Regency Betrayal: The Rake to Ruin Her / The Rake to Redeem Her

Max sat back, his emotions in turmoil. Though he hadn’t truly blamed Miss Denby for what had happened, he’d resented the fact that, at the end of it all, she had got what she wanted, while he was left a position that made obtaining his goal much more difficult.

Still, he could work relentlessly until he achieved what he wanted; her ruination couldn’t be undone. It had taken courage to insist on braving the contempt of her hostess so she might explain what had really transpired, thereby exonerating him to a woman whose good opinion she must know he treasured.

In refusing to allow herself to be forced into something she did not want, regardless of the personal cost, and in remaining steadfastly loyal to her childhood love, she’d displayed a sense of honour as unshakeable as his own. He couldn’t help admiring that.

‘I hardly expected her to tell you the truth … but I’m glad she did,’ he said at last.

‘Oh, Max, you would have said nothing and simply shouldered all the blame, would you not?’ she asked, seizing his hands.

He shrugged. ‘With Henshaw showing himself too dishonourable to admit to his actions, I don’t see how I could avoid it. There was no point making accusations we have no way of proving.’

‘Are you certain that’s the right course? It seems monstrous that you both must suffer, while the guilty party escapes all blame!’

‘We’ll have to endure it, at least for the present. I intend to quietly search for evidence that might incriminate Henshaw, but I’m not hopeful anything useful will turn up. In the interim, I’d rather Alastair not learn the truth. He’s already suspicious of Lady Melross’s story. If he were to find out what really happened, he might go after Henshaw and—’

‘—tear him limb from limb, or something equally rash,’ Mrs Ransleigh finished for him. ‘Although it will chafe him to be kept in the dark, I appreciate your doing it. Ever since … That Woman, he’s been so reckless and bitter. Even after all those years in the army, he’s still spoiling for a fight, still heedless of the consequences.’

‘It shall remain our secret, then.’

She sighed. ‘If there is any way I might be of assistance, let me know. I can think of little that would give me more pleasure than being able to show up Anita Melross for the idle, malicious gossip she is.’

‘If the opportunity arises, I will certainly call on your help. By the way … did Miss Denby also tell you I’d asked for her hand and she’d refused me?’

‘She did. Bless the child, she even said that after you had been everything that was gentlemanly, preventing Henshaw from ravishing her and comforting her afterwards, she simply could not repay your kindness by shackling you to a girl you didn’t want. She insisted you must remain free to take a wife of your own choosing, who would be the suitable hostess and companion to a man in high position that she could never be.’

Max smiled, his spirits lightened by the first glimmer of amusement he’d felt since Lady Melross burst into the conservatory. ‘Difficult to be angry with someone who rejects you with such glowing compliments.’

‘And such absolute sincerity! It was the longest and most eloquent speech I’ve got from her since her arrival. Perhaps she isn’t quite as hopeless as I’d thought.’

Max resisted the impulse to defend Miss Denby. How well she’d cultivated the image of an awkward, ill-spoken spinster! If only his aunt could have seen her, fierce determination in her eyes as she’d vividly described her world at Denby Lodge.

She’d been quite magnificent. Even had he wished to wed her, he would have felt compelled to let her go.

‘I must say, I was relieved to discover she has an army beau who will marry her when he returns,’ Mrs Ransleigh continued. ‘Having been the unwitting instrument of her disgrace, it makes me feel a bit better to know she won’t be condemned for ever to live without the care and protection of a good man.’

Max nodded. ‘That’s the only reason I didn’t push her harder to marry me. Not that I’d ever force myself on a woman.’

‘Of course you would not. Well, I’m off to bed. Calamities such as the events that transpired today exhaust me! But I did not wish to sleep before telling you I knew everything, lest you take it in your head to lope off somewhere in the night, still believing I thought ill of you.’

‘I’m so glad you do not. And I’ve no plans to take myself off as yet.’

‘Stay as long as you like,’ his aunt said as she offered him her cheek to kiss. ‘By the way, I should like to reveal the truth to Jane. She is perfectly discreet and, as she is now quite an influential hostess in London, she might find the means to be of some help.’

‘Miss Denby already mentioned that Lady Denby hoped to enlist you and Jane in defending her stepsister; I’d appreciate anything you might do to assist Miss Denby as well. Of all the unwilling participants in this débâcle, she is the one who loses the most.’

Mrs Ransleigh nodded. ‘We will certainly give it our best efforts.’

‘I’ll leave you to your slumber, then. Thank you, Aunt Grace. For still believing in me.’

‘You’re quite welcome,’ she replied with a smile. ‘You might want to thank Miss Denby, too, for believing in you as well.’

Bidding her goodnight, Max walked out. Though he hadn’t yet worked out how he was going to work around this check to his governmental aspirations, he felt immeasurably better to know that he had not, after all, disappointed and alienated his aunt.

That happy outcome he owed to Miss Denby. He found her courage in risking censure to defend him to his family as amazing as her fortitude in refusing a convenient marriage.

Aunt Grace was right. He did owe her thanks. But given the disastrous events that seemed to happen when she came near him, he didn’t think he’d risk delivering it in person any time soon.

Chapter Ten (#u9fd4fb25-6826-5a76-86c9-8d23bc3d619f)

In the late afternoon a month later, Caroline Denby turned the last gelding over to the stable boy and walked out of the barn. After returning from the disaster at Barton Abbey, she’d thrown herself into working with the horses, readying them for the upcoming autumn sale. But as she’d suspected, though she’d left the scandal behind, its repercussions continued to follow her.

In the last two weeks, several gentlemen who’d not previously purchased mounts from the stud had journeyed into Kent, claiming they wished to view and evaluate the stock. Since the gentlemen had spent more time gawking at her than at the horses, she suspected their real interest had been to inspect for themselves the subject of Lady Melross’s most titillating gossip—the hoyden who’d been discovered half-naked with Max Ransleigh.

If they’d been expecting some seductive siren, she’d doubtless sent them away disappointed, Caro thought with a sigh.

At least there was no question of her returning to London for another Season, and after a week of fruitless attempts, Lady Denby had given up trying to convince her to marry Max Ransleigh as well. Though Eugenia still hadn’t entirely forgiven her for the débâcle which had put such an unpleasant end to the house party, when Caro had explained during the drive home what had really happened, her stepsister had been first shocked, then indignant, then had wept at the outrage she had suffered.

So it now appeared, Caro thought with satisfaction as she paced up the steps into the manor and tossed her gloves and crop to the butler, that she’d gained what she’d wanted all along: to be left in peace to run her farm.

She was hopeful that Eugenia would also get what she wanted, the successful Season she’d dreamed of for so long. While Caro worked with her horses, Lady Denby had been busy with correspondence, consulting with Lady Gilford and Mrs Ransleigh and writing to her many friends to ensure enough support for Eugenia’s début that her prospects would not suffer because of Caro’s scandal.

Grateful for that, Caroline refused to regret what had happened. And if she sometimes woke in the night, her soul awash with yearning as she recalled being cradled against a broad chest, while a strong finger gently caressed her cheek and a deep masculine voice murmured soothingly against her hair, she would, in time, get over it.

Garbed in her usual working attire of breeches and boots, she intended to tiptoe quietly up to her chamber and change into more conventional clothing before dinner. But as she crept past the parlour, Lady Denby called out, ‘Caroline, is that you? I must speak to you at once!’

Wondering what she could have done now to distress Lady Denby, she changed course and proceeded into the room. ‘Yes, Stepmama?’

In her agitation, Lady Denby didn’t so much as frown at Caro’s breeches. ‘Oh, my dear, I fear I may have inadvertently done you a grave disservice!’

Foreboding slammed like a fist into her chest. ‘What are you talking about?’

Lady Denby gave her a guilty look. ‘Well, you see, after the events at Barton Abbey, I wrote to the trustees of your father’s estate, informing them you were to be married and asking that the solicitors begin working on marriage settlements.’ Before Caroline could protest, she rushed on, ‘I was so very sure you would, in the end, be convinced to marry! Then last week, after finally conceding there would be no wedding, I wrote back to them, telling them you had refused Mr Ransleigh’s offer. In today’s post, I received a reply from Lord Woodbury.’

‘Woodbury?’ Caro gave a contemptuous snort. ‘I can only imagine what he had to say about it. How I wish Papa had not made him head of the trustees!’

‘Well, dear, he was one of your papa’s closest friends and his estate at Mendinhall is very prosperous, so it’s not unreasonable that Papa thought Woodbury would take equal care of yours.’

‘I won’t deny that he’s a good steward,’ Caro replied, ‘but Woodbury never approved of my working the stud. The last time they met, he told Papa he thought it well past time for me to put on proper dress and start behaving like a woman of my rank, instead of racketing about the stables, hobnobbing with grooms and coachmen.’

When Lady Denby remained tactfully silent—probably more in agreement with Lord Woodbury’s views than with her own—Caroline said, ‘What did Lord Woodbury write, then?’

Her stepmother sighed. ‘You’re not going to like it. Apparently he heard about the events at Barton Abbey. He claims the shock of it must have unbalanced your mind for, he wrote, no young lady of breeding in her right senses, caught in such a dire situation, would ever turn down a respectable offer of marriage. He’s convinced your, um, “unnatural preoccupation” with running the stud has made you unable to realise how badly the scandal reflects upon you and the entire family. So, to protect you and the Denby name, he’s convinced the other trustees to agree to something he’s long been urging: the sale of the stud.’

Shock froze her in place, while her heart stood still and blood seemed to drain from her head and limbs. Dizzy, she grabbed the back of a wing chair to steady herself. ‘The sale of the stud?’ she repeated, stunned. ‘He wants to sell my horses?’

‘Y-yes, my dear.’

It was impossible. It was outrageous. Aside from Lady Denby’s generous widow’s portion, the rest of the estate, including Denby Lodge, the Denby Stud and the income to operate it, had been willed to her. Papa had always promised the farm and the land would remain hers, for her use and then as part of her dowry.