Married to the Rake
Samantha Holt
Table of 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
© 2019 Samantha Holt
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
Edited by Dom’s Proofreading
Proofed by Destini Reece and Em Petrova
Cover art by Midnight Muse Designs
Chapter One
Chloe closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, drawing in the musty scent of pages bound with leather. She opened them to find Joanna peering at her. “What is it?”
Joanna chuckled. “This is the happiest I have seen you all week.”
“It is the happiest I’ve been all week,” Chloe said with a grin. “I am utterly ready for the season to be over.”
Their friend Augusta joined them, a book in hand. “Unless you find a husband this year, you shall still have to come back for the next season.” She pointed out.
Chloe grimaced. “If my mother has anything to do with it, I will come back for the next season, then the next then the next, and the next, even when I am competing with girls at least ten years my junior.”
Augusta gave a little shudder. “I do not envy you one jot. I am so grateful to be done with the season.” She sighed. “Well, I hope I am done with the Season.”
Chloe pursed her lips, uncertain what to say.
Unfortunately, Augusta had been engaged for over two years now, and her fiancé was travelling the world with little regard for her--or for setting a date. No one knew when he would return, and it was beginning to look like he never would, but Augusta could not call off the engagement. If she did, no man would touch her again.
Chloe rather liked the idea of men avoiding her, but Augusta was more the romantic sort, and she deserved a man who truly loved her.
The delicate brunette shrugged a shoulder. “I am sure Henry shall return soon. He cannot stay away forever.”
Chloe shared a look with Joanna. It was one of annoyance, though not at Augusta. Both of them were angry at Henry for leaving their friend for so long. Chloe had never met the man or, if she had, she hardly remembered him. She and Augusta had only become friends this Season, after half of their acquaintances had married. The three of them were the few remaining wallflowers left.
Though, calling Joanna a wallflower was a bit of a stretch. The elegant, fair-haired woman was only part of their friendship group due to her recently being widowed. Were it not for her status, she would likely be engaged already. As soon as her mourning time was up, Chloe was convinced she would remarry, but Joanna showed little interest in finding another husband. She supposed she could not blame her, especially when her husband died so suddenly and after such a short marriage.
“If I were you, I would jump on a boat and drag the man back to England,” Chloe declared as she ran her finger down the gold lettering on the spine of one of the books.
Joanna shook her head. “You would not.”
“Well, I would think very seriously about it.”
Augusta sighed heavily. “I am certain he will return home soon.”
“You just said that,” pointed out Chloe.
“Then it must be true.” Augusta lifted her chin, but Chloe spotted the resignation in her eyes.
Chloe hated to be blunt—well, she did not hate to be blunt as such—but she hated to upset her friend. However, Augusta needed to face the truth soon. Sitting and waiting around for Henry was not working. She needed to do something. Chloe was not certain what but there had to be something that could be done to persuade Henry to come home. Even her family seemed unconcerned about the time passed. Someone had to do something!
She really wished Augusta would be brave enough and just—
“Blast!” Chloe dashed behind a shelf of books and ducked down low.
“Whatever are you doing?” asked Joanna, parting the books so she could talk to Chloe through them.
“Shhhh. I am not here.”
A golden brow rose. “You look here.”
Chloe waved a hand. “Go away. Pretend I’m not here.”
Augusta peered through the gap too, pressing her cheek against Joanna’s. “What is going on?”
Joanna rolled her eyes. “Chloe is hiding for some reason.”
“Stop talking to me,” hissed Chloe. “He will see me.”
“Who?” Joanna turned to look around the bookshop.
Chloe ducked all the way down as Mr. Brook Waverley made his way through the bookstore. She sucked in a deep breath and held it. With any luck, he would not come around the bookshelves. What was the man doing here anyway? Mr. Waverley was no reader. The man was a rake and a rogue and he certainly was too busy seducing innocent women to find time for reading.
She crouched deeper and could hear her friends muttering between themselves about her behavior. Because her friends were so new, they did not know of her relationship with Mr. Waverley.
If it could be called a relationship. Loathing a person did not count as one, did it?
Aware of her heart pounding in her ears, she governed her breath as though he might hear them rasping in her chest. Dare she risk a peek? Had he already gone? Damn him for invading the one place where she could find solace. She loathed London and all that it entailed but this bookshop almost made it worthwhile.
Slowly, she rose.
“Miss Larkin?”
Chloe screamed, dropping the few books she was hugging. One landed on her foot and she hissed out a mild curse. She spun in the direction of the voice and scowled. “Look what you made me do.”
A dark brow rose. Mr. Waverley ran his gaze up and down her, making her feel as though she were a show horse ready for sale. No, make that a cow. A clumsy, awkward, fat cow. Somehow, Brook Waverley always made her feel like that.
She was no society beauty with her generous curves and raven hair that had a tendency to wash out her pale skin but she was certainly not a clumsy, awkward, fat cow. However, with the way he looked at her at present, she was almost tempted to let out a loud moo.
“I only greeted you, Miss Larkin. I am not sure I can be blamed for you dropping your books.”
“You startled me.”
His generous lips curved to one side. She didn’t like how her gaze fell upon them. He would take it as though she was interested in him. Which could not be further from the truth. He was precisely the sort of man she loathed. One like Augusta’s Henry who could not be trusted to stick to a commitment. Tales of Mr. Waverley’s exploits were rife amongst society and she had never seen anything to contradict those stories.
“Perhaps if you had not been hiding, you would not have been startled.” His green eyes sparkled with amusement.
She curled a fist at her side. Why did this man always have to t
aunt her so? He seemed to take great delight in riling her whenever they met. It should not happen often but, unfortunately, their family’s estates were next to one another. The families were far from friends but naturally meetings did occur because of their proximity to one another.
Chloe lifted her chin. “I was not hiding.” She glanced down at the spilled books. “I was, uh, looking for a book.”
“More books? Surely you have enough books to last you a lifetime.”
“Only someone who is ill read would make such a comment.”
Instead of annoying him, her insult seemed to amuse him further. Creases appeared around his green eyes. Mr. Waverley was only a year her senior but he had a worldly look to him. That was likely because he had hopped from bed to bed all around the country. If the most recent rumors were correct, he had been bedding a Spanish contessa. All those nights in various women’s arms had probably taught him much about the world.
Not that she was envious, of course. She could think of better ways of learning about the world. Through books, perhaps.
“Here, let me help you.” Mr. Waverley crouched down to gather the books she’d dropped.
“Oh no.” She lowered to her knees. “That’s really not necessary.” The last thing she wanted was a Waverley to do her a favor. It would never be forgotten.
She reached for a book and her hand covered his. A strange heat burst up her arm and she snatched her hand back, feeling the heat flow into her cheeks. Shooting to her feet, her eyes blurred, her head feeling woozy for a faint moment. Two strong hands grabbed her arms.
Chloe blinked. That same heat radiated from his fingertips pressing gently into her arms.
“Careful, Miss Larkin. I would not want to see you come to harm.” His words were warm and teasing. She did not like them one bit.
“That is a lie,” she spat.
His lips quirked again. “I am no liar. And despite the history between our families, I have no ill will toward you.”
Opening her mouth then closing it again, she searched around for her friends. Joanna caught her eye and gave a subtle nod. Hastening over, Joanna took her arm and created some distance between her and Mr. Waverley. In an instant, the heat began to dissipate from her body.
“Chloe, it is high time we left. We have much to do,” Joanna said sweetly.
Augusta nodded vigorously. “Oh yes,” she said stiffly. “We must dash.”
Chloe did not even bid Mr. Waverley a farewell as she hastened out of the entrance to the shop, accompanied by Augusta and Joanna on either side. Once they were out onto the pavement and at the corner of the road, Joanna pulled Chloe to a halt.
“Now that we have escaped, can you tell us why on earth you are so uncomfortable around that man?” Joanna asked.
Chloe glanced between both of her friends. She did not mind speaking on family matters and she trusted both of these women but it was a long, ridiculous tale. She hooked her arm into both of theirs and led them over to Regent’s Park, just opposite the bookshop. There, they could sit and hopefully avoid Mr. Waverley as he exited the bookshop. She grimaced to herself. She had not even managed to purchase her books and now she would have nothing to read until she returned to the country.
Sinking onto the bench, she waited until Joanna and Grace were settled and gave a light cough. “That was Mr. Waverley. Of the Waverley’s of Pembroke.”
“Ah. I have heard of Mr. Waverley. Talk of his attractiveness was not wrong.” Joanna gave a sly smile.
Augusta leaned forward. “There is also talk of him being quite the rake.”
“It is true,” said Chloe. “He is all of that and more.”
Joanna eyed her. “Is that why you wish to avoid him?”
Chloe snorted. “I’m not scared of a rake. I know I have nothing that might appeal to a rake.”
“That is not—”
Chloe waved a hand at Augusta. She was sweet and kind and thought the best of everyone—even blasted Henry. But Chloe did not need flattery right now. She knew full well Mr. Waverley would never be interested in someone like her. He preferred the exotic types and confident widows like Joanna. In fact, she was surprised Joanna had not been approached by him instead. If he knew Joanna was newly widowed, he would surely offer a shoulder to cry on.
“The Waverleys are our neighbors,” Chloe explained. “It is an extremely long story but to put it briefly—the Waverleys hate us and we hate the Waverleys.”
“Hate?” Augusta echoed. “That seems an awfully strong word.”
Chloe lifted her shoulders. “I believe we have hated them since around the thirteenth century. And every few decades we get into another argument about something else. The Waverleys are utterly unreasonable.”
“Hated them since the thirteenth century?” Augusta shook her head. “That seems an awfully long time to hold onto a grudge.”
“Ah, but my family will tell you it is no grudge. There is a boundary dispute between the families and the Waverleys will not concede even though we are right.”
“You are certain of that?” asked Joanna.
Chloe nodded. “I have seen the records. Though I do not think it was always the boundary line that was the issue. A great, great, great great-grandfather at some point did something and we have never agreed with them on anything since.”
“Well, if he is as much of a rake and as disagreeable as you say, it is best we avoid him altogether,” Augusta declared. “He is certainly not the sort of man a young woman wants to be seen around.”
Chloe nodded. She would be happy if she never saw him again. Now if only she could forget how he had touched her and how strange it had felt.
Chapter Two
Brook squinted into the gloom of his father’s study. Standing by the curtains, through which a thin sliver of light entered, was Sir Robert.
Brook folded his arms. “Whatever are you doing, Father?”
His father turned. “They’ve been at it again.”
Fighting back a groan, Brook strode across the room, skirting the large stacks of books and old records piled high on floors, tables, and shelves. No doubt his father had been looking at their records—yet again—in the hope of finding proof that the thin sliver of land between the Waverleys and the Larkins was theirs.
“By ‘they’, do you mean the Larkins?”
His father nodded, then turned his attention to peering back out of the window. Brook rolled his eyes and pulled open the curtain.
“You will not see them from here anyway, Father. Why are you wasting your time?”
“One of the servants said the girl’s back. Catherine or Coco or something.”
“Chloe,” corrected Brook.
He waved a dismissive, age-spotted hand. “Well, anyway, she was seen there.”
‘There’ being the boundary. Brook resisted the desire to take his father by his shoulders and shake him vigorously. This feud was ridiculous and when he inherited his father’s estate, he thoroughly intended to put an end to it. Though, if his confrontation with Miss Larkin at the bookshop was anything to go by, he would have a difficult time in doing so. He rather hoped Miss Larkin’s younger brother would be more amenable when he became of age.
He took in his father’s furious expression. His shoulders were growing stooped with age and his once silvered hair was almost white and thinning. The last thing his father needed to be doing at his age was getting angry over some stupid piece of land.
“Miss Larkin is allowed to walk on her own land,” Brook reasoned.
His father grunted. “No doubt she was moving the boundary again. That bloody Larkin moved it last month and I made sure it was moved straight away.”
“Or she could just be enjoying the fine weather.”
“Not likely. All Larkins are the same.” His father wagged a finger at him. “Stay away from her. She will be trouble, just like the rest of them.”
Brook thought back to their meeting in London a few weeks ago, near the end of the Season. The only trouble Miss
Larkin could cause was dropping a few books on his toes. The bright-eyed, red-haired girl had a tongue on her and clearly disliked him but the wallflower was better known for avoiding social interaction than getting into trouble.
His fingers still tingled when he recalled the touch of her gloved hand. He could not stop himself from remembering how her arms felt beneath his fingertips. How odd it was that such a small touch could linger in his mind. He had touched many, many women, in far more scandalous places than an upper arm, and yet he could not remember spending so much time dwelling over a touch.
“I’ll tell you what, Father, I shall go and see what she is doing.”
“Be careful, Brook, those Larkins are a conniving lot.”
Brook grinned to himself. Conniving was not the sort of word he would use to describe Miss Larkin. Annoyed, outspoken, and also appealing, yes. But not conniving.
He set out on foot, unwilling to wait for a horse to be saddled. The estate was modest compared to some but stretched for several acres. The River Wey cut through part of it, leading into the neighboring estate of the Larkins. On the left side of the river was where all of twenty feet was argued over.
When he reached the boundary, he saw that the fence had been moved back to the farthest reaches, so that these twenty feet were now theirs again. If history was anything to go by, the fence would be moved once more in a few weeks back onto what the Larkins believed was the true boundary.
A grin broke across his face when he spotted Miss Larkin. Apparently oblivious to him, she strolled along the line of the river, swinging a stick and beheading flowers along the way. Her simple cream gown was stained at the hems and slightly creased. He could not make out her expression underneath the bonnet but she looked rather like a woman who had just been laid down in the grass and ravished. Oh, how he hoped her cheeks were rosy too.
“Miss Larkin,” he called.
She stilled, bringing the stick to a halt. Slowly, she lifted her head. He saw her expression sour. She turned swiftly, heading back in the direction from which she came. Brook moved quickly, vaulting over the fence that dissected their land and hastening to catch up with her.
Married to the Rake (The Wallflower Brides Book 1) Page 1
