by Olivia Drake
“Look!” Bane said, still peering out the window.
Paying the boy no heed, Colin slashed his hand downward. “Let her think what she will. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Bah,” Hannah said. “Does she even know how much you love her?”
“An’ don’t deny ye do,” Tudge added. “Ye been a grouch an’ we ain’t ’ad a moment o’ peace around ’ere.”
Damn it, they were right. He ought to go see Portia. He’d grovel at her feet if it meant winning her back. Because the prospect of losing her forever made him want to throw back his head and howl.
Bane tugged on Colin’s coat. “Yer lordship.”
“What is it?” he snapped.
By way of answer, the boy opened the front door. Portia stood on the stoop, her hand raised to knock.
Colin’s heart thumped in powerful strokes. He stood frozen, certain he must be hallucinating. She was a vision of beauty, her dainty features accentuated by a straw bonnet with a ribbon tied beneath her chin, and her luscious curves hugged by a bronze-hued pelisse.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Was that Arun’s coach I just saw driving off?”
Colin had to cudgel his brain into speaking. “Yes.”
Her blue eyes grew enormous. “Then … you wrote to me before you saw him. You didn’t accept the jewels just now, did you?”
“Hell, no! Do you truly think I would take a bribe in exchange for you?”
“Of course not. I never wanted to think that at all.”
Portia experienced a relief so vast it made her knees weak. He made her fears and worries seem so ridiculous. How could she have doubted him even for one instant?
She knew the answer to that. Because she was so afraid to find out that he didn’t love her as tremendously and completely as she loved him.
Ratcliffe stared at her transfixed, his gaze naked with a yearning that took her breath away. How heartening to know he hadn’t been paid off, after all. He must have relinquished her of his own accord—because he thought she preferred Arun.
She couldn’t let him go on holding that mistaken impression.
Stepping forward, she placed her hand on his arm, taking pleasure in the strength of his muscles. “Invite me inside, Ratcliffe.”
He seemed to snap out of his reverie. “As you wish.”
He allowed her to pass, and she entered the foyer to find herself facing an audience. Hannah Wilton and Orson Tudge stood beaming, while Bane threw his arms around her. Pleased to see him looking so well, she hugged him tightly in return.
“You should offer to take her bonnet and wrap,” Hannah said in a loud whisper.
“Oh.” Bane scratched his mop of dark hair and looked up at her. “Er … may I take yer things, miss?”
“Why, thank you.”
Ratcliffe helped her slip out of the pelisse, and the brush of his fingers sent frissons of excitement over her skin. She removed her bonnet and then patted her hair, nervous and wanting to look perfect. Then Ratcliffe whisked her down the corridor and into a rather shabby drawing room. He closed the door, and they stood staring at each other.
He was so tall and handsome, so perfect in her eyes. It seemed impossible that she had ever scorned him, impossible that she had once believed him to be an incorrigible rogue. Now he had become the most important person in her life, and a rush of emotion squeezed her throat.
“Ratcliffe …”
“No,” he said, holding up his hand. “Allow me to speak first. I’ve been a fool, Portia, the worst kind of fool. I was willing to concede to Arun’s prior claim on you. But the truth is, I won’t let you go so easily. I can’t let you go. No other woman could ever make me feel even half as happy as you do.” He closed the distance between them and took firm hold of her hands. “I love you so much.”
The declaration fulfilled her most fervent dream. And yet she couldn’t let him off so easily. “That was a dreadful note you sent to me. You ought to have spoken to me in person.”
“Damn that letter! I was a coward, afraid to face the pain of seeing you again. But I intend to fight for you, Portia. Because I can’t bear to lose you.”
“You never lost me. I love you, too, Ratcliffe. With all my heart.”
The awestruck look on his face filled her with an incredible joy. Then they were in each other’s arms, kissing with a passion made all the sweeter by the strength of their devotion to each other. Nothing had ever felt as right as this moment, knowing that he shared the depth of her feelings. She wanted to swoon from the bliss of it.
When at last she could speak again, she traced her fingertip over his chiseled lips. “Henceforth, you’ll no longer be a menace to the ladies of society. I intend to make very certain of that.”
“Minx.” The adoration in his green eyes answered all of her heartfelt hopes, while the caress of his hands on her hips lured her thoughts to a more carnal happiness. “And I intend to make certain you never look at any other man but me.”
About Rouge:
Rouge is a new romance imprint for Ebury Publishing, part of the Random House group. Launched in September 2011, we will be releasing at least four new titles a month in a variety of categories including paranormal romance, regency, romantic suspense and contemporary romance. To find out more about Rouge go to:
www.rougeromance.co.uk
Available this month from Rouge Romance:
TO PLEASURE A LADY by Nicole Jordan
Marcus Pierce, a strikingly handsome aristocrat, inherits guardianship of Arabella Loring and her two younger sisters – and declares his intention to marry them off. But after matching both wits and swords with defiant Arabella, Marcus concludes that this beautiful foe must be his. Having sworn off marriage, Arabella boldly accepts Marcus’s intimate challenge: If he can woo her within two weeks, she’ll take her place in his bed as his wife. But if she can resist, the Loring sisters will be granted their longed-for independence.
ENGAGED IN SIN by Sharon Page
Poised Anne Beddington is on the run for a crime she didn’t commit. Anne is penniless, alone, and needs a powerful gentleman’s protection, so she must seduce the notorious Duke of March, Devon Audley. War has left Devon a recluse and the sinfully handsome duke insists that intimate delights must be a two-way street – he intends to spend endless erotic hours uncovering Anne’s secrets. But when he finds out about the devious plot to brand her a villainess, will saving Anne become his salvation?
GODDESS OF THE HUNT by Tessa Dare
The first title in Tessa Dare’s ‘Wanton’ trilogy
Bold adventuress Lucy Waltham has decided to go hunting for a husband, but first she needs some target practice. She decides to hone her seductive wiles on her brother’s best friend, Jeremy Trescott, Earl of Kendall. But her practice kisses spark a smouldering passion… Jeremy has an influential title, a vast fortune, and a past full of long-buried secrets. He keeps a safe distance from his own emotions, but when scandal breaks, can he bring himself to abandon Lucy to her ruin? Or will he risk his heart and claim her for his own?
SET THE DARK ON FIRE by Jill Sorenson
Shay Phillips knows her way around Dark Canyon. She’s handy with a gun and can track a wild animal with the best of them. It’s humans who usually give her the most trouble. Then there’s the matter of the murder… Together with the town’s newly arrived sheriff, Luke Meza – a city boy with his own dark secrets – Shay must navigate a dangerous valley filled with angry ex-lovers, unfaithful spouses, and poisonous snakes to find the killer.
SINFUL MAGIC by Jennifer Lyon
A Wing Slayer novel
Witch Roxy Banfield is determined to become mortal. All she has to do is avoid meeting the one man who can release her powers. Wing Slayer Hunter and artist Kieran “Key” DeMicca finds himself drawing images of a young woman in peril. When he meets Roxy, he is struck by her resemblance to his sketches and feels compelled to protect her. As steamy magic and timeless love collide, Roxy must become what she swore she would never be �
� and awaken a part of Key that could destroy them both.
UNLEASHING THE STORM by Sydney Croft
The second novel in this blisteringly hot paranormal series
There’s a storm rising. Electricity crackles in the air. For Kira Donovan, it’s that time of year again: when the need floods her flesh, when almost any man will do, but the bigger and stronger the better. For Kira, an animal psychic, the heat is a matter of life and death, and this year it has come at just the right time. Tom Knight, a natural-born predator, has arrived at her isolated Idaho farm – for reasons of his own…
Red–hot romance…
www.rougeromance.co.uk
Never Trust
a Rogue
Chapter 1
FEMALES WERE NOTHING but trouble.
Handing the reins of his mount to a groom, Thane Pallister, the Earl of Mansfield, braced himself for the inevitable scene to come. He’d had plenty of time on the long ride from London to Oxfordshire to contrive an explanation for his uncle about his current predicament with the fairer sex.
Twelve years had passed since Thane had returned to the manor house where he had spent his youth. When he’d left here for good at the age of eighteen, he had come to despise this old pile with every fiber of his being. It had been more a prison than a home to him.
Yet, as he peeled off his riding gloves, he was surprised by a pang of nostalgia. On this unseasonably sunny March day, the place looked so … ordinary.
Neatly manicured boxwoods framed the front of the Elizabethan house. The tall edifice was fashioned of brick and timbers with mullioned windows that reflected the blue sky. As his gaze traveled upward, the steep roof with its myriad chimneys sparked a flash of memory.
A long time ago, he had clambered over those slate tiles while his cousin Edward had cowered by the stairs leading down to the servants’ attic. On a whim, Thane had lowered himself feet-first into one of the chimneys. He must have had some vague notion of bracing himself on the sides and then popping back out to frighten his cousin. Instead, Thane had lost his traction, plunged down the dark shaft, and landed in the library, covered from head to toe in soot.
Luckily, it had been summer and no fire had blazed in the grate. But he had startled Uncle Hugo at his reading, and the prank had earned Thane a thrashing with the dreaded willow switch.
Back then, he’d had a knack for getting into trouble. He had been too fidgety to focus on his schoolwork, too keen on escaping the confines of four walls, too ready to commit any act of willfulness in order to break the boredom of routine. Thank God, maturity and military discipline had granted him the ability to control his impulses.
At least most of the time.
Stuffing his leather gloves into the pockets of his greatcoat, he headed up the granite steps. The double oak doors, carved with matching crosses, had once graced the chapel of a monastery. It felt odd to approach the house as a visitor when, as a lad, he had been forbidden use of the front entrance.
A footman in dark green livery answered Thane’s knock. He didn’t recognize the smooth, impassive features beneath the formal white wig and wondered what had happened to Sewell, the old butler with the hatchet face, who had borne Thane’s tomfoolery with stoic fortitude.
The footman took in his fine garb at a glance and stepped back to allow him entry. “Welcome to Waverly Park.”
“Is my uncle at home?” Thane asked, stepping into the dim-lit great hall. “Tell him Mansfield has come to call.”
The footman’s blue eyes bugged slightly in recognition, for he would have heard of the master’s renegade nephew. “Yes, my lord. If you’ll be so good as to wait in the antechamber.”
The servant indicated a room to the right, then hastened down the long corridor that led to the back of the house. Apparently, Uncle Hugo still spent his days ensconced in the library. Old habits died hard.
Thane stripped off his greatcoat and tossed it over a chair. After being confined to the saddle since the crack of dawn, he had no intention of sitting like a stodgy squire in a room that had last been decorated during the reign of Queen Anne. He had too much on his mind, and a pressing need to return to London as soon as he was done here.
A feeling of restiveness crept over him. He had sworn never to return to this house. Only a sense of obligation and a summons from his uncle had lured him back. Whatever their differences in the past, he owed Uncle Hugo the courtesy of an explanation. It would have been the act of a coward to do so by letter.
Thane took a measured stroll around the entrance hall. Little had changed here. The oak-paneled walls still displayed medieval shields and paintings so darkened with soot and age, it was difficult to discern the subject matter. A suit of armor stood on a dais beneath the curve of the staircase.
He walked closer to the display. There was a dent in the breastplate exactly where he remembered it. A long time ago, he had stood on a stool, plucked off the helmet and stuck it on his head, and then chased Edward around the hall. Unfortunately, the narrow eye slits had impaired Thane’s vision, and he’d crashed into the suit of armor, knocking it down. The deafening clatter had brought the entire household at a run.
A flicker of humor quirked Thane’s mouth. How well he recalled tearing around here like a demon on the rare occasions when his uncle was away from home. It had been sheer joy to slide in his stockinged feet on the marble floor. He had thrived on the danger of being caught. To sit placidly reading had never held any interest to him.
At last the servant returned with the news that the master would see him in the library. Thane headed down the long passageway, his footsteps sharp and decisive. He wanted this interview over with and done, like a dose of bitter medicine that must be swallowed.
Reaching the end of the corridor, he turned left and entered a spacious chamber with orderly rows of leather-bound books filling the floor-to-ceiling shelves. A fire hissed on the hearth. Beside it, his uncle sat in a nut-brown wing chair, his feet propped on a fringed stool and crossed at the ankles.
The shrunken quality to him caught Thane by surprise. The years had not been kind to the Honorable Hugo Pallister, younger twin brother of Thane’s late father. The familiar gray wig sat on Hugo’s head, for he held stubbornly to the fashion of his youth. Deep grooves flanked his down-turned mouth, giving him a perpetual sour frown.
He looked up from the book in his lap as Thane approached. No smile of greeting graced his uncle’s thin lips, nor had Thane expected one. Those pale blue eyes, underscored by baggy skin, had a sunken look, although they were as sharply observant as ever.
If Hugo noticed the disfiguring scar from the saber cut on Thane’s cheek, he gave no indication. Thane didn’t doubt his uncle still harbored resentment at being foisted with the care of his young nephew upon the death of Thane’s parents all those years ago.
Some things never changed.
Thane inclined his head in a slight bow. “Hello, Uncle. It’s been quite a long while since last we met.”
“Indeed.” Hugo clapped the book shut and set it aside. “And whose fault is that? I should not have been obliged to summon you here. You have been back in England for a month now, yet you did not deign to call upon me at once.”
“Five weeks,” Thane corrected. “I returned from Belgium in the middle of February.” And a bitterly cold and uncomfortable journey it had been, burdened as he was with a petulant female in tow.
His uncle waved a gnarled hand. “All the more reason to chastise you. Now, fetch me a whiskey. And I suppose you’ll want refreshment yourself.”
Clenching his jaw, Thane went to the side table and poured two glasses from the decanter. There was a grudging tone to his uncle’s voice, but that was only to be expected. Hugo was a pinchpenny who didn’t part easily with his favorite Scotch malt.
Thane delivered the drink, then took up a stance by the fire, resting his forearm on the oak mantelpiece. He had no wish to turn this into a social visit, yet the politeness drilled into him by a long-ago governess induce
d him to say, “You’re looking well, Uncle. How have you been?”
“I suffer from gout and rheumatism, as you’d know if ever you’d bothered to send me a note of inquiry. All these years, and nary a word from you. Why, I never had even a notion of where you were garrisoned.”
Surely, Hugo hadn’t expected him to write as if they were loving relatives. The thought startled Thane for a moment before he rejected it as ludicrous.
He took a sip, letting the whiskey burn down his throat. His uncle still wielded complaints like a broadsword. He’d had no real interest in hearing from the nephew who had been a thorn in his side. If Hugo truly had wanted to keep in touch, he could have tracked Thane down through the Home Office.
He’d certainly had no trouble nosing out the news of Thane’s return—and the circumstances surrounding it.
“Do forgive me,” Thane said with a touch of irony. “But I was busy serving the king.”
“It is not the role of a peer to fight wars. You shirked your duties by running off to follow the drum. The proper place for a man of your rank is here in this country, watching over your estates and taking your rightful seat in Parliament.”
The military had been a hard life, surviving cold and mud and limited supplies, enduring the fall of comrades on the battlefield, yet Thane had no regrets. To have chosen the safe, boring existence would have been anathema to his temperament. “I didn’t come today to quarrel about the past. Rather, I felt you deserved an explanation in regard to my ward.”
“Indeed I do. Your behavior has been a disgrace.” Hugo slapped his palm on the arm of the chair. “As head of this family, I must chastise you for harboring an innocent young lady in your household. Have you no sense of decency at all?”
