Ruined by a Rake, page 1
Ruined by a Rake
An All's Fair in Love Novella
By: Erin Knightley
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Ruined by a Rake
Copyright © 2013 by Erin Knightley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Excerpt: The Baron Next Door
About the Author
Dedication
To Catherine Gayle, for putting up with me and my endless questions.
And for Kirk, even though you’re entirely too nice to ever be a decent rake.
Prologue
“Nicolas, say hello to your new cousin.”
Eleanor Abbington glanced up sharply at her new aunt’s statement. How had she been singled out? With the entire family gathered in the courtyard of Malcolm Manor to meet Uncle Robert’s new wife and her son, it didn’t seem fair that Eleanor should find herself the center of attention.
Aunt Lavinia smiled as she glanced back and forth between them, her golden eyebrows raised in two perfect arches of expectation. “Eleanor is closest to you in age, only two years your senior.”
Only two years? That was more than a quarter of the boy’s lifetime. For some reason it annoyed her that a seven-year-old was nearly as tall as she. He looked rather like a giraffe, actually, with his long and spindly limbs. Sighing, Eleanor waited for him to say something, to get these forced niceties out of the way. But he didn’t. Instead, he just stood there, staring down at his shiny brown shoes and letting the silence stretch.
Tittering like a squeaky field mouse, Aunt Lavinia turned to Eleanor. “I think he’s shy with all these new people. Be a good girl and give your new cousin a kiss.”
A kiss? Eleanor tried not to make a face, but it wasn’t easy. She couldn’t possibly expect her to kiss this strange boy. Just because Aunt Lavinia had called him her cousin, didn’t make it so. She had overheard Mama talking to Aunt Margaret; she knew that Aunt Lavinia was just a silver-tongue widow—though her tongue looked quite pink to Eleanor—who had somehow managed to fool Uncle Robert, the revered Earl of Malcolm, into marrying her.
Eleanor sent a pleading look to her mother. Mama cut a glance to her new sister-in-law, her mouth pinched and her brow lowered in the same sort of disapproving expression she gave the dog when it slipped inside with muddy paws, but she didn’t intervene on Eleanor’s behalf.
At her side, Libby watched with rounded eyes, leaning into their mother’s skirts. For once, Eleanor was envious of her little sister. No one expected a toddler to have to do such a thing. Or even a five-year-old, for that matter, though William, her real cousin, didn’t seem as though he’d mind such a fate, peering up in adoration at his new stepbrother as he was.
“Eleanor,” her mother said in warning.
Fine.
Sighing hugely, Eleanor stepped forward, reluctance weighing her feet like stones. Still Nicolas didn’t look up. He simply stood there, letting his shaggy hair hang down across his forehead. Great—not only did she get a cousin she didn’t want, but he was rude to boot. Didn’t he know you should face someone when being forced to meet?
Pursing her mouth into a kiss that put her lips as far from her body as she could manage, she leaned forward, aiming for his freckled cheek. He smelled like wind and sunshine, which was better than the dirt and sweat smell she expected of a boy. Just when she was about to graze his cheek, he turned, quick as a whip, and smacked his lips to hers.
She sputtered and jumped back, wiping her whole arm across her violated lips. “Ew! Mama, he kissed me!”
For the first time since he arrived, Nicolas looked her right in the eye. He was grinning like the fool he was, his pale green gaze dancing with smug merriment. “I was just standing here. You were the one who kissed me.”
“Not on the lips,” Eleanor said, spitting the words out along with the taste of him. “That’s disgusting.”
“Eleanor!” Mama barked, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her back sharply. “Mind your manners, young lady.”
Mind her manners? She was the one who had been accosted by the little ruffian! But with Mama’s fingers already digging into her upper arm, Eleanor knew better than to say what she was thinking. “Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled, all the while leveling furious, narrowed eyes on Nicolas.
Did he appear even the tiniest bit contrite? Not even a little. As the adults went on with their greetings, she wrinkled her nose, telling him as clearly as she could manage that she did not like him, cousin or not.
His grin only widened, and then he winked at her. Winked!
Eleanor’s mouth dropped open, which only made him look that much more pleased with himself. Of all the… she snapped her head to the side, refusing to give him the attention he so clearly craved. Even with her gaze averted, she just knew he was still watching her, his infuriatingly smug grin still in place. So he thought he had bested her, did he?
Well, they’d see about that.
Chapter One
Fifteen years later
Oh Lord, she was trapped.
Standing in the center of the sun-dappled folly overlooking the rolling hills of her uncle’s estate, Eleanor suddenly realized exactly what was about to happen. Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.
“Miss Abbington, will you consent to be my wife?” Across from her, Lord Kensington stood perfectly erect, his thick eyebrows raised in polite query.
Drat, drat, drat. Eleanor bit her lip, dismay settling like a brick in her stomach. Or was it dread? Why hadn’t the man listened to her when she had told him in every way possible that she was happy in her situation, and had no plans to change it?
Better yet, why had she been so utterly oblivious to his intentions when she agreed to the walk in the first place? Now she was stuck, with no other choice than to be blunt. “Oh, my. I am sorry, my lord, but I am afraid I must decline your kind offer.”
Silence reigned for the space of ten seconds, broken only by the nearby oak leaves rattling in the light wind as Lord Kensington absorbed her response. In those moments, the spacious, open-air folly seemed to shrink to the size of a cupboard, making it difficult for Eleanor to put enough space between her and her completely unwanted suitor.
“I beg your pardon?”
She tilted her head the slightest bit and tried to infuse compassion into her posture and expression. “My apologies, Lord Kensington, but my answer is no. I will not marry you.”
What a fool she’d been to let it come to this. Yes, she’d known her uncle strongly favored a match between them, but this was only the second day Kensington had been at Malcolm Manor, for heaven’s sake. The rest of the guests would arrive tomorrow, at which time the house party would officially begin. Did he feel that he had to rush things in order to get a leg up on the competition?
Ugh, as if a houseful of boring members of Parliament would tempt her.
“But…” He trailed off, his dark eyes troubled. Confused more than troubled, actually. There was no telling what Uncle Robert had led him to believe.
She set her jaw. Why her uncle was so keen to have her marry all of a sudden was beyond her. Clearly he had not believed her earlier in the summer when she had told him she was content to serve as her Aunt Margaret’s companion and remain a spinster, no matter how society viewed her choice. Old and dried up at that age of four-and-twenty, according to the ton. Which was ridiculous. She was perfectly moisturized and plenty young, thank you very much.
And she had been happy, all the way up until about three minutes ago. Now she had an affronted, would-be suitor gaping at her as if she’d, well, rejected his offer of marriage. Sighing, she offered an apologetic smile. “Please know how flattered I am by your proposal. I wish you nothing but the very best in the future, my lord.”
The situation could not have been any more awkward. Spending the rest of the week with him was going to be excruciating. Spending the rest of the week with Uncle Robert would be even worse.
She swallowed; she couldn’t even think about that now.
As his face grew increasingly mottled, Kensington tugged on the hem of his mustard-colored jacket. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Abbington.” The words were stilted and brusque, understandably.
As far as she was concerned, the sooner this interview was over, the better. “Yes, of course,” she murmured, dipping into a shallow curtsey. He turned and stalked away, cutting a straight line through the grass toward the house. Expelling a lungful of air, Eleanor sagged against one of the folly’s rounded stone columns.
That was an experience she hoped never to repeat.
If he’d only listened to her in the first place. Must people look upon her unmarried status as something to be pitied or remedied? Before her father had died, she had seen all too well the life of a married woman. That was something to be pitied—not her perfectly lovely life. Besides attending to Aunt Margaret’s comforts, no one ever told Eleanor what to do, h
She was free, and she intended to stay that way.
A quarter of an hour later, Eleanor let herself into the empty library, carefully pulling the glass door closed behind her. The cool interior felt good against her flushed cheeks, and she went straight to the nearest chair and collapsed in it. If she were very, very lucky, perhaps no one noticed her coming back to the house. She wasn’t ready to face her uncle just yet. She wanted a chance to think of what to say—
Bam!
The door banged open, startling her into sitting up straight. Uncle Robert stalked into the room, his heavy grey brows lowered over narrowed eyes. With his full grey beard and patrician nose, he was only a toga away from looking like a vengeful Zeus.
So much for having time to gather her thoughts.
“For God’s sake, Eleanor, have you lost your mind? What would possess you to turn down the suit of such an advantageous match?”
Advantageous? For whom, exactly? Indignation flared to life, trumping her apprehension. Her own brows pinched as she lifted her chin. “I am sorry, Uncle, but I did make it quite clear I had no intentions of marrying Lord Kensington.”
“And I made it abundantly clear that Kensington is a valuable political ally with whom I wish to align myself.”
“I’m certain he is a fine politician. I am less certain, however, as to his suitability as a husband.” The very thought made her stomach ache.
“He’s a suitable husband because of his politics,” he snapped, coming to stand directly in front of her. “This isn’t some fairytale, Eleanor. Marriage is a vehicle for strengthening bonds between allies, as you well know.”
How could she forget? In the three months since she had come out of half-mourning, he had spoken of little else. Eleanor drew a calming breath, trying to sound rational. “I can appreciate that. However, I am not prepared to sacrifice my entire life so that Lord Kensington feels obligated to vote more favorably. The politics should stand on their own merits, should they not?”
His nostrils flared, though the rest of him remained unnervingly still. “You have no idea of what you speak, and quite frankly, you are far too old for this sort of selfish childishness. Thank God my sister is not around to see the sort of ungrateful person you have become.”
His words pierced her armor like a well-placed blade. He knew exactly how to flay her, leaving her breathless. “I will not believe Mama would have wanted me to suffer the same fate as she.” Her words were raspy, filled with barely leashed emotion.
The muscles of his jaw hardened, same as his eyes. “And what fate was that? To become a respected member of society? To have children and be the mistress of a great house? To attend the most exclusive balls and dine at the Prince Regent’s own table? You should be so lucky to ‘suffer’ a fate such as hers.”
She swallowed hard against the need to lash out. To baldly state the truth they all knew but no one ever said. Antagonizing her uncle at this point would only make things worse. Straightening her spine, she nodded. “I am sorry I have failed your expectations, Uncle. It was never my intention to disappoint you or this family.”
He shook his head, regarding her as one might a convicted horse thief. “You’ve gone too far this time, Eleanor. Your streak of independence must be nipped in the bud. You have a duty to this family, as do I.”
She bit her tongue, literally, and nodded. When he set his teeth like that, she knew from past experience it was best simply to agree—no matter how idiotic the statement. So long as she didn’t anger him before she left, she could stay out of sight until he cooled down, and he’d likely forget it.
Maybe.
He did look particularly agitated this time.
Linking his hands behind his back he circled her, his pace slow and deliberate. “As the head of this family, I am responsible for the wellbeing and future of each and every one of us. And it’s a good thing, since you have so clearly demonstrated you haven’t the sense God gave you.”
Her head stilled, unable to bob in agreement to this particular statement. How dare he say such a thing to her? A dozen arguments sprang to mind, but she steadfastly clamped her mouth shut. She mustn’t fight with him. He was puffing up like a riled cat, and she didn’t want to feel the sting of drawn claws.
“Whether you like it or not, Eleanor, it is past time for you to apply yourself to finding a husband. We should have done so the moment you were out of half-mourning. We are fast approaching the time you will be viewed as unsuitable for marriage, rendering yourself useless to this family.
“You’ve ruined our chances with Kensington. He has already announced his intention to leave.” He made no effort to hide his resentment, pinning her with his furious gaze. “Fortunately, there are three other suitable candidates for marriage who shall be attending the party. Therefore, I have a proposal for you.”
He turned to her, waiting for her to acknowledge the statement. He loved to do this—forcing her to bow to his will. Lifting her chin, she said, “Oh?”
“I had thought to announce your betrothal at the welcome dinner tomorrow night, but obviously that won’t be the case. However, a betrothal announcement will be made by the end of the party. The choice is yours: Lord Henry, Lord Netherby, or Lord Shevington.”
Anger coursed through her, turning her blood cold. He couldn’t demand such a thing—it was absurd! “Surely you can’t be serious. Please, be reasonable, Uncle.” Her tone was remarkably composed, thank goodness, despite the fury that had her digging her fingernails into her palms.
“You dare speak of being reasonable to me? After denying Kensington’s suit?” Indignation stiffened his shoulders. “I’ll have no more of your stubbornness. You will choose a husband who will strengthen this family’s future, or I will do it for you.”
Her lungs couldn’t seem to remember how to function. Her breath came in short, inadequate bursts, starving her of the air she so desperately needed to clear her mind. “And if I refuse?”
He smiled for the first time since entering the room. “Then I suppose I’ll have to summon your sister home from Hollingsworth. She’s always been so delightfully biddable.”
Eleanor’s breath left her body in a whoosh. He wouldn’t. Libby was barely seventeen—months still from her first Season! Surely he wouldn’t force her into marriage with some dry, aged member of parliament who was two or even three times her age merely to secure a favorable vote for his proposed bill.
Surely nothing. The icy blue steel of his gaze plainly told her the truth of his warning. He was dead serious.
Her first instinct was to lash out, to tell him exactly what he could do with his threats. But she couldn’t. To do so would only make things worse. She needed time to think, and that meant she had to have him think she would bow to him and his dreadful demand. “I see.” Her throat was tight, her words strained. She swallowed and tried again. “If you’ll excuse me, it would seem I have much to prepare for in the coming days.”
Smug satisfaction lifted the corners of Uncle Robert’s full lips. “Excellent.”
She couldn’t escape the room fast enough. Holding her expression neutral until she made it out of his sight, she dashed down the corridor, heading for the massive staircase that led to her bedchamber. Tears of frustration burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them spill over. She would not fall to pieces at another of Uncle Robert’s demands.
She finally made it to the entrance hall and was only steps away from escape when the front door opened. Please, please don’t let it be Kensington! She was not in the state of mind to greet anyone, but most especially not him.
Tolbert, uncle’s butler, stepped inside, and her shoulders wilted with relief. But of course she couldn’t be that lucky. As the servant stepped aside, the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man came into view.
She blinked. Definitely not Lord Kensington. The bright sunshine behind the man hid his face, but she could make out close-cropped hair and an exceedingly fine figure. His upper body, encased in a tightly fitting jacket, narrowed from those wide shoulders down to a lean waist.
For half a second, her distress eased as curiosity flared. Who was this ma—
