The Rake. Mary Jo Putney
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stop fussing with your hair and look at me. This is serious.” When she used that tone, Alys was always obeyed. Her ward obligingly turned and faced her.
“Reginald Davenport is very different from your shy young local admirers,” Alys said warningly. “If you issue a blatant invitation, he may accept it.”
“We were only flirting,” Merry said, her wide blue eyes guileless. “He flirts very nicely, so it seemed a good chance to practice. He’s hardly likely to ravish me, is he?”
Snapping with exasperation, Alys said, “Being ravished is not the only danger. Davenport’s dealings with women are notorious—even flirting with him could damage your reputation. Falling victim to his charm could damage you a good deal more. Falling in love with him would be a guarantee of breaking your heart. Can I spell it out any more plainly than that?”
Merry gave a peal of laughter. “Good heavens, Alys, I’m hardly likely to fall in love with a man old enough to be my father. He’s not even good-looking.”
Alys blinked with surprise. Surely Meredith could not be unaffected by Davenport’s mesmerizing aura of virility? She tried to remember what had attracted her when she was Merry’s age, and decided that even at nineteen she would not have been indifferent to a man like Reggie Davenport. Of course, she would have known better than to succumb to that kind of low animal appeal. Merry was just showing her common sense by refusing to find him attractive. Pray God she continued as wise.
Fixing her charge with a no-nonsense gaze, Alys said, “Will you take my word that it is better to be careful where Davenport is concerned? I’ve seen a good deal more of the world than you, and I promise you, the man is trouble.”
Merry stood and crossed to give her guardian a quick, affectionate hug. “Poor Lady Alys. We do lead you a miserable life, don’t we? If it isn’t William sneaking into the stables, it’s Peter trying to learn to drive to an inch, or hordes of my silly suitors underfoot. You must be sorry you ever took us on.”
Her tone had the teasing confidence of someone who knew she was wanted, and Alys found her lips curving into a smile of response. “I’ll admit that with the three of you, life is sometimes too full. But without you, it would be very empty.”
Meredith gave a wise, enchanting smile that made her seem more the parent than the child. “I promise I won’t do anything rash that will ruin me forever, but I don’t think I will be able to resist the temptation to flirt. Though Mr. Davenport is not at all the sort of man I could fall in love with, I did think he was rather sweet.”
Fascinated, Alys tried to imagine how Davenport would react to the knowledge that a young diamond of the first water considered him “rather sweet.” Suppressing a smile, she asked, “What is the sort of man you could fall in love with? We’ve never really discussed that.”
Merry frowned at her reflection. “I’m not absolutely sure because I haven’t met him yet, but I would want him to be a man of grace and charm. Reasonably intelligent, but not a great scholar or wit, or he would find me sadly frivolous.” She began deftly pinning her ringlets into place. “Naturally, I must find his appearance pleasing, but it will be better if he isn’t staggeringly handsome. I don’t want a man who is terribly vain.”
Alys leaned against one of the bedposts and folded her arms in a most unladylike fashion. “Need the gentleman be rich and titled?”
“Well, at least comfortably well-off—I don’t think I would find poverty very amusing.” She secured the last curl with a well-placed hairpin. “A title might be nice, but it’s hardly essential.” She turned to face her guardian, her heavenly blue eyes lit with humor. “If I ever did meet a nobleman, he would surely feel that he was conferring an enormous favor by marrying a girl of no great fortune or birth. I would prefer the gentleman to be so smitten that he thinks I am doing him a favor by accepting.”
“You’re a cold-blooded wench,” Alys said with some awe. She wasn’t sure if her ward was brilliantly clear-sighted, or merely endowed with more than her share of feminine wiles. Regrettably, wiles had been left out of Alys’s makeup. Perhaps her unwanted dimples were what she had been given instead “I gather that you want this future husband to keep you on a pedestal?”
“I wouldn’t mind a low one.” Merry looked down at her hands, flexing the fingers as if inspecting her carefully groomed nails. “When I find the right man, I’ll make sure he doesn’t regret his choice.” In a voice that for once was entirely serious, she added softly, “I do intend to be a very good wife, you know.”
Alys gave a nod of sudden understanding. What her ward really yearned for was security and comfort. Having lost both parents and her adoptive mother by the time she was fifteen, Merry’s ambitions were modest, practical ones rather than dreams of mad passion or social grandeur. Surely such a sensible young lady was unlikely to fall victim to the fleeting pleasures of a rake’s casual, lethal charm.
Relieved by the insight, Alys stood. “Our guest should arrive soon. I presume you will wait here so you can make a grand entrance?”
“But of course.” Merry laughed, gravity vanquished. “A new man in the neighborhood is an opportunity not to be wasted, even if he is rather stricken in years.”
Even though she knew Meredith was teasing, Alys shook her head in disbelief as she went down to the drawing room to await her guest. Stricken in years! Davenport looked like he could outride, outfight, and outwench any man in Dorsetshire.
She hoped he didn’t feel compelled to prove it.
Chapter 7
Reggie raised his hand to the knocker of Rose Hall, the steward’s residence, then hesitated. He had accepted the dinner invitation because he thought that anything would be better than another evening alone in the big house, but now he wasn’t so sure. Two young boys, an aspiring femme fatale, and a magnificent Amazon who despised him were odd company for a man who usually socialized with hard-drinking sportsmen like himself.
Well, too late to retreat now. He grasped the knocker and rapped firmly.
The little housemaid that answered had a face that Reggie was beginning to recognize as typical Herald physiognomy. After she bobbed a quick curtsy, she wordlessly led him to the drawing room. It was not a large house, having no more than four or five bedrooms, but it was comfortable and well-maintained. Reggie had regularly visited the kitchen as a child. His father’s steward had a cook gifted at making tarts, and Reggie had ingratiated himself in the manner of all small boys.
Miss Weston was waiting in the drawing room. She rose at his arrival. Her height and natural dignity made her look like a queen, even in her extremely conservative dark brown dress. Reggie spent a moment wondering how she would look in Gypsy red, with her hair tumbling around her shoulders rather than in a no-nonsense coronet. As he bowed, he decided that she would be quite splendid.
Smiling, she said, “I thought you might like a few minutes of peace before the children join us. Would you like a sherry?”
Sherry was hardly his favorite drink, but since it was better than nothing, he accepted. As she poured two glasses, Reggie felt an insistent pressure on his shin. He looked down to see a very large, very shaggy cat twining suggestively around his ankles. With a small sound of distaste, he stepped back. The cat followed, apparently determined to be his best friend.
His hostess turned and saw his predicament. “Sorry. I thought Attila was safely out of the way. He must have been lurking under the sofa.” She handed Reggie a drink, then bent to scoop up her pet “I gather that you don’t like cats?”
Even for a woman as tall as Alys Weston, the beast was a very substantial armful, a patchwork of striped and white fur with great curving whiskers that framed an expression of supreme disdain. “Not much,” Reggie admitted. “They’re sneaky, unreliable, and selfish.”
“That’s true,” Alys said gravely, “and they have many other fine qualities as well.”
For a moment