Mary Brendan - The Rake's Ruined Lady

Regency Scandals

August 2020Outrageous Propositions

September 2020Dangerous Games

October 2020Dissolute Ways

November 2020Disreputable Secrets

December 2020Unsuitable Marriages

January 2021Infamous Rogues

February 2021Never Trust a Rake

March 2021The Road to Ruin

April 2021Scandals of the Past

May 2021Passion in Spades

June 2021Saved from Scandal

July 2021Benefits of a Betrothal

About the Author

MARY BRENDANwas always a keen reader of historical romance, especially the Regency period. She also writes gritty sagas under a different pseudonym. She was born in north London, lived for a while in Suffolk, and is now back closer to her roots and her adult sons in a village in Hertfordshire. When time permits, she relaxes by browsing junk shops, or by researching family history.

The Rake’s Ruined Lady

Mary Brendan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-472-04408-2

THE RAKE’S RUINED LADY

© 2014 Mary Brendan

Published in Great Britain 2021

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

About the Publisher

‘Of course I do not understand!’ Beatrice Dewey’s blue gaze was fixed on her fiancé’s face in shocked disbelief. ‘How is any woman supposed to comprehend that the man she believes will shortly be her husband must marry another?’ She pressed pale, quivering fingers to her brow. ‘Repeat to me your news, please, and furthermore tell me why I should accept it.’

Colin Burnett’s deep sigh displayed his regret. He stretched a hand towards Beatrice but she evaded his comfort in a swish of pastel muslin.

‘Tell me, Colin! An explanation—a dozen explanations if I wish to have them—is the least you owe me.’ Beatrice turned back to him, eyes sparking icy fire.

Ten minutes ago Mrs Francis, the Deweys’ housekeeper, had interrupted Beatrice’s letter-writing to announce that Dr Burnett had called on her. Beatrice had joined her fiancé in the front sitting room with a sunny smile, proving her gladness at this unexpected visit. Her happiness had started to wither before he’d uttered a single word: she’d read from Colin’s demeanour that something was dreadfully wrong.

Not for a moment had she believed him jesting when he had quietly informed her that their wedding must be called off. Colin was not one for levity; neither was he a man who liked a drama. Beatrice could tell this predicament was causing him equal embarrassment and sorrow, but was conscious that he seemed nowhere near as wounded as was she at the idea of them parting.

‘You know if there were any other way around this I would take it. I want you as my wife, Beatrice. I love you—’

‘I don’t see how you can love me...not really,’ Beatrice interrupted harshly, ‘if you are prepared to jilt me because you’d sooner have money.’

‘It is not just about the money, my dear.’ Colin sounded pained, and a trifle exasperated by her accusation. ‘My family’s reputation and estates are founded on the baronetcy. The Burnetts were granted the title as long ago as the Norman Conquest and it has passed through our male line ever since.’ He cast his eyes heavenwards, seeking inspiration. ‘If I reject the title and estates everything will be returned to the crown. How am I to explain that to my relations?’

Beatrice gave an impatient shrug. Her fiancé’s logical reference to history and his kin, when her heart was breaking, was simply increasing her indignation.

‘My uncle was not an easy man to fathom,’ Colin continued doggedly, thrusting his fingers through a shock of auburn hair. ‘He was known as an eccentric, but had I for one moment realised what madness he planned I would have privately set lawyers the task of finding a loophole to wriggle out of his stipulations. As it is, I must bow to his whim or lose everything.’

‘So instead of forfeiting your birthright and choosing to remain much as you are: a country doctor of modest means—which is the person I fell in love with—you would dance to a dead man’s tune to have his fortune and his title?’

Now her shock was receding anger was bringing Beatrice close to tears. She wouldn’t beg the man with whom she’d planned to spend her life to honour his proposal, neither would she attempt to shame him into doing so. If he went ahead and married his cousin Stella instead of her then Beatrice knew she would have learned something vitally important and deeply upsetting about Colin’s character. And also about her own: she had previously believed she’d become a reasonable judge of people.