Miranda Mabberly always knew she was her father's pawn to
forward his ambitions. She just didn't realize how little
she meant to him, until she fell into the arms of a
notorious rake. Banished to the countryside for years,
Miranda stays hidden from public view, estranged from her
parents. Growing tired of her exile, Miranda strikes out on
her own, changing her name and gaining employment in Miss
Emery's school. Miranda, the vivacious redhead, is buried,
and Miss Porter, a spinster with a too-tight chignon and a
dull spirit, is born.
Once the ton's favorite rakehell, Lord Jack Tremont
tempts fate one too many times. His mistakes are many, but
his ruination of an innocent puts him beyond the pale. He's
reduced to running his brother's errands and finally exiled
to Thistleton Park, a dilapidated house on Sussex's lonely
coastline. Taking stock of his misdeeds, Mad Jack wishes to
make peace with his past and give his life worth and
meaning. Unfortunately, a spinster teacher with her three
young charges arrives at his doorstep.
Escorting her students home, they're detained by bad
weather and are stranded at Thistleton Park. Miranda's
mischievous and tenacious students see sparks when Jack and
Miranda meet. Matchmaking plans burst forth and the fun
begins.
THIS RAKE OF MINE is engaging, entertaining and just plain
fun! As always, Boyle provides clever and touching
characters that captivate and enchant readers, lifting
their spirits.
When the rakehell Lord Jack Tremont kissed Miranda
Mabberly,
mistaking her for his mistress, neither realized his
reckless act would cost Miranda her reputation, her fiance,
and her future. But for Jack, it was a kiss that would
haunt
him-- an intoxicating memory of a woman lost to him
forever.
Years later, hiding incognito far from London -- a teacher
at Miss Emery's Establishment for the Education of Genteel
Ladies -- Miranda has made a respectable life for herself,
away from the ton and the dangerous men who inhabit it.
When
a penniless, much humbled, though still damnably attractive
Jack arrives at the school to escort a rebellious young
niece home, Miranda does her best to avoid the rogue only
to
end up tumbling into his arms -- and reawakening a desire
that is anything but proper.
She might want to deny her heart, but Miranda's resolve is
no match for a trio of schoolgirl matchmakers who knows
true
passion when they spy it. Now they won't rest until their
all-too-proper teacher and the reprobate lord discover the
love that is their destiny.
Excerpt
Prologue
London, England 1801
“Well,” Lady Oxley huffed, “I suppose there are worse
things than having some cit’s daughter marry into your
family, but for the life of me, I can’t think of it. Our
bloodlines will be tainted by this forever.”
The Duchess of Cheverton, seated next to Lady Oxley,
couldn’t agree more. “I fear for your standing, my dear.
I do, indeed.”
“If there is some consolation, she did go to Miss
Emery’s,” Lady Oxley conceded, though grudgingly.
“Miss Emery’s, you say?” The Duchess twisted in her seat
and looked at the girl in question, eyeing her from top to
bottom as if she were gauging the quality of a length of
silk. “A mite young, wouldn’t you say? I daresay, she’s
fresh and innocent.”
“Oh, she looks innocent enough,” Lady Oxley declared,
ignoring the hot glances from the people in the other
boxes who were actually watching the opera. “So there is
some hope there. Gads, the trollops these merchants pass
off as daughters is just appalling. My greatest fear is
that Oxley will marry the chit and discover she’s been
ruined. Oh, the shame of it.”
Ruined.
The word rang through the Oxley box and to everyone around
them.
Miss Miranda Mabberly, the object of this scorn and
speculation, wished herself a thousand miles away. Her
cheeks burned with shame and embarrassment, not so much
from her future mother-in-law’s loud denouncement, but
that her mother and father were willing to sit here and
listen to their good name being tossed about in such a
ragtag fashion.
She wished right there and then that she was ruined.
Miranda took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the
performance on the boards, not the one Lady Oxley was
staging here in her private box. This wasn’t the first
time the lady had lamented her son’s betrothal in public,
and it most likely wouldn’t be the last.
Still that one word rang in her ears. Ruined.
Not completely ruined, Miranda reasoned, for that was
hardly proper, and despite Lady Oxley’s opinions, she was
a proper young lady. Besides, being completely ruined
went far beyond her knowledge on such matters.
Her mother nudged her, and whispered in her
ear, “Gracious, child, smile! You are going to be a
countess in a sennight.”
Miranda did her best to turn her lips upward, but it was
hard to bear, despite the way her mother beamed over the
wonderful news.
Why, such a match had exceeded even Mrs. Mabberly’s
designs for her daughter. But Mr. Mabberly, a cit with
the fortune of Midas behind him, had thought nothing of
procuring for his only child the most lofty of husbands.
Yet no one in all this brokering and maneuvering and
social engineering had ever thought to consult Miranda on
the subject of marriage.
Her marriage, she would like to point out to her title-mad
parents, Lord Oxley, and the various solicitors, bankers,
and the earl’s numerous creditors who were arranging this
blessed (and financial) union.
Didn’t anyone realize that in all this deal making, she
was the one who was going to have marry Oxley. Take his
name. Live in his house. And she shuddered to think of
the next logical step in this progression—share his bed.
Not that marrying an earl was objectionable, for Miranda
had gone to Miss Emery’s Establishment for the Education
of Genteel Young Ladies and knew her duty to her family
and country. But it was marrying this earl that Miranda
found so objectionable.
Earls were supposed to be elegant and sophisticated.
Charming company in any situation. A gentleman at all
times, and well, frankly, more often than not, they should
be a little bit heroic.
Was that too much to ask for?
Unfortunately, the Earl of Oxley was none of these things.
Even while his mother bemoaned his lowering match, the
earl sat beside his future bride and boasted to anyone
would listen about the pair of “goers” at Tattersall’s
he’d picked up now that he had a little rich little “goer”
of his own. Miranda had closed her eyes and snapped her
mouth shut to refrain from telling the obtuse man that she
thought he was putting the cart before the horse, since
they weren’t married. Yet.
Oh, if only she was a little bit ruined, Miranda thought.
Just enough so Oxley would cry off. So she could have a
chance to find the man of her dreams. A knight in shining
armor, who would love her for more than her fortune. A
proper gentleman, who would kiss her gently and lovingly.
Make her toes curl inside her slippers and her heart beat
fast.
But such a fate seemed well beyond her grasp as the house
lights came up and there was her “hero” beside her,
leering at her as if she were a combination between a ripe
peach and a bucket of gold. He sent her stomach
lurching.
She would even have been content to marry a dull sort like
Lord Sedgwick, if the man hadn’t already been wed to his
delightful Emmaline.
If only Lady Sedgwick had been part of their party here at
the Opera . . . she would have put Lady Oxley in her place
and buoyed Miranda’s sagging spirits in that sparkling way
of hers.
Instead, she had only Lord Sedgwick’s company, and he was
quite preoccupied by some problem given the deep crease in
his brow. Even if he hadn’t seemed so worried, Miranda
knew it was hardly proper to pour her heart out to the
staid baron, no matter how exceptional Lady Sedgwick
claimed him to be.
So instead, Miranda made a hasty excuse to her mother as
the intermission began, ignoring the good woman’s protests
that she should leave “poor Oxley” alone and fled the box,
looking for some place to escape if only until they
darkened the lights again.
What she found was an alcove in the back of the hall, far
from the rest of the ton, who were parading about the
opera, showing off new gowns or gossiping about the latest
news.
There in the privacy of that darkened corner, Miranda gave
herself over to a very improper spate of tears. She cried
until the bell rang for everyone to return to their
seats. The humiliation of it all! She was no better than
one of the horses down at Tattersall’s.
Bloodlines, indeed! Miranda’s mother had come from a good
and noble family—one with a far greater history than
anything Lady Oxley could claim, and in that proud
tradition, Miranda wiped away the evidence of her despair
and straightened her shoulders, girding herself for the
rest of the evening.
For the rest of her life. But suddenly her life took a
very different turn.
“Giselle, my dearest goddess, how glad I am to see you,”
a man whispered into her ear, taking her by the hand and
spinning her around. She flew into his chest and before
she could utter a word, he caught her lips in a searing
kiss.
Miranda struggled against the rogue, twisting in his
grasp, her hands balling up and pounding at his shoulders.
Oh, dear heavens!
Her eyes sprang open. Lord John Tremont? Kissing her? Dear
heavens, didn’t he know this wasn’t proper?
Obviously not, for his lips teased and taunted hers, and
when she opened her mouth to protest, his tongue swiped
across hers, sending the most frightening thrill through
her limbs—the kind she could never have imagined.
Why, it made her toes curl up inside her slippers. No
wonder most of the ton called him Mad Jack Tremont.
For this, this spell he was casting over her was utter
madness!
She continued to struggle (only because she knew she was
supposed to), and Mad Jack responded by pressing her up
against the wall, pinning her in place with his hips,
making his point that there was no escape.
Miranda gasped as his entire body covered hers, left her
with an intimate knowledge of this man’s intent, for there
it was, hard and insistent, riding against her.
And worst of all, she wanted to feel it. His kiss, his
touch, the feel of his body, it made her ache in response
to having him up against her.
Oh, this wasn’t proper.
She was betrothed. To another man. Whose name she couldn’t
for the life of her remember at the moment.
A man, she dared venture, who would never kiss her like
this.
Not teasing her tongue to come play with him, tugging at
her bottom lip with his teeth, nor deepening his kiss
until a soft moan whispered and trembled up from within
her.
For one wondrous moment, she clung to him, let him kiss
her, let his hand travel up the length of her hip, rising
along her waist. His touch brought with it this
tantalizing glimpse of the very temptation that made
innocence seem a poor commodity.
Ruin me, she thought. Ruin me, thoroughly.
That is, until his fingers roamed higher, until they came
to cup her breast, rolling over her nipple. His touch sent
shockwaves through her body, made her thighs clench
together, made her ache down there.
She sucked in a deep breath and rose up on her toes. Oh,
dear heavens, this was too much. She struggled to issue a
protest, to flee all the way back to her betrothal, even
as his expert and talented fingers teased her bodice open
leaving her breast exposed—and if that wasn’t bad enough—
he was taking advantage of her nakedness by letting his
mouth roam over her soft, silken flesh, leaving her nipple
hardened and puckered, her knees buckling beneath her.
“So my sweetling, show me where we can be alone,” he
whispered into her ear, the scent of brandy assailing her
senses, “and I’ll make good my promise to see you well
completed before the curtain arises.”
There was more?
Oh, dear heavens, how could that be? How could she stand
more of this torment?
But that was the least of her worries as just then she
spied her mother and future mother-in-law standing a few
feet away. Lady Oxley gaped in shock, and her mother
looked positively ill.
“Leave me be!” she sputtered, trying to get free of him,
but to her horror, the lace on her sleeve caught on one of
his buttons and held her tangled in his arms just that
much longer.
It was then that Lady Oxley found her voice and the
screaming began, the lady’s deafening shrieks bringing an
end to Miranda’s betrothal, and leaving her utterly
ruined . . .
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