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The Rake's Enticing Proposal
Lara Temple
The rake has a proposition… Will she accept? Part of The Sinful Sinclairs. When globe-trotting Charles Sinclair arrives at Huxley Manor to sort out his late cousin’s affairs, he meets practical Eleanor Walsh. He can’t shake the feeling that behind her responsibility to clear her family’s debt, Eleanor longs to escape her staid life. Chase can offer her an exciting adventure in Egypt… But that all depends on her response to his shocking proposal!
The rake has a proposition...
Will she accept?
Part of The Sinful Sinclairs: When globe-trotting Charles Sinclair arrives at Huxley Manor to sort out his late cousin’s affairs, he meets practical Eleanor Walsh. He can’t shake the feeling that behind her responsibility to clear her family’s debt, Eleanor longs to escape her staid life. Chase can offer her an exciting adventure in Egypt... But that all depends on her response to his shocking proposal!
LARA TEMPLE was three years old when she begged her mother to take the dictation of her first adventure story. Since then she has led a double life—by day she is a high-tech investment professional, who has lived and worked on three continents, but when darkness falls she loses herself in history and romance…at least on the page. Luckily her husband and two beautiful and very energetic children help her weave it all together.
Also by Lara Temple (#ue50fdf6f-7dac-5c95-9e86-65b699c50dce)
The Duke’s Unexpected Bride
Unlaced by the Highland Duke
Wild Lords and Innocent Ladies miniseries
Lord Hunter’s Cinderella Heiress
Lord Ravenscar’s Inconvenient Betrothal
Lord Stanton’s Last Mistress
The Sinful Sinclairs miniseries
The Earl’s Irresistible Challenge
The Rake’s Enticing Proposal
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
The Rake’s Enticing Proposal
Lara Temple
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08917-3
THE RAKE’S ENTICING PROPOSAL
© 2019 Ilana Treston
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#ue50fdf6f-7dac-5c95-9e86-65b699c50dce)
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This one is for my soul sisters.
Armed with tea or wine or cake—
they sweep in and rescue me from my worst selves and let me do the same for them.
Wherever we are around the globe—
the sisterhood holds firm.
Contents
Cover (#u68cd0664-f59f-5193-9e55-44facd65037d)
Back Cover Text (#u47591e71-1df7-5ee2-9bb4-d7f4da589360)
About the Author (#uf89aa6ef-2f53-565c-827e-b23d25f4eb88)
Booklist (#uddb1d2b7-9693-5edb-9146-93face13af95)
Title Page (#u28b7e064-8ef0-5acf-b6c1-cfef55d6e20c)
Copyright (#ub802b78e-639b-52f7-999c-3fc12044b392)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u4856bbd9-aaf1-5bdc-b4e6-9f37592492bd)
Chapter One (#u41a6d332-bd93-581f-945a-70a9c3bc9f41)
Chapter Two (#u3aa531a3-00a4-5e41-aaf4-6384da10fb79)
Chapter Three (#uc04f8e69-44af-51c3-89d8-b920b84f3dbe)
Chapter Four (#ufb95a3b9-6daa-5374-a7b5-12869004b4de)
Chapter Five (#uc294a318-e187-51c3-8c08-1ad96f11a9d2)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ue50fdf6f-7dac-5c95-9e86-65b699c50dce)
‘I have one last, but very important, quest for you, Chase...’
Chase drew Brutus to a halt at the foot of Huxley’s Folly.
The last time he’d seen his cousin, he’d stood precisely there in the arched doorway of the stone tower, his wispy grey hair weaving in the breeze like an underwater plant.
The last time he’d seen him and the first and last time Huxley had ever expressed any sentiment regarding Chase’s chosen occupation.
‘I do hope what you do for Oswald doesn’t place you in too much peril, Chase. Tessa would be very upset if you joined her too soon.’
Huxley always referred to Chase’s mother as if her death was merely a temporary absence. It was one of the reasons Chase found visiting Huxley a strain, but that was no excuse for neglecting him these past couple of years, no matter how busy Oswald kept him.
‘It’s my fault, Brutus.’ He stroked the horse’s thick black neck. ‘I should have visited more often. Too late now.’
Brutus huffed, twin bursts of steam foaming into the chilly air.
Chase sighed and swung out of the saddle. Coming to Huxley Manor always stretched his patience, but without Huxley himself his stay would be purgatorial. Nothing wrong with postponing it a little longer with a visit to the ramshackle Folly tower. Every time he came it looked a little more stunted, but as children he and Lucas and Sam fantasised that it was populated with ogres, magical beasts and escaped princesses.
He approached the wall where Huxley kept a key behind a loose brick, when he noticed the door was slightly open. He frowned and slipped inside, a decade of working as emissary for his uncle at the Foreign Office coming into play even though he knew there was probably no need. Being sent to smooth out some of the less mentionable kinks in relations with Britain’s allies meant one collected as many enemies as friends. Wariness had the advantage of increasing longevity, but it also flared up at inappropriate moments, and this was probably just such a case.
No doubt whoever was in the tower was merely his cousin, Henry, the new Baron Huxley, or Huxley’s trusted secretary, Mallory, Chase told himself as he climbed the stairs silently.
It was neither.
For a moment as he stood in the doorway of the first floor of the tower he wondered if he’d conjured one of their old tales into being—the Princess locked away and pining for her Prince.
His mouth quirked in amusement at his descent into fancy as he took in the details of her attire. Definitely not a princess.
She was seated at Huxley’s desk, which was positioned to provide a view from the arched window, so she was facing away and all he could see was the curve of her cheek and tawny-brown hair gathered into a tightly coiled bun exposing the fragile line of her nape and a very drab-coloured pelisse with no visible ornamentation.
She was leaning over some papers on the desk with evident concentration and the opening words in Huxley’s cryptic letter forced their way back into his mind.
There is something I have but recently uncovered that I must discuss with you. I think it will be best you not share this revelation with anyone, except perhaps with Lucas, as it can do more harm than good to those I care about most...
Huxley’s letter, dated almost a month ago, awaited him on his return from St Petersburg two days ago, as well as a message from his man of business with news of Huxley’s demise and his last will and testament.
Chase hadn’t the slightest idea what Huxley was referring to, but he had every intention of finding out. Through the centuries the Sinclair name became synonymous with scandal, but now Lucas was married and Sam widowed Chase had every intention of keeping his family name out of the muck and mire it so loved wallowing in. If Huxley had uncovered something damaging and had it here at the Manor, Chase intended to destroy it as swiftly and quietly as possible.
Therefore, the sight of a strange woman seated at Huxley’s desk and looking through his papers was not the most welcome vision at the moment.
As if sensing his tension, she straightened, like a rabbit pricking its ears, then turned and rose in one motion, sending the chair scraping backwards. For the briefest moment her eyes reflected fear, but then she did something quite different from most women he knew. Like a storm moving backwards she gathered all expression inwards and went utterly flat. It was like watching liquid drain out of a crack in a clay vessel, leaving it empty and dull.
They inspected each other in silence. With all trace of emotion gone from her face she was as unremarkable as her clothes—her height was perhaps a little on the tall side of middling, but what figure he could distinguish beneath her shapeless pelisse was too slim to fit society’s vision of proper proportions and the pelisse’s hue, a worn dun colour that hovered between grey and brown and was an offence to both, gave a sallow cast to her pale skin. Only her eyes were in any way remarkable—large and a deep honey-brown. Even devoid of expression they held a jewel-like glitter which made him think of a tigress watching its prey from the shadows.
‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’ she demanded, her voice surprisingly deep and husky for someone so slight. That, too, was unusual. Similar demands were fired at him by friend and foe since he’d joined the army and not nearly as imperiously. Predictably he felt his hackles rise along with his suspicions.
