Page 2 of Seducing September’s Scoundrel (The Rake Review #9)
Chapter One
Thirteen years later…
London – September 1820
H adrian Oakfield, the Earl of Whitby, had just woken from what had been at least a three-day drunk when his latest mistress, the incomparable Eva Laurent, thumped his bare chest with the papers she clutched in her hand. Her green eyes blazed with fury as she stood over his disheveled form. Her hair cascaded down her back in dark, tousled waves, and her dressing gown clung to her curves, accentuating her beauty.
“You bastard!” she snarled.
He blinked, his head still foggy, a blinding headache throbbing in his temples. “What did I do now?” he asked groggily, for she was always going on about something.
As she gave him a piercing glare, he fumbled for the documents that appeared to be the cause of her current displeasure with him.
His heart sank when he saw that it was a gossip column called The Rake Review . Since January, a hack who called herself the Brazen Belle had been raking one of his peers over the coals each month, highlighting their best and worst qualities. He had hoped to escape the Belle’s notice somehow and avoid the scrutiny and spectacle, but, of course, he was not that lucky.
As he had feared, he had been chosen for September. With a sinking sense of dread, he started to read.
Dearest reader,
In the crisp September air, where the last vestiges of summer’s warmth mingle with the promise of autumn’s embrace, our attention turns to an enigmatic figure who has captured the imagination of the ton—the dashing rogue, H____ O_____, the E____ of W____.
Lord W—’s ascent to the pinnacle of rakehood has been as swift as it was inevitable. Blessed with the looks of an Adonis and the wit of a seasoned courtier, he effortlessly ensnares the hearts of the fairer sex, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake.
Despite his physical allure, whispers of Lord W—’s wild escapades echo through the salons and boudoirs of the ton. This selfish, vain gentleman is known for excessive drinking, debauchery, and high-stakes gambling. It is far past time for this notorious rake to shed his bachelor ways and embrace the responsibilities befitting a man of his station.
However, despite the persistent nudges from his illustrious father, urging him to settle down and secure his legacy through marriage, Lord W— shows no signs of relinquishing his libertine lifestyle. Indeed, rumors abound of his infidelity toward his current paramour. It appears that for Lord W—, the thrill of the chase and the allure of forbidden romance remain irresistible, casting doubt on whether the siren call of matrimony will ever sway him.
I wonder which of the ton’s lovely ladies will be brave enough to bring this gentleman to heel. And will it inevitably lead to heartache?
Until next time, when the chill of October is bound to offer up another rake, I remain yours brazenly,
The Belle
Eva tapped her foot while he skimmed the article, her rage growing with each passing moment.
“Get out!” she said when he had finished. “I want you out of here this very moment.”
He winced, guilt washing over him. Though he and Eva had an understanding, he hadn’t thought that meant exclusivity on either side. Of course, he had taken other lovers. But he was quite certain she had, too. Still, he could see how it would be embarrassing for her to read such tripe. He had never meant to humiliate her. “Can’t we talk about this?”
“No!” she screeched. “I never want to see you again!”
He held up a hand, her high-pitched voice scratching across his aching head like nails on a chalkboard. “All right, I’ll go.”
He pushed to his feet, swaying a moment as the headache intensified, a stabbing pain that nearly brought him to his knees. His mouth was dry as a desert.
He stumbled toward the window, the bright sunlight searing his bleary eyes. As he gathered his clothes, which were strewn across the floor, Eva’s voice echoed behind him, filled with contempt and disappointment.
“You promised me the world, Hadrian. You said we would be together against all odds.”
Had he said those things? He didn’t remember it, but he had been known to wax poetic while in his cups. Another sharp pang of guilt exacerbated the throbbing ache in his head. Eva was lovely and kind. He had enjoyed their time together but never should have made her false promises. His reckless, careless behavior always drove those who cared for him away.
With a heavy heart, he dressed hastily and made his way to the door, not daring to look back at the woman he had wronged. The weight of his actions settled upon him like a suffocating shroud as he stepped out into the bustling streets of London.
As he made the long walk toward his father’s townhouse in St. James Square, he tried to ignore the disapproving gazes of passersby. He knew he looked a fright, his clothes rumpled, his hair unkempt, and the smell of alcohol clinging to him like a cloud. The morning light felt harsh on his eyes, intensifying his pounding headache as he navigated the familiar streets with leaden steps. Memories of the previous night began to seep through the haze of his hangover—flashes of laughter, clinking glasses, and blurred faces swirling in his mind’s eye. Had he enjoyed himself? He expected he had, though lately, the nights seemed rather repetitive. Nothing excited him as it once had.
He reached his father’s townhouse and let himself in with a heavy sigh, the grandeur of the place starkly contrasting with his current state of disarray. The Oakfield family crest greeted him as he trudged through the foyer, a painful reminder of the expectations and responsibilities that weighed heavily on his shoulders.
As he ascended the staircase to his chambers, he passed by portraits of ancestors who gazed down at him with stern disapproval. Hadrian couldn’t help but feel like a disappointment, a black sheep amidst a lineage of honor and achievement.
Entering the bedchamber he seldom used, he rang for a servant, lazily stripping off his cravat and waistcoat. He heard the door open behind him, and relief filled him.
“I need a hot bath and a shave,” he called over his shoulder, struggling to remove his left boot.
“You look like hell,” his father, the Duke of Blackthorn, said from behind him, his voice heavy with disgust. “You haven’t been home in days.”
Warily, Hadrian turned to face his father. As usual, the duke was turned out impeccably; his black suit was perfectly creased, and not a single dark hair was out of place. He had swarthy coloring, brown eyes, and a powerful build. Hadrian had never thought he resembled his sire at all, either in looks or personality. He was the spitting image of his mother, he had often been told, with her golden hair and piercing green eyes. George and Henry were like the duke in every way. Perhaps that was part of what made him and father butt heads so often.
“How did you know I was home now?” he asked wearily. “Is old Bancroft spying on me again?” He should have known his father’s ancient butler would report to his father the moment he had entered the house. He turned slowly to face the duke, dread pooling within him when he saw his father clutching a copy of that infernal gossip rag.
“I take it you’ve already seen this?” The duke tossed the rag on the polished surface of a nearby table. “I told you that your rakish ways would lead to your ruination!”
Hadrian swallowed dryly, fighting to keep his composure. No matter how old he became, his father’s glare always made him feel as though he was ten years old. “I hardly see how enjoying my life can lead to my ruin. Even less so how any of this affects you.”
The duke prowled across the room, taking in Hadrian’s state of undress with contempt. “Everything you do affects me. It is humiliating to have our family name dragged through the mud in such a lurid fashion.”
“The Brazen Belle will move on to someone else next month, and this will all blow over.”
Hadrian hoped that was true. He had seen far too many of the men the Brazen Belle had targeted be shackled into matrimony as a result of being featured in that damned rag.
As though his father had read his mind, he sank into the chair in front of the fireplace. “I have given you free rein for far too long. You are nearly thirty, and it’s far past time that you settled down and started taking more responsibility.”
Hadrian’s stomach clenched even more. He had become the heir after his older brother George’s death thirteen years ago. His birthright demanded he take over the vast estates and titles that came with his father’s dukedom. However, he had no desire to do so. He had hoped to have a little more time to enjoy his life before his father insisted he stop having fun. Now, thanks to the Brazen Belle, his time seemed to have run out.
“What are you saying?” he asked slowly, though he feared he knew the answer.
“You need to find a wife and secure the line,” his father commanded.
“I will not be pressured into marriage, Father. I will choose my own path in my own time,” Hadrian said, his tone defiant as he stood tall despite his state of undress.
The duke’s eyes narrowed, his voice turning icy. “You will do as you are told, Hadrian. It is not just your life at stake but the future of our family name.”
Hadrian felt the weight of his father’s words pressing down on him, suffocating him. They’d had this argument a hundred times over the years. He did not want this. He did not want any of this.
“You will start attending respectable events and avoid your usual disreputable haunts,” the duke continued. “I’ll draw up a list of acceptable gels for you to court, and you can choose whichever one you prefer.”
“This is the absolute worst time for me to be out in respectable society,” Hadrian countered but knew he was grasping at straws. “You know how they feed on gossip. Those old dragons will probably give me the cut direct. Let things die down a little first.”
“They wouldn’t dare cut you!” The duke pounded his fist on the table beside him so hard the crystal glasses on the surface rattled. “I’ll put out the word that you’re looking for a wife, and those greedy mamas will be climbing over one another for a chance to throw their daughters at you.”
Hadrian groaned. “That is the last thing I want. I will never be happy with some vapid debutante.”
“Who said anything about being happy?” his father asked wryly. “Fairy tales are not for people like us, my boy.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Hadrian snapped, hating his father’s disparaging tone. He acted as though Hadrian were weak or a frivolous dreamer when he was neither. He’d had a dozen hopes and dreams before George had died and his future had been taken from him. Who could blame him for drowning his sorrows in drink and beautiful women?
His father shook his head, obviously at the end of his patience. “Your mother and I learned to care for each other, and I imagine the same will happen for you and whoever you choose. Now, I will hear no more protestations. I expect you to accompany me to the Duke of Clayton’s ball tomorrow night and choose a bride by the end of the month.”
Hadrian frowned, the weight of his father’s expectations settling heavily on his shoulders. He knew there was no point arguing further; the duke had made up his mind, and once that happened, there was no changing it.
With a resigned sigh, Hadrian nodded curtly. “Very well, Father. I will do as you ask.”
Once the duke left the room, leaving Hadrian alone with the oppressive silence, he sank into a nearby chair, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The prospect of finding a suitable wife in such a short time filled him with unease. He did not take marriage lightly, and the thought of entering into such a union for anything other than love left a bitter taste in his mouth.
But as he stared at the cold heath of the fireplace, a resolve ignited within him. Perhaps he could turn this situation to his advantage. His father had been after him to wed for years, as though that would magically turn him into someone like his younger brother, Henry, who wanted nothing more than to do their father’s will and settle into the drudgery of his fate.
Perhaps it was best to wed and then leave his new wife at one of their country estates so he could return to his life here in the city.
He could continue living as he pleased, and his father would be satisfied that he had finally taken a step toward responsibility.
It was a temporary solution, but one that seemed to offer a way out of the impending marriage trap closing around him. Hadrian’s thoughts raced as he began to form a plan. If he could find a woman willing to enter into a marriage of convenience, someone who sought the security and status his name could provide without demanding his love, perhaps they could both benefit from such an arrangement. The idea sparked a glimmer of hope in Hadrian’s heart, a flicker of possibility amidst the bleak future his father had laid out for him.
Gathering his resolve, Hadrian decided that he would attend the Duke of Clayton’s ball the next evening. However, he had no intention of finding a wife like his father wanted; instead, he sought a partner in his quest to thwart his father once and for all.