Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron

Book 4: Infamous Lords

by Renee Ann Miller

Genres: Victorian Romance; Romance

Synopsis

Last season, Lady Nina Trent fell for a scoundrel. This year, she intends to choose more wisely . . .

When a duke more interested in fox hunting and sports than womanizing comes to town, Nina thinks him the perfect catch. Sadly, he doesn't seem to notice her. But Lord Elliot Haverford, Baron Ralston, a notorious flirt, has a proposition: he'll not only pretend to vie for her hand, hoping to draw forth the duke's competitive nature, he'll also give Nina lessons in seduction.

An aristocrat in possession of two dilapidated properties must be in want of a fortune. Elliot's proposition is a subterfuge, for he hopes to capture Nina's hand—and her dowry—by slyly seducing her himself. Though he feels guilty over his deception, their interludes, filled with dancing, flirtation, and increasingly heated kisses, are impossible to regret . . . until he realizes he has unwittingly placed Nina in grave danger.

What's a scoundrel in love to do, except finally risk his heart for real?

Contains mature themes.

Release date: May 26, 2020

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 343

Sample

“How about Lady Sara Elsmere?” Lord Adam Talbot asked, looking up from his copy of Debrett’s Peerage, a guide to the nobility.

Elliot Havenford, Baron Ralston, leaned back in his chair and propped his booted feet onto the corner of his desk. Obviously, Talbot was a half pint short of a full cup. Though Lady Sara possessed a handsome enough face, the woman suffered from a nervous hyena-like laugh whenever a gentleman stepped within two feet of her. Elliot couldn’t imagine what bedding her would be like. Well, actually he could, and there stood the crux of the problem.

He shook his head. “I’d rather wed old Lady Winton.”

Talbot snorted and flipped to another page in the thick book. The smile on his friend’s face dissolved, and his gaze shot back to Elliot. “Good God, man. You’re joking, right? Surely, you aren’t seriously considering marrying that battle-ax.”

Of course, he wasn’t. Lady Winton was in her dotage and as mean as a dog fighting over a bone. He motioned to the glass of liquor in Talbot’s hand. “Old chum, you’ve had too much of my brandy if you can’t tell when I’m jesting.”

“Elliot, this liquor is so inferior, I bet I couldn’t get tipsy even if I downed the whole decanter.”

Elliot lifted his own glass and swallowed a mouthful. Talbot was right. Bloody awful. His current circumstances had reduced him to buying rotgut. A year ago, he’d been a content fellow. Not a rich man, but a comfortable man. Oxford educated, he’d made several rather clever investments. Now, he was heading toward destitution, having sunk nearly every farthing he possessed into his entailed properties. The only thing he still owned of value was Swan Cottage, in the Lake District, which he wished to give to his sister.

The storm raging outside Elliot’s town house intensified, and a bolt of lightning lit up the evening sky. The rain pounding against the windows sent sheets of water over the mullioned glass, causing rivulets to run down the inside of the panes and settle in a puddle on the interior’s wide sill.

Damnation. The property still needed more repairs. His estate in Hampshire stood in worse condition than the London residence. Elliot feared the next storm might send the country home toppling to the ground. His uncle, the last Baron Ralston, a bachelor, had spent more money on his tailor, traveling, and his string of mistresses than on any of his properties.

“Ah.” Talbot tapped a firm finger on a page in Debrett’s. “How about Lady Nina Trent?”

Nina Trent? Elliot rubbed his shaven jaw, already coarse with bristle this late in the evening, and pictured the raven-haired beauty, a close friend of his cousin Victoria. He could easily envision taking Nina to bed and enjoying the expedition.

“She’s quite pretty,” Talbot said, breaking into Elliot’s lurid thoughts. “Though a bit too thin for my taste. If you know what I mean.” His friend winked.

He knew exactly what Talbot meant. The man liked breasts as big as melons.

“And her eldest brother, the Marquess of Huntington, is rolling in money.” The grin on Talbot’s face widened.

Indeed. Lady Nina Trent would be perfect. He liked the woman, and he’d bet his last coin Huntington would offer a sizable dowry. The funds would help solve his financial woes and allow him not only to make repairs to his derelict properties but also to give his sister, Meg, the come-out she deserved next year. Yes, Lady Nina might be the answer to all his problems.

“Aren’t her brother and sister-in-law hosting a ball next week?” Talbot asked, taking a pen and writing something in the thick tome before tossing it on a table.

Elliot laced his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, and I’m attending. So, Lady Nina it is.”

“I don’t know, Elliot. Even if you win her over, her brother might object to the match. Some say Lord Avalon proposed last year, and Huntington didn’t allow her to accept the offer.”

Not precisely true. Elliot’s cousin Victoria had sworn him to secrecy. Nina had accepted the earl’s proposal, but before the family announced it, she’d found out the man had a pretty French mistress in Paris. “Everyone knows Avalon is a cad.”

Talbot’s bark of laughter sounded like a small explosion. “And you aren’t? You better convince the chit that you love her, or her brother will never let you wed the girl. Huntington dotes on his wife and feels only a love match will do for his sister.”

A love match? What rubbish. There was no such thing. His own parents had resided in separate homes. It was a miracle he and Meg had ever been conceived. His grandparents’ marriage had been worse. They’d needed to reside in separate countries.

Another roll of thunder shook the walls of the town house. A piece of the ceiling’s plaster landed on the floor with a thump.

“Bloody hell!” Talbot stood and brushed the flecks of plaster off his clothes.

Elliot released a slow breath. Before this blasted town house came crashing down around him, he’d convince Lady Nina to wed him.

Sitting in the drawing room of her family’s Park Lane residence, Lady Nina Trent tried not to say a word as Grandmother lectured her. Arguing with the woman would only cause the matriarch to repeat everything she’d said in an elevated voice. The best way to contend with this situation was to remain as quiet as a church mouse until the sermon concluded.

“Are you listening to me, child?” The old woman thumped her cane.

“Of course, Grandmother.” Nina forced a sugar-infused smile.

Nina’s eldest brother, James, had always said Grandmother lived by three rules: God, country, but most of all, honor to the Trent family name. In Grandmother’s eyes, her grandchildren had botched the latter. Though James, once known as the “Murdering Marquess,” had redeemed himself, her brother Anthony had not. He gambled too much, drank too much, and fornicated too much. And Nina’s broken betrothal to that bounder Lord Avalon had only added to the old woman’s displeasure.

“I heard a new whisper of scandal regarding you.”

Nina’s gaze narrowed on the woman like a hawk spotting a field mouse. A cold chill moved down her spine. “What is being said?”

“That Avalon decided not to propose to you because of some character flaw you possess.” Grandmother’s hand tightened around the gold knob of her cane as if she wished to thrash something with it.

“That is balderdash. He did propose.” Though it had not been publicly announced. “I ended the engagement, and I am not the one with a character flaw. That cad is. Hopefully, such an untruth will die in the wind.”

“Or it might pick up speed and sweep through the ton with the intensity of a gale force. If that happens, then your chances of making a good match will wither away. I wish you’d overlooked Avalon’s shortcomings and married the earl.”

Shortcomings? Is that what Grandmother called them? The man had professed his undying love to Nina until she’d found out he had a mistress—a very pregnant mistress.

“I refuse to marry a man who intends to keep a paramour.” Nina squeezed her hand so tight, her nails bit into her palm.

“Some married men keep a mistress.”

“Then I pity their wives.” Nina was sure Grandmother knew why she hated adulterous men. Her father had been unfaithful, and her mother had spent her life collecting more heartache than any woman should have to endure while dealing with her philandering husband.

Grandmother thumped her cane again. “It is your duty to stem the flow of gossip. You have a responsibility not only to the Trent family name but to your brother James.”

A stab of guilt poked at Nina. James had recently crawled out of his own pit of gossip and reestablished himself as a prominent member of the nobility.

“You don’t want to hurt his renewed standing in society, do you?”

She didn’t. She loved James. He’d not only been a brother, but a father to her and she wanted to please him more than anyone else in this world.

Grandmother leaned forward, and her light gray eyes pinned Nina. “The Duke of Fernbridge has recently arrived in London and is looking for a wife. He’ll be attending your brother’s ball. If you were to marry a man of such high standing, it would disavow any whispers that taint your name. You need to set things right. You owe that much to your brother.”

From where Nina stood behind a potted fern, she surveyed the Duke of Fernbridge. The man possessed the blondest hair she’d ever seen—like a halo, it almost glowed under the string of lanterns and moonlight on her brother’s terrace. She parted two leaves to get a better look.

Though he was not classically handsome, his features were striking.

Since her conversation with Grandmother, she’d found out more about the gentleman. He was twenty-seven, didn’t run with a fast crowd, rarely gambled, and didn’t keep a mistress.

“What are you looking at, poppet?” a deep, masculine voice asked.

Like a mouse cornered by a cat, Nina squeaked and spun around.

Lord Elliot Ralston favored her with a lackadaisical smile.

The man was a scoundrel of the highest order, perhaps even more wicked than Nina’s shameful sibling Anthony—a hard feat indeed. He was the type of man a sagacious woman should never choose for her husband—even if his dark wavy hair and deep blue eyes made him more visually appealing than any other man of her acquaintance.

She opened her mouth to chastise him for startling her. “Lord Ralston—”

“Eyeing the Duke of Fernbridge?”

“I wasn’t eyeing him.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

His smile broadened. “Do you realize when you lie your cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink?”

Nina fought the urge to deny it, but she could feel the warmth flooding her face. “What concern is it of yours?” Her words came out a bit sharper than she wished. Ralston possessed an odd ability to turn her normally serene mood tempestuous.

“I’ve known you since you and my cousin Victoria became friends. How long has that been, five years?” He arched a brow.

Nearly six. And she could still remember the way her fifteen-year-old heart had leaped the first time she’d met Ralston. He’d stepped into the room where she and Victoria had been playing a duet on the piano. His bespoke clothing had accentuated his impressive physique. He’d leaned close to her to turn the page of the music sheet, and she’d gotten a whiff of his scent—a mixture of soap and vetiver. The same pleasant scent that presently filled her nose.

“Nina?” His silky, deep voice pulled her from her thoughts.

She blinked. What had he asked her? Ah, if they’d known each other for about five years. “Yes, about that amount of time,” she agreed, though she knew it longer.

He placed his index finger under her chin and tipped her head back, bringing her gaze to his. “In that time, we’ve become friends, so I want to make sure you get what you want.”

“And what do you believe I want?” she asked.

He jerked his chin in the direction of the Duke of Fernbridge. “I presume, like so many other women this season, you want an introduction to that milksop, hoping he’ll choose you for his duchess.”

Milksop? Perhaps the duke didn’t possess Ralston’s urban manners or breath-stopping looks, which caused women to risk society’s wrath and make complete cakes of themselves, but Fernbridge was the type of man she wished to marry. Trustworthy and—

“Safe?” Ralston said.

The man really possessed the uncanny ability to know what she was thinking. It was unsettling, to say the least. Ralston was a warlock. “Better to marry a man like Fernbridge who is steadfast than a scoundrel like you.”

He theatrically set his hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

Doubtful. Ralston possessed a conscience as impenetrable as a suit of armor being prodded by a feather. He flirted with women to several degrees beyond what propriety dictated; then, after they fell like toppling lawn pins, the black-hearted devil moved on to his next conquest.

“I went to university with the man, and I know exactly what he wants in a wife, and you are too free-spirited for him. He’d do better to marry someone like my cousin Victoria.”

Victoria? No, that wouldn’t do. Victoria was as sweet as a petit four and just as cute, but Grandmother was right. Fernbridge would be perfect for Nina. Marrying him would stifle any vicious gossip and please James. “I disagree.”

“Sweeting, do you really wish to be with a man who still prefers country dances to the waltz? Whose idea of excitement is hunting with his hounds?” He spoke in a low voice. “Who’s in bed by nine o’clock? And once married most likely without his wife.”

The heat already flooding her face traveled to her ears. Beyond the pale for Ralston to mention such things.

“You don’t want to marry a man as dull as unpolished silver, do you?” Ralston’s blue eyes held her gaze as he stepped even closer. So close, his breath touched her lips.

If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was trying some of his womanizing sorcery on her. But he didn’t dally with those looking for a husband. Widows were more to his liking.

She glanced over her shoulder and peered through the fronds to where Fernbridge still conversed with Lord Pendleton. Most likely, Ralston was trying to discourage her, so his cousin could become a duchess. It would explain the reason he was paying her so much attention. He probably hoped to distract her, so Victoria could swoop in. Didn’t he know his cousin was sick and wouldn’t be attending tonight?

“It sounds like a very comfortable existence,” she replied.

“Comfortable existence? Don’t you mean dreadfully dreary?”

In truth, life with Fernbridge did sound rather dull, but wasn’t that what she wanted? A reserved man who would be faithful. And though her brother James would not want her to marry a man she didn’t love, she knew he would be pleased if she chose someone sensible like Fernbridge, and Grandmother would be ecstatic.

“The gentleman spends all his time rusticating in the country,” Ralston said.

“What is wrong with that? I enjoy reading and horseback riding. I’d have more time to do so.”

“Darling, there can be more to do once one is married than either of those activities.” The curve of his lips left no doubt as to what he meant.

Scandalous man. She huffed and peeked at Fernbridge again.

“Very well, I see there is no dissuading you. Do you wish for an introduction?”

“Yes, would you present me?”

“Of course, anything for you, poppet.”

When younger, she’d enjoyed him calling her by that endearment. Now, it grated on her nerves. “Must you call me that? I’m nearly twenty-one.”

“Practically on the shelf.” He grinned and offered her his arm.

The man irritated her to no end. Yet, after she set her hand on his sleeve and they moved across the flagstone terrace, an unsettling sensation crept over her. Ralston probably had such an effect on all women. It was the way he smiled with his sensual lips, along with the way his blue eyes held a woman’s gaze as if she were the only woman in the room. Nina gave herself a mental slap. Victoria had revealed one too many stories about her cousin’s womanizing exploits. The rogue had probably perfected his seductive smile at a young age while peering at his reflection in a mirror.

As they crossed the terrace, Lord Pendleton, who’d been conversing with the duke, strolled away.

“Fernbridge, old chum, how are you?” Ralston asked, shaking the other gentleman’s hand.

The two men looked like night and day. Fernbridge was blond with a fair complexion, while Ralston’s brown hair verged near black and his skin was a warmer, sun-kissed shade, as if he’d recently spent time outdoors.

As Ralston made the introductions, the Duke of Fernbridge took her gloved hand in his. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Nina.”

“I hope you are enjoying London, Your Grace.” Nina offered her most congenial smile.

He wrinkled his nose. “I must admit I’m anxious to return to the country. These late London hours take some getting used to.”

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the I-told-you-so curve of Ralston’s mouth.

“It’s only ten o’clock, Fernbridge. The merriment is just getting under way,” Ralston said.

His Grace released a slow breath as if the thought of staying up a minute longer weighed heavily on his shoulders, and in truth, they were nice shoulders. Not as broad as Ralston’s but impressive, and he stood close to six feet, a couple of inches shorter than the scoundrel standing next to her.

Fernbridge possessed a round, pleasant face. His eyes were a pale shade of gray as if watered down, and his blond hair tended to curl at the ends. He looked like an angel in comparison to Ralston.

Yet, her stomach didn’t flutter when she looked at him. But Nina realized compatibility and genuine regard could grow between two people once married. One’s heart didn’t need to ache for one’s spouse for a marriage to be successful. Loving someone left one vulnerable to heartache. Hadn’t she witnessed that firsthand watching her mother? Though, like her mother, Nina seemed to have a propensity to gravitate toward scoundrels. She’d proven that last season when she’d fallen for Avalon. Now, she wanted a man who would be steadfast.

Nina pitched her distracting thoughts away. “Your Grace, since arriving in Town, have you taken in any plays?”

“No. Not yet.” He turned to Ralston. “How went the hunting season in Hampshire?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t gone hunting in some time.”

“If I recall correctly, when we were boys, you were a dashed good trap shooter.” Fernbridge frowned.

Ralston gave a weak smile, but something in his expression seemed odd. “Yes, but I’ve not engaged in the sport lately.”

The musicians struck up the first song of the evening, and Nina glanced through the French doors to the orchestra.

“Ah, a waltz,” Ralston said. “Might I have this dance, Lady Nina?”

She wanted to kick him in the shin. She’d hoped Fernbridge would ask her. She tried not to grit her teeth as she forced a smile. “Of course, my lord.”

“If you’ll excuse us, Fernbridge.” Ralston offered his arm.

As they strode inside, she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I told you he doesn’t waltz,” he said, once again reading her thoughts. He leaned close. “You know, the best way to snag a man is to make him realize you are a prize catch. Especially a man like Fernbridge who enjoys the hunt. You are going about this the wrong way, darling. If you seem too readily available, he’s less apt to be interested.”

She frowned. What was he saying? That she could win Fernbridge’s eye if he thought someone else was also vying for her hand? Surely, Ralston didn’t mean he was willing to play the role of a gallant suitor to make Fernbridge more interested. “Are you offering to play the faux competition?”

Ralston cringed as if the idea were distasteful; then a slow smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Why not? It might be entertaining. Yes, I’ll sacrifice myself for the good of the cause.”

“Sacrifice? I always thought you a smooth talker. Now I’m wondering what draws women to you like bees to a single flower in a field of dried grass.”

As they reached the dance floor, he set his warm hand to her back and pulled her close. As he spun her into the flow of those moving in tandem to the music, he whispered, “It’s not the way I talk to a woman, darling. It’s something much more wicked.”

As Elliot twirled Nina around the dance floor, he gazed at her. She was lovely with her large, honey-colored eyes, dusted with long lashes, and lips the same shade as her cheeks when she blushed. If he won her over, he would enjoy tasting her sweet mouth and every other inch of her body.

“Lord Ralston,” Nina whispered, drawing him from his lustful thoughts. “You’re holding me too close.”

“Yes, darling, but notice the way everyone’s attention is centered on us.” He glanced around. Fernbridge had entered the ballroom, and though standing with a group of other gentlemen, he watched them as well. “Even your duke is looking at us. We will be gossiped about in every drawing room tomorrow. Many will think me asking you to dance means that I’ve set my sights on you.”

“Why would they think you’ve set your sights on me? Everyone knows you have no interest in marriage.”

“Then why would I ask an eligible lady, such as yourself, for the first dance?”

“True, and I’m nothing like most of the women you dance with.” Her bow-shaped lips turned up. “Your dance partners usually are blinded by your handsome face and believe they might reform you. Whereas, I am aware you are a cad who will never be tamed.”

Getting Nina to marry him might be a bit harder than he thought. “How you like to wound me.”

She laughed. “A hard feat indeed. You wear a shield around your heart.”

True, but I will have you believing otherwise, poppet. A stab of guilt prodded him over his planned deception. He squashed it as his sister’s face flashed in his mind, along with the memory of her lying on the ground, crimson blood spreading over the skirt of her green cotton dress. He shoved his guilt and the disturbing image aside. Next year, he wanted to give Meg a spectacular first season, with the finest silk gowns from Madame LeFleur’s—the most fashionable modiste in Town. He owed his sister that much and more.

It won’t ease your guilt over what happened to her, a voice in his head whispered.

Attempting to chase away his demons, Elliot concentrated on Nina, twirling her fast as they took the turn at the end of the dance floor.

Pleasure lit up her eyes.

Her countenance made it crystal clear that Fernbridge wasn’t a good match for her vivacious personality. Elliot was doing her a favor steering her away from such a wet nappy. Nina might think she’d enjoy a staid existence, but she would be bored senseless. At least life with him wouldn’t be boring.

“You look miles away,” she said. “What are you thinking?”

“Thinking? Why, how becoming lavender looks on you.” It wasn’t a lie. The color with her dark hair was striking.

Her cheeks flushed.

Smiling, he took her into another fast turn. She slipped her hand from his upper arm to his shoulder and tightened her grip. Though he knew several members of the ton who were sticklers for propriety would frown at them, the smile on Nina’s lips broadened.

Fernbridge wasn’t the right gentleman for her. Not with her free-spirited nature.

He shifted his gaze away from her attractive face and glanced around the massive ballroom. Everything about the space confirmed Huntington was well off. The arched ceiling possessed a mural that rivaled the masters. The walls were freshly painted. The flower arrangements, set in Sèvres vases, were larger than most and sported costly, exotic florals.

In the crush of people, Elliot noticed Nina’s brother James Trent, the Marquess of Huntington, staring daggers at him. He didn’t need to worry only about winning Nina’s heart; he needed to worry about her brother accepting the match. Unless he could get Nina into a compromising position that would dictate she marry him.

Elliot pinched his lips together. When had he become so manip. . .