How To Tame a Rake
Book Jacket
Historical
Words: 32110
It was plain to see from the moment Wilhelmina arrived at his country estate that the devastatingly handsome Blake, Viscount Dangerfield, disapproved of most everything about her. The codicil to his father’s will came as an unpleasant shock to Blake, Viscount Dangerfield. He had no desire to tie himself down at all, let alone to Wilhelmina—a skinny urchin, barely out of the schoolroom, with mousy hair, no bosom, and a hoydenish disposition. Rating: Contains sexual situations and adult content
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How To Tame a Rake
by Maggi Andersen
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Romance/Historical Fiction
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Copyright ©2009 by Maggi Andersen
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
CONTENTS
* * * *
How to Tame a Rake
By
Maggi Andersen
© copyright by Maggi Andersen, February 2009
Cover art by Alex DeShanks, February 2009
ISBN 978-1-60394-281-2
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
England
Northumberland
Summer, 1850
Willy threw the ball back to the tow-haired boy. “I declare you have finally exhausted me, Andrew,” she called. “I beg you allow me retire to rest. I am not as young as I once was, you know.”
This remark drew a laugh and a shake of the head from the gardener pruning the shrubbery. Eight-year old Andrew caught the ball and ran back to the neighboring house through a well-worn hole in the hedge.
Willy walked across the lawns towards the two-storey farmhouse where late-blooming pink roses climbed a trellis on its creamy walls. She heard her father call her name and gathered up muslin skirts, running lightly over the ground, her bonnet bouncing on her shoulders by its green ribbon.
Jeremy Corbet, a tall, lean man with the greying, fair hair, stood in the doorway.
Willy put a hand to her chest and gasped. “What is it, Father?”
“Come into the library, Wilhelmina.” He held a letter in his hand. “I have news for you.”
“My, you look so grave. I hope no one has died?”
He stood aside for her to pass. “It’s wonderful news, Willy.”
Her serious grey eyes searched his. “Then why don’t you look pleased?”
“Come, I wish to talk to you alone. When your inquisitive sisters get wind of it, I won’t get a word in.”
Willy raised her brows. When he offered no more information, she hurried into the library.
* * * *
London, Autumn
Blake, Viscount Dangerfield rolled over in bed. The movement of the sheet uncovered a breast and he bent to kiss it.
“You’re not leaving?” a sleepy voice asked. The woman turned her head toward him. He thought her face pretty, if a bit too knowing. She always made him laugh, and laughter did not come easily to him these days. She tossed her red hair off her shoulders, displaying her best assets to his gaze.
“I have to go into the country and I’m late already.” He ran his hands appreciatively across her soft belly.
“Not quite yet.” She leaned over and touched him, smiling at his immediate response.
He threw off the sheet, his intention made clear in his expressive blue eyes, causing her to gasp with delight.
* * * *
Blake rode out of the woods into a kaleidoscope of autumn color. Wind-blown clouds sent shadows racing across the massive roof of Hawkeswood as it perched on a ridge below a washed-out sky. The majestic house had housed his ancestors for centuries. Four stories of gray and redbrick decorated in ivy were reflected in the ruffled waters of the lake. He knew every detail of the view from its six-foot paned windows, the woodlands, the deer park and the green fields dotted with the estate’s grazing sheep and cattle.
He rode up the lane toward the stable quadrangle. When he reached the avenue bordered by clipped hedges, he dismounted and walked his horse. All this was now his after the recent death of his detested father. Apart from sound of birdcalls and the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves, it was quiet after the rumble of London, but that just allowed sad memories of a lonely childhood to crowd his thoughts.
He found his mother at her embroidery, sitting on a plum-colored velvet settee in the panelled drawing room—her yappy, Scotch terrier at her side. A black lace mantilla covered her shoulders. She frowned up at him. “Six months, good sir, since you last came here.”
“I do apologize, Mother,” he said, coming to kiss her cheek. “I had business in town.”
“I know what business, my lord. Don’t try to flummox me.” Lady Elizabeth paused, fingering her shawl and added more quietly, “You’ve been gone since your father died. You didn’t even remain for the reading of the will. My letter to you went unanswered.”
Blake removed the overblown cushions and tiger skin throw from his father’s favorite leather library chair. It still smelt of pipe smoke. He stretched his legs over the blue-and-gold silk Turkey rug and gazed at his parent. “I’ve just ridden into Oxfordshire from London, Mother. Have a heart.”
“Why didn’t you come by carriage? You keep one in London—at great expense—don’t you?”
“It’s being refurbished and you requested I come straight away. I like to ride in fine weather. You don’t have to remain here on your own, you know,” he added.
“I agree. Things cannot remain as they are.” She reached for the bell on the table beside her. “You’ll want some tea.”
“A whiskey, more like.” He stood. “I must change. We’ll talk at dinner.”
“You may be surprised by the contents of your father’s will, Blake,” she called after him.
He paused at the door. “As a peer of the realm he cannot have changed the will. I am his only son.”
She shook her head. “He sought a change from the Primogeniture law with the House of Lords, they have the power to alter it through a new creation.”
“Why would he go to all that trouble?” Blake frowned. “And who did he leave this pile to?”
His mother looked irritatingly mysterious. “I’ll tell you at dinner.”
What had his father done? Blake wondered, as he climbed the stairs. Left the entire estate to a relative? How much he must have loathed him.
Entering his bedchamber, he found his manservant waiting. “You’d best let me attend to those boots, y’lordship,” Coffey said.
He sat on the bed and raised a leg. Coffey pulled the boots off one at a time. He rubbed at a scratch with his thumb. “I’ll lay out your evening clothes.”
Blake removed the stopper on a crystal decanter and poured himself a large whiskey. “Have a maid draw a bath. I ache in places you could never mention in a drawing room.”
Coffey chuckled. “Right, y’lordship.”
Blake stripped off his riding coat and breeches. He stood naked, flexing his arms as his biceps swelled. He thumped the ridges of muscle across his diaphragm, hard as a laundress’ washboard. Riding, fencing and boxing kept his body in tip-top shape. He shook his head. Here he was strong as a bull, and with one glance his mother made him feel like a naughty school boy who’d just kicked a ball through a window. As Coffey helped him into his dressing gown, he hoped that after a long soak in the tub, he would be able to handle her company at dinner, when no doubt, she would give free rein to her grievances.
A new housemaid came to the door with a jug to top up the bath water. She bent to stoke up the fire. From this angle she was decidedly attractive.
Coffey slipped out, shutting the door.
“What’s your name?” Blake asked.
“Sarah, milord.” She gave a bob, but met his gaze brazenly.
“Would you like to wash my back, Sarah?”
She giggled. “Certainly, milord.”
“Good Girl.” He threw off his gown and stepped into the bath.
Without a blush she stroked his back and shoulders with a wash cloth. She had a nice, light touch. He grabbed her hand and drew her around to face him where the evidence of his intentions revealed itself. She looked down and gave another giggle.
He laughed. “Care to join me?”
In the Long Dining Room, twin chandeliers blazed, turning the russet silk wallpaper to gold. The grooms entered with the covers for the first course and departed swiftly again. Blake’s father would not countenance them remaining in the room while the family ate, one of the few things he and Blake agreed on.
“This
chiné
of mutton is underdone,” Blake said. He took some of the cod. “You look
très elegant
tonight, Mother, but must you wear black?” She was still a handsome woman at six-and-forty and surely wasn’t mourning his father, who he’d never seen make a loving gesture towards her. Blake’s governess had relayed the servant’s gossip to him, after they began making love in the attic when he was fifteen. She was twenty years older than he and had never before been touched by a man. It worked extremely well for both of them, until his father got rid of her. She told him his father didn’t visit his mother’s bedchamber again after she gave him an heir. Blake was sure he wouldn’t have taken a mistress either. He was as cold as the wind in January.
“So, Mother…” he pushed the plate of salty soup away, thinking he must replace the chef. “Tell me the worst. I know Father never liked me. Have I lost it all?”
“I believe he did like you, even loved you. He just couldn’t show it.”
Blake frowned. “And?”
“He’s left the entire estate to you, but…”
“But?”
She put down her spoon. “There’s a codicil been added. A special condition.”
“I’m quite well aware of what a codicil is. Talking to you is like drawing teeth, Mother. Must it be so?”
The butler appeared and poured wine into Blake’s glass. “That will be all, thank you, Crowley.” Blake took a sip of Claret and waited for the door to close.
“I’d just like to see a reaction from you, that is all,” she snapped. “You are
just
like your father.”
A red mist appeared in front of Blake’s eyes, a reflection perhaps from the red wine in the glass he held. “I am nothing like my father,” he enunciated carefully. Rage rose to block his throat, and he swallowed it down with another mouthful.
“I suppose you have been trained never to show your true feelings,” she said thoughtfully.
He smoothed an invisible crease on his sleeve. “Must we go into this now?”
“I suppose not. The condition on which you inherit the estate and all the other properties and lands is this. You must marry your cousin, Wilhelmina.”
He half rose from the table. “What!”
“Your father wished you to marry and have heirs. And you are fast approaching thirty, Blake.”
He reached for his glass and took several long swallows. “I’m twenty-eight and I thought I had at least ten years of freedom left to me, even longer. Why in God’s name did he pick Wilhelmina?”
“I suppose he had a plan.”
“A plan?” He slammed down his glass and wine soaked the white damask tablecloth. He traced the spill with his fork as it formed the shape of a large pink rose. “Father must have hated me, to wish Wilhelmina on me for the rest of my life.”
“Nonsense, he had a reason. Your father never did anything without thinking it through carefully first.” She put down her knife and fork. “After your wedding, I intend to live in London. I’ve had quite enough of rusticating.”
“Who says I’ll marry that ungainly girl, even for all the ivory on the African continent?”
“It’s quite a while since you’ve seen her.”
He thought. “The last time was over two years ago, at Barnett’s wedding. Her hair was in braids and I believe I saw her climb a tree.”
She nodded. “To rescue a kitten. I thought she had distinct possibilities.”
“Did you indeed?” He reached for the carafe and waved it in his mother’s direction. She shook her head. He poured himself another glass of wine. “To marry one’s blood relative never seemed a good idea to me.”
“You are not blood related. Wilhelmina is the daughter of your Uncle Avery’s sister-in-law, Amanda.”