The Rake's Rebellious Lady. Anne Herries

      

      ‘I fear that if I asked you to walk with me in the gardens for a few minutes you would refuse.’

      ‘We hardly know each other well enough for that, sir.’

      ‘We do not know each other at all, Miss Holbrook.’ Freddie let one finger trail down Caroline’s arm, sending a frisson of sensation shooting through her. For a moment, as she stared into his dark eyes, she felt as if she were drowning. Being sucked down and down into a swirling pool and out of her depth. ‘I am not sure that it would be to the benefit of either of us to become more intimately acquainted…’

      ‘Then please allow me to pass,’ Caroline said, and gave him a frosty stare. Until that moment she had been revising her opinion of him, and liking what she had discovered, but now she was once again aware of the danger of allowing herself to like such a man. If she were foolish enough to develop a tendre for him, he would be sure to break her heart.

      Anne Herries, winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association romance prize 2004, lives in Cambridgeshire. She is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books—although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers.

       Recent novels by the same author:

      A DAMNABLE ROGUE*

      MARIANNE AND THE MARQUIS†

      MARRIED BY CHRISTMAS†

      MARRYING CAPTAIN JACK†

      THE UNKNOWN HEIR

      THE HOMELESS HEIRESS

      *Winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association romance prize †The Horne Sisters

       And in the Regency series The Steepwood Scandal :

      LORD RAVENSDEN’S MARRIAGE

      COUNTERFEIT EARL

      And in The Hellfire Mysteries:

      AN IMPROPER COMPANION

      A WEALTHY WIDOW

      A WORTHY GENTLEMAN

      THE RAKE’S REBELLIOUS LADY

      Anne Herries

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      Chapter One

      ‘My word, Freddie, that pair of yours are out-and-outers,’ George Bellingham said, admiring the thoroughbred chestnuts that Sir Frederick Rathbone was driving in Hyde Park that May morning. ‘You are an excellent judge of horseflesh. I shall come to you next time I decide to improve my stable.’

      George was walking, Sir Frederick having pulled over to oblige him. He now offered the reins, inviting him to climb into the high-wheeled phaeton.

      ‘Care to try them yourself?’ he asked. ‘They have as sweet mouths as any you’ll find in London. I was lucky to get them. Came from Farringdon’s stable. He sold them to me after a run of ill luck at the tables.’

      ‘Had some of that myself recently,’ Bellingham said, pulling a wry face. ‘We can’t all be as fortunate as you!’ He looked thoughtful for a moment, then, ‘It surprises me that Farringdon sold them; I thought they were his pride and joy.’

      ‘Needs must when the devil drives, I dare say.’ Freddie laughed, a gleam of mockery in his dark eyes. He was a handsome devil, arrogant, wilful and the bane of matchmaking society mamas, for at eight and twenty, he had managed to avoid all the traps set for him with consummate ease.

      ‘Lucky at the tables, unlucky in love, is that not what they say?’ Freddie’s look challenged and provoked his friend. He did not add that the chestnut horses had been in settlement of an overdue gambling debt and that he had offered to take them at an inflated price well above their true worth.

      ‘Not in your case!’ Bellingham retorted. ‘Your latest highflyer is a beauty, Freddie. There isn’t a fellow in London who doesn’t envy you the magnificent Yolanda.’

      ‘An expensive hobby,’ Freddie remarked grimly; his mistress might be a spectacular beauty, but she had a decided partiality for expensive baubles. ‘As greedy in bed as out. To be honest, I weary of her. She is too predictable.’

      ‘Good grief, man! What do you expect? She is a courtesan of the first line. They say she has consorted with crowned heads in Europe—perhaps even Bonaparte himself!’

      ‘You don’t say?’ Freddie said, pulling a face. He had heard the rumour and knew it to be untrue, but could not resist teasing his friend. ‘Why did I not know this before? Boney, indeed! I do not know whether to be flattered or horrified.’ He shook his head as he returned to the subject of his mistress. ‘I dare say she is well enough in her way, George, but she is not… Perhaps I am too particular.’

      ‘You would not want a simpering society miss? Perhaps the lovely Miss Avondale—if you are on the catch for a wife?’

      ‘God forbid! That insipid fairness—and that lisp! I would be bored within days—hours!’ Freddie laughed mockingly. ‘No, I have no thought of marriage, George. Yet I sometimes yearn for a woman I can talk to as I do to you. A partner in more than a physical sense.’

      ‘If such a woman exists, she’s mine,’ Bellingham said, taking up the challenge instantly. ‘A woman like that would be something out of the ordinary. I might consider marrying her myself.’

      ‘Come, come, old fellow,’ Freddie chided, for his friend was four and thirty, and a confirmed bachelor in his own words. ‘She would have to be special indeed to tempt you.’

      George nodded, but looked thoughtful. ‘As you say, though I have wondered of late…’ He shook his head as the horses moved restlessly, impatient at being kept waiting. ‘Since neither of us is likely to meet such a lady, it is mere speculation.’ He gave the reins a little flick, allowing the high-spirited horses to move on at a trot. ‘Do you attend Almack’s this evening?’

      ‘Good grief, no!’ Freddie said, revolted at the idea of such a wasted evening. ‘When you see me there you will know that I have discovered the paragon we spoke of.’ He laughed softly deep in his throat. ‘I believe that you may safely assume that hell will freeze over first.’

      ‘Oh, you will fall in the end,’ George murmured, more for the sake of provoking his companion than anything. He grinned at Freddie. ‘You don’t care to sell these beauties, I suppose?’

      ‘No—but I will wager them against your greys.’

      ‘On what?’ George was surprised. His greys were very good horses, but not the equal of the chestnuts.

      ‘That a woman who could tempt me to marriage does not exist.’

      George grinned, for they were in the habit of making such