by Lara Temple
The rake’s return
A decade ago, wallflower Alyssa Drake’s heart broke when Adam Alistair was banished from Mowbray. Now, he’s back—wealthy, titled and more cynical than before! And Alyssa’s determined not to fall under this notorious rake’s spell ever again…
Reluctant viscount Adam knows only betrayal. But Alyssa proves herself an unexpected ally when he finds his life endangered, and they are forced into a sham engagement. Their betrothal may be fake, but there’s no denying the very real passion that explodes between them!
Alyssa turned around as the door opened, and stared at the man who entered.
For one disorienting moment she thought she must have made a mistake, that this was surely not Adam. Even accounting for the ten years that had passed, there seemed nothing but a vague resemblance to connect this tall, hard-looking individual with the young man she remembered.
He was still handsome, but it was almost as if all those layers had been stripped away, exposing a hewn, granite core. He was dressed for riding like any country gentleman in pale buckskins and a dark blue coat, but there was a foreign air about him. Perhaps it was because he was tanned and his dark hair, which had once been carelessly long, was cut unfashionably short. But the greatest difference was in his eyes. She had remembered they were gray, but not that they were so dark and watchful. They expressed no emotion. No recognition. Not even curiosity.
“Miss Drake?” he said after a moment. “You wished to see me?”
Author Note
I wanted to write a story about the cost of betrayal. Not just the cost of romantic betrayal, but the long-lasting emotional impact of betrayals children experience at the hands of selfish, self-serving or abusive parents. How each subsequent betrayal in life just deepens the wound, drives us to thicken our armor, heighten our battlements, deepen our moats.
Our parents are our first models for learning about trust, self-esteem and unconditional love. If those models are faulty we can still learn from other sources—siblings, other family members, friends and, later in life, lovers—but there will always be scar tissue, a fundamental fault line of wariness and mistrust that any new relationship has to overcome. Trust will have to be earned, built, tested and only then accepted. But couples who manage to overcome these barriers can often reach much richer emotional levels of intimacy than couples who come to love without question or challenge.
The Reluctant Viscount is just such a story about betrayal and redemption—how two scarred and wary individuals make a difficult and uneasy voyage to overcome the impact of early betrayals, risking their hard-earned emotional safety in order to experience trust and love.
The Reluctant Viscount
Lara Temple
Lara Temple was three years old when she begged her mother to take dictation of her first adventure story. Since then she has led a double life—by day an investment and high-tech professional who has lived and worked on three continents, but when darkness falls she loses herself in history and romance (at least on the page). Luckily her husband and two beautiful and very energetic children help weave it all together.
Books by Lara Temple
Harlequin Historical
Lord Crayle’s Secret World
The Reluctant Viscount
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To Andy, husband, friend, lover and fellow voyager through the rocky shoals of life.
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
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
CHAPTER ONE
Alyssa touched her gloved finger to the stone bust of Heraclites that stood precariously on the edge of the wide desk and gave it a push back to safety. The face of the ancient Greek looked worried, which suited someone who saw the world in a state of unrelenting flux and who was known as the ‘weeping philosopher’. Or perhaps she was just reading into the rugged creases of sculpted skin a concern to mirror her own. And nerves. Right now nerves dominated even the concern that had motivated her visit.
She glanced quickly at her reflection in the large mirror on the other side of the study, but then turned away. Even in her best afternoon dress of palmetto green she looked small and insignificant in the imposing but dilapidated study which had once been the late Lord Delacort’s.
It had all seemed easier in her mind once the idea had surfaced. But facing the butler’s obvious surprise and consternation at her request to see Lord Delacort had been enough to make plain it was extremely foolish to come here.
As Stebbins had led her through the large entrance hall which had been transformed into a maze of building materials and piles of threadbare furniture awaiting disposal, he had glanced worriedly back at her, as if debating whether to advise her to flee while she still could. Alyssa had kept her chin up and her demeanour calm, as if there was nothing in the least improper about calling, unchaperoned, on the scandalous new Viscount Delacort within a week of his arrival in Mowbray. She only hoped her reputation was robust enough to survive this very uncharacteristic act. Aunt Adele would be shocked if she knew what she was doing, but there was no way she could approach Adam in the staid presence of a chaperon. As risky as it was, if she meant to ask Adam for help, this was something she had to do alone.
Right now, concerns of propriety were overshadowed by the greater concern that this was a complete waste of time. However important the issue was to her, it was ludicrous to expect Adam to be willing to help her. And he wasn’t Adam any more, but Lord Delacort, she reminded herself. Ten years and many dramatic events stood between this moment and the last time she had seen him.
She wondered if he would even remember her. She had been little more than a child at the time of the scandal. Not quite eighteen and both younger and older than her age. Perhaps he did—after all, he had been surprisingly kind to her and to her siblings in a town where everyone had regarded them as rather unfortunate and wild encumbrances on the brilliant and reclusive poet living in their midst, whom Mowbray society was proud of, though few in the town, if any, had actually read his poetry.
Adam had been young as well, just twenty-one, still up at Oxford, and a very serious student who had already secured a fellowship for the following year. Though he had clearly been the handsomest of Rowena’s beaus, he had also been quite poor. That was why Alyssa had been immediately suspicious when her angelically beautiful cousin Rowena, the belle of Mowbray, had begun flirting with him.
Alyssa knew her cousin well enough to know that looks would count for little with Rowena, since the only beauty that interested her was her own. She’d had her eyes set on the wealthiest landowner in the area, Lord Moresby, who was almost thirty, and though he clear
ly admired Rowena, he was proving to be slow on the uptake. But Alyssa had never imagined Rowena would be quite as conniving, or daring, or brutal, as to manoeuvre Adam into believing she was about to elope with him while convincing everyone else he was trying to seduce and abduct her. Amazingly, such a melodramatic plan had achieved everything Rowena had desired, at the minor cost of Adam’s reputation and future. His own family had repudiated him and he had been forced to leave Oxford, and the next Alyssa had heard Adam had left England altogether.
Alyssa had grown up in a flash. She had always known she could not trust her father or Mowbray society to support her, but she had not really understood their power to destroy. The day Mowbray expelled Adam in disgrace was the day she realised she could no longer afford to let her siblings, or herself, continue to be ‘those wild Drake children’. Until that day she had focused on teaching them knowledge. From that day on she focused on transforming them and herself into proper members of society. She would not let them suffer Adam’s fate. And she had succeeded beautifully.
But it was not just fear that had shaken her little universe that day. She had been too young and naïve to realise the significance of just how much she had looked forward to the occasions when Adam would stop by their little garden on his way to or from his family’s home in the town to Delacort Hall, where he’d assisted Burford, the old estate agent.
She often taught her siblings outside in the garden so as not to bother her father, but no one had ever taken any interest in them until Adam had one day at the beginning of that fateful summer. They were so used to being ignored they had not even noticed he had stopped by the low garden wall that separated the garden from the lane and was listening to them with some amusement. When he had taken issue with Alyssa’s interpretation of Homer she had been delighted at the opportunity to argue with someone who truly challenged her. And so, somehow it had become accepted that he could join their al fresco lessons whenever he liked. Then, by the time Rowena had carried out her coup, Alyssa had been unwittingly but very deeply in love.
His abrupt disappearance had left her stricken with a misery she could only force deep inside until it had eventually faded to an imprint, like the lacy skeletons of long-dried leaves she and her siblings had used to collect in the woods as children. And she had learned that unlike some poets’ claims, one did not die of love or go into decline. In fact, she and her family had probably benefited a great deal from the whole affair. Her siblings were now all successfully employed or happily married and she herself had become as highly regarded in Mowbray society as any young woman. And if she had never tried to encourage any of the men who had shown an interest in her despite her lack of a dowry, it was just because none of those men had ever made her feel in the least tempted to go and live at the discretion of their whims and rules. She had enough of that with her father. Although at least he left her alone for six days out of seven as long as she helped him when he demanded and made sure no one interrupted his work.
She shook off her maudlin memories and focused on her task. She knew it would not be easy. Simply because Adam had been kind ten years ago was no reason to expect him to act on her behalf. If even a fraction of the tales about him that had surfaced over the past decade were correct, he was a very different person.
Still, she reminded herself firmly, she could not sit idly by without at least trying to stop Percy, and if there was even the slightest chance Adam might exert his influence, it was worth the embarrassment. For better or for worse, her reputation was sufficiently robust to withstand the possible gossip if it became known she had called on Adam. It might be considered eccentric, but then the Drakes would probably always be regarded as a little odd, despite all of Alyssa’s attempts to smooth out her family’s wrinkles.
The sound of steps in the hallway broke into her thoughts and she turned just as the door opened. For one disorienting moment she thought she must have made a mistake, that this was surely not Adam. Even accounting for the years that had passed, there seemed nothing but a vague resemblance to connect this tall, hard-looking individual with the young man she had known. She remembered most clearly his expression of devastated hurt when he had realised the extent of Rowena’s betrayal that day at the White Hart. And his intent look when he had been explaining Homer in the small garden of their cottage. And the warmth of his quick, amused smile.
He was still handsome, but it was almost as if all those elements had been stripped away, exposing a hewn granite core. And he certainly did not look like he was capable of smiling. He was dressed for riding like any country gentleman in pale buckskins, top boots and a dark blue coat tailored perfectly for his broad shoulders, but he looked much larger than she had remembered and there was a foreign air about him. Perhaps it was because he was tanned and his dark hair, which had once been carelessly long, was cut short in an almost military style. But the greatest difference was in his eyes. She had remembered they were grey, but not that they were so dark and watchful. They expressed no emotion. No recognition. Not even curiosity.
‘Miss Drake?’ he said after a moment. ‘You wished to see me?’
She drew a deep breath. She had no idea how or even whether to proceed. It had seemed natural to bring this problem to him when she heard he had arrived at Delacort Hall. She was honest enough with herself to admit that as much as she truly did need help, she had been happy for an excuse to see him again. But neither consideration seemed to apply to this stranger. She had an urge to protest—you can’t be Adam!
‘Yes,’ she said hurriedly, before she lost what was left of her nerve. ‘I need…I was hoping you could… This is about Percy.’
He frowned and moved further into the room, indicating one of the threadbare old chairs. She sat down and he took a chair opposite her.
‘Percy Somerton? My cousin?’
‘Yes. You see, he is courting my cousin Mary Aldridge. She is an heiress and just turned seventeen. She is living with my aunt in Mowbray.’
‘And why is it important that she be saved from Percy’s clutches? He might be a dandy and a wastrel, but he is hardly a dissolute rake like yours truly.’ He said it so blandly it took her a moment to register the self-mockery in his words. She debated telling him the truth and decided to take the plunge.
‘Frankly I think being a dandy and a wastrel are sufficient reasons to discourage the match, but there is more than that at stake. The truth is that Charlie asked me to watch over her. He likes her, you see, and until he went away to Cambridge I had thought she liked him, too, very much. But he knows he can’t offer for her until he can support himself. Especially since she is an heiress. He is too proud. And she is very young. And impressionable. She was miserable when he went away and Percy was very attentive. So…’
‘So you have taken it on yourself to beat back the ravenous hordes until your brother can stake his claim?’
She ignored the mocking tone and continued.
‘You make it sound like I am interfering. My father is her guardian, after all.’
‘Good God, who in their right mind would appoint your father guardian over a gatepost, let alone a wealthy young woman?’ he asked in genuine surprise and she pressed down hard on a smile. So he did remember something about them at least.
‘Well, she is his niece. And my uncle, Mr Aldridge, was an avid admirer of my father’s work. I often think that was why he married my aunt in the first place. You might not remember, but society considers my father to be a great poet.’
‘Which might explain why society is in the state it is,’ he replied laconically and she couldn’t hold back a gurgle of laughter.
‘So,’ he continued. ‘This is all very edifying, but what does it have to do with me?’
Alyssa’s amusement faded at the coolness in his voice.
‘He is your heir—’ she began, but he cut her off.
‘He is heir to Delacort when the world dec
ides it has had enough of me. Just as I was Ivor’s heir when the man was foolish enough to try to jump a hedge on a horse better suited to a farmer’s cart before he managed to sire an heir of his own. Nothing more than that. Percy is neither my responsibility nor my concern and so I made clear to the tradesmen who seemed to share your opinion that I am responsible for him and should persist in Ivor’s bad habit of bankrolling his extravagances.’
Something in the brutal dismissiveness of his words pushed hard at the knot of confused emotions that was roiling inside her and she felt a welcome surge of anger.
‘He may not be your responsibility, but he is your concern. You may turn your back on it, but you are turning your back on something that exists whether it suits you or not!’
His eyes narrowed and to her surprise a slight smile lifted the corner of his mouth.
‘So you haven’t changed that much after all. I was wondering what all this diffident propriety had to do with the girl who spent most of her time in breeches and dispensing lectures from the branches of the Hungry Tree.’
She flushed. She had read somewhere that it was better to be remembered for something outrageous than not remembered at all, but she wasn’t sure she would agree. She took a deep breath and changed tack.
‘I do not presume to know what you have had to contend with all these years, but I do know that at one point you would not have calmly disregarded a blatant injustice. When Percy was bullying Charlie you—’
He interrupted her again. ‘I had forgotten that! What a memory you have. It seems impossible that that little scamp is up at Cambridge. Is he doing well?’
His expression relaxed into a warm smile that was so at odds with what went before that she once again had a peculiar sense of disorientation. She felt herself smile in an almost involuntary response to this sudden glimpse of the Adam she remembered.
‘Very well,’ she answered. ‘And at almost six feet he is definitely no longer a little scamp. Father wanted him to go to Balliol at Oxford like Terry and he did, but I can completely understand why Charlie preferred to get away from us all, for a while at least.’
