To Ruin A Rake

By Liana LeFey

When her fiancé died, Harriett vowed not to let his wastrel brother destroy the charity they built. But Roland becomes a nuisance the moment he sets foot on the grounds, and it's all-out war until their conflict threatens to expose her family's dark secret.

 

Intrigued by the beautiful tyrant, Roland agrees to a ceasefire. It's a dangerous truce, for she has the troublesome effect of making him want to be both a better man and a scoundrel. Can he resist the temptation?

 

Harriett is equally dismayed to find the rogue she swore to forever despise far less of a devil than she thought. Worse, he disturbs her in ways to make even the most virtuous woman contemplate the primrose path.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: May 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781771551830

Liana LeFey

An exciting new voice in historical romance, Liana LeFey loves to tell stories that capture the imagination and bring to life the splendor of the Georgian era. Liana lives in Texas with her husband/hero, two spoiled-rotten “feline masters” and several tanks of fish. She has been devouring historical romances since she was fourteen and is now delighted to be writing them for fellow enthusiasts. To learn more or drop Liana a line, visit www.facebook.com/writerliana.

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Champagne Books Presents

To Ruin A Rake

By

Liana LeFey

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Champagne Books

www.champagnebooks.com

Copyright 2015 by Liana LeFey

ISBN 978-1-77155-183-0

May 2015

Cover Art by Trisha FitzGerald

Produced in Canada

Champagne Book Group

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High River, AB T1V 1G3

Canada

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Champagnebooks.com (or a retailer of your choice) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

For Kim, my long time friend and accomplice. You handed me my first romance novel…look what you started!

Prologue

Early February, 1741, London

Sweet Lord in heaven, Harriett whispered, still in shock over her sister’s unhappy revelation. What are we to do?

We are going to keep quiet, snapped her father. Because if this gets out, neither you nor Catherine will have a chance. Rising, he went and poured himself a glass of port. His hands shook as he lifted the decanter. We’ll move her to the country—quickly, before her condition can be discerned, he went on. "God willing, no one will ever know. At the very least, we must hope no one learns of it until after you and Catherine are safely married."

Married. A wave of melancholy washed over Harriett. No. I cannot think of William now. The crisis at hand demanded all of her attention. And when will—when will Lord Oxenden be informed? Never again would she refer to the man as George or think of him as her brother-in-law.

Why bother? he growled. It isn’t as if the blackguard is going to claim it.

Though she knew his fury was not directed at her, Harriett trembled. No, but he ought to at least provide for his child.

A snort erupted from her father, and his expression grew even more thunderous. You wish to appeal to his sense of duty, do you? Do you really expect him to own to his perfidy? He slammed his palm on the table, causing the crystal it bore to shudder and clink. No! The rotten scoundrel will deny it—and with complete impunity. He’ll know we cannot pursue him without bringing the worst sort of disgrace upon us all, including our poor Elizabeth.

Our poor Elizabeth indeed. Once, she’d been jealous of Elizabeth for having escaped with her fairytale prince, leaving her behind to manage everything. Now she regretted her resentment. How could Arabella do such a thing to her own sister? What madness had possessed her to lose all sense of honor and decency? Surely Elizabeth won’t allow him to shirk his obligation, she argued after a moment. After all, the child is innocent of any crime.

You may be able to see it from such a generous perspective, Harriett, but I doubt Liz would be so forgiving. He took a swallow of port. The mere existence of the child would be a constant thorn in her side, a living reminder of betrayal. I certainly wouldn’t expect any quarter from her.

Harriett leveled a hard stare at him. "You speak as though this child isn’t a reality, but it is. Or at least it shall be in a matter of months."

Not as far as Elizabeth is concerned, he replied, squaring his shoulders. If at all possible, I mean for her never to find out.

"What? Papa, be reasonable. It’ll be next to impossible to conceal something like this from her. I know you wish to protect her from further distress, but—"

We need only keep them apart until Arabella is recovered and the child can be disposed of. He must have marked something of her dismay at his choice of words, for his tone gentled. We will have to find a home for it, naturally.

Liz will wonder at her prolonged absence, Harriett insisted. She’d be a fool not to suspect something after... She fell silent, her cheeks tingling.

Perhaps, said her father. His lips pursed. But she won’t ever know for certain, will she?

But it will take months for Arabella to look her old self after the babe comes, maybe longer, and—

They will be kept away from each other, even if I have to send Arabella to the Continent for a year or two. He paused, taking a sip. "And she will keep her silence upon her return. That, I can guarantee."

The chill in his voice put a knot in Harriett’s stomach. Do not be too harsh with her, Papa, she pleaded. After all, she is but seventeen—and he deceived her in the most terrible manner.

Do you think my anger is any less toward him? His voice trembled with indignation. "He deceived us all! I should run the devil through, would it not risk exposing our shame. As for Arabella, I have little choice but to be harsh. She knew it was wrong, he rasped. She ought to have fled the devil the first time he approached her rather than allow herself to be persuaded into such wickedness! You cannot tell me our Catherine would have made the same choice had she been in her place."

No, Harriett agreed. But Catherine isn’t a sentimentalist like Arabella. All the same, do not, I beg you, heap so much condemnation upon her that she fails beneath its weight. Remember the Crowley girl. Elaine Crowley had taken her own life the year prior. The thought of Arabella following that path made Harriett’s blood run cold. Her sister was of the same cloth, highly emotional and prone to dramatic acts.

He sighed and shook his head. Wroth as I am with her, she is still my child, Harriett. Her misfortune grieves me greatly, but so much is at stake I dare not be too lenient. She must understand there is no room for any more mistakes. His free hand slashed the air. "I have to protect us—all of us. Even if it means being hard on her."

I understand, Papa. But remember, too, that she is already to suffer the worst imaginable punishment for her lapse in judgment. She will never see her child again after it is born, and she will never be able to marry.

Not necessarily, he said, surprising her. If we are quick and clever now—and if she can manage to hold her tongue—we may be able to salvage the situation. We will need to wait a year or two, of course, to ensure her full return to health. And he will have to be the gullible sort.

Her jaw dropped. You would have her deceive her husband?

It is far more common a practice than you know, he replied, his words laden with bitterness. I find it as distasteful as you, but it may be her only hope for a future. Before we can even consider such things, however, we must address the immediate problem of concocting a plausible excuse for getting her out of sight.

She bit her tongue. He’s right. One problem at a time. Who shall see to the babe’s upbringing if Oxenden refuses to provide for its care? If we are required to pay someone to raise it, it will mean paying for their silence, as well. Such secrets can grow expensive, and our resources are already stretched thin.

Her father peered at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Perhaps that hospital to which you devote yourself with such fervor might finally prove of some use.

It is one thing to take orphans off the street and care for them there, but a child of our own blood? She did not bother hiding her dismay. Surely you cannot mean to—

Do you have a better alternative? he barked. At least there you’d know it’s well cared for. You can tend to it yourself, if you like. And when the time comes, you can help nudge things in the right direction with regards to finding a home for it. Isn’t that what you do at the place?

It was indeed. Only if there is no other alternative, she conceded with a heavy heart. It would be better for the child to be placed with a family immediately following birth. Newborns given to the hospital sometimes stay there for a long time. People assume they are sickly or that something else is wrong with them. It might be months before the babe is adopted, or never at all. And I cannot be at the hospital every hour of the day to look after it, no matter how much I might wish to do so. Oxenden must be made aware of his obligation and given an opportunity to meet it. Only if he refuses to be persuaded will I consider such a course.

He grunted. Then I shall tell him. But regardless of his answer, he will swear under pain of death not to tell Elizabeth. Her heart is already broken. I will not add to her burdens. He drained his glass. "Bring Arabella back in. And remember—Catherine must not be told. His gaze burned into Harriett. She has better sense than Arabella, but she’s still young. If she were to let it slip by accident it would be the ruination of us all. No one else must know. No one."

Nodding, Harriett went to fetch her sister from the sitting room down the hall. When she opened the door, she found Arabella crying. She’d not stopped since her arrival this morning. Harriett laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. He is ready.

Arabella looked up, her red-rimmed gaze full of fear. I am so sorry, Harriett. I know I’ve caused everyone—

Come quickly, Harriett interrupted, forestalling further apology. Knowing what was to come, she could not bear to hear it. Yes, Arabella had just made all their lives enormously difficult. But even so, she could never wish her the agony she was to endure. We must not keep him waiting.

Tears streaked down her sister’s face as she rose and trudged forth, and Harriett wrapped an arm about her slim shoulders. Hush now and be brave, dear. It’ll be all right. It won’t be easy, but it will be all right. Just do as he says and do not argue. In fact, do not say anything at all unless he asks you, she advised as they made their way back. Entering, she led Arabella over to the couch and sat beside her.

Their father stood at the window with his back to them. I need not explain to you the terrible jeopardy in which you have put our family. You will leave London as soon as may be arranged and go under the pretense of grave illness to the estate in Berkshire, he said with grim resignation. There, you will bear the fruit of your shame in secret. It will be given to a family to raise. You will speak of it to no one. Ever. Especially not Elizabeth, whom you have so egregiously wronged. If I ever discover that you’ve told anyone, I will disown you and you will be forevermore without family or means.

Upon hearing her sentence, Arabella shot her a drowned look. Harriett’s heart broke for her. Opening her arms, she let her sister lay her head against her shoulder.

As she held and rocked her through her sobs, Harriett’s thoughts retreated.

William, how I wish you were here...

One

Harriett gazed at the household ledger and tried to concentrate. Sugar costs three shillings less than it did last year, so that can be subtracted from here and added there. She dipped her pen and made the adjustment.

The gowns Papa had ordered for Arabella prior to her visiting Elizabeth were now being altered to fit Catherine, who was, thankfully, of nearly the same height but smaller of frame. Though nowhere near as expensive as ordering an entirely new set of clothes, it had still cost money they didn’t really have to spare. And there was the party to plan, as well.

Another unanticipated expense, she sighed, her pen hovering over the lengthening column. The guest list was very select—Papa’s idea. All the eligible young men had been invited, of course, but only a few of Cat’s friends. Specifically, the plainer ones. Cat would be the most beautiful girl present, and Papa would cast her like bait into a crowded stock pond in hope of a bite.

Harriet grimaced. Ostensibly, it was her party, too. A few older unwed gentlemen had been invited to balance out the list on her behalf, though in truth she knew they would only have eyes for her sister. Which suited her just fine.

She crossed out the amount budgeted for beef and lowered it. Once a week was plenty. They could make do with more poultry and fish. She would tell Cook to plan for this.

Cat would be sixteen in a few weeks. Papa had planned to wait until she was seventeen before presenting her, but that was no longer an option. It was imperative she marry as quickly as possible.

Harriett altered more numbers. There would be no spirits in the house this Season save Papa’s libations, what was necessary for cooking, and what was needed for the party. She lowered the amount listed for her own clothing allowance, as well, forcing the bottom line to balance.

She already had new gowns coming. The seamstress had not yet cut the cloth for two of the ones ordered for Arabella when Papa had informed her of his daughter’s ‘illness’ and the change in plans. The woman had been unwilling to refund the money he’d paid her for the work, so he’d commissioned them for Harriett instead.

With luck, those and her old ones would suffice. She’d been very fortunate. Though they’d been pronounced outdated and therefore unsuitable to wear in public, they’d been in excellent condition and still fit her. Two years ago those gowns had been the height of fashion, but no more. Even now, they were being brought up to date. More money spent.

Laying aside her pen, she stared at the neat figures on the page. Papa expected her to find a husband, but she didn’t feel very enthusiastic about the prospect of doing so.

William...

The door burst open and Catherine bounced into the room wearing a wild smile. "Harriett! Have you heard the news? The Earl of Winchilsea has accepted our invitation!"

That’s lovely, Cat. She smiled. Though worried for Arabella, who’d been sent into seclusion to convalesce, Cat had been ecstatic over being allowed to take her place.

I’m going to bag his nephew, announced her sister, her eyes sparkling.

You’ve not even seen the man yet, much less talked to him, Harriett replied with a laugh.

That doesn’t matter. Cat tossed her curls. He’s rich and he’s going to be an earl. If I marry him, we’re all saved.

Harriett’s heart stopped. Saved?

Yes, saved, said her sister with a frown. Just think. If I catch him, we’ll eat beef and oranges every day. And I’ll make one of his friends marry you, and another shall marry Arabella—when she returns, poor thing.

Her heart began beating again. Well, you must catch him first.

Oh, I shall, said Cat, sticking out her chin. I shall make myself the most beautiful, the most charming creature he has ever met. He’ll have no choice but to fall hopelessly in love with me and beg me to marry him.

Holding back laughter, Harriett forced a solemn expression. Cat was quite serious about this, and it wouldn’t do to dampen her spirit. I hope you’re right, dear, she said, giving her a pat on the hand. I shall certainly do everything in my power to help you achieve your ambitions.

Cat’s face softened. I know you’re not looking forward to it, Harriett, but really, you must make an effort for yourself, as well. William is gone.

It still stung. It’s only been—

It’s been well over a year and you’ve yet to shed your weeds. I’m surprised Papa has allowed you to wear black this long. You should have been in half-mourning months ago. I, for one, shall be glad to see you don some color again.

Harriett stared back at her, unwilling to say anything.

Life goes on, Harriett. William wouldn’t want you to wither away and become an old maid because of his untimely death.

I’m not an old maid. We were engaged. I’m practically his widow.

"Ah, but you’re not. And you are still young and beautiful. If only you’d—"

I don’t wish to discuss—

I know you don’t. But you must. I may be the baby of this family, but I have eyes. I can see how lonely you are. Memories are not enough. The time for mourning is past.

Her sister’s gaze bored into her, making Harriett squirm. I have responsibilities here, and at the—

"Don’t even mention that place, huffed Cat. I hate to see you waste yourself on that stupid charity. You’ve made yourself a slave to it, and it’ll never return the favor. It’ll never even thank you for it. It can never marry you and give you children of your own. It can only give you substitutes and poor ones, at that. You need to marry."

Harriett grasped her by the shoulders. I know you mean well, but you mustn’t worry about me. All I want you to concern yourself with now is your own future. And the Hospital is not a waste. It is William’s—

Exactly, interrupted her sister. "It was his dream. His responsibility, not yours."

I cannot let it fail. Not when I am capable of saving it. He would have been proud I’ve carried on in his stead.

But Cat would have none of it. "Yes, I’m sure. But I imagine he would be most unhappy to see you waste the opportunity before you now. Promise me you’ll at least try to catch a husband—while Papa has the money and the desire to promote you. You might not be so lucky next year when it is Arabella’s turn again."

Harriett forced a conciliatory smile to her lips. I promise. If an opportunity presents itself, I will seriously consider it.

That is all I ask, said Cat, brightening. It’ll be more fun if we’re both in it for the win, anyway. We can help each other plot against the enemy. Now, tell me about the plans for the party and let me see if I can help find a way to make our pennies work harder for us. This might be our one chance, and we need every advantage we can get.

Since learning of their father’s plans to present her a year early, Cat had consistently surprised Harriett with her pragmatism. She showed her the figures. This is what I’ve managed to scrape from our budget for it. It isn’t much, but—

If we’re careful, we can make it work, finished Cat. I’ve been thinking about it, and I have a few ideas that might help.

~ * ~

Kimbolton Castle, Cambridgeshire, England

"Why don’t you deal with it as you see fit? Roland muttered, put out by the whole uncomfortable business. Snatching the decanter from the tray, he poured himself several fingers of brandy. You can act on my behalf and no one ever need know. I grant you permission to handle it as you please in my name." He waved the man off.

I am truly sorry, Your Grace, but I cannot do that, said the anxious solicitor. It would be both illegal, according to the royal charter, and a violation of the trust I’ve been given.

Roland ignored him. "Don’t know how I became saddled with the bloody thing, anyway. He’d only just been appointed the governorship four days prior to his death. How that constitutes a responsibility on my part is beyond comprehension."

It was your brother’s charity, Your Grace. He was one of the Foundling Hospital’s founders. As his heir, it falls to you to take his place and—

Why the devil would I want to bother with such a dreary, unhappy place?

But it isn’t like that at all, the solicitor insisted. If you would but come and see it, Your Grace…

Shuddering, Roland took a large swallow of brandy. I have no desire to see it, much less become involved in its workings. Such things are for other, more altruistic men. Unlike William, I am not striving to become a saint. Far from it...

But his uninvited guest was persistent. Be that as it may, Your Grace, your brother stipulated in his will that his heir would be required to thoroughly inspect the premises, interview the workers, and examine the ledgers no less than twice a year. If you fail to comply, you will be in direct violation and jeopardize your—

Roland thumped the table with a fist, silencing him. "I have satisfied all of my brother’s other requirements with the exception of his edict to marry. Next to that, visiting this…place is nothing. Which one would he have preferred me concentrate my efforts on, I wonder?"

To his satisfaction, the other man blushed. I am afraid he did not specify, Your Grace. However, with regards to the subject of your marital status, I can assure you his only intent was to ensure—

The continuation of the line—yes, I know, Roland said, cutting him off. Apparently, William had felt him incapable of doing that of his own free will, too. He hated these visits. They reminded him of what his brother had really thought of him—what everyone really thought of him. Useless. Irresponsible. Unworthy. Pain lanced through him, and he took another swallow of liquor. Must I be a slave to my brother’s wishes for the rest of my bloody life?

No, Your Grace. Only for the next few years.

Swearing, Roland flung his still half-full glass into the hearth. The crystal exploded against the stone, and the fire flared to light the room with a hellish, orange glow. Waste of good spirits, that... Going to the decanter he poured another, daring the cowering little bastard who watched him to say anything, to even so much as look at him with censure. He weighted his next words with as much derision as possible. "Is that quite all? Seems to me one might consider a wife to be a somewhat more permanent form of interference."

It had been William’s final insult, the order to wed. Stipulations had come with that mandate, too. No actresses, no opera singers, no one who’d ever walked the boards or performed before an audience for a wage. No hot-blooded woman would ever fit his brother’s description of a proper wife. He would instead be forced into a union with a prudish, passionless, gently raised virgin. And he must do so by the end of his second year as duke or forfeit the title.

Would you not have eventually sought a wife anyway, Your Grace?

That isn’t the point. My brother’s reach has extended from beyond the grave to dictate every aspect of my life, right down to the sort of woman I may marry. Even now, he seeks to change me into a different man, into someone like himself. He ground his teeth. "But I am not like him. I have never been like him. And I don’t want to be like him. I prefer to enjoy life, not squander it trying to cure miseries that can never be remedied. Life is far too short to waste it in such a useless manner."

Of course, Your Grace, agreed the solicitor unconvincingly. But tell me, does Your Grace plan to be in London for the Season?

Roland’s gaze locked on the man’s face, searching for signs of insolence, but there were none. Pity. He’d have liked a good fight. "His Grace certainly damned well does. His Grace is sick of being stuck out here with nothing but solicitors and the bloody wildlife for company."

Indeed, he couldn’t wait to get back to London. He might as well enjoy the privileges that came with his title—those allowed him, anyway. Even with all of the restrictions set out by William, he would still have a good time. Good enough to forget his pain and anger. For a little while.

Damn you, William. I was never meant to be a duke. That was your destiny.

Then you will be available to inspect the Hospital? the little man prompted, circling back to the annoying subject.

Yes, Roland growled. Fine. He would visit the bloody place. He’d take a tour and inspect it. And then he’d appoint someone to run it on his behalf and wash his hands of it until the next time he was required to pay a visit.

Excellent, said the solicitor, taking a sheaf of papers from his case. Then perhaps you won’t mind reviewing a few documents requiring your signature to authorize some necessary purchases. I would not trouble Your Grace, save that the need is dire.

Snatching the papers from the man’s hand, Roland stalked over to his desk, took up a pen, and signed them one after another with no more than a cursory glance at each. Coal, linens, provisions. Whether or not the expenses listed were reasonable, he did not know. He had to assume they were. Blast it all, he’d never had anything to do with his brother’s confounded charity, and he still didn’t want anything to