How to Ruin a Reputation (Rakes Beyond Redemption)

by Bronwyn Scott

  ASHTON BEDEVERE: RENOWNED LIBERTINE WHO

  CAN RUIN A REPUTATION QUICKER THAN OTHER

  GENTLEMEN CAN DRINK THEIR BRANDY

  After years in Italy, honing his skills in the delicious art of seduction, Ashe returns to London’s high-class establishments—preceded, of course, by his reputation for lavish opulence and unashamed wickedness.

  Then his scandalous ways are abruptly ended by his father’s death. To claim what is rightfully his, notorious lothario Ashe must do the inconceivable—take a wife!

  But who could possibly even think about marrying such a man? Certainly not the lovely Genevra Ralston. After all, she’d be finished in polite society. Wouldn’t she?

  Yet Ashe’s notorious charm and practiced touch could prove irresistible....

  “I am not looking to make a marriage.” She might as well be clear on that matter with Ashe from the beginning.

  “Not tonight anyway.” Ashe laughed at her defiance. “That doesn’t mean we can’t explore other interesting avenues of association.”

  “I decide for myself. You don’t have any claim on me,” Genevra asserted, although her body knew the latter statement to be something of a lie. Ashe did claim her attentions—in a way that transcended their connection through the estate.

  Ashe’s long fingers reached out to stroke a cheek. “And what have you decided, Neva? Have you decided to allow yourself the pleasure of a night? It is too late to deny it. I see the desire in your eyes. And not only tonight. I’ve seen it before, in the conservatory. I intrigue you and you intrigue me. I would gladly give you the one night your body is asking for.”

  *

  How to Ruin a Reputation

  Harlequin® Historical #1108—October 2012

  Introducing a deliciously sinful and witty new trilogy from Bronwyn Scott

  Rakes Beyond Redemption

  Too wicked for polite society...

  They’re the men society mamas warn their daughters about...and the men that innocent debutantes

  find scandalously irresistible!

  The notorious Merrick St. Magnus knows just HOW TO DISGRACE A LADY

  September 2012

  The untameable Ashe Bevedere needs no lessons in HOW TO RUIN A REPUTATION

  October 2012

  The shameless Riordan Barrett is an unequalled master in HOW TO SIN SUCCESSFULLY

  November 2012

  Be sure not to miss any of these sexy men!

  Bronwyn Scott

  How to Ruin a Reputation

  For my dad and Nancy, just because

  it’s been a long time since I’ve dedicated a book to you.

  Hugs and love to you both.

  Available from Harlequin® Historical and BRONWYN SCOTT

  Pickpocket Countess #889

  Notorious Rake, Innocent Lady #896

  The Viscount Claims His Bride #929

  The Earl’s Forbidden Ward #986

  Untamed Rogue, Scandalous Mistress #1001

  A Thoroughly Compromised Lady #1030

  Secret Life of a Scandalous Debutante #1058

  *How to Disgrace a Lady #1104

  *How to Ruin a Reputation #1108

  *Rakes Beyond Redemption

  Look for

  How to Sin Successfully

  Coming soon

  And in Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss

  Pleasured by the English Spy

  Wicked Earl, Wanton Widow

  Arabian Nights With a Rake

  An Illicit Indiscretion

  And in Harlequin Historical Royal Weddings ebook Prince Charming in Disguise

  Author Note

  The Rakes Beyond Redemption trilogy is a chance to look at three gentlemen of the ton who are transformed for the better by crisis. In Book One, How to Disgrace a Lady, Merrick faces personal financial ruination and a test of his long-dormant sense of honor when he’s placed at the heart of a sinister wager to transform the retiring Alixe Burke into the Toast of the Season. In Book Two, How to Ruin a Reputation, Ashe has to cope with the aftershocks of a death in the family. And in Book Three, How to Sin Successfully, Riordan grapples with becoming an instant father when he inherits his brother’s two young wards.

  These are three Regency-style crises that often served to shape families and destinies in nineteenth-century England, but their situations find echoes in modern society: economic hardship, loss and changing family structures in which, more and more, extended family are stepping in to raise children while parents work, often far from home, to make ends meet.

  I thought this was a fitting theme, given the current economic situations around the world and what they mean to regular people like you and me. In the past few years my family, like so many others, has had to decide what’s really important to us about where our money and time are spent. What will we give up and how will we change our living habits to accommodate our needs?

  In How to Ruin a Reputation, Ashe is faced with that same decision. What is he willing to change in order to keep the things and the people that are important to him? Up until now he’d envisaged and lived a fairly self-centered life. He’d never imagined a time when his father was dead and his brother no longer a bulwark of respectability to shoulder the mantle of the earldom. Now the earldom is his—if he dares to claim it. Ashe is not an ideal hero. His father, worried that Ashe might be the heir after all, has made some provisions in his will in order to protect the estate and the earldom’s legacy from the prodigal second son. Death does not make Ashe perfect—he’s not suddenly transformed into a bulwark of familial stability. He is filled with regret, and he does set out to make things right, but it’s not an easy road for him—especially with the nominally perfect Cousin Henry waiting in the wings to take over the estate should Ashe fail.

  There are secrets revealed and tests to pass along the way for Ashe in his journey to recognize his true potential. Fortunately, as on any good journey, there is someone to help. For Ashe, that mentor comes in the form of Genevra Ralston, an American heiress who understands his trials and failures better than he thinks, because she has secrets of her own—secrets Ashe will delight in uncovering as he faces the greatest trial of all...a rake falling in love.

  Happy reading—I’ll see you out there!

  Drop by my blog at www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com for updates on new titles and sneak peeks.

  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

  The dim interior of the sickroom bristled with contentious silence. ‘The will must be changed.’ The old earl fairly shook in his chair with the force of his statement.

  ‘I heard you the first time,’ Markham Marsbury, solicitor to the Earl of Audley over the past ten years, responded with a patience born of long practice. The earl wasn’t his first client who’d had last-minute doubts about
his final arrangements.

  But the earl’s requests might be the most irregular.

  ‘You disagree with my decision,’ the earl challenged, sounding more like his usual irascible self than he had in months. Perhaps it was a good sign, Marsbury thought hopefully. Perhaps the old man would get better one more time.

  Goodness knew the earldom could ill afford to lose him now. On the other hand, he knew better. Anyone who had been around lingering death knew the signs: a sudden rally, a brief explosion of energy that might last a day or two—then nothing.

  ‘Yes, I disagree, Richard.’ They’d become friends over his decade in Audley. ‘I can understand wanting to make the inheritance into a regency, a trusteeship of sorts. After what happened to Alex, it’s a logical course.’ Marsbury shook his head.

  ‘But to divide the governance into shares and leave fifty-one per cent to her makes no sense. You have two viable male heirs hanging on the family tree, one of them your second son. For goodness’ sake, Richard, she’s not even British. She’s American.’

  ‘She’s what the estate needs. She’s already proven it in the year she’s been here,’

  the earl broke in with vigour, unwilling to hear his position maligned. ‘Some American thinking will rejuvenate the place and she’s become the daughter I never had.’

  And maybe even a substitute for the son who had not come home in ten years.

  ‘Ashe will come home,’ Marsbury put in. But he got out his papers and his ink and began to write. He recognised the signs of early intractability. There would be no dissuading the earl.

  ‘Not while I’m alive,’ the earl said matter of factly. ‘We quarrelled and he made his position very clear.’

  Then the son was a lot like his father, Marsbury thought privately as he finished the codicil and brought the paper to the earl. He held the older man’s hand steady as he signed. The earl hadn’t been able to write on his own for some time. Even with help, the signature was a barely legible scrawl.

  Marsbury sanded the document and carefully placed it with the other papers.

  He reached out to shake his friend’s hand. ‘Perhaps there will be no need for this, after all. You look better today.’ He offered a smile.

  The smile was not returned. ‘There is every need for it,’ the earl barked. ‘I’ve done what needs doing to bring my son home. I know my son. What he wouldn’t do for me, he’ll do for Bedevere. He loves Bedevere and he will come for that reason alone.’

  Marsbury nodded, thinking of the other two names on the codicil, the other two ‘shareholders’ named in the trusteeship. His father’s death would bring the errant son home, but knowing Bedevere was surrounded by enemies who had been positioned to snatch it up should he falter, might be enough to make him stay.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Marsbury snapped his writing case shut.

  The earl gave him a wan smile, looking more tired than he had a few minutes prior. ‘I rather doubt that. If you mean to say goodbye to me, I would suggest you say it now.’

  ‘You are far too stubborn for such maudlin talk,’ Marsbury joked, clasping the old man’s hand one last time.

  *

  Stubborn as the fourth Earl of Audley was, Death was ultimately more so. It was with no surprise that Markham Marsbury received word over his morning coffee the next day that the earl had passed away shortly before sunrise surrounded by family and one Genevra Ralston, the American in whose hands the fate of Bedevere now resided. Markham called for his writing things and dispatched a note to London, hoping it would find Ashe Bedevere and bring him home with all possible haste.

  Chapter One

  Sex with Ashe Bedevere was one of the ‘Great Pleasures’ of the Season and not to be missed, which explained why Lady Hargrove was favouring him with a splendid pout and a peek-a-boo glimpse of her bosom beneath a carefully draped sheet in hopes of persuading him to stay.

  ‘Surely a few more minutes will not matter,’ she protested with a coy look, letting the sheet slip ever so provocatively over the curve of her hip.

  Ashe shoved his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, dressing rapidly.

  Whatever he’d found appealing about Lady Hargrove’s feminine assets earlier in the evening had vanished in the wake of the note that had come for him. He pulled on his trousers and favoured her with a sinful smile designed to placate.

  ‘My dear, what I had in mind for us takes more than a few minutes.’

  The promise of deferred pleasure was enough. Ashe eased out the door before she could argue, all his thoughts fixed on one goal: getting to Bedevere, the Earl of Audley’s family seat. Never mind that Bedevere was three days’ ride away. Never mind he hadn’t any idea of what to do once he got there. Never mind he could have answered numerous requests to return home in the past years and hadn’t.

  Never mind any of it. This time it was different. This time, the solicitor had written two desperate sentences. ‘Come home. Your father has died.’

  Ashe sprinted the last few streets to his rooms on Jermyn Street, fuelled by a sense of urgency and impotence. He’d always thought he’d have more time.

  Three days later

  God and the devil in the details! Ashe swore none too softly and pulled his bay stallion to a jolting halt. This was Bedevere land? More to the point, this was his father’s land? He could hardly reconcile the weed-choked fields and broken stone fences lining the roadway with the once-fertile fields and immaculate roads of his youth. He’d seen plenty of the devil since he’d ridden on to Bedevere land and not much of God. How had it come to this?

  A sharp pang of guilt stabbed at him deep and hard. He knew the answer.

  It was his fault.

  The current summons home wasn’t the first, but it would be the last. Ashe could have come home long before when the first bout of illness had settled in four years ago. He could have come home when his brother had gone round the bend two years ago for reasons still unclear to him. But he hadn’t and an extraordinary consequence had occurred as a result: the timeless fortitude of Bedevere had faltered, proven fallible at last. He’d waited too long and all this ruin could be laid at his feet.

  It seemed an ironic twist of fate that he was now poised to be the curator of a place he’d so willingly fled in years past. The place had been perfect then, so unlike his imperfect self. It was less perfect now and he was still flawed—a broken king to rule a broken Camelot.

  There was no use in putting it off. Ashe kicked his horse into a canter for the last ride home. His trunks would have arrived yesterday, signalling that he was not far behind. The aunts had probably been up since daybreak, anticipating his coming, and they would all be waiting.

  All four of them. He was their protector now, a role he felt ill suited to play. He supposed that was part of the Bedevere legacy, too; the Bedevere women didn’t marry men who had the foresight to provide beyond the grave and the Bedevere males hadn’t much luck in living long enough to do it for them.

  The rough-kept lands preceding the park were a blessing of sorts in that they prepared him for the sight of the manor. Ivy crawled rampant across the formerly pristine sandstone of the hall’s façade. A shutter hung loose from a second-storey window. Flowerbeds were overrun with plants that had long outgrown their intended shapes. Nature was having its way with the once-orderly estate.

  Years ago, it had been a point of pride that Bedevere Hall, seat of the Audleys for four generations, was the gem of the county. It might not have been the largest home—Seaton Hall was bigger just a few miles to the south—but Bedevere was by far lovelier with its comely gardens and well-appointed views.

  From what Ashe could see trotting down the drive, there wasn’t much of that left now.

  Ashe dismounted and steeled himself for what lay inside. If the outside looked this bad, he could only imagine what had taken place inside to allow such decay to be permissible. A lone stable boy ran up to take his horse. Ashe was tempted to ask him about the state of things, but decided against
it. He’d rather see it all with his own eyes.

  Ashe doubted he’d even finished knocking before the door swung open and time stalled. Gardener stood there, as tall and sombre as Ashe remembered him, perhaps a bit greyer, a bit thinner, but very much the same. Growing up, Ashe had thought it was funny to have a butler named Gardener and a gardener named Smith, who looked to be long gone from the state of things.

  ‘Mr Bedevere, welcome home.’ Gardener bowed, ‘I am sorry for the circumstances, sir.’

  For a moment, Ashe almost looked behind him to see who else had followed him home—the greeting had been so very formal.

  ‘This way, sir,’ Gardener said. ‘You are expected.’

  Ashe followed Gardener down the hall to the drawing room, making mental notes as they went: bare hall tables, faded rugs and curtains. There was a shabbiness to the house. But most striking was the emptiness. There were no maids polishing the staircase, no footmen awaiting errands. The usual bustle of the hall was silent. There was Gardener and the stable boy. Presumably there were more, including a cook, hopefully, but Ashe didn’t want to presume too much. It didn’t look promising.

  Ashe paused outside the drawing-room door and took a deep breath. Beyond those doors lay a responsibility he’d eschewed for years. He had his reasons. It was a mean act of fate that all his efforts to avoid it had come to naught. The Bedevere legacy, the one thing he’d tried so hard to escape, had landed quite squarely in his lap anyway. Perhaps it was true that all roads lead home in the end.

  ‘Are you ready, sir?’ Gardener enquired. With years of impeccable service behind him, Gardener knew how to read his betters and had given him a few seconds to prepare himself.

  ‘Yes, I’m ready.’ Or not. Ashe squared his shoulders.

  ‘Yes, sir, I believe you are. Ready at last.’ Gardener’s eyes held the twinkle of approval.

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ Ashe replied with a nod of his head. He could see Gardener’s rendition of the tale below stairs already, full of admiration about how the young lord had ridden in, taking no time to fuss over his appearance after a long ride. Instead, he’d gone straight to his aunts.

  Gardener had made a habit of seeing the best in him in his youth. Gardener would make him out to be an angel by evening. But if he was an angel, he was a very wicked one. Heaven forbid anyone at Bedevere ever learn what he’d been doing the moment the message of his father’s demise had arrived. In hindsight, ‘aggressively flirting’ with Lady Hargrove seemed akin to fiddling while Rome burned.