How To Tame a Rake (7 page)

At his touch, all her concerns were swept away. She smiled. “Very well.”

“I tell you what, I’ll take you boating on the Serpentine, how about that?”

“Oh, would you, Blake? I would like that above anything.”

He smiled. “Then we’ll go this morning.”

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Chapter Eight

Blake had bribed her maid, Agnes, who was to accompany them, with the money for a ticket to a matinee at the music hall. He picked Willy up in his arms and lowered her into the rowboat. As he pushed off, she gazed askance at the murky, dark water from which a nasty rank smell rose, but felt reassured by the ducks and swans swimming around in it. It was pure bliss to be here with Blake. She was determined to enjoy every minute. Even the weather was in agreement, it was remarkably mild with just a light breeze ruffling the fringe of her primrose, silk parasol.

Blake rowed strongly towards the middle of the river. He seemed to enjoy the exercise. “You row very well,” she said.

“I did quite a bit up at Oxford.”

Crowds wandered up and down the riverbank. When Willy saw two people enter the river and begin to wash, she looked quickly away across the chestnuts and oak trees, the grass still green. But winter was not far away. Where would she be then? The winters in Northumberland were long and harsh. Why, there would be frost on the ground now.

She smiled at Blake. A laden picnic basket lay at her feet.

“You look very fetching under that parasol. I’ll row up river and find a spot for that picnic lunch,” he said.

She leaned back and allowed the fragile autumn sun to touch her face, careless of her complexion. It seemed here in the city those that could afford it, lived mostly indoors, sleeping til noon and staying up far later than country folk. London seemed to lack both light and air—in fact it was often horrid, with dreadful sooty fogs advancing without warning. They grew worse in winter she was told, making many people ill. She decided that although she enjoyed much of it, she wouldn’t want to stay here too long.

The rhythmic swoosh of the oars dipping into the water became soporific. She closed her eyes.

“Tired?” Blake asked, his voice gentle.

She opened her eyes. “No, I love it.”

“There’s a likely spot. I’ll pull in.”

“It looks perfect.”

He angled the rowboat close into the shore and jumped onto the grass. Storing the oars he pulled the boat up onto the bank. Willy stood up, worrying for her new, ivory kid boots, mainly because her aunt had just purchased them for her. Her primrose, bell-shaped skirts were cumbersome enough with their ruffles and ruche and flounced muslin petticoats. What she would give to be dressed in trousers as Sarah Woolgar had been in the play,
School for Tigers
.

Blake helped her climb out, his hands encircling her waist. That morning, Agnes had pulled the lacings of her corset so tight she found it hard to breathe. Discomfort outweighed the effect and she vowed not to do it up so tight again.

As she found her feet on the grass, Blake’s hands lingered longer than necessary. “You are pretty, Willy. I can believe Vincent would find you so, but be careful when I’m not around. He’s a man who likes a challenge.”

“He would not risk damaging your friendship surely?” she said breathlessly.

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Risk what we have.”

She shook her head. She was not at all sure they had anything worth risking. Perhaps it was just a matter of pride to him. She knew he had little choice but to marry her. This stung at her every time she thought of it. She turned to unstack the basket as Blake threw a rug over the grass. Kneeling, she tucked her billowing skirts around her. Spreading the table cloth, she began to arrange the damask serviettes, china and silver ware, a bottle of Burgundy and two crystal glasses, chicken and eel pies, bread and Stilton cheese and fruit.

Blake threw himself down and began to eat and Willy, smoothing her gown decorously over her stockings, did the same. The food was wonderful, perhaps it was being out in the open air with Blake, the river rushing by and the ducks waddling up the bank, but it seemed more delicious than anything she’d ever tasted.

She threw crumbs to the ducks and they gathered squabbling around them.

“Enough, Willy,” Blake implored her. She stopped and the ducks wandered back to the river.

She peeled a banana and began to nibble the end. It was wonderfully sweet. Blake coughed and she looked up to find him watching her.

“A lady eats a banana with a knife and fork.”

“We don’t see them in Northumberland. Why can’t I eat it like this?”

“If you must.” He laughed and shook his head as he handed her a glass of Burgundy.

She drank the whole glass and half of another.

He pushed his plate away and lay back on the blanket, throwing an arm across his face. Minutes of silence passed. He seemed to have fallen asleep.

“When I’m with you, Willy, the world seems a different place,” he said, surprising her.

“Do you mean a better place, my lord?” She waited for the cutting remark that would undoubtedly follow.

He removed his arm and looked at her, honest emotion in his blue eyes. “I do believe it is.”

Her heart swelled. “Thank you.”

“Come and give me a kiss, my tormentor.”

“That would be most improper,” she said longing to do just that.

“There’s no one around,” he raised himself on his elbows, “just that couple over in the trees.”

Willy turned to see a man and woman locked in a passionate embrace. She quickly averted her eyes, and then turned back curiously to see the man touch the woman’s breast.

“Come and sit here, Willy.”

She came to sit beside him, gazing down at him. She felt a bond between them that had never been there before, or was it just her imagination? He had a generous, well-shaped mouth. Her fingers itched to touch the cleft in his chin.

“My god, Willy, can’t you take off your gloves?” he asked in despair.

“You’re mother would have my guts for garters,” she said frankly.

He laughed uproariously. “I do believe she would.”

He grasped the yellow bonnet ribbons and gently pulled. The brown silk bonnet adorned with creamy flowers came away in his hands. “Well, that’s a start. I hate the way these hats hide the nape of a woman’s neck.”

He pulled her down to him, his hand on the back of her head, moving to stroke her nape and throat.

“I wonder if many people picnic along the river, it seems such a nice thing to do,” she said, her voice trembling.

“You talk too much,” he said running his thumb along her bottom lip. He kissed her. It was not the indifferent kiss he’d given her months ago, but a passionate, demanding one. When he gently pried open her mouth with his tongue, Willy felt warmth rising from her toes to radiate through her lower stomach. She kissed him back, her hand resting on the strong muscles of his chest as her body suddenly became foreign to her, throbbing and demanding to be touched. She wanted to lie down with him like a wanton.

Blake rolled over and hovered above her as she lay on the blanket. He gazed down at her, his expression difficult to read. “Good God, what am I doing?” he muttered. He jumped to his feet and leaned down to help her up.

“I’m sorry, Willy,” he said as he threw their things into the row boat. “I behaved like and oaf. Won’t happen again.”

Willy found she was still holding her breath as he sat her down in the boat and took up the oars.

He began to row quickly back the way they’d come. They passed several boats on the way and the people waved and yelled hello. Willy waved back. As they grew closer to the boathouse, she saw a man throw something into the river. It caused a large splash. As she watched a head appeared. It was a dog. As it tried to swim back to shore, the man threw stones at it. Desperate, it turned and swam towards their rowboat.

“Blake! That dog, it’s going to drown,” Willy said, wringing her hands.

Blake continued to row. “It will swim back to shore. It’s probably fetching a stick.”

“No, no. He wants it to drown. He threw stones at it.”

Willy stood up in the boat and began to call out.

“For goodness sake, sit down will you! You’ll have us both in the water,” Blake roared.

The dog swam close to the boat. She could see it was tiring—it began swimming in circles. “Come here, doggy,” she cried. She leaned over the side and the boat tipped alarmingly.

“Willy, be careful,” Blake said. He moved to steady her as she grasped the wet animal in her arms. She heaved it aboard. She and the big, brown dog fell into the bottom of the boat, her petticoats riding up her legs.

“Willy,” Blake’s voice sounded strangled, as the dog shook filthy water over them both, “you are incorrigible! Whenever I begin to believe we might suit, you go and do a damned thing like this.”

“I couldn’t let him drown.” Willy patted the dog, as Blake picked up the oars and rowed to shore.

When they landed, the dog, overjoyed to find a friend, jumped up, putting his malodorous paws on Blake’s trousers. “Get down, you ugly animal,” he said, pushing it away.

Willy searched for the man who tried to drown the dog, but he had disappeared. “We can’t leave him here,” she said. “That man might come back.”

“Surely you don’t propose taking it home?” Blake snapped. “What about my mother’s lap-dog? This one would probably eat it.”

The dog was a middling size, an ungainly mix of poodle and something larger and less refined. His big, soft black eyes gazed at Willy with new found love. “I’ll look after Frederick,” she said. “You’ll never know he’s there.”

Blake pushed the dog away as it attempted to lick his hand. “Frederick?”

“It suits him don’t you think?”

“A watery grave would have suited him better.”

“Oh!” Will’s eyes widened. “You can’t mean that.”

Blake removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hand. “Perhaps not, but we can’t keep him. He can’t stay with us here and my hounds would give him a very bad time at Hawkeswood.”

Willy came to put a hand on his arm. “Could I just keep him until I can get in touch with Lady Burdett-Coutts? I know she will find a home for him.”

“I don’t know, Willy…”

“I’ll take him to the stables and wash him. “He’ll come up very nicely. You’ll see.”

Blake looked at the dog’s stubby legs and bushy tail. “Not unless you’re into miracles.” He sighed. “Oh, very well. I’m wet and cold and so must you be. Let’s go home. But you must promise me,” he added, as Willy led the dog towards the waiting landau, “Never to bring another animal into our home.”

“I promise,” she said. She wished to add only in desperate situations, as this most surely was, but she was beginning to understand how to handle a man. It required a great amount of tact.

On the short ride home, Frederick stood up on the seat and barked at passing carriages. Blake groaned as people pointed and laughed.

When they arrived home, Frederick obligingly followed Willy to the stable block. He lapped thirstily from a bowl of water. He was far less obliging in the tub filled with soapy water. Willy’s best walking gown was left looking worse than her old ones. But at least Frederick emerged smelling sweeter, his long, curly fur hanging over his face. She took him to the kitchen and begged a plate of mutton and a bone from the horrified chef.

Willy left Frederick wolfing down the food and went to her bedchamber. She’d only just changed her gown when a shriek erupted, followed by a crash. She flew downstairs and rushed into the shadowy drawing room and stood for a moment, disorientated in the half-dark. The heavy, velvet drapes had been drawn to protect the furnishings from sun and smoke. Dark-green patterned wallpaper and sombre paintings hanging from the picture rail made the room even gloomier. Her vision cleared. In his search for his beloved mistress, Frederick had startled a maid dusting the china. She had dropped a blue-and-white urn and climbed sobbing onto a fragile, decorative papier-mâché chair inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a sure reason for dismissal if the housekeeper found out.

“It’s all right,” Willy said. “He won’t hurt you.” She helped the maid down and kneeled to pick up the pieces of what she suspected was very expensive china. She handed the pieces to the maid. “This is my fault and I’ll take the blame.”

Willy tied a curtain cord around the dog’s neck and led him towards the staircase. “Come, Frederick.”

“To the stables with him, please.”

She looked up to see Blake descending the stairs. He had changed into a crisp, white shirt, and necktie, blue embroidered waistcoat and grey trousers. He carried his top hat and cane. “I am going to my club,” he said, shrugging into his coat with the help of the butler who had appeared like magic. “And I expect to find that creature gone from the house when I return.”

“Very well, Blake,” she said demurely.

“Will you obey me?” he asked, looking down on her. “Can I trust you, Willy?”

She nodded, longing for him to take her in his arms, but he turned away. “Take care. If he is still in the house, I’ll have him thrown out into the street. I shall see you at dinner.”

It hurt her that he felt he couldn’t trust her and even more that he didn’t understand her. She led Frederick down to the stables and left him with the coachman who promised to care for him. She tried to ignore the dog’s whine of protest as she returned to the house.

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Chapter Nine

After Blake departed for the country and Hawkeswood, Willy headed to the stables, armed with a pair of Agnes’ scissors. Frederick was overjoyed to see her.

“He’s a very friendly dog,” Ernest the coachman, told her. “He’s a great favorite with the young grooms.”

“I’m here to give him a trim,” she said, brandishing the scissors. Frederick looked better. His caved-in stomach had filled out, but his long, curly coat hung in his eyes, blinding him.

Ernest shook his head and laughed. “Oh, he won’t like that, Miss Corbet.”

“Then perhaps you could hold him for me? I’ll start with his tail.”