How To Tame a Rake Page 2

  "You've filled out, my dear,” her aunt was saying. “And put up your hair."

  "Yes, Father implored me, and I finally got around to it,” Willy said briskly. “Not much use for it in the depths of the country."

  "Northumberland is very far away from everything, but surely you have town dances and the like?"

  "I went to one, but I didn't enjoy it much.” Willy thought of the oafish young men who couldn't or wouldn't dance a step. Only the older, married men wished to and most of them had trodden on her toes.

  Her aunt was eyeing her gown. “You'll need a new wardrobe befitting of your status."

  "I dare say.” Willy looked towards the door. “Is my cousin due home soon?"

  Lady Elizabeth leaned forward and patted her hand, sighing faintly at the condition of it. “Don't call him your cousin, dear. Blake or Dangerfield, if you prefer."

  Willy leaned back on the settee, crossing her legs. “And don't sit like that,” her aunt added, looking alarmed. She glanced at the door. “I thought I heard a horse ride to the stables. Sit up dear, cross your ankles. Hasn't anyone instructed you in the ways of a young lady?"

  "There's only Father, and I don't think he notices much.” Willy sat up. “I'm a bit of an outdoor girl, I'm afraid."

  The door opened and Blake strode in, pulling off his tan leather riding gloves. His royal blue coat was sculptured to his broad shoulders and tapering waist. As if that wasn't enough, it also matched his deep blue eyes. He removed his hat and smoothed back his dark hair. Willy drew in her breath. He was still exceedingly handsome. Her heart began that strange, pit-a-patter that happened the last time she saw him. And the time before that. How old was she then? Twelve.

  "Wilhelmina, welcome to Hawkeswood once again,” he said crossing to take her hand. He raised it to his lips.

  A thrill passed through her body, reaching her toes. “Thank you, Cous ... Blake."

  He sat down on the opposite chair. “Out of the schoolroom, I believe."

  She frowned. “I've been out almost two years."

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. And what have you been doing with yourself? No season in London?"

  "Father doesn't put much store by it. Chloe has a beau. Amabel came out last year and is yet to choose one. I would have this year, except...” she was unable to finish the sentence. Why did she always lose her confidence around him?

  Blake went on smoothly. “Yes. We have some arrangements to make, eh? But first, I think we should take some time together, to get to know each other. Perhaps a ride later this afternoon, and I'll show you a little of the estate."

  "Oh, capital! I mean, thank you, it sounds wonderful. I believe you have some very fine horseflesh in your stables."

  "Not without a chaperone,” Lady Elizabeth interjected. “Perhaps my maid, Gertrude can go along, although she hates to ride."

  Blake groaned. “Not that namby-pamby church mouse! What nonsense. Wilhelmina and I have never needed one before."

  "I agree.” Lady Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “You haven't needed one before."

  Blake looked at Wilhelmina. She appeared to be all grey. Her hair was arranged very badly, pulled back tight from her face, and it was mouse coloured. Her eyes seemed grey, too, as well as her gown. At least she'd filled out a bit, although it was hard to tell what was under that dress buttoned up to her neck.

  "I assure you, Mother, we shan't need a chaperone. You have my word that I'll be the very figure of proprietary."

  His mother stared at him silently, pursing her lips.

  * * * *

  When Willy arrived at the stables, Blake was nowhere to be seen. The groom brought out the mare that Blake had chosen for her. It was not much above ten hands and appeared to be half-asleep.

  "Not that one, I think,” Willy said. She wandered along the row of stalls. A tall, black horse caught her eye. As she went to stroke his nose, his nostrils flared and he dug at the floor of his stall with a hoof. “What about this one?"

  The groom shook his head. “That's Thunder Clap. ‘is lordship would have my ‘ead on a stick if I gave you ‘im."

  "I shall take full responsibility,” she said. “Please saddle him."

  The groom, shaking his head and muttering to himself, brought out the saddle. He led Thunder Clap from his stall to the mounting block. The horse snorted and fidgeted.

  She patted his nose. “Poor boy. When is the last time you had a good run?"

  "Not since he threw his rider,” the groom said. “And that was Johnson, who can ride fast asleep. Are you quite sure, Miss Corbet?” He looked as if he was about to face the gallows.

  "I am, Tarrow. Please don't fuss.” Willy arranged her skirts on the side-saddle as the horse danced about. She led him away from the stable quadrangle, down the path a way and back again. He was a perfect lamb. By the time Blake appeared, she felt she and Thunder Clap were old friends, almost. She suspected no one would ever completely tame him. And possibly no one would tame his master either. Blake walked down the avenue, looking anything but eager for her company.

  The groom rushed over to him and engaged him in conversation. When Blake spied Willy atop Thunder Clap he looked much like thunder himself. He gestured for her to return to the mounting yard.

  "You are not riding that animal, Wilhelmina! That stallion was a misjudged purchase of my father's. He's the very devil."

  "As you see, Cou ... Blake, I am riding him."

  "Come here."

  She rode up to him and Blake unceremoniously pulled her down from the horse. “Take him back to his stall, Tarrow,” he said, tossing the reins to the groom.

  More breathless from the touch of Blake's hands at her waist than at the confrontation, Willy studied the handsome man, hating to see the world-weary expression in his eyes. She was just a nuisance to him and he wished her gone. “I assure you I can handle him. He was a perfect angel."

  "An angel one minute and the devil the next."

  Willy folded her arms. “I would have thought you could ride him."

  He raised an eyebrow. “I can."

  "But you're a bit wary of him,” she said politely.

  Blake frowned. “I'm not a bit afraid of him. I prefer Ebony Fire—he's a far superior horse."

  "Oh, I understand.” She gazed up at the sky. “One is entitled to have a favorite."

  "Thank you,” he said, in an ironic tone.

  "Not at all, I quite understand.” Willy tapped her riding crop on the ground.

  "You are repeating yourself,” he said suspiciously.

  "But I do, honestly."

  "Why, you horrendous girl,” he said in an amused tone. “I believe you are toad-eating me.” He called to the groom. “Bring Thunder Clap back, Tarrow, and put a saddle on him. I'll ride him."

  "Oh, if you're sure?” Willy said. “He really does need some exercise."

  "And shall you be glad if he throws me over a hedge?"

  "Oh no,” Willy said hurriedly. “I shan't like that at all. But you can ride him can't you ... I wouldn't..."

  "Enough!” Blake roared. “We shan't travel down that road again.” He looked around. “Where's that horse I picked out for the lady to ride?” he bellowed at the hapless groom.

  Willy crossed her arms. “I'm not riding that ... that sleepy pony."

  Blake gave a grudging laugh. “Sleepy pony, is it?” He walked along studying his stable of fine horses. He stopped in front of a solidly built grey of about fourteen hands. “What about Silver Shadow?"

  She came and rested her arms on the box and the sturdy horse nudged her hand looking for apples. “Very well,” she said. But she intended to ride Thunder Clap one day. She would fight to prove her worth to this man.

  They clattered over a stone bridge and rode out over the fields. Willy thought the big, black stallion suited Blake to perfection. She hoped that Thunder Cloud would behave, although she was sure that Blake could handle him. She tried to urge Silver Shadow into a gallop, but he seemed content to canter
a long way behind the other horse. She felt annoyed and helpless when Blake had to circle more than once to wait for her.

  When they reached the river, Blake helped her dismount. His hands at her waist sent another rush of warmth through her body. She prayed she didn't blush. Her fair skin was annoyingly prone to it. She leaned against a tree and stripped leaves from a willow frond, as Blake tied up their horses. He went to stand and stare down into the river.

  She joined him. The river was wide and fast flowing. “How big is the Dangerfield estate?"

  "Around six hundred acres of woodland and eight hundred acres of pasture."

  'My, that's a lot."

  "There's hardly a fish in this river,” he said. “And the woods are so overgrown you have to fight your way into them. My father let the lands run fallow."

  "Why not get the work done, then?"

  "I haven't been here much of late."

  "Why ever not?"

  "Because I have business elsewhere,” he replied in frigid tones.

  "I mean, it's so lovely here. I'd want to be here as often as I could,” she said hastily.

  "I'm glad you like it.” Blake walked a few paces off along the river.

  She stood where she was and watched him, resisting the urge to follow him like an eager puppy. No doubt something he was used to from women.

  * * * *

  "I'm sorry, I was caught up in my thoughts,” Blake said, walking back to the girl.

  "Contemplating nature has that affect on one,” she said.

  At least she didn't force idle chatter upon him. He looked down into her small face with its pointed, rather determined chin. Her riding outfit left much to be desired, another drab colour that didn't suit her, but it couldn't disguise the feminine curves beneath. Her large, serious grey eyes gazed into his and he had the uncomfortable feeling she could see into his very soul. It made him feel strangely hollow.

  "Why doesn't your father buy you nice gowns?” he asked almost savagely. “Doesn't he care for you?"

  Her delicate, fair skin flushed a fiery red. “There are five daughters, as you know,” she said stiffly. “We all need to be fed and clothed. Father's not as wealthy as some."

  She made it sound like an accusation. Don't say she was one of those modern misses that felt the landed classes should be a dying breed, he thought, sighing. “I'm sorry. That was rude of me.” He wanted to add that he seldom talked at any length to well-brought-up young women these days. He'd been avoiding them, since he appeared to be on every mamma's prospective husband list.

  "What do you do at home?” he asked, searching for a common thread of conversation. “Do you sew and paint?"

  "Not a lot. I like to ride, help my father around the farm. I read a lot."

  He was suddenly hopeful that she may not wish to marry him, either. Perhaps she wanted to join that new suffrage movement he'd heard about.

  She glanced at the sky. “Hadn't we better be getting back? I don't like the look of those clouds."

  He turned to see a bank of dark clouds advancing on the horizon. A fresh wind sent dead leaves swirling across the ground. Wilhelmina's hat blew off. Her ash-blonde hair, turned to gold by a fleeting ray of sunshine, was ripped from its pins and went flying about, almost down to her waist.

  He ran to retrieve her hat before it sailed into the river. “You have pretty hair,” he said, returning to hand it to her. He was surprised, and her flushed face looked pretty enough to kiss. He reached out and took her shoulders, pulling her to him. “A fiancé should have certain privileges, don't you agree?"

  He expected her to go all maidenly on him and protest. But she didn't. When he kissed her, she kissed him back, keeping her mouth firmly closed. He toyed with the idea of prying her lips gently open, to read her reaction in her eyes. But it could lead to certain difficulties. It was neither the place nor the time. Quiet waters do run deep, he thought with amusement. Perhaps it would not be such a chore to teach her the pleasures of lovemaking. And make that baby. Then he would be free.

  When he released her, she quickly turned away. Her fingers busily gathered up her hair, securing it with pins and combs. It looked like a swallow's nest before she jammed on her hat.

  It began to pour. Hard, stinging needles of rain attacked them and made the horses pull at their reins and neigh. Blake picked Willy up and set her on the saddle. He jumped onto his horse. Unfortunately, Thunder Clap proved to be well-named. As a flash of lightening hit a tree in the distance and deafening thunder rumbled across the heavens, he bucked violently. The terrified horse danced around on its hind legs, desperate to throw off its rider.

  Willy peered through the blinding rain, her heart in her throat as Blake hung on. Filled with admiration, she watched him calm the stallion in a low tone. With a whinny and a shake of its head, the horse settled. Without giving her a chance to praise him, Blake galloped off towards the house.

  She hurried to follow. Perhaps at the prospect of a feed and a dry stall, Silver Shadow got up a reasonable canter. Willy's thoughts returned to Blake's kiss. He'd given it so carelessly, as though it meant nothing to him. And to her, it meant so much. She kept reliving the touch of his lips on hers all the way back to the stable yard.

  By the time they made it back to the house, they were both soaked through. Willy sneezed.

  "You'd better get out of those wet things,” Blake said, eyeing the dismal riding habit clinging limply around her body in wet folds. “The first thing I shall do is obtain a lady's maid for you."

  His look of disapproval made her feel as if he'd hit her. His sharp tone jolted her from her feeling of joy, back into reality. Her gaze flew up to meet his before she turned quickly away to hide the hurt in her eyes.

  * * * *

  Blake went to his room, his mind returning again to the easy friendliness of the upstairs maid, Sarah. She gave her favors willingly, no complications or demands. He swore under his breath. Who was he fooling? A wife would change his life completely.

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  Chapter Three

  At dinnertime, Wilhelmina failed to appear. An upstairs maid brought a note to the dining room. Blade read it. “She sends her apologies. She's abed with a slight fever."

  "A fever! My goodness.” Lady Elizabeth put her hand to her throat. “I do hope it's nothing catching.” She waved the maid away. “Tell Crowley to summon the apothecary."

  "We got soaked out riding this afternoon,” Blake said. “I should have been more alert to the weather."

  Lady Elizabeth raised her brows. “Perhaps you had more on your mind?” It was a still, humid night after the rain. She pushed away her plate and opened her fan.

  He chose to ignore the provocative remark. “I agree that it's too hot to eat."

  "Shall we retire to the drawing room?"

  "I think I'll go and see if Wilhelmina is all right."

  Elizabeth closed her fan with a snap. “To her bedchamber?"

  "You may come with me if you wish, Mother. I'm not an ogre. I have no intention, indeed no desire, to ravage the girl."

  She opened her fan again, and studied him as she fanned herself. “I'm sorry Blake, for you and for Wilhelmina."

  He frowned as he came around to pull out her chair. “And what are you sorry about?"

  Rising, she shook out her skirts. “A woman wants her husband to desire her."

  He read the sadness in her eyes. “Not all of em,” he said brusquely.

  "No. Not all. But I think Wilhelmina would."

  He stared at her. “Why do you say that?"

  "Because I'm an old and wise woman,” she said firmly. “But I've said enough. Go if you must."

  * * * *

  Blake knocked on Wilhelmina's door. A croaky voice answered. “Come in."

  He swung the door open and gazed in. The draft made the candles gutter and threaten to go out, sending shadows oscillating over the walls.

  He crossed to the window. “I'd better close this."

  "No, ple
ase don't. I hate stuffy rooms. Shut the door."

  "That would be improper,” he said.

  "I don't care.” Willy sneezed.

  "I suppose we need not bow to convention,” he said going to shut it, “As you are quite safe with me."

  "I have no doubt,” she said sniffing.

  Blake walked to the side of the bed. Her nose was red and her small face looked lost among the pillows. A thick plait hung over a bare, rosy shoulder, making her appear even younger than her eighteen years.

  "How are you feeling? We've sent for a doctor."

  "That's kind of you, but you shouldn't have bothered."

  "Nonsense. We must take care of you.” Blake perched on the edge of the bed and put his hand to her forehead, feeling her body tense beside him. Her brow was hot but not burning. Her big eyes gazed up at him. “This is my fault,” he said. “We shouldn't have ridden so far."

  "Oh pish. I can ride all day. I'll be fine by tomorrow.” She struggled up in the bed and the bedclothes fell away. He caught a glimpse of pert breasts beneath the white lawn nightgown, before she reefed the blanket up to her neck.

  "Wilhelmina..."

  "I wish you'd call me Willy. Everyone does."

  "Very well, Willy. When you're feeling better I thought you might go to London, stay at Dangerfield House. Mother will take you shopping."

  She fumbled for her handkerchief. “I'm to return home on Wednesday."

  "Perhaps that can be changed.” There was a knock at the door, and he stood. “Enter."

  The door opened and a grey-haired gentleman came in with the maid. “Here's the apothecary,” Blake said. “He'll put you to rights."

  Blake left Willy in the care of the apothecary and went to join his mother. He'd come to the conclusion that if she was to be his wife, she would need instruction and a touch of town bronze. He was damned if he would be leg-shackled to a country waif. His mother would delight in taking care of it all. It would distract her from him and kill two birds with one stone, leaving him to take up life where he left off.