Virginia Heath - That Despicable Rogue

Ross had the audacity to smile. ‘Stop acting so shocked. I suspect that you are not truly as prim and proper as you would have me believe.’

Something about the way his eyes devoured her after those words made Hannah blush involuntarily, as if he could see through the fabric of the garment.

‘Perhaps I should keep a very close eye on you—just to check that you are not up to no good. Would you like that, Prim?’

One hand curled around her waist possessively, then made a slow journey down the curve of her hip. Hannah had never been handled so… intimately. The twin emotions of outrage and excitement at being desired by this shameless man warred within her. How many times had she dreamed about such things in her lonely bed?

His eyes held such forbidden promise…

Author Note

My husband is fond of analogies. One of my favourites is a story about two brothers. One is a successful doctor and the other a low-life drunk with no job. Their father is a cruel and violent man. One day the brothers are both asked the same question: Why have you turned out the way you are? Despite the vast difference in their lives, both brothers give exactly the same answer: ‘It’s hardly a surprise when you have a father like mine!’

It is an extreme example, I know, but the past shapes us all. That is a fact. Sometimes it makes us into better people, and other times it holds us back and stops us living life to the full.

In my novel That Despicable Rogue I have created two people who are shaped by their pasts. Ross Jameson has dragged himself out of the gutter and done everything possible to make sure he never has to go there again. Lady Hannah Steers has had her life destroyed by the past and feels that she has no future.

Once I’d created these two people and introduced them to each other they pretty much wrote their own story for me. At times I had no idea what they were going to do next! I hope that you enjoy their trials and tribulations as they seek their happy ending. An ending, incidentally, that they never told me about until it actually happened!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

When VIRGINIA HEATHwas a little girl it took her ages to fall asleep, so she made up stories in her head to help pass the time while she was staring at the ceiling. As she got older the stories became more complicated—sometimes taking weeks to get to their happy ending. One day she decided to embrace the insomnia and start writing them down. Virginia lives in Essex with her wonderful husband and two teenagers. It still takes her for ever to fall asleep…

That Despicable Rogue is Virginia Heath’s wonderful debut for Mills & Boon Historical Romance!

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.

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For Greg,

for encouraging me to follow my dreams and write.

For Katie,

who first read what I had written.

And for Alex,

who fortified me with tea and kept me sane.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

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

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

White’s, May 1818

The crowd gathered around the card table signalled one of two things—either somebody was about to win a substantial sum or somebody was about to lose the shirt off his back. The spectacle drew Ross Jameson like a moth to a flame. At the card table sat the Earl of Runcorn, eyes wide and sweating profusely, as Viscount Denham idly gathered up the ridiculously large pile of banknotes he had just won from the middle.

Ross wandered to his friend Carstairs, knowing that he would clarify the situation perfectly. ‘What’s afoot?’ he murmured as he took a sip of his drink.

John Carstairs copied the motion, his eyes never leaving the drama at the table. ‘Denham has just cleaned Runcorn out. There is over a thousand pounds on that table.’

Ross was not surprised. Runcorn had been on the path of self-destruction for years and Viscount Denham did enjoy parting a fool from his money.

Denham stood and smiled smugly at his opponent. ‘It has been a pleasure, Runcorn.’

The beaten man blinked rapidly, obviously in a state, and then reached into his jacket pocket with the air of a man about to do something completely stupid. He pulled out a large, official-looking document and practically threw it into the middle of the table.

‘The deeds to Barchester Hall,’ he announced with desperate zeal. ‘It is unentailed and surrounded by excellent parkland and fine pasture—I will wager all I have lost against the house.’

The assembled crowd sucked in a collective breath.

‘What sort of man comes to a card game with the deeds to his house?’ Carstairs hissed under his breath.

‘The sort who is fool enough to lose it,’ Ross answered calmly. Runcorn was not the first man to gamble away the family silver, and doubtless he would not be the last.

The rest of the crowd were anxiously waiting for Denham to respond to the challenge. This was exactly the sort of thing that they lived for—the prospect of seeing one of their own ruined.

Denham had still not sat down again, but he was regarding Runcorn with open curiosity—to Ross it was obvious he was rejoicing in his own good fortune.

True to form, Denham was going to make the fool suffer. ‘I seriously doubt that the property is worth much more than three thousand,’ he said dismissively, ‘but I am a reasonable man. Under the circumstances I will—’

Ross cut him off before he could finish. ‘I will take the wager, Runcorn.’ He tossed an enormous bundle of banknotes onto the table. ‘Five thousand against your house.’

The crowd gasped audibly at this interesting and totally unexpected turn of events. Excited words were exchanged and one or two men pointed out that Ross’s challenge was poor form. This was Denham’s game—he at least should claim first refusal. But such a vulgar upstart as Jameson would not understand the proper way things were done in polite society. Others simply marvelled at his apparent generosity. Five thousand against some old heap of bricks was well over the odds.

Ross ignored them. Instead he watched Runcorn eye the cash greedily and knew exactly what the blithering idiot was thinking—he could cover his losses and pay some debts with such a healthy purse. Gamblers like Runcorn could never see past the pathetic hope that their luck was about to change.