Page 1 of In a Rake’s Embrace (Sins & Sensibilities #3)

CHAPTER 1

M iss Agatha Woodville froze mid-step as she hurried from the room, her mind racing with thoughts of how to protect her younger sisters and their modest household. Their father’s gambling debts had already cost them much, but when he staggered home last night with the news that he had lost everything, their fragile world collapsed. The dread in her father’s eyes had stolen Agatha’s sleep, and now, as morning light filtered through the drapes, she was bleary-eyed and desperate for a few hours of rest.

Her stepmother, Gloria, had come to Agatha a few minutes ago, saying a man had come to collect the debt. She had been tasked with discreetly eavesdropping on the conversation between him and her father. Agatha pressed her ear against the wooden door, straining to catch every word.

“I have three daughters,” her father said, his voice weak with shame. “They are all lovely girls ...”

“Oh?” the man drawled. “How does this supposed loveliness cover the eighty pounds you owe, Mr. Wright?”

Eighty pounds was a fortune! How could her father dare to gamble with such a sum?

“Was it so much?”

The low chuckle from the other man was derisive. “That is only the principal.”

“One of my daughters …”

“One of your daughters what?”

Her father hesitated, his voice dropping to a mutter. “Everyone knows Mr. Wright is part owner of Aphrodite . My daughter, Maggie, can ... work the debt off there.”

Agatha’s heart squeezed. Maggie? Her sweet, innocent sixteen-year-old sisterspent most days with her nose buried in a book she had read dozens of times. Maggiedreamed of becoming a premier modiste, designing gowns for actresses on the grand stages of the theatre. Not working in London. What was her father on about? “Come now,” the man replied smoothly, “we both know there’s only one kind of work your daughter could do at Aphrodite to clear that debt in a year. Are you truly willing to send her there to earn it ... on her back?”

Agatha’s breath caught. On her back? Her breath hitched, panic welling up inside her. She pushed her trembling hand against her mouth, stifling a gasp. It couldn’t be. Her father wouldn’t do that. Not to Maggie. Not to any of his children. Perhaps she had misunderstood, and the whispers she often overheard in the tavern didn’t carry the same meaning as this man’s words.

“If that’s what needs to be done,” her father said, his voice thin with defeat, “then it must be done.”

Agatha could no longer stay hidden. Fury burned inside her chest, and she burst through the door before she could think better of it. Both men looked up, startled by her sudden appearance. The stranger’s eyes widened when they landed on her, his lips curling into a smile. Though dressed respectably, something in his gaze made Agatha uneasy. He seemed cold and calculating.

“By God,” he breathed, his gaze raking over her as if she were a prize on display. “She’s stunning . You’ve been hiding a gold mine, Woodville, you fool .”

Ignoring the man, Agatha directed her attention to her father. “What kind of work are you proposing for Maggie?” Her father’s face reddened, and his gaze slid to the floor.

“Look at me, Papa!” Agatha demanded, her voice quivering. “What do you mean she would need to earn it on her back?”

He remained silent, unable to meet her regard. A terrible, choking pressure formed in her chest. “How can you even consider this? Maggie has only turned sixteen this month. How could you think of sending her away to cover your failings?”

The stranger interjected with a sly smile. “Is Maggie as lovely as this one? Because if not, she won’t do.”

“Do?” Agatha turned on him, anger blazing in her heart. “You will speak plainly what you want my sister to do!”

The man’s smirk remained. “To work in one of Mr. Wright’s pleasure palaces, of course. Until the debt is cleared.”

Agatha’s stomach lurched. A pleasure palace . She recalled the sly propositions directed her way and the coarse laughter of men sharing secrets they assumed no one else could hear. A woman earning a living on her back was hardly a euphemism for anything honorable. “Do you mean ... a brothel ?”

His silence spoke volumes. She stumbled back and collapsed onto the threadbare sofa behind her, the cushions beneath her feeling more unforgiving than ever. The room seemed to spin as she tried to catch her breath.

“This is madness,” she whispered. “I will not send my sister to do something so vile and beneath her dignity. How do you even think it, Papa? How ?”

The man’s eyes gleamed. “Then perhaps you’ll go in her place. Mr. Wright’s debts must be paid, one way or another.”

“No!” her father shouted, his voice cracking with despair. “Not Aga! She’s to be married. A respectable young man has asked for her hand ...”

Agatha curled her hands into tight fists. Her engagement had been little more than an arrangement of convenience. Mr. David Trenton was a schoolmaster in their village and had been sweet to her for the last few months. She had taken a few walks with him and had even attended a country dance in the public rooms of the village square, where he had danced with her three times. That was enough to send everyone in their small town to start talking about a wedding and their future children.

Agatha found David good-natured and pleasant but felt no rousing emotions or excitement whenever she thought of spending the rest of her life with him. Her stepmother had counseled that they needed more help and that love would grow. Trusting in those reassurances, Agatha informed him she would marry him.

“Is that true?” the man asked, staring at her.

Her father rushed forward. “My daughter here is the eldest, and she will soon have a respectable marriage. She cannot go in ... in her younger sister’s place. I will only approve of Maggie leaving.”

Her father’s desperation cut through her.

“How can you be so cold-hearted,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “So ruthless to your child?”

Her father’s head snapped up at her words, his eyes gleaming with tears. “I can’t lose you, Aga.”

Her chest constricted with hurt. “But you can lose Maggie?” she snapped, her voice cracking. “Maggie is not leaving. I will not allow it, Papa.”

His gaze narrowed, and his nostrils flared. “Margaret is my daughter and, by right of law, my property; I make whatever decision necessary to save this family!”

Agatha’s heart ached. The truth was in the silence that followed, like a knife twisting inside her. She was no stranger to broken promises or unfulfilled dreams. It had always been painfully clear that her father held little affection for his daughters. One might have assumed that Carson, his only son, would have been his pride and joy, yet even Carson received indifference. Their father made no plans for his future and left his education entirely in her hands.

Agatha had always known that Maggie—who bore fewer of their mother’s features than she or Sarah—was treated with even less warmth. But to send Maggie to a place like that ...

Agatha would never forgive her father.

The man, growing impatient, leaned forward. “Either Agatha or Maggie will leave with me. Someone will be leaving this house today.”

Her father flinched. “Not Aga!”

Tears welled in Agatha’s eyes. It had come to this. Her father was willing to sacrifice her sister—his daughter—for his own mistakes. The weight of it was crushing. Agatha had savings, laboriously acquired from the perfumed sachets she sold. She had to prepare for her siblings’ future, as her father seemed determined to squander it away. It would pain her to start over or lose any of it, but she was willing to do anything to save her sister.

“I have some money saved,” she said quietly. “It is not the full amount, but—”

“No.”

Agatha had sixty pounds, and it had taken her three years of diligence to set that money aside. She hoped to offer it and suggest a bargain where she could work that remainder off. She stood on shaky legs, squaring her shoulders, and turned to face the man. “Please, sir, we—”

“My employer gave me a task,” the man said with icy disdain. “Return with the money in full ... or his body.”

Agatha’s breath hitched, and she recoiled as the man’s sharp gaze cut into her.

“Consider this,” he added, his tone unsettlingly calm, “with your beauty, you could earn the sum in a single night. It might take your sister months.”

A sharp tremor ran through her body. The thought—horrifying and vile—crept into her mind before she could stop it.

Perhaps it might be better if Mr. Wright did whatever he wanted with him!

She squeezed her eyes shut, disgusted with herself. No matter how despicable her father had become, no matter the shame he’d brought upon their family with his gambling and lies, he was still their father. The children needed him, especially in a society that left women vulnerable without the protection of a man. Agatha knew this all too well—Mr. Randall, the owner of their humble cottage, had refused to rent it to her directly. Only when he spoke to her father had Mr. Randall reluctantly agreed.

A woman alone couldn’t even secure a roof over her head. How absurd. And yet, it was true. Despite his failings, her father’s presence was crucial to their survival. Without him, they would be lost.

A breath-crushing tension wrapped its cruel arms around her. “I will go with you,” Agatha said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “To repay the debt.”

“No!” her father shouted, his voice panicked as he rushed toward her.

His hand clamped down on her shoulder, shaking her roughly. “You don’t understand, Agatha! You can’t—”

Wrenching free from his grip, Agatha glared at him, her anger spiking. “You do not get to decide for me! You do not get to sacrifice Maggie for your disgusting habit. You should be ashamed to face your children. Mama would be—”

The slap came out of nowhere, sharp and sudden, snapping her head to the side. Silence filled the room as her father stumbled back, his eyes wide with horror at what he’d done. He collapsed onto the worn sofa, his body shaking with sobs.

The man looked on, unmoved. “You have an hour,” he said, his voice like steel. “I’ll await you in my carriage outside.”

Agatha didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she walked out of the parlor and into the small kitchen, where her stepmother, Gloria, and her siblings sat around the breakfast table. Sarah, twelve years old, was cheerfully spooning the last of her porridge into her mouth while Carson, only five, sat beside her, swinging his legs beneath the chair.

“Sarah,” Agatha said, her voice steady, “take Carson to the garden to play.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up, and without question, she finished her porridge in a hurry, grabbed Carson’s hand, and darted out the back door. Agatha watched them leave, her heart aching, knowing their innocence wouldn’t last forever. She couldn’t bear for them to know their father’s cruelty yet, not until they were much older.

“What is it, Agatha?” Gloria asked, her voice tight with worry as she gripped her hands in her lap.

Agatha hesitated for a moment, then quickly explained the situation. Maggie, sitting across the table, went pale. She leaped to her feet and rushed over, clutching Agatha’s hands.

“You can’t go, Aga. You can’t!”

Agatha gently tucked a stray wisp of dark blonde hair behind her younger sister’s ear, offering a soft smile. Agatha had the resilience to suppress the torment that gnawed at the depths of her heart and must never show her family how terrified she was.

“I’m going, Maggie. I told you because I need you and Gloria to be careful. Don’t trust Papa anymore. He’s not thinking clearly.”

“But you’re supposed to be married,” Maggie whispered, her voice trembling. “What will David think? What if he finds out? I should go instead.”

“No,” Agatha said firmly. “You will do no such thing. I’m your older sister. It’s my job to protect you.” She cupped Maggie’s face in her hands, her heart breaking at the sight of her sister’s tear-filled eyes. “I love you more than anything, Maggie. And I promise this won’t be a hardship for me.”

Her sister’s lips trembled. “Do you know what to do?”

“I am older than you.”

“That is not an answer, Aga.”

She gently tapped her sister’s chin. “I know enough.”

Maggie threw herself into Agatha’s arms, her small frame shaking with sobs. Agatha held her tightly, stroking her hair, meeting Gloria’s gaze across the room. The sorrow and pity she saw in her stepmother’s eyes nearly undid her. She had to be strong. For Maggie. For Sarah and Carson. For all of them.

Once Maggie calmed, Agatha sent her to join the others outside. Gloria handed her a bowl of porridge, and they sat silently at the small wooden table. Agatha ate quickly, her mind already preparing for what was to come.

“Is it terrible?” Agatha asked softly after a long pause, her voice barely audible. “Being with a man?”

Gloria looked at her, her expression thoughtful. “No, it’s not terrible. It can be ... pleasant. But the first time—it might hurt.”

Agatha nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Badly?”

“You will forget it by the next day.”

“I see.” She cleared her throat. “Is it … is it quick?”

“It can be. It depends on the man.”

Silence fell, and several beats passed before her stepmother cleared her throat.

“Aga,” Gloria said softly. “You must never tell David about what happens in London. As a man, they have this notion that we women are to be pure when they are allowed to sow their seeds.”

Agatha’s belly knotted. “I will tell him the truth. I will not blame him if he wishes not to marry me after.”

“There are ways to fake your chastity,” Gloria said insistently. “A vial of chicken blood with a few strategic drops will do the trick. There is no need to tell him anything when the entirety of Cringleford knows Mrs. Murphey is currently his lover. Who is he to demand that you remain pure for him when he still takes up with that woman though he is affianced?”

Agatha nodded, understanding her stepmother’s advice. Even so, until she spoke with David, she couldn’t be certain of her choice. She couldn’t dwell on the enormity of what she was about to do. Not now. She finished her meal and stood, heading to the small bedroom she shared with her sisters. She dressed in her best gown—a simple blue muslin—and slipped on her worn boots, the soles nearly gone from overuse. Her cloak, too tight around the shoulders, was the only one she had. She tugged it on, ignoring how it pinched at the seams.

Stepping outside, Agatha glanced at the carriage waiting, its wheels caked in mud from the village roads. The man stood beside it, his eyes following her every movement, but she refused to meet his gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest as she crossed the yard, the weight of her decision pressing down on her with each step. This was the only way.

As she approached the carriage, determination filled her. Whatever awaited her in London, she would endure it for her family. It had been her promise, after all, when her mother had died days after giving birth to Sarah. Agatha, just nine years old at the time, had held her mother’s hand as she lay on her deathbed, vowing through her tears that she would care for and love her sisters always.

That promise had never left her, and it never would.