Wild Wild Rake--The Cavensham Heiresses

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  For those who ever felt they didn’t fit in or weren’t welcomed

  but forged ahead and created their own place in the world

  Acknowledgments

  My dear reader, you make this the best job in the world. You deserve a bow.

  Alexandra Sehulster, an editor extraordinaire, I’m fortunate to be able to work with you. Thank you for helping me craft these characters into such special and loving couples. Devin wouldn’t be nearly as naughty without you.

  Corinne DeMaagd, you were there from the very beginning, and with infinite patience taught me so much. Holly Ingraham, thank you for your pivotal role in making my dream come true. Marissa Sangiacomo, Meghan Harrington, Mara Delgado Sanchez, and everyone at St. Martin’s Press, you are spectacular at making certain each Cavensham Heiress made a proper debut into the world.

  Kim Rozzell List, you are incomparable in all you do and a pure genius. When you said you’d help me that first day, you turned The Bad Luck Bride into the luckiest bride. I can never say thank you enough!

  Finally, I couldn’t write a word without the love, laughs, and encouragement I receive from Greg, the author of my romantic life.

  Do not allow a sorceress to live.

  Exodus 22:18

  Yet like a phoenix, she’ll rise from the ashes.

  Source unknown

  Prologue

  London, autumn 1805

  Harold’s Emporium and Haberdashery—a boutique that caters to exquisite tastes and the highest caliber of clientele

  “Send the bill to my husband.”

  If the Marquess of Warwyk fell dead of an apoplexy fit when he received the twenty-pound bill of sale, then the Marchioness of Warwyk, his dutiful wife, would consider it money well spent.

  The fine fabric of the pristine christening gown trickled around Avalon’s fingers like silken water. Instinctively, she pressed a hand against her still-flat stomach. Only the finest garment in all of England would suit the future Marquess of Warwyk when he made his official appearance in five months.

  Whether her baby was a boy or girl made little difference to Avalon, even if her husband, Richard Pearce, the Marquess of Warwyk, had drunkenly decreed last night that she’d better perform her duty and provide an heir. When he’d murmured with an annoying hiccup that bedding her was like holding a block of ice, she’d walked out of the room without a glance.

  Perhaps she needed to pray harder for a son. An heir would keep the filthy rotter out of her bed forever.

  “My lady, the lace netting over the gown comes directly from the Highlands. A crofter’s daughter creates it only for me. No other shop could offer the workmanship that you see on this exquisite gown.” The shopkeeper carefully straightened the lace train that had been dyed to match the white silk. “Many have tried to discover her location, but they’ll never find her. She only sells her lace to me.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Avalon nodded. Though twenty pounds represented an outrageous amount for a tiny garment that would only be worn once, she considered it an investment. Hopefully, future generations of Warwyks would wear it and remember her kindly when they brought the gown out of storage when their own children were christened.

  She couldn’t wish for anything more. Her husband had made it his life’s work to berate her to anyone who would listen. But a woman had to retaliate her horrid treatment in creative ways. Outrageous bills for clothing fit Avalon’s needs quite nicely.

  The bell over the shop door rang, and Mr. Harold, the shopkeeper, looked up to greet his newest customer. His face suddenly matched the stark white of the christening gown. Avalon glanced in the newcomer’s direction.

  A beautiful woman with blond hair entered the store by herself. Spots of rain darkened the forest-green velvet of her spencer. Her cheeks bloomed with a pink blush, no doubt from the exertion of a brisk walk. By the shape of her clothing, she appeared to be late in her pregnancy.

  “If you’ll wait outside, I’ll finish with Lady Warwyk”—Mr. Harold scrunched his nose and swept his hand in the air as if brushing away something offensive—“then assist you.”

  The woman nodded.

  Before she could exit, Avalon held up her hand. “Please don’t leave on my account. It’s raining buckets outside.” She turned her attention to the shopkeeper. “Would you have it delivered later today?”

  “Of course, my lady,” he said. He glanced quickly at the woman and shook his head. He pasted a smile on his face and addressed Avalon, “Since it’s raining a little harder now, may I escort you to my sitting room in the back? I have a lovely tea you could enjoy until your footman arrives with an umbrella.”

  “That’s very kind, but I don’t mind waiting here. Go ahead and help your other customer.”

  Mr. Harold nodded his head, then ducked behind a curtain into another room.

  The woman took a step forward, then stopped as if debating whether to approach or not. Her blue eyes wary. Avalon smiled in encouragement, and the woman reluctantly closed the distance between them.

  “Mr. Harold is renowned for his christening gowns,” Avalon said. “Are you looking for one?”

  Slowly, as if afraid Avalon would bite, she crept closer and shook her head. “No, my lady. I’m picking up a peignoir for my lying-in. My … the baby’s father had it made for me.” When she reached Avalon’s side, she studied the christening gown on the counter. “It’s lovely.” She slowly released a breath, then turned her attention to Avalon. “Is it for you?”

  Before she could answer, the shopkeeper returned with the most exquisite negligé Avalon had ever laid eyes on. The iridescent pale coral silk shimmered in the light. The gown and light robe were so sheer that you could practically see through the material, guaranteeing that every inch of the woman’s body would be displayed for her husband’s delight.

  Suddenly Avalon’s heartbeat hitched. What must it be like to have a husband who valued you so much that he’d spend a fortune on nightclothes? The ensemble before her would make any woman feel beautiful—even after giving birth. The lucky woman had found a kind and caring husband.

  Avalon snuffed the brief bout of envy.

  Fate, in the form of her parents, had decreed that Avalon’s only purpose in life was to secure a marriage that would be beneficial to all the parties involved—except Avalon. She’d wanted to marry her third cousin, Lord William Cavensham, but her parents had forbidden the match. When she’d tried to sway their thinking, her parents had commanded in unison that “a bargain had been struck.” Then her father had further instructed that if she didn’t marry the man they’d chosen for her, she could find someplace else to reside. Her mother had gone so far as to threaten she’d keep Avalon’s young sister from socializing with her.

  At the words, Avalon had seen her dreams for a happy marriage disappear like wisps of smoke. But now that she was pre
gnant, life offered her another chance for love, and she wouldn’t waste it. Her baby would receive all her devotion, attention, and care. She was finished with trying to win her husband’s affections.

  Avalon leaned close to the stranger so they wouldn’t be overheard. “The christening gown is for me. I’m expecting, too.” She lowered her voice. “Your husband must care for you deeply. That peignoir is extraordinary.”

  With a slight nod, the charming woman blushed as Mr. Harold wrapped the exquisite garments carefully in paper. When he handed it to her, he nodded curtly as if dismissing her. Avalon frowned at the man’s gruff manner. No matter where the woman came from or who she was married to, she didn’t deserve the censure apparent in the man’s manner.

  Summoning the resolve to counter the man’s rudeness, Avalon boldly asked, “May I offer you a ride so you’re not drenched from this downpour? It wouldn’t be good for you or the baby if you became chilled.”

  The woman smiled, and her eyes brightened. “I thank you for your concern and gracious offer, but I have a carriage coming.”

  The door opened again, and a Warwyk footman entered with the requisite umbrella. He stopped in his path as his gaze darted between the other woman and Avalon.

  “I’m ready, John,” Avalon said. For an irrational moment, she wanted to hug the woman before her. Since she’d married the Warwyk ogre, she had few friends. “Good luck to you and your baby.”

  “And to you, my lady,” the woman answered. “You’re very kind.”

  Avalon nodded without taking her leave of the shopkeeper. She exited the establishment with the footman holding the umbrella over her head. A coach-and-four slowly drew behind her own smaller carriage. Streaks of rain magnified the luster of the black lacquer paint on the luxurious coach. The mystery woman’s husband must be rich.

  As Avalon’s carriage lumbered carefully through the rain, a pang of regret hit her. She’d failed to ask for the woman’s name and if she might call upon her. She nestled deeper into the velvet squab, then leaned her head back against the cushion. The pleated red satin roof didn’t hold her attention as her thoughts drifted back to the woman. Perhaps they’d become friends, and Avalon would have someone intimate, a friend she could confide all her worries and concerns to.

  There was only one way to rectify the situation. She’d send a note to the shopkeeper asking for the woman’s name.

  Four months later

  London—Warwyk House

  Avalon took another sip of the tea and focused on the lovely gold and white furnishings in the salon. Not seeing the room during the months she’d lived outside of London at Warwyk Hall did little to change her opinion of the ostentatious decorations. Elegant but crass at the same time, it was Avalon’s least favorite room in her husband’s London home, Warwyk House. She’d never call it her home. Not after she’d discovered that her husband had lived with his mistress here before he and Avalon had married.

  Tired of being sequestered at her husband’s ancestral home at his command for months on end, Avalon had traveled to the city today. She wanted to be closer to her little sister who lived in town with their parents. At the age of seven, Sophia was growing up way too fast, and Avalon wanted to be there for her. So Avalon waited for her husband to arrive so they could at least come to an understanding. Avalon had written to Richard several times during her sojourn to Warwyk Hall without a response or a resulting visit even though she was a mere thirty minutes by coach northwest of London.

  But here she sat—alone and waiting to make her plea.

  Though the servants hadn’t said anything directly when she’d arrived, it was clear Richard hadn’t come home last night. No doubt he’d spent the night with his longtime mistress, the Covent Garden Rose. It made little difference at this point. Avalon had a sham marriage, and nothing would change it.

  The silence in the salon grew deafening. Deciding to retire to her room until Richard arrived, Avalon pushed herself to her feet. Two things happened at once. Avalon’s baby kicked with such force against her ribs that she gasped in pain, and the mystery woman from Mr. Harold’s shop walked into the salon.

  The mystery woman stopped abruptly, then slowly blinked her eyes—twice.

  Avalon matched her blink for blink. The absolute wonder that she’d conjured the woman from thin air broke something light and free within her chest.

  “Lady Warwyk?” the woman asked politely. “Is Lord Warwyk expecting you?”

  The lightness in her chest sunk immediately. How did the woman know her husband? Why was she here?

  They stared at each other again.

  “You had your baby,” Avalon murmured. The slim woman before had been beautiful when she was pregnant, but now she was radiant.

  Suddenly, several giggling young women who appeared just shy of twenty entered the salon followed by her husband, holding a baby.

  With not a single brown hair out of place and his clothes immaculate, Warwyk looked like the devil himself had come calling. At his entrance, he examined her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “What are you doing here? I didn’t summon you.”

  Immediately, her newfound spirit dampened as she waited for his repugnant comments and jeers to spill her way.

  “How opportune that you’re here.” Richard’s matter-of-fact voice echoed around the room.

  Every hair on Avalon’s arms stood as if ready to run from the blistering diatribe that would soon erupt from her husband.

  “I’d like to introduce you to the love of my life, Miss Mary Bolen, the woman I wanted to marry before your parents forced me to choose another.” Richard turned his gaze to Mary and the baby he was holding. “This is our baby, Richard Bolen, the son who should be my heir,” her husband drawled as he cradled the infant close to his body as if shielding it from Avalon. He hugged Mary tightly with his other arm, then loudly whispered, “At least one good thing resulted from the marriage.”

  In exchange for marrying her, her father had given Richard the property he’d wagered and lost at a hunting party. Avalon knew the litany by heart. She should say the words and rob her husband of his endless delight at belittling her.

  “At least I received Bumble Green for her.” He tugged Mary closer as he glanced Avalon’s way but continued to discuss her as if she weren’t even there. “I dare say she rumbles along like an elephant. Not at all elegant like you, my love.”

  The sarcasm in his voice rolled in waves around the room. Avalon’s breath hitched, and only when the baby kicked again did she gasp for air. It wasn’t her husband’s mockery that made her want to escape and hide.

  It was Mary, her husband’s mistress—the Covent Garden Rose, the very person Avalon thought might be a friend—who stood before her, clearly embarrassed, if her red cheeks were any indication.

  “My lord, that’s enough,” Mary chided in a honeyed voice.

  It took every ounce of strength Avalon possessed not to fall to her knees. Suddenly, a high-pitched peal of laughter rang around the room. She’d always known that fate could be unkind. But cruel? It had delivered Mary straight to Avalon, not as a friend, but as her husband’s paramour. The infernal noise continued until Avalon realized it was her own maniacal laughter filling the salon while all of her hopes for a true friend melted into a pool of bloody mockery.

  Clearly uneasy, Richard and his guests stared at her. He handed the baby to one of the young women.

  When her laughter finally quieted, Avalon rested her hand on her stomach in a show that she claimed the baby for herself. “Warwyk, you’re too late,” Avalon taunted. “Your Mary and I are old acquaintances.” She turned to Mary and with her most pleasant voice, said, “You knew who I was at Mr. Harold’s. I wish you would have introduced yourself. It would have made all of our lives so much easier.” Avalon glanced at the others in the room. “Who are these distinguished guests, I wonder?”

  For a long moment, no one spoke. Finally, Mary broke the silence. “They’re my girls, my lady. They work for me at t
he White Dove.”

  Richard pulled her tighter against him. “Avalon, Mary is moving in.”

  “Richard,” Mary said firmly. “That’s not decided.”

  Ignoring Mary, Avalon’s husband sharpened his gaze. “She’ll be your lady’s maid.”

  “Richard,” Mary warned.

  “You’re right, as usual.” He chuckled. “Avalon, Mary doesn’t want to be your lady’s maid so you should leave immediately for Warwyk Hall.”

  Suddenly, the out-of-sync cogs of thought realigned in Avalon’s mind. The bastard had hurled the ultimate insult at her. The White Dove was a popular pub within the financial district, but everyone knew it was a bawdy house with expensive prostitutes who served only the wealthiest men as they were the only ones who could afford the “birds of love.”

  She lowered her voice. “You brought a madam and her whores into my home? Now you want me to leave?”

  “Now see here.” Richard’s icy voice grew razor sharp as he came to stand before her. “This is my home, and I say who is welcome and who lives here. My Mary is a brilliant woman who runs a well-respected business. Only the finest gentlemen are allowed access—”

  “Finest gentlemen?’” she challenged. “Why are you allowed access then?”

  “You black-hearted bitch,” he seethed. Suddenly, he raised his hand as if to strike her.

  “Do not touch me.” Avalon closed her eyes as she wrapped her hands around her middle to protect the baby. Having never been physically hit by another, it was the only thing she could think of to do. A rush of air blew past, and she braced for the blow.

  “Stop it.” Mary’s voice ricocheted around the room.

  When Avalon opened her eyes, Mary stood between her and Richard. He slowly lowered his hand with a look of contriteness at his lover’s chastisement.

  “She’s your wife. Carrying your baby, your possible heir. She deserves respect,” Mary said decisively, reminding the beast he should act civilized. She turned to Avalon. “Are you all right?”