Free The Rake by Georgeanne Hayes

The gown was torn where
he’d pulled it loose. She folded the shawl over it and held it
tightly to her. “I’m a little chilled,” she said after a moment
when he merely sat, staring at her speculatively.
    Without a word, he flicked the reins and
turned the carriage, heading back down the lane they’d taken to the
lake. As the fear began to subside, Demi realized she’d lost half
her hair pins, as well. Releasing the shawl, she made a half
hearted effort to straighten her hair and finally merely stuffed
the wayward tendrils under her bonnet and tied the ribbons more
tightly under her chin.
    By the time they’d reached Moreland Abby,
anger had replaced her fear. The moment the carriage rocked to a
halt, Demi leapt down and stomped into the house without a word or
a glance in Jonathan’s direction. She was half way up the walk when
he caught up to her, grasping her upper arm. She was still trying
to pull free when Jonathan brought her to a halt in front of the
dining room. To her surprise, he released her abruptly.
    She saw why when she
turned. Her aunt, seated at the opposite end of the table, was
gaping at them with every appearance of shock. Since Demi had no
doubt at all that she looked as if she’d been mauled, she wasn’t
the least surprised. The bodice of her gown was torn, her hair
falling down all around her shoulders and her face chafed from
whisker burn. She glared at her aunt. “I will not marry this man! Throw me into the
street! I don’t care!”
    “ Demitria Standish!” Alma
Moreland roared, coming to her feet. “We have company!”
    Demi noticed then that her cousin, Geoffrey,
was seated at the head of the table. Ranged around the table were
two of Phoebe’s particular friends and two gentlemen. One of them
was Lord Wyndham. He was staring directly at her and Jonathan, his
eyes narrowed, his face taut.
    “ What is the meaning of
this disgraceful display?”
    Demi glanced from her aunt to Flemming. Far
from looking the least bit discomfited, he wore a half smile of
triumph, his gaze locked with Lord Wyndham’s. It coalesced in
Demi’s mind on the instant that she’d been set up by Flemming and
her aunt. It was pure speculation, of course. It might also have
been nothing more than a dislike of both of them, but it seemed a
bit too convenient that they’d managed to arrive, in a disheveled
manner that practically screamed fornication, to discover the
dining room full of witnesses. And now that she thought on it, the
doors were never left open while they were dining. Why now, unless
her aunt had been anticipating her to arrive home looking as if
she’d spent the day making love?
    “ The man cannot drive!” she
exclaimed on sudden inspiration. “I was nearly thrown from the
carriage and killed, and all because he decided to drop Esme off
before bringing me to the Abbey and thought we should drive faster
to account for it!”
    Something gleamed in Lord Wyndham’s eyes,
approval she thought, but both her aunt and Flemming looked as if
they might burst a blood vessel. Phoebe and her friends tittered
nervously, obviously as scandalized as they had been intended to
be.
    Demi didn’t delude herself. Despite the
story inspired by desperation, she knew very well that speculation
would be rife and running through the county like wildfire before
morning. Whether her aunt and Flemming had conspired against her or
not, even if Flemming had only been inspired by the moment and had
not planned it, she was ruined just the same. If she married him,
the scandal would eventually die down--once the whole county had
counted the months until the delivery of her first child and been
disappointed by the fact that it did not arrive early. If she did
not marry him, she would not get another decent proposal, even if
her aunt decided to allow her to remain under her roof.
    “ Excuse me,” she muttered
abruptly. Brushing past Flemming, she raced up the stairs. When she
reached her room, she slammed the door and