To Tempt A Rogue

by Adrienne Basso

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Romance; Regency Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

From the drawing rooms of Regency London to the wilds of Scotland, Adrienne Basso spins a tempestuous tale of secrets, surprises, and breathtaking passion. . . She Ran From A Broken Heart. . . A pillar of decorum and decency, Harriet Sainthill suddenly finds herself the object of scandal when her cad of a fiancé jilts her. Ever practical, she accepts a position as a governess to a wealthy Scottish merchant, determined to escape London and the gossip of the ton. Her hopes for a quiet new life are dashed when she arrives at the dark, desolate castle in the wilds of Scotland and meets her mysterious new employer--a darkly handsome man Harriet finds both intimidating and intriguing. . . . . .Straight Into The Arms Of Love Powerful, implacable and infuriatingly secretive, "Mr. Wainwright" is no Scottish merchant, but rather a runaway English lord. Once a rake who savored the indolent life of a reckless nobleman, Nathaniel Bennett must now protect three orphaned children and his own legacy from a conniving relative. And while the distraction of a sharp-tongued governess is the last thing he needs, he can think of little else but sweeping her into his arms. . .and off to his bed. As danger and deceit ally them in a perilous adventure, Harriet will soon uncover Nathaniel's deepest secrets--and her own deepest desires. "The sensuously detailed love scenes, undercurrent of danger and polished writing fuel Basso's latest historical Regency, which will draw fans of Amanda Quick and Nicole Jordan."-- Booklist on To Protect An Heiress

Release date: April 30, 2014

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

London, 1811

Early January

A stillness hung upon the dull, gray afternoon as Nathaniel Bennet, Baron of Avery, and second son of the sixth Duke of Claridge stood before his family’s ancestral London mansion. The black ribbons covering the massive brass door knocker had been removed, yet the sleeping mansion still held an aura of mourning, almost as though the sorrow and pain of its occupants had somehow become part of the stone and mortar of the structure.

Though he was already late, Lord Avery made no move to climb the steps. He waited silently, attempting to clear his mind and control his emotions. A drink would taste splendid right now, he thought. A few gulps of strong whiskey or a fine snifter filled with brandy would warm and numb, serving a two-fold purpose.

Ashamed at the direction of his thoughts, Nathaniel let out a long sigh. His breath misted in the cold air, puffing about him like a cloud. Shrugging, the handsome lord shoved his gloved hands deeper into the pockets of his greatcoat to ward off the chill. Yet he knew it wasn’t the lowering temperature that brought a shivering frigidity to the depths of his bones.

These daily visits should be getting easier, not harder, he reasoned. But they never did. He arrived a bit later and left a bit earlier each day and still there was no relief. The passage of time was said to heal all wounds, yet his pain still felt raw and deep and real.

Knowing there was no possible way to delay the inevitable any longer, Nathaniel plastered a determined grimace on his face and moved forward, deliberately ignoring how the classic Greek simplicity of the building resembled a mausoleum.

His insistent knock was soon answered by a slender young footman with pale skin and light hair.

“The family is not receiving callers this afternoon. Would you care to leave your card, sir?” The footman held out a silver platter expectantly.

Nathaniel frowned. Apparently the servant was new, for he had no idea to whom he was speaking. “I am a member of the family.” Lord Avery removed his greatcoat and lightly fingered the black armband on his jacket. “There is no need to announce me.”

“But sir—”

Nathaniel tossed his outer wear in the general direction of the servant and turned away.

“His lordship is in the drawing room,” the footman called out nervously as he lunged forward in a feeble attempt to catch the heavy garment before it hit the polished marble floor.

“I am not here to see his lordship,” Nathaniel muttered under his breath.

“Ah, there you are, my lord.” Mrs. Hutchinson, the housekeeper, puffed her way down the staircase, her large chin quivering. “His grace has been asking after you. He’s a mite fretful, but I told him, and the ladies, that you would be arriving at any moment. They count on you so, and I knew you would never shirk such an important duty.”

Lord Avery flinched, knowing he did not deserve such praise. It was his brother Robert who had always taken his responsibilities to heart.

“Have they had tea?” Nathaniel asked as he climbed the staircase.

“They were waiting for you,” Mrs. Hutchinson replied. The heavy set of keys at her waist jangled loudly as she struggled valiantly to keep pace with him. “I’ll have a fresh pot fetched immediately. The one in the nursery is no doubt cold by now.”

“Very good.”

Nathaniel continued his climb alone to the third floor, barely hesitating as he walked past the many doors lining the hallway. He knew the way well, for he had walked these very floors countless times in his youth.

He never broke stride until he reached the correct door, fearing if he slowed his movements his courage would fail. The moment the latch clicked open, Nathaniel steeled his emotions and pasted a pleasant expression on his face. Then he stepped through the doorway.

“Good afternoon.”

The maid who had been sitting quietly in the corner, jumped to her feet and dipped a hasty curtsey. The mending she had been diligently attending to spilled onto the floor and she dropped to her knees to gather it. Nathaniel moved forward to assist her with this task, but she stammered and blushed so awkwardly at his attention that he backed away.

His gaze reluctantly shifted to the center of the room where three young children were huddled together around a wooden table, whispering.

The roaring fire made the room warm, the pale walls, brightly colored quilts, and toys scattered about should have made it cheerful and inviting. Yet it felt more like a stuffy, formal drawing room than a carefree, happy nursery.

“Splendid. You waited tea for me. That was most considerate. Thank you.”

Nathaniel cast the group an engaging smile, hardly daring to hope for a reaction. There was none. He contained a sigh, pulled out a chair at the table where the tea had been set and sat down.

The furnishings were designed for a child’s size, but he had discovered on prior visits that the sturdy wooden chairs could support his weight. Though it was awkward and uncomfortable to be seated with his knees well above the edge of the table, Lord Avery contorted his long legs into a manageable position.

After all, the children’s father had done it nearly every afternoon. Until his fatal illness had struck.

“Sh-shall I pour the tea, Uncle Nathaniel?” Lord Avery’s head snapped up in amazement. Nine-year-old Phoebe’s voice was soft and hesitant. He regarded his eldest niece hopefully. This was the first time she had initiated any conversation with him. During his daily visits she always spoke politely and minimally, with a shy insecurity that tore at his heart.

“If everyone else is agreeable.” He smiled encouragingly at all three of the children.

Seven-year-old Jeanne Marie returned his grin briefly. She was tiny, with silky blond ringlets falling over her shoulders, and thickly lashed blue eyes.

“Can Lady Julienne come to tea?” Jeanne Marie asked.

“Lady Julienne?” Nathaniel’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Her doll,” Phoebe whispered.

Lord Avery noted the ragged doll Jeanne Marie held tightly in her arms. Clearly it was well loved for it was missing an eye, several fingers from the left hand and was dressed in a torn and grimy blue gown.

“We would be honored. Set a place for Lady Julienne, please, Phoebe.”

Lord Avery detected the slightest flicker of relief in his older niece’s face. She took a slow breath and carefully slid another china tea cup next to Jeanne Marie’s.

“Will you be joining us, Your Grace?” Nathaniel asked.

Gregory Quincy Reginald Bennet, eighth Duke of Claridge, turned away, crossed his arms determinedly over his chest and buried his face inside them. Plump and rosy cheeked, he was a sturdy lad, large for his four years. There had been only a passing resemblance between Nathaniel and his older brother Robert, yet by some ironic twist of fate, young Gregory was nearly an exact replica of his uncle Nathaniel at the same age, as the family portrait in the long gallery could attest.

He had apparently also inherited his uncle’s stubborn, defiant will.

“Stop being such a baby, Gregory,” Jeanne Marie said as she jabbed her brother in the ribs.

The little boy yelped and fell forward, stumbling on the fringe of the carpet. Nathaniel caught the boy’s arm and steadied him, saving him from landing on the floor. He felt the child’s body stiffen for an instant as his eyes focused on Nathaniel with unwavering regard.

“When is Papa coming?” Gregory asked sharply.

“Hush, Gregory,” Phoebe admonished. “I have told you again and again that Papa cannot come to see us. He is in Heaven.”

“With Mama,” Jeanne Marie added helpfully. Round-eyed with dismay, Gregory stamped his foot. “I don’t want Papa to be in Heaven! I want him here! Now!”

Jeanne Marie’s lip suddenly began to wobble. “And Mama, too.”

Uncomfortable, Nathaniel looked from side to side, in a quandary. It was probably best if the children released some of their pent-up grief, but Lord Avery felt ill-equipped to handle such a situation entirely on his own.

At that moment Mrs. Hutchinson burst into the room, followed by a footman carrying a tray with a fresh pot of tea and additional sweet treats.

“Goodness gracious, what’s all of this?” Mrs. Hutchinson cried in alarm. She knelt down and opened her arms wide. Tearfully, Gregory and Jeanne Marie rushed forward to be enfolded in the housekeeper’s comforting embrace.

“They were thinking of Mama and Papa,” Phoebe replied stoically. “It made them cry.”

“Oh, my poor lambs!” Mrs. Hutchinson hugged tighter and the children buried their heads in her shoulders and wailed louder.

Nathaniel cast a glance at Phoebe. She was biting her lip furiously and her hands were bunched together so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. He suspected she wished to be comforted as her brother and sister but perhaps felt she was too old for such an emotional display.

Yet clearly her need was just as great. Lord Avery shifted his chair unobtrusively and inched his way closer to his niece. He placed his hand beneath the table, near her side, though it was hardly necessary to conceal the gesture for the sake of Phoebe’s pride. The drama Gregory and Jeanne Marie had created had drawn the servant’s eyes and complete attention.

It must be horrifying to lose not one but both beloved parents in a single blow. As children, their understanding of the event was limited, and mixed within the grief they felt was confusion as well as fear.

A hesitant, soft brush of a fingertip against his wrist distracted Lord Avery’s despondent thoughts as he felt Phoebe slip her small, delicate hand into his palm. Nathaniel squeezed her fingers gently, hoping the simple gesture would convey his support and offer her some strength. She, in turn, clasped his hand tighter.

“Your father was not only my brother, but my closest friend,” Nathaniel said softly. “As his children, I hold you all dear to my heart. I shall do everything within my power to keep you from harm, protect you from danger and shield you from suffering.”

“Truly?” she whispered.

“Always,” he responded solemnly.

Phoebe shivered convulsively, but maintained her poise.

“There, there, now dry your tears,” Mrs. Hutchinson said. “Cook has made your favorite scones as well as cream cakes. You need to eat them very soon, or else it will be too late and the treats will spoil your dinner.”

Mrs. Hutchinson pulled a clean linen handkerchief from her pocket and dried Jeanne Marie’s face. Gregory refused the housekeeper’s assistance, wiping his nose on his sleeve before joining his sisters and uncle at the table.

Tea was generally served in most households after dinner, but since Nathaniel felt uncomfortable partaking of strong spirits in front of his young nieces and nephew, they had begun the ritual of serving the restorative hot beverage in the early afternoon, during his daily visits. At the very least, it gave them all something to do.

It was a quiet group gathered around the table, but miraculously the display of emotion had eased the thick air of tension. Still, the anxious looks in the children’s eyes barely faltered as Phoebe carefully filled the china tea cups.

“If you need anything else, just ring and Sanders will bring it straightaway,” Mrs. Hutchinson instructed. The housekeeper beamed pleasantly, then left.

Once alone with his nieces and nephew, Lord Avery struggled to make conversation. Jeanne Marie’s doll, Lady Julienne, proved a godsend, for he could address questions and comments to it without any expectation of a response. Plus, the children thought it a great game and soon began to smile at his antics and play along.

With a half-smile and a deprecating shrug, Nathaniel took a sip of his weak, lukewarm tea and conceded that the members of his club would think him a total lackwit if they saw him at this moment, conversing with a ratty doll and three infants in the nursery.

But if this brought even a few moments of peace to the children, his foolishness would be well worth it.

Finally, it was time for him to leave. The muscles in his thighs cramped as he stood upright, but he hid his discomfort. The room became eerily silent at his impending departure. He leaned over and kissed Phoebe and Jeanne Marie on the top of their heads, then turned to Gregory.

Somehow a kiss did not seem appropriate for his rambunctious nephew, yet Lord Avery felt he could not leave without showing the child some form of affection. Motivated purely by instinct, he ruffled the boy’s hair lightly, then chucked him under the chin. Gregory smiled approvingly.

The air rushed out of his lungs in a great sigh of relief the moment Nathaniel quit the nursery. For a long minute he waited outside the closed door, staring blindly down the hallway. He took a few steps, then rubbed his neck wearily. Spending just two hours with the children was as exhausting as going ten rounds in Gentleman Jack’s boxing salon.

As much as he craved some fresh air and strong whiskey, Lord Avery knew his afternoon’s responsibilities were not yet ended. He wanted a word with the children’s governess, Miss Reynolds, to solicit her opinion of the children’s well-being.

In fact, it was odd that Miss Reynolds was not in attendance as usual in the nursery this afternoon. Perhaps today was her half-day off?

But when he inquired after the calm, kind middle-aged governess, Mrs. Hutchinson clasped her hands together and shook her head. “Miss Reynolds left two days ago, my lord,” the housekeeper reported. “I thought you knew.”

Lord Avery frowned. “I was unaware of her departure. I thought the children got on very well with her. Were they upset when she left?”

“Terribly.” Mrs. Hutchinson nodded her head vigorously. “Thankfully they still have their nursemaids to care and fuss over them. But such an upheaval in their routine cannot be good after all they have suffered. They fairly doted on Miss Reynolds and she took excellent care of them. ‘Tis heart wrenching for these children to be losing so many familiar faces. Why, it has been only a month since they lost their dear mother and father.”

“I assume this is my uncle’s doing?”

“Oh, my yes. Lord Bridwell has made lots of changes around here since he’s moved in,” Mrs. Hutchinson retorted. “And not all of them good.” The housekeeper lowered her head and blushed as if she suddenly remembered to whom she was speaking. “Forgive my bold tongue. I meant no disrespect to his lordship.”

“Of course.” Nathaniel clenched his jaw. “What exactly happened to Miss Reynolds?”

“I’m not one to tell tales, mind you, but I believe Lord Bridwell did not like Miss Reynolds insisting upon certain considerations for the children. He claimed there was some dispute with the governess over her wages, but I find that difficult to swallow.” Mrs. Hutchinson clucked her tongue. “I heard the true disagreement was over the money she was spending on dresses for the girls, shoes for the boy, supplies for the schoolroom and the amount of coal she was burning in the nursery.

“We were all shocked when he sacked her, with no prior warning. Poor thing left without a reference, too. I hope she’ll be able to find another position. She has an ailing mother to support, you know.”

A shadow crossed Nathaniel’s face. Three days after Robert and Bernadette’s funeral Lord Bridwell had arrived in town and taken up residence in the family’s London home. It was a bold initiative, even for the oldest male relative of the family, but Nathaniel had been too immersed in his own grief and pain to give it much thought.

Nathaniel knew that once Robert’s will had been read and enacted, the financial responsibilities of the estate and the children, would fall to him. Yet the settling of his brother’s affairs had turned out to be a rather complex matter. Feeling too physically and emotionally spent to actively investigate, Nathaniel had decided instead to let the various solicitors involved sort out all the legalities.

He was now very concerned that his initial lack of interest had put him at a grave disadvantage. Though he had asked his uncle repeatedly, Lord Bridwell did not seem at all inclined to relinquish the control he had established. In fact, actions such as dismissing the children’s governess illustrated that he was more secure in his position and doing everything possible to make it even stronger.

Nathaniel had hoped to avoid seeing his uncle today, but it looked as if he must. It was imperative that the older man be reminded of Nathaniel’s keen interest in the welfare of Robert’s children and his determination to stay involved in their lives.

“Do you know where Lord Bridwell is this afternoon?”

Mrs. Hutchinson furrowed her brow. “He never leaves the house this time of day. After we delivered the tea to the nursery, Sanders brought a fresh decanter of whiskey to the study. I suspect his lordship is in there right now, enjoying it.”

“Then I shall go to the study and have a word with my uncle,” Nathaniel replied grimly.

Mrs. Hutchinson turned a questioning gaze on Lord Avery. “I was wondering . . . I mean . . . well, I had hoped that you, not Lord Bridwell, would take on the children.”

Her comment brought a flush of guilt to Nathaniel’s face. As Robert had hovered near death, he had promised his brother he would care for them. “My uncle and I have not yet reached an agreement on the guardianship of the children, but I fully intend to pursue the matter.”

“All I know is that those three little souls need you,” Mrs. Hutchinson declared solemnly.

“That fact has become more evident each day, Mrs. Hutchinson, even though I’ll own that I know very little about raising children.”

“You’ll manage it a lot better than Lord Bridwell,” Mrs. Hutchinson declared loyally. She patted his forearm reassuringly. “All you can do is your best, my lord.”

She was right, of course. He would be a far preferable guardian than his uncle. Though nagging at Lord Avery’s brain was the ever-present worry. The children had suffered so much. Would his best be enough?

He crossed the foyer and turned past the red drawing room, the gold sitting room, and the wood paneled library. Though it felt utterly ridiculous to be announced in one of his childhood homes, Nathaniel allowed the footman to call out his name before he entered the study.

He found Lord Bridwell lounging in a large leather chair set by the fireplace, his cheek resting on his fist, his elbow propped on the chair arm. In his other hand he held a half empty whiskey glass and a smoldering cigarillo.

He offered no greeting to his guest. Nathaniel ignored the slight and strode casually to the chair opposite his uncle’s. Lord Avery’s senses were on full alert. Growing up, he had seen very little of his father’s only brother, and what he had learned of his uncle’s character these past few weeks made the man even more of a mystery. And a danger.

Nathaniel was aware that Lord Bridwell had been married, was childless and became a widower at a fairly early age. He had an eye for race horses, a nose for gambling, and a reputation as a first-class gentleman. Nearing sixty, he had retained his striking looks along with a trim build and a thick head of gray hair that gave him a distinguished, worldly air.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Nathaniel broke the silence as he settled himself in the chair.

“Avery.” Lord Bridwell eyed him critically. “What brings you here today?”

“I’ve been visiting the children. As I do each afternoon.”

Lord Bridwell made a sound of disgust. “There are clean glasses and whiskey on the sideboard. Help yourself. I suspect you could use a stiff drink.”

“Thank you, no.” Though the idea of a strong whiskey sounded most appealing, Nathaniel refused to give his uncle the satisfaction. “I would like to discuss Miss Reynolds.”

“Miss Reynolds? The pesky governess?” Lord Bridwell took a long pull of his cigarillo and blew a cloud of the pungent smoke in his nephew’s direction. “Her work was unsatisfactory. I dismissed her a few days ago.”

Nathaniel lifted his brow. “It was my understanding that she took excellent care of her charges. Besides, the children were very fond of her.”

“Well, I found her to be rude and untrustworthy.” Lord Bridwell shut his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. “The household is running more smoothly without her.”

“If you find caring for the children too taxing, uncle, I would be pleased to relieve you of that burden,” Nathaniel said casually.

Lord Bridwell slowly lowered his arm and cast his nephew a veiled look of warning. “I thought we had finally settled this, Avery. You have no legal claim to their guardianship.”

“My brother—”

“I don’t give a damn about your brother or what he may or may not have said on his deathbed.” Lord Bridwell flung the cigarillo into the fireplace. “He was dying, out of his mind, delirious with fever. You cannot put stock in the ranting of a man overcome with such a dreadful illness. I am the eldest male relative. It is my duty to see to the welfare of this family.”

With effort Nathaniel contained his furious roar of frustration. How dare his uncle speak of his brother in such cold, callous terms! “I too know of my duties, my responsibilities, and obligations to the family. Robert wanted me to care for his children.”

“Then he should have stated his wishes in his last will and testament.”

He did! Nathaniel knew a solicitor had been summoned and he knew changes had been made to Robert’s will, specifically to the guardianship of the children. Yet somehow this document could not be found.

“We are reasonable men, uncle. I feel certain if we work together a reasonable solution can be found.”

“There’s no need to play the gallant, unselfish gentleman with me, my boy.” Lord Bridwell leaned closer and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “You forget, I too am a second-born son. I know precisely how it feels to be left with little more than a minor title, a pitiful excuse for an estate, and a miserable allowance.

“I am willing to be generous with the funds that are now at my disposal by doubling your current allowance. But only if you agree to cease interfering in matters that are none of your concern.”

“The estate is to be held in trust until Gregory comes of age,” Nathaniel protested hotly.

“Exactly.” Lord Bridwell took a long swallow of whiskey. “The substantial income and investments are the responsibility of whoever takes care of the brats.”

“I do not want the money, uncle,” Nathaniel said rashly. “Just the care of the children.”

Lord Bridwell stared at him in perplexity. “Well, you can take the girls if you are so hell-bent on playing the role of knight errant.” He took a final sip of his drink and regarded his nephew shrewdly over the rim of his whiskey glass. “But I’ll not relinquish the boy. He stays with me.”

A wave of uncertainty flooded through Nathaniel. This was by far the most his uncle had ever offered. For a moment he was tempted to agree, yet he could not bring himself to separate Gregory from his sisters. It would be too cruel a blow to the young boy.

“I shall consider the offer most carefully.” Lord Bridwell laughed mildly. “I thought you might. Especially the part about a doubled allowance.”

Nathaniel tensed, feeling his temper climb. By sheer will he restrained his reactions, deflecting his uncle’s mocking laugh with his most arrogant smile.

Then he rose slowly to his feet, straightened to his full, impressive height, gave his uncle a curt nod of farewell, along with a deliberate, disparaging look and walked away.

The cold, biting air had a restorative effect on Nathaniel’s battered mind. Hatless, he stood on the front steps of the mansion, gulping in several deep breaths. After a few moments he dragged his hand through his hair and turned towards the street.

It was time for that drink. Lord knows, he had more than earned it.

The sound of footsteps rumbling overhead began as a small patter, then increased in volume to a dull roar. Miss Harriet Sainthill, comfortably ensconced in a large chair set before a cheerfully crackling fire, glanced up from the exceedingly dull book she was reading, half-expecting to see pieces of the plaster ceiling descend upon the spotless carpet.

The footsteps moved away, then sounded in the hallway directly outside the drawing room doors. Harriet closed her book and clutched it to her chest in an unconscious, protective gesture. Suddenly, without any additional warning, the doors burst open and smacked the wall.

The intruder entered the room with all the energy and enthusiasm of a charging bull. In a blur of color, the small figure flew across the room and crouched behind the gold brocade sofa.

Harriet set the book down on the small table beside her, but before she could rise and investigate, a second intruder entered. He stood mutely in the doorway—tall, broad-shouldered and imposing. His strong features and handsome face were contorted in an odd expression of equal parts anger and distress.

“Griffin!” Harriet called out in surprise as she watched her brother advance purposefully into the room. “Is something wrong?”

Viscount Dewhurst grunted a garbled response. He swept the room with his gaze, stopping to regard the brocade sofa with a lingering inquiry.

“Have you seen Georgie recently?” the viscount asked. “I seem to have misplaced my son.”

Harriet cleared her throat. Before she could formulate a reply, the sound of a soft whimper echoed through the room.

The noise startled both Harriet and her brother. “What is wrong?” she asked in a horrified whisper.

The viscount’s jaw clenched. “That is between Georgie and me. Have you seen him?”

Over the past two years Harriet had come to respect her brother’s ability as a parent and his authority as a father. Though she occasionally disagreed with the decisions the viscount made regarding his son, she never doubted the strong bond of love that existed between the two.

Yet her instinct to protect her five-year-old nephew from his father’s most uncharacteristic wrath prevailed.

“I have not actually spoken with Georgie since breakfast,” Harriet said slowly.

The viscount crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her with a frown. “That is not what I asked.”

“ ’Tis all right, Aunt Harriet,” a small voice said shakily. “There is no need for you to lie. I am here, Father.”

Harriet looked from her brother to the little boy who slowly rose to his feet and stood behind the barrier of the sofa. Georgie’s normally rosy cheeks were pale, his narrow face shadowed and instead of the usual dancing merriment in his gray eyes, which were the exact replica of his imposing father’s, there was anxiety.

His obvious distress tore at Harriet’s heart, until she noticed the little boy’s chin was set with a pugnacious tilt.

“Oh, Georgie, you silly lad, there you are,” Harriet said brightly. “Were you playing a game, perchance? Is that why you were hiding?”

Harriet smiled and moved across the room to stand beside her nephew. The viscount dogged her heels.

“Stop circling him like a mother wolf protecting one of. . .