The Rake to Ruin Her

by Julia Justiss

  The incorrigible female merely grinned at him. ‘She is long suffering, the poor dear. Not that it would do her any good to lock me up, for I’d simply climb out of a window. You’ve already been outraged and insulted. Could you not allow me a few more moments to explain?’

  He ought to refuse her unconditionally and beat a hasty exit. But the whole encounter was so unexpected and preposterous, he found himself as intrigued as he was affronted. For a moment, curiosity arm-wrestled prudence...and won.

  ‘Very well, Miss Denby, explain. But be brief about it.’

  ‘I realise it’s an...unusual request. As I said, I possess a substantial dowry and I’m already past the age when most well-dowered girls are married off. It wasn’t a problem while my father lived—’ sorrow briefly shadowed her brow

  ‘—for he never pressed me to marry. Indeed, we’ve worked together closely these last ten years, building the reputation of the Denby Stables. My only desire is to continue that work. But since Papa’s death, my stepmother has grown more and more insistent about getting me wed. Because of my dowry, she has no trouble coming up with candidates, even though I possess almost none of the attributes most gentleman expect in a wife. If I were ruined, the suitors would disappear, my stepmother would be forced to give up her efforts and I could remain where I wish to be, at Denby Lodge with my horses.’

  ‘Do you never want to marry?’ he asked, curious in spite of himself.

  ‘I do have a...particular friend, but he is in India with the army, and won’t return for some time.’

  ‘Wouldn’t this “particular friend” be incensed if he were to discover you’d been ruined?’

  She waved a hand. ‘Harry wouldn’t mind. He says most society conventions are contrived and ridiculous.’

  ‘He might feel differently about something that sullied the honour of the woman he wished to marry,’ Max pointed out.

  ‘Oh, I’d have to explain, of course. But Harry and I have been the closest of friends since we were children. He’d understand that I only meant to...to save myself for him,’ she finished.

  ‘Let me see if I understand you correctly. You wish to be found in a compromising situation with me, then have me refuse to marry you, so you would be ruined, which would prevent any honourable gentleman but your friend Harry from ever seeking your hand in wedlock?’

  She nodded approvingly, as if he’d just worked out a particularly difficult proof in geometry. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘First, Miss Denby, let me assure you that though the world may call me a rogue, I am still a gentleman. I do not ruin innocents. Besides, even if I were obliging enough to agree to this scheme, how could I be sure that in the ensuing uproar—and there would be considerable uproar, I promise you—that you would not change your mind and decide you had better wed me after all? Because—no offence meant to present company—I have no wish at all to marry.’

  ‘Nor do I—no offence meant either—wish to marry you. But no one can force us to marry.’

  Leaving aside that dubious claim, he said, ‘If it’s ruination you seek, why did you not approach my cousin Alastair? His reputation is even more scandalous than mine.’

  ‘I considered him, but thought he wouldn’t suit. For one, it’s his mother’s house party and he wouldn’t wish to embarrass her. Second, I understand that since being disappointed in love, he’s held females in aversion, whereas you are said to genuinely like women. And finally, since your plans for your career were recently shattered, I thought perhaps you would understand what it is like to have your future dictated by the decisions of others, with little control over your own destiny.’

  His eyes widened, for the observation struck home. Despite the impossible nature of her request, he felt a rush of sympathy for this young woman who’d lost the only advocate who could guarantee her the life she wanted, while everyone else was trying to force her into a role not of her choosing.

  She must have seen the realisation in his eyes, for she said, ‘You do understand, don’t you? Despite the setback in your choice of career, you are a man; you can make new plans. But when a woman marries, everything she owns, even power over her very body, becomes the possession of her husband, who can sell it, game it away, or ruin it, as he pleases. You must admit, few gentlemen would permit their wives to run a horse-breeding farm. I don’t want to see Papa’s lifetime of work pass into the hands of a man who would forbid me to manage it, who might neglect, ruin—or even sell it! My horses! There’s no one I trust with Papa’s legacy, except for Harry. So...won’t you help me?’

  The whole idea was outlandish, as she herself had admitted. He ought to refuse categorically and send her on her way...before someone discovered them and she was compromised in truth. But he hadn’t been so intrigued and amused for a very long time. ‘You’re in love with this Harry, I suppose?’

  ‘He’s my best friend,’ she said simply, her gaze resting on the glass panes behind them. ‘We’re comfortable together and we understand each other.’

  ‘What, no passionate declarations, or sighs, or sonnets to your eyebrows? I thought all females dreamt of that.’

  She shrugged. ‘It might be lovely, I suppose. Or at least my stepsister, who always has her nose in a Minerva Press novel, says so. But I’m not a beauty like Eugenia, the sort of delicate, clinging female who inspires gentlemen to

  poetry. Harry will marry me when he gets back from India, but that’s no help now.’

  ‘Why don’t you just contact him about entering into an engagement?’

  She sighed. ‘If I’d been thinking rationally at the time, I would have asked him to announce we were affianced before he left for India. But Papa had just died unexpectedly and I...’ her voice trembled for a moment ‘...I wasn’t myself. Not until weeks later, when my stepmother, fearing Harry might never return, began pressing me to marry, did I realise what Papa’s demise would mean to my work and my future. Meanwhile, Stepmama keeps trying to thrust me into society, hoping I will meet another gentleman I might be persuaded to marry. I shall not.’

  ‘I sympathise—’ and he truly did ‘—with your predicament, Miss Denby. But what of your family, your stepmother and stepsister? Do you not realise that if I were to agree to ruin you, the scandal would devastate them as well? Surely you wouldn’t wish to subject them to that.’

  ‘If we were discovered embracing in the garden at a London ball during the height of the Season and refused to marry, it might embarrass Stepmother and Eugenia,’ she allowed. ‘But I can’t believe anything that happens here would even be remembered by the time next Season begins. In any event, Eugenia’s a Whitman, not a Denby, so there’ll be no contagion of blood and her dowry is handsome enough to make gentlemen overlook her unfortunate connection of a stepsister. By next Season, any stain on your honour for not marrying a girl you were thought to have compromised would have faded also.’

  Max shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you don’t know society at all. So, though I am, ah, honoured that you considered me for your...unusual proposal—’

  She chuckled, that unexpected reaction throwing him off the polite farewell he’d been about to utter.

  ‘It’s rather obvious you were not “honoured”,’ she retorted. ‘But speaking of honour, did you serve with the Foot Guards at Waterloo?’

  ‘Yes, in a Light Guard unit,’ he replied, wondering where she meant to go now with the conversation.

  ‘Then you were at Hougoumont,’ she said, nodding. ‘The courage and valour of the warriors who survived that engagement will have earned you many admirers. Once most of the army returns home, you will have supporters aplenty to champion your cause. If you cannot be a diplomat, why not rejoin the service? But while you are lounging about, being naught but a rogue, why not do something useful and rescue me?’

  ‘Rescue you by ruining you?’ he summarised wryly, shaking his head. ‘What an extraordinary notion.’ But even as the words left his lips, he recalled how he’d told Alastair earlier that he’d be glad if his aborted c
areer were good for something.

  Despite the dreadful dress, Miss Denby was an appealing chit, perhaps the most unusual female he’d ever encountered. Spirited and resourceful, too, both factors that tempted him to grant her request, no matter how imprudent. Because despite what she seemed to believe, compromising her would cause an uproar and he would be honour-bound to marry her.

  A realisation that should speed him into giving her a firm refusal and sending her away. But as his thoughtful gaze travelled from her hopeful face downwards, he suddenly discovered the hideous dress’s one redeeming feature.

  Miss Denby might be a most unusual young woman, but the full, finely rounded bosom revealed by the low-cut bodice of her evening gown was lushly female.

  His senses sprang to the alert, flooding his body with sensation and filling his mind with images of ruining her...the scent of orange trees and jasmine washing over them as he tasted her lips...caressing the full breasts straining at her bodice, rubbing his thumb over the pebbled nipples while she moaned with pleasure...

  He jerked his thoughts to a halt and his gaze back to her face. She might be startlingly plainspoken, but she was unquestionably an innocent. Did she have any idea what she was asking, wanting him to compromise her?

  Instead of bidding her goodbye, he found himself saying, ‘Miss Denby, do you know what you must do to be ruined?’

  Confirming his assessment of her inexperience, she blushed. ‘Being found alone in a compromising position should be enough. You being a gentleman of the world, I thought you would know how to manage that part. As long as you don’t go far enough to get me with child.’

  For an instant, he was again speechless. ‘Have you no maidenly sensibility?’ he asked at last.

  ‘None,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘Mama died giving birth to me. I was my father’s only child and he treated me like the son he never had. I’m more at home in breeches and topboots than in gowns.’ Catching a glimpse of herself reflected in the glass wall, she shuddered. ‘Especially gowns like this.’

  He couldn’t help it; his gaze wandered back to that firm, rounded bosom. Despite the better judgement urging him to dismiss her before someone discovered them and the parson’s mousetrap snapped around him, a pesky thought started buzzing around in his mind like a persistent horsefly, telling him that compromising the voluptuous Miss Denby might almost be worth the trouble. ‘Some parts of the gown are quite attractive,’ he murmured.

  He hadn’t really meant to say the words out loud, but she glanced over, her eyes following the direction of his gaze. Sighing, she clapped a hand over the exposed bosom. ‘Fiddle—I shall have to add a fichu to the neckline. As if the garment were not over-trimmed enough!’

  The shadowed valley of décolletage just visible beneath her sheltering fingers was even more arousing than the unimpeded view, he thought, his heartrate notching upwards. Adding a fichu to mask that delectable view would be positively criminal.

  Shaking his head to try to rid himself of temptation, he said, ‘Your speech is so forthright, I would have expected your dress to be...simpler. Did Lady Denby press the style upon you?’

  She laughed again, a delightful, infectious sound that made him want to share her mirth. ‘Oh, no, Stepmama has excellent taste; she thinks the gown atrocious. But I put up such a fuss about being forced to waste time shopping, she let me purchase pretty much whatever I selected. Although I couldn’t manage to talk her into the yellow-green silk that made my skin look so sallow.’

  The realisation struck with sudden clarity. ‘You are deliberately dressing to try to make yourself unattractive?’ he asked incredulously.

  She gave him a look that said she thought his comment rather dim-witted. ‘Naturally. I told you I was trying to avoid matrimony, didn’t I? The dress is bad enough, but the spectacles are truly the crowning touch.’ Slanting him a mischievous glance, from her reticule she extracted a pair of spectacles, perched them on her nose and peered up at him.

  Huge dark eyes stared at him, so enormously magnified he took an involuntary step backwards.

  At his retreat, she burst out laughing. ‘They make me look like an insect under glass, don’t you think? Of course, Stepmama knows I don’t wear spectacles, so I can’t get away with them when she’s around, which is a shame, because they are wondrous effective. All but the most determined fortune hunters quail at the sight of a girl in a hideously over-trimmed dress wearing enormous spectacles. I shall have to remember about the fichu, however. The spectacles can’t do their job properly if gentlemen are staring at my bosom.’

  Especially when the bosom was as tempting as hers, Max thought. Still, the whole idea was so ridiculous he had to laugh, too. ‘Do you really need to frighten away the gentlemen?’

  Probably hearing the scepticism in his tone, she coloured a bit. ‘Yes,’ she said bluntly, ‘although I assure you, I realise it has nothing at all to do with the attractions of my person. Papa’s baronetcy is old, the whole family is excessively well-connected and my dowry is handsome. As an earl’s son, do you not need stratagems to protect yourself from matchmaking mamas and their scheming daughters?’

  She had him there. ‘I do,’ he acknowledged.

  ‘So you understand.’

  ‘Yes. None the less,’ he continued with genuine regret, ‘I’m afraid I can’t reconcile it with my conscience to ruin you.’

  ‘Are you certain? It would mean everything to me and I’d be in your debt for ever.’

  Her appeal touched his chivalrous instincts—the same ones that had got him into trouble in Vienna. Surely that experience had cured him for ever of offering gallantry to barely known females?

  Despite his wariness, he found himself liking her. The sheer outrageousness of her proposal, her frank speech, disarming candour and devious mind all appealed to him.

  Still, he had no intention of getting himself leg-shackled to some chit with whom he had nothing in common but a shared sympathy for their inability to pursue their preferred paths in life. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Denby. But I can’t.’

  As if she hadn’t heard—or couldn’t accept—his refusal, she continued to stare at him with that ardent, hopeful expression. Without the ugly spectacles to render them grotesque, he saw that her eyes were the velvety brown of rich chocolate, illumined at the centre with kaleidoscope flecks of iridescent gold. A scattering of freckles dusted the fair skin of her nose and cheeks, testament to an active outdoor life spent riding her father’s horses. The dusky curls peeping out from under an elaborate cap of virulent purple velvet glowed auburn in the fading light of the autumn sunset.

  Miss Denby’s ugly puce ‘disguise’ was very effective, he realised with a something of a shock. She was in fact quite a lovely young woman, older than he’d initially calculated, and far more attractive than he’d thought upon first seeing her.

  Which was even more reason not to destroy her future—or risk his own.

  ‘You are certain?’ she asked softly, interrupting his contemplation.

  ‘I regret having to be so disobliging, but...yes.’

  For the first time, her energy seemed to flag. Her shoulders slumped; weariness shadowed her eyes and she sighed, so softly that Max felt, rather than heard, the breath of it touch his lips.

  Those signs of discouragement sent a surge of regret through him, ridiculous as it was to regret not doing them both irreparable harm. But before he could commit the idiocy of reconsidering, she squared her shoulders like a trooper coming to attention and gave him a brisk nod. ‘Very well, I shan’t importune you any longer. Thank you for your time, Mr Ransleigh.’

  ‘It was my pleasure, Miss Denby,’ he said in perfect truth. As she turned to go, though it was none of his business, he found himself asking, ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘I shall have to think of someone else, I suppose. Good day, Mr Ransleigh.’ After dipping a graceful curtsy to his bow, she walked out of the conservatory.

  He listened to her footfalls recede, feeling again that curious sense
of regret. Not at refusing her absurd request, of course, but he did wish he could have helped her.

  What an unusual young woman she was! He could readily believe her father had treated her like a son. She had the straightforward manner of a man, with her frank, direct gaze and brisk pace. She took disappointment like a man, too. Once he’d made his decision final, she’d not tried to sway him. Nor had she employed anything from the usual womanly arsenal of tears, pouts or tantrums to try to persuade him.

  He’d always prided himself on his perception. But so well did she play the overdressed spinster role, it had taken an unaccountably long time for him to realise that she was a potently alluring female.

  She didn’t seem to realise that truth, though. In fact, it appeared she hadn’t the faintest idea that if she wished to tempt a man into ruining her, her most powerful weapons weren’t words, but that generous bosom and that kissable mouth.

  Now, if she’d slipped into the conservatory and caught him unawares, still seated on the bench...pressed against him to whisper her request in his ear, leaning over to place those mounded treasures but a slight lift of his hand away...lowered her face in invitation...with the potent scent of jasmine washing over him, he’d probably have ended up kissing her senseless before he knew what he was doing.

  At the thought, heat suffused him and his fingers tingled, as if they could already feel the softness of her skin. Damn, but it had been far too long since he’d last pleasured, and had been pleasured by, a lady. He reminded himself that he didn’t debauch innocents—even innocents who asked to be debauched.

  If only she were not gently born and not so innocent. He could easily imagine whiling away the rest of his time at Barton Abbey with her in his bed, awakening to its full potential the passion he sensed in her, tutoring her in every delicious variety of lovemaking.

  But she was gently born and marriage was too high a price to pay for a fortnight’s pleasure.

  The ridiculousness of her request struck him again and he laughed out loud. What an outrageous chit! She’d made him smile and forget his own dissatisfaction, something no one had done for a very long time. He hoped she found a solution to her dilemma.