The Rake's Defiant Mistress

The Rake's Defiant Mistress
Mary Brendan

Notorious rake, reckless widowSnowbound with society’s most notorious rake, Ruth Hayden has to use every ounce of her defiant spirit to keep from falling into his arms. But behind his charm Sir Clayton Powell hides the pain and humiliation of a past betrayal.Her life marked with scandal, Ruth knows what it is to struggle on the fringes of society, but even she is shocked by the vicious gossip circulating about him. Recklessly, she seeks to silence the rumour mill – by announcing their engagement. Then wonders how Clayton will take advantage of the situation…

Swiftly Ruth tore herself from theoverpowering pull of his smoulderinggrey eyes.

The gentle banter between them had transformed into something far more deadly serious. She turned her head, frowned in confusion. Clayton was flirting outrageously with her, making her think unsuitable thoughts, making her feel emotions she didn’t want to feel…

Foolishly she’d encouraged the attention of a notorious rake in the belief she could match his sophisticated skill in a trifling game. For an interminable moment she refused to meet his eyes whilst a riot of thoughts whirled in her head. She must cede him his victory in their verbal duel but not let him know how greatly he’d unsettled her.

She might be unworldly and wearing a tired-looking dress, but she’d not crumple beneath the sensual challenge he’d thrown down…

Author Note

The path of true love never runs smooth, so the old saying goes, and I have written a duet of novels with those wise words in mind. In the first book, THE VIRTUOUS COURTESAN, it was certainly a fitting adage! The heroine, Sarah Marchant, had suffered a traumatic childhood. When her future was cruelly bound to that of Gavin Stone—something neither of them wanted—it seemed matters must only get worse…or would they?

This second story, THE RAKE’S DEFIANT MISTRESS, features Ruth Hayden as the heroine. Widowed when very young, she has also endured a great deal of heartache in her early years. Then Sir Clayton Powell arrives. He’s a man she wants to refuse, but a scandal results in their engagement. Can a marriage without love survive?

May you enjoy them both to the full.

Mary Brendan was born in North London, but now lives in rural Suffolk. She has always had a fascination with bygone days, and enjoys the research involved in writing historical fiction. When not at her word processor, she can be found trying to bring order to a large overgrown garden, or browsing local fairs and junk shops for that elusive bargain.

Recent novels by this author:

WEDDING NIGHT REVENGE*

THE UNKNOWN WIFE*

A SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE*

THE RAKE AND THE REBEL*

A PRACTICAL MISTRESS†

THE WANTON BRIDE†

THE VIRTUOUS COURTESAN**

*The Meredith Sisters †The Hunter Brothers **linked to THE RAKE’S DEFIANT MISTRESS

THE RAKE’S DEFIANT MISTRESS

Mary Brendan

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

THE RAKE’S DEFIANT MISTRESS

Chapter One

‘I think I must ask you to leave, sir.’

The lady received no response to her firm request. The gentleman she had attempted to eject from her small sitting room continued to pace across the rug, stamping a deeper trench into its tired pile.

‘Doctor Bryant!’ Ruth Hayden’s suffocated plea held a hint of irritation. ‘I beg I will not have to again ask you to go.’

The fellow halted, exasperatedly planting his hands on to his hips. ‘I cannot believe you will not hear me out, Mrs Hayden.’ A grimace stressed his bewilderment. ‘Why will you not at least let me fully explain to you the benefits—?’

‘I need no full explanation, sir,’ Ruth Hayden interrupted him briskly. ‘I have the gist of your proposal and it is enough for me to want to spare you…spare us both…the embarrassment of any further mention of it. I am conscious of the honour you do me, but I cannot marry you. Now I must bid you good day.’ Ruth walked swiftly to the sitting-room door and pointedly opened it.

As he realised he was being summarily dismissed, the look of surprise quit Dr Ian Bryant’s features to be replaced by one of anger.

In the rural town of Willowdene he was an eminent member of society and not used to receiving such a set down. The woman delivering the snub was barely tolerated in company hereabouts and that made her attitude to his proposal the more unexpected. As his wife she would once more be welcomed into the fold.

He was a ruggedly good-looking man in his middle thirties with nothing exceptional or objectionable in his demeanour. He was moderately broad of shoulder and quite tall. Now he drew himself even higher in his shoes before stalking towards the exit.

‘Had you not once given me reason to hope that you would welcome my attentions, madam, I would not be here at all.’ His lips curled in satisfaction as he noticed how that barb unsettled her.

High spots of colour burned on Ruth’s slanting cheekbones as she recalled the incident to which he referred. But she tilted her head to a proud angle and squarely met his eyes. ‘I think on that occasion too, sir, you presumed too much,’ she rejoined coolly. ‘I was in need of a little comfort when my father died suddenly. I again thank you for giving it to me. Now there is no more to be said.’ She opened the door a mite wider, but still he seemed reluctant to go. Eyes that were unwavering settled on her face as Dr Bryant relentlessly studied the object of his desire.

Ruth Hayden was beautiful rather than fashionably pretty. She was not blessed with delicate features and her complexion was not fair enough for what was considered nice in a genteel lady. Her thick dark brown hair had resisted sleek confinement in the pleat at her nape and glossy locks wisped untidily against her cheeks. Beneath defined brows were large chocolate-coloured eyes that were far too direct and steady for a modest female of gentle birth. The womanly trait he normally found alluring, flirtatiousness, was absent from her character. Today she might have blushed and lowered her eyelashes before him, but that was due to her being disconcerted, not playful. Yet in mocking contrast to her strait-laced attitude was the curvaceous body he had once—far too briefly—felt moulding to his. His eyes were drawn to it now: full high breasts and rounded hips that were separated by a divinely tiny waist he ached to girdle with his hands.

Her unequivocal rejection had astonished him as well as dented his pride. A woman in her unenviable position ought to have jumped at the chance to improve her status and prospects. But she had thwarted not only his desire to bed her, but to have her mother his infant son. Ian was abruptly jolted from his brooding thoughts by a polite reminder that he was outstaying his welcome.

‘I have much to do, sir; I must insist you leave and again bid you good day.’

Without another word Ian strode out. Within a moment Ruth closed her eyes in relief as she heard the bolts being slid home. Her maid appeared on the threshold to the sitting room. ‘Shall I put on the kettle, Mrs Hayden?’ the girl asked in concern.

Ruth gave Cissie a small smile and a grateful nod. So Cissie knew she was in need of a little comfort! She did not believe Cissie to be an intentional eavesdropper. Her maid had sensed rather than heard the delicate nature of the conversation that had taken place moments ago between her and Dr Bryant. Cissie would have deduced from the doctor’s grim expression that she’d declined his proposal. Now the girl was curious to know her reasons for turning down an offer of marriage from an eligible gentleman.

One only needed to glance about the sitting room to realise that Mrs Hayden lived frugally. The fresh herby atmosphere that wafted throughout the spotless cottage could not improve furniture that was shabby or furnishings that had seen far better days. If one were to venture into the kitchen and investigate the larders, similar proof of want would be found. The obvious conclusion to be drawn was that this widow’s lot in life would improve dramatically were she to marry a rich widower.

And Dr Bryant was such a fellow—so everyone hereabouts thought. He had a fine home and income and had increased his wealth on marriage. Therefore it was reasoned that his worthy profession was a philanthropic vocation rather than necessary toil.

As Cissie went off to prepare the tea Ruth sank into a chair. She turned her head to frown over the bright budding gardens and wondered why she had, with so little thought given to the certain benefits she was rejecting, turned down Dr Bryant. She might have asked him for a little time to mull over becoming his wife. It was an accepted response by a lady startled by a marriage proposal.

When she’d been a gauche eighteen-year-old, Paul Hayden had taken her by surprise and asked her to marry him. In her tender innocence she had guessed it might be deemed vulgar, after so short an acquaintance, to seem too keen too soon, so had given him a blurted prevarication. A private smile curved her mouth at the sweet memory of it. But by the time he had reached the door and turned to take his leave, her overwhelming happiness had prompted her to fly to him and insist that she’d like nothing better than to be his wife. She had loved him too much to make him unnecessarily suffer her indecision.

Doctor Bryant did not stir any such passionate longing in her. But she had thought him to be her friend until the day he had ruined it all by asking her to become his mistress. Now he had lost his wife in childbed, he had improved his offer to her.

Was she simply a silly fool to yearn to fall in love with a man before she’d consider the advantages to be had in matrimony?

‘You’re becoming tiresomely repetitive, my dear,’ the gentleman told the pouting brunette who was lounging, naked, amid rumpled silk sheets.

Undeterred by her lover’s softly spoken reprimand, Lady Loretta Vane smoothed the sulky expression from her pretty face and rolled on to her belly in a flash of lissom white limbs. Satisfied with her seductive pose, she raised long dusky lashes to reveal limpid blue eyes. Triumphantly she noticed his flinty gaze drop to her lush breasts alluringly presented on an artfully plumped pillow.

Sir Clayton Powell stopped buttoning his shirt and sauntered back towards the four-poster where his mistress excitedly awaited his approach. As soon as he came within reach Loretta stretched out elegant fingers to curve on his thigh, her hard oval nails pressing indents in the material covering solid muscle.

‘Come back to bed,’ she invited huskily. ‘Perhaps I might change your mind and show you what you will soon be missing if you don’t make an honest woman of me.’