by Meara Platt
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RULES FOR
REFORMING A RAKE
MEARA PLATT
Booktrope Editions
Seattle, WA 2015
COPYRIGHT 2015 MYRA PLATT
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
Inquiries about additional permissions
should be directed to: [email protected]
Cover Design by Greg Simanson
Edited by Laurel Busch
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-941-5
EPUB ISBN 978-1-5137-0120-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015907917
CONTENTS
COVER
FREE DOWNLOAD!
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1 To attract a rake, one must make an elegant first impression.
CHAPTER 2 A lady must be witty and clever, for a rake is always enticed by good conversation.
CHAPTER 3 Although a rake might feign otherwise, as a gentleman of rank and breeding, he prefers the company of a serene and poised young lady.
CHAPTER 4 A rake’s weapon of choice may be a blade or dueling pistols, but a young lady’s weapon is her fashionable gown.
CHAPTER 5 A rake enjoys a tempting morsel. A lady will permit his eye to wonder, but never his hand to wander.
CHAPTER 6 A lady repays a debt to a rake with no more than a polite thank-you.
CHAPTER 7 Never kiss a rake!
CHAPTER 8 A lady must never visit a rake unless gentlemen of her family are present to defend her honor.
CHAPTER 9 Propriety and modesty, not the rake’s desires, will determine how much bosom a lady will display.
CHAPTER 10 If a rake confesses his ungovernable desires, a lady must immediately retreat and take no further notice of him.
CHAPTER 11 A lady must never insert herself in the business or political affairs of a rake.
CHAPTER 12 A lady must never allow a rake to lead her down a garden path.
CHAPTER 13 A rake will never cherish a lady who challenges him in gentlemen’s pursuits.
CHAPTER 14 A lady must never accept the assistance of a rake, for his motives are always suspect.
CHAPTER 15 In a dire situation, a lady must defer to the authority of a gentleman, even if the gentleman is a rake.
CHAPTER 16 A lady must never get her hands dirty.
CHAPTER 17 A lady must never decline an offer of marriage from a man of quality in the hope that the rake will reform.
CHAPTER 18 A lady must never reveal her innermost feelings to a rake.
CHAPTER 19 A lady must never countenance a rake’s illicit paramours.
CHAPTER 20 A lady must never play the wanton for a rake, even in the marriage bed, for a rake desires a traditional wife, a woman of demure and obedient aspect, not a wanton repository of his unbridled lust.
CHAPTER 21 To reform a rake, a lady must follow her heart above all rules.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
SNEAK PEEK A MIDSUMMER'S KISS
MORE ABOUT THE FARTHINGDALE SISTERS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MORE FROM MEARA PLATT & BOOKTROPE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Neal, Brigitte (my fair Gigi), and Adam, the best husband and kids ever. I’m so lucky to have you as my family. To Bertrice Small, a friend and mentor to so many of us. To my intrepid first readers: Barbara Hassid, Lauren Cox, Megan Westfall, Rebecca Heller, and Maria Barlea. To my large and supportive extended family, who continue to show me just why I love you all so much. Sincere appreciation to longtime friends and terrific authors in their own right: Pamela Burford, Patricia Ryan, Jeannie Moon, Jennifer Gracen, and Stevi Mittman. To my wonderful web designer, Willa Cline. Heartfelt gratitude to the best support team that any author can have: Laurel Busch, Samantha Williams, Patricia D. Eddy, and Greg Simanson. I look forward to working with them on many more projects. To the wonderful management at Booktrope: Kenneth Shear, Katherine Sears, Jesse James Freeman, and Jennifer Gilbert.
To Aaron, Ardaric, Cadence, and Reagan
for always making us smile
CHAPTER 1
To attract a rake, one must make an elegant first impression.
London, England
Late February 1815
“GABRIEL, DON’T WALK down that street!”
Gabriel Dayne turned in time to see his friend, Ian Markham, Duke of Edgeware, jump down from an emerald green phaeton and dodge several passing carriages as he raced toward him, waving his arms and calling for him to stop. Quickly scanning his surroundings, Gabriel reached for the pistol hidden in the breast pocket of his waistcoat and prepared to defend himself.
But from whom?
He saw nothing untoward on Chipping Way, one of Mayfair’s prettiest streets. Indeed, the sun shone brightly, birds chirped merrily, and buds hinted of early spring blooms along the fashionable walk. Ladies and gentlemen strolled leisurely toward the park on this unusually warm day, and another elegant carriage led by a pair of matched grays with fanciful gold feathers on their heads clattered past.
Not a footpad or assassin could be seen.
“Put that weapon away,” Ian said, reaching his side and pausing a moment to catch his breath. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, just stop you from making one of the biggest mistakes of your life.”
Gabriel frowned. “A simple ‘good afternoon’ would have caught my attention. How are you, Your Grace?”
“Me? I’m right as rain. But things have changed around here. I thought you should know.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his breast pocket, removed his top hat, and proceeded to wipe his brow.
Gabriel gazed more closely at Ian’s handkerchief... decidedly feminine... embroidered with pink hearts. He arched an eyebrow. “So it seems. You never mentioned that you’d acquired a wife.”
Ian followed Gabriel’s gaze. “The devil! Things haven’t changed that much! I’m not married and hope never to be. No, this dainty piece of lace belongs to my new mistress. A shapely bit of fluff with cherry lips and hair to match.”
“I see.”
“Ah, but I don’t think you do. I stopped by your townhouse shortly after your return from France to congratulate the wounded war hero, but you were in very bad shape—”
“Don’t call me that,” Gabriel warned, keeping his voice low, though they were quite alone for the moment. “As far as my family and London society are concerned, I’m the wastrel they believe I’ve become, shot by a jealous husband while hunting grouse in Scotland.”
Ian gave another shake of his head. “I don’t see the need to continue this pretense. The war’s over. Why won’t you and Prinny,” he said, referring to the Prince Regent, “allow the truth to come out?”
“No,” Gabriel said quietly. “It will come out in time, when Nap
oleon is no longer a threat.”
“But he’s in exile and under constant guard. What harm can he do now?”
“None, I hope. However, matters are still unsettled on the Continent. I may have to return.” Though he was loath to do so. Having spent the last three years slipping from one hellish battlefield to another, and been close to death more times than he cared to remember, Gabriel was now eager to take advantage of this momentary lull to live life to the fullest.
Ian and he had saved each other from numerous scrapes with the enemy during the war and had become more than friends. One could say they were as close as brothers, though Ian did not care much for family. Indeed, Ian was an unrepentant rakehell with an excellent eye for the ladies, and just the person to guide him back into the carefree bachelor life. “Now tell me, does your delightful mistress have a friend?”
Ian laughed. “Veronique has several charming friends to suit your... er, needs. Come by White’s tonight for a drink. We’ll discuss your return to England and the joys of bachelorhood further.”
“Look forward to it,” Gabriel said with a nod. “Now, what is this nonsense about my making one of the biggest mistakes of my life?”
Ian tried to appear serious, but the corners of his mouth curled upward to form a grin. “The danger is real,” he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You must not take another step toward your grandmother’s house.”
Gabriel humored him by glancing around once more. For the life of him, there was nothing out of place on this street.
Ian took a deep breath. “Right, then. Your grandmother resides at Number 5 Chipping Way, and General Allworthy resides at Number 1 Chipping Way. He’s no problem, of course, being the quiet, retiring sort. So is your grandmother the retiring sort, though I understand she was quite something in her younger day.”
“Get to the point. I’m already late.”
“Yes, well. The problem resides at Number 3 Chipping Way. The Farthingales moved in about three years ago, shortly after you went off to... well, you know. Ever since they took up residence here, this charming street has become a deathtrap for bachelors.”
Gabriel frowned. “Your Grace—”
“Oh, I know it must sound absurd to you, but let me explain. The Farthingales have five beautiful daughters, and I don’t mean just pretty. They’re stunning and of marriageable age, which is a problem for us simple creatures.”
“Simple creatures?”
“We bachelors, haven’t you been listening? What chance do we have against a pair of vivid blue eyes? Soft, smiling lips? None, I tell you. Our brains shut off the moment our—”
“I understand your drift,” Gabriel shot back, rolling his eyes. “But years of battle discipline have trained me well. I have an iron control over my body and therefore am in no danger from the Farthingale girls. They are mere females, after all.”
Ian shook his head sadly and placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Julian Emory said similar words to me two years ago while on his way to visit your dear grandmother. He made it as far as the Farthingale gate, heard Rose Farthingale’s kiln explode, and then heard her cries for help. She was trapped inside, along with her shattered pottery.”
“A riveting story,” Gabriel said dryly.
“Julian heroically dug her out of the rubble and lifted her into his arms, but as he carried her from the destruction, disaster struck. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. They were married before he knew what hit him. I doubt the besotted fool will ever recover.”
“I’m not Julian.”
“Curiously, your cousin, Graelem Dayne, said those exact words to me last year. We stood right here as I tried to stop him from visiting your grandmother. I failed, of course. He made it to the Farthingale gate, only to be trampled by Laurel Farthingale’s beast of a horse. The beast broke Graelem’s leg, but did your cousin care? No, because Laurel had jumped down from that four-legged devil, thrown her arms around Graelem, and cradled him in her lap while some medical relative of hers set his busted leg. Laurel and Graelem married a short time after that.”
“Thank you for the warning.” Gabriel started for his grandmother’s house.
“Daisy,” Ian called after him.
“What?”
“Daisy’s next. She’s the next eldest of the Farthingale girls. You know, first Rose, then Laurel, then—”
“Of course, Daisy Farthingale.” Her name sounded as foolish as his friend’s warning.
***
Gabriel strode past General Allworthy’s townhouse at Number 1 Chipping Way, and then paused to look back at his companion because he had heard him mutter something about it being too painful to watch. Ian, along with his emerald green phaeton, was gone.
“Stuff and nonsense,” Gabriel grumbled, dismissing his friend as an alarmist. Julian and Graelem had been ready to marry. It only took the right sort of girl to tame them. He, on the other hand, had every intention of remaining the unrepentant bachelor.
Indeed, marriage was the farthest thing from his mind. Bad women and good times were what he wanted.
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and marched straight past Number 3... well, almost.
“You, sir! Please! Stop that baby!”
“Wha-at?” Gabriel turned in time to see a little boy toddle at full speed from the Farthingale drive onto Chipping Way. The infant was stark naked and headed directly toward a carriage that was traveling much too fast for this elegant neighborhood.
“There, sir! Please stop him!” a young woman cried, leaning precariously from one of the upper windows.
Gabriel tore after the little fellow, snatching him into his arms just as the little imp was about to fall under the hooves of the fast-moving team of horses. The boy squirmed in his arms, but Gabriel wouldn’t let him go. “Let’s get you back to your derelict governess, young man,” he said, wrapping the unclad child in the folds of his cloak, for there was a chill to the air.
But the boy, having no enthusiasm for the idea, began to shriek. “No! No!”
Lord! Where was that governess?
Gabriel drew the inconsolable child against his chest, speaking to him quietly but sternly in an even tone until his shrieks subsided. As they did, Gabriel patted his small back and soothed his anguished sobs. “There, there,” he said, quite at a loss. “No need to fuss.”
His actions worked to some extent, for the boy did suddenly stop wailing. “Papa... Papa...” he repeated softly, resting his head against Gabriel’s shirt as he emitted trembling gasps of air from his little lungs.
“I certainly hope not,” Gabriel muttered, brushing the tightly coiled gold curls off the boy’s moist brow. “Ah, there’s a good lad. Feeling better now?”
The boy responded with a tiny nod.
Quite pleased with himself and the efficiency with which he’d restored order, Gabriel turned back to the Farthingale house as the young woman burst through the gate, followed by a small army of children in varying states of disarray. She paused but a moment to order her squealing troops “Back inside!” and to Gabriel’s surprise, they promptly complied.
The young woman then turned toward him, her black hair half done up in a bun and the rest of it falling in a shambles about her slender shoulders. “Thank you! Thank you! You saved Harry’s life! We’re so grateful.”
He frowned down at the seemingly appreciative girl. She was young and slight, barely reaching his shoulders. She took no notice of his displeasure, and instead smiled up at him, her eyes glistening as if holding back unshed tears.
Still smiling, she turned to the boy. “You gave me a terrible scare, you little muffin. I’m so glad you’re unharmed.”
Gabriel thought to chide her, but the girl chose that moment to smile at him again, and the words simply refused to flow from his mouth. Well, she did have an incredible smile. The sort that touched one’s heart—if one had a heart—which he didn’t, having lost it sometime during the war.
Her eyes were bluer than the sky.
His frown faded.
She shook her head and let out the softest sigh. “You’re so wonderful with him. Do you have children of your own?”
“You ought to be more careful with your young charge,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat and speaking to her with purposeful severity. The girl’s attributes, no matter how heavenly, did not excuse her lapse in duty.
“Oh, Harry’s not my charge... well, he is in a way. You see, he’s my cousin. And the nannies have all quit our household, so I’m left all alone with the seven children until my family returns.” She wiped a stray lock off her brow, then put her arms forward to show him her rolled up sleeves. “I was trying to bathe the littlest ones.”
He noticed that her finely made gown was wet in several spots. “It seems they bathed you.”
“What? Oh, yes. They did give me a thorough soaking.” She laughed gently while shaking her head in obvious exasperation. “Harry was the last, but now I’ll have to bathe him all over again.”
“Don’t let me delay you.” He attempted to hand the squirming bundle back to her, but before he could manage it, Harry decided to leave him a remembrance.
What was the expression? No good deed ever goes unpunished? Gabriel watched in horror as an arc of liquid shot from the naked imp onto his shirt front, planting a disgustingly warm, yellow stain on the once immaculate white lawn fabric.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or rage. He’d been undone. Brought to his knees by an infant and an incompetent guardian.
“Oh, dear,” the girl said, closing her eyes and groaning. “I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.”