Regency Betrayal: The Rake to Ruin Her / The Rake to Redeem Her. Julia Justiss
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been perfecting your credentials as a rogue, sneaking off to secret assignations with a tempting little morsel like that.’
Max struggled to keep his temper in check. ‘Let me remind you,’ he said stiffly, ‘that “morsel” is one of your mother’s guests and an innocent maid.’
‘Is she truly innocent?’ Alastair shook his head disbelievingly. ‘Lord have mercy, riding astride in breeches like that! I can’t believe I didn’t immediately realise she was female. Just shows how one doesn’t recognise what is right before one’s eyes when one’s not expecting it. Though she is an excellent rider: fine hands, great seat.’ With a chuckle, he added, ‘Wouldn’t mind having her in the saddle, those lovely long legs wrapped around me.’
A flash of fury surging through him, Max whacked his cousin with his fishing pole. ‘Stubble it! That’s a lady you’re insulting.’
‘Fancy her for yourself, do you?’ Alastair asked, unrepentant. ‘With her going about like that, her limbs and bottom outlined for any red-blooded man to ogle, it’s not my fault she evokes such thoughts. Nor are we the only ones watching.’ He pointed toward the opposite side of the field. ‘Some bloke over there is ogling her, too.’
His gaze following the direction of his cousin’s extended arm, Max squinted into the morning sunlight. ‘Who is it?’
‘How should I know? Probably another one of those damned macaroni merchants hanging about, measuring up the female flesh on display. Not a man’s man among them—petticoat-string dandies all,’ he concluded in disgust. ‘But this girl … she’s truly an innocent, you say?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘How do you know so much about her?’
Knowing he’d have to explain, but not wishing to reveal too much—certainly not her scandalous proposition—Max gave Alastair an abbreviated version of his meeting with Miss Denby in the conservatory.
‘Devil’s teeth, she’s a luscious armful in breeches. What a mistress she’d make!’ Alastair exclaimed, then waved Max to silence before he could deliver another rebuke. ‘Don’t get your cravat in a knot; I know there’s no chance of that. She is a “lady”, amazing as that seems to a man seeing her for the first time garbed like that. If marriage is her stepmother’s object, pulling it off is going to be difficult if word gets out of her offending the proprieties by riding about in boy’s dress. Though it would almost be worth wedlock, to get one’s hands on the Denby Stud.’
‘So she fears. She doesn’t want to marry, she said, and risk losing control over it.’
Alastair nodded. ‘I suppose I can understand. One wouldn’t wish to turn such a prime operation over to some hamfisted looby who couldn’t housebreak a puppy.’
‘How infuriating to see everything you’d worked on, worked for, the last ten years of your life given over to someone else. Ruined, perhaps, and you unable to do anything about it.’
Alastair gave him a searching look, as if he thought Max were speaking more about himself than Miss Denby. ‘Well, I wish her luck. She’s an odd lass, to be sure. But undeniably attractive, even without the inducement of the Denby Stud. Now, if we’re going to catch breakfast, we’d better be going.’ At that, Alastair kicked his mount into motion.
Lagging behind for a moment, Max studied the man across the field, who was now striding back toward the stables. He’d better find out who that was. And continue to keep an eye on Miss Denby.
After a most satisfactory session at the stream, Max and Alastair returned the trout to the kitchen for Cook to turn into breakfast. While Alastair went on to change out of his fishing garb, Max hesitated by the door to his aunt’s room.
All during their mostly silent camaraderie at the river, rather than concentrate on fish, Max had thought about his aunt’s unusual guest. He’d had, he was forced to admit, to exercise some considerable discipline to keep his thoughts from turning from the serious matter of her situation and the man watching her to memories of her inviting gurgle of a laugh, that enticing bosom and the wonderfully suggestive up-and-down motion of her derrière on the saddle.
Making enquiries of Aunt Grace might seem odd, but while Alastair was otherwise occupied, he probably ought to risk it. If he discovered that the gentleman guests included none but paragons of honour and virtue, he could stop worrying about Miss Denby and dismiss her situation from his mind.
Decision made, he knocked and was bid to enter. ‘Max! This is a pleasant surprise!’ Mrs Ransleigh cried, her expression of mild curiosity warming to one of genuine pleasure. ‘Will you take chocolate with me, or some coffee? I confess, I do feel terrible, I’ve been so poor a hostess to you.’
‘Nonsense,’ he said, waving away her offer. ‘I’ll not stay long enough for coffee; we’re just back from the river, and I’m sure you’d as lief I not leave fish slime on your sofa. You know Alastair and I are quite able to keep ourselves well entertained.’
She flushed. ‘I do appreciate your … discretion. Even as I absolutely deplore the necessity for it! Is there truly no hope of your finding another diplomatic position?’
‘I have some ideas, but there’s no point initiating anything yet while Father is still so angry. You know he has the influence to block whatever I attempt, should he wish to.’
‘That’s so James!’ she cried. ‘Brilliant orator and skilled politician your father may be, but he can be so bull-headed and unreasonable sometimes, I’d like to shake him!’
Though he appreciated his aunt’s sympathy, he’d just as soon not dwell on the painful topic of his ruined prospects. ‘I didn’t stop by to talk about me,’ he parried. ‘How goes your party? Has Jane succeeded in leg-shackling any of the guests? Has Lissa found her ideal mate?’
‘Felicity is enjoying herself immensely, which is all I wished for her, since I have no desire to give her up to a husband just yet! Among the other guests, there are some promising developments, though it’s too early to tell yet whether they will result in engagements.’
Trying for a nonchalant tone, Max said, ‘I happened to encounter one of your young ladies. No, nothing scandalous about it,’ he assured her hastily before, her eyes widening in alarm, she could speak. ‘I met her briefly and by chance one afternoon in the conservatory, where she darted in, she told me, to escape some suitor. A most unusual young woman.’
Aunt Grace laughed. ‘Oh, dear! That must have been Miss Denby! Poor Diana—her stepmother, Lady Denby, an old friend of mine—is quite in despair over the girl. Perhaps you didn’t notice in your quick meeting, but the lady is rather … old.’
Were he pressed to describe what he’d noticed about Miss Denby during that first meeting, Max thought, ‘old’ would not be among the adjectives that came to mind. ‘I must confess, I didn’t notice,’ he replied in perfect truth.
‘She should have had her first Season years ago,’ his aunt continued. ‘But she was her widowed father’s only child. Now that I face having my last chick leave home, I can perfectly understand why he didn’t wish to lose her. She’s a great heiress, though, so Diana hasn’t given up hope yet of her making an acceptable match, even though at five-and-twenty she’s practically on the shelf.’
‘A doddering old age, to be sure.’
‘For a female of good birth and fortune to remain unwed at such an age is unusual,’ his aunt said reprovingly. ‘With her being practically an ape-leader, you’d think she’d be eager to wed, but apparently it’s quite the opposite! Though the poor dear seems intelligent enough, she’s terribly shy in company and possesses not a particle of conversation unrelated to hunting and horses. To make