How to Ruin a Reputation (Rakes Beyond Redemption)

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘Perhaps a kidnapping,’ Samuels spoke up, his narrow eyes thoughtful and malevolent. ‘We could use your fellow in the village, Bennington, the one that did the carriage wheel. Perhaps we could exchange someone for mining rights. The earl? The bride? I’ve always fancied doing a bridal kidnapping.’

  Trent shook his head. ‘Bedevere knows we can’t harm his brother without ruining Henry’s claim. Our threat would have no bite. As for the bride, who knows what Bedevere would or wouldn’t do for her? He’s marrying her for money, not love. Why would he exchange her for his estate? It’s counter-intuitive to his plans.’

  ‘Death, then,’ said Cunningham. ‘Bedevere simply has to die. Soon.’

  Trent gave a casual shrug as if he planned executions every day. ‘Both of them.

  With the brother out of the way, Bennington’s the earl. It makes sense. It takes away the chance that Henry’s crimes in the ledger might be discovered.’ He winked at Henry and Henry felt cold. ‘Forgery is still a nasty crime to be convicted of, isn’t it, old chap?’ Trent said it as if it were a lark. To him it might be. It wasn’t his head on the chopping block if he was discovered.

  The whole investment wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. It was supposed to have been a simple matter of taking over Bedevere, of taking advantage of circumstances. Henry had never guessed it would lead to a discussion of murder or him becoming the earl in quick succession. But he was powerless to stop it— why should he when it came with a title? That was a powerful carrot to dangle in front of him indeed.

  Henry was a selfish creature. If he had to choose between Ashe and himself, he’d choose himself, but he’d be damned if he was going to pull the actual trigger.

  ‘I think we need to have a professional do it,’ Henry put in. He was done taking risks for the moment.

  ‘Cunningham’ll do it.’ Trent nodded towards the thickset man with small eyes.

  Cunningham grinned. ‘Yeah, I’ll do it.’ He cracked his knuckles with no small amount of glee. ‘If we can’t kidnap a bride, we can at least shoot a groom.’

  Trent smiled. ‘And you, Henry, will be the bait to draw Ashe out.’

  Henry felt cold fingers walk down his spine. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Henry,’ Trent drawled with impatience. ‘Confession is good for the soul.’

  *

  ‘Any last confessions, little brother? You’re about to be a married man,’ Alex joked in a little antechamber at the side of the chapel.

  ‘I don’t think we have that much time. Genevra should be here any minute.’

  Ashe looked past his brother’s shoulder one more time, distractedly watching the door at the chapel’s entrance. It wasn’t quite ten o’clock.

  Technically, Genevra still had another ten minutes. What was she doing right now? Was she coming downstairs at Bedevere? Climbing in the carriage? Was she already on her way? Was she having doubts and wondering what she’d done?

  Perhaps she was thinking she could manage Henry and his threats on her own, that her freedom was too high a price to pay for protection.

  Alex’s hand gripped his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, she’ll be here. Everything will be all right.’ Alex smiled. ‘She likes you, you know. More than likes you. She wants to know you, Ashe.’

  ‘She knows what must be done.’

  Alex nodded. ‘Still, she’s not a woman who does things against her will. She would not marry you if it didn’t suit her.’

  That was what worried Ashe the most. What did he know of marriage and having a wife? He’d hardly kept a woman over two weeks, let alone a lifetime.

  Failing was not an enjoyable prospect, but neither was the alternative. What if he did fall in love with his wife? Then the risk of disappointing her would be far greater than disappointing someone who didn’t hold his affections.

  Vicar Browne motioned for them to take their places. Ashe drew in a deep breath. The carriage must have been sighted. Salvation was in sight. Genevra hadn’t run, although he had no reason to think she would have.

  Alex embraced him one last time. ‘The next time I do that, you’ll be a husband and within time a father.’ The wistfulness in his voice could not be completely hidden.

  ‘It should be you, Alex,’ Ashe whispered. But it would never be Alex. Alex would never marry.

  ‘I will be a doting uncle and very happy. Let yourself be the same, Ashe. You carry too much guilt with you. Don’t think I don’t see it. I am your brother and I know you better than anyone. Let yourself be happy.’ Alex stepped back from their embrace and smoothed the shoulders of Ashe’s morning coat. ‘There. You’re ready.’

  Ashe squared his shoulders and took up his place, Alex beside him, at the front of the little chapel. The chapel had played witness to generations of Bedeveres; his own parents had married here, he and Alex had been baptised here. His father’s last service had been here. Leticia’s own wedding had been here. He was cognisant as he stood at the front of the church, with his covey of aunts looking on, how auspicious the place and occasion was to them. Life passed through this little stone chapel.

  His aunts might be the only guests in attendance, but they had not let the event go unmarked. A pristine cloth covered the altar. Silver candlesticks burning new wax candles sat on that altar, bracketed by two vases of hothouse flowers.

  Genevra would not look back on her wedding day and say it had been devoid of any decoration, even if it had been devoid of guests and the great pomp that would have, should have, accompanied the wedding of a lord under other circumstances.

  The door to the church opened. Genevra stood there, looking for something, looking for him. She found him, smiled and began the short walk down the aisle, composed and elegant in pearly-grey satin. The satin of her gown hugged the contours of her form, emphasising the slimness of her waist, the gentle curve of her hip as she moved towards him.

  ‘She’s beautiful—you’re a lucky man, Ashe,’ Alex whispered, following up with a surreptitious poke to his ribs. But more notable than her loveliness, she walked the short aisle alone.

  Ashe thought she might well be one of the bravest people he’d ever known. She was alone in the world except for nominal family in America. Yet she’d thrown her lot in with his and chosen to march towards a very uncertain future.

  Ashe reached for her hand and drew her to him. She was pale despite her composure and her hand trembled within his. He hoped she wasn’t having regrets already. There would undoubtedly be some. English society would not look upon this marriage with kindness and it would be difficult for her initially. She was an outsider, married only for her money. London would not let her forget it, although he would do his best to smooth the way when the time came.

  For now it was enough to know that she was out of Henry’s reach. The papers had been signed yesterday in Marsbury’s tiny office. Genevra was as legally safe as he could make her. She was no longer an official shareholder in the regency of the estate. Henry had not been seen since he’d left, but that didn’t mean he was undefeated.

  A jolt of pain shot up Ashe’s leg momentarily and he barely bit back an ‘ow!’

  Genevra had squashed his instep with her slippers. He speared her with a disbelieving look. What bride stepped on her groom’s foot doing the service?

  ‘I believe this is your part,’ she whispered, an enquiring smile on her very kissable mouth.

  *

  ‘Do you, Ashton Malvern Bedevere, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?’

  Genevra stifled a nervous laugh. His middle name was Malvern? She hadn’t known. This was sheer madness, marrying a man whose full name she didn’t know. Then his green eyes held hers as he repeated the vows and the craziness seemed well justified, rational even.

  This wedding was very different than the one she’d had with Philip. The comparison came unbidden and unwelcome—she didn’t want to think of that earlier occasion on today of all days, except that the contrast was so glaring. That wedding had borne all the trappings a wedding should have, a
nd borne them in extreme. There’d been fifteen urns of flowers lining the church in Boston, pews full of the city’s finest, and her dress had been imported from France. The preparations had taken months. In the end, it had been for naught. Philip hadn’t loved her. Had never loved her, only feigned deep affection, and she’d been too naïve to know the difference.

  Today was a simpler, more honest occasion. Ashe hadn’t pretended to love her, hadn’t whispered nonsensical flattery in her ear, but she knew from the start what she was getting: a man who would protect her from scandal, a man who was not entirely without feeling for her, a man who took his responsibility to his family with seriousness. That would have to be enough.

  Ashe slid a ring on her finger and bent to kiss her. It was done now, enough or not. Marry in haste, repent at leisure, came the unbidden thought as his lips found hers. With Ashe Bedevere as a husband, that could be fun indeed.

  But that would have to wait a few hours at least.

  There had still been some wedding traditions to perform. They’d spent the day at Bedevere, lingering with Alex and the aunts over a delicious wedding breakfast before delivering tokens of the wedding to the few servants on hand. More would be hired within the week, of course. Now that she was the ostensible mistress, Genevra would see the place fully staffed as quickly as possible. It would be her first official task.

  Afterwards, Genevra had changed into a walking gown and she and Ashe strolled through Audley to celebrate with the villagers and farmers. Ashe tossed pennies to the children in the village square and Genevra laughed at their delighted scrambling.

  The shadows lengthened and at last it was time to turn for home and their wedding night. There’d be no wedding trip, but it was understandable. With Alex newly home, the funeral still lingering, and Henry out there somewhere licking his wounds, a trip seemed poorly timed.

  But, Genevra discovered, Ashe was not without his resources. ‘Where are we going?’ she queried as they turned away from the house and headed down towards the little lake.

  Ashe winked. ‘The summerhouse. My aunts tell me you’ve not been there yet.’

  But that was all he’d say on the subject.

  Dusk and lanterns showed the structure to advantage and Genevra gasped softly when she saw it. ‘Oh, Ashe, it’s beautiful.’

  She had not ventured out here before. It was not a place for winter visits and Ashe’s father had been too ill to walk so far in any case. Ashe held the door for her and she slipped inside. The building was a three-walled structure with a bank of windows looking out on to the lake. In the summer the windows opened completely. Filmy white lengths of curtains hung at the windows and the room was comfortably furnished with chaises, chairs, small tables and, most importantly, a box bed. An armoire stood along one wall full of supplies: blankets, clean sheets and drawers for clothes.

  ‘I might not want to leave,’ Genevra confided.

  Ashe was behind her, his hands settling at her waist, firm and possessive. An undeniable thrill ran through her at the thought: I am his.

  ‘Perhaps we should try it out, though, before you decide,’ Ashe suggested.

  ‘There’s bread and cheese and a bottle of wine on the sideboard.’

  She turned in his arms, eyeing him with teasing scepticism. ‘What shall it be first, Mr Bedevere, bread and wine or bed?’ She warmed to his playful teasing.

  ‘Why do we have to choose?’ Ashe replied naughtily. ‘Bed and wine are a delightful combination if one knows what they’re doing.’

  ‘And I suppose you do?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I most certainly do.’ Ashe stepped back, a seductive smile on his lips.

  ‘May I be so bold as to say you might find yourself overdressed for the occasion? I think you’ll find something more comfortable behind the screen.’

  Genevra ducked around the screen that shielded the box bed from the rest of the room. There was a trunk at the bed’s foot and she found it well stocked.

  Genevra pulled out a satiny dressing robe in white, trimmed with elegantly embroidered green flowers. Melisande’s work, she thought with a sentimental tear. The old dear had outdone herself on the robe. She took out a second robe, a man’s banyan, and laid it out for Ashe. She changed quickly, listening for Ashe beyond the screen.

  It didn’t take him long to appear, tray in hand, his green eyes burning with approval at the sight of her. ‘Now it seems I’m the one who is overdressed.’ She heard the desire in his voice. He set the tray down, his hand going slowly, deliberately, to the cravat tied at his neck.

  He pulled it loose and drew it off. Then came the coat, the waistcoat and the shirt, leaving his chest bare to her scrutiny. ‘You’re doing that on purpose,’ she accused playfully.

  He looked at her with hot eyes. ‘Maybe. Is it working?’

  ‘You know it is.’ Her husband was a fine specimen of male virility. Muscles defined his arms and his torso right down to the long lean length of his hip and thigh. He sat for a moment to pull off his boots and shrug out of his trousers.

  Genevra sucked in her breath. The strong planes of his back and the curve of his buttock as he bent to retrieve the bottle from the tray were positively enticing.

  ‘Wine, my dear?’ He held up the bottle, divinely unbothered by his nakedness.

  ‘What about the bread and cheese?’ This was shaping up to be unlike any picnic she’d ever experienced.

  ‘There’ll be time for that later. Now, take off your robe and lie back for me.’

  She did as she was told, carefully setting the robe aside.

  He came to her, straddling her hips, his phallus teasing her where it brushed against her skin with promises of what was to come. ‘Allow me to pour the wine.’

  With elegant grace he pulled the cork and trickled a few drops into her navel, running a trail up to her breasts. She gasped at the audacity of it, the absolute eroticism of it.

  ‘Shh, be still or it will spill,’ Ashe cautioned with a wicked smile. Then he bent his head and drank, and licked and sucked until she thought she’d go mad from the sensations he roused in her.

  She thrashed a bit as he sucked the last of the wine from her breast, the sensation too much to contain. ‘Remind me to tie your hands to the bed next time, my restless one,’ Ashe murmured against her skin. ‘Do you think you’d like that?’ He sat up and shifted his position, moving lower until she had no illusions about what he intended next. Surely he didn’t mean to... ‘Ashe?’ The one word carried her hesitation.

  ‘Don’t worry, Neva, you’ll like this, I promise.’ He’d been right on that account before. His head bent to that most private part of her, his tongue making good on the promise until she cried out her pleasure. Only after that did he cover her with his length and sheathe himself inside her and create pleasure for them both.

  As wedding nights went, they were off to a good start and the sun hadn’t quite set yet.

  They managed to get to the bread and cheese an hour later, curled up on a double-sized chaise by the windows. Ashe poured a glass of wine for her. ‘A toast is in order. To my wife, who has made me a happy man on this day and shall make me happier in the years to come.’

  The toast was short but perfect, the words thoughtful. Emotion stirred. It would be easy to love this man, easy and dangerous. He couldn’t hurt her if she didn’t love him. But the chasm between ‘just sex’ and love didn’t seem as broad as it use to be. If she wasn’t careful, she could fall. The wicked rake was also a very good man at heart. She wondered if she’d be able to trust him with hers or whether she’d have any choice in the matter when the time came. She rather suspected she’d wake up one day and find it had simply become his without her consent.

  Ashe reached for the bottle of wine and sloshed it a bit. ‘There’s half a glass left.’

  He made to pour it into her glass.

  ‘No, I have a better idea.’ Genevra gently took the bottle from him and came around to his side of the chaise. She knelt before him, untying the banyan and spr
eading the halves wide so that he was revealed in all of his male splendour. He was already half-aroused and she gave a seductive laugh, running her thumb lightly over the head of his phallus in preparation. ‘I have it on good authority wine is good for other things besides drinking.’

  She spilled wine along the ridge of his member and very slowly lowered her head to him and took him in her mouth with deliberate intimacy, tongue licking and coaxing. Her hands, braced on the insides of his thighs could feel his muscles tighten as his pleasure heightened. She heard a groan, deep and guttural, in his throat and then it was over, his hands tangled in her hair as he sought his release.

  ‘Neva, you’ll be the death of me,’ Ashe whispered hoarsely.

  ‘There are probably worse ways to die.’ She smiled, revelling in her power for a moment. Whatever else might plague their marriage, the bedroom would not be part of it. This would be the one place where they’d have equal ground and equal pleasure of one another. Surely that counted for something. Marriages had started with less.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ashe leaned against the stone balustrade of the back veranda, savouring the surprising warmth of the day and taking in the rarity of the scene spread before him. The sun was out, teasing about the possibility of an early summer, and Genevra was home early from the village, a rare occurrence indeed. She sat with his aunts on the newly finished stone patio, reading while they were busy with needlework. It was a peaceful scene, much as he’d envisioned it when he’d planned the patio.

  Ashe would liked to have said marriage was just as bad as he’d ever imagined it would be; that he’d knowingly traded his freedom for financial security and was now feeling the sting of being yoked to a harpy for the rest of his life.

  The truth was, marriage to Genevra was working out just fine in its early weeks. Genevra was already vastly familiar with the workings of the household and Ashe realised for the first time how indispensable she must have been for the aunts during the past winter. She had known few servants were left and had set about hiring more. Within a week, Bedevere was staffed as it had been in the years of Ashe’s childhood. There were footmen running errands, maids polishing banisters, grooms in the stable and gardeners, well, in the gardens.