The Rake to Ruin Her

by Julia Justiss

  ‘But Lady Denby herself wrote me that you were not to wed!’ Woodbury protested.

  Max shook his head pityingly. ‘Perhaps you did not read her letter aright. She merely meant to inform you that, at the time of her missive, we were not planning an immediate wedding. We subsequently decided to advance the date of our nuptials. In any event, I was quite disappointed by the unnecessary haste with which you set about disposing of a major component of my betrothed’s estate without even the courtesy of consulting me. As was my father, the earl.’

  ‘Your father, the earl?’ Woodbury echoed, his indignation visibly wilting at Max’s mention of his father’s disapproval.

  ‘I suppose you were only doing what you thought best—’

  ‘Indeed, I was!’ Woodbury inserted hastily.

  ‘Still, I think you owe Miss Denby an apology.’

  Woodbury opened and closed his lips several times, indignation seeming to vie with prudence as he attempted to dredge up the appropriate words.

  ‘My father, the earl, would think it a handsome gesture,’ Max added softly.

  The expression on his face as sour as if he had just swallowed a large bite of green apple, Woodbury turned to Caro. ‘My apologies, Miss Denby, if I have given offence,’ he said woodenly. ‘It was certainly unintended.’

  She nodded. ‘Apology accepted, Lord Woodbury. We may have had our...disagreements, but I know you tried to serve the best interests of the estate.’

  ‘Since your trusteeship will end within days anyway, you may consider yourself relieved of your duties now,’ Max announced. ‘Mr Henderson can oversee whatever needs to be done until our marriage. Thank you for your efforts on Miss Denby’s behalf, Lord Woodbury, and a good day to you.’ Gesturing towards the door, Max gave him a regal wave of farewell.

  Caro doubted the Prince Regent himself could have sounded more dismissive. Stifling any reply he might have wished to make, Woodbury bowed and departed, looking like a resentful schoolboy who’d just been caned by the headmaster.

  After he’d exited, Max turned to Caro. ‘Satisfied?’

  Caro jumped up and sank before him into a curtsy deep enough to do justice to the Queen’s Drawing Room. ‘Completely, my lord. How perfectly you play the “earl’s son” when you wish! I was nearly intimidated myself.’

  ‘I did study at the feet of a master,’ Max said drily.

  ‘You tell a falsehood with as much skill as I do.’ She chuckled. ‘I can only imagine the outrage of your father, could he have heard you invoking his name in this case! To give Lord Woodbury his due, he did manage the other assets of the estate quite competently.’

  ‘Yes, but while doing so, he deeply wounded the delicate sensibility of the female under his protection. Made her desperate enough to travel through the night to reach London and then endanger herself crossing the city alone in darkness. She even offered herself in a marriage she did not want, to undo the damage he had done. That’s not an injury I will easily forgive.’

  She was about to protest the ‘delicate sensibility’ description...but, in truth, she had been desperate. Looking up to admit that, she met his gaze, so full of concern that it sent a shock through her.

  The rout he’d just made of Lord Woodbury was more than a clever demonstration of his rhetorical power; it showed he was indeed prepared to defend what mattered to her. That he took seriously his promise to protect it, and her.

  For the first time since her father’s death, Caro felt...safe. A wave of affection and gratitude swept through her, brought the sting of tears to her eyes, made her want to throw her arms around his neck.

  ‘Thank you for standing behind me to save the stud.’ The last part of his comment suddenly registering, she added softly, ‘As for that marriage, I’m daily coming to believe proposing to you was the wisest decision I’ve ever made.’

  He took her hand and kissed it. ‘I hope so. You are mine to protect now, Caro. I intend to do that to the very best of my abilities.’

  As soon as he touched her, the clarity of her thoughts muddied, her mind disturbed by a rush of sensation, like the clash when the foam of a receding breaker meets the thrust of an incoming wave. Staring down at the hand he still held, distracted by the feelings coursing through her, she stuttered, ‘I—I will t-try to prove myself worthy of that care.’

  Then she looked up from her tingling fingers, became caught by his ardent gaze...and was lost.

  She couldn’t seem to either speak or look away. The attraction between them intensified, throbbing in her veins, humming in her ears, drowning out sound, paralysing thought.

  That same strange, powerful compulsion she had felt in the conservatory at Barton Abbey welled up again, pulling her towards him. As if hypnotised, she found herself lifting her chin, stripped of everything but the need to feel his lips against hers.

  He placed his warm, strong hand under her chin, drawing a murmur from her as she angled her head to feel the slide of his fingers against her skin. A maelstrom of desire began churning in her belly, tightening in her chest, as she raised her lips towards his.

  Just as her eyelids fluttered shut, the door swung open. The sound acting upon her taut nerves like the crack of a whip, she pushed away from Max with a gasp, her heart pounding.

  Henderson walked in, a stack of documents in his hands. ‘I’ve begun the preliminary paperwork, Mr Ransleigh. If you’ll have your solicitors contact me, I’m sure we can sort everything out quickly. If you have no further business here, may I offer you some refreshment before you leave?’

  ‘Thank you, but we must be going. Let me again express my gratitude for the advice and support you have given my fiancée.’

  Henderson bowed. ‘Having known and esteemed Miss Denby since she was a child, I’m pleased to find that you intend to honour her wishes...and her.’ Surprising Caro, he added, ‘You might just be worthy of her.’

  Grinning, Max returned the bow, the earl’s son seeming not at all offended to have his conduct judged by a mere solicitor. Her nerves still jangled, Caro let him lead her back to the carriage, trying to stifle the yearning of a body that stubbornly regretted not getting that kiss.

  Max had been not nearly as affected by it, she scolded herself. He’d probably kissed a score of girls, many of them prettier, every one of them more skilled in allurement than she. A simple little kiss was not for him the soul-shattering experience it promised to be for her.

  Oh, this would never do. She simply had to wrestle this unruly attraction under control. Certainly before the wedding...after which she would suddenly be cast into significantly closer proximity to him for a much longer interval.

  She really was getting married. A frisson of alarm, underscored by a deeper, hot liquid excitement licked through her. Once she truly belonged to him, body and soul, how was she to resist the force driving her to yield to him?

  By recalling that the power of the Curse loomed a mesmerised moment of forgetfulness away.

  Caro sighed. If she had any hope of resisting him, she must concentrate more on that real danger and learn to deal better with his maddening, bewitching allure. And with the wedding a mere few days away, she’d better learn quickly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A little over a week later, Caro stood before the glass in a guest bedchamber of Lady Gilford’s London town house. Lady Denby stood behind her, instructing the maid who was adjusting the skirts of her pale-green wedding gown.

  Wishing she could soothe away the anxiety in her stomach as easily as the maid smoothed down the soft silken skirts, Caro studied her reflection critically. She couldn’t remember ever owning so flattering a garment. At home, she’d ordered a few gowns each year from the village seamstress, but they had been adequate rather than stylish, and during her aborted Season, she’d taken care to choose cuts and colours as unsuited to her as possible.

  For her wedding, she’d wanted to wear something that at least wouldn’t make Max regret his decision the minute he saw her at the altar.

 
Would he find her appealing? Anticipation and unease skittered across her skin. In the few rushed days since their trip to Mr Henderson’s office, she’d not made any progress in bringing her response to him under control. She felt attraction curl in the pit of her stomach every time he handed her into a carriage or took her arm up the stairs. Each time, she longed to extend and lengthen the contact.

  In fact, the more time she spent with him, the more powerful his allure seemed to become, to the point that she feared if he made any move to make their marriage a real one, even the threat of the Curse might not be enough to armour her against him.

  Which made it all the more imperative for her to get this marriage business finished as soon as possible and leave him in London to tend his career while she returned to Denby Lodge.

  ‘Enough, Dulcie, you may go,’ Lady Denby was saying. As the maid departed, Lady Denby gave her a reproving look. ‘How lovely you are! I can’t believe you hoodwinked me into wearing those atrocious dresses!’

  ‘You have forgiven me, I hope.’

  ‘With you mending matters by marrying Mr Ransleigh after all, of course I have. I do hope you’ll be very happy.’

  ‘I hope to make him so,’ Caro said, thinking guiltily how robbing him of the chance to marry a lady he truly loved would make that goal more difficult. With society holding him responsible for her ruin, honour had given him little choice but to agree to her bargain.

  ‘You mustn’t worry about tonight,’ Lady Denby said, obviously noticing Caro’s nervousness. ‘You may know everything about breeding horses, but the human animal is quite different. I’m sure Mr Ransleigh will be gentle and careful with you.’

  Would he? They’d said nothing more since the first night about that part of their agreement. Legally, she couldn’t deny him if he decided to ignore her request that theirs be a marriage in name only. Would he choose to do so...or not?

  She came back from her reverie to find Lady Denby staring at her. ‘I’m not worried,’ she said a bit too heartily.

  ‘You must put out of your mind that silly business about “the Curse”,’ Lady Denby said, patting her hand soothingly. ‘I admit, the experience of some of your relations was unfortunate, but your mama, Sir Martin told me, had always been delicate. You are young and in robust health; there’s no reason not to believe your own experience won’t be much happier. Indeed, when the midwife places that first babe in your arms, you’ll know it was worth all the discomfort and danger.’

  Not if the hands receiving the babe were dead and cold, Caro thought.

  ‘In any event, Mr Ransleigh will hope for an heir, as all men do, and you can’t mean to deny him,’ Lady Denby concluded, with a sharp glance at Caro.

  Having no intention of confessing her bargain to her stepmother, Caro said meekly, ‘No, of course not.’

  Blessing again the fact that Max bore no responsibility for passing on his father’s title, Caro hoped, for the present at least, that he’d be content to dally with the ladies sure to flock about such a dynamic, handsome, charismatic man—especially once he’d been restored to some important government position. She squelched a little niggle of jealousy at the thought.

  It was ridiculous for her to be jealous that he would doubtless share with other women the intimacy she needed to avoid—and had actively encouraged him to pursue elsewhere.

  She had about as much luck banishing the emotion as she had at controlling her responses to Max. Sighing, she shook her head at her own idiocy. Her inability to think coolly and logically about this matter was yet another indication that the sooner they parted after the wedding, the better.

  Before they could walk out, a beaming Eugenia hurried in. ‘Caro, how lovely you look! Oh, Mama, I’ve just had the most wonderful talk with Lady Gilford and Miss Ransleigh. Lady Gilford said she was going to speak with you about having us stay with her for the whole Season, so Felicity and I can share the experience! How kind she is, inviting us and allowing Caro and Mr Ransleigh to have their wedding breakfast at her house.’

  As well as quietly putting out the taradiddle Caro had constructed about a previous attachment between herself and Max Ransleigh. ‘We owe her a great deal,’ Caro said. ‘I’m glad everything is going to work out for your Season.’

  ‘How much better everything looks now than when we left Barton Abbey! Though...I am sorry about Harry, Caro. I hope you are not too unhappy about marrying Mr Ransleigh instead. Not that I can imagine any girl being unhappy to marry someone so handsome, charming and well connected! But I know Harry was your best and dearest childhood friend.’

  ‘I am quite content to marry Mr Ransleigh,’ Caro answered, trying to keep her voice even and mask the frantic agitation the mere thought set fluttering in her veins.

  The busyness of the last week had made it possible for her to put out of mind the fact that she’d traded away the ease, long friendship and wordless understanding she’d always shared with Harry for the edgy uncertainty of marriage to a man whose mere presence in a room made her pulse race.

  But though she might refuse to think about it, the fierce attraction continued to simmer between them, driving her at once to try to stay near him and to flee his hold over her. With her nerves constantly on edge, she’d barely slept and, despite Lady Denby’s assurances, could scarcely contemplate the wedding night without a panicky feeling in her gut. Would he come to claim her? Could she make herself resist him if he did?

  Oh, how much easier this would have been had Harry been the bridegroom with the right to enter her chamber tonight! A vision of his dear face rose up before her and she felt tears prick her eyes.

  But it wouldn’t be Harry tonight. It would never be Harry. Facing the dilemma before her, she’d made the only choice she could. There was no use looking back; she could only go forwards.

  As she reaffirmed that conclusion, Lady Gilford opened the door and beckoned to them.

  ‘How charming you look, Miss Denby! Shall we go? Max and the clergyman will be awaiting us at the church.’

  * * *

  In the nave of St. George’s, Hanover Square, Max paced, trying to settle down a few nerves of his own. Once the decision to wed Caro Denby had been finalised, he’d experienced surprisingly few qualms and only one minor regret. Despite his vaunted charm, he hadn’t made much headway in seducing his bride; if anything, she seemed more skittish than ever.

  Perhaps it was only maidenly nerves and inevitable; knowing nothing about virgins, Max couldn’t tell. An experienced man did have the advantage; he knew what to expect of intimacy, where his innocent bride could only speculate. The stories reaching her ears must be lurid indeed, Max reflected, for as the day of their wedding grew nearer, Caro had grown as unsettled as a green-broke colt sidling in a paddock, eyeing the saddle about to be placed on its back. Each time he took her arm to assist her into a carriage or walk her into a room, she jumped as if scalded by his touch.

  He shook his head ruefully and laughed. Bless her, did she think he was going to drag her into the bedchamber tonight and mount her with no regard for her fears or her comfort, like a stallion covering a mare?

  The door to the sanctuary opened and his senses sprang to the alert. But instead of the priest leading in the bridal party, the figure striding in was his father, the Earl of Swynford.

  Max sent a swift prayer of thanks that he had the space of several rows between them to collect his thoughts before he must greet the man with whom he’d had no contact since the morning he’d been dismissed from Ransleigh House. He’d taken Caro to call briefly on his mother—after making sure his father would be out. He’d left his sire only a terse note to inform him of his upcoming nuptials.

  The man whose approval he’d once sought to win before all else halted before him. ‘My lord,’ Max said, bowing. ‘I didn’t expect you’d have the time to attend.’

  ‘I shan’t stay for the wedding breakfast, but I thought it wise to appear for this, so society would know I approved your choice. Despite the recent scandal o
ver this girl, it seems you managed to land on your feet after all. “A previous attachment”, indeed,’ the earl said with a snort. ‘I hope you thanked your aunt and Jane Gilford for their assistance in promoting that falsehood.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve much appreciated all the efforts they expended on my behalf,’ he said drily.

  That barb hit home; his father frowned. ‘You mean to imply that I have done nothing? You must remember, my son, at the time of your ill-advised liaison in Vienna, I was in the midst of very delicate negations to—’

  Max held up a hand. ‘I understand, Father.’ The hell of it was, he did understand, though he still couldn’t help resenting the fact that his father had not tried harder to find a way to intervene on his behalf.

  ‘Well, however odd the path you followed to settle on this girl, it’s a good choice. Better to have had a bride from a political family, but after Vienna, there’s not much chance of that. At least you found yourself an heiress. Being rich will go a long way toward reconciling society to your lapses in judgement.’

  Angry words rushed to his lips, but arguing with his father wouldn’t set the proper tone for his wedding day. Restraining himself with effort, he said instead, ‘I’m glad you approve my choice.’

  ‘I expect you’ll get her breeding and leave her in the country. I don’t recall meeting her last Season, but Maria Selfridge told me she wasn’t up to snuff, with little to recommend her beyond a good pedigree and a better dowry.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Max said, annoyed by this cavalier dismissal of Caro, even though he knew she’d taken great pains during her brief Season to create exactly that impression. ‘I find her both intelligent and lovely. But, yes, I expect we will settle at her property in Kent, to which she is very attached.’