Free The Dutiful Rake by Elizabeth Rolls

on she would have to face the ghastly reality with Lord Rutherford, but just at the moment she had Marc to care for her and she might as well sit back and enjoy it. Blissfully she allowed her mind to drift away with the clouds of steam.
    Marcus shut his eyes to block out the sight of that trusting, endearing smile. Not to mention the sight of her body with the soaking, transparent cotton clinging to every contour, except for her legs. The petticoat floated around them, revealing the long slender limbs in a teasing, shadowy way. Grimly he thought that if Mrs Garsby ever heard about this, then the only place for Meg would be the nearest Magdalen. Despite Meg’s gallant lie, he had absolutely no doubts as to why she had been turned away.
    He cleared his throat. ‘Are you warmer now, Meg?’
    ‘Oh, yes!’ Her response came on a sigh of sheer sensual delight which seemed to ripple through her entire body. Marcus didn’t like to think about the devastating effect such a sigh would have on his already beleaguered senses in other circumstances. His own body was already rebelling furiously against his brain which was keeping the reins tight. For God’s sake, she’s little more than a child! She’s still sick and she’s in quite enough trouble without you getting her into more!
    Abruptly he stood up. He couldn’t trust himself to dry her. Long strides took him to the bellpull. He wouldsend for Mrs Barlow, as in fact he should have done ten minutes ago. He couldn’t imagine what had come over him not to do so. He had just been conscious of an overwhelming tenderness and desire to look after her himself. It had not even occurred to him to summon other assistance. It had seemed perfectly natural and right to do it himself.
    Now, as he stood shaking with his back to her, he realised his mistake. Lord! And he’d thought that youth and innocence held no allure for him. He couldn’t have been more wrong. A knock at the door interrupted his churning thoughts. Barlow. He went to the door and opened it a fraction.
    ‘You rang, me lord?’ Barlow looked very puzzled to see that Marcus had not yet availed himself of the bath. ‘Is something wrong?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Marcus baldly. He hesitated and then said, ‘Miss Meg has returned. I’ve dumped her in my bath. Mrs Garsby refused to take her in and she walked home in that storm. Could you please ask your wife to come up and dry her and help her get into some dry clothes?’
    Barlow’s jaw dropped and his lined old face worked for a minute. All he could say was, ‘That bitch!’
    ‘Quite,’ said Marcus in savage agreement. ‘In fact that…’ He added a number of colourful epithets to describe Mrs Garsby which left Barlow in no doubt that his lordship was quite as angry as he himself was.
    ‘I’ll fetch Agnes right away, me lord. An’ she walked home? In that storm? Poor little lass.’
    Barlow was gone and Marcus turned back into the room. Meg’s portmanteau caught his eye and he opened it. And swore violently. It was soaked through and everything in it. She didn’t have a stitch to wear thanksto Mrs Garsby’s callous disregard for common human decency.
    Cursing under his breath, he went to his chest of drawers and found a nightshirt. It would swamp Meg’s slight frame, but at least it would be warm. His dressing gown of heavy red silk lay across a chair. That would help too…and…He cast his eyes about the room…ah, yes! His driving coat…and a couple of blankets, and she could sit up and have something to eat in reasonable modesty. From his point of view, the more clothes she had on, the better! He studiously avoided looking too closely at Meg as he went back and forth.
    Agnes Barlow entered the room without even bothering to knock. ‘My lord! Just what—?’ She broke off as she caught sight of Meg dozing in the bath. Her gentle old eyes seemed to blaze. For a moment Marcus thought she was going to say something, but she just went and dropped to her knees