To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses)

by Monajem, Barbara

  Table of Contents

  TO KISS A RAKE

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  TO KISS A RAKE

  BARBARA MONAJEM

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  TO KISS A RAKE

  Copyright©2015

  BARBARA MONAJEM

  Cover Design by Anna-Lena Spies

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-61935-831-7

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  For my mother,

  another redhead who believed in love.

  I think she would have enjoyed this story.

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to the long-suffering darlings who read this story in its many versions. I hope you haven’t run out of patience, because I’m working on the sequel now.

  Chapter 1

  London, Spring 1804

  Melinda Starling sidled through the crush of people in the ballroom, hoping no one would miss her. Fortunately, she knew exactly where she was headed. After three seasons of attending what must be the most tedious balls in all England, she knew the floor plan of Almack’s Assembly Rooms by heart.

  This event wasn’t one of those stuffy subscription balls, but a masquerade—an extremely select one, because her grandmother wouldn’t let her attend otherwise. Melinda was dressed as the Greek goddess Athena. She glanced back to make sure her grandmother was still in the card room. Even after three seasons of impeccable behavior, Grandmama still didn’t trust Melinda. In this instance she was justified, but Melinda didn’t intend to get caught.

  She slipped out of the ballroom and through the doorway which led downstairs to the cloakroom, but instead of taking the stairs, she ducked through another door into the service area. She put up her hood, scurried past a startled waiter, and went down the back passageway into the mews.

  Outdoors, a chill struck her, and not only because of the cool midnight air. This wasn’t a friendly night like at home in Sussex, the kind of night where one sneaked a horse from the stables for a moonlight ride. She removed her mask, which allowed her to see a little better. She mustn’t let the darkness unnerve her, for she had to give her best friend Lavinia Darwin’s message to Mr. Fellowes. Lavinia would have left the poor man waiting in the mews for hours, believing she was about to elope with him, which was frightfully inconsiderate.

  “You must at least tell him you’ve changed your mind,” Melinda had told her friend, who was dressed as Artemis, goddess of the hunt.

  “He’ll be so upset,” Lavinia had said, her quiver and arrows jiggling agitatedly. “I can’t bear angry people. Besides, I haven’t exactly changed my mind. It’s just that Lord Andrews is here at the masquerade.” She had fallen in love with Lord Andrews last season, but he’d left town without coming up to scratch. More than a year later, he had finally returned. “I don’t know what to do! I love Mr. Fellowes, but I love Lord Andrews, too, and Mama approves of him, so I wouldn’t have to elope and create a scandal.”

  Melinda hadn’t come close to falling in love with even one man, much less two at once, but voicing her suspicion that Lavinia was merely giving in to her mother’s ambition wouldn’t solve the current problem. “Very well,” she said, “but how cruel to leave Mr. Fellowes waiting out there with his servants sniggering at him.”

  Lavinia bit her lip. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but . . .” She gave a helpless little shrug. “If I truly were eloping, it wouldn’t matter, but I daren’t sneak out to meet a man. What if someone sees me alone with him? I should be ruined!”

  Melinda sighed. She had assisted in making the arrangements for the elopement, so she supposed she must meet Mr. Fellowes in the mews and cancel it. Now, alone in the chilly darkness, she regretted the whole business from start to finish. Where was he?

  “Miss Darwin?” murmured a male voice close beside her.

  Melinda muffled a shriek. “You frightened me! Who are you?” Not Mr. Fellowes; this man was both taller and broader, and by what little she could see, somewhat plainly dressed.

  The man doffed his wide-brimmed hat and then set it back on his head. “The coachman, Miss. Mr. Fellowes asked me to fetch you. The carriage is waiting at the end of the mews.”

  “Where is Mr. Fellowes? I must speak to him.”

  “He’s waiting by the carriage, Miss. Come along now, before you catch a chill.” The coachman’s low, pleasant voice soothed her. Not that she needed soothing, because there was nothing to be afraid of. Still, she knew an urge to flee back into the bright safety of Almack’s.

  But she couldn’t disclose such personal business to a servant. “It’s most ungentlemanly of him not to come himself,” she said irritably, clutching the flowing cape of her costume about her and accompanying the tall coachman down the dirty cobblestones of the mews. Her evening slippers would likely be ruined.

  “And so I told him, Miss,” the coachman said with a tiny chuckle. “He wouldn’t listen to a mere servant, though. You should give him a piece of your mind.”

  “Indeed I shall.” It seemed Mr. Fellowes was as inconsiderate in his own way as Lavinia.

  A traveling carriage huddled at the end of the mews, its lamps glowing dimly. A groom slouched at the horses’ heads, and the harness jingled as one of the pair stamped its feet. “Here we are, then,” the coachman said, opening the door and letting down the steps. “In you go.”

  Melinda peered into the coach. It was empty. “Where is Mr. Fellowes?”

  “Isn’t he in there?” The coachman leaned around her. “Must have gone for a drink to warm his insides. We’ve a long drive ahead.” He raised his chin toward the figure holding the horses. “Where’d he go, Jem?”

  “Spied someone who knew him,” the groom said. “Said it wasn’t safe to be seen here, so he loped off to the st
ables to borrow a hack. We’re to take him up when we change horses.”

  Melinda shivered. Why was only one pair of horses hitched to the coach? Mr. Fellowes wasn’t a rich man, but he must know he couldn’t outrun the inevitable pursuit without a coach-and-four. “I must speak to Mr. Fellowes,” she said again.

  “We’ll reach him in a jiffy,” the coachman said. “Hop in, Miss.”

  “No,” Melinda said, unable to stop herself from eyeing the coach distastefully. It looked quite dingy in the lamplight. Not that Melinda would mind riding in such a carriage if she were eloping, but it wouldn’t suit pampered Lavinia. Maybe her change of heart was for the best. “I shall return to the masquerade. Tell Mr. Fellowes this is not the way to treat the woman he loves.”

  “But Miss,” the coachman said, “if he has to come in after you, won’t that alert the pursuit?”

  She couldn’t tell the coachman there would be no elopement and therefore no pursuit. That humiliating, heartbreaking news was for Mr. Fellowes alone. “The elopement will have to be postponed,” she improvised. “He has done a poor job of planning. He’ll never outrun them with only two horses.”

  In the muted glow of the carriage lantern, the coachman frowned down at her. He adjusted his hat, pulling it low over his brow, but not before she got the impression of intelligent eyes and an amused mouth. “No, Miss, he’s planned it very well indeed. He didn’t want to call attention to the coach, but we’ll change to four horses at the first stop.”

  “And a better coach, I hope. This one looks rather shabby.”

  “Yet another of Mr. Fellowes’s clever ploys,” the coachman said. “Who would suspect the rich Miss Darwin of eloping in a fusty old carriage like this? The one we’re changing to is a beauty, with maroon velvet squabs fit for a princess, and—”

  Behind them, a door opened, spilling light into the mews. “Damn,” the coachman muttered. “Sorry, Miss Darwin, but we’ve no more time to chat.” He plucked Melinda off her feet. Before she could as much as squeak, he tossed her into the coach and slammed the door shut behind her.

  Two hours later Miles Warren, Viscount Garrison, guided the coach into the dark yard of a wayside inn on the road north. He hadn’t heard a peep out of Miss Darwin since he’d so unceremoniously bundled her into the coach. This surprised him; from what little he’d seen of her, she wasn’t the sort of girl to meekly accept such rough-and-ready treatment. She must be madly in love indeed or terrified of pursuit.

  He jumped down from the box. Jem had already gone to the horses’ heads. The inn was in complete darkness, for which he gave thanks. The fewer people who saw Miss Darwin, the better. She’d have enough gossip to contend with on her return, without being seen at an inn in the small hours, dressed like a Greek goddess and without even a maid to attend her.

  Fellowes bustled out of the stables, holding a lantern in one hand and his ever-present sketchbook in the other. “At last! I’d begun to worry. Is she vexed with me?”

  “She was a little snappish about riding in this old coach, but she hasn’t said a word since we drove off. Probably fell asleep. We met with two overturned wagons, so it took forever to get out of London.” She might well berate Fellowes about his supposed coachman, but that wasn’t Miles’s problem. “You go talk to her. She’ll want to change clothing, I expect. Not that she doesn’t look damned good as a goddess.” He grinned, reflecting that his friend had acquired a wife who, as far as he could tell, was quite a beauty. He walked away to help Jem stable the tired horses and hitch his best four to his own carriage, the one with the maroon velvet squabs. No one would suspect the respectable but impoverished Mr. Fellowes of traveling to Gretna Green in a coach owned by the wealthy and notorious Viscount Garrison.

  Miles chuckled to himself at the thought of Lady Eudora Darwin’s rage when her precious daughter married a mere Mister. Miles wouldn’t have gone out of his way to get revenge on Lady Eudora for maligning him years ago, but when this opportunity had popped up out of nowhere, he’d been unable to resist.

  They had almost got the horses out of the traces when an anguished shout sounded from the coach. Miles turned. “Hush, will you? You’ll wake up the guests.”

  “This isn’t Lavinia Darwin!”

  “What the devil?” He left the horses to Jem and hurried back to the coach.

  Fellowes stood by the open door, holding the lantern high. The girl Miles had bundled into the coach lay sprawled on a pile of rugs on the floor, her cloak askew, her mask crushed beneath her, and a tumble of copper curls partly obscuring her face. His heart gave a horrified lurch; he thrust Fellowes out of the way and climbed inside, bending down to feel for a pulse at her throat.

  Thank God. At least she was alive, but what had happened to her? She’d been in fine fettle when he’d tossed her into the coach. He scooped her off the floor and sat on the seat, cradling her in his arms, so limp and light and soft, reminding him unpleasantly of a dead bird. He held her close to his chest, chafing her arm with his free hand. “Give me that blanket,” he said, motioning to the seat opposite.

  Fellowes picked up the blanket, but something came with it, dropping to the floor with a thud.

  Ah. A metal bracket meant to hold a lamp. Perhaps she’d tried to open the door but fallen when he’d set the coach in motion, and the bracket, loose from rust and age, had landed on her head and knocked her out. He took the blanket, shook it out, and flung it over the girl. “Who is she, then?”

  Fellowes picked up the lantern again, frowning. “She’s Lavinia’s bosom friend Melinda. She acted as go-between so no one would suspect anything was going on. Quite pretty, but a bossy sort of female.”

  Judging by his experience with her so far, Miles had no problem believing that, but ‘quite pretty’ was doing her an injustice.

  “How did you manage to bring the wrong girl?” Fellowes said. “I told you Lavinia was a blonde. Look at the girl’s hair. It’s orange as a carrot!”

  A flame, Miles would have said, or a lethally beautiful flower, but this was not the time to argue about similes. “It was dark, and the hood covered her hair. She crept into the mews dressed as Artemis, goddess of the hunt, so what else was I to assume?”

  “She’s not Artemis—she’s Athena,” Fellowes said. “Look at the thunderbolt stitched to her gown. Artemis carried a quiver and arrows.”

  “I thought Eros wielded the bow and arrows,” Miles said. The girl sighed, and her head lolled against his arm, baring a sleek, kissable throat. To his shame, the soft weight of her bum on his lap was getting him aroused. He must have gone without a woman far too long if he was responding to an unconscious girl.

  “He did, you dolt,” Fellowes said. “But the female goddess of love is Aphrodite.”

  For whom this imperious, copper-haired sprite could easily pass. “Regardless, she was dressed as a goddess and she’d come to meet you.” He thought back. “Said she needed to speak to you, even going so far as to criticize the carriage and the number of horses and suggesting you had planned things badly. It never occurred to me she might not be Miss Darwin.” He paused. “I bundled her in and got the coach going in a hurry. She must have been unconscious the whole drive here.”

  Melinda’s first thought, when she woke for the third time, was thank God we’re not moving anymore. She had the most ghastly headache, and the jolting of the carriage had caused such bursts of agony that she’d desperately sought refuge in sleep again. Dimly, she recalled wondering where they could possibly be going and why she hadn’t stayed at home if she was ill. But now the carriage was still, and strong arms cuddled her close to a warm chest . . .

  She burst into full consciousness, flailing against the arms that held her. “Let me go!” she cried. Where was she? What had happened to her?

  “There, there,” said a soothing male voice. “Calm down. You’re perfectly safe.”

/>   “Safe?” She shrieked, punching her captor’s shoulder. “Let me go, you beast!” She hit him again, writhing in his grasp. She’d gone to the mews to meet Mr. Fellowes and had spoken to his coachman . . . and then what?

  He loosened his arms. She shot to a sitting position, then tumbled off his lap onto the seat. “Ouch!” Her hands flew to her head, steadying it.

  Oh God, how it hurt, as if her brains were sloshing about inside her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut until the pain subsided, and then tentatively opened them again. Mr. Fellowes’s coachman was next to her on the seat, his hat still over his eyes, and Mr. Fellowes himself stood outside the coach, holding a lantern aloft.

  “You were knocked out getting into the coach, Miss,” the coachman said.

  “I don’t remember getting into the coach at all. In fact, I’m sure I wouldn’t have done so!” She glared at Mr. Fellowes. “Where are we? Why did your fool of a coachman abduct me?”

  It was too dark to tell, but she was willing to bet Mr. Fellowes reddened. He certainly looked chagrined. “He thought you were Lavinia.”

  “Does one usually have one’s prospective bride knocked on the head?” Melinda retorted and clutched her temples again.

  “That was an accident. A metal bracket fell and hit you,” the nauseatingly placid coachman said. “If you would sit still and calm yourself, your head might hurt less.”

  “If you hadn’t abducted me, my head wouldn’t hurt at all!”