The Rake to Ruin Her

Max blinked at her, sure he could not have heard her properly. ‘A proposition?’ he repeated.

‘Yes. I’m Caroline Denby, by the way. My father was the late Sir Martin Denby of Denby Stables.’

Thinking this bizarre meeting was getting even more bizarre, Max bowed. ‘Miss Denby. Yes, I’ve heard of your father’s excellent horses. My condolences on your loss. However, whatever it is you wish to say, perhaps Mrs Ransleigh could arrange a meeting later. Truly, it’s most imperative that you quit my presence immediately, lest you put your reputation at risk.’

‘But that’s exactly what I wish to do. Not just risk it, but ruin it. Irretrievably.’

THE RANSLEIGH ROGUES

Where these notorious rakes go, scandal always follows …

Max, Will, Alastair and Dominic Ransleigh—cousins, friends … and the most wickedly attractive men in Regency London. Between war, betrayal and scandal, love has never featured in the Ransleighs’ destinies—until now!

Don’t miss this enthralling new quartet from Julia Justiss, starting with Max’s story

THE RAKE TO RUIN HER

Look for Will Ransleigh’s story

Available April 2013

About the Author

JULIA JUSTISS wrote her first plot ideas for a Nancy Drew novel in the back of her third-grade notebook, and has been writing ever since. After such journalistic adventures as publishing poetry and editing an American Embassy newsletter she returned to her first love: writing fiction. Her Regency historical novels have been winners or finalists in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart™, RT Book Reviews magazine’s Best First Historical, Golden Quill, National Readers’ Choice and Daphne Du Maurier contests. She lives with her husband, three children and two dogs in rural east Texas, where she also teaches high school French. For current news and contests, please visit her website at www.juliajustiss.com

Novels by the same author:

THE WEDDING GAMBLE

THE PROPER WIFE

MY LADY’S TRUST

MY LADY’S PLEASURE

MY LADY’S HONOUR

A SCANDALOUS PROPOSAL

SEDUCTIVE STRANGER

THE COURTESAN

THE THREE GIFTS

(part of A Regency Lords & Ladies Christmas anthology)

THE UNTAMED HEIRESS

ROGUE’S LADY

CHRISTMAS WEDDING WISH

(part of Regency Candlelit Christmas anthology)

THE SMUGGLER AND THE SOCIETY BRIDE

(part of Silk & Scandal mini-series)

A MOST UNCONVENTIONAL MATCH

WICKED WAGER

FROM WAIF TO GENTLEMAN’S WIFE

SOCIETY’S MOST DISREPUTABLE GENTLEMAN

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

AUTHOR NOTE

The 2012 London summer games are unfolding as I write this note, and as the athletes tell their stories I’m repeatedly reminded of how many years of hard work and single-minded dedication are necessary to earn them a place among the best of the best. Yet sometimes, after devoting all one’s energies to achieving an aim, some totally unexpected catastrophe destroys in an instant the possibility of reaching that goal. Standing shocked and disbelieving amid the wreckage of that dream, the survivor is forced to find a different path.

Such is the case with ‘Magnificent Max’ Ransleigh, the earl’s son and charismatic leader of a group of cousins known as The Ransleigh Rogues. With his father a force in the House of Lords, Max has prepared all his life for a high diplomatic position, and seems well on his way when he’s chosen as one of the Duke of Wellington’s aides at the Congress of Vienna. But when an assassination attempt on the Duke is perpetrated by relatives of a Frenchwoman Max has befriended, even his valour at Waterloo can’t resurrect the tatters of his career.

Returning after the battle, with none of his former associates—including his father—willing to see him, he turns to the Rogues. He stops at Alastair’s country home, unaware that his aunt, Alastair’s mother, is hostessing a house party to acquaint her youngest daughter, soon to make her London debut, with other young ladies of the Ton.

While Max mourns the loss of a conventional future, Caroline Denby schemes to destroy her own. Sole heiress of a wealthy baron, she has good reasons for avoiding wedlock, and is actively resisting her stepmother’s attempts to marry her off—what future is there for a woman but marriage? Lady Denby argues—so she may return to Kent and run the horse-breeding farm she established with her father.

When Caro discovers the infamous Max Ransleigh has dropped in on her hostess’s house party, she decides he is just the rogue to ruin her. With her reputation in tatters, her suitors will depart, her stepmother will refocus her matrimonial schemes on her own daughter, and Caro will be left in peace to tend her horses.

But sometimes the goal we yearn for turns out not to be the path for which we’re destined. And a love we never expected to find becomes the most precious blessing of our life.

I hope you’ll enjoy Max and Caro’s journey.

Soon to follow in 2013 and 2014 will be the stories of the other Rogues: ‘Wagering Will’, illegitimate son of the earl’s brother, who never met a game of chance he couldn’t win, ‘Ingenious Alastair’, philosopher and poet who thinks to best Byron until a humiliating betrayal turns him into the worst rake in England, and ‘Dandy Dominic’, handsomest man in the Regiment, who returns from Waterloo maimed, scarred, and searching for meaning in the ruins of his life.

I love to hear from readers! Find me at my website, www.juliajustiss.com, for excepts, updates and background bits about my books, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/juliajustiss and on Twitter @juliajustiss.

The Rake to Ruin Her

Julia Justiss

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Prologue

Vienna—January 1815

The distant sound of waltz music and a murmur of voices met his ear as Max Ransleigh exited the anteroom. Quickly he paced toward the dark-haired woman standing in the shadowy alcove at the far end of the hallway.

Hoping he wouldn’t find on her more marks of her cousin’s abuse, he said, ‘What is it? He hasn’t struck you again, has he? I fear I cannot stay; Lord Wellington should arrive in the Green Salon at any moment and he despises tardiness. I would not have come at all, had your note not sounded most urgent.’

‘Yes, you’d told me you were to rendezvous there; that’s how I knew where to find you,’ she replied. The soft, slightly French lilt of her words was charming, as always. Lovely dark eyes, whose hint of sadness had aroused his protective instincts from the first, searched his face.

‘You’ve been so kind. I appreciate it more than I can say. It’s just that Thierry told me to obtain new clasps for his uniform coat for the reception tomorrow and I haven’t any idea where to find them. And if I fail to satisfy my cousin’s demands …’ Her voice trailed off and she shivered. ‘Forgive me for disturbing you with my little problem.’

Disgust and a cold anger coiled within him at the idea of a man—nay, a diplomat—who would vent his pique on the slight, gentle woman beside him. He must find some excuse to challenge Thierry St Arnaud to a boxing match and show him what it was like to be pummelled.

Glancing over his shoulder toward the door of the Green Salon, the urgent need to leave an itch in his shoulder blades, he tried not to let impatience creep into his voice. ‘You mustn’t worry. I won’t be able to escort you until morning, but there’s a suitable shop not far. Now, I regret to be so unchivalrous, but I must get back.’

As he bowed and turned away, she caught at his sleeve. ‘Please, just a moment longer! Simply being near you makes me feel braver.’

Max felt a swell of satisfaction at her confidence, along with the pity that always rose in him at her predicament. All his life, as the privileged younger son of an earl, others had begged favours of him; this poor widow asked for so little.

He bent to kiss her hand. ‘I’m only glad to help. But Wellington will have my hide if I keep him waiting, especially with the meeting of plenipotentiary officials about to convene.’

‘No, it wouldn’t do for an aspiring diplomat to fall afoul of the great Wellington.’ She opened her lips as if to add something else, then closed them. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Puzzled, he was about to ask her why when a pistol blast shattered the quiet.

Thrusting her behind him, Max pivoted toward the sound. His soldier’s ear told him it had come from within the Green Salon.

Where Wellington should now be.

Assassins?

‘Stay here in the shadows until I return!’ he ordered over his shoulder as he set off at a run, dread chilling his heart.

Within the Green Salon, he found chairs overturned, a case of papers scattered about and the room overhung by the smell of black powder and a haze of smoke.

‘Wellington! Where is he?’ he barked at a corporal, who with two other soldiers was attempting to right the disorder.

‘Whisked out of the back door by an aide,’ the soldier answered.

‘Is he unharmed?’

‘Yes, I think so. Old Hookey was by the fireplace, snapping at the staff about where you’d got to. If he had not looked up when the door was flung open, expecting you, and dodged left, the ball would have caught him in the chest.’

I knew where to find you …

Those French-accented words, the tears, her apologetic sadness slammed into Max’s gut. Surely the two events couldn’t be related?

But when he ran back into hallway, the dark-haired lady had disappeared.

Chapter One

Devon—Autumn 1815

‘Why don’t we just leave?’ Max Ransleigh suggested to his cousin Alastair as the two stood on the balcony overlooking the grand marble entry of Barton Abbey.

‘Dammit, we only just arrived,’ Alastair replied, exasperation in his tones. ‘Poor bastards.’ He waved towards the servants below them, who were struggling to heft in the baggage of several arriving guests. ‘Trunks are probably stuffed to the lids with gowns, shoes, bonnets and other fripperies, the better for the wearers to parade themselves before the prospective bidders. Makes me thirsty for a deep glass of brandy.’

‘If you’d bothered to write that you were coming home, we might have altered the date of the house party,’ a feminine voice behind them said reproachfully.

Max turned to find Mrs Grace Ransleigh, mistress of Barton Abbey and Alastair’s mother, standing behind them. ‘Sorry, Mama,’ Alastair said, leaning down to give the petite, dark-haired lady a hug. When he straightened, a flush coloured his handsome face; probably chagrin, Max thought, that Mrs Ransleigh had overhead his uncharitable remark. ‘You know I’m a terrible correspondent.’

‘A fact I find astonishing,’ his mother replied, retaining Alastair’s hands in a light grip, ‘when I recall that as a boy, you were seldom without a pen, jotting down some observation or other.’

A flash of something that looked like pain passed across his cousin’s face, so quickly Max wasn’t sure he’d actually seen it. ‘That was a long time ago, Mama.’

Sorrow softened her features. ‘Perhaps. But a mother never forgets. In any event, after all those years in the army, always throwing yourself into the most dangerous part of the action, I’m too delighted to have you safely home to quibble about the lack of notice—though I fear you will have to suffer through the house party. With the guests already arriving, I can hardly call it off now.’

Releasing her son’s hands with obvious reluctance, she turned to Max. ‘It’s good to see you, too, my dear Max.’

‘If I’d known you were entertaining innocents, Aunt Grace, I wouldn’t have agreed to meet Alastair here,’ Max assured her as he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

‘Nonsense,’ she said stoutly. ‘All you Ransleigh lads have run wild at Barton Abbey since you were scrubby schoolboys. You’ll always be welcome in my home, Max, no matter how … circumstances change.’

‘Then you are kinder than Papa,’ Max replied, trying for a light tone while his chest tightened with the familiar wash of anger, resentment and regret. Still, the cousins’ unexpected appearance must have been an unpleasant shock to a hostess about to convene a gathering of eligible young maidens and their prospective suitors—an event of which they’d been unaware until the butler warned them about it upon their arrival half an hour ago.

As he’d just assured his aunt, had Max known Barton Abbey would be sheltering unmarried young ladies on the prowl for husbands, he would have taken care to stay far away.

He’d best talk with his cousin and decide what to do. ‘Alastair, shall we get that glass of wine?’

‘There’s a full decanter in the library,’ Mrs Ransleigh said. ‘I’ll send Wendell up with some cold ham, cheese and biscuits. One thing that never changes—I’m sure you boys are famished.’

‘Bless you, Mama,’ Alastair told her with a grin, while Max added his thanks. As they bowed and turned to go, Mrs Ransleigh said hesitantly, ‘I don’t suppose you care to dine with the party?’

‘Amongst that virginal lot? Most assuredly not!’ Alastair retorted. ‘Even if we’d suddenly developed a taste for petticoat affairs, my respectable married sister would probably poison our wine were we to intrude our scandalous presence in the midst of her aspiring innocents. Come along, Max, before the smell of perfumed garments from those damned chests overcomes us.’

Thumping Max on the shoulder to set him in motion, Alastair paused to kiss his mother’s hand. ‘Tell the girls to visit us later, once their virginal guests are safely abed behind locked doors.’

Max followed his cousin down the hallway and into a large library comfortably furnished with well-worn leather chairs and a massive desk. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to leave?’ he asked again as he drew out a decanter and filled two glasses.

‘Devil’s teeth,’ Alastair growled, ‘this is my house. I’ll come and go when I wish, and my friends, too. Besides, you’ll enjoy seeing Mama and Jane and Felicity—for whom the ever-managing Jane arranged this gathering, Wendell told me. Jane thinks Lissa should have some experience with eligible men before she’s cast into the Marriage Mart next spring. Though she’s not angling to get Lissa riveted now, some of the attendees did bring offspring they’re trying to marry off, bless Wendell for warning us!’

Sighing, Alastair accepted a brimming glass. ‘You’d think my highly-publicized liaisons with actresses and dancers, combined with an utter lack of interest in respectable virgins, would be enough to put off matchmaking mamas. But as you well know, wealth and ancient lineage appear to trump notoriety and lack of inclination. However, with my equally notorious cousin to entertain,’ he inclined his head toward Max, ‘I have a perfect excuse to avoid the ladies. So, let’s drink to you,’ Alastair hoisted his glass, ‘for rescuing me not only from boredom, but from having to play the host at Jane’s hen party.’

‘To evading your duty as host,’ Max replied, raising his own glass. ‘Nice to know my ruined career is good for something,’ he added, bitterness in his tone.

‘A temporary setback only,’ Alastair said. ‘Sooner or later, the Foreign Office will sort out that business in Vienna.’

‘Maybe,’ Max said dubiously. He, too, had thought the matter might be resolved quickly … until he spoke with Papa. ‘There’s still the threat of a court-martial.’

‘After Hougoumont?’ Alastair snorted derisively. ‘Maybe if you’d defied orders and abandoned your unit before Waterloo, but no military jury is going to convict you for throwing yourself into the battle, instead of sitting back in England as instructed. Some of the Foot Guards who survived the fighting owe their lives to you and headquarters knows it. No,’ he concluded, ‘even Horse Guards, who are often ridiculously stiffrumped about disciplinary affairs, know better than to bring such a case to trial.’

‘I hope you’re right. As my father noted on the one occasion he deigned to speak with me, I’ve already sufficiently tarnished the family name.’

It wasn’t the worst of what the earl had said, Max thought, the memory of that recent interview still raw and stinging. He saw himself again, standing silent, offering no defence as the earl railed at him for embarrassing the family and complicating his job in the Lords, where he was struggling to sustain a coalition. Pronouncing Max a sore disappointment and a political liability, he’d banished him for the indefinite future from Ransleigh House in London and the family seat in Hampshire.

Max had left without even seeing his mother.

‘The earl still hasn’t come round?’ Alastair’s soft-voiced question brought him back to the present. After a glance at Max’s face, he sighed. ‘Almost as stubborn and rule-bound as Horse Guards, is my dear uncle. Are you positive you won’t allow me to speak to him on your behalf?’

‘You know arguing with Papa only hardens his views—and might induce him to extend his banishment to you, which would grieve both our mothers. No, it wouldn’t serve … though I appreciate your loyalty more than I can say—’ Max broke off and swallowed hard.

‘No need to say anything,’ Alastair replied, briskly refilling their glasses. ‘“Ransleigh Rogues together, for ever,”’ he quoted, holding his glass aloft.

‘“Ransleigh Rogues,”’ Max returned the salute, his heart lightening as he tried to recall exactly when Alastair had coined that motto. Probably over an illicit glass of smuggled brandy some time in their second Eton term after a disapproving master, having caned all four cousins for some now-forgotten infraction, first denounced them as the ‘Ransleigh Rogues.’

The name, quickly whispered around the college, had stuck to them, and they to each other, Max thought, smiling faintly. Through the fagging at Eton, the hazing at Oxford, then into the army to watch over Alastair when, after the girl he loved terminated their engagement in the most public and humiliating fashion imaginable, he’d joined the first cavalry unit that would take him, vowing to die gloriously in battle.

They’d stood by Max, too, after the failed assassination attempt at the Congress of Vienna. When he returned to London in disgrace, he’d found that, of all the government set that since his youth had encouraged and flattered the handsome, charming younger son of an earl, only his fellow Rogues still welcomed his company.

His life had turned literally overnight from the hectic busyness of an embassy post to a purposeless void, with only a succession of idle amusements to occupy his days. With the glorious diplomatic career he’d planned in ruins and his future uncertain, he didn’t want to think what rash acts he might have committed, had he not had the support of Alastair, Dom and Will.

‘I’m sure Aunt Grace would never say so, but having us turn up now must be rather awkward. Since we’re not in the market to buy the wares on display, why not go elsewhere? Your hunting box, perhaps?’

After taking another deep sip, Alastair shook his head. ‘Too early for that; ground’s not frozen yet. And I’d bet Mama’s more worried about the morals of her darlings than embarrassed by our presence. Turned out of your government post or not, you’re still an earl’s son—’

‘—currently exiled by his family—’

‘—who possesses enough charm to lure any one of Jane’s innocents out of her virtue, should you choose to.’

‘Why would I? I’d thought Lady Mary would make me a fine diplomat’s wife, but without a career, she no longer has any interest in me and I no longer have any interest in marriage.’ Max tried for a light tone, not wanting Alastair to guess how much the august Lady Mary’s defection, coming on the heels of his father’s dismissal, had wounded him.

‘I wish I could think of another place to go, at least until this damned house party concludes.’ With a frustrated jab, Alastair stoppered the brandy. ‘But I need to take care of some estate business and I don’t want to nip back to London just now, with the autumn theatre season in full swing. I wouldn’t put it past Desirée to track me down and create another scene, which would be entirely too much of a bore.’

‘Not satisfied with the emeralds you brought when you gave her her congé?’

Alastair sighed. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t wise to recommend that she save her histrionics for the stage. In any event, the longer I knew her, the more obvious her true, grasping nature became. She was good enough in the bedchamber and possessed of a mildly amusing wit, but, ultimately, she grew as tiresome as all the others.’

Alastair paused, his eyes losing focus as a hard expression settled over his face. Max knew that look; he’d seen it on Alastair’s countenance whenever women were mentioned ever since the end of his ill-fated engagement. Silently damning once again the woman who’d caused his cousin such pain, Max knew better than to try to take him to task for his contemptuous dismissal of women.

He felt a wave of bitterness himself, recalling how easily he’d been lured in by a sad story convincingly recited by a pretty face.

If only he’d been content to save his heroics for the battlefield, instead of attempting to play knight errant! Max reflected with a wry grimace. Indeed, given what had transpired in Vienna, he was more than half-inclined to agree with his cousin that no woman, other than one who offered her talents for temporary purchase, was worth the trouble she inevitably caused.

‘I’ve no desire to return to London either,’ he said. ‘I’d have to avoid Papa and the government set, which means most of my former friends. Having spent a good deal of time and tact disentangling myself from the beauteous Mrs Harris, I’d prefer not to return to town until she’s entangled with someone else.’

‘Why don’t we hop over to Belgium and see how Dom’s progressing? Last I heard, Will was still there, looking after him.’ Alastair laughed. ‘Leave it to Will to find a way to stay on the Continent after the rest of us were shipped home! Though he claimed he only loitered in Brussels for the fat pickings to be made among all the diplomats and army men with more money than gaming sense.’

‘I don’t know that Dom would appreciate a visit. He was still pretty groggy with laudanum and pain from the amputation when I saw him last. After he came round enough to abuse me for fussing over him like a hen with one chick, he ordered me home to placate my father and the army board.’

‘Yes, he tried to send me away too, though I wasn’t about to budge until I was sure he wasn’t going to stick his spoon in the wall.’ Setting his jaw, Alastair looked away. ‘I was the one who dragged the rest of you into the army. I don’t think I could have borne it if you hadn’t all made it through.’