Cold-Hearted Rake Read online

  Covered with gooseflesh, Kathleen went to sit in an upholstered chair by the fire and discovered that her ombré shawl had been draped over the back of the chair. She pulled it over her lap, snuggling beneath the soft cashmere. Her gaze went to the stately bed, with its carved wooden canopy mounted on four elaborately turned posters.

  One glance was enough to destroy all the good the bath had done.

  She had refused to sleep in that bed with Theo after the debacle of their wedding night. The sound of his slurred, angry voice emerged from her memories.

  Do what you’re told, for God’s sake. Lie back and stop making this difficult… Behave like a wife, damn it…

  In the morning, Kathleen was exhausted, her sore eyes undercut with dark shadows. Before she went out to the stables, she went to find the housekeeper at the spice cupboard. “Mrs. Church, forgive me for interrupting you, but I’d like to make certain that you’ll have a new bedroom readied for me by this evening. I can’t stay in that master bedroom ever again – I’d sooner sleep in the outhouse with a herd of feral cats.”

  The housekeeper glanced at her in concern. “Yes, my lady. The girls have already begun cleaning a room overlooking the rose garden. They’re beating the carpets and scrubbing the floor.”

  “Thank you.”

  Kathleen felt her spirits improve as soon as she reached the stables. A morning ride always seemed to restore her soul to rights. Entering the saddle room, she removed the detachable skirt of her riding habit and hung it on a wall bracket.

  It was customary for a lady to wear chamois or wool breeches beneath a riding skirt, to prevent chafing. But it was not at all proper to wear only the breeches, as Kathleen was doing.

  However, she hadn’t yet broken Asad to sidesaddle. She had chosen to train him while riding astride, which would be far safer if the horse tried to unseat her. A picturesque riding skirt, with its masses of flowing fabric, was apt to catch on tack or low tree branches, or even become entangled with the horse’s legs.

  Kathleen had felt more than a little embarrassed the first time she had walked out to the paddock in breeches. The stablemen had stared at her with such astonishment that one might have thought she’d walked out there in the altogether. However, Mr. Bloom, who was more concerned with safety than propriety, had instantly given her his approval. Soon the stablemen had grown accustomed to the sight of Kathleen’s unconventional appearance, and now they seemed to think nothing of it. No doubt it helped that her figure was so slight – with her lack of womanly curves, she could hardly be accused of tempting anyone.

  Asad was supple and responsive during their practice, moving in half circles and serpentine patterns. His transitions were seamless, his focus perfect. Kathleen decided to take the Arabian outside the paddock for a ride in an enclosed pasture, and he did so well that she extended the morning session.

  Glowing and pleasantly tired after the exercise, Kathleen returned into the house and bounded up one of the back staircases. Nearing the top, she realized she had forgotten her detachable skirt at the stables. She would send a footman to fetch it later. As she headed toward the master bedroom, she was obliged to stop and flatten against a wall as a trio of workmen proceeded through the hallway, their arms laden with copper pipes. Noticing Kathleen’s breeches, one of the workmen nearly dropped the pipes, and another told him curtly to put his eyes back in his head and carry on.

  Blushing, Kathleen hurried into the master bedroom and went directly to the open door of the bathroom, since Clara was nowhere to be seen. Despite her objections to the expense of indoor plumbing, she had to admit that it was lovely to have hot water without having to ring for the maids. After entering the bathroom, she closed the door firmly.

  A startled yelp escaped her as she saw that the tub was occupied.

  “Dear God!” Her hands flew up to cover her face.

  But the image of Devon Ravenel, wet and naked, had already been burned into her brain.

  Chapter 11

  I

  t couldn’t be. Devon was supposed to be in London! It was a trick of her imagination… a hallucination. Except that the air was hot and humid, spiced with the fragrance that was unmistakably his… a spicy, clean incense of skin and soap.

  Apprehensively Kathleen parted her fingers just enough to peek through them.

  Devon was reclining in the copper tub, looking at her in sardonic inquiry. Hot mist rose around him in a smoke-colored veil. Droplets of water clung to the tautly muscled slopes of his arms and shoulders, and sparkled in the dark fleece of hair on his chest.

  Kathleen whirled to face the door, her thoughts scattering like the pins in a game of skittles. “What are you doing here?” she managed to ask.

  His tone was caustic. “I received your summons.”

  “My… my… you mean the telegram?” It was difficult to pull a coherent thought from the wreckage of her brain. “That wasn’t a summons.”

  “It read like one.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Certainly not so much of you!” She went crimson as she heard his low laugh.

  Desperate to escape, she seized the door handle, a bit of hardware that had just been installed by the contractor, and tugged. It remained stubbornly closed.

  “Madam,” she heard Devon behind her, “I suggest that you —”

  She ignored him in her panic, yanking violently at the hand grasp. Abruptly the piece pulled free of its rivets, and she staggered back. Bewildered, she looked down at the broken metal part in her hand.

  For a moment, there was only silence.

  Devon cleared his throat roughly. His voice was thick with suppressed laughter. “It’s a Norfolk latch. You have to push down on the thumb piece before pulling the handle.”

  Kathleen attacked the thumb piece that dangled on the faceplate, jabbing repeatedly until the entire door rattled.

  “Sweetheart…” Now Devon was laughing almost too hard to speak. “That… that’s not going to help.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said, keeping her back to him. “How am I going to get out of here?”

  “My valet went to fetch some towels. When he returns, he’ll open the door from the outside.”

  With a moan of dismay, Kathleen leaned her forehead against the wood panel. “He mustn’t know that I was in here with you. I’ll be ruined.”

  She heard the lazy sluice of water over skin.

  “He’ll say nothing. He’s discreet.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  The splashing stopped. “Why do you say that?”

  “He’s provided the servants with no end of gossip fodder about your past exploits. According to my maid, there was a particularly riveting story involving a music hall girl.” She paused before adding darkly, “Dressed in feathers.”

  “Bloody hell,” Devon muttered. The splashing resumed.

  Kathleen stayed against the door, tense in every limb. Devon’s naked body was only a few yards away, in the same bathtub she had used last night. She was helpless to stop herself from imagining the sights that accompanied the sounds, water darkening his hair, soap foam coursing over his skin.

  Taking care to keep her gaze averted, she set the latch handle on the floor. “Why are you bathing so early in the day?”

  “I came by train, and hired a coach in Alton. A wheel came loose along the way to Eversby. I had to help the driver bolt it back on. Cold, muddy work.”

  “Couldn’t you have asked your valet to do it instead?”

  A scoffing sound. “Sutton can’t lift a carriage wheel. His arms are no thicker than jackstraws.”

  Frowning, she drew her finger through a film of moisture that had collected on the door. “You needn’t have come to Hampshire in such a hurry.”

  “The threat of lawyers and Chancery Court impressed me with the need for haste,” he said darkly.

  Perhaps her telegram had been a bit dramatic. “I wasn’t really going to bring lawyers into it. I only wanted to gain your attention.”


  His reply was soft. “You always have my attention.”

  Kathleen wasn’t certain how to take his meaning. Before she could ask, however, the latch of the bathroom door clicked. The wood panels trembled as someone began to push his way in. Kathleen’s eyes flew open. She wedged her hands against the door, her nerves stinging in horror. A violent splash erupted behind her as Devon leaped from the bathtub and flattened a hand on the door to keep it from opening farther. His other hand slid around her to cover her mouth. That was unnecessary – Kathleen couldn’t have made a sound to save her life.

  She quivered in every limb at the feel of the large, steaming male at her back.

  “Sir?” came the valet’s puzzled voice.

  “Confound it, have you forgotten how to knock?” Devon demanded. “Don’t burst into a room unless it’s to tell me that the house is on fire.”

  Distantly Kathleen wondered if she might swoon. She was fairly certain that Lady Berwick would have expected it of her in such circumstances. Unfortunately her mind remained intractably awake. She swayed, her balance uncertain, and his body automatically compensated, hard muscles flexing to support her. He was pressed all along her, hot water seeping through the back of her riding habit. With every breath, she drew in the scents of soap and heat. Her heart faltered between every beat, too weak, too fast.

  Dizzily she focused on the large hand braced against the door. His skin was faintly tawny, the kind that would brown easily in the sun. One of his knuckles was scraped and raw – from lifting the carriage wheel, she guessed. The nails were short and scrupulously clean, but ink stains lingered in faint shadows on the sides of two fingers.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord,” the valet said. With an overdone respect that hinted at sarcasm, he added, “I’ve never known you to be modest before.”

  “I’m an aristocrat now,” Devon said. “We prefer not to flaunt our assets.”

  He was wedged against her so tightly that Kathleen could feel his voice resonate through her. The vital, potent maleness of him surrounded her. The sensation was foreign and frightening… and bewilderingly pleasant. The motion of his breathing and the heat of him along her back sent little flames dancing through her tummy.

  “… there is some confusion as to the location of your luggage,” Sutton was explaining. “One of the footmen carried it inside the house, as I directed, but Mrs. Church told him not to bring it to the master bedroom, as Lady Trenear has taken up temporary residence.”

  “Has she? Did Mrs. Church enlighten you as to why Lady Trenear has invaded my room?”

  “The plumbers are installing pipe beneath the floor in her bedroom. I’m told that Lady Trenear was none too pleased by the situation. One of the footmen said he heard her vow to do you bodily harm.”

  “How unfortunate.” Subtle amusement wove through Devon’s voice. She felt his jaw nudge against her hair as he grinned. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced her.”

  “It wasn’t merely an inconvenience, my lord. Lady Trenear quitted the master bedroom immediately after the late earl’s passing, and hasn’t spent a night there since. Until now. According to one of the servants —”

  Kathleen stiffened.

  “I don’t need to know why,” Devon interrupted. “That is Lady Trenear’s concern, and none of ours.”

  “Yes, sir,” the valet said. “More to the point, the footman conveyed your luggage to one of the upstairs rooms, but no one seems to know which one.”

  “Has anyone thought of asking him?” Devon suggested dryly.

  “At present the man is nowhere to be found. Lady Pandora and Lady Cassandra recruited him to assist them in searching for their pig, which has gone missing.”

  Devon’s body tensed. “Did you say ‘pig’?”

  “Yes, my lord. A new family pet.”

  Devon’s hand slid gently from Kathleen’s lips, his fingertips grazing her chin in a whisper of a caress. “Is there a particular reason why we’re keeping livestock in the —”

  Kathleen had turned to glance up at him just as his head bent. His mouth collided against her temple, the accidental touch causing her senses to reel in confusion. His lips, so firm and smooth, his hot, tickling breath… She began to tremble.

  “— house?” Devon finished, his voice roughening. He reached out to grasp the door’s metal edge plate, preventing it from closing again.

  “I needn’t point out that such questions do not arise in most well-appointed households,” Sutton said primly. “Shall I hand the towels past the door?”

  “No, leave them on the other side. I’ll retrieve them when I’m ready.”

  “On the floor?” Sutton sounded appalled. “My lord, allow me to set them on a chair.” There were sounds of objects being moved within the room, the thump of a light piece of furniture.

  Through heavy-lidded eyes, Kathleen saw that Devon’s grip had tightened on the door until the tip of his thumb had turned white. His wrist and arm were corded. How warm he was, and how firmly his chest and shoulders supported her. The only place they didn’t quite fit was the place low on her spine, where the pressure of his body was inflexible and stiffly prodding. She squirmed, seeking a more comfortable position. Devon inhaled quickly and reached down to grasp her right hip, forcing her to stay still.

  Then she realized what the hard ridge was.

  She tensed, her throat closing against a whimper. All the tantalizing heat fled, her flesh turning to ice, the trembling breaking into continuous shivers. She was about to be hurt. Attacked.

  Marriage had taught her that men forgot themselves when aroused. They lost control and turned into beasts.

  Desperately she calculated how much of a threat Devon might pose, how far he might go. If he hurt her, she would scream. She would fight back, no matter what the consequences to herself or her reputation.

  One of his hands came to the side of her waist – she felt the pressure of it even through her corset – and he rubbed in slow circles, the way one would calm a spooked horse.

  Through the blood pounding in her ears, Kathleen heard the valet ask if the luggage should be conveyed to the master bedroom. Devon replied that he would decide later, for now just bring some clothes and be quick about it. The valet agreed.

  “He’s gone,” Devon said in a few moments. After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he reached around the edge of the door to tamper with the latch mechanism, bending the thumb-lift bar so it wouldn’t close. “Although no one has asked my opinion about the pig,” he said, “I’m against any house pet that will eventually outweigh me.”

  Having braced herself for attack, Kathleen blinked uncertainly. He was behaving so unlike a lust-crazed beast that it gave her pause.

  In response to her frozen silence, Devon lifted a hand to her jaw and nudged her to look at him. Unable to avoid his calm, appraising glance, she realized there was no immediate danger of him forcing himself on her.

  “You’d best look away,” he advised, “unless you want a big eyeful of Ravenel. I’m going to fetch the towels.”

  Kathleen nodded, her eyes squeezing shut as he left the bathroom.

  She waited, letting the chaos of her thoughts settle. But her nerves still reverberated with the feeling of him against her, the details of his aroused body.

  Once, not long ago, she had gone with Lord and Lady Berwick, and their daughters, to visit the National Museum. On their way to view a display of South Seas objects that had been collected by the legendary explorer Captain James Cook, they had passed by a gallery of Italian statuary, where a pair of nude male sculptures had been positioned by the doorway. One of the detachable plaster fig leaves devised by a museum director to conceal the statues’ genitals had dropped to the floor and scattered in pieces. Lady Berwick, appalled by what she had considered no less than a visual assault, had whisked Kathleen and her daughters past the offending marble flesh… but not before they had seen exactly what the fig leaf had been intended to cover.

  Kathleen had been shocked bu
t intrigued by the statue, marveling at how the delicacy of the sculpting had made cold marble look like flesh: veined, vulnerable, smooth everywhere except for the little scruff of hair at the groin. The shy, unobtrusive bud hadn’t seemed worth the fuss Lady Berwick had made.

  On Kathleen’s wedding night, however, she had glimpsed and felt just enough of Theo’s body to realize that a living, breathing man was endowed far more substantially than the marble sculpture at a museum.

  And just now, the pressure of Devon’s body against hers…

  She wished she’d been able to look at him.

  Instantly she chastised herself for the thought. Still… she couldn’t help being curious. Would it do any harm if she took a quick peek? This was the only chance she would ever have to see a man as God had made him. Before she could talk herself out of it, she inched to the edge of the door and looked around it cautiously.