The Companion's Secret. Susanna Craig

>

      Cover Copy

      In this tempestuous new series, rebellious hearts prove hard to tame—but can England’s most dangerous rake be captured by a wild Irish rose?

      They call him Lord Ash, for his desires burn hot and leave devastation in their wake. But Gabriel Finch, Marquess of Ashborough, knows the fortune he’s made at the card table won’t be enough to save his family estate. For that he needs a bride with a sterling reputation to distract from his tarnished past, a woman who’ll be proof against the fires of his dark passion. Fate deals him the perfect lady. So why can’t Gabriel keep his eyes from wandering to her outspoken, infuriatingly independent Irish cousin?

      Camellia Burke came to London as her aunt’s companion, and she’s brought a secret with her: she’s written a scandalous novel. Now, her publisher demands that she make her fictional villain more realistic. Who better than the notorious Lord Ash as a model? Duty bound to prevent her cousin from making a disastrous match, Cami never meant to gamble her own heart away. But when she’s called home, Ash follows. And though they’re surrounded by the flames of rebellion, the sparks between them may be the most dangerous of all….

      Also by Susanna Craig

      The Runaway Desires Series:

      To Kiss a Thief

      To Tempt an Heiress

      To Seduce a Stranger

      The Companion’s Secret

      A Rogues & Rebels Novel

      Susanna Craig

      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

      LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2018 by Susan Kroeg

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

      All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

      Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: [phone].

      Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      First Electronic Edition: April 2018

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0400-0

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0400-5

      First Print Edition: April 2018

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0401-7

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0401-3

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      To Amy,

      for listening, suggesting,

      and most of all, believing—

      from the very beginning

      Acknowledgments

      Many great people helped to make this book, and the Rogues & Rebels series, possible: Jill Marsal; Esi Sogah and the team at Kensington; my colleagues, students, and friends; my husband and daughter; and especially you, dear reader. Thank you.

      Chapter 1

      London, May 1798

      Gabriel Finch, Marquess of Ashborough, played by his own rules—one of which was never to hold his cards during a game. A fan of cards amplified the movements of a man’s hand: his nervousness, excitement, shock. Besides, staring at them had never yet forced the pips into a different configuration.

      In response to the dealer’s silent call, Gabriel squared the small stack lying on the table in front of him before turning over the topmost card. The gesture was quiet, efficient. Only reckless men proclaimed loudly when they had been beaten. Or when they won.

      Like the fools at the far table, who had been making raucous demands all evening—of their dealer, the servants, the painted ladies employed to distract the cardplayers. Years of practice had proved insufficient to tune them out. Now, one man’s voice pierced the miasma of smoke and sweaty desperation that hung over the gamblers like fog.

      “You know I’m good for it,” the familiar voice wheedled. “Or will be. Why, right this moment I could raise a mortgage on Stoke that would be worth ten times that pot.”

      Gabriel pushed away from the table and stood.

      A footman hustled to his side, gathering his winnings, while the dealer praised his luck, subtly goading him to continue. The owners of this particular establishment used every trick in the book to encourage patrons to play longer than was wise. Good food, though not so rich that a man would feel drowsy. Plentiful drink, though not so much that a man would realize he was drunk. Painted windows and plush furnishings masked light and noise from the street, making it impossible to tell how many hours had passed. But there were always clues, if one knew where to look. Six-hour candles had dwindled to stubs. It must be nearly dawn.

      Across the room, play continued. With a nod to the others at his table, who protested his departure with a mixture of groans, self-deprecating laughs, and sighs of relief, he took the bundle the servant handed him and was gone, his pocket bulging with scraps of paper—banknotes, vowels, and, if he was not mistaken, the deed to a square of land in some backwater shire.

      The night had been a profitable one by any measure, but its most important gain had been intangible. Just a few words. A mortgage on Stoke. Interesting, very interesting. Would anyone take that bet?

      Gabriel had been gambling too long to imagine the answer was anything but yes.

      Damp air filled his lungs when he stepped into the dim, quiet street. As he had suspected, the hour was late—rather, early—enough that the girls who called to him from beneath the arcades of Covent Garden offered nothing more than moldering fruit. He paused to drop a handful of coins into the outstretched palm of a waif who in another week would surely be offering herself in place of the desiccated orange she pressed into his hand in return.

      With a roguish smile, he tossed the fruit into the air, caught it, handed it back to the half-starved, wide-eyed girl, and resumed walking. A gamble, yes.

      Why, he was tempted to lay a little wager himself.

      When he reached his rooms in St. James’s, his manservant, Arthur Remington, opened the door and held out his hand for his master’s greatcoat. Instead of shedding the garment, Gabriel reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the wad of notes. Warily, Remington took the lot, looking as if he expected the papers to reek of brimstone. Perhaps they did. Gabriel had grown inured to that particular scent.

      As Gabriel moved toward his study door, Remington spoke. “You’ll find Mr. Fox inside, my lord.” A smirk of satisfaction edged the man’s voice.

      Of late, Christopher Fox had been urging Gabriel toward pursuits that involved sunlight and fresh air and other things he generally avoided. His friend’s well-meant interference had kept him from sliding headfirst into