Wicked Rivals E-Book

Lauren Smith

• Herausgeber: Lauren Smith
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The League of Rogues
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 551

Beschreibung

Fans of Julia Quinn’s Bridgerton Series and Johanna Lindsey’s Malory Series will love the passionate romances and gripping adventures of the League of Rogues.
A LORD WITH LEGENDARY CONTROL…
Merciless and powerful, Ashton Lennox is a wealthy man because he puts business before everything else, especially love. As a member of the infamous League of Rogues, he’s no stranger to scandal. His bedroom conquests are as legendary as his fortune. As he searches for a way to bring down an old enemy bent on destroying the lives of his friends, the last thing he needs is a Scottish widow getting in his way.
A FIERY WOMAN WHO WON’T BACK DOWN…
The daughter of a Scottish lord with a dark and treacherous past, Rosalind Melbourne has spent years distancing from her past. After escaping her tyrannical father and marrying an aging English lord, she has become a powerful widow with a business empire at her command. Her business dealings are everything to her, leaving her no time for love. Especially not with her business rival Ashton, a man with a scandalous reputation as striking as his blue eyes. 
A GAME OF WITS TURNS TO A GAME OF SEDUCTION…
Ashton is fascinated by the strong-willed, intelligent and sensual lady who, up until now, had outsmarted him at every turn. Rosalind wishes she could deny she is falling for the brooding, handsome baron. How can she possibly trust him when doing so could cost her what she values most—her freedom? When Ashton discovers Rosalind might hold the key to saving the League of Rogues, he knows he will do anything to woo his wicked lass. As their pasts return to haunt them and dark forces rise to keep them from exposing a deadly spymaster, their game of love turns to a game of survival…
Warning: This book includes a brooding baron who’s wild in bed, a crafty Scottish lass who never knows when to quit, a wicked game of strip chess, and a merry band of rogues whose first instinct is to run they hear wedding bells ring.

Leseprobe

Wicked Rivals

Lauren Smith

Lauren Smith

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by Lauren Smith

Edited by Noah Chinn

Excerpt from Wicked Designs by Lauren Smith

Cover art by Erin Dameron Hill

Illustrations by Joanne Renaud

Romance Art by Theresa Sprekelmeyer

The League of Rogues (R) is an officially registered Federal Trademark owned by Lauren Smith.

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBN: 978-0-9962079-8-0 (e-book edition)

ISBN: 978-0-9962079-9-7 (print edition)

ISBN: 978-0-9962079-8-0

Created with Vellum

For my mother, who inspired me to be a strong, independent woman and make my own destiny.

Contents

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

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Other Titles By Lauren Smith

About the Author

About the Illustrator

Chapter 1

League Rule Number 8:

As a man’s independence is inextricably tied to his wealth, it is vital that no woman should be allowed to meddle with it, no matter how fine her eyes might be.

Excerpt from the Quizzing Glass Gazette, May 29, 1821, the Lady Society column:

Lady Society is issuing a challenge to Lord Lennox. She can’t help but think he is afraid of a certain lady who is in direct competition with him.

Come now, Lord Lennox, what holds you in such fear and trepidation that you cannot be seen with her in public? At Lady Jacintha’s ball you turned tail and fled when the cunning lady stepped out onto the dance floor.

You cannot hide forever behind your fleet of ships, nor can you call upon your friends for support. The League of Rogues are fast succumbing to the charms of Eros and taking wives. Perhaps they know something you choose to remain ignorant of? For a man of such intellect and acumen, surely you cannot let that stand.

I challenge you, my cool, collected baron, to spend one night with the lady and be on your best behavior. Wedding bells, dare I say, shall ring shortly thereafter.

“You want me to do what, my lord?”

Ashton Lennox stared at the gray-haired banker sitting across from him in the offices of Drummond’s Bank. He knew what he was asking of the other man was daring—and quite possibly illegal. Nonetheless, retaliation was required against certain players in his field of business. That didn’t mean his demands wouldn’t frighten any banker with good sense.

“It’s as simple as I said, Mr. Reed. I want you to deny Lady Melbourne gold credit if she should come to you seeking a loan.” As he spoke, he let his words come out in that cold, smooth voice that brooked no argument, and he finished by brushing his fingertips over his trousers, smoothing them out. By the age of thirty-three, Ashton had learned how to make men do his bidding with a cool stare and an imperious tone. Those who crossed him or dared to go against his wishes often ended up suffering a blow to their financial positions.

“But, my lord,” Mr. Reed said, his eyes as wide as teacup saucers, “she’s always been a valued client here—”

“I’ve no doubt of it, but you and I have an understanding, do we not?” Despite his tone, it was not a question. Ashton met Reed’s now frightened gaze. “It was I, as you’ll recall, who assisted you in selecting the consols to invest in last year. You were able to buy a country house in Sussex with the profits you made, were you not? I would think you’d like to keep my counsel on future matters.”

The old banker’s throat worked, and he managed a shaky nod.

“I am grateful, of course, but with regard to the lady in question, she is…” He struggled for words.

“Troublesome?” Ashton supplied, the word escaping on a growl as his cool demeanor threatened to unravel whenever he thought of her.

Lady Rosalind Melbourne was more than just troublesome. As owner of Melbourne, Shelly & Company, she’d spent the last several months stealing bids on shipping lines and purchasing other companies by underbidding him.

The woman was a menace. He’d done everything a reasonable man could do by offering to buy out her shares and attempting to go about his own business, but she’d undermined his every effort—or more to the point, every legal effort. Had she been a man, he would have admired her tactics, the way she outflanked him, outmaneuvered him at every turn.

But she wasn’t a man, she was a woman—an intoxicating, beautiful, infuriating menace of a woman, with a fiery Scottish temper that pushed him out of his own control.

The situation was not acceptable. Control was his foremost weapon and his first line of defense. Where other men lost their bodies to passions, their minds to obsessions and their hearts to love, he always stayed in control of himself.

Except when it came to Rosalind. If she hadn’t been a woman, he would have called her out long ago and settled their differences on a field at dawn. It took a moment for him to regain his focus on the matter at hand.

“Are we in agreement, Mr. Reed? You will do as I’ve asked?”

Ashton rose from his chair and towered over the banker.

Swallowing hard, the older man nodded. “We will, Lord Lennox. Lady Melbourne will find her requests for credit denied until you direct me to do otherwise.”

Ashton inclined his head in approval and left Reed’s office. He straightened his cravat and retrieved his hat from the rack in the corner outside the office. Once at the front entrance of Drummond’s, he hailed a hackney.

“Where to, my lord?” the driver asked.

“Berkley’s Club.” Ashton climbed inside the coach and leaned back with a sigh.

“Very good, my lord.”

After this morning, an afternoon at Berkley’s was exactly what was needed. He didn’t enjoy using such drastic measures, but there was more at stake here than professional pride. Lady Melbourne’s companies were being used by the only man in England who worried Ashton enough to make him lose sleep at night.

Sir Hugo Waverly had been seen visiting with the captains of Lady Melbourne’s ships, and his men, or men whom Ashton suspected worked for Waverly, had been on her passenger lists more and more frequently. He suspected Waverly was using Rosalind’s companies somehow. It was unclear what Waverly was up to, but Ashton believed it wasn’t good.

There was a secret war going on, one fought not with guns or swords but with eyes and words, and not on open plains but in the shadows. Hugo had declared this war some time ago, and Ashton had been mustering a defense in his own silent way. It was in the best interest of the League to take control of the situation, which at the moment meant taking control of Lady Melbourne’s companies so that he could analyze her business activities and see how Waverly might be linked to them.

Ashton had visited five banks in the city this morning and had secured promises from each that Lady Melbourne would not be able to obtain credit. That way, when his friends called in their notes at each bank, she would not have the means to pay for their notes in gold.

It would crush her. At least temporarily. The woman would not be down for long; Ashton wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could ruin her. But a temporary blow to her income and self-sufficiency would be enough to bring her to heel.

Lady Melbourne brought to heel. A delicious thought indeed. I will own you, Rosalind.

Unable to stop himself, he thought back to the night when he’d caught her alone in an alcove of a theater. The intention had been to talk with her, convince her to leave his companies alone, but then he’d touched her and that plan had vanished, and something more primal had emerged.

He’d tried to use her body’s response to his against her by bringing her to the brink of passion, only to let her suffer without relief as a reprimand for her unorthodox business tactics. It had been a foolish indulgence, yet in that moment he had been unable to help himself.

It also hadn’t worked.

Instead, she’d turned the tables on him, and he’d come undone with the tight stroke of her hands. The memory of seeing her drop one dainty white glove at his feet, in a manner befitting a challenge to a duel, still made him hard. A duel of wits fought with seductive means… It was just how he liked to play his games. And now he’d met a woman who played as wickedly as he did.

Moves and countermoves, like a game of chess. Grudging admiration for her was impossible to deny, but he was determined not to let her win.

The coach rattled to a stop in front of the elegant townhouse that had been the home of Berkley’s Club for more than fifty years. Berkley’s had not been the only gentlemen’s club Ashton had gained an invitation to, though it had been the only one he’d accepted. It had appealed to him, for those moments when he wanted to escape business discussions, political issues, and other things most clubs were famous for. Berkley’s was strictly a club for men who wished to escape the whirlwind of life in London.

The club was also the only place where he and his closest friends—the League of Rogues, as the papers had dubbed them—could settle in comfortably, away from the scandal rags and the gossip of that damned Lady Society. Her articles in the Quizzing Glass Gazette seemed determined to out their secrets for the amusement of London’s elite. She’d been the one to make their nickname so famous over the last few years.

Ashton would readily admit that the League’s title had always been an apt description of the original five members: Godric, Lucien, Cedric, Charles and himself. With the addition of Godric’s recently discovered younger brother, Jonathan, they were now six.

Over the years, some of their activities had been ruthless, callous and even dangerous. But things were changing. The dark memories of the past were being buried by new ones, better ones. At least in some ways. They were settling down—a thing Ashton had never thought possible.

It had all started when Godric had abducted a young woman for revenge only to fall in love with her. Now, like ivory domino tiles, they were all falling one by one for women they could not live without. Lucien, one of the more scandalous rogues, had fallen for Cedric’s sister, Horatia. And just last month Cedric had surprised everyone by proposing to Anne Chessley, the heiress.

Ashton had realized with some alarm that the League now stood equally divided between free men and those leg-shackled in matrimony. Their afternoon club discussions had changed from topics of seductions and conquests to the upcoming births of babes.

If we aren’t careful, the League will change from a force to be reckoned with to a laughingstock. The power we’ve collected could be squandered, and our enemies will close ranks and try again to destroy us.

The thought made his blood freeze in his veins. The past year had been spent dodging one deadly event or another. The more the League let itself become divided by wives and children, the easier it would be for Waverly to harm the people the League loved the most.

It wasn’t that he didn’t wish well for his friends. They were happily, madly in love with their wives. But the power they’d all worked hard to attain since leaving university could crumble. New giants would arise from the dust of their fall and new enemies as well. Ashton could not rest until he was certain they were all safe.

Until then he slept with one eye open, and such a duty weighed upon him more and more each day. As the oldest of the members, he felt obligated to be the League’s protector.

The cab halted at the entrance to the club. “Berkley’s Club,” the driver announced.

“Thank you.” Ashton stepped out of the cab and paid the driver before walking up the steps. A young lad finely dressed in a Berkley’s uniform opened the door for him. Ashton handed the lad his coat and hat.

“Looking for anyone in particular, my lord?”

Ashton tugged on his waistcoat. “Essex, Rochester or Sheridan.” He waited to see if any of the titles registered with the boy.

The footman’s face lit up into an almost reverent expression. “Of course. They are having drinks in the Bombay Room. Do you know the way, my lord?”

“Yes, thank you.” He wandered through the club, passing tables and chairs of men drinking, talking and quietly enjoying a respite from the demands of society. The warm armchairs were welcoming by the fires burning in the hearths, and the smell of food and brandy teased his nose. Berkley’s was like a second home.

The Bombay Room had Indian-themed décor and was located on an upper floor. The door was already ajar, and the sound of familiar voices inside filled him with warmth. He allowed few things to matter deeply to him, but the League, aside from his family, was the most important thing in his life.

The first thing Ashton heard as he pushed open the door was Cedric Sheridan’s chortling.

“Ash will be furious. Lady Society is calling him out.” The viscount was leaning back in his chair, holding a copy of the Quizzing Glass, grinning.

“Again?” the others asked.

“It’s a good thing whoever writes that column remains anonymous. Ash would destroy her.”

“Nothing ruffles Ash. He’s far too clearheaded.” Godric St. Laurent, the Duke of Essex, reached for the paper and scanned it. “Wait until Emily reads this. She is convinced that Ash and Lady Melbourne need to meet in a proper setting where they are forced to be civil.”

Lucien Russell, the Marquess of Rochester, stood by the window and turned at Godric’s words. “That’s all Horatia has been talking about for the last month. She said Anne invited them to tea with Lady Melbourne this afternoon.”

Ashton stood in the doorway, listening to the three married members of the League discuss their wives with lighthearted amusement. He burst out laughing, startling his friends, who hadn’t been aware of his presence. “Good Lord, you let your wives meet for tea?”

Lucien was the first to respond. “You know how much trouble it is to try to stop them. If I ever said no, Horatia would throw an embroidered pillow at my head. Followed by a vase.”

“They are as bonded to one another as we are, I’m afraid,” said Godric. “Even gave themselves that blasted name. The Society of…” He trailed off, forgetting.

Lucien moved his hands in the air, as though displaying the name in the air. “The Society of Rebellious Ladies.”

“Quite.” Cedric chuckled and put his booted feet up on the nearest table. “So long as Audrey isn’t among them, they can’t get into too much trouble.”

Ashton wasn’t entirely certain he agreed with that. Audrey Sheridan was Cedric’s youngest sister, and while she was trouble enough, Ashton knew the other ladies were almost as talented at getting into mischief.

“Ash, have a look.” Godric handed the Gazette to him as Ashton took a chair next to him.

He glanced down at the article they’d been discussing when he arrived. His temper soon flared.

“Hiding behind my fleet of ships, am I?” The growl that escaped him was completely unexpected. Struggling for calm, Ashton closed his eyes and counted to ten in Latin as he’d done all his life when quelling his temper. When he opened his eyes again, he was smiling. It mattered naught. His plan was set in motion, and soon Rosalind would be dealt with.

“Well, she does have it right about you three.” He checked the article again to recite the exact words. “‘Succumbing to the charms of Eros and taking wives.’”

Godric plucked the paper from Ashton’s hands. “I wish I knew who wrote this drivel. Probably some old bat on Upper Wimpole Street who can’t find a proper way into the ton, exercising her vengeance for not being among the elite few.” His slightly sarcastic tone hinted at his dislike of his own class.

Lucien swirled his glass of brandy and left his position by the window to take an empty chair by Cedric. Inspiration seemed to strike him.

“Why don’t we put our darling wives on it? It would certainly keep them busy and out of our affairs for a change if they were off solving a mystery.”

Cedric laughed. “I dare say they might even learn who she is, but there is no way Emily, Anne or Horatia would betray one of their own. And as hard as we try, there’s no stopping them when it comes to our affairs.”

Ashton nodded his agreement. But the problem that lay heavy upon his heart was the danger that one part of the League’s past presented to the women in their lives.

As if echoing Ashton’s trepidation, Godric crossed his arms, a grim look in his green eyes. “That reminds me, where do we stand on the Waverly matter?”

Ashton was seized with tension, every muscle knotting. Waverly always drew out dark memories and old fears, along with a tide of guilt.

There was a time that Hugo was merely an annoying privileged sod they’d met at Cambridge. But due to an old family vendetta, Waverly had attempted to kill their friend Charles, but another student had died that night instead. One who had been blameless and only trying to make peace. It was a moment that had changed all their lives.

Ashton’s palms twitched, as though he could feel the taint of that innocent man’s blood still coating his hands.

“He’s been seen at the docks where my fleet is, but I haven’t been able to ascertain what his intentions are at present. I suggest we all watch one another until Waverly’s next scheme reveals itself.”

Godric tried to hold back a scowl but failed. Patience had never been one of his virtues when he felt action could be taken.

Ashton reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a small pocket watch on a slender silver chain. It had been one hour since he’d given his instructions to the last of the banks regarding Rosalind’s credit. In less than half an hour, the men he’d met with would be sending in notices to Rosalind’s bank to demand their notes be cashed in for gold. The little Scottish hellion would pay for embarrassing him at the theater last month.

If only I could see her face the moment she realizes she’s ruined.

Of course, he wasn’t so cruel as to send her to debtors’ prison. The woman would get her fortune back in time, after he learned what secrets Hugo held within her business, after she learned he was not to be trifled with. Lady Melbourne deserved such a lesson for challenging him.

“Good God, Ash is grinning. That’s never a good sign,” Lucien muttered.

Ashton broke out of the almost gleeful thoughts he’d been having.

“Ash.” Godric’s tone was full of warning. “Care to share with us what is going on in that head of yours?”

Cedric, Lucien and Godric all leaned forward, as though afraid to be overheard despite the privacy of the club’s Bombay Room. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed the hour, but it did not distract his friends’ rapt attention.

Ashton slipped his watch back into his coat pocket and met their stares.

“As of one hour ago, I set a plan in motion that will financially break Lady Melbourne. It will allow me to put a stop to her activities and therefore hurt Waverly.”

“She’s in league with him?” asked Cedric.

“All I know for certain is that he’s been using her ships to his own ends, and I want to stop him. He’s partnered with her in several companies, and I wish to gain access to her books as well as shipping manifests. But the only way I can review her companies is to have a claim on them myself. Therefore, I’ve bought up most of her debts—not that she had many. I will own her in all but name.”

A low whistle escaped Cedric’s lips. “Ash, our wives have invited her to tea this afternoon.”

For the first time in a long while, Ashton felt gleeful. “If only I were there to see her face when she learns the truth.” To see her beautiful gray eyes wide with shock, her lips parted as she sucked in a surprised breath… It would be almost as beautiful as having claimed her body in his bed. But since he could not have her body—one did not sleep with one’s enemies, after all—this would have to suffice.

It was several moments later when his friends finally broke the silence.

“It’s not because of the incident at the theater is it?” Lucien queried. “You’re wanting revenge because she got the upper hand in that alcove?” Cedric snickered, and Godric cursed under his breath. It was not the response Ashton had been expecting. In the past, this would have been normal for the League. They would have been congratulating him for such a victory.

“What?” Ash demanded hotly when the others remained silent.

Godric rubbed a hand through his dark hair. “What if Lady Melbourne takes this too personally and brings those wild brothers of hers down from Scotland? I still have nightmares about the last time I tangled with them. One of them broke a bloody chair over my back. I was left to pay for the damages to the tavern we fought in.”

“Three wild Scotsmen do not scare me.” Ashton had never lost a boxing match, and he had never lost a tavern brawl either. While Charles was the group’s true pugilist, Ashton’s skill was on par with his, though he fought only when necessary.

“No, one should scare you,” grumbled Godric. “Three should terrify you.”

“Isn’t anyone else worried that right now our wives are entertaining the victim of Ash’s scheme?” Cedric asked. “If they discover we knew about this, I’m liable to be spending the next month sleeping in my study rather than in bed with my wife.”

The murmurs of agreement from Godric and Lucien made Ashton scowl at the lot of them.

“I’m starting to believe Charles was right. You are all getting soft.”

Charles had once said that love and marriage were tearing the League apart, destroying its strength. At the time Ashton hadn’t been inclined to believe him, but of late…

A rap on the door made them all turn to the entrance of the Bombay Room. A young lad opened the door, his eyes wide and hands shaking a little with the letter he carried. Their reputation still held some in awe, at least.

“Excuse the intrusion, my lords. I have an urgent letter for Lord Lennox.” The boy’s face darted between them. He sensed he’d interrupted something and no doubt felt the invisible tension present in the room.

Ashton waved at the lad. “Bring it here.”

The boy practically threw it at Ashton and fled.

“At least someone still has the good sense to be afraid of us,” Godric sniggered.

The thin paper contained a short message from his youngest sister, Joanna.

Ashton,

You must come home at once. Our two tenant farms caught fire last night and are completely destroyed. Thankfully no one was hurt. The families are safe but without shelter. Please come home. The farmhouses will need to be rebuilt at once.

Yours,

Joanna

Ashton calmly folded the letter and tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat.

“Bad news?” Lucien inquired.

“It’s from my sister. She says my two tenant farmers’ houses burned down. I must go home at once.” He rose from his chair.

“What about Lady Melbourne?” Cedric asked.

“What about her?”

Cedric raised a brow. “You set her up for financial ruin and now you’re leaving London?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “If she decides to come grovel at my feet, please feel free to send her to my estate. I’ll be happy to entertain her apologies there.”

He swept his coat on and left the Bombay Room, leaving his friends behind.

If only it would come to that—Lady Melbourne on her knees, begging him for forgiveness, her gray eyes bright with pretty tears and her long dark hair swept back in a Grecian fashion. Those long curls caressing her neck…

Yes, Ashton had imagined the scene too often in the last week. How he’d tell Lady Melbourne that if she really wanted to appease him she could think of a few creative ways to make amends, behind closed doors. Not that he could trust her even in bed, and he’d certainly never coerce a woman to bed him, but such fantasies were worth exploring in his head.

Ashton departed Berkley’s and hailed a hackney. He would have his valet pack light so they could reach his estate quickly. Joanna’s note was troubling. While fires were common enough, the fact that both his tenants were miles apart was troubling.

I do not believe in such coincidences.

Once again he imagined a chessboard in his mind. A game was in play, the League versus Waverly, and the clock was ticking down to each move and countermove.

Chapter 2

Hands sliding up her outer thighs, raising her gown, warm breaths soft against her cheek, bright blue eyes aflame with wicked desires and the fall of pale-blond hair…

“Lady Melbourne?”

Rosalind Melbourne came back to herself. She was sitting in a cozy armchair in a sunny parlor with blue walls. Three sets of feminine eyes were focused on her, all a little concerned. A moment ago, she’d been listening to her hostesses talk about the latest scandals and political intrigues when the conversation had turned to marriages and the men in their lives. It was only natural for her thoughts to turn to Ashton when his friends had been mentioned. And that had led to memories from the last time she’d seen him…at the opera…when they’d both lost control.

I should never have allowed that man to kiss me, nor should I have touched him. It was a mistake.

She reached for the cup of tea nearest her on the table. “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”

“It’s quite all right,” Lady Sheridan said, smiling again. “We’re so happy you’ve had a moment to meet with us.”

Rosalind smiled back at her. Anne was one of the few women in the ton she tolerated. Most of the simpering fools did not particularly like her either. As a Scottish lady having come from a crumbling castle with three wild brothers, bless them all, she’d had no chance of ever fitting in with normal London society, even when she’d married Lord Melbourne, God rest his soul. The man had been in his sixties when he’d asked for her hand.

That day was never far from her mind. Whenever her brothers hadn’t been around, she’d caught her father’s attention, and he’d taken his anger out on her. On that last night she’d run from Castle Kincade, almost blind with pain. She’d walked nearly two miles barefoot to the nearest village. Her father’s blows still burned her face and back.

She’d stumbled into a tavern in the village and fell into Lord Melbourne’s lap when she’d tripped over a loose floorboard. He’d taken one look at her face and with a scowl had said, “No one should treat a lady thus.”

He’d insisted on buying her dinner at the tavern. After he’d seen that she was warm and fed and wearing a new pair of boots he’d bought from a barmaid, he’d taken her straight to a blacksmith and married her that night.

Poor Henry. Such a sweet man.

After her marriage to Henry, she’d moved into her new London home, and he had died in his sleep only a year later. It had been a long time coming, but now she was the mistress of her own destiny. The dear man had tutored her in the ways of business strategies and banking. She’d always had a natural knack for it, but he had helped foster in her a confidence and knowledge that left her strong and able to stand on her own after his death. His companies had become her empire and would remain hers unless she remarried. Under English law, it would then transfer to her new husband, and she would become property herself.

My life wouldn’t be mine ever again.

She had no intention of letting that happen. Being a powerful widow was preferable to being a married slave.

“Lady Melbourne, I understand you have a number of shipping companies?” the Duchess of Essex queried before sipping her tea.

The duchess, who had insisted on being called Emily, was a lovely creature with violet eyes, auburn hair and a smile full of mischief and cunning.

“Yes, that is correct,” Rosalind replied. “I took over my late husband’s company and have been growing it by acquiring other shipping lines as they go on the market. Sea trade can be a risky endeavor, but it has proved fruitful so far.” She smiled a little, happy to be talking about business. It was one of her joys in life, the pursuit of companies, the acquisitions, the shipping. The mental challenges of running the companies that formed her fortune had always been vastly rewarding.

The other two ladies, Anne, Viscountess Sheridan, and Lady Rochester, who insisted on being called Horatia, exchanged glances. Rosalind wasn’t daft. The three women had been doing this from the moment she’d come inside the Sheridan household for tea. She suspected they’d invited her to Curzon Street for some purpose, and she wished they would simply come out and ask her whatever it was they were interested in.

“Do you do any business with Lord Lennox?” Horatia asked. Her cheeks had gone pink, betraying the direction Rosalind had feared the conversation was headed. Given their husbands’ close friendships with Lennox, she had been expecting this.

Rosalind sighed. “Lord Lennox…” The infernal baron had an uncanny way of coming up. It was he who had been on her mind moments ago. The man who’d ruthlessly kissed her in a theater alcove. He’d been out to punish her for her interference with his business, but that chastisement had turned to an attempt at passion, no doubt with the intent of leaving her alone and longing for him.

She had to fight hard to contain the little smile at that particular memory. She’d seen through his ploy and turned it against him, and he’d been defenseless against her. She remembered dropping her glove at his feet, a parting challenge before she’d left him to handle the problem of his stained trousers.

Lennox would no doubt be planning something to obtain his revenge; his ego would not allow otherwise. But these ladies were married to friends of his, so she would need to answer carefully.

“Well, our business interests, while shared, tend to put us in direct competition.” She hesitated to say more. It was possible that anything she told these three women would make its way back to him through their husbands. The secret behind her success came from the subtle balance of obtaining information from others and keeping it away from indiscreet ears.

On more than one occasion, she’d come across the jilted lovers left in Ashton’s wake—widows, daughters or unhappy wives of those he was in competition with. They had provided him with information over the course of an evening, often in bed, and he had used it to his advantage.

But he had also left a fair number of women who were willing to talk about him and his tactics as well. Rosalind had used that information to her own advantage and had been able to track his movements and strategies, even anticipate his business goals and outsmart him on more than one occasion.

Emily nudged Horatia’s elbow. Horatia spoke up.

“I’m sure you must think we are spies on behalf of our husbands, but I assure you that is not the case.” Horatia set her teacup down. “The reason we are asking is to protect you, if we can.”

“Protect me?” Rosalind set her own cup down, a flicker of unease darting through her like a startled rabbit in the underbrush. “Whatever from?”

Emily cleared her throat. “What we mean to say is that we know Lord Lennox. We know what he’s capable of when he’s in a mood, that is. All of us admire your courage and your ability to compete among the men. And we don’t want Ashton, that is, Lord Lennox, to upset you simply because he has his trousers twisted. I adore the man, but like the rest, he can become harsh in his business matters where his pride is pricked. We only wish to protect you, Lady Melbourne. We ladies must stick together.”

“Well…” What did one say to that? Rosalind plucked at her rose-colored day gown and glanced away, feeling a tad awkward.

“Have you any way to know if your finances are protected?” Anne asked quietly. “Cedric, that is to say, my husband, once said Ashton will challenge a man by dealing a blow to his banking abilities, such as his credit and his debts.”

Rosalind felt her stomach drop out. These ladies were serious about Lennox. And she’d certainly pricked the man’s pride. She’d bought three companies out from under him in the last month and had wooed old trading partners of his to her lines. But surely he wouldn’t do something so drastic. But she had taken out credit lines to buy the last few companies, and her own bank was light in gold if any of her notes came due at this moment.

“But surely he wouldn’t…” She went over the numbers and scenarios in her head. She saw it. A vulnerability. What if…?

Suddenly the room was too hot, too closed. She needed air.

“Quick, Anne, open a window!” Horatia gasped.

Rosalind rushed from her seat following Anne, who opened a window facing the back gardens. She leaned against the sill, her hands digging into the wood as she sucked in the fresh spring air.

“There, there,” Anne soothed. “Breathe and you’ll be fine.”

Rosalind wished it were so simple. But if Lennox was setting that plan in motion, she would have little chance of stopping him, unless she could get to the banks and ask for more credit to cover the gold cash-outs. But that wouldn’t solve her debt problem if he bought the debts. She would then still owe him everything.

“What can we do to help?” Horatia asked.

It took several long moments for Rosalind to recover. Her stays were too tight, and dizziness swamped her.

“I’m afraid I must go—” If she could get out in front of this, she might survive.

“Of course,” Emily replied. “Would you like someone to go with you?”

“No!” Rosalind gasped, then recovered herself. “I mean, no thank you, Your Grace. I’m afraid it would not do to have you walk into a bank with me. They act poorly enough when I go in—I should not like to see how they react to a duchess.”

Emily grinned, her violet eyes twinkling. “Nonsense. I have no qualms about scandals. You forget who I am married to. Scandal is nothing new to me.”

Rosalind debated her options. She wasn’t all that fond of accepting help, but something about Emily was reassuring. Neither she nor Horatia nor Anne seemed to be the sort of women who allowed men to control them, not even their husbands.

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind.” She finally sighed and rubbed her temples.

“Not at all.” Emily shared another of those secretive glances with Anne and Horatia.

“Might I ask, why are you helping me, Your Grace?” Rosalind closed the window facing the garden and focused on the three women. “I cannot help but notice you keep looking at each other.”

Horatia blushed. “We’ve all had to put up with men in the past when they’ve caused trouble. We wish to help you, and we know Ashton can do great harm to your business.”

“I’ll ring for my coach.” Emily rose from her chair and pulled a slender cord on the door.

Half an hour later the coach bearing the Essex coat of arms rattled to a stop outside Drummond’s Bank. It was the bank where Rosalind kept the majority of her lines of credit.

Rosalind and Emily climbed out of the coach and proceeded toward the bank, ignoring the stares of men and women on the street. It had amazed Rosalind to learn on the ride over that Emily was a skilled businesswoman herself. She’d handled her uncle’s accounts, then taken over her husband’s once she married. Through the course of the conversation, Emily had told her a fantastical tale of abduction, intrigue and eventually love, which had resulted in her marriage to the Duke of Essex. The local papers had certainly not given any of those details.

As they reached the door to the bank, Rosalind drew them up short. “Are you positive you wish to go in with me? There will be talk—more than talk—if you do.”

With a chuckle, Emily replied, “It’s been quite some time since I’ve been considered scandalous, so it’s time to dive back into the gossip, I think.”

If Rosalind’s nerves hadn’t been so raw, she would have laughed with her.

The inside of the bank was filled with men of business and members of the peerage, talking, perusing papers and making business deals. A collective hush filled the room when she and the duchess entered. Women were not supposed to enter such a realm without a gentleman escorting them. It was something she’d gotten used to, the quelling gazes of men who wished to intimidate her into leaving. But she never gave in. There was nothing any of them could do to her. After living most of her life at the hands of an abusive father, she was done letting men dictate her life.

“Is it always like this?” Emily leaned in to whisper. “The way they stare at you?”

Rosalind answered with a faint nod.

Suddenly a tall, dark-haired man with honey-brown eyes stepped out of the crowd and approached them. Rosalind recognized the gentleman. She had half feared that Emily’s husband or one of the other so-called Rogues would be here to intercept her, but this man was not one of their number, though he was an acquaintance of theirs.

“Your Grace.” His smile dispelled some of the tension around them. There were still a few grumblings, but the majority of the men returned to their previous conversations.

“Lord Pembroke! How lovely to see you,” Emily greeted the man and turned to Rosalind. “Lord Pembroke, this is Lady Melbourne.”

Pembroke bowed over her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “A pleasure. What brings you ladies to Drummond’s?” Pembroke’s eyes darted around them, but he did not seem entirely surprised at their being in such a bastion of masculine activity.

“We’re resolving an issue,” Emily said. “Rosalind, who is it we need to see?”

“Mr. Reed.”

“Very well.” Pembroke offered an arm to Emily and she took it, winking at Rosalind while he escorted them to Mr. Reed’s office.

The banker was settled at his writing table, poring over several letters. He glanced up and froze when he saw Rosalind, Emily and the Earl of Pembroke in his doorway.

“Lady Melbourne?” Her name escaped the banker in a stutter.

“Mr. Reed.” She took a seat in front of him and studied the older man closely. His skin had taken on a white pallor, and he began to shuffle all manner of papers and items on his table. This did not bode well.

“What may I do for you?” Mr. Reed asked as he slid a finger beneath his neckcloth and tugged on it.

“I wanted to see about extending my line of credit.”

“Your credit…” Mr. Reed swallowed and smiled a little, but the expression was forced.

“Yes, I have several notes out, and I am afraid they may be called in.” She hesitated when Mr. Reed’s glance darted away and then back.

“Lady Melbourne, I do regret to tell you this, but I cannot extend any further lines of credit.”

Knots formed in Rosalind’s stomach. She leaned forward in her seat. “Why not? Do you need more collateral?”

Mr. Reed shook his head. “I cannot extend your credit under any circumstances.”

“Why is that?” Lord Pembroke demanded.

Rosalind saw he had remained with her and Emily. He was now scowling as he leaned against the door frame to Mr. Reed’s office.

“Well, it’s bank policy to make decisions that protect our stability and—”

“Mr. Reed,” Emily cut in gently, though Rosalind caught a hard glint in the young woman’s eyes. “You have a daughter coming out this year, do you not?”

“Why, yes. Amelia. My youngest.” Mr. Reed sighed and dropped his head a few inches.

“She’s a lovely girl, I recall,” Emily continued. “And she could make a good match if she had help, say if a duchess sponsored her?”

Rosalind blinked. Was Emily actually offering herself as a sponsor to the banker’s daughter?

Mr. Reed’s face lit up. “Why, that would be wonderful.”

Emily raised a gloved hand. “It would be an honor to sponsor her, but I’m afraid that I simply could not do it unless I trusted you, Mr. Reed, in all things.”

The banker stared at Emily for a long moment. “You would help Amelia find a good man, with say ten thousand pounds a year?”

Emily’s smile grew. “I have quite a few suitable candidates in mind already.”

When Mr. Reed spoke again, his voice was low and he leaned close. “You must not tell him that I betrayed his confidence.”

“We shall not. Now, who has told you not to allow any credit extensions? I assume someone ordered that, correct?”

“Lord Lennox.”

It was the name Rosalind had dreaded to hear. Hearing her worries confirmed sent spirals of panic through her. So Lennox was finally making his play, after a month of letting her believe she was safe following that night in the theater.

“Thank you, Mr. Reed.” Emily glanced toward Rosalind.

Pembroke looked horrified. “Wait a minute. Lennox is trying to stop you from obtaining credit? Whatever for? I know him. He’s a ruthless man of business, but not to ladies.”

With a mirthless laugh, Rosalind fisted her hands in her skirts. “It seems I am to be the exception.” How fortunate am I? Her inner voice was a tad impolite, but who could blame her? Lennox had her back against a wall, and she wasn’t handling it very well.

“Lady Melbourne, I was advised not to give you details. However,” Reed said, glancing at Emily again, “I’ve been informed he also bought the debts you have and will be sending demand payments through proxies this afternoon.”

Rosalind sank in her seat. That was far worse than the gold demands she’d been expecting, but it was oh so clever as well. A personal touch, to let her know exactly who had bested her.

“Why that pompous, bloody bastard!” The curse did not come from Rosalind, but Emily. “Just wait until I get my hands on him. He’s supposed to be the most gentlemanly of the League. Ooh!” Emily’s hands were curled into fists, and anger sparked in her eyes.

Pembroke growled and looked at the two ladies. “That is indeed a very low thing to do. If you give me the nod, I’ll have half the ton give him the cut direct by this evening, and he’ll be tossed out of his club.”

“Thank you, James, but that won’t be necessary. I’ve a better plan in mind to deal with our misbehaving friend.”

Rosalind laid a hand on the duchess. “Please, Emily, you need not get involved—”

“Nonsense. That is precisely what I must do. But first, we have to get you home, Rosalind.”

“But I need to handle the notes—”

Emily smoothed out her skirts. “Let me see to that. You must handle Ashton.”

“How on earth do you suggest I do that?” She had her own ideas, of course. Strangulation being at the top of her list. But she was also curious as to what Emily might say.

“You are rivals, correct?” Emily asked.

“Yes.” Lord help her if they were rivals in anything besides business.

“And how would you handle a business rival?”

Finally Rosalind felt like smiling. “By finding his weakness. Breaking him down from the inside.”

“And do you know any weakness you might exploit?”

Her thoughts went back to the theater. One heated encounter in that alcove and he’d lost his control, but she’d kept hers. She’d won.

And I can win again.

Emily clapped her hands at the sight of Rosalind’s cunning smile. “See, you have the right of it. I’m certain you can use that to your advantage. Now let’s get you home so you can change into something more suitable for seduction.”

The banker sputtered in shock, and Pembroke covered a laugh with a polite cough. “Allow me to escort you ladies to your coach.” Pembroke nodded his goodbye to Reed.

“Thank you, Lord Pembroke,” Rosalind said, but her mind was still reeling.

Seduction? She hadn’t necessarily thought of that sort of plan, but there was logic to it. If it could get her back what was hers, her life, her independence, then she would play him like a fiddle if she must. But she’d only ever been with one man before, her late husband. Sweet and gentle in bed he had been, but his touch had never burned the way Ashton’s had, nor had her entire body felt as though it was on the edge of something dark and wild when they had kissed.

But she detested Lennox. He knew just how to prod her until her barely leashed temper snapped. How was a woman to enjoy herself in bed when she wanted to strangle the man with his own bedsheets? Was he even capable of being seduced? She doubted he ever let himself be free enough to fall completely for a seduction, but what else could she try?

By the time she finally parted ways with Emily and Lord Pembroke, she had become thoroughly agitated. No, that was not nearly a strong enough word, but the words that came to mind were most unladylike.

As she reached the front door of her townhouse, her butler was there, anxiously holding out a letter.

“What is it, Pevensly?” She took the letter from his shaking hands.

“A man under the employ of Lord Lennox delivered this. He told me you must read it immediately and that he would be back within the hour to see that the letter’s instructions are followed.”

With trepidation, Rosalind peeled off her gloves and broke the seal on the letter as she entered the hall. Pevensly close the door behind her.

The letter was written elegantly, and yet as she began to read, it felt more mocking with each stroke of the quill.

My dearest Lady Melbourne,

As I’m sure you are now aware, Drummond’s Bank as well as every other bank within your immediate traveling distance has been given strict orders not to extend or offer you any additional credit. All of your notes will be cashed in by my proxies if I hear of you trying to buy them back.

Additionally, I have purchased all of your debts. At this moment, my accountants and solicitors are taking a full account of your affairs at your offices in London and Brighton. Your entire fate lies in my hands. The house you stand in at this very moment? Mine. The clothes upon your back? Also mine. I own you, Lady Melbourne, in all but name.

What does this mean? I am putting you on the street. Your servants may remain at the house and I will see to their continued employment, but you, my cunning rival, must seek home and hearth elsewhere until I decide what to do with you.

I own you.

Chapter 3

I own you.

The words from Ashton’s letter blurred as Rosalind struggled to breathe. No, he couldn’t do this to her. Shock paralyzed her body, her muscles tensing painfully.

The past came rushing up from the depths where she had buried it, swallowing her in its icy waters, unable to stop the memories as they enveloped her.

The cold castle corridors, wind whistling through the faded, tattered tapestries. The booming shout of an angry father.

“You think you can tell me what to do? You little wretch! I own you, and you aren’t worth the breath in your lungs!”

A cup of mead exploded against the wall where Rosalind, only sixteen, hid behind a half-opened door. The aching sorrow of her mother’s recent death hung in the halls like an invisible cloud. It had sent her father over the edge.

“Rosalind,” a deep voice chided from behind the hall. Rosalind jumped, but her older brother Brock steadied her. “Leave Father alone—he’s been drinking.”

The door crashed open as their father, Lord Kincade, launched himself at Rosalind.

He swung a balled fist at her, but Brock knocked the hand away.

“Oh! Think you’re a man to take me on? No son of mine would dare!” He moved fast, too fast. The punch knocked Brock onto the floor. Rosalind too was hit, spiraling wildly as she bounced off the wall and fell beside Brock.

“Pieces of shite, the both of you! Not worth the clothes on your backs! I should sell you both for the uselessness you are to me.” Their father snarled like a wild boar and stalked down the hallway, leaving them alone.

Tears leaked from her eyes as she reached for her aching jaw. It felt like it was broken. She knew it wasn’t, but it hurt like the very devil.

A hand settled on her shoulder, causing her to flinch. “’Tis only me,” Brock said gruffly, but there was a gentleness to his tone. It wasn’t proper for a young lass to cry, but she couldn’t stop. Living in fear of her father every day was chipping away at her soul.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered. “He’s going to kill me.”

Her older brother was still no match for their father, but she knew he would keep taking blows for her. All of her brothers would.

“Rosalind, what are you talking about?” Brock cupped her chin, but she whimpered at the flash of pain and pulled away.

“I’m not staying. I have to get out of this house. Ever since Mother died, this hasn’t been my home.”

Her brother brushed the tears away from her cheeks, and his gray eyes, so like her own, were as silver as a waning moon up on the moors.

“Rosalind, this is your home. It will always be your home. And we shall protect you.”

Rosalind believed him, but she was no fool. As the exact likeness of her mother, she could not stay here and continue to risk her father’s wrath. She would have to leave one day. But she would need a way out, a place to land.

If only there was a man who could find in his heart to marry her, she might be able to escape. But who would want the broken daughter of the cruel Lord Kincade?

The past faded, leaving a bitter taste upon her lips and tiny thorns embedded in her heart.

This home was the one she’d made for herself, the one her late husband had let her run. It was her world, and that damned fool Lennox thought he had the right to take it all away from her? To cast her out?

She stared at the note and realized she hadn’t finished reading it.

I am not a cruel man. If you wish to discuss the situation, you may join me at my estate. However, you may not take your coach as that too falls under my control now. I’m sure if you were to come to me, we could come to some arrangement that would benefit us both.

Lennox

“An arrangement that would benefit us both?” she muttered. Anger and panic rippled through her, dueling for dominance. That damned bloody Englishman. She wanted to strangle him, but the truth of her situation was dire. He had full control over her and was toying with her the way a cat would a mouse. Something had to be done. Perhaps Emily’s suggestion to seduce the man was indeed a good idea. Rosalind sensed an opportunity here. If Lennox desired her and believed she’d come to heel, she would prove just who was the one in control when she brought him under her command.

But she was taking her own coach, Lennox be damned!

I have to face him. Perhaps the duchess’s advice about seduction wasn’t so unreasonable after all.

“What is it, Your Ladyship?” Pevensly asked. His dark brows knit together in concern.

Rosalind stared at the address on the parchment, frowning, then handed it to him.

“You may read it, but please do not inform the rest of the staff—I don’t wish them to worry. Would you please have my coach pulled around in an hour? I am going to sort this out. Rest assured I will come back. Please do not let the servants grow overly concerned.” She left Pevensly gaping after her in the hall as she rushed up the stairs, calling for her lady’s maid.

“Yes, Your Ladyship?” A woman not much older than her appeared through an open doorway at the top of the stairs.

“Pack my valise at once. The best clothes you can find. Don’t bother with hats. I won’t have space for the boxes.”

Claire met her as they walked toward her room. “Is this about that man who came by earlier? Pevensly was near frantic when the man left. Seems he suggested you would not be happy when you returned from your errands this morning.”

There was no point in hiding the truth from her. The woman’s observations missed nothing; it was why she made an excellent maid.

“Lord Lennox has just tried to buy my life away through my debts. He’s ordered me out of this house.”

Claire raised a hand to her lips, but just as quickly that hand curled into a fist. “Surely you won’t let that stand.”

“I will not. I plan to travel to his estate at once to remedy this error.”

Claire nodded. “Ah. Then I shall be accompanying you, of course.”

“No, that won’t be—”

“It will be,” Claire insisted. “You’re a lady. You must have a maid accompany you, and none of the other girls know you as well as I do. I’ll not lose my head in a time of panic.”

That much was true. Claire was a mother hen who watched over the household, but the woman had a backbone of iron too.

“Very well, you alone may come. But be warned, the means I intend to use to regain my life are best kept private.” She trusted her staff, but secrets were always easier when one did not have too many keepers. “Thank you, Claire. Pack as much as you can. We leave in an hour.”

She left her maid to pack while she went to her study to write a few hasty letters. She had a number of business partners who would need to be apprised of the situation immediately. Rosalind could only pray that they would be forgiving given the dire situation. She knew Sir Hugo Waverly would be most understanding. He, more than anyone, was aware of her competitive history with Lennox. Indeed, he had fostered many ideas that had led her to triumph over Lennox in battles of bidding and company purchases.

She sorted through the letters on her desk and paused when she found a palm-sized package addressed to her. The ink on the return address was blurred from rainwater, but it seemed to be from Scotland. Her heart began to pound as she unfastened the twine and opened the parcel.

An object wrapped in a handkerchief fell into her hands. She unbound the handkerchief and studied the object.

It was a pocket watch. Turning her attention to the handkerchief, she noticed an all-too-familiar letter K stitched into the corner. Kincade. Her father carried these. A lump grew in her throat at the thought. Had he finally discovered where she was? Had he known all along? Would he come for her and demand she return to Scotland with him?

She blinked back tears as she unfolded the cloth further, finding a single sheet of parchment tucked inside. A letter. She read it with shaking hands.

Rosalind,

Keep this safe, keep it close. Take it home to Scotland. I’ve entrusted your brothers with a secret that even they do not understand. You may yet have the chance to undo the evils I have created in my life.

Montgomery

The pocket watch was a heavy gold piece with no remarkable engravings upon it. She opened it to see a simple clock face, and it appeared to be broken. What sort of game was her father playing? Whatever it was, she had no desire to go along with it. She folded the watch up in the handkerchief and set it back in the parcel next to the letters. There wasn’t time to worry about it now.

She hastily finished the letters to her business partners, and with a final curious glance at the package she left her study. She found Claire busy packing in her chambers.

“Would you see that the stack of letters in my study is also packed? I shall need to read them and respond as necessary while we are at Lord Lennox’s estate.”

“I’ll see to it at once.” Claire departed, and Rosalind sat down on her bed, her mind still racing as she decided what she was to do about Lennox. She would have to worry about her father and his enigmatic gift later.

Jonathan St. Laurent stood at the entryway of a fashionable townhouse on Half Moon Street. The keys to the door felt heavy in his palm, and his heart gave a quick thump. The residence had once belonged to a baron, Lord Chessley, who had passed away in early April. His daughter, Anne, had married Jonathan’s friend Cedric three weeks later.

“Scandal be damned,” as Cedric had said. Since Cedric and Anne both resided in his London townhouse on Curzon Street, they’d had no use for a second house and had chosen to sell it.