returning home early of necessity since his pockets were to let, from the tables of the hell in St James’s currently favoured with his patronage, was most intrigued. Well, well, the woman from last night, if he was not mistaken, and emerging alone from Kit Rasenby’s town house. This development was worth keeping an eye on.