The Devilish Mr. Danvers: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series (21 page)
Read The Devilish Mr. Danvers: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series Online
Authors: Vivienne Lorret
Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #Regency, #Historical Romance
“Uncanny likeness, isn’t it?” Cuthbert asked, shifting the pipe to his other hand.
Rafe stepped closer, squinting. “This isn’t one of yours, Father.”
“Right you are. It is not one of mine at all.”
Hedley didn’t understand. Neither did Rafe, for that matter, because he asked, “Then how did you come by such a likeness of my wife?”
“Artists are part of a small community. At the mention of your betrothal, an old friend shared with me a portrait from his gallery.” Rafe’s father shrugged as if it were a matter of happenstance. “Apparently, the subject of the portrait had a rather illustrious career as an opera singer. Caused quite the scandal, back in her day.”
Then Cuthbert turned fully to her and bowed. “Hedley, my dear daughter-in-law, I would like to introduce you to your great-grandmother, Edwina Sinclair.”
Hedley gaped, unable to form words. Her great-grandmother
Sinclair
? On her father’s side. “That means . . .
she
was my grandfather’s mother.”
So then, Hedley was a Sinclair after all.
“Perhaps that was why he gave you Greyson Park,” Rafe said softly. “He knew who you were all along.”
She didn’t even realize she was crying until her husband lifted a handkerchief to dry her tears. When another thought occurred to her, she looked up with concern. “That means you married a
Sinclair
after all.”
And he hated the Sinclairs.
“This changes nothing. I already knew who you were.” His fiercely tender gaze returned, making her heart beat in that odd cadence. “From the very first moment, you were
mine
.”
I
’d like to thank Cindy C. for going to the ends of the earth to find the perfect books for me and for being the best librarian ever.
Innumerable thanks go to Chelsey and the entire Avon Impulse team for another dream realized. I’m so grateful for the chance to tell Rafe’s story.
Thank you to all the amazingly talented glass artists who’ve posted your videos to YouTube. You’ve provided me with valuable research, in addition to a lifelong appreciation of your craft.
Thank you to Cyndi for being my first reader and my biggest fan. I love you.
And most of all, I thank God for the blessings and lessons in my life.
Vivienne Lorret’s steamy new series continues!
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the final book in her Rakes of Fallow Hall series:
THE MADDENING LORD MONTWOOD
Coming July 2015 from Avon Impulse.
An Excerpt From
Lucan Montwood is the last man Frances Thorne should ever trust. A gambler and a rake, he’s known for causing more trouble than he solves. So when he offers his protection after Frances’s home and job are taken from her, she’s more than a little wary. After all, she knows Lord Montwood’s clever smile can disarm even the most guarded heart. If she’s not mindful, Frances may fall prey to the most dangerous game of all—love
.
F
rances moved closer to the desk. A blank page waited on the surface with a quill resting in a stand beside a pot of uncapped ink, as if prepared to attend to business matters. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow cross in front of the door and automatically turned, expecting to see Lord Whitelock.
Yet, it wasn’t he at all. It was Lucan Montwood instead.
She started. “What are
you
doing here?”
“I live here, Miss Thorne.” He moved into the room and lifted one hand in an absent gesture, as if the matter were of little importance. Wearing a hunter green tailcoat over a gold waistcoat and a pair of snug buttery breeches buttoned at the knee above his boots, his self-assured gait bordered on brazen.
She tried not to notice the way each step accentuated each shift and clench of his muscles. Her throat went dry. “You live here?”
That hand—those long fingers—stroked the line of his jaw as one corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. “I’m afraid that I must admit to subterfuge. You see, this is Fallow Hall, and
not
Whitelock’s residence. His estate is a few miles further north.”
The words registered slowly. A pulse fluttered at her throat. “You’ve abducted me?”
That grin remained unchanged. “Not at all. Rest assured, you are free to leave here at any time—”
“Then I will leave at once.”
“As soon as you’ve
heard
my warning.”
It did not take long for a wave of exasperation to fill her and then exit her lungs on a sigh. “This is in regard to Lord Whitelock again. Will you ever tire of this subject? You have already said that you believe him to be a snake in disguise. I have already said that I don’t agree. Therefore, there is nothing more to say unless you have proof.”
“I have the same proof against him that you hold against me,” he challenged with a lift of his brow. “You have damned me with the same swift judgment that you have elevated Whitelock to sainthood.”
What rubbish
. “I did not set out to find the good in his lordship. The fact of his goodness came to me naturally by way of his reputation. Even his servants cannot praise him enough. They are forever grateful for his benevolence.”
“Perhaps he wants your gratitude,” he said, his tone edged with warning. “This entire series of events that has put you within reach of him reeks of manipulation. You are too sensible to ignore how conveniently these circumstances turned out for him.”
“Yet, I suppose, I’m meant to ignore the
convenience
in which you abducted me?”
He laughed. The low, alluring sound had no place in the light of day. It belonged to the shadows that lurked in dark alcoves and to the secret desires that a woman of seven and twenty never dare reveal.
“It was damnably hard to get you here,” he said with such arrogance that she was assured her desires would remain secret forever. “You have no idea how much liquor Whitelock’s driver can hold. It took an age for him to pass out.”
Incredulous, she shook her head. “Are you blind to your own manipulations?”
“You are putting your faith in the wrong man.” His charmer’s grin was absent now and something akin to irritation flashed in his gaze. “Perhaps those spectacles require new lenses. They certainly aren’t aiding your sight.”
“I wear these spectacles for reading, I’ll have you know. Otherwise, my vision is fine,” she countered. “I prefer to wear them instead of risking their misplacement.”
He gave a small cough of disbelief that irked her to no end. “You wear them like a shield of armor.”
“Preposterous. I’ve no need for a shield of any sort. I cannot help it if you are intimidated by my spectacles, and by my ability to see right through you.” She narrowed her eyes as he stepped closer, watching him as he slid the blank parchment toward him and withdrew the quill from the stand.
Ignoring her, he dipped the end into the ink and wrote something on the page.
Undeterred, she continued her harangue. “Though you may doubt it, I can easily spot those
snakes
—as you like to refer to members of your own sex—quite easily. I come to an understanding of a man’s character in moments of introduction. I am even able to anticipate his actions.”
He handed the parchment to her.
“As soon as you’ve finished reading this, I am going to kiss you.”
USA Today
best-selling author
VIVIENNE LORRET
loves romance novels, her pink laptop, her husband, and her two sons (not necessarily in that order . . . but there are days). Transforming copious amounts of tea into words, she is proud to be an Avon Impulse author of works including
Tempting Mr. Weatherstone
, The Wallflower Wedding Series, and the Rakes of Fallow Hall Series.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
hc.com
.
Give in to your impulses . . .
Read on for a sneak peek at four brand-new
e-book original tales of romance from HarperCollins.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
A
F
ORGIVING
L
IES
N
OVELLA
By Molly McAdams
A
B
ROKE
AND
B
EAUTIFUL
N
OVEL
By Tessa Bailey
R
IBBON
R
IDGE
B
OOK
T
WO
By Darcy Burke
T
HE
R
AKES
OF
F
ALLOW
H
ALL
S
ERIES
By Vivienne Lorret
An Excerpt from
A Forgiving Lies Novella
by Molly McAdams
Paisley Morro has been in love with Eli Jenkins since they were thirteen years old. But after twelve years of being only his best friend and wingman, the heartache that comes from watching him with countless other women becomes too much, and Paisley decides it’s time to lay all her feelings on the table.
Paisley
I
fidgeted with my coffee cup as I tried to find the courage to say what I’d held back for so long. Twelve years. Twelve years of waiting, hoping, and aching were about to come to an end. With a deep breath in, I looked up into the blue eyes of my best friend, Eli, and tensed my body as I began.
“This guy I met, Brett, he’s—well, he’s different. Like, he’s a game changer for me. I look at him, and I have no doubt of that. I have no doubt that I
could
spend the rest of my life with him.” I laughed uneasily and shrugged. “And I know that sounds crazy after only a few weeks, but, honestly, I knew it the first day I met him. I don’t know how to explain it. It wasn’t like the world stopped turning or anything, there was just a feeling I had.” Swallowing past the tightness in my throat, I glanced away for a moment as I strained to hold on to the courage I’d been building up all week. “But there’s this other guy, and I swear this guy owns my soul.”
Eli crossed his arms and his eyebrows rose, but I didn’t allow myself to decipher what his expression could mean at that moment. If I tried to understand him—like I always did—then I would quickly talk myself out of saying the words I’d been thinking for far too long.
“Eli,” I whispered so low the word was almost lost in the chatter from the other people in the coffee shop. “I have been in love with you since I was thirteen years old,” I confessed, and held my breath as I waited for any kind of response from him.
Nothing about him changed for a few seconds until suddenly his face lost all emotion. But it was there in his eyes, like it always was: denial, confusion, shock.
I wanted to run, but I forced myself to blurt out the rest. “I’ve kept quiet for twelve years, and I would’ve continued to if I hadn’t met Brett. These last few weeks have been casual, but I know he wants it to be more. But if there is a chance of an us, then there would be absolutely no thoughts of anything else with him.”
Eli just continued to stare at me like I’d blown his mind, and my body began shaking as I silently begged him to say something—anything.
After twelve years of being his best friend, of being used by him as a shield from other women, of being tortured by his pretending touches and kisses . . . I was slowly giving up on us. I couldn’t handle the heartache anymore. I couldn’t stand being unknowingly rejected again and again. I couldn’t continue being his favorite person in the world for an entirely different reason than he was mine. I couldn’t keep waiting around for Eli Jenkins.
This was it for me.
“Eli, I need to know.” I exhaled softly and tried to steady my shaking as I asked, “Is there
any
possibility of there being an us?”
An Excerpt from
A Broke and Beautiful Novel
by Tessa Bailey
Bestselling author Tessa Bailey launches the Broke and Beautiful trilogy, a fun and sexy New Adult series set in New York City!
R
oxy Cumberland’s footsteps echoed off the smooth, cream-colored walls of the hallway, high heels clicking along the polished marble. When she caught her reflection in the pristine window overlooking Stanton Street, she winced. This pink bunny costume wasn’t doing shit for her skin tone. A withering sigh escaped her as she tugged the plastic mask back into place.
Singing telegrams still existed. Who knew? She’d actually laughed upon seeing the tiny advertisement in the
Village Voice
’s Help Wanted section, but curiosity had led her to dial the number. So here she was, one day later, preparing to sing in front of a perfect stranger for a cut of sixty bucks.
Sixty bucks might not sound like much, but when your roommate has just booted you onto your ass for failure to come through on rent—again—leaving you no place to live, and your checking account is gasping for oxygen, pink bunnies do what pink bunnies must. At least her round, fluffy tail would cushion her fall when her ass hit the sidewalk.
See? She’d already found a silver lining.
Through the eyeholes of the bunny mask, Roxy glanced down at the piece of paper in her hand. Apartment 4D. Based on the song she’d memorized on the way here and the swank interior of the building, she knew the type who would answer the door. Some too-rich, middle-aged douchebag who was so bored with his life that he needed to be entertained with novelties like singing bunny rabbits.
Roxy’s gaze tracked down lower on the note in her hand, and she felt an uncomfortable kick of unease in her belly. She’d met her new boss at a tiny office in Alphabet City, surprised to find a dude only slightly older than herself running the operation. Always suspicious, she’d asked him how he kept the place afloat. There couldn’t be
that
high a demand for singing telegrams, right? He’d laughed, explaining that singing bunnies only accounted for a tenth of their income. The rest came in the form of
strip-o-grams
. She’d done her best to appear flattered when he’d told her she’d be perfect for it.
She ran a thumb over the rates young-dude-boss had jotted down on the slip of paper. Two hundred dollars for each ten-minute performance. God, the
security
she would feel with that kind of money. And yet, something told her that once she took that step, once she started taking off her clothes, she would never stop. It would become a necessity instead of a temporary patch-up of her shitstorm cloud.
Think about it later. When you’re not dressed like the fucking Trix Rabbit.
Roxy took a deep, fortifying breath. She wrapped her steady fingers around the brass door knocker and rapped it against the wood twice. A frown marred her forehead when she heard a miserable groan come from inside the apartment. It sounded like a
young
groan. Maybe the douchebag had a son? Oh,
cool
. She definitely wanted to do this in front of someone in her age group. Perfect.
Her sarcastic thought bubble burst over her head when the door swung open, revealing a guy. A hot-as-hell guy. A naked-except-for-unbuttoned-jeans guy. Being the shameless hussy she was, her gaze immediately dipped to his happy trail, although, on this guy, it really should have been called a rapture path. It started just beneath his belly button, which sat at the bottom of beautifully defined ab muscles. But they weren’t the kind of abs honed from hours in the gym. No, they were natural, I-do-sit-ups-when-I-damn-well-feel-like-it abs. Approachable abs. The kind you could either lick or snuggle up against, depending on your mood.
Roxy lassoed her rapidly dwindling focus and yanked it higher until she met his eyes. Big mistake. The abs were child’s play compared to the face. Stubbled jaw. Bed head. Big, Hershey-colored eyes outlined by dark, black lashes. His fists were planted on either side of the door frame, giving her a front-row seat to watch his chest and arms flex. A lesser woman would have applauded. As it was, Roxy was painfully aware of her bunny-costumed status, and even
that
came in second place to the fact that Approachable Abs was so stinking rich that he could afford to be nursing a hangover at eleven in the morning. On a Thursday.
He dragged a hand through his unkempt black hair. “Am I still drunk, or are you dressed like a rabbit?”