Three Times The Rake (The Northumberland Nine Series Book 3) Page 5

  This must be God laughing at him. He was slavering over a woman who did not want him, and this was his punishment.

  Very well.

  He held his handkerchief to his eye, more out of stunned embarrassment as the concerned kite flyers gathered round him, but it was her, kneeling before him, her perfumed—no, not perfumed—the soap-scented warmth of her skin filling his nostrils.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Cage,” she said.

  “Have I wronged you in some way, Miss Georgette?” he asked, squinting as his face began to throb. Was this karma being returned to him for his insults a few days ago?

  “Of course not. It was purely an accident,” she replied. “May I see?”

  He lowered the handkerchief reluctantly.

  “You shan’t lose your eye.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No, but I manage all the care for the animals on my father’s estate.”

  Right, because he was an animal and she tended to injured animals.

  Could she see to his other wound? The bigger one in his breeches?

  “I have a flare for healing, I should say,” she continued. “I’ve seen worse wounds than this. Your eye will bruise, though. No doubt you’ve sported a blackened eye before.”

  “I have not,” he said between clenched teeth. Warmth was already pooling in his groin as she leaned toward him, inadvertently flashing her cleavage again.

  “Really? You’ve never had a blackened eye? I thought fisticuffs were common for young boys. Even my sisters have brandished one on the occasion.”

  “I had no idea you were so prone to violence. Here I thought ladies were delicate,” he quipped. She was delicate though he suspected she wouldn’t like that adjective, but the pale skin at her throat, where he could see her pulse beating, appeared very delicate indeed and perfect for tasting.

  “You haven’t been meeting the right ladies. There is nothing delicate about us. It’s a ruse.” She winked at him.

  Warmth spread like a slow grassland fire inside him. Could hell be this sweet?

  “I’m sure Mr. Cage would like to retire to tend to his injury,” Miss Bernadette said.

  Gavin stood, still watching Miss Georgette. He bowed to them both and turned away. His skin hot, his body churning with unbridled attraction. Whatever he was feeling, it certainly wasn’t alleviated by avoiding her. Perhaps he needed to get closer, get to know her, and then his curiosity wouldn’t be so rabid. She may come to be an interesting acquaintance if what Luckfeld suspected was true, and if not well… He had to know. His mind and his desires would not rest until he understood her better.

  He could be a friend to a beautiful woman. He did it all the time. Hell, even the duchess Violet had been a friend of his before she married Weirick, and he’d even had a romantic interest in her, but that had faded swiftly.

  When he got to his room, the skin around his eye had swelled and started changing color. He sighed. He wasn’t vain, but a man certainly didn’t like to go about flirting with a woman looking like an ogre.

  So be it. He could pretend to be one of her wounded animals and get closer to her. He and the owl in the tack room could wear matching bandages.

  He rang for his valet to fetch whatever medicine would help his eyes and then lay back on his bed, holding the cold compress his valet had returned with. He sighed.

  What the bloody hell was he going to do? Every time he opened his mouth around her, he sounded like a fool. Or he insulted her.

  It wasn’t like him at all. He was known as the silver-tongued rake, for more reasons than the ability to charm women to distraction. But Georgette Marsden had the power to strip him of those talents with her direct gaze. Annihilating his wits and making his pulse shoot to the sky like a firework.

  He’d told her she unsettled him.

  The understatement of the century.

  He had to get hold of himself. He couldn’t rest until he understood what exactly was causing this charged tension between them and how to be rid of it. Luckfeld could be right about her preference for women, but something just didn’t ring true. He wasn’t going to take the coward’s way out, and he’d never be able to let it go if he didn’t have an answer. He’d apply the same ruthless study he gave his manufactories and focus it on her.

  Retreat was never an option.

  The next morning, he entered the stable, catching sight of her in the tack room. He knocked on the doorframe and she turned, not hiding her surprise at seeing him.

  “How do your patients fare?” he asked. She was here every morning before breakfast, diligently caring for these animals. They must mean a great deal to her.

  “Well, they’re eating. That’s always a good sign.”

  “Would you care to join us for a ride this morning?”

  She froze and her eyes widened. “Truly?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly, though he was anything but. “You’re already here. Do you like to ride?”

  “I love to ride.”

  He knew she meant horses, but dammit if her emphatic response didn’t warm his blood.

  “Do you have to finish with your patients?”

  She smiled. “I’m already done, thank you.” She stepped toward him. “Your eye is not as severe as I would have expected. A bit bruised but not blackened.”

  His rakehell instincts would be to stay where he was, letting the tension of their nearness thicken between them, but he wasn’t ready to push that boundary, not until he knew for certain if she would welcome it and enjoy it.

  He stepped back to give her space to pass. “And I am glad, for my vanity would not allow it. Do you need to change into a riding costume?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not carrying any creatures inside your clothing, are you?”

  She grinned. “Not this time. I left Kit sleeping in my room—” She gasped. “Please don’t repeat that within Violet’s hearing. I promised no animals inside the castle, but he’s so little and frightened. He needed a warmer place to recoup his strength.”

  “Ah, I see.” And he did. A woman’s bosom provided endless comfort in a variety of ways, and from what he’d briefly seen of hers, he envied the little kit.

  She strode past him and requested a horse. Gavin inspected her plain morning gown as she removed the leather apron she’d been wearing. The women he usually rode with had elaborate riding costumes with large brass buttons and ridiculous tiny hats with ostrich feathers. Was there a reason other than fashion? He wasn’t dressed to present, though he didn’t deny that he’d bathed this time, just in case they came across each other. But he still wore no cravat and left his best breeches in the wardrobe.

  This wasn’t a courtship. He didn’t intend to woo her on this outing, so he shouldn’t trouble himself about their lack of formal attire for the occasion. She didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it. But still… He ran his hand over his hair, while her back was turned, and smoothed his jacket.

  He felt a bit of a shock as she turned and smiled. “Ready?”

  He nodded and followed her outside where their horses were waiting. He waved the groom away and lifted her up to her horse. Gavin hid his shock as he put his hands around her waist, the slimness and firmness of her body surprising him. He was used to soft, feminine curves, supple hips and thighs. Her body reacted under his hands, her lean muscles tightening as he lifted her. He turned away, stunned. He liked his women somewhat plump, but her lithe, strong body affected him just the same. He mounted and took the lead, heading in the direction of a familiar path that followed the top of the bluffs, affording them a lovely view of the rising morning sun.

  Crisp, thick, salty air washed over them as they cut through the low morning mist clinging to the ground. He resisted to the urge to look back. He could hear her following, easily keeping pace with him, but he wanted to see her face. Was she enjoying herself? Did the peace and exhilaration of a new day affect her as it did him? He came to the top of the bluff and reined in, well before the edge. She
did the same and he drank in her awed expression as she stared out over the water, the pinks and oranges giving way to the purples and blues of the coming day.

  She pointed. “Look!”

  He ripped his gaze away reluctantly. Two dolphins played in the waves, swimming parallel to the cliffs, jumping through the swells. He’d seen it many times, but he’d never seen her see it, her excitement, her pure joy, and the sight drugged him.

  His heart pounded. This was worse than he thought.

  He was falling for her, tumbling into an infatuation sure to end badly. What was it that lured him to her like a moth to flame? She was nothing like his usual conquests. She had nothing of their sophistication or worldly views. She’d never been outside of Northumberland for Christ’s sake.

  And yet, she carried herself with a maturity and certainty that defied her inexperience.

  Who was she?

  She dazzled him, pure and simple.

  Pure and simple.

  That’s what she was, and not.

  He chuckled at himself. He was going mad for an innocent country gentlewoman who had no idea what kind of man he was.

  “Have you seen anything so beautiful?”

  He had now.

  “There isn’t much that can compete with a sunrise,” he replied.

  Except you.

  “I’m curious. How do the entertainments in London compare to a Northumberland house party?”

  He scoffed. “The two are not comparable.”

  She raised a brow in challenge. “Try, won’t you?”

  He shrugged, his horse, Boromir, shifting under him, sensing his distaste for the topic of conversation. Nothing about the Northumberland and London were comparable in his mind; one was wild and rugged, the other glittery by night and soot-covered by day.

  “I don’t think you’d like London,” he said.

  She considered him. “Or do you think London wouldn’t like me? I’d like to see it one day, if only once.”

  “London wouldn’t appreciate you.”

  She raised both brows now. “Really?”

  “It’s a compliment.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  He smiled. “Let me explain.”

  “Please do.”

  He chuckled. “You fit comfortably here in the country, sun rises, the undisturbed beauty of nature, the quiet and stillness.”

  “My dirty hems and mud-caked boots,” she added.

  “London is disturbed beauty. Manicured parks, railings, boxed gardens. Nothing is allowed to roam wild except the street urchins. I don’t think you’d like it.”

  “You think you know me well enough to say that?”

  “I’m still learning you, Miss Georgette, but I can confidently say you wouldn’t like London.”

  She blushed, and he could see the delicate stain fill her cheeks even in the changing light. The rake inside him preened. A blushing female is an interested female. Her body was responding unbidden. Did that mean she did like men and not women? Did she even know?

  In his colorful experience with the demimonde, men and women can move both ways.

  But Miss Georgette had no access to such knowledge.

  It challenged him to find out. A bit of flirting would reveal more. Would she flirt back? She’d been coy with him after the kite incident, but had it been intentional or purely natural? She wasn’t intimidated by men, that was abundantly clear, but she wasn’t a coquette either.

  By the end of this party, he would know. He had to.

  He’d award himself an honorary degree in the studies of Georgette Marsden, and he’d do it without using his rakish charm. Seduction would be cheating. Seducing her would be far too easy given what he knew of her so far, if she had any interest in men. He could capitalize on it but that would be taking the easier course, and he preferred a challenge. If she truly preferred women, then perhaps her teasing flirtation had been her natural charm, a sign that she wished to become his friend.

  He could stand it. He didn’t need every woman of his acquaintance to fall in love with him. He had many female friends, some paramours, some not. He was not so conceited that he had to have hordes of women wanting him. He knew what he was about and the effect he had on women.

  Except for Georgette. He wanted to know what she saw in him, desperately.

  It was the desperation he found so unnerving, even though she was not a complex person. She had been upfront about exactly whom she was. He would have to do the same if he wanted her regard, even as just a friend.

  “London is like a costume party. People are different there than they are outside of it. It’s what makes country parties so refreshing.”

  “Besides the air.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, besides the air.”

  “In society, people pretend?”

  “That’s one way to put it. Everything is more. More elegant, more expensive, more intense.”

  “So which do you prefer?”

  “Can’t I have both?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “I enjoy the distraction town offers, but I also like the distance the countryside affords.”

  “From your mistress?” She smiled as she said this.

  Now it was his turn to blush. But he never blushed. He coughed, a surprised laugh catching in his throat. “Not at present.”

  “So it’s true? Most men keep a mistress?”

  “Mostly true,” he admitted, “if I’m being honest.”

  “Thank you for being honest with me,” she said, but the brightness of her expression dimmed.

  He floundered for something to say to bring back her light. “I… I don’t want to mislead you.”

  “Thank you,” she said stiltedly.

  They were silent for a moment.

  “I know you were not happy with Roderick’s lying to get the lot of you here.”

  He swallowed.

  “I’m sure nine women was a bit of a surprise when…you just wanted to get away,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “From town, I mean. You came all the way to Northumberland to be refreshed, as you say, and were tricked into a house party designed to…inspire marriage.”

  He didn’t know what to say. The moment was quickly unraveling.

  “I just want you to know I don’t expect marriage from you or anyone else.”

  He frowned. He could ask a dozen questions and predict a few of her answers, but he didn’t want to insult her intelligence by pretending he didn’t understand her difficulties and the situation she and her sisters were in. They were poor gentry, desperate to marry before their father’s death at some unknown point in the future. Their prospects were dim and the odds of them marrying any of the wealthy gentlemen in attendance were slim. Men like Lord Luckfeld and Lord Densmore were conditioned from birth with the expectation they would marry for connections and wealth, expanding their already gold-plated legacies.

  As for him, he didn’t plan to marry at all. He didn’t see the need. He took what pleasures he needed from life but his true love was his work. He was free to do as he pleased, without worrying he was letting someone down by the late hour he kept in his office or the sudden jaunts to a ribald house party. Growing up with a father who worked as much has he did, Gavin had seen and felt firsthand the kind of hurt a man could inflict by putting work before his family.

  He didn’t want chains, and he didn’t want to be responsible for another person’s wellbeing. But for women it was essential. They didn’t have the same opportunities to provide for themselves like he did. So he understood the reason for the party. Had he not been conned into participating, he’d support the idea. He did hope the best for them; he just couldn’t marry any of them. It wouldn’t be kind. He was a rake, liked to spend his leisure time with a drink in his hand and a barely dressed woman on his lap, but he was never unkind. He had a code of ethics, just like any gentleman.

  “I don’t intend to marry,” she said.


  Her statement caught him off-guard. “But you have to.”

  “Says who?”

  “The very basic human need for food and shelter indicates that you need to marry.”

  She shrugged. “One of my sisters will and she will support me.”

  He blinked at her.

  “What? Don’t pretend you don’t see the obvious. I’m not marriageable, not like my sisters. It’s difficult enough we’re poor gentry with no dowries, but when you add my…oddities to the table, my prospects are quite dismal.”

  Her oddities?

  Was Luckfeld right all along? He did seem to know everything and everyone on sight. He read people easily, which made him impossible to beat at cards.

  He cleared his throat. “Well…if that is what you wish.”

  She raised a brow at him.

  “I don’t intend to marry either,” he said.

  “Ever? But don’t you have to?”

  “My mother would say yes, but I’m not of noble blood. I built upon my father’s successful business, and well, I don’t have time to invest in a marriage. It seems cruel.”

  She cocked her head.

  Gavin sighed. He’d never voiced this to anyone, but with her, only the truth would do. She’d never trust him otherwise.

  “Growing up I rarely saw my father.”

  “Likewise,” she muttered.

  He nodded. He’d heard all about her father and how he spent most of time away in search for husbands, but each time he returned home empty-handed and somehow begot another daughter on his poor wife.

  “Mine wasn’t traveling, he was just too busy for his family. He spent all his time working and it hurt my mother. She never complained, but she was lonely and sad.”

  “She had you, didn’t she?”

  “I was sent to school as a boy, like most boys with the means to get an education. When I was home I tried my best to make her happy, but she loved my father. I did too. We both just wanted to see him, but he was always gone.”