Authors: Anne Gracie
The Perfect Rake
Praise for the novels of Anne Gracie
An Honorable Thief
“She’s turned out another wonderful story!”
—
All About Romance
“A true find and definitely a keeper.”
—
Romance Reviews
“A thoroughly marvelous heroine.”
—
The Best Reviews
“Dazzling characterizations…provocative, tantalizing, and wonderfully witty romantic fiction…Unexpected plot twists, tongue-in-cheek humor, and a sensually fraught battle of wits between hero and heroine…embraces the romance genre’s truest heart.”
—
Heartstrings
How the Sheriff Was Won
“Anne Gracie provide[s] pleasant diversions.”
—
Midwest Book Review
Tallie’s Knight
“Gracie combines an impeccable knowledge of history, an ability to create vibrant and attractive characters, and an excellent storytelling ability.
Tallie’s Knight
is far and away the best Regency romance I have read in a long time.”
—
The Romance Reader
“Gracie’s writing style is charming and wonderful and the love scenes are very sensual…a special book with excellent writing and characters that touch the heart.”
—
All About Romance
Gallant Waif
“A geat heroine…This is as polished a piece of romance writing as anyone could want.”
—
The Romance Reader
“I loved everything about it.”
—
All About Romance
A Virtuous Widow
“A wonderful, warm, emotionally stirring Christmas story of love found, wishes fulfilled, and promises kept.”
—
Romantic Times
THE
Perfect Rake
Anne Gracie
BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York, 10014, USA
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand,
London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
THE PERFECT RAKE
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2005 by Anne Gracie.
Cover art by Tim Barrall.
Cover design by George Long.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA), Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-1012-0498-6
BERKLEY® SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by
The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
This book is dedicated to
Marion Lenox, Sophie Weston, and Alison Reynolds—
wonderful writers and generous friends—
with my heartfelt thanks.
And for all those who’ve waited patiently for “B.G.” to arrive.
Contents
Chapter One
D
EREHAM
C
OURT
, N
ORFOLK
, E
NGLAND
1816
“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”
W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE
“P
RUE
! P
RUE
! C
OME QUICKLY
. H
E IS BEATING
G
RACE IN THE ATTIC
!” Seventeen-year-old Hope burst furiously into the room. Her twin, Faith, followed, her eyes huge with distress.
Prudence Merridew leaped up from the household accounts, her dropped pen scattering blobs of ink unheeded across the page. She dashed from the room, her sisters at her heels.
“What set him off this time?” Prudence flung over her shoulder.
“I don’t know. Charity said he found her in the attic making a gift for your birthday,” Hope panted.
“Charity tried to stop him,” Faith interjected. “But he hit her.”
Her twin added, “I wanted to go up and try, too, but I could not get this undone in time.” She gestured to her left wrist. It still bore rope marks. “Besides, he’s locked the door. Charity said to fetch you and the keys.”
“Yes, I have them. James! James!” Prudence called for their stalwart young footman. She raced upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, knowing he would follow. By the second flight he caught up with the two girls.
“Lord Dereham is beating Grace in the attic. Hurry!” Prudence urged. They reached the third landing and turned to the narrower flight that led to the servants’ quarters and, beyond that, the attic. Nineteen-year-old Charity sat on the stairs, sobbing, one hand cupped against her cheek.
“Oh, Prue, I tried…”
Prudence gently lifted her sister’s hand. Two livid red weals marred the purity of Charity’s pale complexion. Prudence bit her lip. Charity was the gentlest creature!
“It was very brave of you to try, love.”
She glanced at Faith, the timid sister. She was shaking like a leaf but she’d still come prepared to brave Grandpapa in a rage. “Faith, take Charity to my bedchamber. Get salve and liniment from Mrs. Burton. Charity, off you go and get that cheek seen to. And make things ready for Grace.”
The two girls crept back down the stairs. Prudence called after them, “As soon as Grace and Hope arrive, lock the door. Don’t open it to anyone except me.”
Prudence resumed the race up the stairs. As they reached the last landing, she paused. “We shall enter silently, then I will rush at him. At the same time James will snatch Miss Grace and take her to safety.”
“You can count on me, Miss Prue,” the tall young footman responded grimly.
Prue nodded. “I know. I do not know what will come of this day’s work, but I’ll see you right, James, I promise.”
“But Prue, he’s mad with rage!” Hope exclaimed. “He’ll beat you, too.”
“Aye, Miss Prue, better I tackle him.” James had a militant light in his eye. “I’m bigger ’n you.”
“No, he’d have you transported or hanged! If he hits me, I’ll hit him back!” Prue fiercely responded. “I’ve had enough of his vile rages and his bullying ways. I am almost one and twenty, and when I come of age—” She broke off. They had reached the attic door. She lowered her voice to a whisper.
“Hope, you must go with Grace to Faith’s room. And stay there.”
“No! I want to help. I hate him, Pru—”
“I know, love, but you can help more by taking Grace to safety and comforting her.”
Hope opened her mouth to argue, but Prudence held up her hand for silence. She inserted the key, turned it, and opened the narrow, cupboard-like door to the attic. There was no need for stealth. Her grandfather was roaring, beyond any distraction of creaking hinges and the like. He was bent over a small, huddled shape.
“You filthy little heathen!”
Thwack!
“Rank obscenity!”
Thwack!
“Idolatrous blasphemy!”
Thwack!
With each epithet, his sinewy old arm brought down his riding crop with as much force as he could muster. The crop whistled with each downward slice. Ten-year-old Grace was coiled into a tight ball on the floor, her hands clasped protectively over her head, making herself as small as possible.
Prudence shot across the room like a small, furious cannonball. “Leave my sister alone, you great filthy bully!” She hurled herself against him, shoving with all her might, for she was not a large person. Her grandfather might be well past sixty, but he was six feet tall, his body strong and lean from hunting, shooting, and fishing.
And from beating little girls.
He staggered, caught off balance. Prudence took advantage of his momentary unsteadiness and pushed him again, hard. He tripped over a trunk from which old clothes spilled—Grace and the twins’ dress-up clothes—and lay for a moment, gasping, sprawled among faded brocade and moth-eaten lace.
Obedient to his orders, James scooped Grace up and strode from the room. Hope hesitated.
“Go!” Prudence hissed at her. “Quickly!” She went.
In a surge of old gowns, her grandfather staggered to his feet. His face was purple with rage. Veins stood out at his neck and temple. Spittle foamed at his mouth. “brazen-faced little bitch! I’ll teach you!” Grasping his riding crop he strode toward Prudence.
She flung him a contemptuous look. “How dare you use that disgusting weapon on a child!” she spat.
“That little hellcat was engaged in filthy, idolatrous evil, and I’ll scourge her of it if it’s the last thing I do!”
Filthy, idolatrous evil?
Prudence glanced at the three-legged table where Grace had been working in secret. On it lay a pasteboard reticule and several of the old magazines passed on in secret to the girls by their neighbor, Mrs. Otterbury. At the time, they had all exclaimed over the Egyptian designs in one of the magazines—strange and fanciful creatures like the Sphinx and others, half animal and half human.
A shard of guilt pierced Prudence as she recalled how she’d admired the Egyptian designs. Grace had used them to decorate the pasteboard reticule, these “idolatrous and evil” pictures. Her little sister had been beaten for making Prudence a gift for her birthday.
“It is
not
filthy idolatry—it is merely a whimsy of fashion. Grace is just a child. Those designs are simply attractive curiosities to her!”
“They are blasphemous and that…that
thing
she created bears the taint of the Devil. It must be burned, and she must be cleansed. I’ll thrash the evil out of her if it’s the last thing I do!” He knocked the magazines and reticule to the floor.
Prudence darted in and snatched the battered reticule to her breast. “There is not a
shred
of evil in Grace. She is a dear sweet child and—”
“She bears the stamp of Jezebel! As do you!”
Prudence dashed her fiery curls from her eyes. “It is not the stamp of Jezebel! It is simply
hair,
Grandpapa! Grace and I cannot help its color! Our mother had red hair.”
The old man let out a growl of rage and sliced at Prudence with his whip. “I forbade you to mention that harlot under my roof! She was a shameless Jezebel who enticed my son away from me, and you and that other she-cub bear her mark! I may not have beaten the evil out of you, yet, but I’ll make sure—”
Prudence interrupted. “If you lay so much as a finger on Grace or Hope—or any of my sisters—ever again…I’ll, I’ll
kill
you! Hope cannot help being left-handed and Grace’s and my hair is just an excuse! You are nothing but a despicable bully and I’ll have no more of it, do you hear?”
“Insolent baggage!” roared the old man. “I am your legal guardian and I’ll have respect and obedience from you—the way your sisters respect me—if I have to thrash you within an inch of your life!”
“Hah!” Prudence’s voice was filled with scorn. “Respect does not come from beatings, Grandpapa; it must be earned! You see my sisters’ meek obedience as respect, but you command only fear and hatred in them. In me you command
nothing!
”
He lunged and caught her a vicious blow across the face. Prudence reeled back, clutching her cheek. Blood stained her fingers. He eyed the blood with satisfaction. “We’ll see if you sing the same tune when I’ve finished with you. A disobedient bitch always cowers after a good thrashing.”