“[A] marriage of convenience that will keep readers up all night.” —RT Book Reviews on Lady Beneath the Veil
“Would you like to kiss me good-night?”
She knew she was taking a great risk, but he did not look outraged, nor did he admonish her for her forwardness. When he maintained his silence, she added softly, “You are a rake, are you not? And rakes always want to kiss a pretty girl.”
He stopped, frowning down at her fingers resting on his sleeve.
“You would not be wise to pursue this, Miss Salforde.”
A tiny frisson of excitement ran along her spine as she heard the warning note in his voice. She moved a little nearer.
“Surely it would not be improper for my guardian to call me Elyse?”
Her excitement intensified as his gaze moved to her face, so piercing that, for a moment, it took her breath away. She read danger in his look, but the wine she had imbibed had given her courage, and she felt emboldened by the challenge. She schooled her face into a picture of innocence, at the same time leaning closer so that the lace at her breast was almost touching his waistcoat. She saw his eyes darken and felt a flicker of satisfaction.
“You are playing a dangerous game, Miss Salforde.”
* * *
Never Trust a Rebel
Harlequin® Historical #387—September 2014
Author Note
Ten years after Bonnie Prince Charlie tries and fails to reclaim the British throne for his father, Drew Castlemain returns to England to carry out his friend’s final wishes.
He meets Elyse, a spirited young lady and the belle of the northern spa town of Scarborough, but events conspire to prevent him from delivering her to her betrothed, and instead they find themselves falling headlong into love.…
This Georgian romance is set half a century before the Regency, when it was still usual for men to carry swords and ladies to wear the heavy gowns with their hoops and layers of petticoats. Travel was slower, too, with poor roads and lumbering coaches, as my hero and heroine discover to their cost.
I really loved telling Elyse and Drew’s story; they are a young couple who have to fight against the odds to win their happiness, but of course in the end they succeed, and I hope you will enjoy their journey as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Oh, and on a final note, Drew and Elyse’s whirlwind romance blossomed over a couple of weeks. Improbable, you might think, but it can happen—I met my own hero and knew after just two weeks that he was the one for me. We have just celebrated forty-one years together, so I think I may have been right!
Sarah Mallory
Never Trust a Rebel
Available from Harlequin® Historical and
SARAH MALLORY
More Than a Governess #233
The Wicked Baron #257
The Earl’s Runaway Bride #284
*Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife #293
To Catch a Husband… #307
*The Dangerous Lord Darrington #315
Snowbound with the Notorious Rake #321
ΔBeneath the Major’s Scars #345
ΔBehind the Rake’s Wicked Wager #348
¤The Illegitimate Montague
Bought for Revenge #362
**Lady Beneath the Veil #1174
**At the Highwayman’s Pleasure #1178
The Scarlet Gown #1193
Never Trust a Rebel #387
Other works include
Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks
ΔThe Tantalizing Miss Coale
*linked by character
ΔThe Notorious Coale Brothers
¤part of the Castonbury Park Regency miniseries
**linked by character
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To the UK’s brilliant NHS
and all the dedicated staff, especially in A & E.
In particular, Doctor E B-G,
thanks for the (rather painful) memory!
SARAH MALLORY
was born in Bristol, and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. She left grammar school at sixteen to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award from www.singletitles.com for Dance for a Diamond and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice for Gentlemen in Question. As Sarah Mallory, she has also twice won the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s RoNA Rose® Award for The Dangerous Lord Darrington and Beneath the Major’s Scars.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Prologue
Paris—1756
The Porte St Honoré was crowded with the usual mix of smart carriages, heavy wagons and tumbrils, all anxious to reach their destination before dark. Suddenly shouts and an unseemly scuffle interrupted the steady flow of traffic. A group of liveried servants surged down the Rue St Honoré, dragging in their midst two figures whose bloodied faces, muddied frockcoats and torn lace ruffles suggested that they had been seriously manhandled. When the group reached the city gate they carried the two men outside and threw them down on to the cobbles.
‘If you are wise you will not return to Paris, messieurs,’ growled one of the servants, making a great show of dusting his hands.
‘Aye, we do not take kindly to English dogs cheating our master at his own card table,’ declared a second, while several others aimed vicious kicks at the two men on the ground, before the whole group turned and made their way, laughing, back into the city. The excitement over, the traffic on the Rue St Honoré resumed its steady progress, passing on either side of the two bodies with barely a glance.
One of the men struggled to his hands and knees and stayed there for a moment, as if debating if he could get up. He made the attempt and stood, swaying. Then he pushed his long, unpowdered hair back from his face and turned to help his companion.
‘Come along, Harry. I think it best if we heed their advice.’
‘No choice, my friend. The duc will see to it that we are not made welcome in Paris for some time.’ Harry gingerly touched his swollen lip. ‘I can’t abide a bad loser.’
‘You were flirting with La Belle Marianne. That was damned reckless of you.’
‘Faith, Drew, the lady gave me a blatant invitation to pursue her. And what of you? Madame le Clere has been warming your bed for the past se’ennight.’
‘Someone had to amuse her, with her husband out of Paris. Not quite the same as dallying with the duc’s mistress under his very nose. You should have resisted.’
‘Nay, my boy, where is the fun in that? Now, where the devil’s my wig?’
Drew scooped up the sorry-looking jumble of hair and silk and held it out, saying, ‘And you are sure you did not mark the cards?’
‘Of course not.’ Harry jammed the wig on his head. ‘Stap me, boy, I should call you out for that.’ He winced and put his hand on his back. ‘Egad, but that hurts.’ His grin faded and was replaced by a look of shock as he staggered. He collapsed against his companion, saying with a feeble laugh, ‘By Gad, I fear they have finished me, old friend.’
* * *
&n
bsp; ‘Come along, Harry,’ Drew wrung out the cloth and wiped the ashen face. ‘We’ve been through worse than this.’
He frowned as he regarded the restless figure on the bed. He himself was stiff and bruised from the beating he had received but he was recovering, whereas Harry appeared to be growing weaker, writhing in agony as the effects of the laudanum wore off. They had made their way to an inn on the Rue de Chemin Vert where the landlady quickly ushered them upstairs to a bedroom, declaring that the sight of them in their present bloodied state would frighten away her customers. Drew welcomed her ready assistance and suspected she was another of Harry’s conquests. He felt a momentary irritation with his friend: they might not be in this situation now if Harry had been able to resist flirting with every pretty woman who came his way.
As the long night wore on he could do nothing but bathe his friend’s face and administer more laudanum. In the long periods between he thought back over the years they had spent wandering Europe together. Three years ago Drew had been scraping a living as a mercenary, fighting for any foreign power that would pay him, but then he had met Harry Salforde. Drew was more than ten years his junior but the two men had struck up a close friendship. Harry had taken Drew under his wing, bought him a suit of fine clothes and introduced him to the gambling hells of Rome, Naples and finally Paris, where they had practised their skills at games of chance. So successful had they been that Drew had been able to put away a tidy sum. Thus he was not too concerned about their current lack of funds. It was one of the hazards of living by one’s wits.
They had found themselves at the gaming tables with the richest and most powerful nobles in France, but those same nobles did not enjoy losing to their English opponents, and Drew supposed it was inevitable that one day their luck would turn. That the duc should have them beaten and thrown out of the city in such an ignominious manner rankled, but Drew bore the man no ill will. He had learned that much from Harry over the years. He merely shrugged off misfortune, learning from his mistakes and moving on to the next city.
Except this time it did not look as if Harry would be moving on for some time.
* * *
Drew spent a sleepless night, finally getting a little rest as dawn broke and Harry was sleeping more peacefully, but it did not last and as the morning wore on he grew restless again. Drew noted with some unease that Harry was sweating badly and he fetched a damp cloth to bathe his face. Harry looked at him with bloodshot eyes and for a while did not seem to recognise him. Then at last he gave a sigh.
‘I think I’m done for this time, Drew.’
‘Devil a bit. Rest is all you need, old friend.’
Harry shifted in the bed, wincing and Drew reached for the laudanum.
‘Here, drink this, it will help you sleep.’
‘No, not yet.’ Harry grabbed his wrist. ‘Before that, there’s something I must tell you. Something you must promise me.’
‘Of course. Anything.’
‘I have a daughter.’
‘I know. Elyse.’ Drew forced a grin. ‘You told me she is a rare beauty.’
‘Aye, she is. She had just emerged from the schoolroom the last time I saw her but she was bidding fair to become a diamond, like her mother.’ His face contorted in pain. ‘Lisabet. Frenchwoman, y’know. Beautiful, spirited—only woman I truly loved. She died several years ago and since then Elyse has been in the care of her aunt, my sister, Matthews in Scarborough.’
‘She is safe then.’
Harry’s grip on his wrist tightened.
‘No. There’s more. That last time I visited her was just before I met you. Viscount Whittlewood was in Scarborough for his health and I chanced upon him at the gaming tables. Naturally we sat down together on several occasions.’
‘Naturally,’ Drew said drily.
‘He—er—lost. We came to an arrangement. He would marry Elyse to his younger son, in payment of the debt.’
‘What? But that’s outrageous.’
Harry gave a laugh that was cut short by a gasp of pain.
‘Whittlewood had lost an outrageous sum. There is nothing so bad about it. Elyse and William were dancing together at the assembly and getting on famously. Smelling of April and May, both of ’em. That is what gave me the idea. Contracts were drawn up, the boy proposed, everything was agreed, but the viscount asked that the marriage should be put off for a while until his son had reached his majority. I saw no harm in it. After all Elyse was only seventeen at the time and had much to learn about the world.’ He coughed, wincing as the pain tore at his insides and it was some moments before he could continue.
‘Whittlewood’s son was one-and-twenty six months ago but he made no move to claim his bride. I wrote to the viscount, advising him that my patience was wearing thin. Play or pay up. Whittlewood agreed that I should deliver Elyse to him by Michaelmas, when she reaches her majority, and the marriage will take place within the month.’
‘And what does your daughter say to all this?’ asked Drew.
‘What should she say, but yes? What girl in her right mind would turn down the chance to ally herself to the Reversons? They are one of the foremost families in England. Besides, he’s a good-looking young man and they were fancying themselves very much in love even then. Don’t look down your nose at me, Drew. I know that was a few years back but m’sister’s last letter informed me that Elyse has been corresponding with Reverson and he is still eager for the match. So all that needs to be done now is to take the bride to her groom. Only I did not expect to cock up my toes before I could do it.’
‘Do not talk such nonsense. You will be up and about again in a few days.’
Harry closed his eyes, one hand waving feebly.
‘I don’t think so, my friend, not this time. I won’t be able to escort Elyse to her new family, so I must ask you to do it for me.’
‘Me!’ the shock of it surprised a laugh from Drew. ‘Lord, Harry, you more than anyone should know that I can’t go back to England. There’s a price on my head.’
‘You can change your name. It wouldn’t be the first time. And what has it been, ten years since you went back? Who is likely to remember you?’
‘That is not all, Harry. I have lived those past ten years by my wits and my sword, stealing kisses from other men’s wives and daughters. A disreputable rogue! I am the last man you should entrust with such a task.’
‘No, you are the perfect choice to look after my precious daughter.’ Harry’s voice was failing, but he managed a weak grin. ‘Poacher turned gamekeeper. Help me sit up now, and I’ll write a note for m’sister, then she will give Elyse into your care.’
Drew argued, but in vain. In the end he called for pen and ink and helped Harry to write his final letters. It took a long time, sitting up seemed to cause Harry even more pain and he fainted off more than once, but at last the business was finished and Harry leaned back, closing his eyes.
‘There, it is done.’ His voice was little more than a thread. ‘Give this to my sister, she will find you all the documents relating to this business.’
‘Hush, my friend, no need to talk more of this now. Wait until the morning—’
‘I doubt I shall see the morning. The pain in my gut is damnable.’ He waved his hand towards his frockcoat, thrown over a chair. ‘You’ll find some papers sewn into the lining, and a letter of introduction to a certain gentleman in Lyon. Go to him and he will give you access to my funds.’
‘Harry—’
‘No, let me finish.’ He drew another laboured breath, the skin on his face as grey as old parchment. ‘Take what you need for your journey, and give the rest to Elyse on her birthday. ’Tis her inheritance.’
‘I will, Harry.’
‘Do I have your word as a gentleman? And don’t give me that rubbish again about your being a rebel. I knew you for a gentleman the fi
rst time I saw you!’
Drew grasped the hand, and not by the flicker of an eyelid did he show his dismay at the cold skin.
‘You have my word, Harry. A rebel’s honour, for what it’s worth.’
‘Good.’ He closed his eyes and seemed to relax down into the pillows. ‘Then I commend my daughter to your care.’
Within an hour Harry Salforde was dead.
Chapter One
‘Miss Salforde, I prostrate myself at your feet. I am your slave!’
Elyse looked down at the portly gentleman kneeling before her, his badly powdered bagwig failing to cover completely his straggly blond hair.
‘Well, you need not, Mr Scorton. I cannot give you any hope because I am promised to another, as you are very well aware.’
She tried and failed to stop the smile that was bubbling inside her. The gentleman, looking up at that moment, saw her lips twitch and struggled to his feet, saying in an injured tone, ‘You are very cruel, fair beauty. If you will not countenance my suit, why did you agree to come outside with me?’
Yes, why had she?
Elyse pondered the matter. She could not deny that the drawing room was very hot and crowded, but there had been no shortage of gentlemen offering to escort her out on to the terrace. So why had she favoured Mr Scorton?
Because he was the least likely of her many admirers and tonight she had decided to take pity on him. Elyse did not consider herself vain, but she was often called beautiful, so she supposed it must be true. Her figure was good, and there was something about her dark curls, brown eyes and heart-shaped face that seemed to draw gentlemen to her. All sorts of men, married or single, young or old, they crowded around her. They paid her compliments, teased her, flirted with her. She was happy enough to respond to them all, knowing herself safe from any serious courtship because she was in love with the Honourable Mr William Reverson, younger son of Viscount Whittlewood, and she was going to marry him. And her admirers, too, knew of her engagement and were content to enjoy a mild flirtation, a little amusing badinage with a pretty young lady. All quite harmless.
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