To All the Rakes I've Loved Before (A Honeycote Novella)

To All the Rakes I’ve Loved Before

Anne Barton

New York    Boston

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Table of Contents

An Excerpt from
When She Was Wicked

An Excerpt from
Once She Was Tempted

Newsletters

Copyright Page

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For Selina,
with my heartfelt thanks
and best wishes always.

Chapter 1

Miss W. displayed an appalling lack of decorum at dinner this evening, insisting on a menu comprised entirely of pastries, creams, and jellies.

—from the make-believe gossip papers of Miss Amelia Wimple

London, Fall 1815

Freedom.

Miss Amelia Wimple reveled in it, finding inordinate pleasure in little things, like poring over stacks of old gossip sheets at two o’clock in the morning as she was now. There was no one to scold her for having a glass of sherry on her bedside table or cluck in disapproval at the dark circles that would rim her eyes come morning, because her mother was gone.

Not permanently—heaven forgive her for even entertaining the thought—but at least for a fortnight or so. And it was lovely.

Amelia’s mother was taking the waters in Bath in hopes of curing an intolerable shortness of breath and a rather mortifying sort of digestive ailment. Mrs. Wimple attributed her symptoms to anxiety brought on by her daughter’s ungrateful attitude and willful disposition. However, Amelia suspected the true culprit was her mother’s overly ambitious corset that she refused to remove—even when she slept.

Just moments after Mama’s departure last week, small changes had occurred in their Mayfair town house. An upstairs maid whistled a merry tune as she dusted. The butler, Giles, who was seventy if he was a day, went about his duties with a spring in his step. Amelia drew back the heavy curtains in the drawing room—which Mama kept dark to ward off headaches—and sunlight bathed the room in a warm glow.

Amelia wasn’t fond of the social whirl and had done her very best to avoid it for the past two years, but for once she could entertain a few friends without her mother’s overbearing presence. Amelia’s second cousins, Olivia and Rose Sherbourne, had visited earlier in the week to help her mend cast-off clothing for a charity school—a project Mama viewed with disdain because it distracted Amelia from her ostensible goal in life: snaring a titled husband.

A rap on her bedroom door made her jump. Sherry sloshed over the rim of her glass as she leapt out of the four-poster bed to answer.

Cicely, her lady’s maid, stood in the corridor, her bed cap askew. “There’s a gentleman downstairs to see you.”

Amelia gasped. “Who?” Gentlemen didn’t call on her during regular calling hours, much less after midnight.

The maid hesitated just long enough to sound warning bells in Amelia’s head. “Lord Verrington.”

Samuel. The tips of her ears heated, but she tried to appear cool as she arched a brow.

“Mr. Giles tried like the devil to send him packing, but he was quite insistent.” Cicely handed Samuel’s calling card to Amelia—an absurd formality, given the lateness of the hour. “He begged for the chance to speak with you.”

How ironic. Just two years before, on the night he was
supposed
to propose, Samuel had eloped with another woman. He hadn’t been inclined to talk with Amelia
then
.

Of course, the prudent thing to do now would be to turn him away, but Amelia didn’t want Cicely to assume the Jilting (as she’d come to think of it) still hurt her, because it didn’t.

Much.

Besides, she was curious. Samuel was married now—happily by all accounts—and his wife was expecting. She couldn’t imagine what would bring him to her doorstep tonight.

Trying for a cheerful, I-suppose-it-couldn’t-hurt kind of tone, she said, “Very well.” She quickly donned a modest robe, twisted her unruly curls into a pile at her crown, and speared the mound with a few pins. Cicely eyed the results critically, but Amelia shrugged. This was no ball, after all.

She’d expected to find Samuel in the drawing room, but as she flitted down the stairs, she spotted him pacing the foyer, twisting the brim of his hat. Something was very wrong.

“Amelia,” he began before she’d even reached the landing, “I can’t imagine what you must think of me, calling at this hour.”

She’d intended to remain aloof, detached. But the worry etched on his face and the fear lurking in his eyes made her feel for her old friend. “I think you must have a good reason for coming. Is everything all right? Please don’t say you’ve had bad news from home.”

“I need your help.”

Giles grunted. The butler hovered near the front door as though he’d dearly love to open it, apply his boot to Samuel’s backside, and shove the gentleman out onto the street.

Amelia shot the butler a “stand-down” look. To Samuel, she said, “I’m happy to assist in any way I can.”

“I didn’t know where else to turn. This is about Brookes.”

“Lord Brookes?” She’d just read something about him. His roguish escapades were regularly featured in the society papers.

Samuel nodded. “He’s out front, in my coach. In bad shape.”

Amelia blinked, and understanding dawned. “He’s foxed.”

Giles snorted.

“No, not drunk. He’s been beaten. I think he needs—rather, I
know
he needs—medical attention. And he wouldn’t let me take him to his house, which is where I’ve been staying while in town, because Lady Greystone… well, she’d faint away at the sight of him.”

Ah. If anyone understood highly squeamish mothers, it was Amelia. She also happened to know there was a bit more to Lord Brookes than the gossip papers revealed.

She placed a hand on Samuel’s arm. “Bring him inside, and we’ll try to make him comfortable. Then, if you think it’s necessary, we can call for a doctor.”

Giles growled under his breath, and for the space of a heartbeat Amelia feared he’d send Samuel and Lord Brookes away, but he grudgingly said, “I’ll rouse a few of the staff to help.”

Amelia shot him a grateful smile. Both men hurried off, and before she’d had the chance to fully comprehend what she’d just agreed to, Samuel and two footmen carried Lord Brookes, bloody and crumpled, into her foyer.

His arms swung lifelessly. Someone had wound his cravat around his head in a makeshift bandage, which was now more crimson than white.

A knot formed in her throat. To see anyone in such a pitiful state would have been alarming, but to see Lord Brookes that way… well, it chilled Amelia so deeply she could hardly breathe. Belatedly, she realized the men awaited her direction.

Pulling herself together, she said, “Take him upstairs, to the last bedchamber on the right.” As they hobbled up the staircase, she turned to Giles. “Send someone for the doctor and have a maid take up some bandages, hot water, and… whatever else might be helpful.”

The loyal butler nodded, resignation softening the lines on his forehead.

Amelia gave Giles an encouraging smile, wrapped her robe more tightly around her, and headed to the guest bedroom. Cicely and Samuel tended to the patient as best they could; one of the footmen lit the fire. Amelia slipped inside the room but stayed close to the wall, out of the way.

The infamous Lord Brookes was a guest in her house… and her mother wasn’t even there to witness it. All things considered, probably for the best.

His long, muscular legs were sprawled across the counterpane, and Cicely struggled to remove one of his fine boots. It was shocking to see such a virile man so helpless. He bore little resemblance to the dashing rogue Amelia had met two years ago.

Samuel walked to her side and nervously ran a hand through his hair. He stood inches from her, this man whom she’d once thought would be her husband, and oddly, she felt no pull toward him, no sense of loss. As Cicely and another maid worked to gently remove Lord Brookes’s expertly tailored jacket, Amelia watched with great interest.

Probably more than was seemly.

To Samuel, she said, “The doctor should arrive shortly.”

“Thank you. For everything. You look wonderful, Amelia.” His gaze was appreciative, without being improperly so.

She knew he referred to the weight she’d lost and hoped he didn’t imagine she’d been starving herself for his sake, when she hadn’t been starving herself at all. She’d merely begun standing up to Mama. But she didn’t wish to discuss any of that with him. Not when the gentleman lying on the bed in the guest room was infinitely more interesting. She gestured toward the bed. “How did this happen?”

“I have no idea. We were supposed to meet at our club. When he didn’t show, I made the rounds to a few of his other favorite haunts. On my way back to Watier’s I spotted him lying in a heap on the side of the road. I can’t imagine who’d do this to him.”

Amelia just barely refrained from rolling her eyes as she thought of her gossip sheets and all the beautiful women with whom Lord Brookes had associated over the years. “A jealous gentleman? Perhaps a husband?”

Samuel chuckled softly. “That’s possible. Could be hard to narrow the list.”

Amelia nibbled on the tip of her index finger, a horrid habit Mama was forever trying to rid her of. “Did he say anything when you found him? That is, was he able to speak?”

“He threatened me bodily harm if I took him home. He didn’t want to alarm his mother.” Samuel sighed. “I had no right to impose on you this way, though. I remembered your mother was away, and so I thought I could get him patched up here and figure out what to do with him. But he’s in worse shape than I feared. I’ll need to come up with another plan.”

“Hmm.” Amelia was slightly distracted by the tanned
V
of skin displayed above Lord Brookes’s loosened collar, and she was unduly disappointed when a maid pulled a blanket over him, covering most of his chest. Blinking, she forced herself to pick up the thread of conversation. “Why don’t we wait to see what the doctor says? Maybe he looks worse than he really is.”