Once a rake...
Known as “Magnificent Max,” diplomat Max Ransleigh was famed for his lethal charm until a political betrayal left him exiled from government and his reputation in tatters. He seems a very unlikely savior for a well-bred young lady.
Except that Miss Caroline Denby doesn’t want to be saved...she wants to be ruined! To Caroline, getting married is tantamount to a death sentence, and meeting the rakish Max at a house party seems the answer to her prayers... Surely this rogue won’t hesitate to put his bad reputation to good use?
Ransleigh Rogues
Where these notorious rakes go, scandal always follows...
“I know which Ransleigh you are, sir,” the young woman interrupted. “That’s why I sought you out. I have a proposition for you. So to speak,” she added, her cheeks pinkening.
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 Rake to Ruin Her
Harlequin® Historical #1129—March 2013
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
THE RAKE TO REDEEM HER
Available April 2013
Available from Harlequin® Historical and JULIA JUSTISS
*The Wedding Gamble #464
A Scandalous Proposal #532
The Proper Wife #567
My Lady’s Trust #591
My Lady’s Pleasure #611
My Lady’s Honor #629
*A Most Unconventional Match #905
One Candlelit Christmas #919
“Christmas Wedding Wish”
From Waif to Gentleman’s Wife #964
† The Smuggler and the Society Bride #1004
Society’s Most Disreputable Gentleman #1028
**The Rake to Ruin Her #1129
*linked by character
†Silk & Scandal miniseries
**The Ransleigh Rogues
Also available from Harlequin® Books
The Officer’s Bride
“An Honest Bargain”
Wicked Wager
Forbidden Stranger
“Seductive Stranger”
Also available from HQN™ Books
Christmas Keepsakes
“The Three Gifts”
The Courtesan
The Untamed Heiress
Rogue’s Lady
Did you know that these novels are also available as ebooks? Visit www.Harlequin.com.
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, 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 valor 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 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 excerpts, updates and background bits about my books, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/juliajustiss and on Twitter @juliajustiss.
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
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
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Excerpt
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!’
Sigh
ing, 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 stiff-rumped 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.
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