Her bittersweet red silk dress would never be the same, not after the way Reggie had torn it off. Well, she was an heiress, and she couldn’t think of a better self-indulgence than buying gowns that the man she loved wanted to tear off.
She chuckled at the thought, then explained when Reggie asked what she found so amusing. He laughed, his hand moving in a lazy caress down her body. “For a woman who was convinced that no man could want her a fortnight ago, you have come an incredible distance.”
That distance had been the first steps on a journey that would last a lifetime. She studied the relaxed expression on his face, the strong bones sculpted by firelight, and thought that she would dissolve with tenderness. “That’s because you make me feel that I am the most beautiful, desirable woman in the world.”
“You are.” He leaned forward and kissed her, very gently, his lips warm and firm against hers. “And, my beloved, you have performed the miracle of your reforming career in changing me from a care-for-nobody rakehell into a faithful, adoring husband.”
He traced the edge of her ear with his tongue, than moved downward. She arched against him like a cat. With a soft puff of breath that caressed her throat, he murmured, “Don’t complain that I’ve become too boring and proper, because it’s entirely your fault.”
It was a freely given pledge of fidelity. For the first time in her life, she believed the old saying that a reformed rake made the best husband, believed it with visceral knowledge and trust. He had just given her a gift worth more than all the treasures of Durweston. She wanted to weep with joy.
Then his lips moved to her breast and his hand lightly feathered across her abdomen, stirring embers into fire. Catching her breath at the wonder and excitement of him, she gasped, “You, boring?”
He raised his head with a deliciously wicked smile, and she pulled him to her for a proper kiss. As they went tumbling once more into delight, she whispered huskily, “Somehow, I don’t think there is any danger of that.”
Epilogue
News of the marriage of the greatest heiress in England and the Despair of the Davenports was received with mixed reactions. A red-haired tart named Stella shrieked and hurled a hairbrush across her bedroom, smashing a mirror. A dignified madame called Chessie whooped with delight when she read Reggie’s letter, then drank a toast to the lady who had tamed him.
Junius Harper grieved. If he had known that Alys Weston was the heiress of Durweston, and that she was so desperate to marry that she would accept Davenport, he would have courted her more assiduously instead of secretly hankering after Miss Spenser. Gloomily he wrote letters to all his grand relations and told them to find him a different living, and the sooner, the better.
As Caroline, Countess of Wargrave, happily told her husband, it proved that miracles did happen. Looking no further than his wife, Richard fondly agreed.
Lord Michael Kenyon, who had once secretly admired the outrageous young Reginald Davenport, smiled at the news, and wondered if there was any chance that he and a sober Reggie might become friends. He would make a point of finding that out.
Jeremy and Elizabeth Stanton rejoiced. Anne’s son was now back where he belonged, and behaving exactly as he ought. Their duty as godparents was finally discharged.
Mac Cooper thought it perfectly reasonable that a future duchess had the discernment to appreciate his master. As he cuddled Gillie in their cozy stone cottage, Mac told her rather complacently that a man needed a wife. She couldn’t have agreed more.
Peter and William had the best of both worlds. They were back among their friends at Strickland, but they now had holidays in London and Cheshire. As William said, the Duke of Durweston was quite a good old bird. It was as well, perhaps, that his grace never heard the compliment.
Merry agreed, regretfully, that it would not be politic to have Reggie give her away at her wedding, but she and Julian made sure the Blakeford-Davenports were the first guests invited to the Markhams’ new home at Moreton.
The Duke of Durweston grumbled when his only daughter married by special license, though he knew it would have been ridiculous for Davenport to formally ask for the girl’s hand when the rogue already had the rest of her. Hot irons could not have persuaded him to admit it, but as he came to know his son-in-law better, the duke had to admit that he rather liked the impertinent rogue.
Evicted from the master’s bed, Nemesis and Attila took to sleeping together in one entwined mass of fur. Occasionally the tomcat would nip the collie, but apart from a more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger yip, Nemesis never retaliated.
Reggie claimed that the collie was a born victim, but in her secret romantic heart, Alys thought they were seeing an unlikely love between two improbable creatures. She herself knew quite a bit about such things.
Dear Readers,
Of all the books I’ve written, this one is closest to my heart. Reggie Davenport started as a minor character in my very first Regency, The Diabolical Baron. He was, frankly, an obnoxious jerk, rude and selfish and usually drunk. But at the end of the book, he surprised me by showing intriguing glimpses of humor and honor. I started wondering who Reggie was, and what made him behave as he did.
The result was The Rake and the Reformer, a Super Regency written in the purest burst of creativity I’ve ever experienced. Naturally I was pleased when the book became an instant classic and won numerous awards, including a RITA from the Romance Writers of America. But what meant far more were the letters from readers who told me how profoundly the book had moved them.
Now I’m delighted that this story is again available to the historical-romance audience. The title was changed to The Rake and I did some polishing, but the essence of the story is exactly the same: It’s about Reggie Davenport, a self-destructive man, leavened by wit and humor and painful honesty, who is making one last, desperate bid to change his life. And it’s equally about Alys Weston, a strong, independent woman who is far better at giving love than receiving it. Together they discover laughter and healing, and a passionate love that transforms them forever.
I don’t pretend to be objective about The Rake. I simply hope that Reggie and Alys touched your heart as they have touched mine.
Sincerely,
Mary Jo Putney
Have you tried the first three books in the
Lost Lords series?
It starts with LOVING A LOST LORD ...
In the first of a dazzling series, Mary Jo Putney introduces the Lost Lords—maverick childhood friends with a flair for defying convention. Each is about to discover the woman who is his perfect match—but perfection doesn’t come easily, even for the noble Duke of Ashton ...
Battered by the sea, Adam remembers nothing of his past, his ducal rank, nor of the shipwreck that almost claimed his life. However, he’s delighted to hear that the golden-haired vision tending his wounds is his wife. Mariah’s name and face may not be familiar, but her touch, her warmth, feel deliciously right ...
When Mariah Clarke prayed for a way to deter a bullying suitor, she didn’t imagine she’d find the answer washed ashore on a desolate beach. Convincing Adam that he is her husband is surprisingly easy. Resisting the temptation to act his wife, in every way, will prove anything but. And now a passion begun in fantasy has become dangerously real—and completely irresistible ...
And continues with
NEVER LESS THAN A LADY ...
New York Times bestselling author Mary Jo Putney continues her stunning Lost Lords series with this stirring, sensual story of a rebellious nobleman drawn to a lovely widow with a shocking past.
As the sole remaining heir to the Earl of Daventry, Alexander Randall knows his duty: find a wife and sire a son of his own. The perfect bride for a man in his position would be a biddable young girl of good breeding. But the woman who haunts his imagination is Julia Bancroft—a village midwife with a dark secret that thrusts her into Randall’s protection.
Within the space of a day, Julia has been abducted by her first husband’s cronies, r
escued, and proposed to by a man she scarcely knows. Stranger still is her urge to say yes. A union with Alexander Randall could benefit them both, but Julia doubts she can ever trust her heart again, or the fervent desire Randall ignites. Yet perhaps only a Lost Lord can show a woman like Julia everything a true marriage can be ...
Followed by
NOWHERE NEAR RESPECTABLE ...
Mary Jo Putney’s riveting Lost Lords series unleashes a high stakes royal plot—which may prove easier for Damian Mackenzie to handle than his own unruly desire ...
He’s a bastard and a gambler and society’s favorite reprobate. But to Lady Kiri Lawford he’s a hero—braver than the smugglers he rescues her from, more honorable than any lord she’s ever met, and far more attractive than any man has a right to be. How can she not fall in love ... ?
But Damian Mackenzie has secrets that leave no room in his life for courting high-born young ladies—especially not the sister of one of his oldest friends. Yet when Kiri’s quick thinking reveals a deadly threat to England’s crown, Damian learns that she is nowhere near as prim and respectable as he first assumed ... and the lady is far more alluring than any man can resist ...
Don’t miss the next title in the Lost Lords series,
NO LONGER A GENTLEMAN,
coming in May 2012!
Grey Sommers, Lord Wyndham, never met a predicament he couldn’t charm his way out of. Then a tryst with a government official’s wife during a bit of casual espionage in France condemns him to a decade in a dungeon, leaving him a shadow of his former self. Yet his greatest challenge may be the enigmatic spy sent to free his body—the only woman who might heal his soul.
Cassie Fox lost everything in the chaos of revolution, leaving only a determination to help destroy Napoleon’s empire through her perilous calling. Rescuing Grey is merely one more mission. She hadn’t counted on a man with the stark beauty of a ravaged angel, whose desperate courage and vulnerability thaw her frozen heart. But a spy and a lord are divided by an impassable gulf even if they manage to survive one last, terrifying mission ...
London, January 1813
Time to dance with the devil again. Cassie wielded Kirkland House’s dragon head knocker, wondering what mission awaited her this time.
The door opened. Recognizing her, the butler bowed her inside. “His lordship is in his study, Miss Fox.”
“No need to show me the way.” Cassie headed to the rear of the house, thinking that it was about time Kirkland sent her back to France. For years, she had moved secretly between England and France, spying and acting as a courier at Kirkland’s direction. The work was dangerous and grimly satisfying.
Outwardly a frivolous gentleman of leisure, in private Kirkland was a master of intelligence gathering and analysis. He’d kept her in London longer than usual this time as part of a team working desperately to uncover a plot against the royal family. They had succeeded, a wedding and Christmas had been celebrated, and now Cassie was restless. Working to undermine Napoleon’s regime gave her life purpose.
She knocked at the door of the study and entered at his call. Kirkland sat behind his desk, as well tailored as always. He rose courteously as she entered.
With his dark hair, broad shoulders, and classic features, the man could never be less than handsome, but today his face was etched with strain despite his smile. “You’re looking more anonymous than usual, Cassie. How do you manage to be so forgettable?”
“Talent and practice, since anonymity is so useful for a spy,” she retorted as she chose a chair opposite him. “But you, sir, look like the death in the afternoon. If you don’t take better care of yourself, you’ll be down with another attack of fever and we’ll find out if you’re indispensable or not.”
“No one is indispensable,” he said as he resumed his seat. “Rob Carmichael could do my job if necessary.”
“He could, but he wouldn’t want to. Rob much prefers being out on the streets cracking heads.” Rob had said as much to Cassie since they were close friends, and occasionally more than friends.
“And he is so very good at it,” Kirkland agreed. “But I’m not about to fall off the perch any time soon.” He began toying with his quill pen.
“It isn’t like you to fidget,” Cassie said. “Have you found a more than usually perilous mission for me?”
His mouth quirked humorlessly. “Sending agents into France is always dangerous. My qualms increase when the mission is more personal than of vital interest to Britain.”
“Your friend Wyndham,” she said immediately. “Bury your qualms. As heir to the Earl of Costain, he’d be worth a few risks even if he weren’t your friend.”
“I should have known you’d guess.” He set the quill neatly in its stand. “How many times have you followed possible leads about Wyndham?”
“Two or three, with a singular lack of success.” Nor was Cassie the only agent to look for proof that the long vanished Wyndham was either alive or dead. Kirkland would never give up until there was evidence of one or the other.
“I haven’t wanted to admit it, but I’ve feared that he was killed when the Peace of Amiens ended and all Englishmen were interned so they couldn’t return to England.” Kirkland sighed. “Wyndham wouldn’t have gone tamely. He might well have been killed resisting arrest. He hasn’t been heard from since May 1803, when the war resumed.”
“Since he isn’t in Verdun with the rest of the detainees and no other trace of him has turned up, that’s the most likely explanation,” Cassie agreed. “But this is the first time I’ve heard you admit the possibility.”
“Wyndham was always so full of life,” Kirkland said musingly. “It didn’t seem possible that he could be killed senselessly. I know better, of course. But it felt as if saying the words out loud would make them true.”
It was a surprising admission coming from Kirkland, whose brain was legendarily sharp and objective. The man really did have emotions. “Tell me about Wyndham,” she said. “Not his rank and wealth, but what he was like as a person.”
Kirkland’s expression eased. “He was a golden haired charmer who could beguile the scales off a snake. Mischievous, but no malice in him. Lord Costain sent him to the Westerfield Academy in the hope that Lady Agnes would be able to handle Wyndham without succumbing to the charm.”
“Did it work?” Cassie asked. She’d met the formidable headmistress and thought she could handle anyone.
“Reasonably well. Lady Agnes was fond of him. Everyone was. But she wouldn’t let him get away with outrageous behavior.”
“You must have a new lead or you wouldn’t be talking to me now.”
Kirkland began fidgeting with his quill again. “Remember the French spy we uncovered when investigating the plot against the royal family?”
“Paul Clement.” Cassie knew the man slightly because of her ties to the French émigré community. “Has he provided information about Wyndham?”
“Clement had heard rumors that just as the truce ended, a young English nobleman ran afoul of a government official named Claude Durand,” Kirkland replied. “I know the name, but little more. Have you heard of him?”
Cassie nodded. “He’s from a minor branch of a French noble family. When the revolution came, he turned radical and denounced his cousin, the count, and watched while the man was guillotined. As a reward, Durand acquired the family castle and a good bit of the wealth. Now he’s in the Ministry of Police. He has a reputation for brutality and unswerving loyalty to Bonaparte, so he’d be a dangerous man to cross.”
Kirkland winced. “Wyndham might not have survived angering a man like that. But Clement had heard that Durand locked the English lord up in his own private dungeon. If that was Wyndham, there’s a chance he might be alive.”
Cassie didn’t need to point out that it was a slim chance. “You wish me to investigate Clement’s information?”
“Yes, but don’t take any risks.” Kirkland regarded her sternly. “I worry about you. You don’t fear death enough
.”
She shrugged. “I don’t seek it. Animal instinct keeps me from doing anything foolish. It shouldn’t be hard to locate Durand’s castle and learn from the locals if he has a blond English prisoner.”
Kirkland nodded. “Dungeons aren’t designed for long-term survival, but with luck, you’ll be able to learn if Wyndham was imprisoned there.”
“Did he have the strength to survive years of captivity?” she asked. “Not just physical strength, but mental. Dungeons can drive men mad, especially if they’re kept in solitary confinement.”
“I never knew what kind of internal resources Wyndham had. Everything came so easily to him. Sports, studies, friendships, admiring females. He was never challenged. He might have unexpected resilience. Or—he might have broken under the first real pressure he’d ever faced.” After a long pause, Kirkland said quietly, “I don’t think he would have endured imprisonment well. It might have been better if he was killed quickly.”
“Truth can be difficult, but better to know what happened and accept the loss than be gnawed by uncertainty forever,” Cassie pointed out. “There can’t be many English lords who offended powerful officials and were locked in private prisons. If he is or was at Castle Durand, it shouldn’t be difficult to learn his fate.”
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