Page 5 of The Rake’s Absolutely Devilish Reform (The Notorious Briarwoods #4)

T renty looked pleased as punch as she loaded her delicate porcelain blue plate, painted with scenes out of the east, with a beautiful scone, jam, and cream.

Her eyes all but danced and her lace mobcap fluttered as she took the plate, sat down beneath a pavilion overlooking a beautiful garden at Heron House, and delved in.

Much to Priscilla’s delight, she was able to wander from the pavilion and the shade down towards the river that ran along Heron House, which was the London residence of the Duke of Westleigh.

The beautiful abode had been built long ago outside of London in the tradition of the great lords who preferred to travel into London by barge and boat. Unlike so many of the families who had moved into beautiful homes along Hyde Park, Green Park, and St. James’s, the Briarwoods had chosen to stay outside the city, where they could revel in nature and their own unique behaviors.

Here the river was fresh, untouched by the effects of the city. It was a haven of calm and beauty.

She’d come to visit her dear friend, who had as of yet not come down from the sprawling rooms of the house. No doubt Mercy would arrive at any moment, but Priscilla enjoyed this opportunity for a few moments alone in nature.

Heron House was one of the most beautiful places she had ever been. There were gorgeous trees everywhere of so many different varieties—oak, maple, willow. Oh, how they filled the soul with joy! And a beautiful rolling, flower-dotted grass knoll rolled down to the river.

As summer began to wane, the wildflowers seemed to be at their most vigorous, their most bright, as if somehow they knew they did not have much time and must show their colors fully. She rather liked the wildness of Heron House as opposed to the formality of so many of the gardens she’d seen.

She found herself traipsing through the swaying flowers of crimson, purple, and yellow hues, admiring the mighty river. And while that river might be the most important in all the world, in that particular moment the Thames was a boon to her heart. There was something about seeing running, flowing water that made her feel completely alive. And as she found herself near the water’s edge, close to a copse of willow trees, she suddenly realized she was not the only person who enjoyed the water.

Oh no, there were men in it. Men were in the river! And they were without attire!

Her cheeks immediately heated as she spotted Lord Hector swimming for all he was worth across the width of the Thames. It was a shock to her eyes, watching his lithe form cut through the water as if he had been born to it.

She gasped and tried to avert her eyes, but she could not. She knew that she was not supposed to be witnessing this. They had no embarrassment at their own nudity. Not at all. They reveled in it. They looked like boisterous, rowdy young men celebrating their power, their youth, their zeal, and she watched with admiration as they easily sped along, arm over arm.

She no longer had eyes for the water or the willows or the flowers. Or the other brothers, whose blond hair shone like gods in the early afternoon light.

She only had eyes for him. Lord Hector’s arms, chiseled and lean, easily pulled him forward. His back was a mystery and marvel of sinew!

She found herself, in her heart of hearts, cheering him.

As he pulled up to the bank, he let out a cry of triumph and splashed the water with the palms of his hands. His two brothers came swimming up behind him, grumbling and making commentary about various disabilities they had faced, and thus explaining why Hector had won. She heard a comment about the current being particularly strong on one side and another about Hector being deuced too fast.

Her lips twitched.

She did not have siblings, so she did not understand what it was like to have such banter. She rather wished that she had, for it seemed a delightful thing.

But after a few moments, Hector submerged himself beneath the water again, then came back in a quick surge, water droplets splashing everywhere. He wiped his hands over his face and then drove them through his dark locks.

She swallowed at the sight of him. He was a veritable Greek god. His body… There were no words to describe the way the hills and valleys of his perfect physique made her feel. He turned slowly then and began to make his way out of the river while his brothers jumped out and raced up the river, their clothes in hand.

She let out a yelp of surprise at the sight and quickly began to make her way back.

She did not know what she would do if he found her! And she’d be mortified if she ran into any of the brothers sans clothes.

Alas, her yelp must have given her away, for that low, perfect voice called, “Lady Priscilla?”

She cringed. Could she bolt back to Trenty? She eyed the branches of the weeping willow now surrounding her. She’d tried to run for cover, but now she had to face being caught. Slowly, she turned. “How do you do, Lord Hector?”

Her voice was far lower and much breathier than usual, and she realized he was stark naked from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Only the linen shirt held loosely in his sensual hand before his manhood veiled his body.

A slow smile tilted his lips. “Very well, thank you. It’s a very invigorating day.”

“Forgive me,” she called, covering her eyes with her hands. Should she run back to Lady Trentfield? But she did not wish to seem a foolish young miss. “Forgive me,” she repeated.

“There is nothing to forgive, Lady Priscilla,” he said as he picked up his clothes and a linen towel and began to doff the water from his body. Or so she assumed from the sounds coming from him.

“What brings you to the banks of the Thames along Heron House?” he asked.

She cleared her throat, kicking herself over and over for lingering and watching him swim. “I am waiting for your sister-in-law to arrive. My chaperone is enjoying the bounty from your kitchens, and I thought it would be nice to have a little bit of a wander through the grounds. It is such a beautiful place.”

“It is a beautiful place,” he agreed. “And I love to come out and be in nature too. My brothers and I swim in the river all the time. We’ve been doing it since we were boys.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?” she blurted.

“Of course it’s dangerous,” he said. “But getting up every morning and simply being alive is dangerous. Who knows when one might get a bad bit of milk, or be struck by a coach, or catch smallpox,” he said with surprising cheer. “A little bit of danger is necessary to feel completely alive, don’t you think?”

She blinked against her palms. “I don’t suppose I have thought of it like that,” she said. “You see, the most dangerous thing I do every day is venture into the ton.”

He let out a laugh at that. “Yes, very dangerous indeed. If not physically, then certainly to one’s spirits.”

She would not argue with him. He was quite correct.

“Do you ever swim?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’ve never learned.”

“You’ve never learned to swim?” he exclaimed.

“You see, I lived in Manchester,” she said, not wishing to explain that she’d lived in a tenement as a child and there had been no time to learn. Nor had there been suitably clean water. “And then I came to London. We have a country property, of course, a great estate, but no one has ever taken me out to the water.”

“How terrible for you,” he said. “There’s something most invigorating about sea bathing and going into the waves.”

She could only imagine that was true when one was a Greek god who looked as if they were meant to be one of Poseidon’s own children.

“I say,” she called. “Your brothers aren’t going to suddenly run down here are they?”

He barked out a laugh. “No, they headed up for the stables and plan to head into town.”

She let out a sigh of relief. She had no idea how she would manage being surrounded by so many Briarwoods at once. Especially in such circumstances.

“There now,” he said. “I’m quite decent. You can lower your hands.”

She cleared her throat and did as he bid.

Well, yes, she supposed he was decent, but his linen shirt was open at the throat, clinging to his wet body. His breaches were also clinging to his powerful legs, and his wet hair was doing the most romantic things about his aquiline features.

And then, finally, she took in his face after being so overwhelmed by the rest of him. “Gracious! What happened to you?”

He winked and lifted his hand to the bruised area. “A fellow and I had a disagreement about where my coin should be located. My pocket or his.”

“Is he alive?”

A booming laugh spilled past his heavenly lips. “Indeed, I sent him off without vengeance.”

“It looks painful,” she observed.

“It is,” he agreed.

Her fingers itched to reach out and touch the purpled area and soothe him. “You’re either brave of foolish.”

“Neither,” he replied. “A bit of pain is good for the soul.”

“What?” she blurted.

“Pain is where we grow,” he returned. “How we stretch ourselves to new understandings. It’s why all my brothers and I test ourselves physically.”

She’d never expected a rake to say such a thing. Was he a wise man in disguise? For she completely agreed. It was her father’s struggle that had made him a great man.

With each passing moment with Lord Hector, she found herself…seduced. Dear heaven, how she would like to be seduced by him. At least, in her dreams.

Reality would only bring pain and not the sort that would lead to growth.

She drew in a steadying breath, shocked by the sudden hot crackle racing through her blood. “I should be getting back to my chaperone, and your sister-in-law will come down soon.”

He gave a wicked grin as he peered over her shoulder towards the house, though they were now hidden by the waving willow branches. “She and my brother are…in a meeting. They often are in the early afternoons after luncheon.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, though she did not see at all. “What on earth would they meet about? Perhaps the running of the house?”

“They are very preoccupied with each other. And often forget the time,” he added as if that explained everything.

“Preoccupied?” She frowned. “Mercy seems to be a very disciplined person.”

“Of course she’s disciplined, but now she gets to enjoy the company of my brother, and they quite like being together.”

“Oh!” Some of the passages from novels and Shakespeare that she was acquainted with came to mind. The duke was very handsome, much like Hector. And she could see how one might become preoccupied with a such a beautiful man. “I see.”

“I hope I am not too scandalous.”

She tsked. “Of course you are!”

“I tried to be polite about it,” he said merrily.

She nodded. “I wasn’t raised in the fragility of the ton. So, it’s quite alright.”

He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know much about you, Lady Priscilla. What was your childhood like?”

It was an astonishingly intimate question. She brought her hands together and fidgeted. She didn’t really like talking about her past, nor was she supposed to.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to tell me,” he assured quickly.

She bit the inside of her lip, wondering if she dared being vulnerable with him. He was so unlike everyone she knew. She found him disarming and genuine, as if he truly wished to know the answer. “Well, you know that Papa was not always…”

“I do know he wasn’t always a titled lord, and he was appointed to that position rather recently, wasn’t he?” he observed without judgement.

“Correct. Nor was I born to the ton,” she said. “It’s been a great learning adventure.”

“Well, you have accomplished miracles. Most would never know,” he said. “You must be an excellent student.”

“Indeed I am,” she said, lifting her chin. “Have you had to study a great deal?”

“No,” he said with a shrug, but then he smiled as if he realized he was not being accurate. “I suppose that’s not true. I’ve not had to strive for much, but perhaps that’s because I just enjoy it all so well. I love art very much. Paintings fill me with great joy. I love mythology. I love Shakespeare as all my family does, and I read voraciously because what is this world without the beauty of words? What is this world without the wonder of poets and painters?”

She peered at him.

“Oh dear,” he said. “You are looking at me as if I have gone mad.”

“Well, there is a certain notorious madness to your family, isn’t there?”

He laughed. “Indeed. We are quite proud of it. Do you like art?”

She drew in a quick breath, uncertain how to answer before she replied carefully, “I was not always raised to appreciate such things. My father, of course, does acquire a great deal of art, but that acquisition is not necessarily rooted in a love of art but rather…”

“What?” he asked gently.

“Because it’s done,” she replied truthfully. “He finds people who pick him wonderful paintings, but the appreciation of art?” she said softly. “It is not something that we ever had time for.”

“No time?” he echoed, and his brows drew together.

She felt immediately as if she had said something amiss, as if she had exposed herself in some way. Why had she done it? She yearned to kick herself.

But instead of judging her as ignorant or lacking, he urged, “Explain that to me.”

She wound her fingers together as her heart hammered against her ribs. How was he doing this? How was he drawing her out to speak so openly? She was usually so careful and reserved with members of the ton, for they could never truly understand her or her background.

“Well,” she ventured, “when one is simply trying to make do, one does not have much spirit for admiring fine works of art in museums. Most can’t even go into such places. When one can only focus on the acquisition of food and shelter, one wishes to rest when one is done with their work. And the work is almost never done. I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. I suppose many artists are poor too,” she said softly, “but that is usually because there is not enough good pay for them.”

He nodded. “You are certainly correct about that. I think I see now why you think me an idle rake if all I do is climb out of windows, swim in the river, and admire art.”

She found herself flushing again. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No. It is what you have been led to believe about me, so how can I be upset with you? But I am not just an idle rake, my dear,” he said.

“Then what are you?” she queried.

“Happy,” he said.

“Happy?” she gasped as if such a claim was positively absurd.

“Are you not happy?” he asked, and once again he seemed utterly sincere.

“Oh, I am perfectly content,” she rushed. “I am so lucky that I have no right to complain.”

“That does not seem right, Lady Priscilla,” he murmured, his gaze softening. “Do you simply accept your lot in life without any consideration for what you want?”

“What I want?” she echoed, jerking her chin back. “Why would I consider what I want, Lord Hector? I want for nothing. I have a beautiful roof over my head. I have blankets and I have a fire. I have more food than I could ever possibly eat. I have books. I have teachers. I have clothes that are soft to the touch. I am warm in the winter, and I am cool in the summer, so what could I ever possibly complain about?”

He blinked at her. “You are quite singular, Lady Priscilla. The only people I have known to express similar things are members of my family.”

She lifted her chin. “Then you are not with the right people, sir.”

“But does that mean you will not pursue what you want when it comes to your heart?”

“I desire for my own family to be happy,” she returned quickly. “I wish for my papa to be rewarded for all the work that he has done. That is what I wish above all.”

He stared at her for a long moment before replying, “That does not seem enough.”

“Of course it’s enough,” she said tartly, drawing herself up. “It fills me with joy to make him proud.”

“I see,” Lord Hector said, his lips pressing together. “And he would not be proud of someone like me?”

“Of you?” she said, swallowing at his rather bold question. “I have never really thought about it, but probably not,” she confessed. “He would see you as…”

“What?” he urged.

“Without purpose.”

Lord Hector nodded without offense. “He’s a hardworking man, and men who do not work hard are of little meaning to such fellows.”

“It is odd,” she breathed, “because the very ideal that he has pursued is someone like you. It’s what he desires for his grandchildren. He wants them to be gentlemen and gentlewomen. And gentlemen do not work, do they?” She smiled tightly, worrying she had said too much. Worrying she had reveled far too many things about the inner workings of her family. “But my father has worked very, very hard, you see.”

He crossed to her slowly then. “Lady Priscilla, if there is one thing that I want, it is to know what you want. Not for your family, but for yourself.”

This was not fair! How could he be so marvelous? So seductive. And how could her wretched heart be so moved by the ton’s most sought after rake? It was cruel.

Worse still, he tempted her to throw all her sense of duty away and cast herself into his arms.

And as if he could read her very thoughts, Hector slid his hand to her waist, pulled her close, and took her mouth with his.

There was a wildness to it, as if he could convince her with his mouth when his words had not worked. The earthy scent of him washed over her. His clothes were damp, and she could feel every muscle and carved bit of sinew through his breeches and linen shirt.

His lips danced over hers, teasing, tasting. And oh, how she was undone by it. Her thoughts and all protests vanished as she gave herself into his embrace. She opened her mouth to his velvet tongue, and her body became liquid fire as he thrust past her lips.

Priscilla grabbed hold of his shoulders, wondering how anyone could feel such bliss? But of course, he was a rake. A master of seduction.

And a burst of cold dread raced through her.

What was she doing? She couldn’t. She mustn’t give in. And yet there was no going back to ignorance now. She would not be able to forget this moment. This kiss.

And worse, his urging to choose herself. Something she could never do.

She jolted back. He gazed at her, stunned.

“Priscilla—”

“I... I cannot make sense of this,” she murmured.

Suddenly, she felt a wave of unpleasantness. She had been perfectly happy pursuing the wishes of her father, and now Lord Hector was asking her to consider something different.

And it felt very selfish indeed.

Just as he took a step towards her, trying to ease her obvious turmoil, she heard her name called upon the wind and startled.

She was playing with fire, and Hector would be the most delightful of burns, but she had no desire to be hurt. Or to hurt her family.

So, without reply, she whipped around and raced back towards the pavilion. Back towards Mercy. Back towards Trenty. Back towards safety and away from a man who made her heart whisper the most shocking things.