Date with a Regency Rake: The Wicked Lord Rasenby / The Rake's Rebellious Lady. Anne Herries

      ‘Sir?’

      ‘It will perhaps relieve you to know that my night-fishing trips are at an end. You may wish to share that knowledge with the Marquis of Alchester, your informant.’ Raising his hand to forestall the confused denial, Kit continued. ‘I have been aware for some time that he has been keeping you apprised of my movements. Rest assured, I will be taking the matter up with Alchester personally. But for now, I trust, you take my meaning? The Sea Wolf will not be going fishing again.’

      ‘I thank you, sir. I take your meaning well. Now I must bid you good morning.” A blushing nod to Clarissa, and the lieutenant was gone, over the side to the waiting dinghy, and back to his cutter.

      He was barely back on board before Clarrie turned, exultant and bursting with excitement, towards Kit. ‘Oh, Kit, I can’t tell you, my heart was thumping fit to burst. Just for a moment there I thought he—’

      Kit cut short her excited torrent of words with an imperious wave of his hand. ‘You were told to remain below. Can I not trust you to follow even the simplest of instructions? I would have found a way to deal with Lieutenant Smith. John, make haste for the quay. We are long overdue. Clarissa, go below and make sure the Renauds are prepared to disembark.’

      Curtly dismissed, Clarissa stumbled below, blinking back the tears. Kit turned to take the wheel, confused at his own sudden temper.

      ‘Don’t you think you’re being a mite hard on the girl, my lord?’ John asked gravely. ‘She got us out of a pretty pickle there and no mistake.’

      ‘I know, John, I know. Your point is well made.’ She had saved them all from a perilous situation with her quick thinking, cool head and bravery. So why, then, was he so angry with her?

       Chapter Seven

      ‘Can you finish up here on your own, John? This way, Clarissa, we have unfinished business to attend to.’ Kit, his expression impassive, ushered Clarissa towards the awaiting chaise. His tightly reigned temper had been in evidence ever since the Sea Wolf docked. Monsieur and Mademoiselle Renaud were disembarked and dispatched in a separate post chaise with uncommon haste, allowing Clarissa time for only the briefest of farewells. John was kept busy amid a flurry of barked orders from Kit, unloading the remaining cargo, securing the yacht, and then finally the boathouse.

      Aside from pointing Clarissa towards the chaise, Kit had said nothing to her. Deducing correctly that she was the source of his anger, although having no clue as to how she might have provoked it, Clarrie felt her own temper starting to rise, fuelled by a sense of injustice. She wheeled to confront him.

      ‘What have I done to incur your displeasure this time, my lord? At least have the decency to tell me to my face. I thought you would be impressed by my actions when we were boarded by the Revenue. My motives were of the purest, I did it only to protect all of us—you, me, John and the Renauds. Would you have me in the wrong for that, would you have me apologise for trying to save you? For it worked, didn’t it?’ She added proudly, ‘The look on poor Lieutenant Smith’s face was priceless!’

      ‘Yes, it worked. But you were lucky and, more to the point, extremely reckless, for things might easily have gone awry after your impulsive behaviour. This is not merely a game, some sport for your entertainment, Clarissa. Innocent people’s lives are at stake. Lives that you put at risk.’

      ‘I thought you cared naught for these people yourself. Did you not make me a pretty speech that it was all sport to you and you were indifferent to their fate?’

      ‘Well, I care for John, at any rate,’ was his lame response. Confound the woman, Kit thought, looking distinctly uncomfortable now. First she knows my thoughts, and now she seems able to look into my very soul and read what lies hidden within.

      Clarissa pressed on, warming to the task, recognising that for once she held the upper hand. ‘As usual, my lord, you would be better served aiming your words at a more deserving target—yourself! Putting innocent lives at risk for sport and pleasure! For shame, sir, is that not exactly the fate you intended for Amelia Warrington?’

      ‘Her again,’ Kit exploded. ‘What is your obsession with that girl? As I’ve said before, I pride myself on amply rewarding those with whom I play such games.’

      ‘Indeed you do, Lord Rasenby. But have you ever considered that what you proudly call generosity is, in fact, conscience and guilt?’

      Kit stepped towards Clarissa, grasping her by both elbows, looming over her threateningly. ‘That may be so, Clarissa, but we are embroiled in a game of our own, remember. One we both chose to play willingly and in which neither of us could be called innocent. A game that is about to resume.’