The Rake Read Online Free PDF Page B

moderate his habits. But somehow his resolution always dissolved once he swallowed his first drink.
    This way of life is killing you. The words were very clear in his head, spoken in a calm male voice.
    It was not the first time he had heard such a warning. Once the voice had told him to beware moments before two murderous footpads had attacked. He had dodged barely in time to avoid a knife in the back. On another occasion the voice had warned not to board a friend’s yacht. Reggie had made some clumsy excuse, incurring much taunting from his companions. But a squall had blown up, and the boat sank with no survivors.
    This way of life is killing you. His fingers tightened, digging into his skull, trying to erase the sick aching, the memories—and the lack of memories. He had always lived hard, courting danger and skirting the edge of acceptable behavior. In the months since the earldom of Wargrave had vanished from his grasp, he had gone wild, taking insane chances gambling and riding, drinking more than ever.
    Ironically, his luck had been phenomenal. Perhaps because he hadn’t much cared what happened, he had won, and won, and won. He was completely free of debt, had more money in the bank than he’d had in years.
    And what was the bloody point of it?
    This way of life is killing you. The words repeated in a litany, as if expecting some response, but Reggie was too drained to answer. He was weary unto death of his whole life. Of the endless gaming and drinking, of coarse tarts like Stella, of pointless fights and ghastly mornings after like this one.
    At the age of twenty-five, Julian was on the verge of outgrowing his wild oats phase, while Reggie was doing exactly the same things as when he’d first come down from university. He’d been running for sixteen years, yet was still in the same place.
    The depression was black and bitter. He wished with sudden violence that someone like Blakeford or Hanley would become furious enough to put a bullet in him and end the whole exhausting business.
    Why wait for someone else to do the job? He had pistols of his own.
    The idea flickered seductively for a moment before he recoiled mentally. Bloody hell, was he really at such a standstill? His mind hung suspended in horror as Julian’s words sounded at a great distance.
    Then the inner voice spoke once more. Strickland.
    Strickland, the one place in the world that he had ever belonged. He had thought it lost forever, and then his damned honorable cousin had given it back to him. Strickland, where he had been born, and where everyone he loved had died.
    It wouldn’t be home anymore—but by God, now it was his, demons and all.
    There was no conscious decision. He simply opened his eyes and broke into Julian’s dissertation, saying, “I’ve changed my mind about going to Bedford for that race. Have to go to Dorset to look over my estate.”
    â€œYour what?” Julian blinked in confusion.
    â€œMy estate, Strickland. I’ve become a man of property.” Reggie stood, not bothering to explain away the bafflement on his friend’s face.
    He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the mantel. He looked much the same as usual, with the casual, damn-your-eyes elegance that was much imitated by the younger bucks. Yet inside, he felt brittle and old.
    He wandered to the window, and gazed down into Molton Street. He’d had these rooms on the edge of Mayfair for all the years he’d lived in London. The place was comfortable, entirely suitable for a bachelor. But he had never thought of it as home.
    Behind him Julian asked, “When will you come back to town?”
    â€œI have no idea. Maybe I’ll stay in Dorset and become a country squire, complete with red face and a pack of hounds.”
    Julian laughed, treating the statement as a joke, but Reggie half meant the words. The opinionated Dr. Johnson had said that a man who was tired of London was tired of