The Rake by Mary Jo Putney Read Free Book Online Page A

the weathered tan of a man who was much outdoors. He drawled, “I do believe you are a female.”
    Suddenly furious, Alys subjected him to the same scrutiny he had given her. Her eyes slowly scanned down his lean body, from powerful shoulders to expensive riding boots, with special attention for the buckskin riding breeches that clung to his muscular thighs. Her voice as pointed as her gaze, she said, “Gender is not difficult to determine.”
    He grinned wickedly. “Not usually. And if vision is insufficient, there are surer tests available.”
    His implication was as obvious as it was insulting. If looks could kill, Reginald Davenport would be a dead man. Alys knew she was not the kind of woman men desired, and only an arrogant rooster who pursued anything female would speak so to her. She opened her mouth for a furious reply. Years of supervising recalcitrant laborers had given the ability to wield her tongue like a lash.
    Barely in time she remembered that she was supposed to placate this man, not alienate him. Her mouth snapped shut. The yearning to reply in kind was so great that her jaw ached as she struggled for control. Finally she was able to say in a level voice, “I presume you wish to see the books. Or would you rather tour the property first?”
    He studied her measuringly. “What I would really like is a discussion and a drink. Do you have anything here?”
    Wordlessly she pulled open the door of the cabinet and removed a bottle of whiskey and a pair of tumblers, then poured two fingers worth for each of them. She seldom drank herself, but visitors sometimes appreciated a wee dram. Maybe the spirits would help soften Davenport.
    Taking the glass from her stiff fingers, he sat and stretched out his legs, as relaxed as she was tense. “I assume the late earl didn’t know you were female. He would have never permitted it.” He took a sip of his drink. “Does the present earl know?”
    Alys sat down behind the desk. “No, the only time Wargrave visited Strickland, I made an excuse to be away.” She drank some of her whiskey, needing its warmth.
    â€œHow nice to know that my cousin didn’t arrange this as an insult,” he murmured.
    Too tense to be tactful, Alys asked brusquely, “Are you going to discharge me because I’m a woman?”
    The cool gaze slid over her again. “Don’t put ideas in my head. Discharging you is a tempting prospect.”
    â€œDo you think a woman can’t do the job?” Alys said, fearing that she had lost this battle before it had started.
    Davenport shrugged. “You are demonstrably doing it. Though I’ve never heard of a female steward, it’s hardly unknown for a woman to run property that she has inherited.”
    â€œThen, why would you want to get rid of me?”
    He finished his whiskey and leaned forward to pour some more. Instead of answering directly, he asked, “Are you single, married, widowed, or what?”
    â€œSingle, and why should it matter?” Alys was having trouble keeping her belligerence under control.
    â€œFirst of all, you’re rather young for the job, even if you were male. The fact that you’re also single is a potential source of gossip when the owner of the estate is a bachelor.”
    Alys stared at him aghast. Of all the things that Davenport might have said, this surprised her the most. “A rake is concerned about propriety ?”
    He laughed aloud at the shock in her voice, humor softening his hard face. “I have the feeling that my reputation has preceded me. Is it so unthinkable that a rake should have some concept of decorous behavior?”
    Alys had the grace to blush. Calling him a rake to his face was an unforgivable impertinence. Thank heaven he was amused, not insulted. She said carefully, “I can’t imagine that my gender would cause any eyebrows to raise. I’m thirty, hardly a girl, and I’ve had