Too Hot For A Rake. Pearl Wolf

      

      SEDUCTION

      “You have no choice in the matter, love,” Helena said. “It is I who mean to seduce you. You cannot be so boorish as to refuse a lady’s request, can you?”

      He took his hand away. “I’m a rake, my dear. I promised not to ruin your reputation. I gave your brother-in-law my word on it. You are an innocent, Helena. Don’t force me into taking advantage of your innocence.”

      She shoved his hand away when he attempted to refasten her bodice. “Reputation be damned, Waverley. I want you. Doesn’t that count for anything? I thought you felt the same for me.”

      His mocking words cut like a knife. “I have feelings of lust for every pretty lass who comes my way. I have a reputation to uphold, you see.”

      “Is that all I am to you? Just another pretty lass? Don’t you want me?”

      “Want you? Don’t tempt me any further, love, lest the consequences destroy us both….”

      Books by Pearl Wolf

      TOO HOT FOR A SPY

      TOO HOT FOR A RAKE

      Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

      Too Hot For a Rake

      Pearl Wolf

      ZEBRA BOOKS

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      To Evan Marshall

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      It has been my privilege to work with Kensington Editor-in-Chief John Scognamiglio, who guides my manuscripts so expertly through the publishing process. On the way, he’s taught me to be a better writer and for this he earns my respect and my gratitude.

      I also owe a great deal to my critique partner Shelley Freydont, for her insights and her unfailing support in a million ways.

      Ohio surgeon Dr. Rick Nedelman gives freely of his time when I post my medical questions about injuries from duels and such. Bless the man!

      I like to think I am meticulous in my research, particularly since this is a historical romance. Still, the best of us make mistakes. If you find any in this work, be sure to let me know and please accept my apologies.

      —Pearl Wolf

       Web: www.pearlwolf.com

       Email: [email protected]

      Contents

      Prologue

      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

      Author’s Note

      About the Author

      Prologue

      Paris: Sunday, the Twenty-second of March, 1818

      A young Englishman stepped out of the hired chaise, his face at once assaulted by the icy March winds. He shuddered against the inhospitable cold that bit into him and raised his eyes to the formidable facade of Le Chabanais.

      To keep his beaver hat from blowing away, he held it firmly in place as he climbed the steps of the building, an establishment that took its name from its location: 12 rue Chabanais. He raised the knocker on the door, let it fall and waited. One eye appeared through a small hole.

      “I’ve come to see Lord Bannington. Is he at home?” He pressed his calling card to the hole.

      The door opened a crack and a hand snaked out to snatch the card from him. “I shall inquire if monsieur is at home.”

      When the door clanked shut, the man had to content himself with stamping his feet to keep from freezing. He raised his fist to bang the knocker again, but the ponderous oaken door swung open.

      “Entréz, s’il vous plait, monsieur.” The man led him through a dimly lit hall that opened into a large room where the visitor was at once blinded by the blaze of hundreds of candles.

      He handed his coat, hat, muffler and gloves to a footman and surveyed the scene. The mirrored room was the size of a large London ballroom. Its walls were lined with red banquettes. Young ladies in various states of undress lounged on them, apparently awaiting the arrival of male clientele, a reasonable assumption considering the nature of the business conducted at 12 rue Chabanais. Someone behind him tapped a fan on his shoulder. He turned, startled by the astonishing sight of a tall, buxom woman of a certain age. She wore a low-cut black gown studded with crystals, long white gloves and a black lace mantilla attached to her hair, powdered in the French fashion.

      “Monsieur? Welcome to Le Chabanais. I am Madame Z’evareau. How may I serve you? Our salon offers the finest young ladies in Paris. But you can see that for yourself. How many of our ladies would you like this evening? One, two, more?”

      He took the hand she offered and bent to brush his lips over it, a gesture she appeared to expect. “No, madame. I am not here to be entertained this evening. I seek an audience with Lord Bannington. He resides here, does he not?”

      “Ah, oui. Le roué Anglais. He is our guest. The dear boy may be occupied at the moment, however. Allow me to inquire.” She turned and said to a young lady nearby, “Entertain the gentleman, Cecelie.” She hurried off, Darlington’s card in hand.

      “What is your pleasure?” Cecelie asked him. In spite of her painted rouged cheeks, charcoaled eyelids and short red hair, she could not have been more than sixteen. She wore a sheer white chemise over long black stockings and red high-heeled shoes.

      “I’m not here for your services, mademoiselle. I’ve come to see Lord Bannington.” He resisted the urge to loosen his neck cloth.

      The harlot giggled. “You are a friend of le roué Anglais? Then there shall be no charge, monsieur. He pays for all his friends.” She reached up to kiss him on the lips, but Darlington restrained her.

      “You do not like Cecelie? Perhaps you would prefer another…?”

      To his relief, Madame Z’evareau returned, saving him from further embarrassment.

      “Lord Bannington will see you now. Follow me, if you please.”

      He tried to ignore the snickers he heard and the lascivious ogling that followed him as he made his