Page 10 of How to Court a Rake
‘And any one of them will do? Does that standard apply to you? With your title there are also several women who are now available to you. Why not get married next week, then, if anyone will do?’ She scowled. ‘I expected a little broader thinking from you of all people. It would be nice if the breadth of a man’s thoughts matched the breadth of his shoulders on occasion.’
Caine chuckled and hung his head in a good-natured admittance of defeat. ‘Apologies. Of course, you want the same choices as a man, not only in drink but in larger considerations.’
‘Port is a start, but, yes, I suppose I do. My life should be worth no less, my happiness no less important, my choices no more limited. And yet those are the items regulated by others, bytheirwants,theirwords, whileyoucan do as you like.’
‘You’re talking about the consequences of me leaving you on the dance floor.’ He gave her an apologetic look, dark and warm. How could a woman not forgive that look? ‘Was it terrible?’
She’d not meant to confess anything to him. Perhaps it was the port, the intimacy of sitting side by side on the sofa in a dimly lit room, maybe it was just the simple invitation of his eyes or the soft murmur of his voice that suggested her secrets were safe with him, that her honesty was welcome, both of which were not welcome in her own home.
Fleetingly, she wondered how many other women had confided their secrets to those eyes? The answer didn’t seem to matter, didn’t change the words that came from her mouth. ‘My parents were furious over the ballroom incident. As a result, my father is determined to have me married by Season’s end.’
She paused, realising it might sound as if she were blaming him. ‘I think my father’s been looking for a reason to marry me off since Harlow went in the other direction. If it hadn’t been the ballroom, it would have been something else. He can always find reasons. He never wanted a daughter. I’ve never been enough for him.’ It felt good to confess it out loud to someone even if that someone was a rake and a stranger. Here in the quiet though, Caine Parkhurst didn’tfeellike a stranger.
His hand curled over hers, his touch warm and easy—yet another way in which men had choices that women did not. He might touch someone at whim. A proper young lady, though, must never dare to take a man’s hand. His hand, his arm, must all be offered first. ‘What will you do?’
‘There is little I can do other than try to beat him to the choice. I cannot alter his decision, but I can perhaps influence who the man is. I think my best hope is to find a man I prefer, a man he cannot object to, before he finds oneheprefers thatIcannot object to, albeit for different reasons.’ She let out a sigh that held all her exasperation.
‘They’re all the same and I fear that when they look at me, they think I am interchangeable, too, that they don’t seeme, but a placeholder for whatever comes with me.’ Her plan had not got off to a good start. The start had, in fact, been quite dismal. The field of candidates had not significantly changed since the year she’d come out, except perhaps to get smaller.
‘You are not alone in that thought. You look at the men and they all seem the same to you. I look at the girls and I think that, too. There is no life to them, no individuality.’ Caine offered her a melting smile. ‘I don’t think that when I look at you, though. You’re not like the other girls, Mary. Don’t worry on that account.’
‘Butyoucan make your own choice. You can decide who it will be and you can decide when.’ That was all she wanted, too, but those simple variables were being denied her, had always been denied her. The Dukes had never been her choice either. She’d not known either of them. Creighton had been raised in India and Harlow had never been anything but resigned. Resignation wasn’t exactly what a woman wanted to see on her husband’s face.
‘Is that what you think? That I’m entirely in charge?’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘Well, maybe I am when it comes right down to it.’ He leaned close and she breathed in the scent of him like calming salts from a vial. ‘Shall I tell you a secret?’
A delicious shiver took her. Secrets in the dark with a rake? Did he really think she could say no to that? The lure of possessing a secret held by Caine Parkhurst was irresistible even though the rules said she ought to. But why resist? What was the point? The whole rotten lesson of playing it safe, of being good, was that there wasnogrand reward for it. Good behaviour had changed nothing for her. But breaking the rules had opened up experiences she’d not dreamed of.
Tonight, she’d veered from the staid goodness of her life. She’d danced with a notorious gentleman, walked in the garden with him, drank port with him, confessed her own secrets to him. Why not be his confessor now? She smiled and slid him a glance, whispering the word that would take her one step further down a decadent path. ‘Yes.’
***
‘You have to mean it.’ Caine was only half teasing. It was a real secret. ‘I’ve not told anyone. Only the King, my grandfather and my family know.’ With the exception of the King, everyone else was entirely trustworthy.
He watched her nod solemnly, the light of the single lamp limning the delicate, classical lines of her profile. The semi-darkness enhanced her beauty, called attention to the elegant length of her neck, but it could not erase the edge of desperation that edged her voice. Sheknewshe couldn’t escape her fate. She was doing the best she could with what tools she had.
To Caine, that was real bravery: to fight on knowing the odds were supremely stacked against you. Something in him had answered to that, awakened. Empathy for young, privileged girls was not his usual suit. But Mary Kimber was proving to not be the usual.
‘This is serious, Mary.’ He had his mouth at her ear, breathing in the spring scent of her soft lilies and vanilla. She smelled fresh, clean, pure, all the things his world wasn’t. He should not drag her in, should not lure her with an irresistible temptation, yet, he wanted to offer her misery his company, to let her know that she wasn’t alone.
‘I must marry within the year if I want my title to survive me.’ He leaned back from her ear, watching her face take in the revelation. ‘You’re not the only one who doesn’t get to decide when.’ It wasn’t quite the same. He had more time than she did, but one might also argue the opposite. She’d been expected to marry from the time she was eighteen, more time to accustom herself to the idea of it, whereas he’d had no pressure to marry and had not truly expected to.
He lived a dangerous life, chasing down saboteurs at midnight. A family, a wife, would become complicit in that life, collateral to be held against him, used against him. Such ties would make him vulnerable, fallible. Weak. No matter how much he might want those things in theory, he could not force his life on others.
He felt the press of her hand overlaying his. ‘I am sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Truly.’ She was uniquely poised to mean it, to understand.
‘So you see, we have something in common. The rogue and the rose, both facing enforced marital obligations.’ He chuckled to make light of it.
‘I am no rose,’ she demurred.
‘Yes you are, Mary. You’ve got more thorns than I anticipated and I’m usually a good judge of character.’
She laughed, a light, natural sound void of the usual debutante affectations. ‘Are you suggesting I’m thorny? I would think a rake with your reputation would be more adept with compliments. Usually a rose is known for its blooms, its delicate scent.’
‘Don’t settle for the usual, Mary.’ He laughed, but the reply was offered in all seriousness. Her company was surprisingly delightful. What had started out being an attempt to do her a favour had left him thinking the roles had been reversed and she was the one doing him a favour. An idea came to Caine. ‘Do you have any candidates in mind?’
‘No. Do you?’ Mary took a sip of her port and he let his gaze linger once more on her throat as she swallowed. He wanted to stroke that neck, wanted to trace the lines of it with the tip of his finger from jaw to the edge of the lace on her rose silk gown, to feel her skin grow warm beneath his touch, to see the pulse at the base of that elegant throat speed with excitement caused by him. He knew how to rouse a woman and she would rouse quickly. The curiosity, the interest was already there even if she tried to fight it, tried to reason it away. He would enjoy the tutoring. There was much he could show her, so much she ought to have the right to experience.
Caine shifted on the sofa, crossing a leg over one knee, aware that his body was already rousing as a product of the conversation. ‘No. I’ve not found any prospects either.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Maybe I won’t find anyone.’ This was the real secret. ‘If I don’t find someone suitable, perhaps I will let the title lapse with me, rather than settle for someone unsatisfactory.’ It appealed to him to show the Crown that he could not be brought to heel with a title. He gave Mary a slow smile. ‘You’re the first to know.’ This was not something he’d voiced yet with anyone, not even Grandfather.
