скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Why is that a problem?’ Caro asked, dredging out of memory some of the details about the ton Lady Denby had drummed into her head during her short stay in London. ‘Isn’t he the Earl of Swynford’s younger son? Handsome, wealthy, destined for a great career in government?’
‘He was, but his circumstances now are sadly changed. Miss Claringdon told me all about it.’ Eugenia gave Caroline a sympathetic look. ‘It’s no wonder you didn’t hear about the scandal, Caro, with Sir Martin falling ill and you having to rush back home. Such a dreadful time for you both!’
‘What happened to Mr Ransleigh?’ Lady Denby asked.
‘“Magnificent Max”, they used to call him,’ Miss Claringdon said. ‘Society’s favourite, able to persuade any man and charm any lady. He’d served with distinction in the army and was sent to assist General Lord Wellington during the Congress of Vienna—the perfect assignment, everyone believed, for someone poised to begin a brilliant diplomatic career. But then came the affair with the mysterious woman and the attack on Lord Wellington, and Mr Ransleigh was sent home in disgrace.’
Caroline frowned, remembering now that Harry had told her before leaving for Calcutta how the English commander, then in charge of all the Allied occupation troops in Paris after Napoleon’s first abdication, had been forced to station a personal guard because of assassination threats. ‘How did it happen?’
‘Miss Claringdon didn’t know the details, only that he returned to London under a cloud. Then, if that wasn’t bad enough, when Napoleon escaped from Elba and headed to Paris, gathering an army as he marched, Mr Ransleigh disobeyed a direct order to remain in London until the Vienna matter was investigated and sailed to Belgium to rejoin his regiment.’
‘Did he fight at Waterloo?’ Caroline asked.
‘I suppose so. There’s still talk of a court-martial, though. In any event, Miss Claringdon says his father, the Earl of Swynford, was so incensed, he ordered his son out of the house! Lady Mary Langton, whom everyone thought he would marry, refused to see him, which ought to have been a vast good fortune for some other lucky female. Except that it’s now said that he has vowed never to marry and has been going about London with his cousin Alastair, always in the company of some actress or … or lady of easy virtue!’
A glimmer of a memory stirred in Caroline’s mind … Harry, talking about the ‘Ransleigh Rogues’, four cousins who’d been at school with him before they all joined the army and served in assorted regiments on the Peninsula. Brave, strapping lads who could always be found in the thick of the fight, Harry had described them approvingly.
‘Miss Claringdon was nearly in tears as she told me the story,’ Eugenia continued. ‘She’d quite thought to set her cap at him before he began making up to Lady Mary … but now, with him dead set against marriage and keeping such scandalous company, no well-bred maiden would dare associate with him.’
‘An earl’s son, too.’ Lady Denby sighed. ‘How vexing.’
‘Well, Mama, must we leave? Or do you think we can remain and avoid the Ransleigh gentlemen?’
For a moment, Lady Denby stared thoughtfully into the distance. ‘Mrs Ransleigh and her elder daughter, Lady Gilford, are both eminently respectable,’ she said at length. ‘In fact, Lady Gilford is the most influential young hostess in the ton. I’m sure they will talk privately with the gentlemen who, once the situation has been explained, will either take themselves off, or remain apart, so as not to compromise any of Mrs Ransleigh’s guests.’
‘So they don’t inadvertently ruin some young innocent before she even begins her Season?’ Caro asked, winking at Eugenia.
‘Exactly.’ Lady Denby nodded. ‘Though I’m convinced it will be handled thus, just to make certain, I shall go at once in search of Mrs Ransleigh and make enquiries.’
Caroline laughed. ‘Goodness, Stepmama, how are you to phrase such a question? “Excuse me, Mrs Ransleigh, I just wished to make sure your reprobate son and disgraceful nephew aren’t going to hang about, endangering the reputation of my innocent girls!”’
Eugenia gasped, while Lady Denby chuckled and batted Caroline on the arm. ‘To be sure, it will be more than a little awkward, but I’ll word my question a good deal more discreetly than that!’
‘Perhaps she will lock the gentlemen in the attic—or the wine cellar, so none of the young ladies are at risk of irretrievable ruin,’ Caroline said.
‘Caro, you jest, but it is a serious matter,’ Eugenia insisted, a worried frown on her face. ‘A girl’s whole future depends upon her character being thought above reproach! A ruined reputation is irretrievable, and I, for one, don’t find the discussion of so appalling a calamity amusing in the least … especially after Miss Claringdon told me Lady Melross arrived this afternoon.’
Lady Denby groaned. ‘The worst gossip-monger in the ton! What wretched luck! Well, you must both be extremely careful. Lady Melross can winkle out a scandal faster than a prize hound scents a fox. She’d like nothing better than to uncover some misdeed she can report back to her acquaintances in town.’
‘Very well,’ Caroline said, sobering at the sight of her stepmother’s agitation. ‘I shall behave myself.’
‘And I shall go and make discreet enquiries of our hostess,’ Lady Denby said. ‘Eugenia, let me escort you to your room, where you should remain until dinner, while I … acquaint myself with the arrangements.’
‘Please do, Mama. I shan’t stir a foot from my chamber until you tell me it is safe!’
‘You’d best make haste,’ Caroline said, anxious to see them out of the door before her stepmother recalled her intention to ride and forbade her to leave her room. She didn’t intend to let adherence to some silly society convention get in the way of riding the best horse she’d ever trained.
The two ladies safely dispatched, Caroline tugged the bell pull to summon Dulcie to help her into her habit. Extracting the garment from the wardrobe, she sighed as she thought of the much more comfortable breeches and boots she’d sneaked into her portmanteau. Though she was sensible enough not to don them when her hostess or the guests might be about, she did intend to wear them on her daily dawn rides.
Might she encounter one of the scandalous Ransleigh men this afternoon? If Mrs Ransleigh was going to banish them from the house, the stables were a likely place for them to retreat.
Despite Eugenia’s alarm, Caroline felt no apprehension about encountering either Alastair or Max Ransleigh. She doubted either would be so overcome by her charms that they’d try to ravish her in the hayloft. As for having her reputation ruined merely by chatting with them, Harry would consider that nonsense, and his was the only opinion besides her own that mattered to her.
A knock at the door heralded Dulcie’s arrival. Caroline hurried into her habit, anxious to be changed and gone before her stepmother finished her errand and returned, possibly to ban her from riding for the duration.
She didn’t slow her pace until she’d escaped the house and made it safely down the lane leading to the stables. Curious now, she looked about the grounds as she walked and peered around the paddock, but saw no sign of anyone besides the groom who had saddled Sultan for her.
She had enjoyed the ride tremendously, thrilled as always to order Sultan through his paces and receive his swift and obliging responses. As she turned him back towards the stables, she had to admit she was a bit disappointed she hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of the infamous Ransleigh men.
It would be interesting to come face to face with a real rogue. Her stepmother, however, would be aghast if she were to converse with either of them, given their terrible reputations and the fact that Lady Melross was now in residence. Were that woman to observe her exchanging innocuous comments about the weather with either Mr Ransleigh, she’d probably find herself branded a loose woman by nightfall.
Although, Caroline thought with a grin as she guided Sultan back into the stable yard, being pronounced ‘ruined’ in the eyes of society might be positively advantageous, if it relieved her of having to suffer through another Season and made her unacceptable as a bride to anyone save Harry.
The idea struck her then, so audacious that her heart skipped a beat and her hands jerked on the reins, causing Sultan to toss his head. Soothing him with a murmur, she took a deep breath, her pulse accelerating. But outrageous as it was, the idea caught and would not be dislodged.
For the rest of the way back to the stables and from there to her chamber, she examined the idea from every angle. Stepmother would probably be appalled at first, but soon enough, she and Eugenia would be off to London, where Caro’s small scandal would be swiftly forgotten in the excitement and bustle of Eugenia’s first Season.
By the time she’d summoned Dulcie to help her change out of her habit into one of the unattractive dinner gowns, she’d made up her mind.
Now all she needed to do was track down one of the Ransleigh Rogues and convince him to ruin her.
Chapter Three (#u9fd4fb25-6826-5a76-86c9-8d23bc3d619f)
In the late afternoon three days later, Max Ransleigh lounged, book in hand, on a bench in the greenhouse, shaded from the setting sun by a bank of large potted palms, his nose tickled by the exotic scents of jasmine and citrus. Alastair had gone off to see about purchasing cows or hens or some such for the farms; armed with an agenda prepared by his aunt that detailed the daily activities of her guests, he’d chosen to spend his afternoon here, out of the way.
A now-familiar restlessness filled him. Not that he wished to participate in this petticoat assembly, but Max missed, and missed acutely, being involved in the active business of government. His entire life, he’d been bred to take part in and take charge at a busy round of political dinners, discussions and house parties. To move easily among the guests, soliciting the opinions of the gentlemen about topics of current interest, drawing out the ladies, setting the shy at ease, skilfully managing the garrulous. Leaving men and women, young or old, eloquent or tongue-tied, believing he’d found their conversation engrossing and believing him intelligent, attentive, masterful and charming.
Skills he might never need to exercise again.
Anguish and anger stirred again in his gut. Oblivious to the amber beauties of the sunset, he stared at the narrow iron framework of the glasshouse. Somehow, somewhere, he had to find a new and worthwhile endeavour to which he could devote his energy.
So abstracted was he, it was several minutes before he noticed the muffled pad of approaching footsteps. Expecting to see Alastair, he pasted on a smile and turned towards the sound.
The vision confronting him made the jocular words of greeting die on his lips.
Instead of his cousin, a young woman halted before him, garbed in a puce evening gown decorated with an eruption of lace ruffles, iridescent spangles and large knots of pink-silk roses wrapped in more lace and garnished with pearls. So over-trimmed and vulgar was the dress, it was some minutes before his affronted senses recovered enough for him to meet the female’s eyes, which were regarding him earnestly.
‘Mr Ransleigh?’ the lady enquired, dipping him a slight curtsy.
Only then did he remember, being young and female, she must be one of Aunt Grace’s guests and therefore should not be here with him. Especially unchaperoned, which a quick glance towards the door of the glasshouse revealed her to be.
‘Have you lost your way, miss?’ he asked, giving her the practised Max smile. ‘Take the leftmost path to the terrace; the French doors will lead you into the drawing room. Hurry, now; I’m sure your chaperon must be missing you.’
He made a little waving motion towards the door, wishing her on her way quickly before anyone could see them. But instead of turning around, she stepped closer.
‘No, I’m not looking for her, I’m looking for you and very elusive you’ve proven to be! It’s taken me three days to run you to ground.’
Max stirred uneasily. Normally, when attending a gathering such as this, he’d have taken care never to wander off alone to a location that screamed ‘illicit assignation’ as loudly as this secluded conservatory. He couldn’t imagine that he and Alastair had not been the topic of a good deal of gossip among the attendees—hadn’t the girl in the atrocious gown been warned to stay away from them?
Or perhaps she was looking for Alastair? Though he couldn’t imagine why a respectable maiden would agree to a clandestine rendezvous with as practised a rogue as his cousin—or why his cousin, whose tastes ran to sensual and sophisticated ladies well skilled in the game, would trouble himself to lead astray one of his mother’s virginal guests.
‘I’m sorry, miss, but I’m not who you are seeking. I’m Max Ransleigh and it would be thought highly inappropriate if anyone should discover you’d spoken alone with me. For your own good, I must insist that you depart imm—’
‘I know which Ransleigh you are, sir,’ the young woman interrupted. ‘That’s why I sought you out. I have a proposition for you. So to speak,’ she added, her cheeks pinking.
Max blinked at her, sure he could not have heard her properly. ‘A “proposition”?’ he repeated.
‘Yes. I’m Caroline Denby, by the way; my father was the late Sir Martin Denby, of Denby Stables.’
Thinking this bizarre meeting was getting even more bizarre, Max bowed. ‘Miss Denby. Yes, I’ve heard of your father’s excellent horses; my condolences on your loss. However, whatever it is you wish to say, perhaps Mrs Ransleigh could arrange a meeting later. Truly, it’s most imperative that you quit my presence immediately, lest you put your reputation at risk.’
‘But that’s exactly what I wish to do. Not just risk it, but ruin it. Irretrievably.’
Of all the things the lady might have said, that was perhaps the most unexpected. The glib, never-at-a-loss Max found himself speechless.
While he goggled at her, jaw dropped, she rushed on, ‘You see, the situation is rather complicated, but I don’t wish to marry. However, I have a large dowry, so any number of gentlemen want to marry me, and my stepmother believes, like most of the known world—’ her tone turned a bit aggrieved at this ‘—that marriage is the only natural state for a woman. But if I were to be found in a compromising situation with a man who then refused to marry me, I would be irretrievably ruined. My stepmother could no longer drag me about, trying to introduce me to prospective suitors, because no gentleman of honour would consider marrying me.’
Suddenly, in a blinding flash of comprehension, he understood her intentions in seeking him out. Chagrin and outrage held him momentarily motionless. Then, with a curt nod, he spat out, ‘Good day, Miss Denby’, turned on his heel and headed for the door.
She scurried after him and snagged his sleeve, halting his advance. ‘Please, Mr Ransleigh, won’t you hear me out? I know it’s outlandish, and perhaps insulting, but—’
‘Miss Denby, it is without doubt the most appalling, outlandish, insulting and crack-brained idea I’ve ever heard! Naturally, I shall say nothing of this, but if your doubtless long-suffering stepmother—who has my deepest sympathies, by the way—should ever learn of it, you’d be locked up on bread and water for a month!’
The incorrigible female merely grinned at him. ‘She is long suffering, the poor dear. Not that it would do her any good to lock me up, for I’d simply climb out of a window. You’ve already been outraged and insulted. Could you not allow me a few more moments to explain?’
He ought to refuse her unconditionally and beat a hasty exit. But the whole encounter was so unexpected and preposterous, he found himself as intrigued as he was affronted. For a moment, curiosity arm-wrestled prudence … and won.
‘Very well, Miss Denby, explain. But be brief about it.’
‘I realise it’s an … unusual request. As I said, I possess a substantial dowry and I’m already past the age when most well-dowered girls are married off. It wasn’t a problem while my father lived—’ sorrow briefly shadowed her brow ‘—for he never pressed me to marry. Indeed, we’ve worked together closely these last ten years, building the reputation of the Denby Stables. My only desire is to continue that work. But since Papa’s death, my stepmother has grown more and more insistent about getting me wed. Because of my dowry, she has no trouble coming up with candidates, even though I possess almost none of the attributes most gentleman expect in a wife. If I were ruined, the suitors would disappear, my stepmother would be forced to give up her efforts and I could remain where I wish to be, at Denby Lodge with my horses.’
‘Do you never want to marry?’ he asked, curious in spite of himself.
‘I do have a … particular friend, but he is in India with the army, and won’t return for some time.’
‘Wouldn’t this “particular friend” be incensed if he were to discover you’d been ruined?’
She waved a hand. ‘Harry wouldn’t mind. He says most society conventions are contrived and ridiculous.’
‘He might feel differently about something that sullied the honour of the woman he wished to marry,’ Max pointed out.
‘Oh, I’d have to explain, of course. But Harry and I have been the closest of friends since we were children. He’d understand that I only meant to … to save myself for him,’ she finished.
‘Let me see if I understand you correctly. You wish to be found in a compromising situation with me, then have me refuse to marry you, so you would be ruined, which would prevent any honourable gentleman but your friend Harry from ever seeking your hand in wedlock?’
She nodded approvingly, as if he’d just worked out a particularly difficult proof in geometry. ‘Exactly.’
‘First, Miss Denby, let me assure you that though the world may call me a rogue, I am still a gentleman. I do not ruin innocents. Besides, even if I were obliging enough to agree to this scheme, how could I be sure that in the ensuing uproar— and there would be considerable uproar, I promise you—that you would not change your mind and decide you had better wed me after all? Because—no offence meant to present company—I have no wish at all to marry.’
‘Nor do I—no offence meant either—wish to marry you. But no one can force us to marry.’
Leaving aside that dubious claim, he said, ‘If it’s ruination you seek, why did you not approach my cousin Alastair? His reputation is even more scandalous than mine.’
‘I considered him, but thought he wouldn’t suit. For one, it’s his mother’s house party and he wouldn’t wish to embarrass her. Second, I understand that since being disappointed in love, he’s held females in aversion, whereas you are said to genuinely like women. And finally, since your plans for your career were recently shattered, I thought perhaps you would understand what it is like to have your future dictated by the decisions of others, with little control over your own destiny.’
His eyes widened, for the observation struck home. Despite the impossible nature of her request, he felt a rush of sympathy for this young woman who’d lost the only advocate who could guarantee her the life she wanted, while everyone else was trying to force her into a role not of her choosing.
She must have seen the realisation in his eyes, for she said, ‘You do understand, don’t you? Despite the setback in your choice of career, you are a man; you can make new plans. But when a woman marries, everything she owns, even power over her very body, becomes the possession of her husband, who can sell it, game it away, or ruin it, as he pleases. You must admit, few gentlemen would permit their wives to run a horse-breeding farm. I don’t want to see Papa’s lifetime of work pass into the hands of a man who would forbid me to manage it, who might neglect, ruin—or even sell it! My horses! There’s no one I trust with Papa’s legacy, except for Harry. So … won’t you help me?’
The whole idea was outlandish, as she herself had admitted. He ought to refuse categorically and send her on her way … before someone discovered them and she was compromised in truth. But he hadn’t been so intrigued and amused for a very long time. ‘You’re in love with this Harry, I suppose?’
‘He’s my best friend,’ she said simply, her gaze resting on the glass panes behind them. ‘We’re comfortable together and we understand each other.’
‘What, no passionate declarations, or sighs, or sonnets to your eyebrows? I thought all females dreamt of that.’
She shrugged. ‘It might be lovely, I suppose. Or at least my stepsister, who always has her nose in a Minerva Press novel, says so. But I’m not a beauty like Eugenia, the sort of delicate, clinging female who inspires gentlemen to poetry. Harry will marry me when he gets back from India, but that’s no help now.’
‘Why don’t you just contact him about entering into an engagement?’
She sighed. ‘If I’d been thinking rationally at the time, I would have asked him to announce we were affianced before he left for India. But Papa had just died unexpectedly and I …’ her voice trembled for a moment ‘… I wasn’t myself. Not until weeks later, when my stepmother, fearing Harry might never return, began pressing me to marry, did I realise what Papa’s demise would mean to my work and my future. Meanwhile, Stepmama keeps trying to thrust me into society, hoping I will meet another gentleman I might be persuaded to marry. I shall not.’
‘I sympathise—’ and he truly did ‘—with your predicament, Miss Denby. But what of your family, your stepmother and stepsister? Do you not realise that if I were to agree to ruin you, the scandal would devastate them as well? Surely you wouldn’t wish to subject them to that.’
‘If we were discovered embracing in the garden at a London ball during the height of the Season and refused to marry, it might embarrass Stepmother and Eugenia,’ she allowed. ‘But I can’t believe anything that happens here would even be remembered by the time next Season begins. In any event, Eugenia’s a Whitman, not a Denby, so there’ll be no contagion of blood and her dowry is handsome enough to make gentlemen overlook her unfortunate connection of a stepsister. By next Season, any stain on your honour for not marrying a girl you were thought to have compromised would have faded also.’
Max shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you don’t know society at all. So, though I am, ah, honoured that you considered me for your … unusual proposal—’
She chuckled, that unexpected reaction throwing him off the polite farewell he’d been about to utter.
‘It’s rather obvious you were not “honoured”,’ she retorted. ‘But speaking of honour, did you serve with the Foot Guards at Waterloo?’
‘Yes, in a Light Guard unit,’ he replied, wondering where she meant to go now with the conversation.
‘Then you were at Hougoumont,’ she said, nodding. ‘The courage and valour of the warriors who survived that engagement will have earned you many admirers. Once most of the army returns home, you will have supporters aplenty to champion your cause. If you cannot be a diplomat, why not rejoin the service? But while you are lounging about, being naught but a rogue, why not do something useful and rescue me?’
‘Rescue you by ruining you?’ he summarised wryly, shaking his head. ‘What an extraordinary notion.’ But even as the words left his lips, he recalled how he’d told Alastair earlier that he’d be glad if his aborted career were good for something.
Despite the dreadful dress, Miss Denby was an appealing chit, perhaps the most unusual female he’d ever encountered. Spirited and resourceful, too, both factors that tempted him to grant her request, no matter how imprudent. Because despite what she seemed to believe, compromising her would cause an uproar and he would be honour-bound to marry her.
A realisation that should speed him into giving her a firm refusal and sending her away. But as his thoughtful gaze travelled from her hopeful face downwards, he suddenly discovered the hideous dress’s one redeeming feature.
Miss Denby might be a most unusual young woman, but the full, finely rounded bosom revealed by the low-cut bodice of her evening gown was lushly female.
His senses sprang to the alert, flooding his body with sensation and filling his mind with images of ruining her … the scent of orange trees and jasmine washing over them as he tasted her lips … caressing the full breasts straining at her bodice, rubbing his thumb over the pebbled nipples while she moaned with pleasure …
He jerked his thoughts to a halt and his gaze back to her face. She might be startlingly plain-spoken, but she was unquestionably an innocent. Did she have any idea what she was asking, wanting him to compromise her?
Instead of bidding her goodbye, he found himself saying, ‘Miss Denby, do you know what you must do to be ruined?’
