Read Online The Rake's Handbook by Sally Orr - Free Book Online Page B

seventeen-year-old gentlemen desire in London? Gain attention? Find a rich wife?”
    The beginning of a smile teased his lips. “Let’s see…at seventeen, I thought about females and then more females, and I never considered marriage. That’s what I wanted at seventeen. It infuriated my father.” He bent sideways to peer directly at her face. “Are you shocked?”
    She laughed. “No, although now I understand why people call you a rake.”
    He gazed down at his boots again, the smile gone. “Please never repeat that word in my mother’s company.”
    â€œOh,” she cried, brushing her arm. “Something bit me.” She examined the small red spot closely. “I fear the creature may have taken some blood—a flea?” She rubbed her arm vigorously, a gesture that attracted his scrutiny.
    â€œA flea?” he said, his lighthearted tone restored. “Reminds me of a Donne poem of the same name. Do you like poetry? I do, and I find Donne refreshingly honest in a veiled sort of way.” With a mischievous grin, he began to recite aloud in a deep, carrying voice:
    Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
    How little that which thou deniest me is;
    Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee,
    And in this flea our two bloods mingled be—
    â€œOh!” She gaped, heat claiming her cheeks. Only a bona fide rake would know Donne’s metaphor of improper relations.
    â€œI see you are familiar with that poem. Your blush gives you away. As neighbors, I hope in the future we can become friends and discuss our favorite poems. I look forward to that.” He grinned, his blue eyes alight.
    Her heartbeat started to climb from his all-too-obvious charm, so she needed the snake now. Under the pretext of brushing off another flea, she pushed the bracelet up her arm. Several of the reticulated scales dug into her skin. She glanced at Mr. Thornbury to discover if the snake’s painful pinch rendered his rakish charms ineffective and found her wits remained intact.
    The bracelet worked. Thank heavens.
    â€œTell me. Why does a respectable lady such as yourself know Donne’s wicked poetry?”
    â€œMy husband enjoyed Donne and owned a complete collection of his works.”
    His devilish grin appeared. “The reverend enjoyed naughty poetry?”
    â€œNo—no, of course not.” A blush instantly claimed every inch of her skin. “He told me he read only the sermons—the book was for Donne’s sermons—he spoke on Sundays—needed sermons—heavens.” She frowned in irritation, because he accused William of enjoying vulgar poetry any sensible person would ignore.
    â€œThat still doesn’t explain why you know the elegies.”
    Her mind blanked. “I—I like to read.” With her wits flown, she glared at the traitorous bracelet. The snake hissed in silent mockery at her defeat.
    â€œAh, don’t we all.” His lazy grin appeared. “However, it’s unusual you understand the meaning behind the wicked verse.” He paused, watching her. “Let me immediately apologize for upsetting you. In fact, I also owe you an apology for my behavior at the lake. No disrespect was intended in either case. Please believe me.” He stared at his boots.
    Unsure of the reasons that prompted these apologies, she decided not to inquire further. “Um…an apology is not needed. I know you meant no disrespect. Your manners are just open and naturally charming.”
    He examined her expression carefully. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat—twice. “Mrs. Colton, may I speak to you about an opportunity that would benefit us both?” His speech quickened. “One of the improvements I plan at Blackwell is to build a foundry for the manufacture of strong-steam engines. To be profitable, my raw material and finished engines must be transported at a low cost. My proposition for you is to