Also by Renee Ann Miller
Never Kiss a Notorious Marquess
Never Deceive a Viscount
Never Dare a Wicked Earl
Novella
The Taming of Lord Scrooge
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
NEVER CONSPIRE With A SINFUL BARON
RENEE ANN MILLER
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
NEVER DARE A WICKED EARL
NEVER DECEIVE A VISCOUNT
NEVER KISS A NOTORIOUS MARQUESS
THE TAMING OF LORD SCROOGE
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Renee Ann Miller
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-5003-2
ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-5004-9 (eBook)
ISBN-10: 1-4201-5004-9 (eBook)
It is universally understood that a gentleman with an excessive amount of debts must marry a wife with a sizable dowry.
Chapter One
London, England
May 1881
“How about Lady Sara Elsmere?” Lord Adam Talbot asked, looking up from his copy of Debrett’s Peerage, a guide to the nobility.
Elliot Havenford, Baron Ralston, leaned back in his chair and propped his booted feet onto the corner of his desk. Obviously, Talbot was a half pint short of a full cup. Though Lady Sara possessed a handsome enough face, the woman suffered from a nervous hyena-like laugh whenever a gentleman stepped within two feet of her. Elliot couldn’t imagine what bedding her would be like. Well, actually he could, and there stood the crux of the problem.
He shook his head. “I’d rather wed old Lady Winton.”
Talbot snorted and flipped to another page in the thick book. The smile on his friend’s face dissolved, and his gaze shot back to Elliot. “Good God, man. You’re joking, right? Surely, you aren’t seriously considering marrying that battle-ax.”
Of course, he wasn’t. Lady Winton was in her dotage and as mean as a dog fighting over a bone. He motioned to the glass of liquor in Talbot’s hand. “Old chum, you’ve had too much of my brandy if you can’t tell when I’m jesting.”
“Elliot, this liquor is so inferior, I bet I couldn’t get tipsy even if I downed the whole decanter.”
Elliot lifted his own glass and swallowed a mouthful. Talbot was right. Bloody awful. His current circumstances had reduced him to buying rotgut. A year ago, he’d been a content fellow. Not a rich man, but a comfortable man. Oxford educated, he’d made several rather clever investments. Now, he was heading toward destitution, having sunk nearly every farthing he possessed into his entailed properties. The only thing he still owned of value was Swan Cottage, in the Lake District, which he wished to give to his sister.
The storm raging outside Elliot’s town house intensified, and a bolt of lightning lit up the evening sky. The rain pounding against the windows sent sheets of water over the mullioned glass, causing rivulets to run down the inside of the panes and settle in a puddle on the interior’s wide sill.
Damnation. The property still needed more repairs. His estate in Hampshire stood in worse condition than the London residence. Elliot feared the next storm might send the country home toppling to the ground. His uncle, the last Baron Ralston, a bachelor, had spent more money on his tailor, traveling, and his string of mistresses than on any of his properties.
“Ah.” Talbot tapped a firm finger on a page in Debrett’s. “How about Lady Nina Trent?”
Nina Trent? Elliot rubbed his shaven jaw, already coarse with bristle this late in the evening, and pictured the raven-haired beauty, a close friend of his cousin Victoria. He could easily envision taking Nina to bed and enjoying the expedition.
“She’s quite pretty,” Talbot said, breaking into Elliot’s lurid thoughts. “Though a bit too thin for my taste. If you know what I mean.” His friend winked.
He knew exactly what Talbot meant. The man liked breasts as big as melons.
“And her eldest brother, the Marquess of Huntington, is rolling in money.” The grin on Talbot’s face widened.
Indeed. Lady Nina Trent would be perfect. He liked the woman, and he’d bet his last coin Huntington would offer a sizable dowry. The funds would help solve his financial woes and allow him not only to make repairs to his derelict properties but also to give his sister, Meg, the come-out she deserved next year. Yes, Lady Nina might be the answer to all his problems.
“Aren’t her brother and sister-in-law hosting a ball next week?” Talbot asked, taking a pen and writing something in the thick tome before tossing it on a table.
Elliot laced his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, and I’m attending. So, Lady Nina it is.”
“I don’t know, Elliot. Even if you win her over, her brother might object to the match. Some say Lord Avalon proposed last year, and Huntington didn’t allow her to accept the offer.”
Not precisely true. Elliot’s cousin Victoria had sworn him to secrecy. Nina had accepted the earl’s proposal, but before the family announced it, she’d found out the man had a pretty French mistress in Paris. “Everyone knows Avalon is a cad.”
Talbot’s bark of laughter sounded like a small explosion. “And you aren’t? You better convince the chit that you love her, or her brother w
ill never let you wed the girl. Huntington dotes on his wife and feels only a love match will do for his sister.”
A love match? What rubbish. There was no such thing. His own parents had resided in separate homes. It was a miracle he and Meg had ever been conceived. His grandparents’ marriage had been worse. They’d needed to reside in separate countries.
Another roll of thunder shook the walls of the town house. A piece of the ceiling’s plaster landed on the floor with a thump.
“Bloody hell!” Talbot stood and brushed the flecks of plaster off his clothes.
Elliot released a slow breath. Before this blasted town house came crashing down around him, he’d convince Lady Nina to wed him.
* * *
Sitting in the drawing room of her family’s Park Lane residence, Lady Nina Trent tried not to say a word as Grandmother lectured her. Arguing with the woman would only cause the matriarch to repeat everything she’d said in an elevated voice. The best way to contend with this situation was to remain as quiet as a church mouse until the sermon concluded.
“Are you listening to me, child?” The old woman thumped her cane.
“Of course, Grandmother.” Nina forced a sugar-infused smile.
Nina’s eldest brother, James, had always said Grandmother lived by three rules: God, country, but most of all, honor to the Trent family name. In Grandmother’s eyes, her grandchildren had botched the latter. Though James, once known as the “Murdering Marquess,” had redeemed himself, her brother Anthony had not. He gambled too much, drank too much, and fornicated too much. And Nina’s broken betrothal to that bounder Lord Avalon had only added to the old woman’s displeasure.
“I heard a new whisper of scandal regarding you.”
Nina’s gaze narrowed on the woman like a hawk spotting a field mouse. A cold chill moved down her spine. “What is being said?”
“That Avalon decided not to propose to you because of some character flaw you possess.” Grandmother’s hand tightened around the gold knob of her cane as if she wished to thrash something with it.
“That is balderdash. He did propose.” Though it had not been publicly announced. “I ended the engagement, and I am not the one with a character flaw. That cad is. Hopefully, such an untruth will die in the wind.”
“Or it might pick up speed and sweep through the ton with the intensity of a gale force. If that happens, then your chances of making a good match will wither away. I wish you’d overlooked Avalon’s shortcomings and married the earl.”
Shortcomings? Is that what Grandmother called them? The man had professed his undying love to Nina until she’d found out he had a mistress—a very pregnant mistress.
“I refuse to marry a man who intends to keep a paramour.” Nina squeezed her hand so tight, her nails bit into her palm.
“Some married men keep a mistress.”
“Then I pity their wives.” Nina was sure Grandmother knew why she hated adulterous men. Her father had been unfaithful, and her mother had spent her life collecting more heartache than any woman should have to endure while dealing with her philandering husband.
Grandmother thumped her cane again. “It is your duty to stem the flow of gossip. You have a responsibility not only to the Trent family name but to your brother James.”
A stab of guilt poked at Nina. James had recently crawled out of his own pit of gossip and reestablished himself as a prominent member of the nobility.
“You don’t want to hurt his renewed standing in society, do you?”
She didn’t. She loved James. He’d not only been a brother, but a father to her and she wanted to please him more than anyone else in this world.
Grandmother leaned forward, and her light gray eyes pinned Nina. “The Duke of Fernbridge has recently arrived in London and is looking for a wife. He’ll be attending your brother’s ball. If you were to marry a man of such high standing, it would disavow any whispers that taint your name. You need to set things right. You owe that much to your brother.”
Chapter Two
From where Nina stood behind a potted fern, she surveyed the Duke of Fernbridge. The man possessed the blondest hair she’d ever seen—like a halo, it almost glowed under the string of lanterns and moonlight on her brother’s terrace. She parted two leaves to get a better look.
Though he was not classically handsome, his features were striking.
Since her conversation with Grandmother, she’d found out more about the gentleman. He was twenty-seven, didn’t run with a fast crowd, rarely gambled, and didn’t keep a mistress.
“What are you looking at, poppet?” a deep, masculine voice asked.
Like a mouse cornered by a cat, Nina squeaked and spun around.
Lord Elliot Ralston favored her with a lackadaisical smile.
The man was a scoundrel of the highest order, perhaps even more wicked than Nina’s shameful sibling Anthony—a hard feat indeed. He was the type of man a sagacious woman should never choose for her husband—even if his dark wavy hair and deep blue eyes made him more visually appealing than any other man of her acquaintance.
She opened her mouth to chastise him for startling her. “Lord Ralston—”
“Eyeing the Duke of Fernbridge?”
“I wasn’t eyeing him.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
His smile broadened. “Do you realize when you lie your cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink?”
Nina fought the urge to deny it, but she could feel the warmth flooding her face. “What concern is it of yours?” Her words came out a bit sharper than she wished. Ralston possessed an odd ability to turn her normally serene mood tempestuous.
“I’ve known you since you and my cousin Victoria became friends. How long has that been, five years?” He arched a brow.
Nearly six. And she could still remember the way her fifteen-year-old heart had leaped the first time she’d met Ralston. He’d stepped into the room where she and Victoria had been playing a duet on the piano. His bespoke clothing had accentuated his impressive physique. He’d leaned close to her to turn the page of the music sheet, and she’d gotten a whiff of his scent—a mixture of soap and vetiver. The same pleasant scent that presently filled her nose.
“Nina?” His silky, deep voice pulled her from her thoughts.
She blinked. What had he asked her? Ah, if they’d known each other for about five years. “Yes, about that amount of time,” she agreed, though she knew it longer.
He placed his index finger under her chin and tipped her head back, bringing her gaze to his. “In that time, we’ve become friends, so I want to make sure you get what you want.”
“And what do you believe I want?” she asked.
He jerked his chin in the direction of the Duke of Fernbridge. “I presume, like so many other women this season, you want an introduction to that milksop, hoping he’ll choose you for his duchess.”
Milksop? Perhaps the duke didn’t possess Ralston’s urban manners or breath-stopping looks, which caused women to risk society’s wrath and make complete cakes of themselves, but Fernbridge was the type of man she wished to marry. Trustworthy and—
“Safe?” Ralston said.
The man really possessed the uncanny ability to know what she was thinking. It was unsettling, to say the least. Ralston was a warlock. “Better to marry a man like Fernbridge who is steadfast than a scoundrel like you.”
He theatrically set his hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
Doubtful. Ralston possessed a conscience as impenetrable as a suit of armor being prodded by a feather. He flirted with women to several degrees beyond what propriety dictated; then, after they fell like toppling lawn pins, the black-hearted devil moved on to his next conquest.
“I went to university with the man, and I know exactly what he wants in a wife, and you are too free-spirited for him. He’d do better to marry someone like my cousin Victoria.”
Victoria? No, that wouldn’t do. Victoria was as sweet as a petit four and just as cute, but Grandmother was
right. Fernbridge would be perfect for Nina. Marrying him would stifle any vicious gossip and please James. “I disagree.”
“Sweeting, do you really wish to be with a man who still prefers country dances to the waltz? Whose idea of excitement is hunting with his hounds?” He spoke in a low voice. “Who’s in bed by nine o’clock? And once married most likely without his wife.”
The heat already flooding her face traveled to her ears. Beyond the pale for Ralston to mention such things.
“You don’t want to marry a man as dull as unpolished silver, do you?” Ralston’s blue eyes held her gaze as he stepped even closer. So close, his breath touched her lips.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was trying some of his womanizing sorcery on her. But he didn’t dally with those looking for a husband. Widows were more to his liking.
She glanced over her shoulder and peered through the fronds to where Fernbridge still conversed with Lord Pendleton. Most likely, Ralston was trying to discourage her, so his cousin could become a duchess. It would explain the reason he was paying her so much attention. He probably hoped to distract her, so Victoria could swoop in. Didn’t he know his cousin was sick and wouldn’t be attending tonight?
“It sounds like a very comfortable existence,” she replied.
“Comfortable existence? Don’t you mean dreadfully dreary?”
In truth, life with Fernbridge did sound rather dull, but wasn’t that what she wanted? A reserved man who would be faithful. And though her brother James would not want her to marry a man she didn’t love, she knew he would be pleased if she chose someone sensible like Fernbridge, and Grandmother would be ecstatic.
“The gentleman spends all his time rusticating in the country,” Ralston said.
Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron Page 1
