The Mad Mistress
A Rakehell Regency Novel
Sorcha MacMurrough
Regency England, 1812
A Desperate Gamble ... on Love!
Wealthy heiress Vanessa Hawkesworth is offered as the stake in a card game by her half-brother Gerald in order to cover his gambling debts.
Clifford Stone, their nearest neighbor, only agrees to play for her hand in marriage in order to free her from Gerald's excesses. Clifford is fascinated by the lovely if unworldly young bluestocking.
As his attraction grows, so too does his certainty that his new-found love is in increasing danger from malevolent forces who will stop at nothing, not even murder, to seize her newly-acquired fortune.
Vanessa must learn to trust a complete stranger with her heart, and her entire life. Stunned at her new fiance's accusations against Gerald, she is sure she is going mad, torn between loyalty to her family and the wildfire passion that flares every time Clifford touches her.
As new a series of crimes in the district threatens her new-found love and happiness, Vanessa must gamble all herself in order to protect her beloved Clifford, and bring the men responsible to justice before it's too late.
The Mad Mistress
A Rakehell Regency Novel
Sorcha MacMurrough
ISBN: 978-1-58345-099-4
Setting: Regency England, 1812
Word Count: 101,000
Rating: Mildly sensual
Price: $3.99
Chapter One
Somerset, mid-September 1812
Gerald Hawkesworth stared at his cards. Though not a religious man, he began to pray to the Almighty that no one would call his bluff.
But his cousin, the raffish Peter Stephens, who had been winning at piquet the whole night, declared, "I'll bet another five pounds."
Gerald's mouth went dry. He ran the fingers of one hand through his already-thinning mousy brown hair. His voice came out as a whisper. "I haven't got another five pounds."
"Pardon?" Peter demanded.
Gerald cleared his throat, but could not stall forever. "I said, Cousin, I haven't got another five pounds."
Peter smiled mockingly at his discomfiture. He was about to offer to take his vowels at a substantial rate of interest, but the rest of the group were growing impatient.
"If you have nothing left, you shall have to show your cards, and there will be an end to it," dark-haired Malcolm Branson said.
Gerald looked from Peter to Malcolm, and laid them down on the table reluctantly. Everyone at the table laughed, and the men on either side of Peter clapped him on the shoulders.
"Well done. He was feigning all along, thinking to face you out," Timothy Bridges said with a laugh.
Stephens began to gather up the huge pot, looking immensely pleased despite the fact that he had just cleaned out his own cousin.
Or perhaps because of it? The rest of the men didn't care to speculate too deeply on the family rivalry, and started to rise from the table. After all, it was a ball. They really ought to have at least a couple of dances before going home, if only to keep the ladies happy.
Gerald was puce with embarrassment and ire. "I'm not finished yet!"
They turned back to stare at him in astonishment.
Malcolm, son of the local magistrate and ever a peacemaker, decided to do what he could to avoid a scene. "My dear fellow, you couldn't even match the five pounds Peter put down. Don't you think you've lost enough for one night?"
"Enough? I've lost it all, nearly. That's why you simply have to give me a chance to get some of it back."
They all stared at him, stunned by his admission.
"One last bet gentlemen, please."
"What do you have left that's of any value?" Toby Stephens asked. "You've sold everything you own inside Hawkesworth House, which is mortgaged to the hilt. What can you offer that would be of equal value to the pot on the table?"
They watched Gerald's mind racing. Suddenly he grinned from ear to ear. "My sister Vanessa."
A gasp went around the room.
"Good God, man, you're drunk!" Malcolm exclaimed.
Gerald declared above the buzz of conversation which had resumed, "I'm perfectly sober and serious. Her maternal aunt has just died, leaving her a wealthy heiress in her own right. I'm willing to bet Vanessa and her fortune against every penny on that table, and more besides, if anyone else is eager to secure a rich as well as beautiful young bride."
Timothy Bridges sniggered. Others stared open-mouthed.
But Malcolm could see the rather wild Gerald Hawkesworth was completely in earnest. "I say it's impossible. You can't gamble for a woman. Besides, several of the men here are already married. Even if your sister were amenable to be put up as a stake, they are not eligible to win her."
"But there might be others willing to pay the ante to take their place around the table," Gerald urged. "With her wealth..."
To Malcolm's horror, several of the men standing nearby nodded. He searched their faces for any sign of repugnance, but found none. "This is madness," he protested.
"Well, I'm game," Timothy declared, rubbing his hands together. "By all accounts she's a lovely little filly. Her fortune is certainly not a mean one."
"But Timothy, you're already engaged to the Clarence girl. Stop this folly at once!"
Timothy turned on Malcolm. "Mind your own business. I can do as I like. The Clarence girl is ugly, and her fortune isn't nearly as good as Vanessa Hawkesworth's. Deal me in."
"And me," said Gerald's friends James Cavendish, and his twin brother Charles simultaneously. Both gave each other a knowing look.
Malcolm tried to appeal to their common sense. "How on earth could you even be sure Miss Hawkesworth would agree? I'm told she is a woman of discretion and good breeding."
Gerald said haughtily, "Where family honor is at stake, she would agree. I say let the game go ahead. If anyone else wants to be dealt in or out, declare it now."
Tall blond Clifford Stone, who had been standing in the corner silently watching his neighbor make a complete ass of himself, could now see that Gerald and the other men were completely in earnest upon this new game.
Though he knew he was the last person the young fool would listen to, he had to try to stop this nonsense, if only to avoid a scandal for Vanessa's sake. They already gossiped about the auburn-haired young bluestocking enough as it was.
"Gerald, are you so lost to decency that you would bargain the life of a complete innocent? Treat her as though she were some sort of slave or chattel to be disposed of at your will? She is not some poor unfortunate from Africa, to be leg-shackled at your say-so.
"It's bad enough you mismanaging your own financial affairs through your gambling and spendthrift ways without dragging Miss Hawkesworth into this sad affair as well. Tell everyone this was just a joke, a silly parlor game, and the ball can resume."
Gerald did not even trouble to look over his shoulder at all of the people now crowding into the doorway to see this latest piece of novel entertainment. Instead he rounded on Clifford.
"Mind your own damned business! I shall do as I like. I'm her nearest male relative. My sister shall obey me. No one is asking you to play."
Peter Stephens nodded. "I agree with Gerald. As her cousin, I also give my consent. It is startling, true, but not unheard of. She's bright enough, and knows how to manage an estate. I would be only too pleased to have her for my own. And since this is my ball, my home, I say let us play."
Malcolm shook his head, and lifted his winnings from the table. The four unmarried men who had been playing cards remained, while the other three who were already married stood up and left. Peter's second brother Toby, who saw this as too good a joke to pass up, sat down expectantly.
All had little doubt Gerald could make good his threat to force his half-sister to marry the winner. He could be charmingly persuasive one minute, volatile the next, especially when in his cups, or out amongst his special friends, as he was tonight. He had dissipated the impressive Hawkesworth fortune in less than five years through his gambling and wenching, and showed no signs of settling down.
Vanessa was a completely different matter, genteel and obliging, even if she was somewhat too intelligent and eccentric for most men's tastes. No, this was too wonderful an opportunity to miss. Wedding Vanessa Hawkesworth would be like marrying into a gold mine.
Clifford tried one last gambit. "But it's not decent," he argued. "She's still in mourning for her aunt, for Heaven's sake. This goes against the laws of God and man."
"And I tell you she is biddable," Gerald insisted. "She will do as she is told, and be grateful for a good husband. So if no one else will sit to play, we shall get started."
Clifford, desperate to stave off this disaster, looked pleadingly at Malcolm, before reluctantly sitting down in the empty chair next to Timothy Bridges.
Malcolm stared at his old friend, stunned. Clifford never gambled! He played cards, but not for money. And certainly not for a woman! Then he saw Clifford looking fixedly at him. Next he swivelled his gaze to stare at the deck.
Several of the most senior and prominent men in the room now began to protest in no uncertain terms. "Clifford Stone! You of all people. This is a shocking business!" Malcolm's father Geoffrey, the local magistrate at Millcote, declared.
Normally Clifford would have been swayed by the magistrate's opinion. Tonight a cold shiver of fear gripped him, its icy fingers clawing at his gut inexplicably.
He had never been superstitious. Yet if he didn't know better he would say he had a strong presentiment that he simply had to try to intervene on Vanessa's behalf in whatever way he could.
Clifford's closest friend Thomas Eltham, the Duke of Ellesmere, tall, distinguished, with jet-black hair and emerald eyes, also attempted to dissuade him. "Clifford, I'm appalled. I never thought you had it in you to be so mercenary!"
"Tommy, I have my reasons," Clifford said in an undertone.
The Duke shook his head. "I don't care to hear them. If this is how you conduct yourself these days, I don't wish to know you. Gambling for a wife like some sort of fortune hunter. I'm shocked beyond words."
"But Thomas--"
Thomas shook his head and stalked off. He knew their service in the Peninsular War had changed them all, but this beggared belief. One of his dearest friends, whom he had thought a man of principle, a Radical like himself, playing for a woman as if she were a no better than a handful of coins, or a horse. It was more than he could bear.
Clifford impotently watched his friend go, but could do nothing to stop him without blurting out his true opinion of Gerald's character and motives in front of the entire room.
He was upset at his friend's abrupt departure, but Thomas didn't live at Millcote, didn't truly know Vanessa. Didn't comprehend what was actually at stake.
He wasn't so sure he did either. All he knew was that his instincts were telling him now that he had to do something to avert this disaster before it was too late. His instincts had got him through a fair number of tight spots during the war. He valued his friends' opinions, but he had to do what he thought was right, no matter what.
He drained his glass of sherry and sighed. He would just have to sort things out with Thomas later. He simply could not leave the table now.
Malcolm moved to refill his glass.
"Are you sure-" he whispered under his breath.
Clifford gave an imperceptible nod. "Thanks, Malcolm, you're a mind reader. This is exactly what I needed." He met his friend's eye for a brief moment, then downed another mouthful of the dry amber wine and tugged at his impeccable linen cuffs.
He now gazed fixedly at Gerald, deliberately not looking at Malcolm, and waited patiently for the game to begin.
It was one of the most difficult things he had ever done in his life. He affected a mien of ennui, attempting to ignore the outraged sputterings of several bystanders who also thought he had taken leave of his senses, or shown his true colors at last.
Some of the remarks cut him to the quick. He was more than grateful his own brother Henry wasn't here. He wouldn't put it past his younger sibling to try to drag him away forcibly if his sense of outrage was strong enough. He only prayed he was safely dancing outside with his lovely fiancée Josephine Jerome, and wouldn't come in until it was all over.
"A disgrace. Blond like an angel, black-hearted like a devil to treat a woman so," one older man asserted.
"I'm more shocked than I can say!"
Clifford gazed at his future in-law Mr. Jerome. "Then by all means argue with Mr. Hawkesworth. After all, it is he gambling his sister, not I."
"But Clifford, you are wagering for her," Mr. Grayson the vicar protested.
Clifford stared at him fixedly, and said in a tone intended for his ears only, "Can you imagine wishing any female you respected to be married to any of the bucks sitting here?"
Mr. Grayson's mouth worked up and down like a thrashing trout's. He lapsed back from the table with a resigned air.
Clifford could not believe the way he had been rendered the villain in this piece. Could the rest of them not see that Gerald was the one behaving barbarously?
He made no further attempt to defend himself. So far as Clifford was concerned, they could think whatever they liked about his motives so long as the lovely young woman he recalled as vividly as his own name was safe. He simply sat with his hands folded now and risked one tiny peep at Malcolm's face.
He could see the thin sheen of perspiration on the younger Branson's refined features. He brushed a dark hair out of his eyes impatiently, and flexed his fingers in an unconscious gesture which told Clifford he had understood what was being asked of him. While he had his doubts, he would play his part in this charade until the end.
Gerald surprised them all by beginning to dispute his nearest neighbor's presence at the table. "I don't want you to play, Stone."
Clifford countered smoothly, "Why not? I have no wife."
Gerald tried to stare down the tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, well-dressed Adonis he had always envied. But Clifford was not a man to be intimidated, or outmaneuvered.
"And my money is as good as anyone else's here." Clifford pulled out his checkbook and large leather purse from his jacket pockets. He opened the drawstring and plunked the bag down on the green baize, scattering its contents in front of him.
The sight of so many shiny gold coins won the argument in favor of Clifford remaining seated far more eloquently than mere words could have served. The dissipated young rake could barely tear his eyes away. At last he nodded, called for more wine, and reached for the deck.
Malcolm stretched out a hand to forestall him. "Since you seem so determined to go through with this folly, Mr. Hawkesworth, the least I can do is ensure its all carried out fairly. Since we have an uneven number of players here, I suggest vingt-et-un.
"Normally the dealer would play as well, but I refuse to gamble for your sister. So in this case, you simply have to top each other. The closest hand to twenty-one without going over is the winner. In the event of a tie, those players will be dealt a second or even third hand to determine the winner."
Malcolm drew his chair up closer to the table, and shuffled the cards expertly several times, though not too expertly that anyone began to smell a rat. He could just imagine the even further scandal caused if he weren't careful. The magistrate's son, cheating at cards in a game where they were gambling for an innocent young woman... His family would never live it down.
But Clifford was his friend, and the young woman clearly needed help. Principle warred with duty as Malcolm shuffled, and prayed to the Almighty for guidance.
Clifford sensed the feelings warring in his close friend's breast. He had put him in a terrible predicament he knew, inciting one evil attempting to stave off an even greater one.
Clifford had hoped this matter would not go so far, but everyone knew that Gerald was an inveterate gambler, and had his back up against the wall if all he and his cousins had revealed about his affairs were true.
Though he had not seen Vanessa for several years, Clifford recalled their former childhood friendship. He could not bear the thought of her being used as a pawn, forced to endure a loveless marriage. None of the men sitting around that table were worthy of her in any way. He could only thank his lucky stars some of them were no worse, but it would be a dreadful blow for her to fall to any of them. He knew he simply could not let one of the other men lay claim to her.
And that would be if it ever came to it. This whole situation could only get worse, he was sure, if allowed to get out of hand. He was certain the marriage would never take place, for public opinion would be outraged at such cavalier behavior with the life of a girl not yet twenty.
Gerald would then be worse off than before, for he would have to pay back the money he won here tonight, and face other consequences as well. The Hawkesworth estate was encumbered with enough debt without someone bringing a suit for breach of promise against Gerald for his wild behavior at the ball.
No, this could not end well if he and Malcolm didn't try to stave off further disaster before it was too late. He was thankful Vanessa was not here to witness her brother's disgraceful conduct. She might have collapsed and died of mortification right on the spot.
Still, it would be the talk of the County and beyond by tomorrow morning. It would also be a lasting mark against the whole family if anyone around this table were vindictive enough to make trouble for Vanessa. Thus, Clifford reasoned, he simply had to play, and above all, had to win.
Once he did so, he would give the money in the pot to Gerald. It would cover all his debts here, and there would be an end of the matter. Knowing Gerald, whatever might be left over, he would squander soon enough.
Clifford planned to lose big on some hands just to help tide him over. This would buy her some time. Hopefully Vanessa would be out of Gerald's clutches, married well to someone worthy of her, not just any idle drunken lout only interested in her fortune, long before her half-brother burned his way through whatever winnings he would secure there tonight.
Clifford looked around the table at the Cavendishes and young brash Timothy, and shook his head. Considered the toping Toby and pretentious Peter. No, he could not bear to see anyone as refined as Vanessa thrown away on those swine. Not to mention the fact that James Cavendish was also supposed to be engaged to Emma Jerome, his future sister-in-law. Yet he had not hesitated for a moment in joining the game.
He gazed at the eyes glittering with avarice, and sighed despondently. Was this all the poor girl could expect from the Marriage Mart? Surely there had to be someone who would love Vanessa for herself?
He had not seen her since her father's funeral, when she had been about fourteen, but he recalled pure white skin without a blemish, auburn hair, and the most unusual eyes, which had sparkled like amethysts whenever she had smiled. She had been like a little porcelain doll, delicately beautiful. She had had spirit and courage.
But Clifford suspected a hidden fragility which would allow Vanessa to be squashed like a cabbage leaf if the domineering Gerald were permitted to run her life now that she was back living with him for the sake of propriety while her aunt's house and estate were sold. He calculated she had to be almost nineteen now, ten years younger than Gerald, and as such, in his absolute power whilst under his roof.
Clifford didn't like to get involved, not least because he had enough complications in his life with Gerald as a next-door neighbor constantly conspiring to poach land, game and fish at every opportunity. But someone had to look after Vanessa's interests, since Gerald obviously couldn't care less.
Geoffrey Branson began to argue anew. "This has gone far enough, son. I forbid you to have anything to do with this sorry affair."
"Yes, and I say I can deal myself," Gerald asserted.
Clifford and Malcolm exchanged looks, and both remained where they were.
Gerald eyed them both narrowly, then shrugged. "Very well, in the interests of fairness, Mr. Malcolm Branson can deal. We are ready. The initial stake will be five thousand pounds each, and a minimum of one hundred per hand."
Some of the men giggled nervously, but they all pulled out their billfolds and checkbooks.
"How much income did you say her estate is worth?" Timothy Bridges demanded.
"Twenty thousand pounds per annum."
"Right, I'm in."
Clifford raised one of his broad, strong hands to command everyone's attention. They all turned to look at his handsome classical features expectantly.
"Wait. Before we start, we must make the terms of play perfectly clear. It would be foolish to stake all on only one hand of vignt-un. What about the best of three wins the lady's hand?" he suggested.
Gerald was about to dismiss the proposal immediately simply because it had come from Clifford. But in view of the way his luck had been running lately, it seemed sensible not to stake all on only one hand.
"The best of five," he determined.
All nodded agreeably.
"One last point. Clear the room. We wouldn't want anyone to give the game away, now would we?" Clifford knew the fewer witnesses to what was about to take place, the better.
Gerald protested again, but he was outnumbered by the men around the table, and forced to acquiesce.
"Very well, then, since I'm out-voted. You heard him. All of you go, now. Shoo."
He cleared the room of people like so many geese in a yard while Malcolm continued to shuffle the cards expertly.
Once the elegant green and gold silk sitting room was quiet and Gerald had resumed his seat, Malcolm explained he would lay out the cards upon the baize table, one face down, one face up, in front of each of the seven players.
He hadn't spent a lot of years in Bath and London in his younger and wilder days for nothing. Of course, only Clifford, his closest friend, knew he had saved the Branson family fortunes at the card tables several years before, when his father and uncle had been duped into a series of bad investments that had virtually bankrupted them both.
Malcolm had tracked down the men responsible, and quietly but comprehensively got the family's money back. He had also exposed the men for the scheming liars they really were.
While Malcolm, upon principle, had never cheated his bosom companions, he'd read Clifford's look of desperation correctly. Feeling sorry for the girl Clifford was so determined to aid, he was now prepared to use all of his underhanded sharper's skills to help secure his friend's desired outcome. He knew Clifford well enough to be certain he was not doing it for Vanessa's fortune.
All the same, he was worried. Gerald was a bluff, hearty country squire with a native cunning and the manners of a rutting boar. He was a rampant Tory who loathed the refined Radical landowner Clifford Stone with a violence bordering on mania. When Clifford did win, what exactly would Gerald do?
But there was no time to worry about that now.
"Deal," Gerald commanded imperiously, before knocking back his brandy and shoving the glass toward James Cavendish.
James filled it, and the pair winked at each other.
Malcolm caught the exchange as he dealt the cards and did his utmost to avoid looking at his friend.
Clifford too kept his eyes firmly fixed on the table as if completely absorbed in the game. He prayed Malcolm would have enough sense not to let him win every hand in too obvious a fashion. If Gerald smelt a rat, the game could well be up for poor Vanessa after all.
Malcolm made sure that Clifford won the first hand, dealing him a ten and king off the bottom, but for the next two hands he let the cards fall as they would.
The second proved a tie with Gerald and James Cavendish on nineteen. Gerald won the second tie-breaking hand when he stood on eighteen and James went over.
Timothy Bridges triumphed in the third round with a natural vignt-un.
In the fourth hand, Malcolm once again controlled the cards that fell to Clifford, letting him tie with Charles Cavendish and Toby Stephens on twenty-one. Clifford eventually won the second hand when Charles, with raven hair and squinting blue eyes, became more and more drunk and foul-tempered. He asked for another card on sixteen, and went over. Toby had nineteen, Clifford twenty.
Gerald's normally florid complexion turned dark crimson at Charles' seemingly careless play. He began tugging at his frayed cravat. Clifford wondered if he might have an apoplectic fit right there at the table and end this farce once and for all.
He also saw that Gerald would lodge a protest if Clifford were to win yet another hand. He risked a glance over at Malcolm, who dealt a winning hand of twenty to James Cavendish instead. Gerald desperately tried to bluff, but James held out to the end, and emerged victorious.
"We have played five hands. Clifford Stone is the clear winner with two hands," Malcolm stated. "Mr. Hawkesworth, you have your money on the table. I trust your sister will be content with the arrangement."
Gerald said nothing, but simply glowered from one man to the next. The sum on the table was more money than he had ever seen in his life, but they could all see that his greedy nature made him wish he had held out for more.
Clifford declared, "I shall be over tomorrow to pay a call on Miss Hawkesworth. I shall leave it to you to tell her the news, that you have gambled away her hand and lost." He stood up and bowed curtly to the other man.
"Damn you, sir! Damn you!" Gerald shouted, his face turning purple with fury.
Malcolm tried to cover over the awkward moment. "As party to this affair, and a person willing to stand as groomsman for Clifford, if you will have me, I shall see that the banns are called immediately. The wedding can take place at the end of the month. My sister Claire will be only too pleased to help with the arrangements for whatever is needful. Vanessa may come stay with us at the Grange until the wedding if she wishes, so that she may have help with all the necessary arrangements."
Clifford, while alarmed at talk of a wedding, allowed his friend to speak uninterrupted. He was relieved that Malcolm had grasped his fears so readily, that the rapscallion was not fit to look after his sister's best interests.
All the same, he couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Gerald Hawkesworth was nothing if not a bad loser. Clifford sighed as his thoughts began to crowd in on him, and he berated himself for his impetuosity. He wished now he had never let this charade go so far. But Vanessa had to be protected, no matter what the cost.
"Thank you, Malcolm, for all your help. We shall all put our heads together tomorrow and see what is needful."
All manner of worrying considerations entered Clifford's head as the full impact of what he had done finally began to sink in. Oh Lord, what had he been thinking? Having staked such a high ante and bet more in order to placate Gerald, he would need to reconsider his own finances. Such large unexpected expenses would entail more careful management of his estate in the short term.
If not in the long term, he realized with an inward groan. He might not marry Vanessa, but he would need to assist her in some way until her own affairs were more settled. He had to help the girl get free of Gerald somehow, even if it meant setting her up in a small house somewhere far way from her half-brother until she could smooth things over with the custodians of her estate.
He sighed. He would also have to break the news to his own brother Henry. Not to mention mend fences with his friend Thomas, who was supposed to have been staying with him for a few days, but who had no doubt just headed home to the nearby town of Brimley in disgust.
And what on earth would he tell his other dear friend Jonathan, at Oxford and shortly to be ordained! Clifford thumped his brow with the heel of his hand. Jonathan had not always been the most godly of young men, but he would still be shocked when he heard what he had done. Come to that, he was rather shocked himself.
But all of his friends and family were the least of Clifford's worries now, for the parlor once again began to fill with guests. News of his 'victory' had filtered out into the ballroom as the participants in the card game prepared to go home.
Clifford forced himself to smile as people congratulated him or rebuked him according to their mood.
Henry came barreling in, his earnest young face glowering with indignation, dragging Josephine along behind him. The poor honey-blonde was breathless from the breakneck pace he had set.
"Clifford, there you are! Thank God. I've heard the most appalling Banbury tale. That you gambled for a wife. And actually won."
Clifford felt his face heat with shame.
Henry saw the change in his sibling's expression at once. "For pity's sake, Clifford, enough practical jokes," he said edgily, his eyes never leaving his brother's face.
"I'm sorry, Henry. It's no joke. I gambled with Gerald and the other men for Vanessa."
He stared as though he had never seen him before. "Lord bless us! Tell me it isn't true."
"Henry, I truly wish I could."
Josephine gasped, and shot him a look of outrage. "Egad, how could you!"
"Jo, I had to."
"Don't speak to me! I thought you better than that. Treating a woman like a brood mare or bank account. Some Radical you've turned out to be." She spun on her heel and departed with a swirl of pink skirts.
Henry daggered his elder brother with a rapier-sharp glance and followed after her.
Clifford rose from the table numbly, trying to avoid being cornered by a bevy of men all berating him and lecturing him on his duty. And how he should mend his ways before his foibles led him to even worse debauchery.
He swallowed the comments without protest as he tried to make his way to the foyer to reclaim his cloak and order around his carriage. For indeed, what would be the point. Everyone seemed determined to think the worst of him and more than happy to air his or her opinions as to his low character. He learned first-hand that night the veracity of the commonly held belief that the higher one was, the further one fell. Would they had dragged Gerald over the coals in the same manner.
The men's responses were bad enough. There were also more than a few piqued young ladies in the County as well, he noted as some of them went storming past him in the corridor with an outraged snap of their fans. Clifford watched with only mild twinges of regret as Charlotte Castlemaine, Pamela Ashton, and Claire Branson went past him looking grim.
They were all lovely women in their own ways, dark, fair and brunette, but he could not get the color of fallen maple leaves out of his mind. He had never lost his heart to any woman, and doubted at times that it would ever happen.
He was also the last person to care what people thought of him. So long as he stuck to his own stalwart principles, the Devil take what anyone's opinion. He would not behave wrongly just to curry favor with others.
Gerald came out of the card room now after having settled with his cousin and gathered up every penny. With one hostile look at Clifford he slithered off into the night with his pockets bulging.
"Good riddance. May he never have a day's luck with that money," Malcolm muttered under his breath.
"With the way Gerald gambles, he probably never will," Clifford predicted grimly.
He waited until everyone was out of earshot before whispering to his companion, "Thank you for helping me, and above all Vanessa. I owe you a great deal."
"Don't thank me yet. In fact, I think this night's business has opened up whole Pandora's box of troubles."
"But at least there is hope at the bottom of the casket. A faint glimmer, but hope nonetheless."
Malcolm shook his head and sighed. "Aye, Clifford, but it's small consolation compared to what's been unleashed. Gerald and you are like oil and water. Having him as a brother-in-law? It would be any reasonable man's worst nightmare."
Clifford shrugged one shoulder. "It may not come to that. I need time to think, come up with some sort of plan to get her out of Hawkesworth House and to a more safe and respectable situation. If he would gamble her, he is not fit to be her guardian and protector."
Malcolm nodded in agreement.
"With your father's help, and our friend Alistair Grant the barrister's, I should like to make appropriate inquiries as to the best way to look after her interests without having to marry her. She will need a proper chaperone, and will have to be convinced of all our good intentions. She has been cast amongst virtual strangers to fend for herself since her aunt's death last month, and this turn of event could prove overwhelming for the poor child."
"I'll do all I can, you know that. My whole family will."
"Thank you. I only wish I knew where to start."
He ruffled his golden hair nervously and looked around the corridor as if hoping for a clue as to how to proceed. It was a damned bad business, and liable to get a great deal worse before it ever got better.
Clifford wondered for the hundredth time what Vanessa would say when she found she had been gambled away by her own brother, and would be expected by the entire district to wed Clifford by the end of the month.
The Mad Mistress
A Rakehell Regency Novel
Sorcha MacMurrough
ISBN: 978-1-58345-099-4
Setting: Regency England, 1812
Word Count: 101,000
Rating: Mildly sensual
Price: $3.99
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Reviews:
Fans of Jane Austen, and Regency novels, as well as Gothic novels, will enjoy this romance. Just be prepared for taut suspense and intrigue.
Amazon Review:
This is a more traditional Regency romance novel, with some Gothic elements and suspense elements that would classify it as a Regency Noir as the hero and heroine deal with some big issues while falling in love at the same time.
Vanessa has been having horrible nightmares ever since she moved back to the area after her aunt, who helped raise her after she was orphaned, has recently died.
Her half brother Gerald seems a bit wild, but tells her stories about their neighbor Clifford Stone that make her hair stand on end. Even worse, he gambles her hand and fortune to get himself out of trouble, and loses: to Clifford, the very man she has been warned about!
Clifford recalls Vanessa as a young beauty. But now she has been called "The Mad Mistress" by everyone in the district thanks to her nightmares and her reputation as the wild Gerald's sister. Clifford only gambles for her in order to make sure none of the other depraved men in the area win her. But does he really want a wife? Let alone the sister of his worst enemy, and one everyone says is mad?
Fate takes a hand when Vanessa becomes ill and Clifford finds her half dead in the road. The body count mounts as the highwaymen attacking that stretch of the London to Bath road go on a terrifying spree.
All fingers begin to point to Clifford. Can he really say one thing, and be completely another? Only Vanessa opening her heart to love, and her mind to the terrible things she has suppressed for so long can bring the real criminals to justice before its too late. Before Clifford goes to prison, and she ends up their next victim.....
This had a lot of suspense, maybe not that many love scenes compared to other books, (the first three in the series, for example, compared to the later ones, which are more spicy) but really interesting characters and mystery that kept me turning the pages in this entertaining, fast read. The chemistry between the couple was terrific despite all the lies being told about each of them and the end of the book was very scary but perfect.
The Mad Mistress
A Rakehell Regency Novel
Sorcha MacMurrough
ISBN: 978-1-58345-099-4
Setting: Regency England, 1812
Word Count: 101,000
Rating: Mildly sensual
Price: $3.99
OR, get the first THREE titles in the Rakehell Regency Romance Series for one low price!