The Unrepentant Rake

The Unrepentant Rake
Barbara Monajem

England, 1802 Beatrix March chose to be a governess rather than let an overbearing husband rule her. Even though she never intends to marry, it doesn't mean she can't enjoy a man's…company —especially when presented with one as tempting as notorious rake Simon Carling! Simon doesn't usually seduce virtuous governesses, but Beatrix is unlike any woman he's ever encountered.Her luscious curves were made to grace a man's bed, and he's never denied himself such satisfaction before. Flouting society's tedious conventions, in favor of thrilling chemistry, may force Beatrix and Simon to contemplate the unthinkable—marriage!

The Unrepentant Rake

Barbara Monajem

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

England, 1802

Beatrix March chose to be a governess rather than let an overbearing husband rule her. Even though she never intends to marry, it doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy a man’s…company—especially when presented with one as tempting as notorious rake Simon Carling!

Simon doesn’t usually seduce virtuous governesses, but Beatrix is unlike any woman he’s ever encountered. Her luscious curves were made to grace a man’s bed, and he’s never denied himself such satisfaction before.

Flouting society’s tedious conventions, in favor of thrilling chemistry, may force Beatrix and Simon to contemplate the unthinkable—marriage!

Author Note

When Simon Carling showed up on the first page of The Wanton Governess, he was only a secondary character—the annoying brother of the hero, James. But he coaxed, cajoled, and even wheedled (although he will deny that) to get a starring role in his own story. “I’m brilliant, devastatingly attractive, and utterly incorrigible,” he told me. “You know you can’t resist.”

Fine, but if I had to work at it, so did he. I pitted him against a heroine with plans of her own and invoked the aid of a saint as well. This story is the result. Three guesses… Who won?

Dedication

Saint Davnet was an Irish saint who lived in the 6

or 7

century. Very little is known about her, so I took a few liberties. This story is dedicated to her, with apologies.

Contents

Begin Reading

Hampshire, 1802

‘It’s a toe bone,’ Beatrix March said, and went on rummaging through her little leather chest.

Eudora, the eldest of the Ottersby sisters, dropped the silver reliquary onto the bed with a tiny shriek. ‘A bone?’

Beatrix refrained from rolling her eyes, but only because she was Eudora’s governess and had to set an example of ladylike behaviour. ‘A twelve-hundred-year-old toe bone belonging to St. Davnet. It’s a holy reliquary, and it’s been in my family for centuries. Aha!’ She pulled a folded paper pattern from the bottom of the chest and spread it on the coverlet. ‘Here’s the one I was looking for. Beetle wing appliqué is very popular just now. This will make a lovely reticule.’

Eudora made an unenthusiastic sound of agreement. None of the Ottersby girls showed much interest in embroidery, but Eudora was the worst, because all she ever thought about was love. She picked up the little reliquary again, this time with only the tips of her fingers, and shook it. The bone rattled inside.

‘Gently, please!’ Beatrix said. ‘Holy relics should be treated with reverence.’

Eudora’s fingers tightened around the tarnished silver box and chain. ‘Does one pray to it? Is it magic?’

‘According to legend, it bestows family harmony upon the possessor.’ Beatrix repacked several scarves and a paper of pins.

‘Family harmony?’ Eudora pouted. ‘How boring!’

‘Not at all,’ Beatrix said, without expecting her pupil to understand. The Ottersby household was the most unharmonious she’d had the misfortune to work for, but Eudora had never known anything better. ‘Harmony is extremely important. In a family bound together by love, where everyone respects and cares for the others, all have a chance to flourish. In a family full of discord and strife, no one is happy.’ She put out her hand, and Eudora dropped the reliquary into it with a petulant sigh.

Beatrix set the reliquary on a folded shawl, packed the rest of her fabric and silk threads on top, and buckled the lid shut. She pushed the chest under her bed and stood. Pointedly, she said, ‘I hope that when you marry, you will strive for love and harmony with your husband.’

Eudora’s face paled. ‘That will never happen. Mama will make me marry someone rich and horrid, because the only man I will ever love is afraid to talk to me!’

Unfortunately, this was all too likely. Lady Ottersby had grand ambitions for her daughters. Beatrix didn’t believe in allowing relatives to get in the way of living one’s life, which was why she had chosen never to marry. One never knew what men were really like until it was too late (or almost too late, in her own case). Beatrix had escaped marriage by a hair and wouldn’t recommend it to any thinking woman.

Eudora wasn’t given much to thinking, though. Shy Mr. Conk, who was reasonably well-off and lived in a neighbouring village, would make a good husband for her, if only he could be induced to stammer out a proposal.

‘All he needs is a good, sharp nudge,’ Beatrix said.

‘I’ve been trying to nudge him for months,’ Eudora retorted. ‘It will take much, much more than that.’

I should never have mentioned love, Beatrix told herself two days later, when she realized that the reliquary was gone.

After the first shock of loss, she wasn’t entirely surprised. Mr. Conk had dropped by the following day, sat tongue-tied with the ladies for ten minutes at most, and then escaped to the stables with Lord Ottersby to inspect a newly-purchased hunter. That evening, a determined stubbornness had crept into Eudora’s already sullen demeanor, and when Beatrix had greeted her at the breakfast table the next morning, she’d averted her eyes.

The foolish girl thought to bring him up to scratch through magic.

It wouldn’t work, but Beatrix had been the Ottersby girls’ governess for several months—long enough to know that once an idea took possession of Eudora’s mind, nothing would pry it loose. If Beatrix demanded the return of the reliquary, Eudora would simply deny having taken it, after which Beatrix would be dismissed without a character.

And without the reliquary.

She couldn’t return home without it. Not that her uncle would care; men never believed in the reliquary’s power. He certainly wouldn’t risk accusing the daughter of a peer of theft over, as he put it, a trumpery old box which only a superstitious female would consider precious. But her aunt’s reproaches would follow her to her grave and beyond, and worse, the harmony with which their family had been blessed for centuries would be gone forever.

Beatrix would have to keep her mouth shut, find the reliquary, and steal it right back.

A tavern in London, two months later

‘My dear fellow,’ Simon Carling said, ‘I know nothing about courtship. I shan’t be the least use to you.’ He swallowed the rest of his porter. ‘I’d best be going.’

‘Don’t abandon me just yet,’ Delbert Conk said gruffly. ‘You know about women. You know how to talk to them. I don’t.’ He waved to the barmaid, who ignored him. Simon sighed and caught the wench’s eye. He signaled for two more heavy-wets, and with an ecstatic smile she scurried to do his bidding.

‘See?’ Delbert said. ‘You don’t even have to say a word, and they’re ready to fall all over you.’

Simon blew out a long breath. ‘I know how to talk them into bed, Del. Unless you wish to seduce Miss Ottersby first and wed her later, I can’t help you.’ Even then, he doubted he’d be much use. Del wasn’t a bad-looking fellow, but incredibly awkward with the opposite sex.

Del drew himself up. ‘I shouldn’t dream of doing anything so villainous!’ He reddened. ‘No offence meant, old chap, but—’

The barmaid arrived with two brimming tankards. She bent low as she deposited the ale on the table, offering a view of large, creamy breasts. ‘Lovely, sweetheart,’ Simon said with a grin. Del went even redder.

‘None taken,’ Simon said, once the girl had reluctantly left to serve other customers. ‘I freely confess to being a villain when it comes to women, while you’re a saint. Usually, advice goes the other way around.’ Not that Simon wanted advice about marriage. If anything, he needed help avoiding it. Until a few months ago, life had been simple. He’d had little money, no prospects, and few morals, and the matchmaking mamas had avoided him. Then he’d unexpectedly inherited a substantial estate from his godmother and become the Catch of the Season.

‘Just come along to the house party and tell me what to do,’ Del said. ‘The Ottersbys said it was fine to bring you. I’ve known the family since I was a boy. It’ll be fun—a smallish group, enlarged by the usual county folk for some of the evenings, and we can count on excellent food and drink.’