Lady and the Rake Read online

  Lady and the Rake

  Annabelle Anders

  Copyright 2020 by Annabelle Anders

  Lady And the Rake

  Cover Design by Jena Brignola

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book my be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author , except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  To my dad.

  For instilling an undefinable belief in myself

  —a drive—

  that I could achieve something special in my life.

  I hope I’ve made you proud.

  For you, I’ll always try harder.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Lady At Last

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Annabelle Anders

  1

  A Scandalous Mission

  Land’s End, England, October 1828

  “Try this. The scent drives Hugh positively mad.” Penelope Chesterton, the Viscountess of Danbury, dabbed perfume on Margaret’s wrists. “Why, just last night, he and I—”

  “I’ve no wish to hear the details of my brother’s and your...” Margaret Coates, the widowed Countess of Asherton, cringed at her sister-in-law’s words.

  Penelope rolled her eyes heavenward and handed over the small bottle. “Dab some between your breasts as well.”

  Heat rushed up Margaret’s neck. As a widow, she was, of course, no innocent girl. But even when Lawrence had enjoyed good health, well, suffice it to say, he’d always made love to her with the utmost of decorum.

  Over four years had passed since Margaret had been kissed on the mouth, let alone shared a bed with a man. She and Lawrence had been lucky to have relations at all during the last year that he’d lived.

  “I’m not at all certain this is the best way to go about this, Penelope,” Margaret admitted to her sister-in-law, who had no such reluctance executing extreme measures when the need arose.

  Penelope scowled back at her reflection where they both stared into the looking glass. “Must I remind you that you could not even look at Hugh and my twins after they were born without bursting into tears? And that you departed just a few weeks after I arrived at Land’s End because you could not bear to watch me grow large with child? If you marry Mr. Kirkley, only to discover that he is unable to perform, then you will not only be disappointed in the bedchamber but you will have squandered away your last opportunity to experience motherhood.”

  Penelope was right. An emptiness had existed inside of Margaret for years now—one that could only be filled by having a child of her own. And she was to have her thirtieth birthday this month. She’d ignore it altogether if she could. It marked her age, but it also marked loss.

  Margaret hugged herself, one hand on each of her elbows.

  Mr. George Kirkley had begun courting her in earnest in London before she had made the long journey to spend the winter with Hugh and Penelope at Land’s End.

  And shortly after, Mr. Kirkley had readily accepted his invitation to the autumn house party hosted by her brother and his wife. Since arriving less than a week ago, he’d more than intensified his efforts. He had proposed to Margaret the day before.

  Margaret had tentatively accepted on the condition that they refrain from making any announcement until the final night of the house party. Because she had a few concerns…

  Namely, his lack of amorous behavior. Margaret did not expect him to be overly affectionate in public. Of course, she did not. But neither was she seeking a marriage in which her husband treated her… platonically.

  Margaret had attempted to discuss the matter with Mr. Kirkley discreetly, of course. But he effectively evaded all such conversations. He’d complimented her on her looks, on her refinement and proper nature. He’d expressed his desire for her to manage his household and keep him company in the evenings.

  On a few occasions, Margaret thought she’d spied passion in his eyes, but he’d not acted upon any such inclination. He was considerably older than her, nearly fifty, but had managed to keep himself fit and trim, He was able to wear the current fashions and was quite popular amongst the ton. Sporting thick black and silver hair, he was considered handsome by most women. Margaret found his easy smile and kind gray eyes attractive enough.

  “It is a pertinent detail you absolutely must know,” Penelope said sternly. “He has not kissed you, beyond, as you say, a dry peck on your cheek, nor exhibited any ardor whatsoever. If he loves you, if he is attracted to you, he will not resist seduction. I can’t imagine any man—aside from a eunuch, perhaps, or a backgammon player—refusing a willing, warm, naked, woman he has proposed to crawling into his bed.”

  Margaret raised a shaking hand to her chest. “And if he does? Resist my seduction, that is?” But that was not even her greatest concern. The plan Penelope had suggested was just so dishonest… It was underhanded and manipulative.

  And tawdry.

  Penelope shook her head. “If he does not rise to the occasion, you shall be lucky to have escaped such an alliance.”

  “But what if he was to tell someone? I could bring scandal on you and Hugh. And the babies.”

  “Trust me, if he doesn’t perform, it is not something he will wish to make public.”

  True. Again, her sister-in-law had the right of it.

  George had never married and had no known children. When Margaret expressed her doubts to Penelope, her sister-in-law, of course, had concurred. She’d then gone on to enflame Margaret’s worries with all manner of speculation.

  Margaret touched some of the perfume into the décolletage of her nightshift and also behind one ear, and then pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Should I knock? Should I speak with him first?”

  “Oh, Good Heavens, no.” Penelope began unraveling the braid Margaret had done up just a half-hour before and then dragged the brush through the thick ebony waves. “Your hair is positively gorgeous. It’s like the sea at night, when there is a full moon. Black, silky, and rippling.”

  Margaret laughed nervously. “Lawrence loved it,” she remembered fondly.

  “Do not, I repeat, absolutely do not mention dearest Lawrence while you are seducing Mr. Kirkley. Not many men would not struggle to perform under such circumstances and the result would ruin the entire purpose of your mission.”

  Margaret had never even considered doing something as scandalous as what she intended to do tonight. She was not the sort of person who turned to subterfuge to accomplish her goals.

  Until now, she supposed. She clutched her hands nervously as she imagined sneaking into Mr. Kirkley’s darkened chamber and climbing into bed beside him.

  “I cannot do it.” What if he rejected her? What if he does not?

  Her mother wa
s likely turning in her grave to know that her daughter would even consider such an undertaking.

  Penelope gripped Margaret by the shoulders and turned her around so that she faced her and not the mirror. “Are you willing to marry a man who cannot make you a mother? Even worse, one who cannot satisfy your baser needs?”

  Margaret didn’t have to think hard to know the answer.

  She was not willing to marry a man who could not plant his seed inside of her. She wanted a baby. So much sometimes that her heart hurt in a physical way. She would clarify one point, however. “This is not about my baser needs.”

  Penelope spouted the most improper ideas sometimes.

  “It ought to be.” Penelope regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Margaret Frances Coats, are you willing to marry a man who cannot make you a mother?”

  No one had called her by her full name since her mother had died.

  I am not. I am not! Margaret hugged herself again.

  But to sneak into his bed, to seduce a man who was not yet her husband…

  “Even if he can—even if we do—there are no guarantees.” She didn’t want to get her hopes up. She and Lawrence had been married for seven years before she had finally conceived. And even then…

  “But you want a chance,” Penelope persisted.

  She did. And this could very well be her last opportunity to become a mother—to have a family.

  To have a purpose.

  She had no need to marry for security and although she felt a warm affection for Mr. Kirkley, she did not love him. Furthermore, she was under no misapprehensions that he loved her. He wanted a wife, a companion. Perhaps in time, they would come to love one another.

  But she could only become a mother if her husband was able to… “perform.”

  And the house party presented her with the perfect opportunity to confirm his abilities. Having grown up in this manor, and with Penelope as the hostess, Margaret knew exactly which chamber her unofficial fiancé occupied. She was perfectly comfortable walking through the corridors at night and as he was in one of the smaller rooms, his valet slept elsewhere.

  “I must have a chance.” And then she covered her face. “You are quite certain I should not simply try talking to him?”

  “You have already made several attempts, and has he not already expressed his desire to make an announcement?” Penelope pressed her.

  “And you are certain I ought to disrobe before climbing into his bed?”

  She would take Penelope’s advice on this issue. Margaret was comfortable in nearly every normal social circumstance, but this was… certainly not normal.

  And if she was going to go ahead with such an underhanded scheme, she needed to do all that she could to ensure its success.

  “Definitely. Mr. Kirkley seems to be deeply concerned with proprieties and if allowed the opportunity to consider… Well, his strict adherence to decency might have him escorting you back to your chamber with a stern scolding. Enter the room, remove your night rail, and slip into the bed beside him. The most—”

  “Climb into the bed…? Naked? Is this really necessary?”

  Penelope scowled. “You aren’t climbing into his bed so that the two of you can cuddle, Margaret.” She scrunched her nose. “The maid who is servicing his room informed me that he sleeps in a nightshirt, so you’ll already have to maneuver around that. Take his member into your hands if he isn’t… enthusiastic immediately. Be gentle but firm. Stroke him up and down.”

  “I’m a widow, not a virgin, Pen.” And yet Margaret wondered if she might succumb to a fit of vapors before she even made it out of her own bedchamber. Although she had resorted to such tactics on a few occasions with Lawrence on those last few occasions… she could not imagine herself doing any such thing to Mr. Kirkley’s… She winced.

  She’d rarely… handled… Lawrence’s appendage throughout most of their marriage. He’d considered it unseemly for a lady of refinement. Even when she’d done so out of necessity, he’d been mortified.

  But they had both been hopeful. He’d wanted an heir—he’d needed an heir—and she’d simply wanted a child to love.

  And so, they’d soldiered on…

  She would have thought that after being married to a person for nearly eight years, there would have been nothing that could make them uncomfortable with one another. She had been quite wrong.

  “And if you must, you could always use your mouth.”

  Margaret frowned as Penelope finished her monologue. “My what? Penelope!”

  “All of this depends on how motivated you are.”

  “I’ll manage quite well without doing any such thing.” Margaret stiffened her spine and drew back her shoulders. She’d never! Long ago, she’d considered it but…

  Climbing into bed with her prospective husband ought to be quite enough to obtain the answers she required.

  Penelope merely shrugged. “Don’t dismiss something you’ve never tried.”

  Margaret resisted the urge to cover her ears. “Will you remember that you are referencing my brother?” Determined to change the subject, she glanced toward the clock sitting atop the mantle. “How long do you think I ought to wait?” It was already a quarter past midnight.

  “Half an hour.”

  Margaret let out a long breath, causing Penelope to rush forward and give her a quick hug. “I have every faith in you. Have you considered that you might even conceive tonight? I would be so very happy for you!”

  Margaret had, of course, considered this. She blinked away tears at the possibility.

  “When you’ve finished, come knock on Hugh’s chamber to tell me all the details. I doubt I’ll sleep until I know how this turns out.”

  Margaret raised her brows. She most definitively would not be giving her sister-in-law the details she wanted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Penelope. And please, please will you refrain from sharing any of this with my brother?”

  Penelope shifted her gaze toward the corner. “Well, about that…”

  Margaret’s heart dropped. Even talking to Penelope made her feel… exposed. Margaret had always been a very private person. “You already have.”

  “Of course, I have. But he won’t say a word. Hugh is the soul of discretion.”

  Hugh would not say a word to anyone else, but Margaret would have preferred her younger brother not know about any of this. Not only because of the obvious reasons but because it was manipulative and underhanded and… tawdry.

  Ah, well. She supposed it would have been asking too much of Penelope to keep anything from her husband. Margaret shuddered and then closed her eyes.

  “Don’t overthink this,” Penelope warned.

  Margaret nodded and, feeling a flash of panic, asked, “Wish me luck?” She wasn’t the sort to believe in luck, or fortune or fate, making this a very uncharacteristic request for her. But this evening’s task was a most uncharacteristic one as well.

  “I’m wishing you all the luck in the world.” Penelope smiled reassuringly and then, holding both hands up with fingers crossed, backed out and closed the door behind her.

  Twenty-eight minutes to wait—twenty-eight minutes in which Margaret could either abandon the plan in its entirety or bolster herself with encouragement. She wasn’t cold and yet bouts of shivering threatened to travel through her frame.

  Margaret placed one hand low on her abdomen. Despite all her misgivings, despite fearing the worst and knowing it was wrong, she firmed up her resolution.

  She would not change her mind.

  2

  Oh, My!

  Creaking hinges pierced the silence of the night like a shot in the dark. Margaret held her breath and froze until she was certain the sound hadn’t awakened him. She also glanced up and down the corridor to reassure herself that no one was awake to witness her entering a gentleman’s room.

  She would have been quite surprised if there had been.

  After waiting far longer than Penelope had advised—into the early morning hours, in fa
ct—she’d not ventured out of her chamber until the urgency of her situation finally lent her the courage she’d needed. If she did not do this tonight then she never would.

  Margaret clenched her teeth together when a shiver rolled through her.

  She’d promised to marry Mr. Kirkley but she needed to be absolutely certain he could perform as required before she went through with it.

  Hearing nothing but deep steady breathing from her unsuspecting fiancé inside the room, Margaret pushed the door inward and, feeling more like an emissary on an errand for the Crown than the desperate widow that she was, she quietly slipped inside and closed the door behind her.

  The heavy drapes had been closed and, without even a hint of moonlight, the room was pitch dark.

  She would climb onto the empty side of the bed and then work herself slowly toward the middle. She hadn’t considered how dark it would be, though, and hoped she didn’t stumble over any unexpected obstacles.

  She paused while another shiver took hold and hugged herself until it passed. He’d be as like to strangle her for a murderer as make love to her.

  Almost surprised when her feet obeyed her mind, she crept in farther, holding out her hands in the direction of where the bed would be. From the sound of his breathing, he seemed to be sleeping on the side nearest the door.

  One. Two. She mentally counted each tiny step as she imagined the size of the room and almost congratulated herself when her fingertips touched the fabric of the counterpane. She held her breath though, when the mattress groaned as he shifted and then rolled.