Page 1 of The Rake’s Absolutely Devilish Reform (The Notorious Briarwoods #4)

London

1789

W herever Lord Hector Briarwood went, ladies swooned.

Lady Priscilla supposed she was no different. After all, he was a god amongst men. All of the Briarwood gentlemen were, of course, but there was something particularly charming about Lord Hector. When he entered a room, ladies pivoted, put hands on hearts, fluttered handkerchiefs, and all but let out sighs of delight. There was something about him which could make every young woman within a fifteen-foot vicinity fall over themselves and smile.

No, he was not the all-powerful Duke of Westleigh, the eldest of the Briarwoods, but in some ways that made him an eminently more desirable fellow. There was something devil-may-care about him. He wasn’t terrifying or intimidating, as dukes could be, unless one thought heaps of muscle and male prowess were intimidating.

Of course, some ladies were a bit nervous about speaking to a god.

Lady Priscilla had been within fifteen feet of Lord Hector Briarwood before. He had not noticed her because he was always surrounded by ladies hoping he would dance with them or—Priscilla was convinced—hoping that he might select them for a bit of a romantic adventure.

Though she, too, found him swoon worthy, she had no desire to be selected by him for anything. Lord Hector’s reputation as a rake was solidified throughout all of the ton, and she had no time or patience for a rake.

Which was, of course, why Priscilla felt absolutely no surprise as she sat underneath a moonlit sky in the rose-scented garden of a house just off Green Park and watched as he attempted to extricate himself through a window.

Lord Hector’s dark hair shone like a bluish raven’s wing in the night sky. He had his coat off and hooked under the crook of one magnificent arm. His white linen shirt was a bit disheveled, as was his cravat, which might explain why he was not heading back into the ball but was attempting to make his escape.

A person escaping from a window should not look self-possessed, but Lord Hector did. She cocked her head to the side and admired the view. She felt it was a rather wise action to take.

Admiring him from a distance was about all she could expect with someone like Lord Hector. After all, her family was new to the ton. They had heaps and heaps of money, but little prestige. She would make an excellent marriage to someone who needed her money to repair their moth-ridden castle, and that would be fine. Her father would be pleased, and that would please her more than anything. Her greatest desire was to pay her father back for all the sacrifices he had made to save his family from horrific poverty and transport them to truly shocking wealth and comfort. Yes, she was eager to make her darling papa’s dreams come true by marrying a man with an ancient, respected title. Even if that title was nigh bankruptcy.

Men like Lord Hector were… Well, they were beyond her imagination. If she were completely honest, she might have imagined him once or twice, or dreamt about him a bit.

What healthy young woman would not imagine Lord Hector? He was the most divine of fellows.

Still, rakes were not for her! They might be amusing, but she wasn’t interested in an amusing husband.

And so her lips twitched with genuine mirth as his self-possession came to an abrupt end.

As he hoisted himself out of the aforementioned window, he immediately caught his boot on a stone and nearly planted his beautiful face into the ground.

“Hell and damnation,” he growled.

“Yes. Very rude of the stone to be there,” she quipped.

His head whipped up and he looked about, searching for the source of that comment.

“Hello?” he called into the darkness.

“How do you do?” she replied politely, remaining on her perch along the stone balustrade, her gloved hands folded in her lap.

He narrowed his gaze and then spotted her. His brows rose, and his lips—those gloriously sensual lips—parted with recognition… And some other emotion she couldn’t quite name.

“Yes, yes,” she said swiftly. “You do know me.”

He tilted his head to the side, which caused the moonlight to dance over his visage, emphasizing its perfect angles.

She was surprised by his quick reaction.

She had not expected to be remembered by someone like Lord Hector. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but nor was she completely without an appealing appearance. And she was quite sought after. It amused her the way he seemed to desperately go through his mind, trying to figure out how he knew her.

Perhaps he thought she was a former amour.

But as soon as he took in her expensive but simple pale silk gown, it was quite clear that he eradicated that thought from his mind with relief. She admired that about him. The entire ton knew he did not touch innocent young ladies. He was a rake, but not a rascal. A good-time fellow, but not someone who would ruin a young lady and leave her to a deleterious and terrible life alone somewhere in the country being managed by someone named Aunt Purity or worse.

And there definitely was worse, though, she only knew it from the whisperings of kitchen maids.

“I know you from?” he prompted in that heavenly deep voice of his at last, clearly at a loss.

“Your sister’s wedding,” she offered, taking pity on him. “And, of course, your brother’s wedding as well. I am good friends with…”

“Ah,” he called out, wiping his hands together and then tucking his coat more carefully in his arm as he began to stride towards her.

She shifted a little bit on her seat because there was something genuinely and truly remarkable about Lord Hector striding towards one. Her entire body seemed to come to life.

She’d never seen a wild animal like a jaguar or a lion, but she rather imagined that was the sort of confidence that they had when they paced forward in their homeland. Lord Hector looked completely comfortable, as if he could eat one or make them feel at ease... Whichever took his fancy.

But that wild confidence rolled off him like a wave, and she suddenly licked her lips, and swallowed, stunned to find that she was tingling in the most interesting places.

“You’re Mercy’s friend,” he said.

She nodded. “Well done, you. I’m surprised you can remember.”

“Is that an insult?” he asked with faux horror.

She smiled at his good humor. “Is it? You do know a great many ladies.”

He let out a groan. “Zounds, you’ve been reading the gossips, haven’t you?”

“The gossips?” she teased. “Is it just in the gossips, good sir, or is it not a fact? You do like the ladies.”

He smiled slowly then. A wicked, breath-stealing smile. “Only fools don’t like the ladies,” he said. “Ladies are eminently more likable than men.”

She gaped at him. “Do you truly think that?”

“Of course I do, except for my brothers. I love my brothers to bits. They’re excellent. I can spend hours upon hours upon hours with them. But I’m not overly fond of most men,” he said with a shrug. “Poor souls,” he said. “They needed mothers like mine.”

She let out to laugh at that. She had met the now Dowager Duchess of Westleigh, who was not only beautiful, but also quite formidable and kind. It was an interesting combination that one did not usually find in the ton. Frankly, Lady Priscilla still couldn’t believe her good luck at having become what she would say was adjacent to the Briarwood family.

She was not truly pulled in as of yet, but she and Mercy saw each other at least once a week, sometimes more, and she was grateful for it. Her American friend, now a duchess, was superb.

“Well, I am glad you find us ladies so estimable. Is that why you collect so many?”

He let out a choking noise. “Collect?” he echoed.

“Is there a better term for it?” she asked.

“Look,” he said “You’ve clearly made some judgments about me. I have not done the same for you.”

“You may if you wish.”

“No, no,” he said, holding up one hand as if warding off a war. “I make it my personal position to never judge a young lady, whatever she does.”

She grinned, unable to stop herself. Did he make everyone feel so merry? “How very wise and fortuitous of you. It must make your amorous adventures more palatable.”

“You are judging me,” he breathed.

She let out quick sigh and, unable to help herself, teased, “I can only imagine it is exhausting having to remember so many names.”

He frowned at that, and she let out a guffaw.

“You don’t remember their names,” she announced.

“I do,” he protested firmly. “I absolutely do. I’m not a scoundrel. I genuinely take interest in every lady that I…” He looked back over his shoulder towards the library and frowned. “Take interest in,” he finished.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” she said brightly. “And did you leave the lady satisfied?” she queried.

He cleared his throat. “That is not a question I shall answer and certainly not a question a debutante should be asking.”

“Forgive me for daring to ask,” she said, realizing her query had a double meaning. Her cheeks flushed, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, “But I must confess I am very curious.”

A muscle tightened in his jaw. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“That is a boring thing to say,” she said. “And in my life, curiosity is really the only thing that makes life worth living. Otherwise, I might as well be a bit of furniture.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, a brow arching.

She smoothed her skirts over her limbs, wondering if a man like Lord Hector could ever understand her position.

“Well, there’s really not much for me to do except to remain without conversation. Men don’t really care about my personality. They care about my fortune. They can tell that I have a large one from my gown and the way my hair is styled, and of course, who my father is. And I’ve been introduced to a long list of eligible fellows. None of them are interested in what I have to say, so I have to keep my mind occupied. And curiosity about those around me is the only thing that does the trick.”

“And your father is…?” he said, frowning.

She blinked. “You don’t know?”

“No,” he said softly. “I don’t know. Should I?”

“My father is Lord Plumhurst,” she said quickly, proud of him—so very proud of him—even if the ton did not think much of him as a man.

“Ah,” he said, letting out a sigh. “I have heard of him.”

“Most people have,” she said.

“I see. This is why everyone knows you and yet you say that no one is interested in you.”

“Well, they’re interested ,” she corrected, “in the idea of me. Of me being married to them or their brother or their son and shoring up their rather empty accounts. Not everyone can be as wise as a Briarwood,” she said softly.

“You are aware that we are very wise as well as outrageous?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said brightly. “I admire your family greatly. But it is not wise that you and I should sit here in the dark chatting.”

He looked about, then furrowed his brow. “Oh yes, I had forgotten,” he said. This seemed to be a genuine surprise, as if he was seldom driven to distraction by anyone. “And I never ever ruin the reputations of young ladies.”

She lifted her chin in salute. “I do admire that about you,” she said. “So you should depart.”

He frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“Why?” she queried, astonished. “You really should go, you know. You’ve done what you came to do, which was to meet whoever it was in that room, and you were clearly running off. And I quite like where I’m sitting right now. I needed a bit of a time away from all those silly fellows who keep stepping on my feet. And some of them really have quite terrible breath.”

He choked on a laugh again. “Has anyone ever told you, Lady Priscilla, that your conversation is absolutely fascinating?”

She laughed. “No. You and Mercy are the only people I have actually conversed with in any shape or fashion in the ton. I find it best to be largely silent. That way I don’t cause any trouble for my father.”

“Is he unkind?” he said suddenly. “Your father.”

She blinked, rather amazed with the change in Lord Hector, as if he was Sir George ready to come and charge in to slay the dragon of her cruel father. Except her father was wonderful. He was the kindest fellow in the world.

“No, my lord,” she replied. “My father is wonderful. You see, it’s that I would never wish to disappoint him.”

“Disappoint him?” he echoed, shaking his head.

She drew in a slow breath, realizing it had never occurred to him that he might disappoint his family. She rather admired that. “My father longs for the importance of a great marriage, and I’m going to give it to him.”

A strange look crossed his face. “That’s very kind of you,” he said.

“Thank you. I think so too.”

He folded his arms over his shockingly broad chest. “I cannot leave you out here if you are concerned about ruination. A lesser fellow than I might arrive. But I could escort you back inside and ask you to dance.”

She let out a rich laugh at that. “Indeed, sir, you must not understand your reputation very well if you think that entering into the drawing room with you from this particular place would be better for my reputation than staying out here.”

Hector frowned again. He was so ridiculously handsome that the frown did not take away from his appeal. “That bad, is it?”

“Oh yes,” she drawled. “That bad. I applaud you. You clearly have launched yourself with full commitment into the position of rake, and you have been most successful in your endeavors.”

“It’s rather fun,” he replied, his lips curling.

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” she agreed before pursing her lips and daring, “Will you eventually give it up?”

“Of course. One day, I’ll marry as all men must.”

“You sound most resigned,” she said.

“Well, I am, my dear. I am.” He looked at her curiously then. “And you will marry too, of course. Very soon, I should imagine. Do you have a lucky fellow in mind?”

“I don’t know yet,” she allowed. “I’m looking for the right one.”

He stilled at that, and his eyes shone in the moonlight with some delectable temptation. “Come along then, Lady Priscilla. I’d love to have a dance.”

“I’m sure you would, my lord.” She shook her head. “But alas, I shall have to say no. As charming as you are, I shall stay here.”

With that, he looked at her with some consternation. “You really are sending me off, aren’t you? Politely.”

She laughed softly. He was so full of himself and yet there was nothing malicious about him.

“I’m glad that you’ve at last perceived it. Oh, don’t mistake me,” she assured him, feeling as if she did need to let him know she thought him a good sort. “You’re marvelous. Absolutely handsome, completely charming, and most wonderful, but I do think you should depart now,” she said, smiling.

Though in her heart of hearts, she wished he could stay. She wished he would sit down beside her on the balustrade and that they could chat for hours under the twinkling stars of the summer sky because he seemed like delightful company.

And for a brief moment, she entertained the idea of being enfolded in his arms and kissed by him.

Surely, a man as skilled as he would be heaven at such an endeavor.

Her body danced with anticipation and hope that she would be bold enough to beckon him to her, to feel his hard, heated body, and know the sensual promise of his mouth.

But alas, no.

She had her plans. She understood society as well as someone who was still barely accepted did, and she would not allow the temptation of a man as divinely handsome and devastatingly charming as Lord Hector Briarwood to drive her from it. Besides, in her opinion, rakes did not reform, no matter what society liked to say. A person’s behavior told observers exactly who they were, and she was not about to imagine finding a loyal husband in a man who was busy as a bee collecting pollen in high summer.

No matter how her body, and perhaps her spirit too, wished to indulge in her very active curiosity.