The Rake by Mary Jo Putney

fortune to match her face?”
    â€œThat’s the rub,” Alys admitted. “She’ll have a respectable portion, but it’s not a great fortune, and her father was a London merchant. She has no family connections that could introduce her to the ton .”
    â€œShe may be better off doing her husband hunting here. London can be a dangerous place for the innocent.” Dismissing the topic of Merry, he asked, “Whatever persuaded you to take charge of three young people? The girl represents one set of problems, and the boys will be just as much trouble in different ways. It would be a heavy burden for anyone, and you aren’t even a relative.”
    It was none of his business, of course, but his question seemed to come from genuine interest rather than idle curiosity. She propped one elbow on the desk and rested her chin on her hand as she considered her reply. “The obvious answer is that there was no one else Mrs. Spenser trusted. She had no children of her own. In fact, she was only their aunt by marriage, no blood relation at all, but she loved them. She wanted to make sure they were properly cared for.”
    â€œIf that is the obvious answer, what is the unobvious one?”
    â€œThey were my students, and I’m very fond of them. I’ve known William, the youngest, since he was in leading strings.” Alys gave a brittle laugh. “And this is the closest I’m likely to come to having children. I would have been a fool to pass up the opportunity.” She stopped suddenly, wondering what had made her reveal a deep and painful truth like that.
    Tactfully restraining himself from probing more deeply into what was obviously sensitive territory, Davenport said, “I hope they realize how fortunate they are to have you, Miss Weston.”
    Shaking off her mood, she said with a grin, “Merry might, but the boys look on me in the light of a necessary evil. I’m always nagging them to do their studying, mind their manners, and make at least a token gesture to the proprieties.”
    At the sight of her wide smile, Davenport sat up and leaned forward in his chair so he could scrutinize her face. “Lady Alys, you have dimples,” he said accusingly.
    Caught, Alys blushed. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I think God made a mistake and gave me someone else’s dimples.”
    Davenport stood, his tall form looming over her desk. “Don’t apologize. They’re quite delightful. Dimples are called the mark of Venus, you know.”
    He smiled that lazy, intimate smile, the one designed to make proper ladies forget their virtue. Alys found herself smiling back.
    He raised one hand and lightly brushed her cheek, right where a dimple lurked. It was a casual gesture that some women would hate, and others find utterly entrancing. Alys was of the latter persuasion. His touch was warm, and her hypersensitive skin recorded the faint roughness of the whorls on his fingertips. It was as erotic as a kiss, and she felt a reaction clear down to her toes.
    Lord only knew what showed on her face, because he dropped his hand and stepped back, his expression growing cool and detached. “If you would prefer not having me for dinner, I can send my regrets to your ward. You really should not have your employer forced on you after normal work hours.”
    She swallowed hard. “If you can bear it, it would be better if you came tonight. I’m afraid of what Merry might do to get you there tomorrow.”
    â€œIf you’re sure you don’t object, I’ll be over at half past six.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’m sure the conversation at your house will be more enlivening than at mine.”
    He nodded and left the office, his head nearly brushing the lintel of the door. With a dazed mixture of alarm and amusement, Alys realized that it was not Meredith’s virtue she should be worried about. It was her own.

    After clearing