Ravished by the Rake (Danger and Desire 1)

‘Let us be clear,’ he said, getting to his feet and wishing he could just fall into bed and sleep for a month. ‘I will spend a week or so here to deal with the most pressing business and I will put the refurbishment of the Dower House in hand. I will then go up to town for the Season. When I get back I expect you to have moved out.’

She turned huge, imploring eyes on him and he noticed the sapphires, just the colour of those eyes, dangling from her ears and adorning her neck. ‘And I expect to be able to account for every item of ent

ailed jewellery when I get back,’ he added. ‘My wife will be requiring them.’ Her mouth dropped open, probably the first genuine expression he had seen on her face that evening. ‘I will see you at dinner, Stepmama.’

As he closed the door behind him something hit the other side—a dainty slipper, no doubt.

Gregory was bustling round the Garden Suite, looking nervous when Alistair reached it. ‘Your bath is ready, my lord.’ He gestured towards the dressing room door. ‘Are these clothes acceptable, my lord? And shall I assist you to undress, my lord?’

‘They look fine.’ Alistair gave them a cursory glance. His father, he was sure, had kept his lean figure to the end and they had been much of a height. ‘I am quite capable of undressing and dressing myself, thank you. And one my lord every twenty minutes will be adequate.’ The footman bit his lip and Alistair smiled, getting a grin in response. ‘I’ll shave myself, too.’

He glanced at the clock. Half past seven. No time for dozing in the bath then. ‘Get a jug of cold water, Gregory, in ten minutes.’

He sank into warm water, soaped himself lavishly and felt himself drift off. Dita. How would Imogen have coped with everything that Dita had been through over the past few months? He thought of her in that hut on the island, soaked, shivering, courageous and the most desirable woman he had ever seen.

And the most pig-headed and defiant and proud, too. She was his whether she wanted to be or not. Or whether he wanted it either. God, life would be hell with Dita, resentful and furious and intelligent enough to get up to any madcap scheme that took her fancy. Her face seemed to shimmer on the inside of his closed lids—

‘Aagh!’ The cold water was like a slap in the face. Alistair reared up out of the tub, spluttered and shook himself like a large dog as Gregory backed away, clutching the jug like a shield. ‘Good man,’ Alistair said as he climbed out and grabbed for a towel.

‘My lord?’ Gregory was staring at him.

Alistair glanced down. The bruises and abrasions were spectacular and the scars from the tiger’s raking claws always went red in hot water. ‘Shipwrecks tend to have that effect.’

‘Arnica?’

‘Does it do any good?’ He began to towel himself dry.

‘My old gran always swears by it, and there’s some in the stillroom,’ Gregory volunteered.

‘We’ll try it tomorrow,’ Alistair said, amused at the thought of Gregory’s ‘old gran’. He was a pleasant young man with a sense of humour and might be worth keeping on as a valet. It was time to put the East behind him, at least for a few years, and concentrate on learning to be an English gentleman again.

Gregory made himself scarce while Alistair dressed, although the silence that was presumably him holding his breath while the neckcloth was being tied was almost as distracting as chatter would have been.

He reappeared with a box in his hands. ‘Mr Barstow said I was to be sure to put these into your hands, my lord. He says to say they have been in the silver safe under his lock and key since his late lordship died.’

‘Did he, indeed?’ It sounded as though the butler had taken his mistress’s measure and that his loyalties lay with the new marquis, not with her. Alistair opened the box and found tie pins, fobs and one old, heavy signet. He had never seen it off his father’s hand before. It slid on to his with a cold rightness, the almost black stone heavy on a hand unused to rings. But it made a point: he was Iwerne now.

Just in case Imogen missed it, he lifted out the heavy gold watch with its chain and fobs and put it in his waistcoat pocket, arranged the chain across to the buttonhole, then took a modern piece, a fine amber-topped pin, and set it in his neckcloth.

‘Goes with your eyes, my lord,’ Gregory said chattily as he locked the box and was thus spared Alistair’s frown. ‘There’s an amber brocade waistcoat in the clothes press, that would suit you, too.’ He offered Alistair the key. ‘His late lordship used to put it on his watch chain.’

There was a certain sardonic amusement in contemplating what his father would say if he saw him in his clothes and jewellery. ‘Dead men’s shoes,’ he said under his breath as he tried on the evening slippers and found they fitted.

There was a choked snort from Gregory, who looked appalled at his own reaction. Alistair raised an eyebrow at him and went down to deal with Imogen with a grim smile on his face.

Chapter Sixteen

‘I am so glad you’ve cheered up, Alistair,’ Imogen said as he strolled into the drawing room.

‘Are you?’ It was hardly a witty rejoinder, but it was better than Go and get some clothes on!, which was his immediate reaction to the sight of Imogen’s gown. She might be in deep mourning, but his stepmother was interpreting that solely by the unrelieved black that she wore. The gown was cut so low that Alistair suspected close examination would reveal the edge of the aureole of her nipples, not that he had any intention of getting near enough to verify that. ‘My new valet keeps me in a constant ripple of amusement,’ he added, straight-faced, and saw her pretty brow wrinkle for a second. Imogen had never had much of a sense of humour.

‘Dinner is served, my lord,’ Barstow announced and Alistair offered Imogen his arm, walked her briskly to the foot of the table, saw her seated and retreated to the head, a considerable distance away.

‘We must have some leaves removed, this is too long,’ Imogen said to the butler.

‘I prefer it this length.’ Barstow bowed and retreated to the sideboard while the footmen began to serve soup. ‘The dining room in the Dower House is more compact, as I recall,’ Alistair added. ‘You will be able to have a smaller table there, Stepmama.’

‘I am not at all convinced that will be convenient.’