How to Ravish a Rake Read online

  Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  A Preview of How to Marry a Duke

  A Preview of How to Seduce a Scoundrel

  Copyright Page

  To my talented and insightful editor,

  Michele Bidelspach, because you loved Amy

  from the beginning. I’m one lucky author to

  have you for an editor. Thank you for

  everything. xoxoxo

  Acknowledgments

  Merci beaucoup to my very talented agent, Lucienne Diver, for all the guidance, explanations, speedy replies, professionalism—and the fun, too! I am so very fortunate to have such a smart and talented agent. Thank you doesn’t even begin to cover it, but I look forward to many more successful years working with you. P.S. I sincerely hope the next time we meet for lunch that you don’t get squirted by a greasy chicken.

  Thanks also to Deidre Knight for all the support and tweets. Many thanks to Elaine Spencer for your timely responses. Additional thanks go to all the talented staff at The Knight Agency.

  Many thanks to everyone at Forever Romance. Shout-outs go to Brianne Beers for arranging the wonderful blog tour, Lauren Plude for guest hosting #mancandymonday , the Art Department for the fabulous covers (I’m a fan girl!), and Jillian Sanders for providing promotional opportunities. Picture me with a big thumbs-up to all the fabulous editorial staff at Forever Romance for your out-of-the-box ideas. You guys rock!

  A huge thank-you to my beta readers, Jamie Lynn Murawski and Katie Rodriguez. Also, many thanks to Jamie, Katie, and Rita for the fun Vokle interview.

  Appreciation goes to my talented web designer, Shelley, at Web Crafters, and her assistant, Peggy.

  Hugs to my supportive family: Mom, Daniel, Regina, Amber, and Jonathan.

  A nod to my son’s squeaking cat, Foxy, who is the role model for Poppet.

  Most of all, my thanks and appreciation to all of my readers. May the Magic Romance Fairies be with you!

  Chapter One

  London, 1818

  This season would likely be her last.

  The orchestra played a lively tune as Amy Hardwick followed her friend Georgette through the Beresfords’ packed ballroom. The lively tempo pulsed through her veins, and she walked along to the energetic beat of the music. The heat in the crowded room accentuated the fruity aroma of numerous potted orange trees. Garlands of ivy adorned two cream-colored Ionic pillars and the gilded ormolu marble mantel as well. Everywhere Amy looked ladies in filmy white gowns flitted about the room like butterflies.

  To her, the spring season represented a beginning and a last chance to blossom—to thrive—to be merry and carefree. A chance to break free of her doubts and feelings of inferiority. A chance to dance, flirt, and laugh without reservation. A chance to be the woman she’d always dreamed of being.

  She dodged a footman in a powdered wig carrying a tray of bottles and hurried to catch up to her friend. “Lady Beresford must be thrilled. Her ball is a veritable squeeze,” Amy said, raising her voice.

  Georgette drew closer and pitched her voice a bit louder. “We’re too close to the orchestra to talk. Let us find our friends.”

  As they wended their way past numerous groups of people, Amy recalled the first time she’d entered this ballroom when she was seventeen. On that evening, she’d spun girlish dreams of being the belle of the ball, but she’d been intimidated because she knew no one there. In comparison to all the ladies dressed in sophisticated gowns, she’d felt like a country mouse. Her simple white gown had hung sacklike on her spare frame, because she’d been too nervous to eat properly for a fortnight prior to her debut. She’d sat on the wallflower row, watching all the gaiety and keeping hope alive, but not a single gentleman had requested her hand for a country dance.

  Only once in the intervening years had anyone asked.

  Five unsuccessful seasons later, she’d set her expectations much lower. Plain, shy ladies like her didn’t attract the notice of gentlemen. But this year, she meant to shed her wallflower reputation.

  Amy lifted her chin and straightened her posture, even though she imagined doing so made her look like a giraffe. She glanced down at Georgette, wishing she could be as petite and dainty.

  “Oh, look, there is Sally with some of the other ladies,” Georgette said. “They are coming this way.”

  Amy recognized them. Sally, Catherine, Charlotte, and Priscilla all wore excited expressions. No doubt they intended to impart gossip. Catherine and Charlotte were particularly fond of tittle-tattle.

  Sally reached them first. Her expression looked awed as her gaze swept over Amy’s white gown. “You look like a goddess.”

  Warmth suffused Amy’s face at Sally’s absurd exaggeration. Amy expected the topic to turn away from her, but Charlotte fingered the white fabric of Amy’s skirt. “It is crepe,” she said with a touch of admiration in her voice. “The emerald ribbons flowing over your shoulders are so striking.”

  “Turn round,” Catherine said. “Slowly, if you please.”

  Georgette grinned and twirled her finger, indicating Amy should comply. With a deep breath, Amy slowly turned—to the accompaniment of gasps.

  “It is beyond beautiful,” Charlotte said in a breathless voice.

  “The red silk roses are impressive,” Catherine said. “How very clever to feature them on the back of the gown. Everywhere you walk, others will be compelled to follow you with their eyes.”

  Amy lowered her lashes and murmured her thanks. While she was a bit abashed, she was also secretly pleased by their praise.

  “You must tell us who your modiste is,” Priscilla said. “I simply must have something equally lovely.”

  “I agree,” Catherine said. “Your gown is bound to be all the rage.”

  Georgette gave Amy a speaking look. “Will you tell or shall I?”

  Once again, Amy blushed. “I confess I drew the design for a local modiste back home.” On a whim, she had bought fabric and trims in London at the end of last spring, because she couldn’t resist them.

  The other ladies, with the exception of Georgette, stared at her. Was it because she’d revealed her dress was not made by one of the foremost dressmakers in London?

  “You drew the design?” Charlotte said in a shocked voice.

  Amy nodded. “I’ve always enjoyed drawing. It is a pleasurable way to pass the time.”

  Catherine’s jaw dropped. “Georgette, does Amy have any idea how talented she is?”

  “No, she is too modest about her accomplishments,” Georgette said. “Her talents go beyond mere drawing. Amy has an eye for fabrics and trims, too. I would never have thought to put the trim on the back of my gown.”

  At one time, Amy had possessed little knowledge of fashion, but two years ago, she’d befriended Georgette and Julianne and had asked them for advice. While shopping with them last spring, she had taken suggestions from a premiere modiste in London. She’d asked Madame DuPont questions about the fabrics and trims. The modiste had taken Amy under her wing and showed her which colors enhanced her appearance. She’d also demonstrated with pins how the perfect fit in both the gown and stays made a critical difference in how the gown draped her figure. When Amy had viewed herself in the long mirror, she’d gasped at her reflection. The beautiful gown had transformed her from a badly dressed wallflower to an elegantly dressed lady. In that moment, she’d seen the potential to change the way she viewed herself and the way others perceived her. While she’d always believed that inner beauty trumped everything, she’d learned firsthand that everyone, particularly women, were judged by their appearances.

  “But where did this talent come from?” Sally asked.

  “I studied the latest styles in La Belle Assemblée, and
then I started to envision walking gowns and ball gowns as well. One day last summer, I drew what popped into my head for amusement.”

  “Oh, my, that is truly amazing,” Charlotte said. “Did you have a drawing instructor when you were younger?”

  She nodded. “My governess encouraged me.” After seeing Amy’s drawings and watercolors, her parents had praised her accomplishments. While Amy enjoyed their compliments, she’d taken them in stride since they could hardly be objective.

  While perusing fashion plates, she’d realized her designs were unique. A few weeks prior to leaving for London with Georgette, she’d commissioned a local dressmaker to make up a few of her designs, according to her specifications. The dressmaker had been impressed and had told Amy she had a singular talent.

  Of course, her mother had expressed delight, but when Amy had shown her designs to Georgette earlier today, her friend had literally gasped. Amy would never forget Georgette’s words. Your designs put every fashion plate I’ve ever viewed to shame. Then her friend had begged her to design a special ball gown for her.

  “Amy, I would love to see your sketches one day, if you are willing to share them,” Sally said.

  “Of course,” she said. “I value your opinion.”

  Georgette’s cheeks dimpled as she whispered to Amy. “I knew you would be popular this year.”

  Amy thought her friend’s words rather overblown, but she was pleased that others had admired her gown. She would never be beautiful, but she could dress elegantly.

  Catherine looked out at the crowd and gasped. “The devil is here.”

  Amy exchanged a knowing look with Georgette. The scandal sheets had saddled Mr. William Darcett with that moniker. By all accounts, he had earned his notorious reputation. Amy did her best to maintain a serene expression, but she did not welcome the news that Devil Darcett was present. She’d met him at her friend Julianne’s wedding last summer and preferred to forget that mortifying encounter.

  Charlotte clasped her hands to her heart and sighed. “He is so beautiful I think I shall swoon.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. Why did women make cakes of themselves over rakes?

  “I am determined to flirt with him,” Catherine said.

  Priscilla smiled slyly. “Not if I get there first.” She lifted her skirts and walked away. The other ladies laughed and followed in her wake.

  When Sally hesitated, Amy made an exasperated sound. “Sally, do not be one of the herd. Charlotte and the others will make fools of themselves ogling him, but you have better sense.”

  Sally pouted and then laughed. “You must admit he is gorgeous.”

  “He is well known for his high-stakes gambling and wild parties,” Georgette said. “But Amy, you cannot disagree that he is uncommonly handsome.”

  “His looks are unimportant,” Amy said. “He is an indolent rogue who spends all of his time engaged in vice and depravity.”

  Sally beckoned them closer. “I heard he can charm a lady out of her petticoats in five minutes flat,” she said under her breath.

  “Ladies of questionable virtue, you mean,” Amy said.

  Sally lifted on her toes and surveyed the room. “Julianne is coming this way.”

  Julianne looked as slender as always, though she had given birth to her first child only two months ago. When she arrived, Amy kissed the air by her cheeks. “You look radiant.”

  “Thank you, but look at you, Amy. Everyone is talking about your elegant gown,” Julianne said. “I love it.” She leaned closer and whispered. “This will be your year.”

  Amy met her gaze and dared to hope her friend’s words would come true. “I’ve missed you.”

  Julianne smiled. “I’ve missed all of you as well. We had such fun last season. My husband has never let me forget all of the trouble I caused. He is still suspicious of all of you and believes you influenced me—especially you, Amy.”

  “Me?” She laughed. “I always tried to caution all of you.”

  Julianne grinned. “He is convinced that you instigated the worst schemes. He believes you hid it all behind your quiet façade.”

  Georgette grinned. “Amy, you often have this look in your eyes, as if the cogs and wheels are spinning like a roulette wheel.”

  “I do not,” she said.

  Sally shook her head. “It’s true, Amy. While everyone else is chattering like monkeys, you look as if you’re plotting something.”

  “I’m not plotting; I’m thinking.”

  “Now there is a euphemism if I ever heard one,” Georgette said.

  Julianne and Sally burst out laughing.

  “Amy, you had better prepare yourself, because everyone wants the name of your modiste,” Julianne said. “Charlotte told me you had a local seamstress make up your dress from a drawing you made.”

  “It’s true,” Amy said.

  Julianne smiled. “I think you should show your sketches to Madame DuPont. She would be very impressed. Perhaps she would even make up one or two. We could hold a little gathering of ladies at Ashdown House and display your sketches.”

  “That is a wonderful idea,” Georgette said. “Would you considerate it, Amy?”

  Excitement raced through Amy. She was proud of her designs, and tonight she’d received confirmation of her talent. The idea of other ladies admiring and perhaps even wearing her creations made her pulse quicken. All the years she’d spent sitting on the wallflower row, she’d felt inferior to the prettier belles. She’d felt she could never measure up to them, but she was confident of her gown designs and wanted to share them with others. “Yes,” she said a little breathlessly. “I would love it above anything if Madame DuPont is amenable.”

  “If the rest of your sketches are as unique as the gown you’re wearing, I know she will be interested,” Julianne said. “In one night, you have become the fashion darling of society.”

  “Her designs are truly exceptional,” Georgette said.

  “Then it is settled. Let us call at Madame DuPont’s shop on Thursday,” Julianne said. “Amy, be sure to bring your sketches. Now I must return to my husband. We cannot stay long, because I must return home to nurse Emma.”

  “I cannot wait to see your daughter,” Amy said. “I’m sure she’s beautiful.”

  Julianne laughed. “According to my husband, she’s the most beautiful bald-headed lady in London.”

  After Julianne left, Amy meant to suggest they take a turn about the ballroom, but Lord Beaufort and Mr. Portfrey approached. Instinctively, Amy lowered her lashes. Her heart beat a little faster as she desperately tried to think of something interesting to say, but her brain froze as it always did when she felt pressed to respond.

  “Miss Shepherd, if you are not presently engaged, would you honor me with the next dance?” Mr. Portfrey asked.

  “Thank you, I will,” Sally said.

  By now, Amy’s heart was pounding. She knew what was coming and tried to force herself to raise her eyes, but she couldn’t make herself do it. She feared her anxiety would show on her face.

  “Lady Georgette,” Lord Beaufort said. “Will you consent to partner with me?”

  Amy’s face burned. All of her hopes that this season would be different shattered like broken glass. She found herself wishing that she’d stayed home. Why had she thought anything would change?

  “Oh, I thank you, Lord Beaufort, but perhaps we could talk instead.” Georgette sounded flustered.

  Georgette meant well, but Lord Beaufort undoubtedly knew the reason for Georgette’s request, and that only made the humiliation worse. Amy couldn’t bear it. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she forced herself to lift her chin. She did her best to pretend nonchalance, but she could not control the blush that undoubtedly made her face blotchier. “Please go ahead. There is s-someone I wish to see,” she said.

  Before Georgette could reply, Amy bobbed a quick curtsy and walked away. She applied her fan as she skirted the perimeter of the ballroom. All the while, she darted glances into the c
rowd, hoping to see someone she knew. At that moment, she felt as awkward as she had at seventeen.

  She kept walking through the packed room. As she neared the chairs where the dowagers sat gossiping, Amy saw the familiar faces of her oldest friends. Eugenia, Bernice, and Cecile watched the dancers with undisguised yearning. Amy knew all too well how they felt.

  She remembered how they had shared amusing observations of the ton. They had laughed and called themselves the invisible belles.

  Temptation gripped her. She wanted to see her friends. She wanted to sit in a safe place where no one would slight her or pass her up for prettier girls. She wanted to sit in a place where she felt she belonged.

  She took a step in that direction, and fear clawed at her lungs. If she ventured to the wallflower row, she knew she would never be brave enough to leave again.

  With a deep breath, Amy turned and made herself stroll away. Regardless of how difficult it was for her, she was determined to overcome the curse of being shy. Yet, as she surveyed the crowd, the idea of approaching a group intimidated her. She’d always found it difficult to converse in large groups, but when she grew anxious, she found it almost impossible to think, let alone converse.

  All she needed was a few quiet moments to regain her composure. She thought of going to the ladies’ retiring room, but she didn’t want to face a crowd of ladies there. Instead, she would find her way to the garden for a bit of air. The breeze would cool her heated face quickly.

  After she left the ballroom, she walked through a crowd on the landing. As she approached the stairs, she noted a tall gentleman with black, tousled hair speaking to a “lady” with painted cheeks. Something about him seemed familiar. When the man leaned back against the stairwell rail, Amy winced. It was Devil Darcett.

  He was the last man she wanted to encounter tonight.

  She scurried down the stairs before he caught sight of her. Upon reaching the marble floor, she turned right and treaded along an unlit, deserted corridor, hoping to find her way out to the garden. She trailed her hand along the wall to feel her way in the darkness. Then she came upon a door that was slightly ajar. The dim room beckoned her. She looked left and right, but no one was about. Promising herself she would stay only a short while, she slipped inside, closed the door, and waited for her eyes to adjust. Although the objects in the shrouded room remained indistinct, she could make out tall shelves along one wall. Obviously, this was Lord Beresford’s library.