is nothing wrong with being practical.’
‘No, there is not. If only there was more soup and less sermons in the world….’
‘My parents mean well.’
‘I’m sure they do, but my point is that meaning well is not the same as doing well. I come across many such people and—’
‘I was not aware you had a reputation for philanthropy.’
‘No, as you pointed out,’ Rafe said coldly, ‘my reputation primarily concerns my raking. Now you will tell me that one precludes the other.’
‘Well, doesn’t it?’ Henrietta demanded. Seeing his face tighten, she hesitated. ‘What I mean is, being a rake presupposes one is immoral and—’ She broke off as Rafe’s expression froze. ‘You know, I think perhaps I’ve strayed from the point a little. Are you saying that you are involved in charitable work?’
She was clearly sceptical. He told himself it didn’t matter a damn what she thought. ‘I am saying the world is not as black and white as either you or your parents seem to think.’ His involvement with his own little project at St Nicholas’s was extremely important to him, but he did not consider it to be charitable. With some difficulty, Rafe reined in his temper. What was it about this beguiling female that touched so many raw nerves? ‘You were telling me about the school your parents want to set up.’
‘Yes.’ Henrietta eyed him uncertainly. ‘Have I said something to offend you?’
‘The school, Miss Markham.’
‘Well, if—when—it opens I intend to be able to contribute in a practical sense by teaching lessons.’ Practical lessons, she added to herself, remembering Mama’s curriculum with a shudder.
‘Lessons which you are trying out on Helen Ipswich’s brats?’
‘They are not brats,’ Henrietta said indignantly. ‘They are just high-spirited boys. I’m sure you were the same at their age, wanting to be out riding rather than attending to your studies, but—’
‘At their age, my father was actively encouraging me to go out riding and ignore my lessons,’ Rafe said drily. ‘My tendency to bury my head in a book sorely disconcerted him.’
‘Goodness, were you a scholar?’
‘Another thing that you consider incompatible with being a rake, Miss Markham?’
He was looking amused again. She couldn’t keep pace with his mood swings, but she couldn’t help responding to his hint of a smile with one of her own. ‘Well, to cut a long story short, which I’m sure you’ll be most relieved to hear I intend to do, I like being a governess and I like the boys, even if their mama is a little—well—high-handed. Not that I really see that much of her, governesses clearly meriting scant attention. Anyway, I’m sure there are worse employers, and the boys do like me, and if—when—the school is opened, I am sure the experience will stand me in good stead. It is due to do so in three months or so, by which time my current charges are destined for boarding school, anyway, so hopefully they won’t miss me too much. Not anything like as much as I shall miss them.’
‘There, we must agree. Small boys, in my experience, are remarkably fickle in their loyalties.’
‘Do you think so?’ Henrietta asked brightly. ‘I think that’s a good thing, for I would not wish them to become too attached to me. What experience have you of such things? Have you brothers?’
‘No.’
His face was closed again, his expression shuttered. ‘I take it, then, that life as Helen Ipswich’s governess has fulfilled your expectations?’
‘Yes, it has served its purpose admirably.’
‘How fortunate for you. Now, if you don’t mind, we will return to the more pressing subject of how you came to be in my ditch, then you may return to these duties you enjoy so much. No doubt your employer will be wondering what has become of you.’
‘That is true. And the boys, too.’ Though the notion of returning to Lady Ipswich’s home was less appealing than it should be. Another of a rake’s skills, no doubt, to beguile you and make you want to spend time in his company. Henrietta sat up straight and tugged at the dressing-gown belt. ‘Well, then, to return to the subject, as you wish. Last night. Well, what happened last night was that I was knocked on the head by a housebreaker.’
‘A housebreaker!’
Gratified by her host’s reaction, which was for once just exactly what she had anticipated, Henrietta nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, indeed. At least,’ she added, incurably truthful, ‘I am almost certain that is what he was, though I didn’t actually see him steal anything. I was looking for Lady Ipswich’s horrible dog, you see.’
‘The dog who deprived you of your dinner?’
‘The very same. I heard a noise coming from the shrubbery, so I went to investigate it, thinking, you know, it might be Princess—that’s the pug’s name—and then I heard glass breaking. I held up the lantern and saw him as clear as day for just a split second, then he leapt at me and hit me on the head. The next thing I remember is waking up here.’
Rafe shook his head slowly. ‘But that’s nonsensical. Even if it was a housebreaker, why on earth would he go to the trouble of taking you with him? It takes time and effort to heft a body on to a horse.’
Henrietta coloured. ‘I am aware that I am not exactly a featherweight.’
‘That is not at all what I meant. It is women who consider stick-thinness the essence of beauty. Men actually prefer quite the opposite. I find your figure most pleasing on the eye.’ Rafe was not in the habit of encouraging young ladies with compliments, for they were likely to be misconstrued, but Henrietta Markham was so different from any young lady he had ever met that he spoke without considering the effect his words would have. ‘It was no hardship to get you on to my horse. I meant merely it would be awkward if the man were slight, or elderly.’
Or one less muscled, Henrietta thought, her gaze lingering on her host’s powerful physique. It hadn’t occurred to her until now to wonder how, exactly, he had retrieved her from the ditch. Had he pulled her by the wrist or the ankle? Held her chest to chest, or maybe thrown her over his shoulders? And when she was on his horse, was she on her front with her bottom sticking up? With her petticoats on show? Her ankles? Worse? Feigning heat from the fire, she frantically fanned her face.
Rafe followed the train of her thoughts with relative ease, mirrored as they were in her expressive face, recognising the exact moment when she tried to imagine how she had been placed on Thor’s saddle. Unfortunately, it turned his mind also to that moment. He had lain her crossways on her stomach with her bottom pointed provocatively up to the sky. Her dress had ridden up a little, exposing her ankles and calves. At the time, he had not been aware of noticing. Yet now, in his mind’s eye, he found he could dwell appreciatively on the inviting curves of her voluptuous body as if he had drunk in every inch of her.
‘Why,’ he said tersely, reining in his imagination, once again disconcerted by having to do so, ‘having gone to all that effort to abduct you, did your housebreaker then change his mind and abandon you in my grounds?’
‘I don’t know,’ Henrietta
