Rake Beyond Redemption

The Pride!

It was like the echoing clang, discordant and ill fated, of a death knell. The name was like an arctic blast to chill the heat in his blood to ice. Or perhaps it was a searing fire from the depths of hell to blast and destroy the flame of his desire.

Zan encircled Marie-Claude’s wrists and pulled her hands slowly from around his neck, trying to ignore the skittering of her pulse. Why did it feel as if a bottomless black void had appeared before his feet? And equally in his chest where his heart had been?

Whilst Marie-Claude could only marvel at the effect of her words. This man who had kissed her with passion was now regarding her from a distance of his own making, with some species of stark horror.

What had she said?

‘Lydyard’s Pride?’ Zan heard his voice, bleak as the cliffs in a winter’s gale, dreading the reply.

‘Yes. The house on the cliff…’

‘I know where Lydyard’s Pride is. What’s your name—your full name?’

‘I’m Marie-Claude Hallaston. I was Marie-Claude de la Roche before my marriage.’

Hallaston. Marriage.

Why hadn’t he discovered this pertinent piece of information in the first place? It had never crossed his mind. His lips curled in cynical acknowledgement of this unexpected turn of the cards. So the gift from the hand of fate had all been a mischievous charade after all. Well, he had been taught a short hard lesson, had he not? It was as if he had been offered his heart’s desire only to have it snatched away in some malicious game. Zan took a step back, his brows meeting in a black bar.

‘Zan…?’

He took another step. When he could think, memory struck to fill in the gaps.

‘Ah, yes. Of course. I should have known, I suppose. You’re the widow of the noble Earl of Venmore’s brother.’

‘Yes. Captain Marcus Hallaston. He died in Spain.’

‘I know.’

‘Do you know the Hallaston family? And Harriette’s family, the Lydyards? I suppose you must since you are a neighbour.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m staying here for a few weeks.’

‘I see.’

‘Harriette and Luke are at The Venmore, but I—’

‘I must take you home,’ Zan interrupted. ‘I’ve kept you here long enough.’

She was a Hallaston. Of all the families she could have been connected to. Striding to the door, he flung it open, raised his voice in the direction of the kitchen.

‘Sal! Bring the lady’s shoes. Now!’

When they arrived, Sal at a run, he took them with a brief word of thanks, handed them over.

‘Put your shoes on.’

Not understanding, Marie-Claude simply did as she was ordered. What point in attempting an explanation when the man who had first saved her life and then had kissed her into mindless delight had inexplicably decided that he wanted nothing more to do with her? Without a word, spine straight against the humiliation, Marie-Claude took the little boots, then sat, just as rigidly, struggling with the soaked fabric to pull them on. They were, sadly, past redemption.

‘Never mind.’ Impatiently, Zan all but snatched the boots from her, tucking them with her stockings into his capacious pockets. ‘Put your arms around my neck, Madame Mermaid.’ When she obeyed because his sly mockery seemed to rob her of any will to do otherwise, he effortlessly lifted her and carried her out of the parlour.

‘I can walk!’ Flustered, mortified by her response to his nearness, hurt by his rejection of her, Marie-Claude pushed against his chest. ‘There’s no need for this! Put me down.’

‘Not in bare feet you can’t,’ he responded, as cold as January.

Without further comment he carried her outside, where he boosted her into the saddle, then swung up behind her, immediately gathering up the reins and turning the mare’s head in the direction of the Pride. His mouth curved in what was not a smile at this change in plan. Had he not intended to allow the mare to walk as slowly as she wished, to make her own way so that his time with the girl was stretched as far as possible? Now he kicked her into a canter, holding the Hallaston widow before him as impersonally as he might. Trying not to be aware of her warmth and closeness, the subtle perfume from her hair, the brush of her body against his. He clamped his mouth shut. There was nothing more to be said between them.

Thus a tension-filled, uncomfortable journey, until they reached the long drive to the Pride and Zan turned the mare in.

This was no good, Marie-Claude decided, trying to clear her thoughts. Did the baffling Mr Alexander Ellerdine intend to deposit her at the door without another word? Not if she had any influence on the outcome.

‘Do you know Harriette and Luke well?’ she asked against the wall of his silence, lifting her chin so she could see his face.

‘Once I did.’ His eyes were grimly fixed on the approaching house. ‘But no longer. We’re not on visiting terms.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s of no consequence.’

In other words, it’s not your concern. Marie-Claude frowned as silence once more shrouded them. As she had suspected, when they arrived at the front sweep of steps, he swiftly dismounted, beckoned for her to slide down into his arms. Immediately he placed her on her feet on the bottom step. Returned her boots, her stockings into her hands. And without one word of ackowledgement or farewell turned away to remount.

Marie-Claude felt a return of her temper. Was he not going to explain? She would force him to explain!

‘Will you not come in?’ she invited with edged sweetness. A provocative lift of her brows, already knowing the reply. If he could taunt, so could she. ‘Some refreshment, perhaps, after all your efforts on my behalf?’

He looked back over his shoulder, his reins tight in his fist. ‘No.’

‘And are you usually so ill mannered, Mr Ellerdine?’

‘Not ill mannered, Madame Mermaid. Merely mistaken.’

‘So you have decided you have not known me all your life after all.’

‘Yes. So it seems.’

A cold whip of words. It was like fighting through an impenetrable mist. ‘How capricious you have turned out to be, sir,’ she observed, an intense regret cutting through her anger. And watched, startled, as her rebuke caused colour to slash across Zan’s splendid cheekbones.

‘Is Meggie here?’ he demanded unexpectedly, facing her again.

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Tell Meggie what happened on the beach. She’ll take care of you. Doubtless she’ll tell you what you need to know about me—and take pleasure in doing so. Don’t tell her you spent time in the Silver Boat with me, unchaperoned. And for God’s sake don’t tell her that I forced my attentions on you. It would be better for you if you did not.’

‘Why should I not tell her? Besides, you didn’t force yourself on me. As I recall, I enjoyed the experience as much as you did. As I thought you did!’