Three Times The Rake (The Northumberland Nine Series Book 3) Read online

  “I’ve been exercising.”

  “I can tell. You’re sweaty and musky and—and…”

  Disheveled. And achingly handsome because of it, even when uttering insults toward her, damn him.

  He smiled crookedly. “I’ve offended you, have I?”

  “My nose especially,” she retorted.

  “Do forgive me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Only once you’ve bathed.”

  He stepped aside. “Splendid idea. I’ll go for a swim in the ocean. Would that suffice?”

  The vision of him nude, striding into the white foamy waves, stole her breath. “Well…” She forgot what she was about to say. She’d never seen a naked man in the flesh, only in medical text illustrations she’d borrowed from the castle.

  He winked at her. “I hope the water won’t be too cold.”

  What did that mean? Why was he telling her any of this?

  “Bracing, refreshing. I’ll see you at breakfast, Miss Marsden.” He saluted her and traipsed off toward the path down to the bluffs.

  Georgie swallowed. What had just happened? He was teasing her that was all. He was a rogue, a rake by every indication. And he’d purposely insulted and flustered her, most likely for his own amusement. Were all London gentlemen this confounding? At least he’d been honest about his intentions. Georgie could never fault a person for their honesty. But what was the point of his escort, to make it clear he wouldn’t marry, to inform her she unsettled him? She glared at his retreating form, but then she smiled.

  He’d quite clearly confessed he couldn’t figure her out. Georgie considered that a compliment. She was not a typical female, certainly unlike any woman he’d ever met. There was something special about being unique that she could appreciate.

  He was, after all, one of a kind in her mind too.

  And now an opportunity presented itself. If she hurried, she might be able to find a good view of the beach and have a peek at a real naked man.

  Chapter 3

  Gavin Cage undressed slowly as if he knew someone watched, the cold air caressing his skin, the hairs on his body standing on end. He kept his back to the castle, to protect prying, innocent eyes. Not that he was certain she would be spying on him, but the thought stimulated him.

  Georgette Marsden, whether she knew it or not, captivated him in some strange way. Tongue-tied was how she left him after their first meeting yesterday, and today wasn’t much better.

  What was it about her?

  He couldn’t put his finger on it.

  She was beautiful, but he was used to beautiful women. They flocked around him like birds to a bird bath, preening, splashing playfully for his attention.

  So what was it?

  Her dark hair? Not usually his favorite color, but hers had hints of brown and red as if lightened by the sun, unlike her sisters. Her eyes were warm and brown with copper flecks like embers in a banked fire. Then there were her freckles, sprinkled across her cheekbones like pale gold stars in a milky sky. A sign she spent time in the sun without a bonnet or parasol, something a proper English woman of stature would never do.

  But what did he know about proper women of stature?

  He avoided them, preferring women less proper, who enjoyed the same unattached affiliations that he did.

  Why couldn’t he rid her from his mind?

  It couldn’t be her slender frame. He liked curves on a woman, full breasts and lush hips. Miss Marsden was thin and muscled, like a ballet dancer. She moved with confidence, sure and proud, strides long and efficient like a man, not graceful and light, swanlike as his mother would say.

  Gavin had never liked swans. Their long necks disturbed him. But he did enjoy the way a woman moved, hips swaying, her steps sultry.

  Nothing about Miss Marsden was sultry and yet… He was overheated and sweaty just standing near her.

  He couldn’t figure it out.

  He wanted to ignore her, put her far from his mind, but dammit if she hadn’t already wormed her way in, like a tune he couldn’t dislodge from his ear.

  And yet by their conversation this morning, he could believe she had absolutely no interest in him. Though she did blush, it could have been in embarrassment given his idiotic blathering.

  He was considered a charmer in his circles, a silver-tongued rake.

  But not with her.

  She…did something to him.

  He strode into the water, his teeth chattering as frigid waves licked at his thighs. He dove in, his chest locking in shock, and came up for air. He could hardly breathe it was so cold, but as he moved his arms and legs, his limbs tingling, the water invigorated him. He swam out deeper in long swift strokes until he started to feel warm. He turned back, treading water and examining the castle for pale faces. Alas, it was too far. Perhaps she could see him, or perhaps she hadn’t bothered to try.

  He just didn’t know where he stood with her and that was an entirely new feeling for him. If he knew anything, it was women.

  He’d learned long ago what women most wanted from men. Someone who listened, someone who was sympathetic and attentive to their needs. It was really quite simple, especially in affairs of lust. He’d earned himself a reputation that left him no shortage of partners.

  But none of that knowledge helped him understand Georgette Marsden.

  He shook his hair from his eyes.

  He rode the waves back to the beach and slung on his clothing, climbing the sandy trail up the side of the bluff.

  What am I doing here?

  Roderick had tricked him. He thought he’d be getting away from women. His mother was hell-bent on seeing him wed to Lady Henrietta. Roderick had fooled him and five of their friends into traveling up here with the promise of hunting and leisure. Not women, certainly not nine innocent women desperate to marry. No matter how much Roderick assured Gavin he was not the intended groom for any of the sisters, he was not comfortable with this situation.

  So who was it? Whose head was on the chopping block this time?

  Roderick himself?

  Gavin brushed sand and droplets of water from his hair as he strode toward the castle. He looked like a heathen, barefoot, barely dressed. But so be it. He wasn’t here to catch a wife. He was here to have what was promised. A stay of execution. His mother had worked herself up into a tizzy over Lady Henrietta, the newest, shiniest, and wealthiest debutante to hit the marriage mart this season. His mother was impossible to deal with when she had marriage in her sights. Lady Henrietta was amiable, but Gavin had no inclination to marry at all. He was too busy running his manufactories. Didn’t his mother see that? He’d followed in his father’s footsteps, steadily growing his father’s business and influence until he’d earned the friendships of dukes and earls through hard won success. Cage Manufacturing had surmounted even his father’s wildest hopes and dreams, but his mother wouldn’t be happy until she had herself an aristocratic daughter-in-law to bring blue blood into their legacy.

  Gavin rolled his eyes.

  The last thing he needed was a wife.

  Which is exactly why he should avoid Miss Georgette Marsden like the plague. The other sisters didn’t bother him. He understood them as typical females, quiet, docile, except for Miss Bernadette, but Gavin would bet his fortune that Chester would have her in hand soon enough, the poor bastard. Bernie was interesting and fun but didn’t spark anything further in him. Miss Georgette on the other hand… She started fires.

  His awareness of her was like a prickly rash, starting on his chest, his arms, moving lower to the places in his body that were sure to stir up mischief.

  He could not—would not—entertain any idea of a liaison with her. She might not be typical, or a lady, but she was gently bred.

  Weirick would also castrate him. Roderick and Chester too. If he put one finger out of line, he’d have to answer for it.

  He had no other recourse but to avoid her. He’d tried talking to her, but that hadn’t helped cool his hot blood one bit. It rankled him. He
enjoyed the company of a clever woman, and Miss Georgette was certainly that.

  But she had a naiveté that frightened him, as if she didn’t know how dangerous a man could be to an unsuspecting beautiful woman like her.

  For example, finding her in a tack room unchaperoned, grooms and stable hands running hither and yonder, or more to the point, men with eyes in their head. She was vulnerable walking about alone, appearing sure of herself and lovely with pink cheeks and lips coated with morning dew.

  Damn it.

  He stopped before the rear door of the castle near the bachelor quarters, his member growing thick in his wet breeches. He almost needed another dip in the frigid ocean. He took a deep breath and reined in his fevered thoughts.

  This was precisely the problem.

  Georgette Marsden stirred things in him that didn’t need stirring. He was already a red-blooded male. Gavin suspected she had no idea what she did to him. And that was the most dangerous of all. He could skillfully handle a jaded woman aware of her wiles and charm, but an utter novice?

  Gavin shuddered at the ramifications that could be wrought. He went inside and straight to his room, having just enough time to bathe himself and chase the chill from his bones, washing the salt and brine off his skin before heading into breakfast.

  Heaven forbid anyone else find him malodorous as she had.

  Entering the dining room, he caught sight of her almost instantly, astounding in a sea of Marsdens, but he picked her out easily, dressed in a different gown than before. This one matched the blush in her cheeks, and the bodice hugged the curves of her breasts. He pivoted away, nodding to Lord Luckfeld’s greeting and heading straight for the buffet of food.

  He piled eggs, bacon, kippers, and sausages on his plate, ignoring the cheerful chatter until Luckfeld came to his side.

  “You’re in a temper,” Luckfeld said.

  “No. Not at all,” Gavin lied.

  “Are you still fuming about Andrews’s sleight of hand?” Luckfeld teased. “I find it amusing. Town has been boring without him.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Are you missing someone?” Luckfeld leaned closer. “I have it on good authority that wedding bells are in your future.”

  Gavin dropped a sausage. “Don’t even say it.”

  “The Irresistible Heiress, they call her. Charmed beyond measure is how she put it when she talked of meeting you.”

  Gavin grimaced. “Then you’ve met Lady Henrietta?”

  “I have.”

  He turned to regard Luckfeld. The man always had a motive. His mind worked faster than his tongue. “Are you interested?”

  Luckfeld frowned. “Not in the least. Even if I was, she is clearly smitten.”

  “Well, I am not,” Gavin muttered.

  Luckfeld cocked his head. “Then you best guard your back, for she looked intent. I suppose that’s why you’re here?”

  Gavin nodded. “Warning noted.”

  “Then why aren’t you more relieved? I’ve seen a lamb go to slaughter with more enthusiasm.”

  Gavin lowered his voice. “Andrews tricked us. He means to marry one of us to one of these women.”

  “I’m not concerned.”

  “You’re not?”

  Luckfeld shrugged. “Little country mice are nowhere near as conniving as a marriage-minded mama. Your bachelorhood is safe as long as you keep your weasel in your breeches.”

  Gavin snorted. Perhaps Luckfeld was right, and he was worried over nothing. The real danger was back in London, probably planning visits with his mother.

  As for himself, all he had to do was mind his manners. He held all the control and needed to remember that. He finished filling his plate and took a seat at the table, a few chairs down from Miss Georgette. She didn’t even glance his way.

  Maybe he was overthinking. She hadn’t said or done anything to entice him. She never fluttered her lashes, touched his arm, or did any of the little things women did to flirt subtly. She hadn’t flirted with him at all. Women, young and old, always did.

  The subtle art of flirtation was practically his second language.

  He took a bite of his toast and swallowed, washing it down with a sip of coffee. He peeked her way again, and she was now sitting alone, her breakfast companion Miss Jeanette having returned to the buffet. He opened the paper Luckfeld offered him but continued to watch her. She was dissecting bits of egg into small pieces and right before his eyes, she dropped a bit into her bodice.

  He blinked.

  What the devil?

  He lifted the paper, blocking his face from the other guests but keeping sight of her. She did it again, smiling down at her cleavage.

  He turned his attention away and took a sip of coffee, digesting what he’d just witnessed.

  He reviewed everything he knew about her: one of nine daughters, an affinity for animals, amusing though a bit uncouth when it came to social discourse. She was beautiful, in an innocent, guileless sort of way that was refreshing after a season of perfumed, rouged, blindingly sparkling ladies.

  But what if…

  He bent down the corner of his paper, studying her.

  What if she was different, born different, more childlike than her age represented?

  He remembered his second cousin, Arnold. He wasn’t like most boys. He didn’t learn to speak until he was seven. Arnold was older than Gavin by a few years but he acted like a child, and his elderly parents treated him as such. He had a male nursemaid to tend him. Miss Georgette wasn’t like Arnold at all, but she was certainly different in other ways.

  An elbow dug into his side.

  Gavin turned to glare at Luckfeld. Most of the guests had moved on to the drawing room now, and they were alone except for a footman clearing plates and Miss Georgette and Jeanette.

  “You’re bloody staring at her,” Luckfeld whispered. “Weasel in breeches, remember?”

  “I remember,” Gavin whispered back. “But have you noticed there is something different about her?”

  “If by different do you mean…Gemma Wiseman different?”

  Gemma Wiseman? The courtesan?

  “I don’t follow,” Gavin said.

  Luckfeld shook his head. “She takes all clientele but prefers…”

  Women.

  Gemma Wiseman preferred women to men. She dressed like a man, smoked like a man. She put on elaborate peep shows at the Hollow Dock, but what made her famous was the discreet list of female clients she kept. Ladies of the ton who carried a deep secret went to Gemma.

  Gavin considered Miss Georgette with renewed vigor. Was that it? Her own sister had paraded Georgette’s masculine accomplishments before him, riding, hunting, and caring for their livestock.

  Did Miss Georgette prefer the company of women?

  He was delightedly scandalized by the thought. Her presence here was then superfluous, though it wasn’t unreasonable to think she still might have to marry one day, or not, if one of her sisters caught a wealthy titled husband.

  Suddenly it all made sense, and Gavin, for the first time since arriving at this party, relaxed.

  He found her beautiful and interesting, but he need not worry on acting on those impulses because she wasn’t interested.

  Hallelujah.

  He could breathe again, he could… He caught sight of her dropping another bit of egg into her bodice. He shook his head and stood. Miss Georgette was too complex to try to understand.

  Avoidance. That was the key. He wanted nothing to do with her, and she him, so he may as well avoid her. There was plenty of distraction from the other sisters. None of them stirred any emotion inside him. He could relax now and go on about his business. He was away from London, had riding and hunting and his friends. He should enjoy the party while it lasted. All too soon, he’d have to return to London and his mother’s embattled efforts to see him wed.

  Chapter 4

  Are you finished?” Jeanette asked. She had a napkin full of uneaten toast in her hand.

&
nbsp; “I am, are you?”

  “These are for the seagulls. We’re going to the beach to collect shells.”

  Georgie weighed her options. “Everyone?”

  “I would assume. By the way, did I see you sprinting up the stairs earlier or was that another of our sisters?”

  Georgie sighed. “It was me.”

  “What were you doing?”

  They stood and exited the breakfast parlor, two of the last people to remain other than—her heart did a flip at the sight of him. He was striding ahead of them with Lord Luckfeld. She’d never been one to pay attention to clothing or the quality of it, but he was nothing short of stunning in tight buckskin breeches and a navy blue coat. His hair gleamed, perfectly sculpted, his skin smooth from a fresh shave. She wanted to run her fingers over his jaw and see if he felt as soft as he looked.

  From this distance, too far back to hear what he said to Lord Luckfeld, she would bet he smelled divine, not as intoxicating as he had earlier but different, sharper. Would she have the chance to get close enough to find out? Likely not.

  “Are you going to answer my question?”

  “What? Oh, I was wondering if the beach could be seen from the nursery.”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Hmm, well. We can see the beach firsthand when we go down there.”

  Georgie nodded, but there weren’t going to be any naked men there now, would there?

  They all gathered in the drawing room and decided to walk to the sandy part of the beach, accessible from the trail down the bluff. The air was crisp and clean, the sun bright, and the clouds far away as they picked their way down the path. The gentlemen were very helpful, not that she and her sisters needed much help. They’d done this many more times than the gentlemen had. Why was it always assumed women couldn’t do physical things? Perhaps men didn’t know. Should she demonstrate? She was walking beside Jeanie when Lord Luckfeld dropped back and offered his arms to both of them.

  “How remiss of me to leave two beautiful women without an escort.”