The Rake by Mary Jo Putney Page B

be a man of grace and charm. Reasonably intelligent, but not a great scholar or wit, or he would find me sadly frivolous.” She began deftly pinning her ringlets into place. “Naturally, I must find his appearance pleasing, but it will be better if he isn’t staggeringly handsome. I don’t want a man who is terribly vain.”
    Alys leaned against one of the bedposts and folded her arms in a most unladylike fashion. “Need the gentleman be rich and titled?”
    â€œWell, at least comfortably well-off—I don’t think I would find poverty very amusing.” She secured the last curl with a well-placed hairpin. “A title might be nice, but it’s hardly essential.” She turned to face her guardian, her heavenly blue eyes lit with humor. “If I ever did meet a nobleman, he would surely feel that he was conferring an enormous favor by marrying a girl of no great fortune or birth. I would prefer the gentleman to be so smitten that he thinks I am doing him a favor by accepting.”
    â€œYou’re a cold-blooded wench,” Alys said with some awe. She wasn’t sure if her ward was brilliantly clear-sighted, or merely endowed with more than her share of feminine wiles. Regrettably, wiles had been left out of Alys’s makeup. Perhaps her unwanted dimples were what she had been given instead “I gather that you want this future husband to keep you on a pedestal?”
    â€œI wouldn’t mind a low one.” Merry looked down at her hands, flexing the fingers as if inspecting her carefully groomed nails. “When I find the right man, I’ll make sure he doesn’t regret his choice.” In a voice that for once was entirely serious, she added softly, “I do intend to be a very good wife, you know.”
    Alys gave a nod of sudden understanding. What her ward really yearned for was security and comfort. Having lost both parents and her adoptive mother by the time she was fifteen, Merry’s ambitions were modest, practical ones rather than dreams of mad passion or social grandeur. Surely such a sensible young lady was unlikely to fall victim to the fleeting pleasures of a rake’s casual, lethal charm.
    Relieved by the insight, Alys stood. “Our guest should arrive soon. I presume you will wait here so you can make a grand entrance?”
    â€œBut of course.” Merry laughed, gravity vanquished. “A new man in the neighborhood is an opportunity not to be wasted, even if he is rather stricken in years.”
    Even though she knew Meredith was teasing, Alys shook her head in disbelief as she went down to the drawing room to await her guest. Stricken in years! Davenport looked like he could outride, outfight, and outwench any man in Dorsetshire.
    She hoped he didn’t feel compelled to prove it.

Chapter 7
    Reggie raised his hand to the knocker of Rose Hall, the steward’s residence, then hesitated. He had accepted the dinner invitation because he thought that anything would be better than another evening alone in the big house, but now he wasn’t so sure. Two young boys, an aspiring femme fatale, and a magnificent Amazon who despised him were odd company for a man who usually socialized with hard-drinking sportsmen like himself.
    Well, too late to retreat now. He grasped the knocker and rapped firmly.
    The little housemaid that answered had a face that Reggie was beginning to recognize as typical Herald physiognomy. After she bobbed a quick curtsy, she wordlessly led him to the drawing room. It was not a large house, having no more than four or five bedrooms, but it was comfortable and well-maintained. Reggie had regularly visited the kitchen as a child. His father’s steward had a cook gifted at making tarts, and Reggie had ingratiated himself in the manner of all small boys.
    Miss Weston was waiting in the drawing room. She rose at his arrival. Her height and natural dignity made her look like a queen, even in her