by Darcy Burke
A Rogue to Ruin
Darcy Burke
Contents
A Rogue to Ruin
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Also by Darcy Burke
About the Author
A Rogue to Ruin
Copyright © 2021 Darcy Burke
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781637260005
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Book design: © Darcy Burke.
Book Cover Design © The Midnight Muse.
Cover image © Period Images.
Darcy Burke Font Design © Carrie Divine/Seductive Designs
Editing: Linda Ingmanson.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Created with Vellum
A Rogue to Ruin
The Pretenders
Set in the world of The Untouchables, indulge in the saga of a trio of siblings who excel at being something they’re not. Can a dauntless Bow Street Runner, a devastated viscount, and a disillusioned Society miss unravel their secrets?
A Rogue to Ruin
Anne Pemberton was one of the Season’s most popular young misses until her betrothed was arrested for extortion at their wedding. Now a social pariah, she can’t help but think back to the dashing gentleman she met before the Season started. Though they spent several afternoons exploring East London together, they never disclosed their names. They did, however, share a kiss, and Anne can’t forget it—or him.
Former thief Rafe Blackwell is now a respectable gentleman with one goal: to take down the man who murdered his parents. Reunited with Anne, their attraction still blazes strong, and he can’t let her get too close, for his heart is forever cold and his mission too desperate. But when Anne seeks to save him—both emotionally and physically—he’ll have to embrace the darkness or risk losing the only light he’s ever known.
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Darcy’s Duchesses for historical readers
Burke’s Book Lovers for contemporary readers
Prologue
Late February 1819
London
Scandal had nothing to do with following the rules and everything to do with getting caught. This was the code by which Anne Pemberton lived and the rationale she used to spend two hours every week tucked into a corner at Hatchard’s with a veil over her face while her “chaperone” was elsewhere.
Where that was, Anne never asked, nor did she want to know. She certainly wasn’t going to contribute to her godfather’s daughter—her godsister?—getting caught.
Anne also didn’t care. Not when it allowed her a reprieve from the demands of her parents and an escape into another world. Not the bookstore, but the books themselves. Though she was a fast reader, she wasn’t able to finish a story in one sitting. Perhaps she ought to stretch her visits to three hours. Would Deborah mind?
Distracted briefly from the book resting on her lap and tucked beneath her long veil, Anne refocused her energy. The Fast of St. Magdalen was not as enthralling as she’d hoped, which was unfortunate since The Hungarian Brothers was one of her most favorite stories.
“Back again, eh?”
The masculine voice invaded Anne’s mind and space. She closed the book on her forefinger and turned her head slightly toward whomever had interrupted her.
There were two young men, so she didn’t know which had spoken. Both were of average height and girth, dressed in rather average costumes, and in possession of utterly…average features. Though she supposed the one on the right had a rather long nose.
Anne chose to ignore them. Turning her head back, she reopened her book and found her place once more.
One of them coughed. Then they moved. Their legs were now visible beyond her book. Though Anne had taken care to angle her chair somewhat toward the corner, she’d stopped short of sitting actually in the corner for fear that would look bizarre and potentially invite notice when she was doing everything in her ability to escape it.
“What are you hiding beneath your veil?” one of them asked.
Anne looked up from the book and scowled at them, though they wouldn’t be able to see her expression. “A hideous visage,” she snapped. “Now, if you’ll be on your way, I prefer my solitude.”
“Hideous?” Long-nose glanced askance at his friend. “Sounds intriguing. I think we should have a look.”
“And I think you should be on your way.” The suggestion, low and deceptively pleasant, came from a third man. His tone was deceptive because the look in his eyes was unmistakably malevolent—even Anne could see it through the gauze of her veil.
She shivered.
Regular-nose pivoted and looked at the new man, who was incredibly tall and impeccably dressed. “Just who are you, her father?”
“Who I am is of no concern to you, and neither is this woman. Move along before I’m forced to help you do so.” He took a step toward the younger men.
Whether it was due to his imposing height or his menacing glare or his ominous tone or the nasty scar across his lower lip and chin that marred his otherwise strikingly handsome face, the men abruptly walked away.
Anne exhaled. “Thank you.” She eyed him warily. “What do you want?”
“Nothing. It seemed they were bothering you. I only sought to provide assistance.”
True relief made her breathe even easier. “I appreciate that. I believed a corner at Hatchard’s to be a safe place to avoid interruption.”
“Particularly when you’ve angled yourself away from everyone and you’re wearing a veil.” The edge of his mouth ticked up, but only briefly. So quickly, in fact, that she wondered if she’d been mistaken. “Would you like me to remain? I won’t disturb you.”
“Are you offering to be my bodyguard?” Anne turned so she faced him.
“I suppose I am.”
“I should decline, but if you have a book to read…” She inclined her head toward the one in his hand. “You’re welcome to join me. Is there another chair?” She looked about.
“I’ll fetch one.” He returned a few moments later, hefting a chair by the back with one hand. Setting it near hers so that he mostly blocked her from the rest of the room, he sat down.
Not only was he tall, but he was muscular in a thoroughly masculine way that differed from most men she’d met. Not that she’d met terribly many as of yet. Her Season was just getting under way.
Through her veil, she made out the aquiline planes of his face, the piercing blue of his eyes, and the lush sweep of his lips. The lower one was bisected by a scar that cut down into his chin. It was pale, indicating the injury had occurred some time ago.
“That must have hurt,” she said without thinking. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He touched his mouth and chin, his gloved finger sweeping down over the scar. “This? Yes. But it happened a lifetime ago.”
A lifetime was a very long measure. But she suspected he was quite a bit older than her twenty-two years. He was at least thirty, if not older. Aside from his appearance, he carried a weight and…almost weariness about him that suggested lived experience. Anne possessed none of those things.
He opened his book. Apparently, they were just going to read. And why wouldn’t they? That was what she’d come to do, and she’d invited him to join her. Except now that he was here, she was consumed with curiosity and something more visceral. It was as if she couldn’t look away from him.
“Are you going to read?” he asked, his deep voice settling into her with a delicious comfort that was akin to burrowing into a warm, soft bed.
“Yes.” She tipped her gaze back to her book and tried to find her place. Eventually, she got there; however as she listened to him turn one page and then two, she realized she wasn’t reading but just staring at the words.
And stealing covert glances in his direction.
This went on for some time. Anne began to turn pages, but she still wasn’t reading them. She wanted to talk to him, but every time she started to, she pressed her lips together.
“You aren’t reading, are you?” He didn’t look up from his book.
“How could you tell?”
“You just turned three pages in such rapid succession that I must question the speed at which you can read. Especially since prior to that, you were hardly turning pages at all.”
Anne smiled beneath her veil. He’d been paying as much attention to her as she was to him. “I’d rather talk to you. Do you come here to read often? Most people come to purchase a book—or books—and leave.”
“That is what I typically do, yes,” he said rather drily. “You come here to read, however?”
“Every week. Or at least, every week since I arrived in London a month ago.”
“You’re here for the Season?”
“I am. Are you?”
“I live here. All the time.”
“Do you like it? I find London exciting and wonderful—not that I’ve been allowed to see much of it.” She knew she sounded wistful and perhaps disgruntled.
“What would you like to see?”
It seemed a genuine question. Nevertheless, she asked, “You truly want to know?”
“I do.”
Anne considered what to reveal and ultimately decided to be honest. If he judged her poorly, so be it. “Covent Garden. I love to watch people, and it sounds like a fascinating place to do so.”
He tipped his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You are here for the Season and your costume is of high quality, so you must be a Society miss. You’re wearing a veil, the reason for which is apparently due to some hideousness. However, if you are here for the Season, I can’t imagine there’s anything hideous about you.”
There was no stopping the blush that rushed to Anne’s face, but he couldn’t see it anyway.
“Yet you are hiding beneath a veil by yourself—apparently every week—at Hatchard’s. Where is your chaperone?”
“I don’t need one.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “You see, I’ve a bodyguard instead.”
His lips spread slowly into a wide grin. “You’ve a bit of sauce,” he whispered. “I like that.”
Anne’s breath caught as she stared into his eyes. He looked back at her, but with the veil between them, it wasn’t the same. “What about you? You are also finely dressed. Have I netted an earl as my bodyguard?”
His gaze was unwavering as his smile faded. “You have not.” There was an edge to his answer that sent a shiver down her spine. “I think perhaps we should remain anonymous—since you are expending such effort to hide your identity.”
“People frown on Society misses who don’t have chaperones and only bodyguards.”
“They do. Your effort is commendable. You will be back here next week, then?”
“I shall.”
“Wear your simplest gown. We’ll go to Covent Garden.”
“I only have two hours.” Anne didn’t want to explain further. She liked the idea of anonymity almost as much as she liked the idea of him taking her to Covent Garden. A forbidden excitement embraced her.
“It will be a swift tour, then,” he said. “But I promise it will be enjoyable.”
Of that, Anne had no doubt.
One week later…
After meeting at Hatchard’s, Lord Bodyguard—which was the name Anne had given the gentleman—escorted her into his cabriolet and drove them to Covent Garden. Rather, near to Covent Garden, since they left the vehicle in the charge of Lord Bodyguard’s tiger while they made their way to the square.
“I think I was right to call you Lord Bodyguard,” Anne said as she took his arm.
He turned his head, his brows elevating in surprise. “Lord Bodyguard?”
She arched a shoulder. “You seem wealthy.”
“Not all nobles are wealthy,” he said with a slight laugh. “And not all wealthy men are noble.”
“You’re also imposing.” And intelligent and witty.
“Not all nobles are imposing.” The disdain in his tone spoke volumes. “I told you I wasn’t an earl.”
She waved her hand before he could respond. “I don’t care. You’re firmly Lord Bodyguard in my mind.”
He flashed a brief smile. “Then I shall be Lord Bodyguard.”
“What do you call me?”
“I don’t.”
Anne felt a prick of disappointment.
“What should I call you?” he asked as they walked into the square.
Her attention was instantly drawn to the people bustling about, the booths and wagons selling produce, food, and goods, the façade of St. Paul’s Church. They were utterly quiet as he squired her around the square. She took in every sight and sound, but by the time they reached St. Paul’s, she was beyond weary of her veil.
Pushing the gauze up, she flipped it back over her the brim of her hat and exhaled. “Much better.”
“Much.”
Anne turned her head to see him staring at her, his gaze shining with appreciation. She couldn’t look away. His eyes, a brilliant blue, were the most unusual she’d ever beheld. There was a bright orange mark in the right one, as if there was a fire burning within him that couldn’t be contained.
“Miss Dazzling,” he said softly, answering the question he’d posed several minutes before.
Dazzling. She’d been called beautiful, charming, graceful, but never dazzling.
“I think I’d better be Missus. For appearances’ sake.”
He smiled. “To be clear, I won’t be calling you that out loud.”
Just in his mind, as she called him Lord Bodyguard in hers. She tightened her hold on his arm. “What shall we do?”
“Finish exploring the square, and then I’m taking you for oysters.”
Anne had heard from her older sister that some men ate oysters daily to support their reputation as lotharios. She looked at him askance as they continued their circuit. “Why oysters?”
“Because that’s what the restaurant is known for. Have you had them?”
“I have not. I must admit they look rather disgusting.”
He paused and turned to look at her. “Do you trust me?”
She pressed her fingertips into his sleeve. “I do.”
Two weeks later…
“What manner of sea delicacy do you have in store for me today?” Anne asked as they walked along bustling Paternoster Row near St. Paul’s Cathedral. Booksellers and publishers lined the street. “I do hope it’s better than last week’s caviar,”
Lord Bodyguard sent her a warm, teasing smile. “You liked the oysters on our first excursion.”
She squeezed his a
rm. “I did, but the caviar in Cheapside last week was not to my taste.” She pulled a face. The rest of the afternoon had been wonderful. Cheapside was a bustling area with all manner of shops and so many people. Anne could have gleefully gone there again this week.
Before she’d met Lord Bodyguard, she’d looked forward to her quiet reading time at Hatchard’s. But the time she spent with him was far more thrilling. This wasn’t just the highlight of her week. Recalling their afternoons together and anticipating their next adventure had come to consume almost every one of her thoughts.
With each meeting, they revealed more of themselves, but not too much. While she still didn’t know his name, she knew he loved books and was building a library in his new house, did not like to ride, which had shocked her, and that oysters were among his favorite things to eat. She’d been surprised to find she didn’t hate them, but that was perchance because of how much fun she’d had with him. Learning to suck the oyster out of the shell had taken effort and patience, and the process had come with a great deal of laughter, as well as a thrilling sense of awareness. Just recalling the way Lord Bodyguard had watched her, his lids heavy and his eyes dark, made her shiver.
Another gentleman waved at Lord Bodyguard from one of the publishing houses they passed. They’d already stopped to speak with two booksellers.
“You spend a good portion of time on this street,” she remarked. “Your love of books is perhaps greater than you let on.”
