A Rogue No More
Book 3 of
A Regency Romance
Lana Williams
USA Today Bestselling Author
A Rogue No More
By Lana Williams
Thomas Raybourne is tasked by his eldest brother to set aside his roguish ways and make a profitable endeavor out of the publishing company their father, the Earl of Carlington, started prior to his death. Bleary-eyed and reluctant, he takes on the assignment, surprised to realize the company’s bestseller is a gritty mystery written by A. Golden. Now he need only convince the author to write a second bestseller so he can turn around the company and help replenish his family’s finances. But discovering the talented author’s true identity upends his world.
Annabelle Gold has carefully guarded the fact that she writes under the name of A. Golden, but when her editor doesn’t return her inquiries about publishing a second book, she is forced to visit Artemis Press. She’s stunned to discover Thomas behind the desk—the very man who tempted her to steal a kiss on a dark terrace months ago. Despite that unsettling moment, she intends to focus on her career, not marriage.
The pair strike a deal to publish Annabelle’s second book, but soon discover a murderer is copying scenes from her first book. Now, they must identify the killer before he strikes again. Thomas knows he’s out of his league, both with Annabelle and the investigation, but he finds an unexpected ally in her and can’t resist exploring the passion he finds in her arms. Her belief in him makes him think he might be more than the worthless bounder his father always called him. Annabelle wonders if Thomas is more than a rogue as his courage and cleverness—not to mention his kisses—make her reconsider her plans for the future.
Not only are their hearts in danger, but their very lives. Can they stop the killer before he strikes again with one of them as the next victim?
Table of Contents
Other Books in the Series
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
Epilogue
Other Books by Lana
About the Author
Copyright
Other Books in The Rogue Chronicles
ROMANCING THE ROGUE, Book 1
A ROGUE’S REPUTATION, a Christmas Novella, Book 2
A ROGUE NO MORE, Book 3
A ROGUE TO THE RESCUE, Book 4, Coming October, 2020
More coming soon ~ to be the first to know about new releases and special promotions, sign up for my VIP Readers newsletter.
Chapter One
London, England May 1815
Thomas Raybourne sank bleary-eyed into the chair behind his father’s desk at Artemis Press, well aware it would never feel like his own. Not because his father had left large footprints to fill, but rather his disapproval had cast a shadow over Thomas his entire life. Why had he expected the earl’s death some two months past to change anything?
He blew out a sigh, his head still pounding from the libations in which he’d indulged the previous evening. He should be accustomed to the effects of a late night—or should he say early morning—spent drinking too much brandy and gambling on a game of vingt-et-un or a hand of whist. But that didn’t mean he enjoyed the aftermath with the exception of the extra notes he’d won. Those were certainly welcome.
His father, the Earl of Carlington, had founded Artemis Press over a decade ago, one of his many philanthropic pursuits. Thomas had been tasked by his eldest brother, Graham, the new earl, to make a profitable endeavor out of the company.
“No.” Thomas had flatly refused the order when Graham had approached him soon after the funeral.
“I don’t think you understand,” Graham insisted. “The well is dry. The coffers are empty. There’s no money left, certainly none to support your roguish ways.”
His brother’s cold, flat tone sent a chill down Thomas’s spine. The lack of emotion from the man who normally rallied and supported both Hugh, the second son, and Thomas, the youngest at age seven and twenty, conveyed the seriousness of the situation.
“I know nothing about publishing books,” Thomas argued. “Surely Hugh would be better suited for the position than me.” There was another reason Thomas shouldn’t be given the responsibility, but he had no intention of sharing that with Graham now—if ever.
“He has other obligations.”
He knew Graham hadn’t meant the statement that way, but the unspoken reminder that Thomas was worthless, as his father had so often said, cut him to the quick. Unlike Hugh, who was the spare heir and had been taught some skills in the event he was needed, third sons like Thomas served no purpose. Especially third sons who didn’t truly belong and never quite managed to do the right thing.
Thomas had done his damnedest to prove his worth to his father throughout his childhood, but none of his efforts had gone as planned. There’d been the time at age nine when he’d thought to swim across the pond at their country estate to demonstrate his physical strength, only to nearly drown, requiring rescue. There was also the time when he was twelve years and determined to ride his father’s prize stallion to show his horsemanship, only to lose control and allow the horse to gallop through a field where it stepped into a hole and broke its leg, requiring it to be put down.
Even his mother hadn’t defended him after that incident, though Thomas didn’t blame her. In truth, he hadn’t yet forgiven himself for the death of the horse. To this day, he avoided horseback riding when possible.
Hugh and Graham had each done their best to protect him, taking turns gaining their father’s attention—and his wrath, which was normally focused on Thomas.
After his mother’s death of apoplexy during the latter part of his university days, Thomas had given up trying to prove his value and instead embraced the failure. He became a rogue, complete with drinking, gambling, and women until his father looked at him with disgust each time they met. Though Thomas told himself he took pride in his behavior, he knew the truth—the lack of his father’s approval never lost its sting.
It seemed Graham, who was nearly perfect in all respects, was intent on making Thomas show everyone once again that he was a failure by placing him in charge of the publishing company.
Just that morning, Graham had called on him at home to discover how the situation at the publishing house was progressing. Never mind that his visit had roused Thomas from his bed, much the worse for drink and lack of sleep.
“We need you to make a success of this, Thomas. This is your chance to do something meaningful with your life.”
Didn’t his brother realize that only made him want to do the opposite?
“Artemis Press could become the premier publishing house for fine literary works.” Graham had paced the dining room during this passionate speech while Thomas sipped his steaming coffee—black, like his soul—hoping it would dull the hammering in his head. “It would then become synonymous with the very books that are the talk of the ton. Think of how proud Father would be that you’re continuing in his footsteps.”
The last bit had Thomas setting down the coffee and clearing his throat to level his brother a glare that would�
�ve given other men pause. Graham merely raised a brow.
“I have spent the better part of a month in that office.” Thomas couldn’t call it his own for it didn’t feel anything of the sort. “The literary works to which you refer have barely made a shilling. The same can be said for the poetry volumes and the others Father deemed worthy of publishing. Only one story has turned a significant profit, a rather gritty mystery you should read.”
Thomas chose not to admit that it had been such an engaging tale he’d stayed home two nights in a row to read it the previous week, devouring all three volumes, known as a three-decker in the publishing world.
“No.” Graham shook his head adamantly. “We cannot publish that sort of rubbish. Nor any of those sentimental romances that women seem to enjoy. We have our reputation to consider.”
“You mean your reputation. I have none to worry over.” Thomas took another fortifying sip of coffee, hoping it would clear his thoughts. It was far too early in the day for this sort of discussion—or any, for that matter. “Perhaps you or Hugh would be better suited to run the publishing house.”
Graham waved his hand in dismissal as he faced Thomas with a look of expectation. “We’re depending on you. Surely you can find the sort of manuscripts we are proud to publish. A study of philosophy or a historic tome perhaps.”
“You can either publish great literary works or you can pay the bills. Which would you prefer?” He’d reviewed the financial details thoroughly and been surprised at what he’d found. Their father had not fared any better with the publishing house than he had with his other endeavors.
They could only hope the author of the mystery, A. Golden, wanted to publish another book. Then they needed to find others like him. Thus far, Thomas hadn’t found anything decent in the stack of manuscripts submitted for publication but many more awaited his perusal.
“If you found ways to reduce expenses, surely—” Graham began.
“I’ve already released two editors from our employ.” It had only taken a week or two of working with them to realize they had a significant difference of opinion from him on which books were worthy of publication. He wondered if they were part of the reason for the lack of profit. From this point forward, he’d have no one to blame but himself if things didn’t improve.
Graham’s eyes narrowed. “Then who will do the editing? You?” The disbelief in his voice caused Thomas to shift in his chair as annoyance stirred within him.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I read more frequently than you might realize.”
“Reading hardly makes one a good editor.”
“Hmm.” Thomas refused to bother defending himself. He’d learned long ago it did little good. “Now then, you’ll have to either trust my judgment on the task you’ve thrust upon me or find someone else to do the job. Which is it to be?”
“I trust you.” Graham looked him in the eye as he spoke. The vote of confidence not only surprised but thoroughly unsettled him. His brother must be more worn down from trying to untangle his new duties and save the earldom than Thomas had realized. “I look forward to hearing an update soon.”
Which meant Thomas had dragged himself to the office to sit in the uncomfortable chair at his father’s desk and attempt another day of work. He didn’t care for his new routine full of responsibility.
A stack of correspondence awaited his response, but it paled in comparison to the manuscripts piled even higher on the corner of his desk. The sight of them only worsened his aching head.
“Bing?”
“Yes, sir?” Owen Bing, the young man who served as his assistant, appeared in the door so quickly that Thomas wondered if he stood outside it, waiting for such a request.
“Move those manuscripts to a chair,” Thomas directed, unable to bear the pressure they represented.
“Of course, sir.” The thin man, with an impressive beak of a nose and an ill-fitting suit, lifted the pile of papers only to hesitate.
“What is it?”
“Perhaps the floor would be a better choice. Your eleven o’clock appointment will need a place to sit.”
Thomas blinked at the reminder. “With whom am I meeting?”
“A representative of A. Golden.” Owen frowned as if disappointed Thomas hadn’t remembered.
“Oh, yes. Our shining star.” Thomas dearly hoped the author had written another book. Focusing on publishing it would be easier than sifting through the manuscripts for a similar gem.
Bing set the stack on the floor, straightening it to make certain it didn’t tip over, before clearing his throat. “I’d be happy to read a few of these and offer my opinion.”
“Perhaps at a later time.” While Thomas had appreciated the young man’s enthusiasm when he’d hired him, now that eagerness grated on his nerves. He wasn’t ready to trust anyone else to read through the possibilities in the submitted manuscripts when he still wasn’t certain what he was looking for.
Thomas had dealt with several pieces of correspondence when he heard voices outside his office.
Bing opened the door, the confusion on his face alarming. “There’s someone to see you, sir.”
“The eleven o’clock appointment?”
The man didn’t answer but instead stepped back.
To Thomas’s utter shock, Miss Annabelle Gold entered his office only to stop short. As always, the face he knew so well caused all his thoughts to drop away in an instant.
Sunlight streamed in from the single window, lighting her thick dark hair and casting a golden shade to her brown eyes. Her cream-colored gown had touches of pink and the satin chip bonnet she wore was tied beneath her ear at a jaunty angle with a brightly striped satin ribbon. The rose shawl draped over her shoulders made her alabaster skin glow.
The sight of her never failed to catch his notice, whether he saw her across a ballroom or a garden. Was it the curious intelligence in her expression or the gentle bow of her lips that stirred him? The taste of that sweet mouth was something he had yet to forget. Nor was he certain he wanted to.
“You?” The single word she uttered was both accusation and question rolled into one.
For once, they were of the same opinion.
~*~
Annabelle Gold stared in dismay at the man seated behind the desk. Thomas Raybourne was not the person she’d been expecting to meet. In fact, he was the last person she wanted to be in this office.
He stood and gave his customary careless grin as he bowed. “Good day, Miss Gold.”
“Mr. Raybourne.” She dropped a quick curtsy, anxious to be done with the formality. “Why are you here?”
One dark brow rose above green eyes the color of deep forest pools flecked with gold. She knew the exact shade as she’d spent too much time studying him, usually from afar, with the exception of one memorable encounter which had been extremely up close and personal.
His handsome face stole into her dreams on occasion, often wearing the same cocky grin he wore now. Curse those dimples he flashed so easily. The sight of them weakened her knees each time he used them.
Thomas Raybourne was a well-liked rogue that sensible young ladies admired from a safe distance but avoided at close range. As a third son with limited prospects and less ambition, no purpose would be served setting one’s cap for him, despite his compelling appearance and charming demeanor.
Annabelle found her physical reaction to the man disturbing. Those long lashes, eyebrows that tilted upward at the inside edge above his straight nose, and a way of looking at her with an intensity that suggested he could see into her soul, sending awareness fluttering deep within her.
Her response to him disconcerted her. In an attempt to uncover the reason for it, she’d convinced him to kiss her nearly three months ago on a darkened terrace during a ball. The spark of attraction she’d felt had ignited into a burning flame when their lips touched. The memory of it sent warmth to unmentionable areas of her body even now. She had yet to understand it, much to her frustration.
Th
ere was nothing Annabelle disliked more than situations she didn’t understand.
Heat flushed her cheeks as she stared at him.
“I might ask you the same.” His eyes narrowed as if he were determined to uncover her secrets, which only increased her nerves. “Do you have something you wish to have published?” The teasing lilt in his voice didn’t encourage an honest answer.
“I—” How could she possibly reveal the truth to him? “That is to say...”
At her family’s insistence, their solicitor had represented her last work with Artemis Press, so she’d never had to venture to the office. Her writing career as author A. Golden was a closely guarded secret, but the death of the Earl of Carlington, who’d owned the publishing house had changed that. Her letters to Mr. Jonesby, the editor with whom she’d worked on the previous manuscript, had gone unanswered. How could she advise a representative on how to respond when she didn’t know what was happening at the company?
“I was hoping for a word with Mr. Jonesby.”
“He’s no longer with us.”
“He passed away?”
“I only meant he’s no longer with the firm. As you may remember, my father recently died. For the moment, I have taken his place. A few changes were in order.”
“I’m terribly sorry for your loss.” She hadn’t spoken with Mr. Raybourne since hearing of the earl’s death.
“Thank you.” He seemed almost uncomfortable at her condolences as he glanced around the small office before returning his gaze to her. “I would be pleased to discuss any business you had with Mr. Jonesby.”
“I wondered if—” She halted as uncertainty choked off her words. Did she dare trust Thomas Raybourne, a rogue of the worst sort, with her deepest secret?
Artemis Press had done an excellent job with her last book, and she didn’t care for the thought of finding a new publishing house. But having him involved changed everything.
“Good heavens.” He stared at her in disbelief. “You’re A. Golden, the author of A Most Unusual Murder.”
Pride and embarrassment warred within her at his pronouncement. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at the young man who stood watching them. “I trust that information will not leave this room.”
A Rogue No More (The Rogue Chronicles Book 3) Page 1
