Only London’s best lovers need apply!
The League of Discreet Gentlemen has only one priority—providing the women of London with unimaginable pleasure. The secrecy demanded is expensive, but satisfaction is definitely guaranteed!
The League pride themselves on knowing everything about desire. But they’re about to discover that whilst seduction is easy falling in love can be very hard indeed…!
Don’t miss this incredible new quartet by dazzling Mills & Boon® Historical Romance author
SECRETS OF A GENTLEMAN ESCORT
(Mills & Boon Historical Romance)
AN OFFICER BUT NO GENTLEMAN
(Mills & Boon Historical Undone!)
A MOST INDECENT GENTLEMAN
(Mills & Boon Historical Undone!)
LONDON’S MOST WANTED RAKE
(Mills & Boon Historical Romance)
Here it is—the finale to my Rakes Who Make Husbands Jealous mini-series! I hope you’ve enjoyed it. I know I have. The series explores the different aspects of this premise: sex is easy, love is hard. In Nick’s story—SECRETS OF A GENTLEMAN ESCORT—we met (or, if you’re just joining us, you will meet) a man who defines himself by his bedroom abilities. It’s quite transformational for him to move beyond that definition of himself with his heroine, Annorah.
Even if we’re not professional escorts, how many of us end up defining ourselves by our jobs or titles? Or define our success in material gains and accomplishments?
In Jocelyn and Grahame’s Undone! short stories we met two men who are all about the thrill of the game—until they discover love offers something better: the thrill of for ever. Don’t miss their exciting tales.
That leaves Channing Deveril, the mastermind behind the agency. The series wouldn’t be complete without the leader of the League of Discreet Gentlemen meeting his match in Alina Marliss, the Comtesse de Charentes. She too is a ’gamesman’ when it comes to bedroom politics—the perfect opponent for Channing. The game is good fun until they realise being opponents isn’t enough—but perhaps their game has gone too far for it to be any different. Love will require exposing their secrets, revealing their pasts, and trusting each other with the hard truths behind their game.
Does Alina’s name sound familiar? If so, you probably remember seeing it in the Christmas anthology, A SPRINKLING OF CHRISTMAS MAGIC. She’s the guest Channing brought to the holiday house party. Now you know what happens after the party!
Enjoy the last of these gentleman escorts!
Check out my blog for updates and giveaways at www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com
London’s
Most Wanted
Rake
Bronwyn Scott
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For my Brony, who firmly believes in the lesson of ‘The Quackling’ (a French nursery tale): you can never have too many friends.
BRONWYN SCOTT is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When she’s not teaching or writing she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages.
Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website,
www.bronwynnscott.com, or at her blog,
www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com—she loves to
hear from readers.
Previous novels from Bronwyn Scott: PICKPOCKET COUNTESS NOTORIOUS RAKE, INNOCENT LADY THE VISCOUNT CLAIMS HIS BRIDE THE EARL’S FORBIDDEN WARD UNTAMED ROGUE, SCANDALOUS MISTRESS A THOROUGHLY COMPROMISED LADY SECRET LIFE OF A SCANDALOUS DEBUTANTE UNBEFITTING A LADY† HOW TO DISGRACE A LADY* HOW TO RUIN A REPUTATION* HOW TO SIN SUCCESSFULLY* A LADY RISKS ALL** A LADY DARES** SECRETS OF A GENTLEMAN ESCORT‡
And in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks: LIBERTINE LORD, PICKPOCKET MISS PLEASURED BY THE ENGLISH SPY WICKED EARL, WANTON WIDOW ARABIAN NIGHTS WITH A RAKE AN ILLICIT INDISCRETION HOW TO LIVE INDECENTLY* A LADY SEDUCES** AN OFFICER BUT NO GENTLEMAN‡ A MOST INDECENT GENTLEMAN‡
† Castonbury Park Regency mini-series *Rakes Beyond Redemption **Ladies of Impropriety ‡Rakes Who Make Husbands Jealous
and as a Mills & Boon® special release: PRINCE CHARMING IN DISGUISE (part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages)
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Chapter One
The sex was killing him! Channing Deveril shifted carefully, so as not to wake the brunette asleep against his shoulder, and sighed. There, that was better. He hadn’t slept in his own bed for the last seven nights and he was sorely missing the luxury of a big bed all to himself where his long limbs could spread out at will.
It was a sentiment that would surprise a certain population in London who believed Channing Deveril was the luckiest man alive. While they strutted and postured their way through boring musicales and tedious outings to the park, and dedicated their nights to dancing at Almack’s without the benefit of strong drink, all in the effort of competing for the few true prizes on the marriage mart, Channing had women competing for him. Not just any women, but the best sort of women, the sort one could bed and not have to marry—the rich ones looking for exciting bed sport. And if rumour was to be believed, they even paid him for his presence in their beds. It was something else that a certain population’s pride would never admit to, but who couldn’t do with a little extra blunt and who wouldn’t mind earning it that way? In their opinion, Channing Deveril was living the dream; all the sex and money he could manage.
Right now he wasn’t managing the dream very well. That certain population would also be surprised to note that his first thought upon waking, other than the sex was wearing him out, was a calculation of the odds: what were his chances of getting out of Lady Bixley’s lavender-scented sheets and to the door before she woke up? Marianne Bixley had been a tigress. Nothing had slowed her down—not the ropes, not the blindfold, not even the extra shot of brandy.
This was closely followed by the third thought: he just wanted to go home. The ‘luckiest man in London’ was tired, his mouth tasted like stale liquor and he wanted a few hours’ sleep in his own bed before it began all over again. Channing blew out a breath and tried an experimental move. Marianne Bixley murmured, but didn’t move. His arm was free. Now all he had to do was wait a few moments and roll.
How was he going to last the Season if he was this tired already? The Season hadn’t even started. These last two weeks had merely been the preamble. The Easter break was coming and then the Season would begin in earnest. Already, the agency, his very popular League of Discreet Gentlemen, was struggling to keep up with demand.
The League of Discreet Gentlemen had become such a success he was having difficulty scheduling his men to fill the requested appointments while still keeping the League discreet, as its name suggested. The latter had been a problem ever since the previous year when Nicholas D’Arcy, one of his top men, had almost been caught tupping a lord’s wife in the lord’s town house, an episode that had done much for the League’s popular notoriety and little for preserving the secrecy Channing preferred.
Providing a woman’s pleasure was not a topic for public purvey in his opinion and he rather liked the idea that most of London’s ton hadn’t originally been sure if the existence of the League was fact or fiction. These days, it was becoming harder to preserve the mystique of the unknown. Everything was becoming harder.
But that wasn’t why he’d stepped in to take on a few additional assignments. Usually, most of his days were spent administering the programme and that was work enough. He could rationalise the decision to step back into the role of full-time escort as the business’s booming need, but he knew his motives were more selfish than that. Lady Marianne Bixley was supposed to be the cure for what ailed him. So far, he didn’t think it was working.
Beside him, Lady Marianne gave a soft moan. It was working for her, however. He’d done his job well last night. He’d be doing it again, too, if he didn’t extricate himself from her sheets quickly. Just the thought that he wanted to get out of a beautiful woman’s warm bed was testament to the cure’s failure. Not even the persuasion of a morning erection and the warm comfort of Lady Bixley’s lush curves could compel him to stay.
Channing lifted the sheets and rolled out of bed. He held his breath as Lady Marianne stirred briefly, then settled. He began to dress, quickly, quietly. Since when had sex not cured everything for him? From boredom to loneliness to physical satisfaction, sex had been his go-to antidote since he’d turned sixteen, his constant companion. Now, it was letting him down most thoroughly. The past year and a half had been peppered with disappointment in that regard.
Channing reached for his boots. He was almost free! He would put them on in the hall to avoid making additional noise. It wasn’t that he couldn’t perform. Lady Marianne was proof enough that he could please even the most demanding of sensual appetites. He gathered up the remaining package of French letters on the nightstand and stuffed them into his coat pocket. Leaving them behind might give her the idea he was hoping for a repeat engagement. He made for the door with stealthy footsteps.
He was almost out when her voice, sultry with sleep, caught him, his hand on the knob. ‘Leaving so soon? Come back to bed.’
Channing turned, pasting a regretful smile on his face. ‘I wish I could. Unfortunately, I have an appointment I need to prepare for.’ It was true. Amery DeHart, one of his up-and-coming new escorts, had requested a meeting, but that wasn’t until later this morning. He could see from the pouting frown on Lady Marianne’s lips she thought it was another woman.
‘I’m sure I’m more exciting,’ she purred, letting the sheet drop a bit to reveal the swell of full breasts. Her eyes lowered to his trousers where his morning glory still flowered heavily against the fabric. ‘Your cock certainly thinks so.’
‘I’m sure you are, but business is business.’ Channing made her a small bow and took the chance to exit while she unravelled his comment. She was a smart woman, she would understand the reference and, when she did, she would be none too pleased to be categorised as an appointment. Appointments with the likes of Amery DeHart were business, but appointments with the likes of Lady Marianne were business, too, even if they were conducted at night. The sun had come up and it was time to move on with his day.
* * *
Channing was finding it hard to move on three hours later even after a bath and a change of clothes. He’d had to forgo the nap and it had left him struggling to focus. Channing pushed a hand through his hair, trying hard to concentrate on whatever it was Amery DeHart was saying. His thoughts kept returning to the question that had taunted him this morning: when had sex failed to meet his needs? Maybe his dissatisfaction with the act was a sign he should retire, close up shop altogether or hand the business over to someone else who had an appetite for it the way he had when he’d started the whole affair. Either way, perhaps it was time for him to get out.
‘I think it’s time for me to get out.’
Channing didn’t hear the rest. Amery’s words roughly jerked Channing’s attention front and centre. For a moment he worried he’d spoken his own thoughts out loud. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Amery gave him a disapproving stare that suggested he knew Channing hadn’t been listening. ‘I said I think it’s time for me to get out to the country and see the family,’ he repeated patiently.
‘You’re not thinking of quitting, are you?’ The last time Channing had sent an escort to the country, it had been Nick D’Arcy and the dratted man had got himself married. Channing wasn’t sure what he’d do without Amery. He’d come to rely on the younger man quite regularly in the past year with the departure of his three veteran rakes. Amery had been good with training the new gentlemen Channing had hired as replacements and the ladies liked him.
‘Not permanently,’ Amery clarified. ‘I’ve had a letter from home. I’ll be gone three weeks to a month. My sister is getting married and there’s some other family business to see to.’ Channing knew Amery liked his job, but he loved his family. If Amery was going home for a wedding, he’d be bringing his sister the finest wedding dress to be had in London. Channing handled all the finances and was aware just how much money Amery sent home to his mother.
Amery sighed apologetically and there was no doubting the sentiment was genuine. ‘I don’t like the idea of handing off an assignment halfway through, but my client and I were slated to attend a house party out of town for the Easter break.’
Channing flicked his gaze to the calendar on his desk. The Easter break, the last dash to the country before the Season began in earnest, was just three days away.
‘There’s no way I can make it,’ Amery was saying. ‘It would hardly be fair to desert her halfway through.’ Amery winked. ‘In all honesty, I think she’d do better with you anyway. She’s rather mature.’
‘I’m only thirty, Amery, hardly in my dotage.’ Channing tried not to feel offended by the comment. Just because he was contemplating retirement and had spent the morning fleeing a lusty woman’s bed did not mean he was old, only that he might be in the market for a new adventure.
‘It’s not age, it’s the maturity of her thinking, her mannerisms. It’s hard to explain.’ Amery groped for words. Interesting. Amery was never at a loss for what to say. Then he came out with it. ‘Oh, hell, Channing, she’s beyond me,’ Amery admitted baldly. ‘She’s too sophisticated. She’s got the Continent written all over her.’
‘Who were you assigned?’ Channing did a mental sort through the recent placements, but came up blank. Amery was slated to take the Misses Bakers to the opera on Wednesday since their brother couldn’t come up to town just now; he was escorting a diplomat’s wife to a fête at the Belgian embassy on Thursday. Multiple assignments at once were one way of keeping everyone guessing about the fact or fiction of the League, but none of the women on Amery’s roster fit his description.
‘You wouldn’t know her. She’s one of the clients I took on while you were gone for your nephew’s birth. Her name is Elizabeth Morgan.’
Ah, that explained it. He’d left Amery in charge while he’d gone home for a few weeks in February to see the new family addition.
‘I don’t think any of the new fellows will do,’ Amery went on, making his case. ‘Perhaps Nick or Jocelyn could have done it if they were around, but...’ Amery gave a shrug as his words dropped off to imply the impossibility. Nick and Jocelyn were happily married.
‘Amery, do you ever feel as if you’re the only bachelor left in London?’ Channing gave a chuckle, but it wasn’t funny, not really. Dear lord, weddings were thick on the ground these past twelve months. Nick and Jocelyn had married, as had Grahame, all three of them his veteran escorts. Both of his sisters had married last August in a double ceremony at his family’s estate.
And, of course, his older brother, Finn, had married their childhood friend, Catherine Emerson, even before that and had wasted no time in begetting an heir, a squalling, red little thing with a shock of black hair who had melted his rather cynical heart on sight and had done much in resolving some of the lingering tension between he and Finn after his last visit home.
Amery merely smiled. ‘I’m a bachelor and proud of it. Marriage is fine for some, but men like you and I need the spice, the thrill of a single life.’
Channing knew the thrill Amery spoke of: the thrill of sex as a tool for pleasure or power. The games one could play were limitless. He’d learned years ago those games served him far better than anything more emotional, more meaningful. Sex in that particular arena left one too vulnerable. Although that specific game had been heady, he’d not cared for the aftermath of that experience or the woman who had served it to him. Since then, he’d limited himself to the business of pleasure and women like Marianne Bixley.
Amery leaned forward. ‘Will you do it, Channing? I would be for ever grateful.’
There was nothing for it. There was no one else to send and he did owe Amery for filling in for him in February. It was only fair. Channing nodded. ‘I’ll do it. Now, go on and pack.’
Channing leaned back in his chair, pushing his hand through his hair again, this time in restlessness. He hadn’t intended to be out of town. He’d hoped to use the Easter lull as a chance to catch up on paperwork, go over the League’s accounts and maybe work with some of the new escorts before the Season. But perhaps a house party was what he needed to shake himself out of these megrims. He did admit, even in his current state of exhaustion, a twinge of curiosity over meeting a woman who’d managed to rout Amery DeHart.
He hoped the party had a decent hostess. He should have asked Amery where it was being held. The right activities were the key to any house party’s success. If not, given his current state of mind, this was going to be the house party from hell, no matter how ‘Continental’ Elizabeth Morgan was.
Chapter Two
This was going to be the house party from hell. Lady Lionel’s Easter getaway was not where the sophisticated and worldly Comtesse de Charentes would have chosen to be of her own accord. The venue promised to be bland and boring, the mediocre tone of the guests currently assembled already attesting to her hypothesis. But the comtesse had a mission and it had to be accomplished here. She was looking for men, two men to be precise.
The comtesse surveyed Lady Lionel’s drawing room with a cool sweep of her eyes, her aloof exterior giving away none of the hot temper that simmered beneath the surface.
Her eyes landed briefly on her quarry: Roland Seymour. Her pulse quickened, her temper rising at the sight of him. The bastard stood twenty feet away and she could do nothing, yet. But when the time came, she was going to rip his balls off. Seymour had stolen money most insidiously from her family and then attempted to compromise her sister into marriage in order for the family to make their money back. But Seymour had made a tactical mistake there. No one touched her sister. One bad marriage in the family was enough. That was where ball-ripping came in. For that, she needed the second man, who was most notable by his absence.
Another sweep of the room confirmed Amery DeHart wasn’t there. She certainly hoped he’d arrive soon. At the least he’d liven things up, at the best she could start to put her plan into motion. Without him, she could not effect the introduction to Seymour she needed.
Aside from what was going to be a tardy arrival, she liked the young escort with his manners and wit. Her plans for his balls were somewhat gentler than what she’d planned for Seymour, although she couldn’t imagine actually bedding DeHart with any large degree of interest. In her experience, young men in bed usually lacked a certain finesse. She appreciated something a bit more refined when it came to the art of amour. Not that she was in the market for an affaire. There was no time for such a dalliance. She was, however, in the market for revenge and that made DeHart’s easy-going mannerisms useful.
She was counting on him to befriend Seymour and then introduce her. His introduction would make it easier for her to insinuate herself into Seymour’s circles without raising suspicions. Once in, she would take things from there.
A stir at the doorway drew the comtesse’s eye. A surge of energy flowed from the hall. Amery must be here at last. It was the kind of excitement his presence could generate. She smiled, relieved. She hated to be kept waiting, it made her anxious. But her smile froze when a different man stepped through the doorway: Channing Deveril. The most arrogant Englishman to walk the earth. Out of all the house parties in England, he’d chosen this one. Well, that made three sets of balls she’d have to deal with.
She wanted to be wrong, but even at a distance there was no mistaking those blond good looks, the tall, slender grace of his movements, the impeccable fashion with which he wore his clothes. Today it was a coat of blue superfine, the buff trousers tightly fitted to show the perfection of his physique and perfectly polished high boots. There was a sensuality to everything he did. Even the simple gesture of greeting their hostess took on an intimate cast as she watched him bow over Lady Lionel’s hand. She had not seen him in over a year, not since they’d parted badly at a Christmas house party she’d hired him to escort her to, and it was like seeing him all over again for the first time, so striking was his appearance. A woman could look at him all day and never tire of the view. But it would not be in her best interest.
The comtesse knew how dangerous all that handsome sensuality was. Beneath the good looks and laughing blue eyes lay a master of bedroom politics. She’d experienced a tangle in those sheets on two occasions. The first time had been in Paris, a brief but explosive affair during her marriage that had not been carnally consummated, but had not been less explosive for the lack of it. It had ended poorly and that had admittedly been her fault for even starting it. She’d been young, desperate, vulnerable. But the second time—oh, the second time she held him fully accountable.
It had been here in England a few years later. She had hired him as an escort who could help her reintegrate into decent society after so many years abroad. It was to have been business only between two mature adults who knew the rules. She had not understood how deeply he held Paris against her, or how compelling he could be, how he could make her believe it wasn’t only business for him. He’d made her believe what he felt for her wasn’t only a job, but genuine emotion, and then he’d dropped the pretence most cruelly. In doing so, he’d had his revenge. She had yet to forgive him. No one made a fool out of the Comtesse de Charentes. Roland Seymour was about to become one example of that and Channing Deveril could be the second if he chose to engage.
She could make it easy on them both and await Amery in the gardens just outside. But the thought occurred too late. Before she could quietly slip outside, Channing spied her and she was caught in the web of his blue gaze.
He inclined his head in her direction in sardonic acknowledgement and query, his eyes registering quickly veiled surprise over her presence. What was she doing here? She returned his nod with the cool, regal smile she’d cultivated for the men of Paris, the smile that invited men to look, but reminded them they touched at their own peril.
Well, at least she could take consolation in the fact that Channing’s presence meant Amery was close behind. It stood to reason that, as friends, Amery and Channing would have shared a coach and come together. It was not beyond the scope of possibility that Channing had been hired by another lady at the party. But a glance beyond Channing into the hall revealed nothing. Perhaps Amery was still out at the coach, making arrangements for his trunks.
A few minutes more passed and Amery had still not appeared, although Channing continued to linger by the door, talking with the hostess. Something was wrong. Lady Lionel’s fair brows had knitted together in consternation, just before Channing took his leave and began to cross the room towards her.
Within moments he stood before her, bowing over her hand much as he’d bowed over Lady Lionel’s. ‘The Comtesse de Charentes, enchanté, although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.’ The blue eyes holding hers were full of mischief, secretly laughing. Channing was always laughing with his eyes, with his mouth. It had, unfortunately, been a rather endearing quality in the past.
‘I have a bit of a dilemma and I thought perhaps you could help? I am looking for a guest, only Lady Lionel is not familiar with her, which I find extremely odd. After all, it’s her party and her guest list.’
‘And you thought you’d ask me,’ she finished with cold politeness.
‘Well, yes, since you seem to know these sorts of things.’
She understood the mischief in his eyes now. It was true. She did know everyone. She’d made it a point to know as many people as possible since her return from the Continent over a year ago. She’d been gone too long and acquaintances had lapsed. She’d done her best to restore those lines of friendship, although not everyone had welcomed her overtures. But it was more than that. ‘These sorts of things’ implied Channing had his suspicions about the identity of Elizabeth Morgan. His mind was fast like that.
‘I will be glad to assist if I can.’ Alina smiled politely, but inwardly her concern was growing. Where was Amery? Her gambit was off to a shaky start. ‘I do need to let you know, however, that I am waiting for someone. He should arrive momentarily.’ It was a weak ploy at best. If Channing had come with Amery, he’d already know that.
Wherever Amery was, Alina wished he’d hurry up. Even so, it was too late to avoid explanations. She’d given Amery a false name when she’d applied for the League’s assistance this second time, wanting to avoid Channing. ‘Who are you looking for?’ she asked Channing. The faster she could help him, the sooner he’d leave her alone.
‘I’m looking for a Mrs Elizabeth Morgan. Perhaps you know her? Amery DeHart was to meet her.’
She’d been right to worry, not that she’d let Channing see it. Her stomach churned as she realised the implications of Channing’s presence. If Channing was looking for Elizabeth Morgan, it meant Amery wasn’t coming. She had two choices: either brazen it out and confess or deny knowledge of the name and send Channing home, which would leave her on her own with Seymour, unless the perverse man decided to stay and make the house party miserable for her anyway, something he just might do given their track record.
She opted for the former, her chin going up a notch in defiance. ‘Amery DeHart was supposed to be meeting me. I am Elizabeth Morgan.’
Channing’s face hardened. She could see that he’d already grasped the basic tenets of the situation. The quick acuity of his mind made him a dangerous opponent, a reminder that everything she’d counted on would have to be rethought. Amery would have done her bidding with no questions asked. But Channing would ask. He’d want to know why she was using one man to meet another. He would demand explication and perhaps much else—after all, he was a man of extraordinary passions. You are not in the market for the ‘much else,’ she told herself sternly. Things had a habit of going badly when she and Channing were together.
His mouth formed one word. ‘Liar.’
She took the verbal blow with aplomb. ‘Fabulous. I see you’ve come to ruin another house party.
Ah, so she hadn’t forgiven him for the débâcle at Christmas—not last Christmas, but the Christmas before that. ‘Angry and beautiful, just as I remember you,’ Channing said calmly, knowing it irritated her to no end that he wouldn’t rise to the bait of her temper.
Her pale blue eyes flashed with an icy fire. Beautiful was something of understatement when it came to describing Alina Marliss, Comtesse de Charentes, an Englishwoman turned French countess, and now a returned Englishwoman. She was like a living diamond with her platinum hair and flawless skin. She sparkled from every facet. Not all of those facets were physical. Her personality sparkled as well. She could be positively charming when she chose. She was not choosing to be so now when she was on the defensive. Channing decided to push his offence.
‘You lied. You gave Amery a false name. Why don’t we stroll in the garden and you can tell me all about it? I find it quite interesting you needed to give an alias when you already have so many other names to choose from. Now we can apparently add Elizabeth Morgan along with Miss Alina Marliss and the Comtesse de Charentes.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she hissed, falling in step beside him, but she did not, he noted, take his arm. The minx was determined to declare her independence at every turn.
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