The Rake to Ruin Her

by Julia Justiss

  ‘If my own father wasn’t willing to go to my defence, I don’t suppose I can complain about the Foreign Office’s lack of support,’ Max countered, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone.

  ‘Your father’s a political type and they are even worse than the Foreign Office. I suppose policy making requires compromise, but hell’s teeth, give me a battlefield any day! No wrangling over this clause or that provision, just the enemy before you, your men around you, and duty, clear and simple.’

  ‘After my brief time in Vienna, I must agree,’ Max said.

  ‘I’ve no doubt we can find you some position where you belong, in the War Department. Though I must warn you, Ransleigh, you’ve certainly muddied the waters with this heiress business. Not that I credit any of the wild stories floating about, but the fact that you are believed to have compromised a well-born girl and then refused to marry her won’t make finding a post any easier. Especially not coming on the heels of that Vienna affair.’

  So, just as he’d feared, he was being blamed for the fiasco. The anger, resentment and frustration with his situation—and Caroline Denby—that simmered just beneath the surface fired hotter and Max had to rein in the strong desire to explain what had happened and defend himself.

  But the colonel wasn’t interested in excuses. ‘I’m well aware of that,’ he said shortly.

  ‘I cannot help but advise that it would improve your prospects if you’d just marry the chit. Or you might try to locate that damned female who tried to cozen up to you in Vienna.’

  ‘I intended to do so right after I returned from Waterloo. But the Foreign Office gave me to understand it wouldn’t make any difference.

  ‘The Foreign Office prefers concealing dirty linen to laundering it,’ the colonel said acidly. ‘No, I’m convinced that if you could get her to confess to the plot, it would go a long way towards redeeming your reputation. I might even be able to talk Wellington around.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Max tried to stifle the hope that flared within him. ‘It would mean a lot to know I’d regained his trust.’

  ‘Old Hookey is notoriously intolerant of error, but he has a soft spot for the ladies. He might be induced to see there was no other course that you, as a gentleman, could have taken but to help a female in distress.’

  Max tried to curb a rising excitement. ‘Then perhaps, while you look around for a posting, I’ll head back to Vienna and see what I can turn up.’

  ‘Couldn’t hurt,’ the colonel said. ‘Those lackwits in the Foreign Office bungled their chance to have you, the fools. The War Office’s a better place for the man who led the counter-charge and saved the colours at Hougoumont! Had the chateau fallen, we might have lost the whole damn battle, and now be watching Bonaparte march through Europe again. Report back to me in a month and I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thank you, Colonel. I’m much in your debt.’

  Brandon waved off Max’s thanks. ‘It’s a commander’s job to watch out for his men. Only wish I’d returned to London sooner, so you’d not have been left twisting in the wind for so long. Drinking and wenching is all good and well, eh?’ he said, giving Max a wink. ‘But a man of your talents should occupy his time with something more challenging.’

  Max grinned. ‘Amen to that, sir.’

  After an exchange of courtesies, Max bowed and took his leave, fired with more purpose than he’d felt since leaving his unit after Waterloo. The colonel’s optimism provided him the first real glimmer of hope he’d had since that awful day in Vienna, when the world as he’d known it had shattered around him like the windows of Hougoumont under French artillery fire.

  After nearly a year of drifting idly about—drinking and wenching, as the colonel had said—he might finally be on the threshold of the new career for which he longed.

  He might even win back Wellington’s approval.

  That happy thought cheered him as the hackney he’d hailed carried him towards the lodgings in Upper Brook Street that, being barred from his own family’s home in London, he’d borrowed from Alastair.

  With a respectable position, he’d be able to hold his head up again when he visited his mother.

  He wasn’t sure when, or if, he’d seek out his father. The earl had made clear during their one meeting that his son was no longer of any use to him in the Lords and a person of no use to the earl was no longer of any importance either. The truth of that fact stung less now than it had when he’d first had to face it, after Vienna.

  * * *

  A short time later, the hackney halted in front of Alastair’s town house. Paying off the driver, Max paced to the entry, the cold sharp night air as invigorating as the renewed hope within him.

  He was about to mount the steps when, in the darkness beside the entry stairs, something stirred. Reflexes honed by years on a battlefield had him instantly whipping out the blade hidden in his boot. Half-crouched and prepared to strike, he called out, ‘Who’s there? Come out where I can see you!’

  While he poised, knife extended, a shadow straightened and walked toward him. In the dim illumination of the streetlamp, she pulled off the hood of her cloak.

  For a shocked moment he thought he must be hallucinating. ‘Miss Denby?’ he said incredulously.

  ‘Mr Ransleigh,’ she acknowledged with a nod. ‘Although I may be the last person in England you wish to see, may I beg a moment of your time?’

  Max blinked, still not quite believing she was standing beside his doorstep. What could have possessed her to come alone to his lodgings and wait for him in the fair middle of night?

  A strong protective instinct surfaced, warning whatever brought her would likely mean yet more scandal and he’d had enough already.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said flatly, his eyes sweeping the street, which mercifully appeared to be deserted. ‘Where are you staying? Give me your direction and I’ll call on you tomorrow.’

  ‘I know it’s highly irregular to come here, but it’s not as if I have any reputation left to lose. The matter about which I must consult you is so pressing I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. That is, if...if you will consent to speak with me.’

  Whatever it was, his first imperative was to get her away from his front door and out of sight of the neighbours or any passers-by returning home from some ton party.

  ‘Very well. Please, do come in,’ he urged, hurrying her up the stairs and through the doorway.

  The sleepy footman within snapped to attention, closing his gaping mouth at Max’s warning frown when he perceived Max was accompanied by a female. At Max’s pointed glance, he stepped out of the way and handed over his candle.

  Just what he needed, Max thought, his anger and frustration surfacing again, Miss Denby turning up to cause more problems just when Colonel Brandon was about to begin delicate negotiations to secure his future.

  Max hustled her past the servant down the hall and into the back sitting room, where the glow of the light wouldn’t be visible to any neighbours on the other side of Upper Brook Street. Now to discover her mission and hustle her back out again before she caused any more damage.

  Chapter Twelve

  Torn between irritation and curiosity over Miss Denby’s audacity in sitting beside his steps like a forgotten parcel, Max tried to muster up a cordial tone. ‘Perhaps you’d better explain and be on your way.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘When I refused your offer at Barton Abbey, you assured me that if I should ever change my mind, I should let you know.’

  Max swallowed hard, her words like a noose tightening around his neck. Now, when it finally looked like he might work out the future he wanted, was she suddenly going to hold him to that honour-coerced offer?

  Grasping at something to deflect her, he said, ‘I seem to remember that you were quite adamant about refusing it. You insisted you would marry no one but your Harry.’

  ‘So I was, but I’ve just encountered circumstances that force me to revise those plans. Upon my father’s dea
th, trustees were appointed to oversee the management of the estate he bequeathed to me. As long as they did not interfere in the running of the stables, I was perfectly content with the arrangement.’

  He recalled the great lengths she had gone to, willing to sacrifice her reputation—and sully his—to maintain control over the stud. ‘And now they are interfering?’ he guessed.

  ‘Worse than interfering. I’ve just learned they intend to sell it. A buyer has been found and, unless something happens to prevent it, in about two weeks’ time the estate will no longer own the stud.’

  ‘And you can do nothing to stop this?’ he asked, appalled despite himself and keenly aware of what the loss of Denby stables would mean to her.

  ‘Lord Woodbury, the head trustee, has never approved of my involvement with the stud. When he learned that, despite becoming embroiled in a scandal that threatened my reputation, I refused to marry, he convinced the other trustees that my unnatural position running the stud had so corrupted my feminine nature, they should sell it to “protect” me and the good name of the family from further harm. Believing that, he’s unlikely to listen to any plea I might make begging him to halt the sale. The only way—’

  ‘—is to marry and have control over your assets pass to a husband,’ Max finished, understanding now why she had come to him.

  ‘I’m desperate, or I would never be going back on my promise to leave you free to wed a woman of your choice. But you did once tell me you thought we might rub along well together, so if you would consider renewing your very kind offer, wedding me could offer you a few advantages.’

  Her words tumbled over each other, as if she’d stood there in the dark rehearsing the speech over and over. Pausing only to drag in a ragged breath, she continued, ‘I know you are already comfortably circumstanced, but I am a very wealthy woman. As long as you guarantee me sufficient funds to maintain the stud, you are welcome to the rest. Buy a higher rank in the army, purchase an estate, make investments on the ’Change. Travel to Vienna and hunt down the conspirators who engineered the attack on Lord Wellington. Whatever you wish that coin can buy, it can be yours.’

  As if she didn’t dare give him the opportunity to utter a syllable, she rushed on, ‘Wedding me would also help to re-establish your reputation since, as you asserted from the first and I now recognise, my refusal to marry has most unfairly layered blame upon you. Indeed, if you truly wish to spike the guns of Lady Melross’s malicious gossip, you might have Lady Gilford put it about that we’ve been acquainted for some time and the wedding long planned. No one would think it remarkable that the son of the Earl of Swynford, discovered caressing his almost-betrothed in a secluded conservatory, would feel no need to justify his actions or explain the nature of his relationship to a mere Lady Melross.’

  The idea was so ingenious that, despite the turmoil of thoughts whirling in his brain, Max had to laugh. ‘Brilliant! An audacious lie—but plausible.’

  ‘We’d have to wed by special license, but many prominent individuals do so, to avoid the vulgar publicity of having the banns called. If Lady Gilford and her friends seemed to find nothing exceptional about it, society would accept it as well.’

  ‘You mis-spoke, Miss Denby,’ Max said, shaking his head with rueful admiration. ‘You are quite diabolical. I begin to believe you’d make a master politician.’

  That earned him a wisp of a smile before, clutching her hands together, she dropped her eyes, avoiding his gaze. ‘As for intimacy,’ she continued, her cheeks colouring, ‘I should prefer a marriage in name only, for reasons I would rather not discuss. Since you aren’t the eldest son, there’s no title to pass along. Having already asked so huge a favour, I should make no other claim upon your time or your affections. Although, obviously, you would not be free to marry, I will neither interfere in nor protest at any other relationship you choose to enter. Although if...if you felt for some reason that you must exercise your marital rights...well, I realise I would have no grounds to refuse you.’

  Taking another deep breath, she raised her chin and faced him squarely. ‘So that is the bargain. I don’t expect you to give me an answer tonight, but I will need your reply within a few days. I know I have no right to intrude upon you with my dilemma...but the stud is my life. With everything I am and everything I love about to be stripped away, I simply had to seize any possible chance to prevent it.’

  She fell silent, watching him, her dark eyes huge and imploring in a face lined with weariness. Tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes, he noted, sparkling like brilliants in the candlelight.

  A host of questions crowded to his lips, even as his startled wits tried to sort out the preposterous new scheme she’d just laid in front of him. But before he had a chance to ask any of them, she sighed and hoisted herself unsteadily to her feet.

  ‘I’ll go now, through the kitchen if the footman will lead me out, so it’s less likely any of your neighbours might see me and make matters worse. If such a thing is possible.’

  But as she took a step, she stumbled and fell forwards. Max jumped up to catch her before she tumbled to the floor, her slight frame swaying in his hands.

  ‘You’re not well,’ he exclaimed, all the questions swirling in his mind slamming to a halt at that observation. ‘Here, sit back down.’

  He eased her into the chair, sure she would have collapsed had he not supported her weight. ‘Where is Lady Denby? When did you arrive in London?’

  She gave her head a small shake, as if the answer to so simple a question was a profound mystery. ‘I arrived...this afternoon? Yes, it was this afternoon. Just myself and my maid. Stepmother got Lord Woodbury’s letter two days ago; I travelled post yesterday and last night, arriving today to consult with Papa’s solicitor and see if anything could be done.’

  ‘You travelled post yesterday?’ he repeated with a frown. ‘When did you last sleep? Two nights ago? Three?’

  ‘I don’t recall.’ She scrubbed a hand over her eyes, as if trying to clear the exhaustion from them. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘When did you last eat?’

  ‘I’m not sure. The Royal Mail stops only to change horses, you know, not long enough to order a meal. Upon reaching London, I went directly to the solicitor’s office, then back to my cousin Elizabeth’s. And when I thought maybe you could help me, I came here.’

  ‘Sit back in that chair before you fall out of it,’ he ordered, pacing over to throw open the door. The footman he’d intended to call stood just beyond the threshold; from the flush on the man’s face and his half-bending stance, Max suspected he’d been listening through the keyhole.

  ‘Fetch some bread, cheese and ham,’ he instructed. ‘Brandy for me and some water.’

  ‘No, you needn’t entertain me,’ Miss Denby protested as he closed the door. ‘I’ve already trespassed enough on your time. I will await your reply at my cousin’s house. Lady Elizabeth Russell, in Laura Place.’

  She made another wobbly attempt to rise; gently he pushed her back into her chair. ‘Miss Denby, there is no way I am sending you out of the kitchen door like some Whitechapel purse-snatcher to creep home through the midnight streets. By the way, please assure me you didn’t walk here alone in the dark.’

  ‘No, I did not.’

  ‘Thank heavens for that!’

  ‘I took a hackney to Hyde Park and walked from there. I didn’t want the neighbours to see a carriage pull up and a female alight from it before your front door.’

  Which meant she had traversed quite a distance through the London night. Though Mayfair was one of its more prosperous sections, no area of the city was entirely safe after dark for a young woman alone.

  Max uttered an exasperated oath. ‘Are you always this much trouble?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ she replied, with an apologetic look that almost made him chuckle.

  ‘Well, your nocturnal wanderings are over,’ he pronounced, curbing his humour. ‘You will sit by that fire and warm yourself, then take some
nourishment while I consider what is to be done.’

  A ghost of a smile touched her weary lips. ‘So masterful, Mr Ransleigh. Spoken like an earl’s son indeed.’

  Despite himself, he had to grin—was there any situation into which he’d got with this girl that didn’t become absurd? ‘It’s the army officer in me,’ he corrected.

  ‘I knew it couldn’t be the diplomat. Never make up their minds about anything without debating it for weeks.’

  But, too distressed and weary, he suspected, to give more than token protest, she settled into the wing chair with a sigh, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

  Wilson returned a moment later with the refreshments, nearly goggle-eyed with curiosity. Instructing the footman to venture out into the night and find a hackey, Max closed the door in his face. Probably not even Wilson’s scandalous employer Alastair had ever escorted an obviously gently bred female into the house after midnight.

  ‘So, let me see if I understand you correctly,’ he said after she’d begun dutifully nibbling on some ham and a biscuit. ‘You propose that we wed immediately so that I may take charge of your assets before Lord Woodbury can sell off the stud. I would agree to allow you sufficient funds to run it and go my own way, with the rest of your dowry to invest as I see fit.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘In addition, I am free to engage in such...relationships as I choose, with your full approval.’

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed, meeting his eyes steadily, though a hint of a blush coloured her cheeks.

  He turned away, considering. Though he found her unusual and quite attractive in an unconventional way, he had no more inclination to marry now than when honour had forced him to make her an offer at Barton Abbey. Sympathetic though he was to her dire situation, his first impulse was to refuse.