- -
- 100%
- +
JULIA JUSTISS wrote her first ideas for Nancy Drew stories in her third–grade notebook, and has been writing ever since. After publishing poetry in college, she turned to novels. Her Regency historicals have won or been placed in contests by the Romance Writers of America, Romantic Times magazine and National Readers’ Choice. She lives with her husband in Texas. For news and contests visit www.juliajustiss.com.
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
SIGN ME UP!
Or simply visit
signup.millsandboon.co.uk
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
About the Author
The Rake to Rescue Her
Back Cover Text
Dedication
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
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Rake to Reveal Her
Back Cover Text
Dedication
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
Chapter Twenty-Three
Copyright
The Rake to Rescue Her
Julia Justiss
He’s never forgotten her. But can he forgive her?
When Alastair Ransleigh sees Diana, Duchess of Graveston, for the first time since she jilted him, he makes her a shockingly insulting offer…the chance to become his mistress. And even more shockingly, she accepts!
But the widowed duchess is nothing like the bold, passionate girl Alastair once loved. Years of suffering at the hands of a cruel husband have taken their toll. And as Alastair resolves to save Diana from the damage of the past, their chance meeting turns feelings of revenge to thoughts of rescue…
Ransleigh Rogues
Where these notorious rakes go, scandal always follows…
To the Evelettes: You’ve hugged me, cried with me, and been there for me every step of the way on the long twilight journey of the last two years. I love you guys!
Chapter One
It was her.
Shock rocked him like the blast of air from a passing cannonball. Struck numb in its wake, Alastair Ransleigh, late of His Majesty’s First Dragoons, stared at the tall, dark-haired woman approaching from the other side of Bath’s expansive Sidney Gardens.
Even as his disbelieving mind told him it couldn’t be her, he knew on some level deeper than reason that it was Diana. No other woman had that graceful, lilting step, as if dancing as she walked.
Heart thundering, he exhaled a great gasping breath, still unable to move or tear his gaze from her.
So had she glided into the room the day he’d first met her, bringing a draught of spring air and enchantment into the Oxford study where the callow collegian he’d once been had gone to consult her father, a noted scholar.
Memory swooped down and sank in vicious claws. Just so he’d watched her, delirious with delight, as she walked into the Coddingfords’ ballroom eight and a half years ago. Awaited her signal to approach, so her father might announce their engagement to the assembled guests.
Instead, she’d given her arm to the older man who had followed her in. The Duke of Graveston, he’d belatedly recognised. The man who then announced that Diana was to marry him.
A sudden impact at knee level nearly knocked him over. ‘Uncle Alastair!’ his six-year-old nephew Robbie shrieked, hugging him around the legs while simultaneously jumping up and down. ‘When did you get here? Are you staying long? Please say you are! Can you take me to get Sally Lunn cakes? And my friend, too?’
Jolted back to the present, Alastair returned the hug before setting the child at arm’s length with hands that weren’t quite steady. Fighting off the compulsion to look back across the gardens, he made himself focus on Robbie.
‘I’ve only just arrived, and I’m not sure how long I’ll stay. Your mama told me you’d gone to the Gardens with Nurse, so I decided to fetch you. Yes, we’ll get cakes. Where’s your friend?’
Still distracted, he followed his nephew’s pointing finger towards a boy about Robbie’s age, dressed neatly in nankeens and jacket. The child looked up at him shyly, the dark hair curling over his forehead shadowing his blue, blue eyes.
Diana’s eyes.
With another paralysing shock, he realised that Robbie’s friend must be her son.
The son that should have been his.
Pain as sharp as acid scalded his gut, followed by a wave of revulsion. Buy the boy cake? He’d as soon give sustenance to a viper!
Shocked by the ferocity of his reaction, he hauled himself under control. Whatever had occurred between himself and Diana was no fault of this innocent child.
It was the suddenness of it, seeing her again after so long with no warning, no time to armour himself against a revival of the anguish of their bitter parting. The humiliation of it, he thought, feeling his face redden.
Certain there must be some mistake, he’d run to her. Desperate to have her deny it, or at the very least, affirm the truth to his face, he’d shouted after her as the Duke warned him off and swept her away. Never once as he followed them did she glance at him before his cousins dragged him, still shouting, out of the ballroom...
Hurt pierced him, nearly as sharp as on that night he remembered with such grisly clarity. An instant later, revitalising anger finally scoured away the pain.
Ridiculous to expend so much thought or emotion on the woman, he told himself, sucking in a deep, calming breath. She’d certainly proved herself unworthy of it. He’d got over her years ago.
Though, he thought sardonically, this unexpected explosion of emotion suggested he hadn’t banished the incident quite as effectively as he’d thought. He had, however, mastered a salutary lesson on the perfidy of females. They could be lovely, sometimes entertaining, and quite useful for the purpose for which their luscious bodies had been designed, but they were cold-hearted, devious, and focused on their own self-interest.
So, after that night, he had treated them as temporary companions to be enjoyed, but never trusted. And never again allowed close enough to touch his heart.
So he would treat Diana now, with cordial detachment.
His equilibrium restored, he allowed himself to glance across the park. Yes, she was still approaching. Any moment now, she would notice him, draw close enough to recognise him.
Would a blush of shame or embarrassment tint those cheeks, as well it should? Or would she brazen it out, cool and calm as if she hadn’t deceived, betrayed and humiliated him before half of London’s most elite Society?
Despite himself, Alastair tensed as she halted on the far side of the pathway, holding his breath as he awaited her reaction.
When at last she turned her eyes towards them, her gaze focused only on the boy. ‘Mannington,’ she called in a soft, lilting voice.
The familiar tones sent shivers over his skin before penetrating to the marrow, where they resonated in a hundred stabbing echoes of memory.
‘Please, Mama, may I go for cakes?’ the boy asked her as Alastair battled the effect. ‘My new friend, Robbie, invited me.’
‘Another time, perhaps. Come along, now.’ She crooked a finger, beckoning to the lad, her glance passing from the boy to Robbie to Alastair. After meeting his eyes for an instant, without a flicker of recognition, she gave him a slight nod, then turned away and began walking off.
Sighing, the boy looked back at Robbie. ‘Will you come again tomorrow? Maybe I can go then.’
‘Yes, I’ll come,’ Robbie replied as the child trotted after his mother. Grabbing the arm of the boy’s maid, who was tucking a ball away in her apron, his nephew asked, ‘You’ll bring him, won’t you?’
The girl smiled at Robbie. ‘If I can, young master. Though little notice as Her Grace takes of the poor boy, don’t see that it would make a ha’penny’s difference to her whether he was in the house or not. I’d better get on.’ Gently extricating her hand from Robbie’s grip, she hurried off after her charge.
Alastair checked the immediate impulse to follow her, announce himself to Diana, and force a reaction. Surely he hadn’t changed that much from the eager young dreamer who’d thrown heart and soul at her feet, vowing to love her for ever! As she had vowed back to him, barely a week before she gave her hand to an older, wealthier man of high rank.
Had he been merely a convenient dupe, his open devotion a goad to prod a more prestigious suitor into coming up to snuff? He’d never known.
Sudden fury coursed through him again that the sight of her, the mere sound of her voice, could churn up an anguish he’d thought finally buried. Ah, how he hated her! Or more precisely, hated what she could still do to him.
Since the night she’d betrayed him, he’d had scores of women and years of soldiering. He’d thrown himself into the most desperate part of the battle, determined to burn the memory of loving her out of his brain.
While she seemed, now as then, entirely indifferent.
Mechanically he gave his nephew a hand, walking beside him while the lad chattered on about his friend and his pony and the fine set of lead soldiers waiting for them in the nursery, where they could replay all the battles in which Uncle Alastair had fought. It required nearly the whole of the steep uphill walk from Sidney Gardens across the river back to his sister’s townhouse in the Royal Crescent for him to finally banish Diana’s image.
Damn, but she’d been even lovelier than he remembered.
* * *
Sending Robbie up to the nursery with a promise to join him later for an engagement with lead soldiers, Alastair turned over his hat and cane to his sister’s butler. He’d placed boot on step to follow his nephew up the stairs when Simms halted him.
‘Lady Guildford requested that you join her in the morning room immediately upon your return, Mr Ransleigh, if that is possible.’
Alastair paused, debating. He’d hoped, before meeting his all-too-perceptive sister, to return to the solitude of the pretty guest chamber to which he’d been shown upon his arrival early this morning, where he might finish piecing back together the shards of composure shattered by his unexpected encounter with Diana. But failing to respond to Jane’s summons might elicit just the sort of heightened interest that he wished to avoid.
With a sigh, he nodded. ‘Very well. You needn’t announce me; I’ll find my way in.’
Moments later he stepped into a back parlour flooded with mid-morning sunlight. ‘Alastair!’ his sister exclaimed with delight, jumping up from the sofa to meet him for a hug. ‘I’m sorry I was so occupied when you arrived this morning! Though if I’d had any inkling you were coming, I would have had all in readiness,’ she added, a tinge of reproof in her tone.
‘Do you mean to scold me for showing up unannounced, as Mama always does?’ he teased.
‘Of course not! I assume you’re not here for some assignation, else you’d not come to stay with me.’
‘Assignation?’ he said with a laugh. ‘You’ll make me blush, sister mine! And what would a proper matron like you know about assignations?’
‘Nothing whatever, of course, other that you’re rumoured to have many of them,’ Jane retorted, her face flushing.
‘You shouldn’t listen to gossip,’ Alastair said loftily. ‘But let me assure you, if I did have an “‘assignation” in mind, I’d choose a more convenient and discreet location than Bath to set up a mistress.’
‘It pains me that you’ve become so cynical. If only you’d become acquainted with any of the lovely, accomplished and well-bred girls I’ve suggested, you’d find that not all women are interested only in title and position.’
‘Of course not. You married Viscount Guildford out of overwhelming passion, the kind you’d have me write about,’ he said sardonically.
Her flush deepened. ‘Just because a match is suitable, doesn’t mean there can’t be love involved.’
‘Oh, I’m a great believer in love! Indulge in it as often as I can. But I could hardly make one of your exemplary virgins my mistress,’ he said, then held up a hand as Jane’s eyes widened and she began to sputter a reply. ‘Pax, Jane! Let’s not brangle. I came to see you and Robbie, of course, and I do hope I’m welcome.’
‘Always!’ she said with a sigh, to his relief letting the uncomfortable topic go. He loved his sister and his mother dearly, but the succession of women with whom he’d been involved since his break with Diana—with their attempted claims on his time, his purse or his name—had only strengthened his decision never again to offer his heart or hand.
Jane looped her arm with his, leading him to a seat beside her on the sofa. ‘Of course you may come and go as you wish! But if the ladies in your life would prefer to prepare a proper welcome and perhaps cosset you a bit, you must forgive us. We waited too many long anxious years while you were in the army, not sure you would ever make it back.’
‘But I did, and I wager you find me as annoying as ever,’ Alastair pronounced, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. ‘So, was it my unannounced visit that I’ve been summoned to answer for? I thought, with Guildford off in London toiling away for some Parliamentary committee, you’d be delighted to have me break the tedium of marking time in Bath while your papa-in-law takes the waters. How is the Earl, by the way?’
‘Better. I do think the waters are helping his dyspepsia. And I can’t complain about being in Bath. It may not be the premier resort it once was, before Prinny made Brighton more fashionable, but it still offers a quite tolerable number of diversions.’
‘So which of my misdeeds required this urgent meeting?’
To his surprise, despite his teasing tone, his sister’s face instantly sobered. ‘Nothing you’ve done, as well you know, but I do need to make you aware of a...complication, one of some import. I’m not sure exactly how to begin...’
Brow creased, Jane gazed warily at his face, and instinctively he stiffened. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s...’
Though Alastair would have sworn he neither moved a millimetre nor altered his expression in the slightest, Jane’s eyes widened and she gasped. ‘You’ve already seen her! You have, haven’t you?’
Damn and blast! He was likely now in for the very sort of inquisition he’d heartily wished to avoid. ‘If you mean Diana—the Duchess of Graveston, that is—yes, I have. At any rate, I believe it was her, though we didn’t speak, so I’m not completely sure. It has been years, after all,’ he added, trying for his calmest, most uninterested tone. ‘A lady who looked like I remember her came to Sidney Gardens when I went after Robbie, to fetch her s-son.’ Inwardly cursing that he’d stumbled over the word, Alastair cleared his throat.
Distress creased his sister’s forehead. ‘I’m so sorry you encountered her! I just this morning discovered her presence myself, and intended to warn you straight away so you might...prepare yourself. That woman, too, has only just arrived, or so Hetty Greenlaw reported when she called on me this morning.’ Her tone turning to annoyance, Jane continued. ‘Knowing of my “close connection to a distressing incident involving my maternal family”, she felt it her duty to warn me that the Duchess was in Bath—the old tattle-tale. Doubtless agog to report to all her cronies exactly how I took the news!’
‘With disinterested disdain, I’ll wager,’ Alastair said, eager to encourage this diversion from the subject at hand.
‘Naturally. As if I would give someone as odious as that scandalmonger any inkling of my true feelings on the matter. But,’ she said, her gaze focusing back on his face, ‘I’m more concerned with your reaction.’
Alastair shrugged. ‘How should I react? Goodness, Jane, that attachment was dead and buried years ago.’
Her perceptive eyes searched his face. ‘Was it, Alastair?’
Damn it, he had to look away first, his face colouring. ‘Of course.’
‘You needn’t see her, or even acknowledge her existence. Her whole appearance here is most irregular—we only received word of the Duke’s passing two days ago! No one has any idea why she would leave Graveston Court so quickly after his death, or come to Bath, of all places. With, I understand, almost no servants or baggage. I highly doubt a woman as young and beautiful as Diana means to set up court as a dowager! If she’s angling to remarry, she won’t do her chances any good, flouting convention by appearing in public so scandalously soon after her husband’s death! Although if she did, I’d at least have the satisfaction of being able to cut her.’
‘That might not be feasible. Robbie has struck up a friendship with her son,’ he informed her, making himself say the word again without flinching. ‘He invited the boy to meet him again in the gardens tomorrow.’ Alastair smiled, hoping it didn’t appear as a grimace. ‘So I can take them both for cakes.’
If he hadn’t been still so unsettled himself, Alastair would have laughed at the look of horror that passed over his sister’s face as the difficulty of the situation registered.
‘I shall come up with some way to fob off Robbie,’ Jane said. ‘It’s unthinkable for you to be manoeuvred into associating with her.’
Recalling the strength of his nephew’s single-mindedness when fixed on an objective—so like his mama’s iron will—Alastair raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘If you can succeed in distracting the boy who chattered all the way home from the Gardens about his new friend, I’ll be surprised. Besides, if Diana goes about in Society, I’m bound to encounter her from time to time.’
‘You don’t mean you’ll chance seeing her again?’ his sister returned incredulously. ‘Oh, Alastair, don’t risk it!’
‘Risk? Come now, Jane, this all happened years ago. No need to enact a Cheltenham tragedy.’
Pressing her lips together, Jane shook her head, tears sheening her eyes. ‘I know you say you’re over her, and I only pray God it’s true. But I’ll never forget—no one who cares about you ever could—how absolutely and completely bouleversé you were. The wonderful poetry you wrote in homage to her wit, her beauty, her grace, her liveliness! The fact that you haven’t written a line since she jilted you.’
‘The army was hardly a place for producing boyish truck about eternal love,’ Alastair said, dismissing his former passion with practised scorn. Besides, poetry and his love for Diana had been so intimately intertwined, he’d not been able to continue one without the other. ‘One matures, Jane, and moves on.’
‘Does one? Have you? I’d be more inclined to believe it if you had ever shown any interest in another eligible woman. Do you truly believe all women to be perfidious? Or is it what I fear—that your poet’s soul, struck more deeply by emotion than an ordinary man’s, cannot imagine loving anyone but her?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said stiffly, compelled to deny her suspicion. ‘I told you, that childish infatuation was crushed by events years ago.’
‘I hope so! But even if, praise God, you are over her, I shall never forgive her for the agony and embarrassment she caused you. Nor can I forgive the fact that her betrayal turned a carefree, optimistic, joyous young man almost overnight into a bitter, angry recluse who shunned Society and did his utmost to get himself killed in battle.’
To his considerable alarm, Jane, normally the most stoic of sisters, burst into tears. Unsure what to do to stem the tide, he pulled her into a hug. ‘There, there, now, that’s a bit excessive, don’t you think? Are you increasing again? It’s not like you to be so missish.’
His bracing words had the desired effect, and she pushed him away. ‘Missish! How dare you accuse me of that! And, no, I’m not increasing. It’s beastly of you to take me to task when I’m simply concerned about you.’
‘You know I appreciate that concern,’ he said quietly.
She took an agitated turn about the room before coming back to face him. ‘Have you any idea what it was like for your friends, your family—witnessing the depths of your pain, fearing for your sanity, your very life? Hearing the stories that came back to us from the Peninsula? You volunteering to lead every “forlorn hope”, always throwing yourself into the worst of the battle, defying death, uncaring of whether or not you survived.’
‘But I did survive,’ he replied. Far too many worthy men had not, though, while he came through every battle untouched. ‘Angry Alastair’s luck’ the troops had called it. He’d discouraged the talk and turned away the eager volunteers for his command who listened to it since that famous luck never seemed to extend to the men around him.