Page 41 of To Tame the Wild Rake
In the pleasant lethargy that followed their first encounter, Anthony spoke, “Time to fuel up, Cherry, my love. Give me a minute. I asked Richards to arrange us a supper, and it should be at the door.” He pulled on a silk robe. “In case the footman delivering the food is still there, and embarrassed,” he explained, cheerfully.
Did he feed Lady Thirby and her friend?The waspish thought took her by surprise but brought back all her doubts. She climbed out of bed and found another robe, which she belted tightly around herself before returning to her pillows.
“You called it your playroom, the scarlet bedchamber,” she said, when he came back with a tray of cold meats, bread, pickle, cheese, and fruit, which he put on the bed beside her. “Explain, please.”
She was sorry immediately. His face had been open, relaxed, happy. It closed, became the watchful company face of the remote Marquis of Aldridge. “Never mind,” Charlotte said.
He relaxed again. “You can ask me anything, Cherry. Let me get us a glass of wine each to go with supper, and I’ll answer your questions.”
When they were both settled back against the pillows with a glass of wine and a plate of food, he returned to the subject. “You asked me to explain the playroom. You know that I was given the heir’s wing when I was eighteen? Traditionally, it is for Haverford heirs when they marry. Until then, they have apartments in the family wing.
“His Grace my father never lived in it, because he was only twenty-three and still single when he inherited. The last resident before me was his grandfather, who inherited and moved to the main house when my father was an infant.
“But His Grace decided to break with tradition. He thought I was too much under my mother’s influence, and he wanted me to have a place of my own; somewhere I would be able to—” he deepened his voice and imposed a sneer that made him look uncannily like the Duke of Haverford “—fornicate with anyone I chose without frequenting low places.”
Aldridge grimaced and returned to his normal voice. “He was a nasty old man, Cherry. But when I was eighteen, I still thought he stood at the right hand of God, even though I also knew him to be a bully and a tyrant. Except for that and his disdain for my little sisters, I wanted to be just like him.” He sighed.
“That is natural,” Charlotte allowed. “You were very young.”
“I figured it was my mission in life to have a good time, and I threw myself into every piece of mischief available to someone who is young, wealthy, and titled. My friends were mostly a little older than me, and even more debauched than I was, but apart from me, only Richport had his own house.
“All of a sudden, I had my own place—empty for more than sixty years and much in need of redecoration. It was great fun. I set up a whole suite of rooms in the heir’s wing where my friends and I could have parties, including a bedroom to which I and the woman of my choice could retire when we wanted privacy.” He wrinkled his nose. “A personal choice. I have never been fond of having an audience when I was at bed sport.”
He took a sip of his wine, watching her over the rim.
“It is very…bright.”
“Gaudy, even,” he agreed cheerfully. “Not to my liking, these days, but I’ve never wanted the fuss of redecorating, particularly when I do not sleep there. And none of my visitors had the good taste to object. After all, none of them had to live there, either.”
“Except your mistress, I presume.” She was mortified by the tart note in that statement. Aldridge ignored it.
“I brought the Rose of Frampton here when I first took her as my mistress, while I found a house for her. And she did have good taste, and insisted that I have no part in decisions about the decoration of that house.” His voice was warm with affection. “Other than that, no one has ever lived here in the heir’s wing with me. I have had visitors, of course. You know my reputation. But I have not had a mistress since I lost the Rose nearly five years ago, and casual encounters no longer appeal; haven’t, indeed, for a long time.”
Charlotte made no comment, but perhaps her thoughts echoed through the bedchamber as they did in her head, for he answered the question she hadn’t asked.
“Cherry, I did not invite Lady Thirby and her friend here. I have been celibate for three years. I hoped to show you that I am a rake no more.”
Charlotte felt something in her ease. Anthony never lied. “But I rejected you again,” she reminded him.
He grimaced at the memory. “Lady Thirby kept suggesting a liaison, but it wasn’t me she wanted. Just the Merry Marquis. Just the notoriety of being able to say she had been with me. I decided it wasn’t worth it.”
He picked up a cube of cheese on the end of a fork and offered it to her. “And then—Richards was on his half day—she bribed one of the footmen to smuggle her and her friend into the house, and bring me a message that I was needed in the playroom. Told him a tarradiddle about it being a joke between us. He was new and an idiot.”
He sighed. “I was fetched from my bath, and was in the process of telling them they had to leave when you walked in. I have never apologised to you, have I? I deeply regret that you saw that, Cherry.”
Charlotte was both comforted and annoyed at his recital. Comforted, because her jealousy of the Thirby woman was misplaced; annoyed because seeing him as more than a rake made it even harder to resist him. “I am the one who should apologise. I barged in without an invitation. Anthony, have you really been celibate for three years?”
He grinned; his social mask gone as if it had never been. “Not anymore,” he reminded her, waggling his eyebrows. “As I said, I have lost interest in casual encounters. And for anything more serious, you are the only woman I want. It would horrify His Grace, if he was sane enough to know, but it appears I am predisposed to be faithful, Cherry. You are the only woman for me.”
Charlotte took a gulp of wine to hide her reaction. She could not afford to believe him. He would have to marry one day, and he deserved a wife he loved.
“If you’ve had enough to eat, I’ll move the tray, and we can snuggle while we finish our wine,” Anthony suggested, and he suited action to words.
When he returned to the bed, he sat where the tray had been, and put an arm around her waist to encourage her to shift closer. She leaned against his side, her head on his shoulder, her hip touching his. “There,” he said, “this is comfortable. Have you more questions, my love?”
He grinned. “Or are you ready to try another position?”
In the morning, Anthony showed Charlotte to the door by the duke’s offices and from there the footman Mullins, anonymous in his Haverford livery, escorted her along the facade of the house to the main portico. Anthony had said goodbye in his own private suite, where he was free to give her another of those knee-melting kisses. “I should see you safely to your coach, Cherry, but people might take note and wonder whether you were visiting me and not Jessica.”
