Authors: Monica McCarty
The Unthinkable (41 page)
“A club?” Gina said, aghast. “Whatever for?”
“I thought we were going to keep it a secret,” Claire added, but Cecelia paid her no mind.
“Men have clubs for everything, why shouldn’t we? White’s, Brooks’s, Boodles, the Four-Horse, and this latest manifestation of the Hellfire Rakes club. I, for one, should like to know what goes on at Wycombe.”
“Wycombe?” Claire asked.
Gina’s eyes narrowed at Cecelia for bringing up such an inappropriate subject in front of her sister. She turned to Claire, answering with as little information as possible. “That’s where the Hellfire Club has its meetings. Amongst other things,” she mumbled vaguely. “We’re not supposed to be aware of the caves at Wycombe.” She turned on Cecelia. “You best not let anyone hear you talking about such things.”
Cecelia wasn’t listening. “There are so many of the blasted creatures.” Her nose wrinkled as if she’d caught a whiff of something foul. “We might need more recruits. And we shall need some help from the other ladies, of course.”
Claire’s eyes rounded. “I thought you said—”
“Trusted friends only.” Cecelia cut her off, scowling at her as if she was ruining the game. “Never mind that for now. First things first, we must have a name.”
“How about the ruined fools?” Gina suggested. “Or the spinster’s folly?”
Cecelia shot her a hard glance. She tapped her chin. “I have it! We shall call ourselves The Society for the Hindrance of a Rake’s Progress.”
Claire giggled at the allusion to Hogarth’s engravings. “Wonderful. But there’s just one thing I don’t understand, who qualifies as a rake?”
“Lord Coventry for one,” Gina said.
“Beaufort for another,” Cecelia snarled. “Certainly all the Hellfire members: Lord Percy, Lord Rockingham, Lord Petersham, Lord Ponsonby, Lord Ashley, Mr. Dashwood. But it is not simply enough to call oneself a rake. Rakes are also identified by their conduct.”
“How so?” Claire asked.
“Well for one, you’ll never see a rake willingly cross the threshold of Almack’s. And if they do attend a ton function it is always with a new paramour.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed over her tiny nose. Something was obviously bothering her. “Are they handsome?”
Cecelia nodded, the grave expression on her face belied her gentle teasing. “Of course.”
“By definition, a rake must be handsome,” Gina agreed gamely.
Claire looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure,” Cecelia stated emphatically.
“Quite,” Gina confirmed.
Claire appeared to be warming up to the idea. “What else?” she asked.
“Hmm. Rakes are notorious gamblers; they drink bottles and bottles of port, and above all they are vile debauchers of women.”
Claire grimaced. “That doesn’t sound very promising. No wonder they don’t marry, who’d want them?”
“Poor dears,” Gina agreed, but the sarcasm was utterly lost on Claire.
Gina studied her naïve friend, suddenly concerned. In many ways this would be like sending a lamb out to a pack of wolves. “Rakes are very wicked and extremely devious,” she warned. “You must be on your guard at all times. A rake will do his utmost to compromise you without marriage.”
“Of course, we’ll have to be on the watch for anything untoward.” Cecelia said cheekily.
Gina threw her a quelling stare. Just because she’d been kissed three times to Gina’s two, Cecelia thought herself the most experienced of the group. “It will do no good to allow the gentleman to sample the milk before he has purchased the cow,” Gina said primly.
Claire muffled a giggle with the back of her hand.
“Careful, darling, your country roots are showing,” Cecelia warned. To Claire she added, “One more thing. A rake avoids an unmarried debutante like the plague.”
“Just so long as it’s easy,” Gina murmured dryly.
Cecelia raised her teacup high in the air. “To slaying dragons—or should I say, to slaying rakes.”
Gina gazed at the amber contents of her cup as she raised it to the others. Somehow tea seemed inappropriate for the occasion. “Shouldn’t we be drawing rapiers or something?” Gina asked wryly, but she knew Cecelia was right. A new challenge was just what Gina needed. By the time she was done with him, the poor blighter wouldn’t know what had hit him.
“Well, which one
do
you want?” Cecelia asked Gina, the frustration evident in her voice. “How about Lord Ashley?”
They’d been going on like this for nearly an hour, suggesting names with no consensus. Gina had to pick somebody. Lord Ashley was handsome enough, but she knew him—and had witnessed his lechery for herself. “No.” If she must woo someone, she might as well make it enjoyable. “No,” she repeated firmly. “I think perhaps Lord Ponsonby?”
Cecelia pursed her lips, displeased. It was obvious she had come to a similar conclusion herself.
“Is he the outrageously handsome one?” Claire asked.
Gina and Cecelia both nodded.
“Oooh. I think I should like him too.”
“I thought you might want Beaufort,” Gina suggested to Cecelia. “An eye for an eye and all that?”
Her cheeks flushed. “No. Of course not. I want a challenge, not an impossibility.”
If they kept going round and round like this it would take all night, and Gina had her party to get ready for. “I suppose the only fair thing would be to draw lots.”
“But that seems so horribly random,” Cecelia whined. “What if I choose someone I cannot abide?”
“This was your idea. Besides, you’re the one who said you wanted a challenge,” Gina pointed out. Deciding to limit their choices to the Hellfire Club, Cecelia rattled off a dozen of the worse offenders and Gina jotted the names on small bits of parchment and tossed them into Claire’s straw bonnet.
Claire pulled out the papers and folded them again. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. To Gina’s silent question she said, “We don’t want anyone cheating.” She glanced significantly to her sister who scowled, then asked, “Who gets to pick first?”
Gina groaned. If it was this difficult just to choose a name, it did not bode well for the rest of the game. “Wait a minute.” She had an idea. She opened the doors to the drawing room and motioned to a housemaid who was sweeping the carpet in the adjoining hall. Grabbing the broom, she flipped it around and removed three pieces of straw of differing length. Handing the broom back to the baffled maid, she closed the doors behind her. “We shall draw straws. The longest shall have the first pick.”
“But who should pick the first straw?”
Gina fought to contain her frustration. “Just pick, Claire.”
Claire smiled and chose the middle straw from behind Gina’s hand, pulling out the second-longest straw. Cecelia went next and picked the longest, leaving Gina with the shortest.
“I hope it’s an omen,” Cecelia said naughtily with a jaunty lift of her brow.
Gina pretended not to understand her ribald attempt at humor. She pushed the bonnet under Cecelia’s nose and shook it. “You’re first, so pick.”
Cecelia closed her eyes and dipped her hand into the hat. She removed the paper. Opening her eyes, she carefully unfolded it. “Mr. Ryder,” she said evenly.
Gina studied her expression carefully, but couldn’t tell whether Cecelia was pleased. Ryder was something of a mystery, but he didn’t seem a particularly bad sort—compared to his friends at least.
“My turn.” Claire plunged her hand in the hat and playfully dug around for a moment.
Cecelia rolled her eyes. “Just pick one, Claire.”
“I am.” Claire fished around for another moment or two then slowly drew out a slip of paper and opened it. The excitement drained from her face.
“Who is it? Did you get Lord Coventry?” Gina asked consolingly, knowing he was the lowest of the low. The most depraved of the depraved.
Claire shook her head.
“Then who?” Cecelia asked impatiently.
Almost apologetically, Claire handed the scrap of paper to her sister. This time Cecelia could not control her expression, her lips curled and flames sparked in her dark blue eyes. She looked angry and something else—maybe a bit jealous. “Beaufort.”
Gina winced. “My turn,” she said, dipping her hand into the bowl of the bonnet.
Ponsonby, Ponsonby
, she prayed silently, drawing out the slip of paper. She nearly groaned when she read the name staring at her in her own bold handwriting.
“Well?” Cecelia asked.
Gina balled the paper in her hand and tossed it into the fire. “It seems it falls to me to avenge dear Alice. For I’m to tame the very devil himself.”
…End excerpt from TAMING THE RAKE by Monica McCarty © 2015 Buccaneer Press LLC
The following titles are also available in electronic format.
Kobo
:
The Highland Guard Series (in order)
THE HIGHLAND GUARD FIRST 8-BOOK BUNDLE
The Campbell Trilogy (in order)
CAMPBELL TRILOGY 3-BOOK BUNDLE
The MacLeod Trilogy (in order)
Monica McCarty is the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of fifteen
(and a half!)
Scottish Historical romances, including her current Highland Guard series (THE CHIEF, THE HAWK, THE RANGER, THE VIPER, THE SAINT, THE RECRUIT, THE HUNTER, THE KNIGHT (novella), THE RAIDER
and THE ARROW
), and two Regency Romances (THE UNTHINKABLE and TAMING THE RAKE). Her books have won and been nominated for numerous awards, including the Romance Writers of America’s RITA & Golden Heart, RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice, the Bookseller’s Best, and Amazon’s Best Books of the Year. Known for her “torrid chemistry” and “lush and steamy romance” as well as her “believable historical situations” (Publishers Weekly), her books have been translated and published throughout the world. Monica’s interest in the Scottish clan system began in the most unlikely of places: a comparative legal history course at Stanford Law School. After a short, but enjoyable, stint practicing law, she realized that mixing a legal career with her husband’s transitory career as a professional baseball player was not exactly a match made in heaven. So she “traded” in her legal briefs for Historical Romances with sexy alpha heroes. When not trekking across the moors and rocky seascapes of Scotland and England, Monica can be found in Northern California with her husband and two children.
