The Rake's Arranged Marriage
Read The Rake's Arranged Marriage Online
Authors: Ruth Regan
The Rake’s Arranged Marriage
A Regency Romance
By: Ruth Regan
All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2015 Ruth Regan
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
1821, England
The heavy coach bumped along down the rough road. With each pothole, Lady Cara Boyle had to fight not to let her teeth clack together.
Derbyshire – I should have known better than to expect a remotely civilized journey...
The main road through the town of Buxton had been pleasant enough, but now that they were moving out into the country again, the way was completely unkempt. And it probably would be until they reached the Eliot Estate.
Usually travel inspired excitement in Cara – but not today. Today, every single jolt and jostle rattled her nerves and augmented the black cloud of her frustration. She'd begged Papa to let her drive them from Staffordshire in their curricle (the ride would have been much smoother in a lighter rig), but he'd refused on the grounds that he didn't want to be seen arriving at Hedgeton in a “common buggy.”
She heard the crack of the coachman's whip through the open window of the coach. A second later, her body was jerked backwards as the horses leapt forward into a slightly faster trot.
"Damn!" she muttered under her breath. She'd be heartily sore on the morrow from this ride.
"Cara!"
Her father's reproving voice landed on her ears like a slap. She loved her papa dearly – more dearly than anyone else in the world, since her mother had died three years before. But his insistence on constant decorum – even in the privacy of their personal coach – was insupportable.
"Don't tell me you're immune to the discomfort of the ride, Papa," she retorted hotly. "You know your bones will ache tomorrow because of these
hellish
potholes."
Lord Leander Calloway lowered his paper to his knees and stared over the wire rims of his thick spectacles at her.
"You've always loved to rile me up, Cara. But you can put today's effort down as a failure in your books. Besides, the odd pothole has never bothered you in the past. I know the real reason you're upset, girl – and if you ask me, it's no reason at all." Then his features softened some. "Why can't you just set your mind on enjoying the afternoon? Lord Quentin Eliot is the talk of the town! Everywhere I go, I hear tales of what an entertaining and gracious host he is! Come, come, why should you object to spending a few hours in his company?"
"Because I know where 'a few hours in his company' will lead. You've decided that I'm to wed the playboy of the western world, Papa! Yes, you listen to the stories of Lord Eliot’s gentility, but you seem deaf to the equally prevalent tales of his roguery."
Lord Calloway sputtered for a moment, his face turning almost as red as a tomato. "Lord Eliot is a widower. You are a widow. You are both young and intelligent, with excellent family names. What possible reason can you conceive of that you shouldn't meet?"
Cara could not even begin to formulate a reply. She was simply too shocked by her father's mad reasoning. Leander snapped his paper back open and disappeared behind it.
When she regained her wits, Cara heaved a great sigh. For a decorated Admiral and a well-respected Lord, her father could be damn foolish at times. Why he couldn't see past the piles of money and the Eliot family name to what Lord Quentin really was...well, it was an utter mystery to her. And she sensed in her gut that her papa had already made up his mind. If Lord Eliot asked for her hand, Leander would willingly turn her over to him.
Why?
She knew the answer was complicated and that her father
thought
he had her best interests at heart. But she didn't have time to puzzle it out further because the coach was pulling up the long drive to the Eliot Estate, which was known commonly as Hedgeton (so named for the large hedge maze the Eliots' forebears had installed on the grounds in the last century). The ride became blessedly smoother on the well-maintained road here. Cara was tempted to look out the window of the carriage, but instead, she yanked the curtains closed firmly. She didn't want to see the “breathtaking prospects!” or the “gorgeous lawns!” that all of the silly women she met at parties talked about. She wanted the black cloud hanging over her head to stay right where it was. She felt comfortable with it blotting out the sun.
***
"Lady Hugo Boyle, and her father, Lord Calloway!"
When the butler announced their names, a hush fell over the lavish drawing room of Hedgeton. But the pin-drop silence was only momentary. The inevitable whispers soon reached Cara's ears. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead. Six months earlier, when the death of her husband Hugo had been fresh (and she had only been eighteen), she would have commenced staring down every gossip who dared to speak in low tones when she entered a room. Now, she simply ignored them. If the foolish lords and ladies gathered for an afternoon tipple around cards at Hedgeton still thought a six-month gone widow and her aged father were exciting, well... She felt nothing but dim pity for them.
Her papa took her gently by the elbow and steered her into the room. Cara assumed their host would come leaping forward to greet them, but he did not immediately materialize. Instead, a portly old friend of Lord Calloway's strode into their path.
"Leander, my boy! You're looking spry!"
It was Frederick Simms – just as dandy as ever, but noticeably grayer about the temples. Cara bit back a groan and forced herself to smile. She knew it would cheer her papa's heart to have some talk with his old friend.
"Frederick, you're the last person I expected to see here! What brings you to Hedgeton? I thought you were summering in Bath!"
"I was, I was...but it got too muggy, old man. I had to escape inland to the misty hills. It was Derby or die!"
The two men shared a laugh. And then Cara felt the Colonel's eyes fall on her. There was a twinge of lechery in them, as usual – there always was when Frederick Simms greeted her. But really he was harmless, she knew.
"Cara Calloway! If you aren't looking fresh as a daisy!"
"Thank you, Colonel Simms," Cara said, inclining her head politely as she was expected to do. "But you'll remember – it's Lady Boyle now."
"Quite right! Quite right! And I must say how very sorry I was to hear the sad news – what was it? Three months ago? "
"Six."
"Indeed. Your husband was a..."
Cara watched the Colonel swallow pensively, buying a little more time to think of a kind word. But he couldn't seem to come up with anything. That was because few people had anything at all to say about Hugo Boyle, except that he'd been very wealthy...and very gray of hair. So Cara jumped in and finished out the sentence.
"An
old man
, Colonel."
"Cara!" her father hissed at her elbow.
"Papa, you cannot possibly chastise me for simply stating a fact. My husband was old. In fact, he was so old that simply saying the words 'I do' proved too much exertion for him."
Her father's face was a shocked mask now, but Cara pressed ahead, feeling like a bridled filly who'd finally found her gait. She turned and addressed the Colonel once more.
"Did you know, Colonel, that Hugo expired the very evening we were married? I think it's been gossiped of a fair amount, but I'm here to tell you the rumors are true. He never even made it into our wedding bed."
All the color seemed to have drained from the Colonel's face, and Cara could feel the eyes of the card players at the nearest table all over her. She sensed she'd gone too far. But it had felt so good to loose her tongue!
She swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. Cara was just on the verge of opening her lips to formulate an apology when she was interrupted.
"Lady Boyle, I presume."
***
Cara turned toward the sound. The voice of the speaker had been low and warm, a resonant tone that touched her somewhere deep. It was an odd thing – to hear someone unseen speak something so plain and to instantly feel a keen interest. But when her eyes fell on the man who had made the utterance, her heart sank.
She recognized him from the stories she'd heard on the lips of countless gossips. He was quite tall, standing at least two heads above her. There was the perfect, sandy-blond hair with its honeyed streaks – grown a bit too long, if you asked Cara. It floated in rakish curls about his head and just kissed the high collar of his jacket. His sideburns were improbably reddish, a strawberry compliment to his comely features. And those eyes... Blue as two pools.
He bowed.
"What a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Lord Eliot!" her father exclaimed, bowing in return. She felt her father's hand loop into the crook of her arm and pull her down into a reluctant curtsy. She bent at the knees, but refused to take her eyes from Lord Quentin Eliot's face. She wanted him to see that she was utterly nonplussed.
"I've heard tell of your beauty, Lady Boyle," Lord Eliot murmured. "But I can see that all the lovely stories missed the mark. You're far fairer than could ever be expressed in words."
"Fair?" Cara asked incredulously. "I think you misunderstand the definition of the word. My hair and eyes are
dark
, Lord Eliot, as you can plainly see."
She watched as the side of Eliot's mouth pulled up in a half-smile. A wild twinkle appeared in his eye, as well, which she particularly disliked seeing.
"I was using the word in the metaphorical sense, Lady Boyle. As the poets do. Oh, and please call me 'Q.' All of my friends use the nickname."
"I do not consider myself your friend, Lord Eliot."
"
Cara!
"
Her papa's voice broke as he hissed her name for the third time since they'd left their own home. It pained Cara to know she was embarrassing him. But it was of the utmost importance to her that she make the correct impression on Lord Eliot. She had to let him know that she wanted nothing to do with him. All she desired was to live out the rest of her days in peace – without a man ordering her around. And, although her father didn't see things as she did, Cara was not about to bend to his wishes so easily this time. She was a woman grown – a
widow
, for heaven's sake. She wouldn't be handed off like chattel to the rich playboy standing before her now.
The rich playboy who was openly laughing.
"Don't attempt to gag her, Lord Calloway!" Eliot chuckled. "She's a spirited woman with opinions, tastes, and standards! I wouldn't choose to spend my time with a Lady who was otherwise."
Cara let that information sink in. Eliot had delivered the last sentence directly to her, and pointedly. She sensed that there was real intelligence in those laughing blue eyes. Intelligence...or cunning.
"Yes..." her father murmured, attempting desperately to make light. "That's my Cara. She's always been a bright girl."
"Oh, I don't know if I'd go so far as to call her 'bright,' Lord Calloway," Eliot said, his expression becoming serious. "
That
remains to be seen."
Cara felt her anger flare hotly as several guests at nearby tables chortled with laughter.
Everything about the man standing before her irritated her. It was clear what a high opinion he had of himself. It maddened her to think he could stride through life unchecked, saying absolutely whatever came to his mind without reproof. If she'd examined her feelings more closely, she would have realized she was somewhat jealous of Quentin Eliot. But for this moment, she felt nothing but the sting of frustration – and embarrassment.
"I see I've nicked a vein, Lady Boyle!" Eliot said lightly. "You're blushing."
It was true. Cara could feel the hot blood that had risen to her cheeks and her décolletage. She suddenly felt very exposed in her low-necked silk gown – and very aware of her heaving chest. Apparently, she wasn't the only one aware of that feature, for she saw Lord Eliot's eyes drift down over her body.
"And you are drunk!" she said boldly. It was true. She had seen it as plain as day the second she'd laid eyes on him.
"That's my prerogative, I should think – it being my party," he snapped back without hesitation.
The statement was shocking. But the quick-wittedness of it hit home. Cara trampled the sudden mad urge to giggle. Once again, the tittering laughter of the guests began to rise all around her. She turned her head this way and that, seeing nothing but stupidly grinning faces everywhere. She was about to do something truly stupid when Eliot stepped up to her. He was suddenly so close that she could feel the heat of his body through his clothing. Her pulse quickened instantly, and her breath caught in her throat as her eyes snapped up to meet his.
