The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5
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When Alistair comes to seek Viola, she is determined to help the attractive barrister discover the truth about who really killed his client.
When Alistair’s house and office go up in flames, Viola and her mysterious friend George realise there is far more at stake than simply bringing a murderer to justice.
When Alistair’s colleague Philip and his whole family are burnt to death in their house, Viola must follow her new-found love Alistair down the road of passion, death and revenge to the final, stunning revelation of the horrific conspiracy against them all.
He blinked, drinking in the girl’s beauty. Never had he see a woman so fair. Her creamy skin, patrician features, lustrous green eyes, radiant skin, her mouth just made for kissing...
She offered her lips up to him shyly, and he kissed her with glee. He tasted honey, spring flowers, and a spark of the divine as his lips glided along hers.
He peeped his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss, yet knowing even as he did so that it would be impossible to stop. That he wanted and needed so much more. That he simply had to possess this woman, or die….
He touched every part of her body until he couldn’t even be sure which flesh was his, which hers. Her breasts, with their tightly ruched pink nipples, her delightful feminine core, thatched with tiny silky blonde curls, her slender hips and thighs.
It was all his, and not his. For even as he possessed her body, dark, sinister claws snapped and grabbed, snatching the girl away from Alistair no matter how hard he tried to cling to her….
REVIEWS
"An amazing book. We are plunged right into the heart of Georgian society and its power politics as barrister Alistair Grant seeks justice for his client, who has been murdered, and for himself, falsely accused of that murder.
"Viola is concerned about her brother Sebastian, but makes common cause with Alistair and soon finds herself falling in love with a man so far above her in station, he might as well live on the moon. But where there is true love, it will find a way, and together they work to defeat their enemies and save a dozen innocent men from the gallows.
"Meticulously plotted and researched, with wonderful Gothic elements and the sizzling sensuality we have come to expect from a MacMurrough novel, this is a worthy continuation of the excellent Rakehell Romance series which you will not want to miss!"
-Evelyn Trimborn
"Stunning and spine-chilling from the first sentence, I hung on every word of this powerful novel. The author’s command of the history of the period is second to none. Once again, her lovers are poised right on the edge of some of the most cataclysmic events in Regency and Georgian society, and must fight tooth and nail to win each other’s love.
"And this is a love most certainly worth having—Viola and Alistair light up the pages of this heady romance. And the secondary characters are outstanding, especially George. I can’t wait until the next Rakehell book!"
-Michaela Brennan
"A gorgeous book, spine-chilling, and swirling with sensuous detail, riveting historical events, and a passionate couple we follow eagerly to the shocking denouement. Another winner in this terrific sensual Regency series."
-Jacinta Carey
"I adored Alistair and Viola as a couple. Canny, clever and superbly sexy, they are well-matched, and more than a match for their enemies. I was hooked from the start, and couldn't put it down, it was so fast paced and fascinating.
"The intriguing secondary characters support without dominating, and help set the stage for the shocking conclusion. All I can say is, if this book is anything to go by, the next two novels promised in the series will be even more explosive than this terrific, suspenseful book. Ms. MacMurrough has really made this period of English history her own with this stupendous Regency series."
-Carolyn Stone, Under the Cover Book Reviews
RUTHLESS
A Rakehell Regency Romance Novel
Sorcha MacMurrough
HerStory Books
Copyright the author 2009
Second edition 2012
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitte in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
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LIST OF CHARACTERS
Alistair Grant, a Rakehell, a prominent barrister in London
Viola Morrison, the mysterious woman he is sent to find at The Three Bells pub and brothel
Sebastian Morrison, her brother
George Davenant, owner of The Three Bells pub and brothel and The New Rose Theatre
Antony Herriot, a Rakehell doctor, runs the free clinic for women in Bethnal Green
Philip Marshall, a Rakehell, works with Alistair Grant
Jasmine Marshall, his wife (for their story, see The Mistaken Miss)
Lawrence Howard, a Rakehell, a teatrader recently back from India
Juliet Dane Howard, his wife (For their story, see Experience)
The Duke of Ellesmere, Thomas Eltham, a Rakehell, lives at Eltham Castle
The Duchess of Ellesmere, Charlotte Eltham, nee Castlemaine, his wife (for their story, see The Missed Match)
Randall Avenel, a Rakehell, the Earl of Hazelmere
Isolde Avenel, his wife (for their story, see Innocence)
Michael Avenel, a Rakehell, Randall’s eldest brother
Bryony Avenel, his wife (for their story, see The Model Master)
George Ruthven, a government spy
John Castle, a government spy
George Edwards, a government spy
Lord Sidmouth, Home Office Minister
Viscount Castlereagh, Foreign Office Minister
Other Rakehells mentioned in passing:
Clifford Stone, a Rakehell, owner of Stone Court
Vanessa Stone, nee Hawkesworth, his wife, a great scholar (for their story, see The Mad Mistress)
Jonathan Deveril, a Rakehell, vicar of Brimley and Eltham
Pamela Deveril, nee Ashton, his wife (for their story, see The Miss Matched)
Sarah Deveril Davenport, Jonathan’s youngest sister
Alexander Davenport, her husband, a Rakehell (for their story, see The Matchless Miss)
Dr. Blake Sanderson, a Rakehell, a doctor in London and Somerset
Arabella Neville Sanderson, his wife (for their story, see Guardian of the Heart)
Martin Jerome, Blake’s cousin, an honorary Rakehell
Eswara Paignton Jerome, his wife, a healer from India who works with Blake (for their story, see The Model Mistress)
This is a ruthless world, and one must be ruthless to cope with it.
Charlie Chaplin, Monsieur Verdoux
O ruthless, perilous, imperious hate,
you can not thwart
the promptings of my soul.
Hilda Doolittle, "Epigram"
Ruthless, greedy, tyrannical, disreputable … they have had one principle worth all the rest, the principle of delight!
Sir Kenneth Clark, Introduction to Douglas Cooper, ed. Great Private Collections Macmillan 63
CHAPTER ONE
The dream had come to Alistair again.
It started the same as always.
Alistair writhed in the bed with barely suppressed desire. His hardness thrummed against the mattress as he moved his hips, completely lost in the exquisite vision laid before him.
It all began innocently enough with a trip to the theatre. The play was Twelfth Night, by William Shakespeare, in fact. Not in a posh theatre in Drury Lane, but on the stage of an ancient building, so old one could well believe it had been used by the great Bard himself once long ago.
On the stage was a petite blond-haired woman with eyes so glitteringly green, they reminded him of the picturesque forest in Millcote which his friends the Rakehells had taken him to for hunting and other outdoor activities.
The woman’s honey tresses flowed down her back in rivulets. She complained of having been shipwrecked. Even worse than having lost all of her gowns and jewels was the fact that she had lost her twin brother, and was now at the mercy of a cold, cruel world.
The man she addressed her comments to was huge, with the blackest hair and darkest eyes Alistair had ever seen. He too seemed to be looking for her brother.
A tall blond man bearing a remarkable resemblance to the woman was off to their left, and was also equally bedraggled. He too bewailed his fate. Unsheathing his sword, he vowed he would survive in this hard world, and find his sister.
Thus far most of the action on stage had been similar to what Alistair recalled from the Shakespearean comedy. But now several men dragged the young man away. He kicked and screamed, and uttered some fairly foul execrations as they misused him most shamefully.
Alistair knew this part of it was wrong. Different from the play, different from the other times he had had the dream.
He tried to reach out to help. Only instead of grasping the young man’s shoulder to lead him away from his assailants, he found himself taking the woman’s hand.
Now they were alone on a beach. No, not a beach. The clogged docks along the Thames. One minute they were walking along arm in arm. The next minute he felt someone kick him, and a sharp stabbing pain. He saw her beautiful face marred by a frown and look of alarm.
He could feel himself plunging into the chill, stagnant water. Could almost feel huge weights dragging him down. Only instead of a watery grave, he found himself in a lake of fire. The flames seemed to have a life of their own, twisting and writhing, hissing like angry snakes. Penetrating with their fangs. He screamed in terror and pain.
Even worse than the agony he was enduring, though, was the certain conviction Alistair felt in his breast that this truly was the end. That he really was dying. And worse still, that there was no one to help. No one to hear him scream.
Just as Alistair was about to abandon all hope, a tiny little hand pulled him out of the pool of fire. He was scorched and blackened, but the blond woman’s gown was pristine, snow white, with lovely embroidery. Roses. And bells. And a sundial.
He blinked, drinking in the girl’s beauty. Never had he see a woman so fair. Her creamy skin, patrician features, lustrous green eyes, radiant skin, her mouth just made for kissing...
She offered her lips up to him shyly, and he kissed her with glee. He tasted honey, spring flowers, and a spark of the divine as his lips glided along hers. He peeped his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss, yet knowing even as he did so that it would be impossible to stop. That he wanted and needed so much more. That he simply had to possess this woman, or die.
He tried to lay her down on the newly mown hay, but it became an underwater pool that they splashed into. Billowing downwards toward the ocean floor, he filled her with his manhood, his essence, his seed. He touched every part of her body until he couldn’t even be sure which flesh was his, which hers. Her breasts, with their tightly ruched pink nipples, her delightful feminine core, thatched with tiny silky blonde curls, her slender hips and thighs...
It was all his, and not his. For even as he possessed her body, dark, sinister claws snapped and grabbed, snatching the girl away.
The pleasure was still so hot and heavy in his loins he could feel himself exploding, both in the dream and his semi-conscious state as he rotated his hips in the bed.
A wall of flames separated them at once, and he saw his colleague Philip Marshall staked as though at a bear baiting. Only he was not a bear. And it was not a ring for blood sports, but an auto da fe.
The Grand Inquisitor gradually brought several more men to the stake. They were naked and bloodied, and hooded in black. The first two were lashed mercilessly by a man who looked as though he were made of icicles. Then another group of about a dozen or so men were dragged in kicking and screaming. The hanging, drawing and quartering of them began, as Alistair began to protest at their horrific fate.
Philip and the other two men nearest him were bound to the stake, and now the timber underneath them was set alight.
Alistair could hear himself screaming along with the rest of the crowd. Instead of their words of encouragement, he was howling in denial. "Philip, no! Philip! Oh God, we have to save him! Please! Help me!"
He felt the girl’s touch on his naked body. He turned into the circle of her arms and wept. He could feel the presence of the dark-haired man beside her, but couldn’t decide if he was there to help or harm.
"I love you, Alistair, no matter what," she whispered, caressing him as though he were a god. Her hands stroked over his face, chest, loins...
The three men at the stake were now struggling to escape.
"Come, love, come with me," she urged softly, her voice a sibilant whisper of seduction.
"I can’t just leave them there!"
"We won’t. We need to save them. Or none of us are safe."
The dozen or so men were now no more than grinning skeletons. The masks of the two mysterious man had now burnt away, revealing...
Alistair let out a long scream that burned his throat raw.
"Sir, sir?"
His coach driver Eaton was shaking him as hard as he could, trying to rouse his master from whatever strange fit had seized him.
"Oh my God!" Alistair said, still trembling with the horror of what he had seen, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
If he was being perfectly honest, he had to admit too that he was shaking with desire for the lovely young girl.
Alistair looked around him wild-eyed.
"We’re here, sir, Newgate just like you asked. Did you see something, sir?"
A huge rumble of thunder overhead helped him talk his way out of this most awkward predicament in a reasonably sane manner. "The storm. I was sure I saw that carriage we just passed get struck by lightning," he gasped, tugging at his collar to try to relieve the choking sensation constricting his throat.
To Alistair’s relief, the older man seemed to accept that explanation. "Aye, never seen a storm like it. So do you be gettin’ down now to see yer man, and then we can head home. ‘Tis not a night to be lingering. And they do say it’s supposed to go cold and turn to snow."
Alistair mopped his soaking face with a handkerchief. "Aye, best be getting on then. I promise not to be too long."
"So long as you’re all right."
"I’m fine. It was nothing to worry about," he said with a shaky laugh.
As he gathered his thoughts and possessions together, his mind's eye still viewing all he had just dreamed, he prayed with all his heart that it would be true.
CHAPTER TWO
Alistair tidied himself one last time, and lifted his briefcase and hat. He turned the latch with trembling fingers and at last got out of the carriage. He stood huddled against the cold at the gloomy front gate, and eventually managed to rouse a guard with a lantern.
"Bless my soul, Mr. Grant, what be ye doin’ here?"
"‘Tis a foul night, right enough. Can you send for Gribbens for me, please? His trial is tomorrow. It won’t wait for the weather."
"No indeed, sir. Bradford, fetch Gribbens for Mr. Grant.
"
"Aye, will do."
"Usual room, sir. It be open."
"Thank you, Prentice."
The two men nodded cordially to one another and went their separate ways.
Alistair Grant strode down the dank central corridor of Newgate Prison, fidgeting with his stock almost nervously. Anyone would think he was one of the accused the way he was carrying on.