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Redeeming The Roguish Rake
Liz Tyner
The scoundrel of Society…has compromised the Vicar’s daughter!When scandalous Fenton Foxworthy is beaten and left for dead, he’s rescued by demure vicar’s daughter Rebecca Whitelow. Fox is a cynical rake whose outrageous propositions are the talk of the ton—but his injuries are so great that Rebecca mistakes him for the new village Vicar! Too late, Rebecca realises her error…she’s been compromised into a hasty marriage!
The scoundrel of Society...
...has compromised the vicar’s daughter!
When scandalous Fenton Foxworthy is beaten and left for dead, he’s rescued by demure vicar’s daughter Rebecca Whitelow. Fox is a cynical rake whose outrageous propositions are the talk of the ton—but his injuries are so great that Rebecca mistakes him for the new village vicar! Too late, Rebecca realizes her error... She’s been compromised into a hasty marriage!
LIZ TYNER lives with her husband on an Oklahoma acreage she imagines is similar to the ones in the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are. Her lifestyle is a blend of old and new, and is sometimes comparable to the way people lived long ago. Liz is a member of various writing groups and has been writing since childhood. For more about her visit liztyner.com (http://www.liztyner.com).
Also by Liz Tyner
The Notorious Countess
The Wallflower Duchess
English Rogues and Grecian Goddesses miniseries
Safe in the Earl’s Arms
A Captain and a Rogue
Forbidden to the Duke
The Governess Tales miniseries
The Runaway Governess
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Redeeming the Roguish Rake
Liz Tyner
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07342-4
REDEEMING THE ROGUISH RAKE
© 2018 Elizabeth Tyner
Published in Great Britain 2018
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.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dedicated to Ann Leslie Tuttle
Contents
Cover (#u0fb14aa4-72ab-5c06-a178-3e8d41f02b66)
Back Cover Text (#ubcb7a1f4-98c1-5d4f-b0f0-1e7c5782fea0)
About the Author (#u4cdcf526-95c4-59d2-b88e-c9f6022cf6f3)
Booklist (#u86f92128-8a95-5d91-86cc-68099e15d7df)
Title Page (#uecd83206-6883-5a20-81c6-698ebfd8ea15)
Copyright (#u4b3a5ac8-71fd-5c5a-b8a0-358235c19d51)
Dedication (#ue3b0f414-f6e4-5a6b-a140-12fc0651506f)
Chapter One (#u8ceb3903-4160-53a7-b011-68a9f0b379b0)
Chapter Two (#u8326eb1d-f003-5589-9f7d-f111b84c78ec)
Chapter Three (#u67f6d273-b9e9-5c6d-a4ed-5136a6304a82)
Chapter Four (#u887f0929-8a79-5124-80e9-1becb0d9d010)
Chapter Five (#u705eef5f-5fa3-500f-9d2e-57a8ed3c1547)
Chapter Six (#u7c165eb6-7da4-55e9-9e67-7f1786f2de86)
Chapter Seven (#u0610673b-9e3d-5334-a4c4-3160f1226b4f)
Chapter Eight (#u7a22f0fd-15f8-5f92-9ae8-35f0b6850b82)
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)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u11ad3efd-6bd6-566f-b686-2b94cd14e627)
Thumps sounded on the stairs outside the bedchamber. Foxworthy sat straight, covers falling to his waist, just as the door swung open. He looked at the visitor’s hands first. No weapons. He raised his glance to his cousin’s face. Andrew wore one of those grim-lipped spectacled looks even though he didn’t wear spectacles.
‘Stop swearing,’ Foxworthy said. ‘I do not abide such language.’
‘If so, that’s your only virtue and it’s one more than you had last week.’ Andrew paused.
‘I’m on an improvement regimen.’
‘About time. You look ghastly. As though you’ve not slept a night this week.’
‘A bit of tiredness on my face and the ladies flutter about with suggestions on how to make me feel better. I can’t complain.’
‘I just heard about your little escapade.’
Foxworthy nodded his head. ‘A priceless moment I will not forget.’ And he doubted anyone would let him from the look on his cousin’s face. However, at the moment, he simply could not recall it. He’d danced a lot at the soirée—that he remembered. He’d decided to take a turn with every woman in attendance and in the short time of the dance, discover what was most endearing about her. Then Lady Havisham, all of elbow high to him and feisty as a tavern wench, had told him she could drink more than he. Since he’d started much earlier than her it was a difficult competition. She’d conceded defeat and he’d placed a kiss right on the top of the knot of her grey hair and she’d said she wished she had a grandson just like him, only smart and handsome.
He put a hand on his head. ‘The woman must have been pouring it into her reticule.’
‘You proposed.’
‘I did?’ He checked his cousin’s eyes to see if he told the truth. ‘To Lady Havisham? I can’t imagine she’d be foolish enough to say yes.’
‘You don’t remember?’ Andrew snorted. He kicked the base of the bedpost, but the frame didn’t move. ‘You don’t remember?’
‘Not at the moment.’ Fox pushed himself from the bed. Pain shot through his knee. He moved to the mirror, favouring the leg.
‘Millicent Peabody,’ Andrew continued. ‘Bended knee, in front of six witnesses.’
Fox smiled, remembering. ‘Yes. It was quite romantic. I only wished I’d had a red rose, but the proposal was unplanned.’ And he was going to pay for the rather dramatic crash to one knee. It played to the group well, but he wasn’t sure if the pain was worth it.
Andrew choked and swung around on one foot, looking away from Fox. ‘So why must you do it?’
In the mirror, Fox examined his face. ‘I do look like I could use a drink.’
‘Why did you propose to Mrs Peabody in front of everyone?’
Andrew moved closer, eyes tightened. He expected an answer.
‘Millicent Peabody’s husband was being such a toad.’ Fox tossed the words out. ‘Earlier, he told everyone in the card room that he could not abide how frumpy she’s grown since the children arrived. Mrs Peabody is lovely and her husband is too daft to know what a treasure she is because he’s chasing every tart in town.’
‘Nonsense.’ Andrew’s eyes darkened. ‘You do it so you’ll be mentioned in publication. Your sodden brain believes you must rival Lord Byron for attention.’
‘Exceed. Exceed Byron,’ Fox said, lips turning up. ‘This proposal even put tears in one debutante’s eyes.’
‘Fox,’ Andrew spoke softly, crossed his arm across his waist, rested an elbow on his other arm and tapped his fingertips against his lips. ‘How many times have you proposed to a married woman?’
‘It is not the quantity, it is the quality of proposals.’
‘How many times now have you publicly proposed to a married woman?’ Andrew repeated, voice rising.
‘I can’t very well propose to an unmarried woman. Might distress her when I don’t show up at the wedding. Proposing to a married woman is more sensible.’
‘To everyone except the husband.’
Fox quickly pulled on a shirt. ‘That may have entered my mind, but I discounted it. Too minor to concern myself with.’
‘I see your point. Mr Peabody is feeling disgraced and is planning to kill you. If he succeeds you will be in the papers again. Good plan. You should have thought of it years ago.’
Fox looked over his shoulder. ‘I assure you, my demise would be on the front page and not only for one day or two. They would devote considerable space to the event.’
‘I could get my wife to draw up a caricature of your passing on as well, and proposing again.’
‘Assuming there are married women in the hereafter. Which is an immense leap of faith.’ Fox poured water into the basin and wet a flannel before pressing it to his face. ‘Make sure Beatrice gets my smile just right. I do want to be remembered as I am.’
‘Including the wrinkles?’
Foxworthy patted his face clean and reached for the comb, but he spared another glance for the mirror. Not a line. Nothing. Not even at the eyes. His movements stopped and he stared into his reflection. Nothing. A caricature of a person. He flicked the comb against the glass, hearing the clink as he turned away.
‘You’ve moved through the ton, gathering the ladies about you,’ Andrew said. ‘It’s as if you wish to say to the husbands that had you asked the wife first, she would have chosen you.’
