To Tempt a Rake

by Cara Elliott

  Kate smiled as the champagne bubbled down her tongue, filling her with its sweet effervescence.

  “Come, come, my dear. We are all anxious to hear the details of how you vanquished a dastardly enemy,” said Charlotte, waving the duke to silence. “Not to speak of getting a full report on the Viennese pastries and the waltz.”

  She forced her thoughts back to the last few harrowing weeks and shook her head. “I don’t deserve all the credit. I would say that the mission was a joint effort.”

  Marco swallowed a snort.

  “All of us were instrumental in seeing that the plot was foiled,” went on Kate, ignoring the risqué waggle of his brow. “If Cluyne had not consented to host the house party in the first place, if Charlotte had not spotted the missing plant, if Lord Lynsley had not marshaled his network of agents to arrange our stay in Vienna…”

  It all still seemed a little unreal. “Tappan was right,” she went on. “His plan was diabolically clever. Had I been a normal young lady of the ton, it would have worked to perfection.”

  “I, for one, am extremely grateful that you are… yourself,” said Marco, just loud enough for her to hear.

  “Tappan certainly did not count on you or Lady Fenimore being so knowledgeable about botany,” said Lynsley. “Like most people, he underestimated the intelligence of a lady.”

  “And paid for his hubris,” declared Charlotte.

  “Indeed,” agreed Lynsley. “Because of your information, we were able to apprehend him before his ship sailed from Dover. After intensive interrogation, he has revealed all the names of those who hired him. Coupled with the information we were able to extract from Grunwald, the whole group of conspirators has been exposed. Whitehall has passed the information to the King of Saxony—without revealing how we learned of the plot. Thanks to you, the volatile situation in the Baltic will be settled through diplomatic channels, not violence.”

  “And Von Seilig’s murder?” asked Kate.

  “Tappan confessed to that as well.” Lynsley ran a hand over his brow. “The truth is, he was up to his neck in sordid schemes. He was working with Allenham, trying to bribe certain members of the Prussian ministry to grant the Northern Mercantile Exchange Company exclusive rights to the Baltic trade in shipbuilding materials. It would have been an extremely lucrative deal, and would have made Tappan a very rich man.”

  “No doubt that explained his affair with Lady Duxbury,” said Marco cynically.

  “Yes,” agreed the marquess. “She was unaware of his involvement in treason and murder, but was a willing participant in trying to further the Baltic deal. She has expensive tastes, and having a wealthy lover and brother was to her advantage. Her role was to try to seduce Von Seilig….”

  Lynsley looked to Kate, his expression turning grim. “But when he rejected her advances in favor of spending time with you, she was only too happy to help set you up for the crime. It was she who spread the stories of your past to her brother and the Spaniards. Tappan had done research on all the guests, just in case any old scandal could prove useful for his own plans.”

  “What will happen to him?” asked the duke.

  “He will be charged with the murder of Von Seilig. In return for his cooperation, I’ve agreed to a sentence of life imprisonment rather than hanging. That way, both his family and the government are spared the terrible public scandal of treason. The true nature of the plot will remain a closely guarded secret.”

  “And Lady Duxbury and Lord Allenham?” demanded Charlotte, a martial light flashing off her spectacles. “It seems unfair that they escape any punishment.”

  “They do not get off lightly,” replied the marquess. “Allenham has been forced to resign from his position with the Northern Mercantile Exchange Company, and it has been strongly suggested that he and his sister start a new life in India. They should be boarding a ship for Bombay just about now.”

  The duke gave a low growl. “To think that my own neighbor, whom I have known for years, would turn out to be such a despicable villain.” He pursed his lips and frowned. “It’s one thing that he fooled me, but damnation, Lynsley, you of all people should have known better.”

  The marquess accepted the set-down with his usual show of equanimity. “I do my best, Cluyne. But depravity is everywhere, and unfortunately it is often well-hidden beneath a polished veneer of nobility.”

  Just as nobility could lurk beneath a show of dissolute debauchery.

  Kate ventured a look at her new husband across the table. The dancing flames of the candelabra illuminated his face, golden light gilding the bronze skin, the chiseled cheekbones, and sensuous curl of his smile. Their gazes met for an instant and she felt a warm rush of joy well up inside her.

  Yes, appearances could be deceiving. They had both hidden their true selves behind an outer shell of toughness to survive. But thankfully love had proved a more powerful force than cynicism.

  Marco winked, sparks tipping the fringe of his dark lashes. “Si, amico,” he replied to Lynsley. “It is often hard to discern between black and white, eh? Sometimes the two blur together, creating a smudged shade of gray. Rather like me. Though of late, I find the darkness is clearing from the crevasses of my soul and my life is lightening.”

  “Gray?” Charlotte arched a silvery brow. “I would never describe you as colorless,” she remarked, much to the amusement of Cluyne and Lynsley. “You have quite a colorful past, from what I have heard. However, I trust that you will try to temper your more outrageous exploits.”

  “I will try,” said Marco, flashing her an angelic look. “But Kate would be bored if I become too good. I’m afraid we both have a weakness for adventure. And so…”

  The marquess suddenly seemed extremely interested in polishing the single fob hanging from his watchchain.

  “And so it should come as no surprise that we have agreed to help Lynsley look into another small diplomatic problem,” he finished.

  Cluyne’s face clouded with concern, but Kate interrupted him before he could speak. “Yes, there is a matter of a missing Imperial medallion in St. Petersburg.”

  “Tsar Alexander was apparently a little careless during one of his sexual trysts,” explained Marco. “The bauble in question is apparently one of great historical significance for the Russian people. If he doesn’t wear it during the upcoming Orthodox Easter celebration, it will be considered a very ill omen for the Romanov Dynasty.”

  “The lady’s husband is using that fact to force the tsar to rescind some of his social reforms,” said Lynsley. “If our government can help him out of this embarrassing predicament, he would be extremely grateful.”

  “l don’t see why my granddaughter must be drawn into another dangerous mission,” growled the duke.

  “Actually, I asked to be part of it,” said Kate softly. “I know you disapprove, but I would be bored to perdition living the life of a proper London lady. I detest drawing room gossip and have two left feet when it comes to ballroom etiquette.” She paused and crooked a smile. “On the other hand, with my seafaring pirate background, I’m awfully good at navigating tight spaces and climbing to precarious heights—not to speak of purloining carefully guarded valuables.”

  “After all, she stole my heart,” quipped Marco.

  Charlotte stifled a chuckle. “You are fortunate she didn’t toss it away. A sensible female would have feared singeing her fingers on a red-hot coal from Hell.”

  “Kate is not afraid of a little heat.” He waggled his brows suggestively. “Are you, cara?”

  She felt her face flame.

  After another little laugh, her friend turned serious. “Come, Cluyne. Much as we wish to protect the ones we love from harm, we must allow them freedom to choose their own lives. We cannot wrap them in cotton wool and lock them away in a chest like a precious piece of porcelain.”

  The duke gave her a baleful look and then blew out a harried sigh. “I wish you were not always right—but unfortunately you are, Charlotte.”

  �
�How very wise of you to admit it, Edwin,” she said with a fond smile. “There is hope for you yet.”

  “Aye, well, perhaps that is because I was such a fool in the past, letting my pride take precedence over my feelings. I wish you would not take such risks, Kate. But if it makes you happy, I shall learn to live with it.” He drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and discreetly blew his nose. “If there is one lesson I have learned over my numerous years, it is that you must follow your heart.”

  Charlotte smoothed his sleeve. “Well said.”

  “You can trust me to look out for your granddaughter,” said Marco softly, his voice far more solemn than usual. Brushing back the long, dark strands of hair from his brow, he looked at Kate through the flickering flames. “I won’t allow anything to happen to her. She is the sun and I am the moon—without her, my life would be plunged back into darkness.”

  Charlotte gave a little sniff. “How very romantic.”

  “Speaking of romantic, I cannot help noticing that Cluyne calls you Charlotte and you call him Edwin,” murmured Kate. “Has something been blooming in the conservatory beside these hothouse tulips?”

  Her friend turned a very beguiling shade of pink.

  Cluyne coughed.

  “Well?” pressed Kate.

  “We old people are not as impetuous as you young ones,” answered the duke. “But by the time you return from Russia, I hope that I will have an interesting announcement to make.”

  The pink now turned to poppy red.

  “Assuming that she decides it’s not too late to start a new chapter in her life,” he added.

  “After the last few weeks of murder and mayhem, perhaps it’s time to turn the page,” said Charlotte.

  Repressing a smile, Lynsley refilled their glasses.

  “At least we all survived the dangers.” Thinking over how much had changed in all of their lives, Kate murmured, “As the Bard would say, ‘all’s well that ends well.’ ”

  “Ah, but it’s not the end, cara.” Marco’s topaz eyes glittered with the devil’s own mischief. “I would say that it’s just the beginning.”

  An enchanting new historical romance series from the author who brought you the scandalous Circle of Sin trilogy.

  Please turn this page for a preview of

  Cara Elliott’s

  next sizzling Regency romance!

  Too Wicked to Wed

  Available in November 2011.

  Chapter One

  So this is what a brothel looks like. It is not at all what I expected.”

  “Dear Lord,” muttered Captain Harley Stiles as he blotted the sheen of sweat from his brow. “I would hope that you haven’t given the matter a great deal of thought.”

  “Not a great deal,” replied Lady Alexa Hendrie. She turned for a closer look at the colored etching hanging above the curio cabinet. “But one can’t help being mildly curious, seeing as you gentlemen take such delight in discussing such places among yourselves.”

  Her brother’s friend quickly edged himself between her and the offending print. “How the devil do you know that?” he demanded.

  Despite the gravity of their mission, Alexa felt her mouth twitch in momentary amusement. “I take it you don’t have any sisters, Captain Stiles. Otherwise, you would not be asking such a naïve question.”

  “No, by the grace of God, I do not.” Though a decorated veteran of the Peninsular Wars, he was still looking a little shell-shocked over the fact that she had outmaneuvered his objections to her accompanying him into the stews of Southwark. “Otherwise, I might have known better than to offer my help to Sebastian, no matter how dire the threat to his family.”

  Alexa bit her lip….

  “I, too, am curious.” A deep growl, as dark and smoky as the dimly lit corridor, broke the awkward silence. “Just what did you expect?”

  She spun around. Within an instant of entering The Wolf’s Lair, she and Stiles had been sequestered in a small side parlor to await an answer to the captain’s whispered message. The door had now reopened, and though shadows obscured the figure who was leaning against its molding, the flickering wall sconce illuminated the highlights in his carelessly curling hair.

  Steel on steel.

  Alexa froze as a prickling, as sharp as dagger points, danced down her spine. “Oh, something a bit less… subtle,” she replied, somehow mustering a show of outward composure. She would not—could not—allow herself to be intimidated. After taking a moment to study the muted colors and rather tasteful furnishings of the room, she returned her gaze to the etching on the wall. “By the by, is this a Frangelli?”

  “Yes.” Straightening from his slouch, the man slowly sauntered into the room. “Do you find his style to your liking?”

  She leaned in closer. “His technique is flawless.” After regarding the graphic twining of naked bodies and oversized erections for another few heartbeats, she lifted her chin. “As for the subject matter, it’s a trifle repetitive, don’t you think?”

  A low bark of laughter sounded, and then tightened to a gruff snarl as the man turned to her companion. “Are your brains in your bum, Stiles? What the devil do you mean by bringing a respectable young lady here? Your message mentioned Becton, not—”

  “It’s not the captain’s fault. I gave him no choice,” she interrupted. “I am Alexa Hendrie, Lord Becton’s sister. And you are?”

  “This isn’t a damn dowager’s drawing room, Lady Alexa Hendrie. We don’t observe the formalities of polite introductions here.” The sardonic sneer grew more pronounced. “Most of our patrons would rather remain anonymous. But if you wish a name, I am called the Irish Wolfhound.”

  “Ah.” Alexa refused to be cowed by his deliberate rudeness. “And this is your Lair?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Excellent. Then I imagine you can tell me straight off whether Sebastian is here. It is very important that I find him.”

  “I can.” His lip curled up to bare a flash of teeth. “But whether I will is quite another matter. The place would not remain in business very long were I to freely dispense such information to every outraged wife or sister who happens to barge through the door.”

  “Is it profitable?” she asked after a fraction of a pause.

  “The business?” The question seemed to take him aback, but only for an instant. “I manage to make ends meet. So to speak.”

  “Now see here, Wolf—” sputtered Stiles.

  “How very clever of you,” went on Alexa, ignoring her companion’s effort to cut off any more risqué innuendoes. Smiling sweetly, she shot a long, lingering glance at the Wolfhound’s gray-flecked hair. “I do hope the effort isn’t too taxing on your stamina.”

  “I assure you,” he replied softly, “I am quite up to the task.”

  “Bloody hell.” Stiles added another oath through his gritted teeth. “Need I remind you that the lady is a gently bred female?”

  The quicksilver eyes swung around and fixed Stiles with an unblinking stare. “Need I remind you that I am not the arse who brought her here?”

  “Would that I could forget this whole cursed nightmare of an evening.” The captain grimaced. “Trust me, neither of us would be trespassing on your hospitality if it were not a matter of the utmost urgency to find Becton—”

  “Our younger brother is in grave danger,” interrupted Alexa. “I must find Sebastian.”

  “We have reason to think he might be coming to see you,” continued Stiles. “Is he here?”

  The Wolfhound merely shrugged.

  Alexa refused to accept the beastly man’s silence. Not with her younger brother’s life hanging in the balance. “You heard what the Wolfhound said, Captain Stiles. He is running a business and doesn’t give away his precious information for free.”

  Sensing that neither tears nor appeals to his better nature—if he had one—would have any effect, she took pains to match his sarcasm. “So, how much will the information cost me?” she asked. “And be forewarned that
I don’t have much blunt, so don’t bother trying to claw an exorbitant sum out of me.”

  “I am willing to negotiate the price.” Despite the drawl, a tiny tic of his jaw marred his mask of jaded cynicism. “Kindly step outside, Stiles, so that the lady and I may have some privacy in which to strike a deal.”

  “I’m not sure, er, that is…”

  “What do you think? That I intend to toss up her skirts and feast on her virginity?” The Wolfhound looked back at her with a sardonic smile. “You are, I presume, a virgin?”

  “Presume whatever you wish,” she replied evenly. “I don’t give a damn what some flea-bitten cur chooses to think, as long as I get the information I need.”

  “Ye gods, Lady Alexa, bite your tongue,” warned Stiles in a low whisper. “You are not dealing with some lapdog. It’s dangerous to goad the Irish Wolfhound into baring his fangs.”

  Dangerous. Another touch of ice-cold steel tickled against her flesh. Or was it fire? Something about the lean, lithe Wolfhound had her feeling both hot and cold.

  Stiles tried to take her arm, but she slipped out of reach.

  “I really must insist—” began the captain.

  “Out, Stiles,” ordered the Wolfhound as he moved a step closer to her.

  Alexa stood firm in the face of his approach. Oh, yes, beneath the finely tailored evening clothes was a dangerous predator, all sleek muscle and coiled power. And ready to pounce. But she was not afraid.

  “You may do as he says, Captain. I am quite capable of fending for myself.”

  Stiles hesitated, and then reluctantly turned for the hallway. “Very well. But I will be right outside, in case you need me,” he muttered. “You have five minutes. Then, come hell or high water, we are leaving.”

  “Do you always ignore sensible advice, Lady Alexa?” asked the Wolfhound, once the door latch had clicked shut.

  “I often ignore what men consider to be sensible advice.” The gray-flecked hair was deceiving, she decided. Up close, it was plain that the Wolfhound was a man not much above thirty. “There is a difference between the two, though someone as arrogant as you would undoubtedly fail to recognize it.”