by Mary Brendan
Beholden to an irresistible rogue...
When her half sister goes missing, respectable Faye Shawcross is at her wits’ end! Convinced her impulsive younger sister has gotten herself mired in potential scandal, Faye is unsure whom to turn to for help—certainly not her upstanding fiancé.
The last person she expects to come to her rescue is the very man she’s condemned a rogue—Ryan Kavanagh, the dishonorable and disconcertingly alluring viscount. The magnetic Irishman knows he raises Faye’s passions, however reluctantly. He can nip her impending family scandal in the bud, for a price: he wants Faye as his mistress...
“I’m very sorry to turn up again and bother you, sir,” Faye blurted as soon as the door had closed.
“I made it obvious when you were last here that I like being bothered by you, Miss Shawcross.” Slowly he straightened and turned to face her. “In fact, I’m hoping you’ve saved me the journey to Mulberry House to speak to you. If you’re back to tell me you feel the same way about me, I can suggest what we can do about it.”
The irony in his voice couldn’t quite disguise the fact that he meant every word. And heaven only knew she did crave having his strong arms about her again. She knew if he bruised her mouth with his own as he had before, his fiery passion could eradicate every worry from her head as easily as sunlight dissolved snow.
“I deduce from your silence that you’re of two minds on it. Perhaps I should help you decide.” He plunged his hands into his pockets and pinned her with a dangerously challenging stare.
Faye put down her untasted tea in a rattle of crockery. “I bid you to be serious, sir, if you will.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” he returned.
His vivid, unsmiling eyes tangled with hers before traveling over her body in a way that caused icy heat to streak through her veins.
“And neither was I more serious than when I told you I will soon be married.” Slashes of bright color accented Faye’s cheekbones. “You shouldn’t have kissed me, Mr. Kavanagh, and I shouldn’t have...” Unable to explain herself, she snatched up her hat and gloves from the sofa.
“You shouldn’t have betrayed your fiancé by liking it?”
Author Note
In my new Regency, Rescued by the Forbidden Rake, the heroine is known to be a good young woman. Everybody says so. Faye Shawcross has cared for her younger half siblings since their feckless widowed mother abandoned them to chase after her lover. Faye’s also been a constant fiancée to her seafaring future husband.
But sometimes the temptation to stray from the path of righteousness is too strong to resist. Especially when it becomes obvious that duty and selflessness are not appreciated by those benefiting from it. Faye might be sweet natured but she is nobody’s doormat!
For years Faye has been content to settle for the quiet life of a country lady, surrounded by pastoral beauty and good friends. When Viscount Ryan Kavanagh turns up in the neighborhood, gossip immediately starts about the handsome Irishman’s licentious ways. The things that Faye hears about Valeside Manor’s new squire can’t possibly be true...can they? He seems to be the perfect neighbor, helping her out of one tricky situation after another when her younger sister falls in love with a wanderer lad. But does Kavanagh have an ulterior motive where she’s concerned that proves his devilishness isn’t simply a rumor? And who is he really, anyway?
Faye wants to believe her rescuer sincere, but how can she trust him when he is reluctant to tell her about himself? Should she jeopardize everything she holds dear and take a chance on a future with the wicked Irishman?
I hope you enjoy reading about how Faye and Ryan battle their way through lies and deceit to discover peace and happiness for themselves and their families.
MARY
BRENDAN
Rescued by the
Forbidden Rake
Mary Brendan was born in North London, but now lives in rural Suffolk, England. She has always had a fascination with bygone days, and enjoys the research involved in writing historical fiction. When not at her word processor she can be found trying to bring order to a large overgrown garden, or browsing local fairs and junk shops for that elusive bargain.
Books by Mary Brendan
Harlequin Historical
Rescued by the Forbidden Rake
Linked by Character
Tarnished, Tempted and Tamed
Compromising the Duke’s Daughter
Society Scandals
A Date with Dishonor
The Rake’s Ruined Lady
The Hunter Brothers
A Practical Mistress
The Wanton Bride
The Meredith Sisters
Wedding Night Revenge
The Unknown Wife
A Scandalous Marriage
The Rake and the Rebel
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com for more titles.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Excerpt from The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride by Carol Arens
Chapter One
‘Our business is concluded, sir. I have made my decision.’
Faye Shawcross abruptly stood up. The sauce of the man! Not only had he advised her to invest in a financial plan that had failed dismally, but he wanted to persuade her to plough what money remained to her into another of his schemes. When she had received his note yesterday, requesting an audience, she had believed he intended to come and beg forgiveness for letting her down so badly. She had even harboured a hope that he might speak of recompense. Not so much of it! Barely had he settled on a chair before proffering a new parchment for signature as though she were a gullible fool.
‘I do not want to seem dictatorial, Miss Shawcross, but I beg you will reconsider my proposal. I’m sure your fiancé would direct you to listen to me, were he here.’
‘But he is not, and neither is his presence required. I need no further time, or advice, sir. I have clearly said I have made my decision and have terminated my contract with you. Goodbye.’
A moment ago Faye had employed the small brass bell on the table by her side; her housekeeper had promptly appeared and was now hovering, awaiting an instruction.
‘Mr Westwood is leaving, Mrs Gideon.’
A barking cough from the servant reminded the man she was ready to show him out.
Westwood had sprung to his feet as Miss Shawcross did, an angry blush burning in his cheeks at her curt dismissal; but he managed to jerk a bow. ‘As you wish; but I make no apology for striving to assist you in restoring your fortunes.’
‘Perhaps you might instead like to apologise for having depleted them in the first place,’ Faye replied coolly, anger and impatience sparking green fire in her eyes.
‘I mentioned to you there was a risk attached,’ he intoned
piously.
‘But not quite as fulsomely as you bade me to pay no heed to it. Had I an inkling that my money might disappear within a short while of you handling it, sir, I would not have listened to a word you uttered.’
Westwood’s eyes popped, but Faye was not intimidated by his display of fury. She indicated he should leave with a nod.
Barely had the parlour door closed on his ramrod-straight back when it again opened and a boy hurtled over the threshold.
‘Are we poor?’
‘Of course not, my dear.’ Faye held out her arms to her half-brother, catching Michael into her embrace. ‘We are just not quite as well off as once we were.’
‘I can still go to school in Warwick?’
‘Indeed you can! And I hope to have some better reports from your headmaster when you return in the autumn, young man.’
Michael looked sheepish at the reminder of his misbehaviour. ‘I know I shouldn’t have got into that fight.’
‘No you shouldn’t...but neither should you allow those boys to bully you.’ Faye ruffled her half-brother’s fair hair. She felt guilty that Michael had been mocked by some older pupils when the news circulated about his overdue school fees. The headmaster’s letter had been one of the first indications that all was not well. She had accepted Westwood’s explanation that the matter was just an oversight. How she regretted having been so naive!
But now she had terminated the lawyer’s contract the periodic sum the charlatan had charged to nurture her investments would again be available for essentials. They weren’t poor...but neither were they rich, nor even comfortably off as they had once been. Faye bitterly regretted having employed Westwood; but he had come recommended by the man she was to marry and thus she’d trusted the fellow to deliver what he’d promised. Now she suspected he was incompetent at best and corrupt at worst, but she had no proof that he’d done anything underhand. She’d willingly signed the documents, handing him control of half her father’s bequest. Fighting Westwood in court and losing the battle would certainly end in her destitution. With her younger siblings relying on her she couldn’t afford any such action...and no doubt Mr Westwood was aware of that fact.
At twelve years old Michael had many more years at school; further economies would need to be made if her half-brother were to stay in Warwick. Yet she must be even-handed; she also had her half-sister’s future to consider. As though that young lady were aware of Faye’s reflection she skipped into the room.
‘May we go out this afternoon?’ Claire asked excitedly. ‘I saw the caravans from my window. There are crowds gathering already on the village green.’
‘I saw them, too! May we go?’ Michael interrupted his sister to add his own plea to be allowed to visit the local midsummer fair. The Romanies arrived annually and stayed for a few days to entertain the locals before moving on to another town.
‘Yes, indeed, we shall go and enjoy ourselves; only a few pennies each to spend, though,’ Faye cautioned. She sighed happily; a break from the unpleasant anxiety that had beset them all would be very welcome.
Just a few days ago at breakfast she’d unsuspectingly opened the letter from Westwood, finally admitting the truth. From her spontaneous gasp of dismay the children had learned something was amiss. Faye had been tempted to shield them from the dreadful news. But what use was procrastination when they must know immediately that savings had to be made.
‘I’m going to fetch my new bonnet and stitch some ribbon on it.’ Claire skipped towards the door.
‘Bill Perkins won’t be going, so you’re wasting your time wearing it for him,’ Michael ribbed.
‘I’m not bothered about him anyway...’ his sister retorted.
‘No bickering, if you please,’ Faye reprimanded wryly.
Claire had developed a crush on Bill Perkins after the young farmer rescued her from a ditch. Following a heavy bout of rain she’d lost her footing and slipped down into the sludge. The fellow had a fiancée, but always stopped to pass the time of day with them all.
‘I have been thinking about that trip to town we spoke of.’ Faye’s thoughts had jumped from nice Bill Perkins to another worthy gentleman: a faceless, nameless person her sister—God willing—was yet to meet.
‘Must we go to London for my debut?’ Claire asked with a pronounced lack of enthusiasm. ‘It’ll be an expensive trip and I’m not sure I want to bother.’ A private smile curved her lips. ‘I might find a husband hereabouts.’
‘Your dowry is still safe and as you are so pretty you will need no costly embellishment like some of the plain misses.’ Faye tried to encourage her sister with a jocular comment. But the praise was justified. Claire was indeed a beauty and regularly drew attention from the lusty youths in Wilverton, the small town about a half-mile distant. Claire had never shown interest in having a local beau before. Yet, oddly, Faye had just seen her sister look like the cat with the cream when talking of finding a mate in the neighbourhood.
It was said that Claire resembled her; Faye believed that her half-sister took after Deborah Shawcross in looks. But they rarely spoke about her late father’s second wife. Even before Deborah absconded to Ireland to join her lover the woman had been an embarrassment.
‘You should have your Season in London, because I know you will have a wonderful time and meet a splendid fellow and fall in love.’ Faye’s confident tone barely lifted Claire’s frown. But it amused Michael and he made much of patting at his yawning mouth, chortling.
‘Aunt Agatha has invited us to stay with her in Hammersmith,’ Faye continued. ‘I’ll write and let her know that we would be pleased to accept her hospitality in the spring.’
‘I’d sooner stay here,’ Michael piped up.
‘You will be safely out of the way at school, young man.’
‘Might I go and stay with Stanley Scott?’
‘I don’t think so, Michael,’ Faye said apologetically. ‘The cost of the fare to Scotland is rather a lot.’ Her brother had received an invitation from his school chum’s parents to holiday with them in Edinburgh until the autumn term.
‘Shall I ask him to come here?’ Michael asked, but not very optimistically.
‘You know we don’t really have the room for guests.’ Faye gave her brother a rueful smile. Mulberry House was small—nothing like the castle in which the Scotts lived—but, that apart, another mouth to feed would be an additional financial burden. Despite her logic and prudence Faye felt mean denying her brother a friend for the holidays.
‘Now if we are to spend an hour or two at the fair later I must get on.’ Faye briskly clapped her hands. ‘I want to catch the post and the shopkeepers in Wilverton must be paid. Mr Gideon warned of rain this evening; we’ll want to be home from the fair before then.’ Their housekeeper’s husband was invariably accurate with his weather forecast.
Having sealed the note to her aunt about preparations for Claire’s debut, Faye counted out the money owed to merchants and put it into her reticule. She was determined to carry on paying bills on time. But news of her reduced circumstances would eventually circulate and she hated the idea of being tattled over or pitied. The Gideons were aware of what had occurred and were as fiercely loyal to Faye and her half-siblings as they had been to her father. But it was an odd truth that no matter how conscientiously confidences were guarded, rumours spread.
* * *
A ride into town on Mr Gideon’s dog cart was always a revelation. As they moved along at a steady pace the elderly fellow kept up a one-sided conversation past the clay pipe clenched between his teeth. Not that Faye was unwilling to add a comment; it was hard to get a word in edgeways. Mr Gideon had employment with several neighbours and was up to date with what went on in the hamlets that encircled Mulberry House, the Shawcrosses’ residence for over one hundred years. By the time the elderly mare pulling the dog cart was drawn to a halt at
Wilverton Green’s turnpike, Faye had learned that there was a bad case of scarlatina in Moreton, to the south, that had resulted in one burial so far, and that twins had been born last week in Fairley, to the east. Having expressed her gladness that mother and babies were all doing well, Faye sprang nimbly down to the dusty ground.
‘Shall I wait for you to finish your business and take you back, Miss Shawcross? It be no trouble.’ Bert Gideon had removed his pipe to make that enquiry.
‘It’s kind of you to offer, but I shall have time enough to walk home, thank you.’ Faye shook her light cotton skirts to remove the creases from them and retied the strings of her bonnet. She glanced up at the angle of the sun, judging it to be close to noon. A ride back would have been helpful as she’d promised the others an excursion in a few hours’ time, but she didn’t want to delay Mr Gideon getting to his next job.
‘Don’t be forgetting now that rain’s due.’ Bert clucked his tongue at the mare.
‘Not before we’ve returned from the fair, I hope,’ Faye said, half to herself.
Mr Gideon raised a hand in farewell as the vehicle creaked away and Faye set off to do her errands.
* * *
‘And a very good day to you, Miss Shawcross.’
‘And to you, sir. I have come to settle up and place my order for next week, Mr Bullman.’ Had she imagined a look of relief in the butcher’s eyes as he’d pounced on the cash in her hand?
‘I have some mutton for stewing that you might like for a change and some beef suet that’ll make you a nice dumpling.’ Mr Bullman wiped his bloodied hands on his apron before pocketing his cash.
Had he sounded different...pitying? Faye noticed that he’d certainly collected up the notes she’d put down with unusual zeal. She glanced at his expression and, yes, he did seem to be avoiding her eyes.
‘I won’t have the mutton, thank you. I’ll take my usual order and an extra two pork chops, if you please,’ Faye said crisply.
‘So Mr Collins is back and paying a visit, is he?’ The butcher sounded jolly. ‘I recall you told me your fiancé’s partial to a chop for dinner.’
