Alastair Ransleigh had his heart broken by the beautiful
Diana, now Dowager Duchess of Graveston. They were
engaged, and she jilted him to marry a Duke; Alastair had
no title and not much money. After that, he joined the
army, but upon his return, he remained the bitter recluse
he had become since Diana's affront. Now several years
later, Diana has fled the ducal estate after being
widowed for only a few days, and that's when Alastair
sees her. When they eventually talk, Alastair is
unreceptive; it appears Diana wants to make amends, and
that's when Alastair makes her a proposition: that she
become his mistress for as long as he wants her, and he
is shocked when she accepts. He's after revenge, he wants
to make her pay for the hurt and humiliation she caused
him, and he wants to finally possess her. She accepts if
only to atone for the way she wronged him.
THE RAKE TO RESCUE HER is the latest instalment of the
Ransleigh Rogues series, and can easily be read
as a standalone. Diana and Alastair are extremely complex
characters: Ms. Justiss does a splendid job at slowly
unveiling the many layers of how Diana's marriage to
Graveston altered both her and Alastair's destinies, and
why it affected both of them so profoundly. THE RAKE TO
RESCUE HER is a brilliant and heartbreaking story of
watching Diana and Alastair slowly emerge from their hard
shells, rediscover who they now are, get reacquainted
with whom they have become, and learn how to live and
love again.
THE RAKE TO RESCUE HER is a very quick read because the
writing is seamless and fluid, and the story utterly
captivating. The highlight of THE RAKE TO RESCUE HER is
unequivocally Ms. Justiss' splendid writing style: her
prose is elegant, lush yet light, and absolutely
flawless: the vocabulary, the turns of phrases and
dialogues are historically accurate, and beautifully
quaint. The author adds myriad details which contribute
to give a vibrant picture of the era without ever slowing
down the story. THE RAKE TO RESCUE HER is a book that
should be read by any lover of historical romance; I
could not recommend it highly enough.
He's never forgotten her. But can he forgive her?
When Alastair Ransleigh sees Diana, Duchess of Graveston,
for the first time since she jilted him, he makes her a
shockingly insulting offer-the chance to become his
mistress. And even more shockingly, she accepts!
But the widowed duchess is nothing like the bold,
passionate
girl Alastair once loved. Years of suffering at the hands
of
a cruel husband have taken their toll. And as Alastair
resolves to save Diana from the damage of the past, their
chance meeting turns feelings of revenge to thoughts of
rescue.
Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
It was her.
Shock rocked him like the blast of air from a passing
canon ball. Struck numb in its wake, Alastair Ransleigh,
late of His Majesty’s First Dragoons, stared at the tall,
dark-haired woman approaching from the other side of
Bath’s expansive Sidney Gardens.
Even as his disbelieving mind told him it couldn’t be, he
knew on some level deeper than reason that it was Diana.
No other woman had that graceful, lilting step, as if
dancing as she walked.
Heart thundering, he exhaled a great gasp of breath,
still unable to move or tear his gaze from her.
So had she glided into the room the day he’d first met
her, bringing a draft of spring air and enchantment into
the Oxford study where the callow collegian he’d once
been had gone to consult her father, a noted scholar.
Memory swooped down and sank in vicious claws. Just so
he’d watched her, delirious with delight, as she walked
into the Coddingford's ballroom eight and a half years
ago. Awaited her signal to approach, so her father might
announce to the assembled guests the engagement he’d told
all his friends to expect.
Instead, she’d given her arm to the older man who
followed her in. The Duke of Graveston, he’d belatedly
recognized. The man who then announced that Diana was to
marry him.
A sudden impact at knee level nearly knocked him over.
“Uncle Alastair!” his six-year-old nephew Robbie
shrieked, hugging him about the legs while simultaneously
jumping up and down. “When did you get here? Are you
staying long? Please say you are! Can you take me to get
Sally Lunn cakes? And my friend, too?”
Jolted back to the present, Alastair returned the hug
before setting the child at arm’s length with hands that
weren’t quite steady. Fighting off the compulsion to
look back across the gardens, he made himself focus on
Robbie.
“I’ve only just arrived, and I’m not sure how long I’ll
stay. Your Mama told me you’d gone to the Gardens with
Nurse, so I decided to fetch you—yes, we’ll get cakes.
And your friend?”
Still distracted, he followed his nephew’s pointing
finger toward a boy about Robbie’s age, dressed neatly in
nankeens and jacket. The child looked up at him shyly,
the dark hair curling over his forehead shadowing his
blue, blue eyes.
Diana’s eyes.
With another paralyzing shock, he realized Robbie’s
friend must be her son.
The son that should have been his.
Pain sharp as acid scalded his gut, followed by a wave of
revulsion. Buy the boy cake? He’d as soon give
sustenance to a viper!
Shocked by the ferocity of his reaction, he hauled
himself under control. Whatever had occurred between
himself and Diana was no fault of this innocent child.
It was the suddenness of it, seeing her again after so
long with no warning, no time to armor himself against a
revival of the anguish of their bitter parting. The
humiliation of it, he thought, feeling his face redden.
Certain there must be some mistake, he’d run to her.
Desperate to have her deny it, or at the very least,
affirm the truth to his face, he’d shouted after her as
the Duke warned him off and swept her away. Never once
as he followed them did she glance at him before his
cousins dragged him, shouting still, out of the ballroom…
Hurt pierced him, nearly as sharp as on that night he
remembered with such grisly clarity.
An instant later, revitalizing anger finally scoured away
the pain.
Ridiculous to expend so much thought or emotion on the
woman, he told himself, sucking in a deep, calming
breath. She’d certainly proved herself unworthy of it.
He’d gotten over her years ago.
Though, he thought sardonically, this unexpected
explosion of emotion suggested he hadn’t banished the
incident quite as effectively as he’d thought. He had,
however, mastered a salutary lesson on the perfidy of
females. Cold-hearted, devious, and focused on their own
self-interest, they could be lovely, sometimes
entertaining, and quite useful for the purpose for which
their luscious bodies had been designed.
So, after that night, had he treated them, as temporary
companions to be enjoyed, but never trusted. And never
again allowed close enough to touch his heart.
So he would treat Diana now, with cordial detachment.
His equilibrium restored, he allowed himself to glance
across the park. Yes, she was still approaching. Any
moment now, she would notice him, draw close enough to
recognize him.
Would a blush of shame or embarrassment tint those
cheeks, as well it should? Or would she brazen it out,
cool and calm as if she hadn’t deceived, betrayed and
humiliated him before half of London’s most elite
society?
Despite himself, Alastair tensed as she halted on the far
side of the pathway, holding his breath as he awaited her
reaction.
When at last she turned her eyes toward them, her gaze
focused only on the boy. “Mannington,” she called in a
soft, lilting voice.
The familiar tones sent shivers over his skin before
penetrating to the marrow, where they resonated in a
hundred stabbing echoes of memory.
“Please, Mama, may I go for cakes?” the boy asked her as
Alastair battled the effect. “My new friend, Robbie,
invited me.”
“Another time, perhaps. Come along, now.” She crooked a
finger, beckoning to the lad, her glance passing from the
boy to Robbie to Alastair. After meeting his eyes for an
instant, without a flicker of recognition, she gave him a
slight nod, turned away, and began walking off.
Sighing, the boy looked back at Robbie. “Will you come
again tomorrow? Maybe I can go then.”
“Yes, I’ll come,” Robbie replied as the child trotted
after his mother. Grabbing the arm of the boy’s maid,
who was tucking a ball away in her apron, his nephew
asked, “You’ll bring him, won’t you?”
The girl smiled at Robbie. “If I can, young master.
Though little notice as her grace takes of the poor boy,
don’t see that it would make a ha’penny’s difference to
her whether he was in the house or not. I better get
on.” Gently extricating her hand from Robbie’s grip, she
hurried off after her charge.
Alastair checked the immediate impulse to follow her,
announce himself to Diana, force a reaction. Surely he
hadn’t changed that much from the eager young dreamer
who’d thrown heart and soul at her feet, vowing to love
her forever! As she had vowed back to him, a bare week
before she gave her hand to an older, wealthier man of
high rank.
Had he been merely a convenient dupe, his open devotion a
goad to prod a more prestigious suitor into coming up to
snuff? He’d never known.
Sudden fury coursed through him again that the sight of
her, the mere sound of her voice, could churn up an
anguish he’d thought finally buried. Ah, how he hated
her! Or more precisely, hated what she could still do to
him.
Since the night she’d betrayed him, he’d had scores of
women and years of soldiering, throwing himself into the
most desperate part of the battle, determined to burn the
memory of loving her out of his brain.
While she seemed, now as then, entirely indifferent.
Mechanically he gave his nephew a hand, walking beside
him while the lad chattered on about his friend and his
pony and the fine set of lead soldiers waiting for them
in the nursery, where they could replay all the battles
in which Uncle Alastair had fought. It required nearly
the whole of the steep uphill walk from Sidney Gardens
across the river back to his sister’s townhouse in the
Royal Crescent for him to finally banish Diana’s image.
Damn, but she’d been even lovelier than he remembered.
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