The Wicked Lord Rasenby. Marguerite Kaye

you’re going to say, you told me yourself, that people do rely on you—for money. I’m sure that your mama and your sister and your mistresses all get plenty of that from you. But that’s easy. What you don’t give is anything of yourself.’

      ‘I’m not sure I follow. Is bleeding me dry not enough of myself to give?’ There was bitterness in the words. Kit was so wealthy that it would take more than his mama and Charlotte du Pres to ruin him, but they certainly tried. Paying Charlotte off had cost him a fortune and a diamond bracelet to boot, and his mother was hinting at new hangings for the Dower House. To say nothing of his nephew Jeremy and his regularly accumulated bad debts.

      ‘You understand me perfectly well, my lord.’ Clarissa’s voice was terse. She hated deliberate avoidance, and Lord Rasenby was no fool. ‘You substitute money for everything, and then you don’t like it when you get nothing back.’ Seeing his brow crease, she realised that she’d gone too far again. Lord Rasenby might like plain speaking, but he didn’t like home truths. Clarrie cursed her blunt tongue, it was always getting her into trouble. And it wouldn’t get her anywhere with this man.

      Biting her lip, but failing to look totally contrite, she apologised. ‘I beg your pardon. I get carried away sometimes, and speak without thinking. Let us talk of more congenial matters.’ She smiled cajolingly up at him.

      ‘Yes, but you’re not truly sorry at all, are you—it’s just that you’ve realised you’ve angered me.’ With an effort, Kit dismissed the idea that she’d managed to see through him with ease—and that she’d echoed, almost to the word, his own thoughts. It was just luck. He wasn’t so transparent. He was more than ever sure she was playing some sort of game, but it was a deep, and therefore challenging, one.

      ‘Come clean, Miss Wexford. For a start, I know that’s not your real name. What can I call you? If we are to talk openly, I would like some element of truth in our conversation.’

      ‘Very well, you can call me Clarissa. Since we are to be informal.’

      ‘So we are to be informal, Clarissa? The name suits you. And will you call me Kit?’

      ‘Kit. It too suits you.’ The humour was reflected in her eyes as she echoed his words. ‘I think, since our relationship is to be both informal and of short duration, that we can manage on such intimate terms. It’s not as if there will be any witnesses.’

      ‘You intrigue me. I take it, then, that you do not aspire to Charlotte du Pres’s position?’

      A flash of anger was quickly disguised. ‘No, I want no such relationship with you. Nor do I want any financial recompense, nor any presents nor anything at all of that sort. Let us be clear on that now, Lord—Kit, please.’ She reached out, touched his arm lightly with the tips of her fingers, then quickly withdrew. Even such a tiny touch sent tingles up and down her skin.

      ‘I can see you are serious. You are not someone who lies easily, are you? Whatever your game, you have honest eyes,’ Kit said wryly. ‘So, no presents. Well, it will be a refreshing change, certainly. But you are happy for Charlotte’s position to remain unchallenged?’ Kit had already decided she didn’t need to know that Charlotte was already history.

      His question gave Clarissa pause. If he got rid of Charlotte du Pres, then it created a vacancy, and it was likely he’d offer it to Amelia. It had been no part of her plan to comment on his current mistress, but perhaps, now that the opportunity had arisen, it was worth while?

      ‘Are you contemplating a replacement? I thought you said last night that the rumours concerning Miss Warrington had no substance?’

      ‘I said she would not be my wife. I have no need of a wife, when I can take my pleasures outside the marriage bed. From what I have seen of matrimony, there are few pleasures to be had there. Daily, the scandal sheets give us another tale of adultery and bastard children. And behind it, heartbreak for someone—the children, at the very least. Matrimony does not require affection. I have no wish to sample the insipid and dutiful caresses of a virgin wife. There is naught to substitute for experience. But you already know my feelings on this subject. I’m more interested in why you bring Amelia Warrington into the conversation again. Has she put you up to this?’

      ‘No, no, I assure you she has not.’ At least that was the truth. In fact, if Amelia found out, she would never forgive her. ‘But I am a little acquainted with her, and I cannot feel she would make you a very good mistress. She wants to be your wife—she is hardly likely to be happy settling for less. No, on consideration, I think Charlotte du Pres is much more suited to your needs.’

      Kit smiled, humour lurking deep in his midnight-blue eyes. Looking into them, laughing complicitly, Clarrie was suddenly breathless. His mouth, which he normally held in a firm, hard line, had softened, and there was a slight growth of stubble on his jaw. She had a sudden urge to run her hand along it, to feel the contrast between the roughness there and the smooth contours of his lips. Clarrie felt her mouth go dry at the thought, and licked her own lips nervously. She had never felt such blatant attraction emanating from a man.

      Reminding herself that it was exactly this attraction he traded on, she looked away. ‘I didn’t come here to give you advice about your mistresses, but you did ask. I am aware that this is not really a conversation we should be having.’

      Kit laughed out loud at this. ‘My dear Clarissa, you shouldn’t even be here, let alone discussing such intimate matters with me. But that hasn’t stopped you. However, I think you’re right about Amelia Warrington, I think she is likely to be rather too demanding. And virgins, you know, can be so unsatisfying. I prefer my women to know what pleasures a man.’

      ‘Oh! Well—well, I think then you can quite safely dismiss Amelia Warrington.’

      ‘You seem sure of her. She won’t be a virgin for long, you know. It may not be me, but she will be plucked soon. And likely not by a husband. She aims high.’

      ‘Is she really so bad? She is young, you know, but not—not calculating.’

      ‘You don’t know her at all well if you think so. She is a pretty and very ambitious young woman. Though in my experience, she has the kind of looks that fade quickly. Any man can see that he has no need to offer marriage to have her. It’s just a question of how high she’ll sell herself. I’m not personally convinced it’s a price worth paying.’ Looking at Clarissa, he was surprised to see the hurt on her face. He possessed himself of her hand. ‘It’s the way of the world. She will take me not because she likes me better, but because I have more money. You are wasting your energies, concerning yourself with such a one. She will go her own way, and no friend will stop her.’

      Looking into Kit’s eyes, such a piercing, deep, dark blue colour, and for once showing such genuine concern, Clarissa acknowledged that he spoke the truth. But Amelia was her sister. She couldn’t give up on her, it wasn’t yet too late. And if nothing else, she could make sure that Amelia didn’t throw herself away on this man.