The Regency Season: Forbidden Pleasures: The Rake to Rescue Her / The Rake to Reveal Her. Julia Justiss
intoxicating beyond his wildest imagining. As he’d sensed the first time he touched her, the woman she’d become more than fulfilled the promise of passion in the girl he’d once loved.
Perhaps desire would diminish over time, but thus far, each meeting with her left him more enchanted. The mere thought of touching her, kissing her, tasting her was so arousing he could scarcely wait until evening. Already he was hard and aching, needy and impatient.
But it was more than just the rapture of the physical. When she awakened beside him, rosy with sleep and satisfaction, the unguarded expression of joy and wonder as she recognised him had pierced the barrier he’d erected to armour himself against her and gone straight to the heart. The awe and tenderness with which she’d traced his face and whispered his name had weakened still further the barricades restraining the tender feelings for her that, unable to fully exterminate, he’d buried deep.
She’d gazed at him as if he were her most precious dream.
As she had once been his.
His euphoria dimmed a bit. Allowing her to touch his emotions again wasn’t wise and could end badly. He’d entered this affair to purge himself of her, not to fall under the spell of a woman much more complex than the straightforward lass he’d loved. The mere thought of the devastation he’d suffered when she’d abandoned him all those years ago made him suck in a painful breath.
Well, it wouldn’t come to that—not this time. He might want to penetrate all her secrets, but he’d not risk his heart imagining they had a future.
And what of her secrets? ‘I’m not the girl I once was,’ she had told him.
That much was certainly true. She was instead a woman who had, he was reluctantly beginning to believe, suffered isolation, hardship and abuse. If he fully accepted the truth of her account, she’d endured all that to protect her father—and him.
He recalled how frantic she’d become at the thought of the danger their being together placed him in, before he convinced her that her husband was dead.
Then there was that odd ritual at the mirror, during which, she fought her way from distress back to calm.
Alone.
So you had no one, the comment came back to him—a statement she’d neither affirmed nor denied. He recalled Lady Randolph’s description of how she’d been isolated from all her former friends.
Isolated, abused—but defiant.
Pity and admiration filled him in equal measure. And despite the danger of letting her touch his emotions, he couldn’t beat back the warmth he’d felt at seeing her glow of contentment when she’d awakened in his arms. Couldn’t help the need building within him to penetrate the impassive mask and bring that expression to her face again, in the full light of day.
He couldn’t give her back the eight years she’d lost, erase the suffering she’d endured, or resurrect the innocent, carefree girl she’d once been. But before they parted, he vowed to do whatever he could to convince her she was truly free to take up all the activities she’d been denied—painting, reading, music—and embrace life fully.
As he thought of that future, a small voice deep within whispered that she must share that new life with him.
Ruthlessly, he silenced it.
He was no longer a starry-eyed young man, confident that the future would arrange itself as he wished. In the dangerous matter of Diana, he would move one cautious step at a time, holding the reins on his feelings with as tight a grip as he could manage.
He’d need that knack immediately, for it was past time for him to return to Jane’s. Though he had the run of his sister’s house and might come and go as he pleased, his absence for an entire day would not have gone unnoticed. The all-too-observant Jane would be curious where he’d been, and he’d have to manufacture an unreadable expression to prevent her from teasing out of him that he was seeing Diana again.
The mere thought of the storm of scolding and possible hysterics that admission would unleash made him shudder.
It would be more prudent to time his return for when his sister was occupied with other matters. Though he did appreciate her genuine concern for his welfare, the matter of Diana was too complicated—and Jane’s animosity towards Diana too deep—to be quickly and easily explained.
He hadn’t yet brought Jane a hostess gift. Perhaps he’d stop by the jewellers and pick up a trinket to surprise her—and hopefully distract her from any pointed questioning over the curious absences of her brother.
Accordingly, an hour later, after a brief stop to bathe and change at the Crescent, Alastair was strolling down Bond Street, bound for the jeweller recommended by his sister’s butler. Jane loved flowers; an intricate silver vase or epergne for her table should delight her enough to give him a few days’ grace from scrutiny.
Just as he turned the corner, a woman exited the shop. The black cape that swathed her, hiding her face under the overhanging hood, instantly recalled Diana and the delights they had recently shared. He was smiling at the memory when, an instant later, something about the retreating figure made him realise the woman was, in fact, Diana.
A shockingly intense gladness filling him, Alastair set off after her. But by the time he reached the corner, the lady had disappeared. With a disappointed sigh, he turned back towards the shop.
Just as well he’d missed her. Anything he said or did with her on a public street would set tongues wagging. Though he didn’t think he was known to any of the pedestrians now passing by him, he’d not noticed any acquaintances in the park the first day he met Diana, either, and word of that encounter had begun circulating immediately.
Besides, he’d rather savour seeing her tonight, when he could undress her, caress by caress. Warmed by that thought, he entered the jeweller’s establishment.
Taking one look at him, the junior clerk who greeted him sent at once for the owner. Though he tried to extinguish his curiosity, after that gentleman had shown him several fine silver pieces, one of which he selected for his sister, he couldn’t help asking casually whether the lady who’d just left the shop had purchased something similar, so beautifully wrought were the vases.
‘I’m afraid she was selling, rather than buying,’ the owner replied with a sigh—before his eyes lit. ‘I bought from her a particularly nice pearl necklace. Truly, the piece is so fine, I don’t think I’ll have it for long. A vase is a charming gift, but ladies often prefer a more...personal item. Might your sister be interested in such a necklace?’
Jane might not, but Alastair certainly was. ‘Please, do show it to me,’ he replied, his curiosity tweaked even further.
Why would Diana be selling jewellery? Whatever the reason, he knew at once he would buy the necklace back.
Beaming, the jeweller disappeared, returning a moment later with a long double-twisted strand of perfectly matched pearls.
For a moment, shock displaced curiosity, as Alastair recognised the necklace. One of the few mementos Diana had of her mother, who’d died giving her birth, the pearls had been a gift to her from her father on her sixteenth birthday. She’d mentioned several times how special it was to her. He couldn’t imagine why she would part with it.
Glad he’d encountered the jeweller before the piece had been shown to some other customer, he said, ‘You are right. It’s exquisite. I shall take that, too.’
Purchases completed, he picked up the wrapped parcel containing the vase and tucked the velvet case with the pearls in his pocket. He’d give Jane the vase just before guests arrived for dinner, leaving them only a short time for conversation, then slip away when her party left for the theatre.
Already impatient to see Diana again, he was now even more eager for the day to fade