Page 12 of How to Court a Rake (Wed Within a Year #1)

T he afternoon with Caine would be her escape and Mary was ready for it. She’d spent the morning tolerating her mother’s lectures on her behaviour last night at the theatre, how she’d treated poor Amesbury, their guest, and the remarked attentions she’d shown ‘the rake’. She’d parried the comments as best she could with reminders that the ‘rake’ was a marquess; surely such attentions were required when one sent floral arrangements of such magnitude and wasn’t she supposed to be on the lookout for a high-ranking suitor?

That last was said in an attempt to provoke a confession from either of her parents that a match with Amesbury was au fait accompli . But the most she got from her mother was that her father favoured Amesbury and had the highest of hopes this time and didn’t the two of them look well together? Wasn’t Amesbury a witty conversationalist? To which Mary replied, ‘Only if one thinks it’s funny to joke about locking one’s wife away on a mere whim.’

The newspapers hadn’t helped. She’d expected it, had known her decision to associate with Caine would attract notice. But the notice fuelled her mother’s dislike, which was only marginally mitigated by the arrival that day of another gorgeous display of red roses and a card that had Mary announcing, ‘I need to change.’ He wasn’t just calling; he was going to take her out. Away from here. She didn’t care where. It would be out of this house, beyond her mother’s gaze and her father’s glare.

Mary took a final look in her chamber’s long mirror, smoothing the lines of the plain blue riding habit over her hips and tugging at the jacket. She had fancier habits—the pink habit with its black frogging and decoration, for instance—but such an ensemble was for a quiet ride on the paths of Hyde Park where the goal was to be seen and she did not think that was Caine’s intent. He was taking her riding , real riding. Where or on what horse she had no idea and the mystery only added to her excitement.

She fiddled with the white stock tied at her throat, trying to still the butterflies in her stomach. Caine Parkhurst, one of society’s most notorious gentlemen, had planned an afternoon for them. For her —proper Lady Mary Kimber, who never put a foot wrong, who never strayed outside the lines. Once again she was reminded about what happened when she did step outside those lines…a rake was calling—one her parents could not outright refuse because he was also a marquess. Life was suddenly exciting. The butterflies in her stomach now were far different than the butterflies that trembled at the thought of Amesbury.

Yet what was she stepping outside the lines for? What could or would become of this unlooked-for friendship—if that was even the right word for their relationship—with Caine? What did this gain her? He wasn’t the marrying type. Not even the reward of a hereditary title was enough to entice him. She had to keep reminding herself of that, which was difficult to do when she thought he would make quite good husband material if he chose to apply himself.

He was a rake, that was not in argument. However, he was not without compassion, or without heart. She saw how he mourned the loss of his brother, how concerned he’d been for her reputation on numerous occasions, how he’d come to her rescue when she’d called. That spoke of loyalty and honour. Such a man would defend his family. Protect them, care for them, provide for them. Put them first. A woman could not ask for much more than that, except perhaps for love and fidelity.

But weren’t these characteristics a type of love? There would be passion, too, he’d demonstrated his capacity for that as well. A low heat began to burn. Would he demonstrate that capacity again today? She wouldn’t mind if he did, although she ought to know better than to encourage it. They were on a path that led nowhere.

Ultimately, they would reach a place where their lives would be incompatible and they would reach it soon. In a few weeks when she would be married to…someone. Hopefully not Amesbury, but someone whom she could tolerate, and Caine would go on searching for his brother. But until then, perhaps she ought to enjoy the journey and not worry over the destination.

Minton quietly opened the door to her chamber and poked her head inside, ready to depart with her. ‘My lady, Lord Barrow is here.’ The butterflies started all over again. She could hardly wait to be off. Mary stuck a final pin in her hat and hurried downstairs. Her father was not home at present, delayed by a late-morning meeting that had run long and she did not want her outing postponed by his sudden arrival. He could have his conversation with Caine when they returned.

She found Caine in the drawing room with her mother, praising her wallpaper and decor. ‘I must consider your choices when I decorate at my estate outside Newmarket,’ he was saying, ‘Your sense of colour is exquisite, my lady, so very tasteful.’ Then just to add a bit of salt, ‘I see my roses have found pride of place. I am honoured. Perhaps I should send two arrangements next time, one for each end of the mantel, one for each of the beautiful ladies of the house.’

Mary stifled a laugh. He pulled off the line so effortlessly yet he had to know how much it would gall her mother to put two such bouquets on display and know that she could not choose to do differently. He would call and expect to see them. When her mother said nothing, he persisted with easy charm, ‘Perhaps you do not prefer roses. What are your favourite flowers, Lady Carys?’

‘My mother’s favourites are tulips.’ Mary stepped forward into the room and made a small curtsy. ‘Good afternoon, my lord.’ These pleasantries felt as if she were in a play, all of them actors speaking required lines. She and Caine would discard those lines as soon as they left the house.

‘My maid and I are ready, my lord.’ She communicated a sense of urgency with her eyes although Caine seemed unbothered by the need to make a quick exit. Drat him. He was probably looking forward to speaking with her father. Caine felt himself the equal of many men and the superior of most, such was the attraction of his confidence. He was not afraid to meet a man toe to toe. She would love to be the proverbial fly on the wall during that discussion.

‘We are riding today,’ Caine announced his intentions to her mother as if their attire had not confirmed it. He was dressed in tight-fitting buckskin breeches that showcased the muscles of his thighs rather well. Too bad he wore a coat. The tightness of those breeches might showcase some other parts, too, if they were but visible. ‘At Prince Baklanov’s school in Leicester Square.’

Amid her own excitement engendered by Caine’s announcement, she watched her mother’s expression soften further, the dislike of Caine Parkhurst melting under the barrage of decor compliments, personal enquiries, and the casual mention that he knew a foreign prince. It wouldn’t last. Her mother was fickle that way, but for the moment, it would make an impression. ‘How wonderful.’ Her mother fluttered her fan, overwhelmed. ‘Have a good time. Mary misses riding when we’re in town.’

‘I do miss it,’ Mary interjected, wanting to move this along. ‘Thank you for thinking of me with this singular treat, Lord Barrow.’ Mary offered her arm. ‘We should be off. We wouldn’t want to keep Prince Baklanov waiting.’

She didn’t let herself relax until they were in the carriage. Only then did she give herself fully over the excitement of the outing. ‘Are we really going to Prince Baklanov’s?’ she asked as they pulled away from the kerb. He had an extraordinary reputation that had reached legendary proportions among the horse set.

‘Yes, we are and we are really riding there, but we’re also going for some business I have with the Prince. Your business.’ Caine gave her a serious look, the easy charm he’d displayed in the drawing room put away to use another time. ‘Last night you asked me to look into Amesbury. Is that something you still desire?’ His dark eyes held hers and her pulse quickened at being the recipient of such intensity.

‘Yes,’ she breathed, hope blossoming. Had Caine found something that might be her way out? ‘What did you learn?’

‘Not much yet. The former Duke died without a direct heir.’

Mary nodded. ‘Amesbury told me the same last night. He said it had taken a bit of time to locate him.’ Lord, Caine Parkhurst had a beautiful mouth. She ought not stare at it. It was hard to concentrate on his words when all she wanted to do was remember the feel of that mouth on hers. In truth, she wanted more than the memory. She wanted to feel that mouth on hers again.

‘The former Duke died in a carriage accident when his vehicle plunged into the Thames. Prince Baklanov was on hand. He and his friends tried to save him, but were unsuccessful.’

Why did she care about this? It was hard to think when so many of her thoughts were busy elsewhere. Caine reached for her hand. ‘It’s not much, but I just thought you would like to know why Amesbury had come out of what seems like thin air. Baklanov could shed some light on that, perhaps fill in some details. Meanwhile, you can ride a splendid horse.’

Baklanov’s riding school did not disappoint. The Prince had bought up several lots on Leicester Square and turned the mews into town stables and a beautiful riding arena where he gave lessons to the ton ’s finest young ladies and hosted riding showcases. Mary stood in the doorway of the stables, closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of horses and hay—a clean smell, a country scent in the middle of the city.

‘This smells like home.’ She let her breath out with a long sigh. She turned to Caine, an uncontrollable smile on her face that stalled only at seeing the expression in his gaze—dark and intense and absolutely riveted on her as if he were looking into her very soul and seeing the depths of her. Her breath caught. ‘Thank you for bringing me.’

He laughed, low and private, just for her. ‘We just got here. You haven’t even ridden yet.’

‘It doesn’t matter. This is everything. The city has disappeared.’ Dear heavens, he was so very good at creating intimacy out of nothing: his laugh at her ear, his hand at her back as if it had been made to belong there, as if he’d been made to touch her and she to be touched…by him. Just him. How had she gone so long without knowing it? And now, she craved it. How would she live without it? For surely this interlude of acquaintance with him would come to an end. Caine Parkhurst wasn’t a forever man and her own time was running short.

‘I am glad.’ He gave a nod. ‘Here comes our host, Prince Baklanov, and his wife, Klara.’ Mary noted Klara was wearing riding breeches. She hadn’t even been introduced and she already knew they’d be friends.

If she wasn’t so smitten with Caine Parkhurst, she would have found Prince Baklanov undeniably handsome with his long dark hair and piercing eyes. He had a strong, commanding presence that made it easy to believe the few rumours she’d heard about him—that before being exiled from Kuban, he’d been in charge of the Kubanian Tsar’s cavalry.

‘I am so glad you’re dressed for riding,’ Klara said after introductions were made. ‘We have the arena all set up for jumping. Lord Barrow indicated in his note that you’re an accomplished rider. Come with me, let me show you the horses, you can pick one out and we’ll meet the gentlemen in the arena.’ She tossed her husband an unmistakable look of flirtation. ‘I was thinking we might have a jump-off, women against the men, once everyone is properly warmed up.’

Baklanov crossed his arms. ‘And the prize?’ His eyes engaged in a private, intimate exchange with his wife that made Mary warm to witness. She ought to look away, but there was something honest and entrancing in the exchange that required her attention. There was a lesson for her in this. This was what it should be like between a husband and a wife: the teasing, the private knowing of one another even in public, the way Baklanov touched his wife with his eyes— We are lovers, partners, we are each other’s warriors.

Intuition whispered through her: it would be like that with Caine. He would love fiercely, protect fiercely. The woman who could claim such affections from him would be lucky indeed.

Klara’s eyes glowed with competition and with love as she answered, ‘The prize shall be a forfeit of the winner’s choosing to be named at the winner’s discretion.’

‘Carte blanche?’ Caine’s eyes sparked with devilish humour, resting on Mary with their own private message that stirred a heat low in her belly at imagining the forfeit he might claim, or the forfeit she might claim. ‘I rather like the idea of that. Baklanov and I accept. Go find Lady Mary a horse equal to her ability while we take care of our business.’

Three-quarters of an hour later, Mary found herself on a gorgeous thoroughbred mare with a glossy coat and her blue riding habit exchanged for a pair of Klara’s riding breeches, which felt enormously freeing. ‘She moves beautifully!’ Mary called to Klara, who was putting a splendid white mare through her paces.

Klara drew the mare alongside. ‘Would you believe we rescued this lovely girl from the kill pens three years ago?’

Mary patted her mare’s shoulder. ‘She looks healthy and sound, I would never have guessed.’

‘You handle her well. The Marquess did not exaggerate your skill,’ Klara complimented. ‘Here come the men now.’ She smiled as Baklanov and Caine walked their horses into the arena. Klara flashed her a grin. ‘They’re handsome, but their good looks aren’t going to save them from our skill.’

Jove save him. Caine could not take his eyes off her. Mary Kimber in breeches was a sight to behold. Those breeches clung to her curves and put the athletic grace of her body on naked display. Mary Kimber in breeches and jumping a course of brick walls and three-foot fences was positively breathtaking. Her concentration, her confidence, her focus on the needs of the horse beneath her, was evident in every choice she made. It was a good quality in a rider to put one’s horse’s needs first. It spoke to having a selfless spirit, a conscientious awareness.

She approached the last fence, garnished with flower boxes on each side designed to distract the horse, and Caine held his breath. All three of them had struggled with this jump. Baklanov had missed it entirely and had to wheel his horse around for a second try. It had cost them the lead against the women and, oh, how Caine wanted to win the competition. He knew exactly what he’d claim as forfeit on the carriage ride home. But as much as he wanted that forfeit, he wanted a safe, clean ride for her more.

She was coming in fast and sharp. Caine worried she wasn’t giving the horse enough room to take the jump. He would have come in wider, taken the jump from a straighter position. She launched and Caine didn’t exhale until she and the horse landed safely on the other side.

‘You were concerned.’ Nikolay nudged him, their horses putting their noses together. ‘You like her. This trip wasn’t strictly business.’

Caine slanted him a look. ‘I do like her, but I also didn’t want to explain to her parents what she was doing when she fell off her horse. Now, thankfully, I won’t have to.’ He could imagine how her mother would take the news her perfect daughter had been riding astride when she fell off.

They applauded as Mary walked her horse over to the edge of the arena, letting it cool off. ‘That was too much fun!’ Mary was breathless with the exhilaration of the ride, the colour in her cheeks high. She unfastened her helmet and removed it. She shook down her dark hair and Caine felt arousal stir, deep and primal, an arousal that was not merely a reaction to her attractiveness, but a reaction to seeing her completely given over to pure enjoyment.

She was in her element here and it was intoxicating. It seemed a shame to him to stifle all that by confining it to ballrooms and gowns. It also seemed a shame to take that joy from her with the news he’d learned from Prince Baklanov.

‘Mary’s was the last ride,’ Klara announced, ‘and it was clean. That means the ladies win.’ He and Baklanov had both knocked a rail in a rare misstep for them both and Klara’s horse had spooked at the flower box, needing a second try. Only Mary had ridden entirely clean. And on an unknown horse as well. It was impressive on all fronts.

A groom came to take the horses and Klara took Mary off to change. Caine watched her breeches-clad derrière walk away until she was out of sight. Damn, but he’d miss those breeches. When she returned a short while later, she was all proper Lady Mary Kimber again in her blue riding habit, hair pinned up, not a strand out of place. No one would guess she’d spent the afternoon wearing breeches, riding astride and jumping neck or nothing.

He smiled as she neared. That was the whole point of the clothes, the hair, the manners, wasn’t it? That no one did guess what lay beneath. If they guessed, they might discover the real Lady Mary Kimber was too much for just any man to handle.

They made their farewells to the Baklanovs and Caine handed her into the carriage that would carry her back to her other life. It seemed as if he were escorting her back to her cage. He’d prefer to stay here with her a bit longer. ‘You rode spectacularly today. No wonder you miss the country so much.’

‘I could say the same of you,’ she demurred at the compliment. ‘If not for that one rail at the end, you would have gone clean. Baklanov, now, that’s different. He was reckless on his approach. No excuse for it.’

‘He was showing off for his wife. They do that, show off for each other.’ Caine chuckled. ‘Surely he can be forgiven. No doubt his wife is claiming her forfeit and putting him through his paces as we speak.’

He watched her blush at his indelicate reference, but she did not turn away from it, did not lower her gaze. ‘I imagine she is. It is very…intimate…to be with them. They hide nothing,’ she ventured. ‘Least of all their feelings, their passion.’

‘No, they do not. They are lucky to have married for love. He had nothing when he came to England, just his skill and his horse, the one he rode today. He was a prince, but not here. He worked as an instructor at Fozard’s, trading on those skills.’ He watched her fingers pleat her skirt, watched her eyes lower even though he knew a thousand thoughts were coursing behind them. He hoped one of those thoughts was not about what he’d learned today on her behalf.

‘That’s quite a story,’ she said at last. ‘I envy them their confidence in one another. They are certain that no matter what life throws at them, they’ll have each other. It is not their money or their titles they protect themselves with, but with each other. I think that’s rare in the ton .’ She lifted her grey eyes, two silvery pools of thought that would suck a man into their depths if he looked long enough. ‘Is that why you are not keen to wed despite your circumstances? Because you think you’ll not find that?’

‘Is that why you have not wed?’ he parried.

‘I asked you first.’

He did not answer. She cocked her head and let the silence drag out between them. ‘You hide it well, Caine Parkhurst.’ She gave a throaty laugh that had him rousing all over again. Did she have any idea how sultry that laugh was? How it made a man think of beds and dark rooms?

‘What exactly am I hiding?’ he teased with a hint of seductive playfulness, but in all seriousness, the list was getting quite long where she was concerned and he regretted that for them both.

She leaned forward and tapped his knee. ‘You, sir, are a romantic. Despite your affairs and opera singers, you seek true love.’ A lightning bolt to the chest could not have been more shocking. He was not used to being seen so clearly. Most women saw only what he wanted them to see.

‘That is a bold claim, Mary.’ He let his gaze rake her lips, signalling that perhaps he was more interested in seeking something else at the moment.

‘None the less, I think it’s true. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.’

He believed that. If she pledged herself to someone, she would be unfailingly loyal to them. He sensed her friendship and affections were not given lightly. In all of their interactions, she’d been honest and forthright. Secrets were safe with Mary Kimber. Even his, but that didn’t mean she’d thank him for sharing them. Secrets could be powerful; they could bind people together or they could be burdens. His secrets, including what he’d learned from Prince Baklanov today, fell into the latter category.

He shifted in his seat, wanting to move to a topic that wasn’t a probe into his own romantic yearnings or into his meeting with Prince Baklanov. ‘And your forfeit? Have you thought about what it will be?’

A coy smile took her mouth, her grey eyes sparkled, and Caine felt his body’s arousal heighten in anticipation. ‘If Klara is putting her husband through his paces, perhaps I should put you through yours.’ She moved across the carriage and lifted her skirts, revealing slim calves and silk stockings. She was feeling bold, no doubt the thrill of the competition was still thrumming through her, urging her to a delicious recklessness. He did like a bold woman.

Caine shifted his body to accommodate her, revelling in the feel of her derrière against him as she straddled his lap as if he, too, was a thoroughbred she would ride astride. She wrapped her arms about his neck, her bottom wiggling against his groin as she settled. He moved his hands to her hips, to steady her, to steady himself. He knew instinctively that this was the real Lady Mary Kimber. She was putting her true self on display for him and for the first time. She was both bold and vulnerable in these moments. It was his privilege to be the first to see it and it was positively decadent watching this woman come alive in front of him, for him.

Her words were a whisper against his lips. ‘For my forfeit, I claim you.’

His whisper was a growled invitation deep in his throat. ‘It would be my pleasure.’ He would ensure that it would be hers as well.