The Rake Enraptured (12 page)

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

As Colin directed his horse up the long drive, he felt more uncertain than at any time since he had last been into battle. No, on reflection this was worse, because at least then he had known his enemy, known what to expect. Now he had no idea how she would greet him, what she would say. Then he had stood to lose his honor, some part of his body or his life.

Now his happiness was at stake.

It had been a hellish six months, almost seven. His lips bent at the thought. Mawkish of him to find a hell in the absence of a single woman, but there you were. There was no accounting for love. It had astounded him how she accompanied him in spirit everywhere, her sternly upright figure at his side in imagination, always watching. The vision of her became the standard by which he judged himself, her imagined snippy commentary a presence that was almost real, until it become his own internal dialog, his own standard, the excellence he expected of himself. He did not always achieve this standard, but he was close.

For a moment he saw a warm smile in her eyes, the same he had seen her turn on the children when they were unexpectedly clever. But no, he was not a child to be approved of. He would rather see that blissful l
ook he thought her face had worn for the confoundedly short time he had her in his arms, trembling and joyous.

If only it had not been so dark that night.

Or calm and peaceful contentment, and a hand that would slip into his own, small and perfect with her fine bones and gentle clasp. It was ridiculous, really, that a man who had known almost every pleasure of the flesh - and distastefully rejected only the most extreme - should long to hold a single hand. Should fantasize about it like some innocent schoolboy, besotted and lovelorn.

How could someone known for so short a space of time have such a profound influence? He did not understand it, only knew the pain he had felt when she turned those deep blue eyes on him and called him a disappointment and a wast
e.

It would not have hurt if she had been wrong.

He had always known it, through a lifetime of knowing his own existence was incidental in the scheme of things. He could live or die or waste every advantage and while his friends and lovers would mourn if he passed, his going would leave no scar on the world. The second son, improvident and leisurely, with too much money and time to spend.

So what did it matter if he drank to excess, and gambled, and pursued and pleasured women? What did it matter until a pr
ecise and upright woman of good character stole a heart he had not been quite certain he even possessed. Stole it away and then had the nerve to not even want it. Heartless jade.

Immediately he repented the thought. No, not his Julia. Concerned for the fat
e of rude little Albert Trent sent off to Eton for the tender mercies of the masters and other boys; smiling at Amy Trent in shared pleasure as the girl fumbled and mostly succeeded her way through dance steps at a family party; taking the children to wade in the stream and catch frogs instead of cooping them inside a stuffy schoolroom. And caring enough about the welfare of another human being to refuse to mouth polite and empty words when he crossed her path. Oh no, not Julia. Julia with the quick wit and acid tongue, etching a groove into his sybaritic narcissism.

It was not compassion, nor anything like it. No, it had been straight truth, delivered to him with indignation that he would treat the world so. Brave woman, and fierce. There was no one like h
er. He laughed softly as he recalled some of the things she had said to him. Rude. Shockingly rude. But she had cried for him, too. Cried for the waste he had made of himself.

Then at the very last, in the dark of night, still trembling with her spent pass
ion and he shaken by his own pent-up lust, that rueful sigh and the confession that now she understood his wicked women, having discovered her own fallibility.

Always inevitably truthful, with a brutality that spared not even herself. A hard-headed woman,
made to forge a good and worthy life at her man's side, and well worth the winning.

He reined in his horse at first sight of the house, bulking dark and stolid against the white of the snow. Would she be inside with her charges in the schoolroom even now,
bent over some piece of work? He could picture her clearly, those cool, clear blue eyes looking up at him from a child's copy book. The horse shifted beneath him with an impatient snort, and he nudged her on. She went willingly, lifting her feet in a way that let him know she thought the end of their journey near, with the main road behind them and a house in sight down a long gravel drive. Too well did she know his old schedule of languid house parties in the countryside. A schedule that was part of his past, not his future.

Yes, he would have Julia, would win her. He had the proof now, as she had demanded. Six months of celibacy. An almost complete alteration in lifestyle
in fact, though that change had been the inadvertent product of abstention from sex. For he had not dared become drunk in mixed company. Heaven forbid he discover he was weak while drunk, and wake in the arms of some other woman, some casual affair. How could he hope to face Julia if he did that? So he did not drink. But his friends were dismally tedious when he was sober and they were not.

Nor was there a polite way to turn aside every lecherous invitation that came his way. Past lovers were eager to make use of him in the casual round that had been his lifestyle. No woman liked to be rej
ected, and though some were gracious, others held it against him. It was easier to stay away from sybaritic friends, associates, and all those women who knew him carnally or by reputation. It was a whole world on which he turned his back. Then, in sobriety, alone with his own self for the first long stretch of time in his adult life, he discovered he was bored with his own idleness.

Why, then find an occupation. He toured his estates for the first time since he had inherited them. Their condition varied wi
dely, depending on the quality of the managers in place. Some were a shambles, enough that he suspected Sebastien had not been quite the diligent landowner Colin once supposed.

Not that he would have identified the neglect if there had not been the exampl
e of the two truly thriving estates - Morton Abbey and Waringside Park - to compare. Each of these was productive despite his neglect, well-organized and excellent. The smaller holdings went from bad to worse.

He stretched in the saddle, pleased to find t
here was no strain to the motion. Riding all over the South of England had brought him back to condition. It was a good feeling. To be competent at something significant beyond a moment's pleasure. To learn new skills and broaden his perceptions. Yes, it was good. He had consulted with those who had greater knowledge and experience in estate management - his peers and his own competent managers - and was bewildered to find himself truly interested in the subject.  The world of estate management that had always been opaque and seemed the height of tedium. What had changed? Had he matured, or was there information about this role he had simply missed in the past?

So he pondered if all this was a creation of Julia Preston or if he had been ready and wanting onl
y some trigger to move on from life as a rakish wastrel. His hand tightened on the rein, and his restive horse, held to a sedate canter, tossed her head and let him know she would gladly gallop, still fresh from her night spent in the stable of a nearby inn. He had delayed his arrival to put on a smart appearance, he told himself. Too well he knew how a woman could be swayed by appearance, and he wanted to go fully armed to this fray. Though truly, it was more than that. It came down to this moment, now, to discover if he had won the battle or wasted six months.

Not wasted, surely. He could not have spent so long accumulating the skill of charming and ensnaring women to fail not once but twice when it truly mattered.

But he was not willing to arrive one minute sooner than necessary. "Nearly there," he told his horse, repeating the words when her ears swiveled towards him. The house was close now, though hidden again by a curve in the carriageway. To his left was the bank where he had sat with Julia and looked out over the water in the milky twilight, enjoyed her banter and then stolen a kiss that had her mad and spitting at him again.

By heaven, he had misplayed his hand in that heady month of July. She was not like any woman he had known before. His seductive
wiles fell flat and besides he discovered he had no taste for them with her. He wanted her to like him for himself. Perhaps he should have seduced her first and taught her to care for him afterward. He had faith in the power of his own bedroom skills to soften the sternest attitude.

But no. Manipulating his Julia seemed too wrong. Instead he had wheedled and teased her, enjoying her sparking indignation, until he discovered he cared too much, too fast and beyond his own control.

Yes, he had misplayed it, somehow, lost in a mess of unfamiliar tenderness, not playing a game but only experiencing her, and how he felt with her. Callow and stupid, but there it was. He was not the cool tactician he had so fondly supposed.

But surely now he must bring tactics to b
ear. Within his gloves his palms were damp, not only from exertion. This was it. The moment of fate. He rode to the back of the house and dismounted in front of the stables. A stable hand came out, eyebrows raised in polite query, and wiped flakes of pastry from his mouth with his sleeve.

"Sir?" he asked around a mouthful of his luncheon.

"She's still fresh. Stall her and hold her ready, if you would. I'm not sure if I'll be staying. If I don't return within the hour, unsaddle her and rub her down."

"Aye, s
ir."

Colin walked slowly to the house, adjusting his layers of clothing with minute pulls and tugs. He had left his baggage at an inn not half an hour's ride from here, stayed the sleepless night, then dressed with the utmost care and come on. Would she th
ink him sufficiently attractive? He would use every advantage he had to hand. He went to the back door, informal after his extended visits in the past, and was let in by a housemaid who curtsied and blushed and stammered she would fetch Mrs Trent then fled before she could be corrected. Mrs Trent was in residence? He had not expected that. Bad luck indeed, when he had thought the Trents would be in the midst of the London season. He had no desire to encounter her, but it was too late.

He lingered in the hal
lway until the more experienced butler found him and shuffled him into the library to wait. The man went off to check on the progress of Mrs Trent, and Colin chose not to redirect him. The last thing he wanted was to have his first encounter with Julia in six months under the interested eyes of her employer. He must be patient.

On the desk was the globe, and he wandered to it and spun it with idle fingers, wondering if she had touched it recently. This week, perhaps, she might have huddled over it with the
girls and taught them something fascinating about far off lands.

When he heard a quick step approaching he let his hand fall away and turned towards the door. Mrs Trent came in, two spots of self-conscious color on her cheeks and her eyes alive with curios
ity and speculation.

"Mr
Holbrook, what a delightful surprise." She curtsied and he bowed, then she went to a seat and gestured him to another. The butler came in and oversaw another housemaid as she set out trays of small biscuits and cakes, a pot of tea and cups. Then both servants exited, the butler pulling the double doors closed behind him without waiting to be dismissed. Mrs Trent began to pour out tea. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"As I'm in the area, I thought I would call and see if you were a
t home."

"I am, though unfortunately you will find Mr Trent is away. Parliament is in session of course. He will be sorry to have missed you." The avidity in her expression told him much that he did not want to know: she suspected he knew this already; she
wondered if he wished to find her alone; she liked the idea, and might soon act to assure him of his welcome.

"Also Miss Preston promised to lend me a book when I was last here, and I carelessly went away without it. I thought I would collect it from her,
if she would be so kind."

"Oh, did you?" She frowned, distracted from her thoughts. "How peculiar. I mean you must be a very avid reader to take such trouble over a book, or even to remember it after all this time."

"A very rare book, and one I have wanted to read for some time. Recommended to me by my brother before he died, as having been of great comfort to him," said Colin, improvising freely.

"Oh well then of course I see how it is. Gracious, you and Miss Preston must have had some lengthy conversatio
ns together to cover such territory."

"She happened to be reading it at the time, and I noticed."

"Indeed. Well, I wish I could help, but Miss Preston is no longer here."

"Away with the children?"

"No, quite gone. The children have a new governess."

A chil
l went down his spine. "How long has she been gone?"