Rogue in Red Velvet

Book 1: Emperors of London

by Lynne Connolly

Genres: Historical Fiction; Sagas; Action & Adventure Romance; Historical Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

A powerful English Baron is out to restore a beautiful widow’s wronged reputation in this historical romance series debut set in eighteenth-century London. When country widow Constance Rattigan journeys to London to remarry, she is shocked to suddenly find herself in a notorious brothel instead of at the altar. Betrayed by her betrothed, Constance faces total ruin. Only one person can save her from the auction block—the handsome rake who once tempted her away from her commitments. Alex Vernon, Baron Ripley, heir to the Earldom of Leverton, may be London’s most eligible bachelor. But it was Connie who held his fascination—until he learned of her engagement. Having walked away once, Lord Ripley doesn't intend to leave her again. Connie refuses to marry until her name is cleared—a task that won’t be easy, even with the help of Alex’s powerful relatives known as the Emperors of London.

Release date: August 6, 2014

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 226

Sample

Chapter 1



March, 1754



The library door crashed open, shattering Connie’s peace and admitting the last man she wanted to be alone with. Pretending unperturbed tranquility, Connie put her pen in the standish. She clasped her hands on top of the book she’d been working on to still the trembling his presence caused.

Wide-eyed, chest heaving, the normally elegant, cool Lord Ripley, slammed the door and put his back to it.

She met his blank, dark stare and cursed her fluttering pulse. Whatever had put him in this state, it couldn’t be trivial.

He blinked, straightened and assumed the town bronze most of his sort used like a cloak, covering whatever he felt beneath. He gave the perfectly tied strip of linen at his neck a twitch, arranged his sleeve ruffles, then straightened his wig. As poise and elegance returned, he transformed from a hunted fugitive to a gentleman and pushed away from the door. He strolled to the old, scarred table at which she sat. “Here you are.”

What a ridiculous statement. “I believe I am.” She read a line in the journal before her, more to look away than because she needed to, and took a steadying breath before she met his eyes once more. “May I help you, Lord Ripley?”

“I merely wondered why you lock yourself away here every day, Mrs. Rattigan. And I came to see if I may assist you in any way.”

“I’m perfectly fine, sir. I doubt you could help me, or have any interest in doing so.” She’d avoided him for three days and wanted none of his games. She didn’t care why he’d shot in here, only she wished he’d shoot out again, just as fast.

“Is it something too difficult for my paltry brain? Are you a bluestocking, ma’am, that you labor here day after day without joining the revelry?” In full control, his society manners polished as ever, he walked to her side of the table and loomed over her.

Her heart beat faster and her breath quickened. She worked to hide his effect on her and castigated herself for a fool. He wasn’t interested in her in that way, much less when she had her hair scraped back in a knot, wore no cosmetics at all and had donned her old clothes in preparation for the dusty work. She was just an excuse, an escape from something. Or someone. She was no empty-headed miss. She was a respectable widow, but it didn’t stop her becoming tongue-tied. “I—I—”

“You find yourself bored by our antics. You’d rather study Plautus, or is it Marcus Aurelius?” Chuckling, he leaned over her shoulder, flipped the book closed. With one long finger, he traced the name on the cover. “Saucy stories perhaps?”

The door opened and admitted Miss Louisa Stobart, one of the young ladies invited here to meet Lord Ripley. Connie’s godfather had confided to her that he might choose a bride from among them.

Now she understood why he’d shot into this room like a pursued fox. Miss Stobart had been the most assiduous of Lord Ripley’s pursuers, indefatigable in her chase. He’d been escaping her.

For a change, Connie was in charge. How delicious.

Lord Ripley straightened and gave Connie such a look of pleading that she almost laughed. “Help me,” he mouthed, before assuming his easy smile and facing his tormentor.

She would have preferred that he said that in different circumstances, but what she dreamed at night remained between her and her pillow. This would do. A little gentle revenge was called for. She slid the book over to his lordship and pointed at random. “Here is a word I cannot read, sir. Do you see?”

“No, ma’am.” Bending over her shoulder, he peered then looked at her.

Far too close, his breath heated her cheek and her heart quickened. This close, he’d see her reaction for sure. Inwardly, she groaned. She hadn’t bargained on him doing that. She should have shoved the book away from her.

His eyes widened slightly. He turned his attention to the book. “I think it says wormwood. An old spell book?”

She laughed. “An inventory, sir. As you well know.”

His shoulders relaxed under his country-coat. In an ordinary man that slight movement might remain unnoticed, but Connie had spent the last few days watching him surreptitiously. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen and while she could tell herself that she was merely observing, it did no good. For the first time in her life, she longed to be younger, wealthier and socially higher ranking. Then she could compete. Instead, she’d dressed in a practical country gown that would survive hedgerows and house dust, and hidden away here. “Yes, of course. Wormwood.”

Thank goodness he straightened.

Miss Stobart stood on the other side of the table, her delicately draped pink silk gown mocking Connie’s sturdy dark green garment. Miss Stobart’s was a fashionable ideal of a gown to be worn in the country, sprinkled with exquisitely embroidered spring flowers. Miss Stobart’s gaze skimmed over Connie and to his lordship. Her ruby lips pursed in a winsome pout. “Sir, I had hoped we could take a turn in the gardens. I quite thought you had promised me at breakfast.”

“I had no idea.” He glanced down at Connie. It was her cue to say something.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt your”—Courtship? Pursuit? —“walk. Of course you must go.”

Miss Stobart drummed her foot against the wood floor, maddening in the quiet library. “Indeed sir, I quite thought you’d forgotten me, so I came to find you.” Her voice was sweet; her foot was not.

“I beg your pardon, but I had promised today to Connie for some time now.” He gave her an easy smile.

Connie stared at him in astonishment. He’d used her first name. She wasn’t aware he even knew it. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she nearly leaped up. His skin wasn’t in contact with hers, due to her modest gown and fichu, but it might as well have been. She felt it like a shock of recognition. Of what she didn’t want to consider.

“Connie and I are old friends.” The familiarity of her first name implied he was much friendlier with her than anyone had imagined. “When she mentioned her task, I immediately volunteered to help. Her—er—errand is something I am particularly interested in.”

Not to mention, he didn’t have the faintest idea what she was doing. She’d never discussed her project in company and nobody had expressed an interest except for her godfather, whose commission this was.

He was casting her as his rescuer when he hadn’t asked her first.

“It is a special project I’ve been meaning to undertake for some time.” Should she lie, draw out the moment? She wasn’t used to being the center of attention.

Miss Stobart fixed her cold, blue eyes on Connie, probably for the first time since she’d arrived.

Connie gave the young woman her sweetest smile. “My visit here provided the perfect opportunity.”

“A bluestocking?” That was the second time in ten minutes she’d been accused of that. Did everyone in society who opened a book get accused of that?

Miss Stobart’s lips curved in a superior smile. She clearly considered herself the victor in this encounter. After all, who would not? Connie was below the notice of a young lady of marriageable age and considerable fortune.

“Not exactly.” She glanced at the book.

Leaning over her once more, Lord Ripley flipped the volume over, revealing the faded label on the front. “It’s an inventory of the house from the sixteenth century. Family history is important.”

Damn, she couldn’t torment him anymore. He’d guessed right. “Lord Downholland has particularly wished to gather all the documents pertaining to the house in one place. I merely offered to assist him.”

“And I offered to assist Connie,” he said smoothly, back in control. “I’m sorry, Miss Stobart, but her claims had precedence.”

Wonderful. He was fast making an enemy on her behalf. Miss Stobart would resent her intensely if she came between the chase and ensnarement of her quarry. “I’m only doing this until my fiancé arrives.”

Miss Stobart relaxed, nodded regally. “I see. But Lord Ripley has other commitments.”

“I’ll be down directly, ma’am.” He walked to the door and held it open. “If you would not mind waiting for a few moments, I would greatly appreciate the time.”

Miss Stobart swept through and he closed the door behind her.

Breathing deeply, he slumped against it. He met Connie’s gaze and smiled. “Thank you.”

So that was what she was good for. A distraction. “I’m not prepared to act as your chaperone, sir.”

Laughing, he waved a hand in one of the most elegant movements she’d ever seen. “I would be eternally grateful to you if you did so.” He sauntered toward her. “I never thought I’d be in need of one, to be truthful.”

Connie resisted the temptation to move away. She was not afraid of this man, or intimidated by him, even though he had just gone from being the object of her fantasies to a real live human being. His panic, his silent appeal for help had transformed him in her eyes. Although, sadly, his appeal remained.

Seizing her hand, he dropped a kiss on the back, and immediately restored it to her. “I can’t thank you enough, ma’am.” He grinned wickedly. “Connie.”

“I wasn’t even aware you knew my first name.”

“I do.”

How did he know her name when she wasn’t even aware that he’d noticed her? Had he made a point of learning it?

“Connie, I truly appreciate your help. Is there anything I can do for you in return?”

“You can answer this. Why is it so important to avoid Miss Stobart?” She dared to turn around and look at his face, bracing herself for the visual contact, as she always did when she looked at him. “You raced in here as if the hounds of hell were after you. Surely you have enough address to avoid her?”

He perched on the table by her side. Too close.

Anger was taking the place of curiosity. She no longer cared about the social gulf between them, or her dowdy appearance, or anything else other than the consideration that he had treated her badly. “Sir, I’m a widow, from the country, but I’m not prepared to be treated as if I don’t exist.”

His eyes darkened as he gazed steadily at her. “I owe you an apology. I am truly sorry if I implied anything of the kind. I meant it. I owe you a favor. Anything.”

The devil take him. What she could do with was an extra pair of hands, and someone who knew how to read the spidery old writing she was fighting every day. She folded her arms. “Very well, since you ask. I want an assistant in this task. I agreed to help my godfather gather the books he’ll need to compile a family history. It’s proving more difficult than I imagined. Some of the books are heavy and stored in virtually inaccessible places.”

His broad shoulders eased. “I would be honored to help.”

“Even if it meant getting a speck of dirt on your clothes?”

“Even then.” His lips curved in a disconcertingly attractive smile.

Meeting his eyes became more difficult and she fought the urge to fidget. She’d have to change her chair, it was becoming most uncomfortable. “I’m working at this task most of the day. Until my fiancé arrives.”

“Dankworth, yes.” He snapped the name as if Jasper had done something to annoy him. “I should wish you happy, I suppose.”

“Content will do. Thank you.”

He quirked a brow. That irritating smile returned. “Contentment only? You don’t wish for wedded bliss?”

“Not in the least. A rational partnership is my dearest wish.” It was the truth. Love had done nothing for her. She wished for a comfortable marriage that would improve the lot of both parties, nothing else. She’d decided that years ago, and now her ambition was within her grasp, she’d do nothing to change it. “The marriage will suit my godparents, who have been kind to me and have no child of their own to inherit their estate.”

“They know about Dankworth, then?”

Did he? Eyeing her pen, she wished she could take it up again and lose herself in the old inventories. She didn’t want her decision questioned in this way. What good would it do? “They know he can be foolish on occasion. Marriage will settle him and ensure heirs for the estate.” She tired of this game. This man was only baiting her. “I understand you’re here seeking a bride, sir. You won’t find one in this room.”

“Will I not?” He leaned forward, pressing home his advantage. His citrus and spice scent was altogether too seductive. His low voice hinted at unforgiveable sins. “You’re not formally betrothed yet, ma’am.”

“I will be very soon.” She wasn’t very good at flirting, never had been. She scraped back her chair, got to her feet, and made a business of shaking out the skirts of her drab green gown. “You cannot show the guests such discourtesy. They are here for you, at least a good many are.”

He grinned wryly. “It would be more discourteous to run away screaming. If I don’t have this escape, I might very well do that.” He stood, took a few paces toward the door, and turned back, the skirts of his country coat swinging around thighs that filled out his breeches creditably. “I see I must confide my predicament and throw myself on your mercy. Miss Stobart is determined to trap me into a connection I have no desire to acquire.”

Miss Stobart had either ignored Connie or treated her with barely concealed contempt since her arrival. Connie had heard rumors as well as witnessed Miss Stobart’s relentless pursuit of his lordship.

He sighed and scrutinized the silver buckle on his shiny black shoe. “I suspect my father put her and her mother in the way of finding me here. The old man wants me married and as soon as possible. The truth is, I was caught in a compromising position with Miss Stobart at a ball and I decided to leave London for a while until the affair blew over.” He lifted his hand as if to run it through his hair, but he was wearing a fashionable wig.

From the color of his brows, she’d say his hair was dark underneath and she had an irrational but powerful desire to see it for herself. To touch it, in a way entirely forbidden to her. Annoying that this unwanted desire wouldn’t leave her. His confession didn’t endear him to her. Compromising position could mean anything from a private conversation to full-blown seduction.

“The incident happened at a ball,” he continued. “Miss Stobart said she’d torn her gown and asked me to help her pin it. So there I was kneeling at her feet in an anteroom when her aunt dramatically flung open the door. She’d been clever enough to bring witnesses.”

That wasn’t so bad. “Didn’t you explain your task?”

”They chose not to believe me. Miss Stobart swore it was a declaration of marriage. It was not, but my absence from town was advisable. She chased me here.” He closed his eyes, and when he opened them they were filled with surprising bleakness. “I must sound like the veriest coxcomb, imagining every woman in the house after my hand.”

“No indeed, sir. You are from one of the foremost families in the land, accepted everywhere, and in possession of a large fortune. Why should you not think that?.” Since he was being so honest, why should she not do the same?

He arched a brow. “If I said I wanted to be desired for myself, I’d sound foolish. But it’s true. Connie, I have few friends, people I can be honest with. It would be a privilege if you allow that between us.”

Friends? Damn, but she still wanted more. Not that she could have it, and Connie had become used to not having what she wanted. Friends would do. “Very well.”

“And I’ll devote a portion of every day to helping you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Exquisite agony to have this man so close, but she’d bear it. Worse that she was liking him more.

“Alex.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I want the privilege of calling you Connie. In return, you must call me Alex, especially in private. You do me a great favor, helping me to avoid the ladies, particularly Miss Stobart. She’s done everything she can to compromise me.”

“What about me? Won’t I be compromised?”

“You’re a respectable widow, soon to be formally betrothed. You told me so yourself.”

He had her there. “And in any case, I’m of an age where I cannot be expected to be on the hunt. Isn’t that right?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He raked her with his eyes, once, twice, from head to toes.

Every part of her body tingled. How could she bear this? “I’m eight and twenty, sir. I’m far too old to consider husband hunting seriously, even if my arrangement with Jasper didn’t exist.” He might as well hear the truth. “If it weren’t that my godparents had chosen me, I’d be well on the shelf.”

“They might consider you decrepit. I certainly don’t. But you have my word, Connie, I’ll behave. Just don’t leave me to their mercies.” When he moved back, she caught the scent of citrus and masculinity. He was too real, with her in this room, a man rather than a symbol of power and influence.

“Why don’t you just leave?”

He shook his head. “I promised my father I wouldn’t. He’s an old curmudgeon, but he’s the only father I have. In a week, I will be kicking the dust of this admittedly charming house off my heels. I just need help until then.”

So he could help the old widow woman sort out the dusty books. The situation appealed to her underused sense of humor. If she could bear his presence, and since he’d dropped his society mask she found him much more agreeable, then she could watch the play unfold and smile. As a widow she was allowed more leeway than others, and even if rumors came her way, she was safe. Jasper would arrive any day now and then her quietude would be at an end. She would be an engaged woman. “Very well, but not for long. Until you leave.”

“Thank you, Connie. You do me a great service and I won’t forget it.”

She might as well make use of him. “Be warned, Lord Ripley, I intend to work you hard collecting volumes from the dustiest rooms in the house.”

“Alex.”

He must look at all women that way and the gullible thought he did it just for them. More fools they. Connie wouldn’t join them.

* * * *

Alex left the library smiling. If Connie Rattigan thought her plain gowns and quiet demeanor had prevented him looking at her with more than usual interest, she was much mistaken.

Her determination to avoid the house party had intrigued him at first. Then he wondered how she could think of becoming betrothed to anyone belonging to the Dankworth family. Of course he was biased, since his mother’s family were constantly at odds with the Dankworths, but Jasper, in his opinion, was a typical example of the breed. He didn’t deserve her. Glad to find her betrothed absent from the party, he’d looked at Connie and liked what he saw. The more he looked, the more he liked.

Discovering her lair had become an obsession that had lightened the otherwise dull visit. He’d traversed several corridors more plainly decorated and much narrower than the more gracious ones in the main part of the house. But he’d failed in his quest.

So it was ironic that he’d found her by accident. He had been escaping the wiles of Miss Stobart. Running away. He’d wandered into the older part of the house, to explore a little. Like many country houses, this one had been added to over the years. Lower ceilings and narrower corridors than in the modern part of the house attested to its age. He’d ducked into an old library, lined with shelves of books that looked read instead of just for show.

When he turned a corner and discovered the lady facing him full-square, his smile vanished. If he wanted to get past her, he’d either have to retreat or beg her pardon and squeeze past. The narrow corridors that a moment ago had seemed quaint now took on a more sinister aspect.

Another lady chased around the far end of the long hallway, no doubt determined to prevent any tete-a-tete. Good for her.

“Ladies, would you both care to accompany me in a stroll around the gardens?” Acceptable, and he could make an excuse and leave them with each other. Perhaps they’d come to blows. A man could only hope.

Alex considered himself an easy-going man but these two had driven him to distraction. So much that he’d left London and taken up the invitation for a quiet gathering, only for them to discover where he’d gone and follow post-haste. The Downhollands were too genial to turn them away.

Even more reason to pursue the fascinating Constance Rattigan. He’d never met a woman before who drew him as she did. The fact that she was about to be married, or contracted anyway, made her safer than the two women who confidently came forward and took an arm each. Also infinitely better company. She conversed like a sensible woman, and while he tried to be a gentleman, he took note of her luscious figure and her lovely features almost without thinking.

Strange feeling. Must be the Yorkshire air, he decided, as he made the necessary detour to the south entrance, heading for the gardens.





Chapter 2



Alex had helped Connie with her tasks for three days now but that had been clean work, cataloguing and capturing family histories from the more salubrious parts of the house. Nobody had touched this storeroom for years, but she’d found it quite by chance when she opened the wrong door. To her this room was a treasure-trove. To anyone else, a dirt trap holding useless old books.

Connie climbed down the ladder and banged two books together to get rid of the worst of the dust. She found the resulting cloud quite impressive but she drew breath at the wrong minute and coughed, dropping the volumes.

Turning away, she fumbled for her handkerchief and discovered one thrust in front of her nose. Too overwhelmed to wonder who the newcomer was, she mopped up the resulting stream of tears, finished coughing and turned around, ready to thank her Good Samaritan.

Before her, holding the books, stood Alexander, Lord Ripley. Although dressed simply, in a dark green cloth coat and fawn colored waistcoat, she would never confuse his garments with something produced by a country tailor and here she was, in the same old gown as before, only now it was covered in centuries-old dust and grime.

Her breath quickened, her heart beat faster, exactly as they had when she’d first met her late husband. And look how that had turned out.

One dark brow moved a fraction and he smiled, the warmth filling her with a sense of camaraderie. “Such a gentleman,” she murmured before she could stop herself. Then she clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. My father always said I shouldn’t be allowed into polite society on my own.”

He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “He was wrong. You’re quite right, ma’am. You nearly had had me in unseemly laughter twice at dinner last night with your drollery. You have a way about you, don’t you?” He turned and put the books on the large deal table that dominated this small room and flipped open the cover of one. His gaze sharpened. “My word.” He bent and examined the contents.

Surprised by his interest, she opened the other and was similarly intrigued. She’d come here to unearth a few inventories but had become interested in the much smaller books that rested by the side of the larger tomes. Receipt books and notebooks from centuries ago, even older than the Jacobean books she’d discovered yesterday. She planned to clean them and take them to her room for some bedtime reading. What had begun as a way of keeping away from the tedium of the house party had gained a fascination of its own.

That reminded her of her errand to this dusty storeroom. However interesting the smaller books, she still had to collect the inventories, a task that had just become much easier. “Pardon me, sir but would you mind helping me with the other books up there?”

He gazed at her as if she really mattered to him, instead of forming a convenient distraction. His eyes radiated sincerity.

Did he look at all women that way? Was that part of his fabled charm?

“Alex,” he reminded her. He glanced up and his eyes widened. “You were planning to get them down by yourself?”

“Well, yes. I know Lady Downholland’s staff is rather busy just now. I had planned to take them down carefully and balance them on the steps of this ladder. I brought it from the large library, so I could be sure it was safe.”

“You brought it here on your own?” He seemed incredulous, his voice rising.

“It doesn’t weigh a great deal and it’s not far, if you take the short way.” She planted her hands on her hips. His attitude irritated her. As if a woman didn’t carry a can of hot water to his bedroom every morning. “I’m not entirely helpless. Women aren’t, you know.”

He grinned, the dimple at the corner of his mouth deepening. “I understand.” He executed a small bow. “And I beg your pardon, ma’am.” Alex shifted his attentio. . .