The Rake (8 page)

She surfaced from her introspection just as
the carriage took a fork off of the main road. “Where are we
going?” she asked a little blankly.

“
I thought perhaps we could
drive down to the lake and have a few moments to ourselves before I
took you home.”

“
But … we have been gone
all day. Perhaps we could do this another time? I’m really very
tired now.”

“
We won’t stay
long.”

A combination of fear and anger washed
through Demi. Her lips tightened, but she didn’t trust herself to
speak. He drew the carriage to a halt at last before the lake. She
folded her arms over her chest and stared angrily at the water
while he set the hand brake and looped he reins around it.

“
You are angry,” he
observed coolly.

“
You are observant,” she
snapped.

He settled back in his seat and stretched
his long legs out, propping them on the dashboard. Demi stared
daggers at the toes of his boots and twisted in the seat, putting
her back to him. He slid a hand around her waist and dragged her
back against him before she even realized his intent, dropping his
chin on her shoulder. “I’d only thought we might share a few
private moments,” he murmured huskily next to her ear.

A shiver went through her as his hot breath
fanned the side of her neck. “Let go of me then, and we’ll
talk.”

He chuckled, dragging her onto his lap.
“Talking isn’t what I had in mind.”

Demi gaped at him, too shocked at his
audacity to think of a response. He took advantage of her
defenselessness, covering her mouth with his own … also her chin
and the tip of her nose. The sense of suffocation was instantaneous
and she planted her palms against his chest, twisting her head,
struggling to pull free. His arms tightened around her, but she
managed to free her airway and dragged in a breath of air, clamping
her teeth tightly as she felt his tongue snake out, demanding
entrance. He forced her jaws apart despite all she could do,
throttling her with his tongue, drowning her with a wash of saliva
so that she could think of nothing but escape.

Her gyrations only seemed to excite him. As
she twisted in his lap, a rod of flesh hardened beneath her thigh.
He released her mouth almost as abruptly as he’d captured it. For
perhaps a second, Demi thought he would release her altogether.
Then, he fastened his mouth against her throat and began to work a
slimy trial downward. She put the heel of her palm against his
forehead, trying to thrust him away, without any discernible
effect. Twisting her head, she glanced around frantically for
something to club him with.

Not surprisingly, she saw nothing. She
hadn’t even thought to bring a parasol since it was early spring
yet and the sun far too cool to warrant one. The hand brake caught
her eye, however, and she struggled to reach it, just brushing it
with the tips of her fingers. Frustrated, she dug her heels into
the seat and thrust backward. He took the opportunity to fasten his
mouth over her breast. Moisture saturated the gown instantly and
even through the fabric she could feel his teeth and tongue as he
raked them against her nipple.

Ignoring him, she grasped the hand brake and
snatched it back. The horse, already agitated by the struggle in
the carriage, jolted forward.

Releasing her abruptly, Jonathan dumped her
onto the seat and grabbed for the reins. Setting the brake once
more, he draped the reins around it again. When he turned, his eyes
were glazed, dark, predatory. Grasping Demi, he tugged her hips
across the seat toward him, pushing her backwards at the same time
so that she fell back against the seat. Sprawling half on top of
her, he covered her mouth in another drowning kiss. As he wedged a
knee between her legs, freeing one from beneath his body, she
kicked wildly at the hand brake, finally knocking it backward once
more.

Again, the horse jogged forward, jolting the
carriage. The motion overbalanced their precarious position and
Jonathan rolled into the floorboard, taking her with him. He
released her instantly, however, struggling to catch the reins.
Demi pushed herself upright, very deliberately planted her knee on
top of his engorged manhood and focused her entire weight on it as
she struggled to crawl up on the seat once more. He let out a
bellow of pain and rage and jackknifed upright as she scrambled off
of him.

“
Oh!” she exclaimed,
striving to compose her features into a look of concern. “Did I
hurt you?”

He sent her a glare and concentrated on
catching the reins and halting the horse once more. The pain seemed
to have cooled his ardor, however, if not his temper. He settled in
the seat and raked a hand through his mussed hair. “No,” he
answered finally. “I bumped my … knee.”

Shaking like a leaf, Demi concentrated on
straightening her gown. He handed her her shawl wordlessly, and she
wrapped it around her shoulders. She’d lost the pin she had used to
pin it over her less than modest neckline. The gown was torn where
he’d pulled it loose. She folded the shawl over it and held it
tightly to her. “I’m a little chilled,” she said after a moment
when he merely sat, staring at her speculatively.

Without a word, he flicked the reins and
turned the carriage, heading back down the lane they’d taken to the
lake. As the fear began to subside, Demi realized she’d lost half
her hair pins, as well. Releasing the shawl, she made a half
hearted effort to straighten her hair and finally merely stuffed
the wayward tendrils under her bonnet and tied the ribbons more
tightly under her chin.

By the time they’d reached Moreland Abby,
anger had replaced her fear. The moment the carriage rocked to a
halt, Demi leapt down and stomped into the house without a word or
a glance in Jonathan’s direction. She was half way up the walk when
he caught up to her, grasping her upper arm. She was still trying
to pull free when Jonathan brought her to a halt in front of the
dining room. To her surprise, he released her abruptly.

She saw why when she
turned. Her aunt, seated at the opposite end of the table, was
gaping at them with every appearance of shock. Since Demi had no
doubt at all that she looked as if she’d been mauled, she wasn’t
the least surprised. The bodice of her gown was torn, her hair
falling down all around her shoulders and her face chafed from
whisker burn. She glared at her aunt. “I will
not
marry this man! Throw me into the
street! I don’t care!”

“
Demitria Standish!” Alma
Moreland roared, coming to her feet. “We have company!”

Demi noticed then that her cousin, Geoffrey,
was seated at the head of the table. Ranged around the table were
two of Phoebe’s particular friends and two gentlemen. One of them
was Lord Wyndham. He was staring directly at her and Jonathan, his
eyes narrowed, his face taut.

“
What is the meaning of
this disgraceful display?”

Demi glanced from her aunt to Flemming. Far
from looking the least bit discomfited, he wore a half smile of
triumph, his gaze locked with Lord Wyndham’s. It coalesced in
Demi’s mind on the instant that she’d been set up by Flemming and
her aunt. It was pure speculation, of course. It might also have
been nothing more than a dislike of both of them, but it seemed a
bit too convenient that they’d managed to arrive, in a disheveled
manner that practically screamed fornication, to discover the
dining room full of witnesses. And now that she thought on it, the
doors were never left open while they were dining. Why now, unless
her aunt had been anticipating her to arrive home looking as if
she’d spent the day making love?

“
The man cannot drive!” she
exclaimed on sudden inspiration. “I was nearly thrown from the
carriage and killed, and all because he decided to drop Esme off
before bringing me to the Abbey and thought we should drive faster
to account for it!”

Something gleamed in Lord Wyndham’s eyes,
approval she thought, but both her aunt and Flemming looked as if
they might burst a blood vessel. Phoebe and her friends tittered
nervously, obviously as scandalized as they had been intended to
be.

Demi didn’t delude herself. Despite the
story inspired by desperation, she knew very well that speculation
would be rife and running through the county like wildfire before
morning. Whether her aunt and Flemming had conspired against her or
not, even if Flemming had only been inspired by the moment and had
not planned it, she was ruined just the same. If she married him,
the scandal would eventually die down--once the whole county had
counted the months until the delivery of her first child and been
disappointed by the fact that it did not arrive early. If she did
not marry him, she would not get another decent proposal, even if
her aunt decided to allow her to remain under her roof.

“
Excuse me,” she muttered
abruptly. Brushing past Flemming, she raced up the stairs. When she
reached her room, she slammed the door and bolted it behind
her.

Still weak and shaken from her experience,
her body urged her to collapse on the bed, but nerves and fury
drove her to pace back and forth instead. Finally, she moved to her
dressing table. The tear in her bodice was not too noticeable and,
perhaps, they’d overlooked it. On the other hand, her gown was as
crumpled as if she’d slept in it. Her bonnet was askew, and her
hair was tangled and falling down all about her head. As she
suspected, her cheeks were red from the abrasion of Flemming’s
whiskers as he’d gnawed her face.

Shuddering at the realization that she could
smell him on her skin, she went to the wash stand and washed her
mouth out, then scrubbed her face and hands with soap. A tentative
knock sounded at her door while she was in the process of washing.
She lifted her head. “Who is it?”

“
It’s me, Miss.
Sarah.”

Grabbing a hand towel, Demi moved toward the
door. “Are you alone?” she asked cautiously before she unbolted the
door.

“
Yes, Miss.”

Demi put her ear to the door, but could
discern no sound that might indicate otherwise. Finally, she
unbolted the door, grasped Sarah’s wrist and snatched her inside.
She bolted the door again before she turned to her maid. “Help me
undress, please.”

Sarah looked her over anxiously, but forbore
comment, merely nodding and reaching for the closure at the back of
the gown.

When she’d stripped down to her pantalets
and corset, she ordered Sarah to take the clothing out and burn it.
“I don’t ever want to see it again.”

Sarah gathered the clothing into a ball,
studying Demi worriedly. “Is it true then? The Reverend ravished
you?”

Demi stared at her, feeling
blood surge up her neck and flood her face. “
No
! It is not true! Although he most
certainly had it in mind.”

Sarah looked relieved but
still troubled. “There’s bound to be a horrible scandal. They’re
sayin’ downstairs that you should never have accepted his proposal
in the first place if you didn’t want to marry him, that
you’ll
have
to
marry him now, an’ the sooner the better--before your belly starts
a swellin’.”

Chapter Six

So much for the clever story she’d cooked
up, Demi thought morosely, but then she’d known no one would
believe it when there was a much more scandalous possibility they
might consider.

When Sarah had left, she’d bolted the door
again and pulled a nightgown out to wear. She supposed she really
ought to go back downstairs and try to brazen it out, but she
simply was not up to it at the moment.

She’d been far more angered and revolted by
Flemming’s amorous designs than she had been frightened, but the
entire incident had been more than a little unsettling. She
doubted, in any case, that going downstairs would do anything more
than prevent them from talking about her behind her back. They were
just as likely to pump her for the gory details as they were to
refrain from discussing it because she was present.

In any case, she had not heard any carriages
leave and she thought Flemming might still be downstairs. Of a
certainty, the others were.

She didn’t think she could face Lord
Wyndham.

In truth, whatever occurred between her and
her fiancé was no one else’s business, but she’d comported herself
with a complete lack of restraint with Lord Wyndham only the night
before. And now she’d arrived home with every appearance of having
done the same, or worse.

He must think that she was no more than a
trollop.

She felt as if she’d betrayed him with
Flemming rather than the other way around. It didn’t matter that
she had it backwards. That was the way she felt.

When a tap came at her door again, she
nearly jumped out of her skin. “Who is it?”

“
Sarah.”

She moved to the door, listened for a moment
and finally opened it. Sarah rushed inside, balancing a tray.
Bolting the door, Demi surveyed the offering without enthusiasm.
“I’m not hungry.”

Ignoring her, Sarah moved to a table and set
the tray down. “You should eat.”

“
I’m too nervous to
eat.”

Sarah turned and fixed her with a stern
look. “A hunger strike isn’t likely to help matters a whit. Like as
not, you’ll faint, and that’ll only feed the wagging tongues.”

Sighing irritably, Demi sat and nibbled at
the food. “Has Reverend Flemming left?”

Sarah made a face. “He’s holed up in the
study with yer aunt. Lord Geoffrey, Lord Wyndham and Mr. Collins
went round to the stables a bit ago, not long after you came in. I
heard them say something about going shooting in the morning with
Mr. Smythe and Mr. Fairlane … them’s cronies of Lord Geoffrey from
Eton. Seems the lot of them got up to something and got themselves
expelled. They wasn’t too keen on heading for home afterwards, so
they came home with Lord Geoffrey for a visit, to rusticate, they
called it. Miss Phoebe’s in the front parlor with Miss Charlotte
and Miss Horatia, though … if you feel up to a bit of company.”