Page 3 of Raked Away in September

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she smoothed the skirts of her pale pink morning dress and headed downstairs. She planned to have a quiet breakfast, then go visit Rose to make certain her friend was all right and had forgiven her for intervening last night. Somehow, Tamsin had to impress upon her that Cedric Vane would never marry her. Unfortunately, although Rose’s father was a viscount, she had no dowry to speak of. Even if Cedric did care for her, they were both practically penniless. If he ever did decide to marry, he would find an heiress of some sort, not a woman who couldn’t further his prospects.

She just couldn’t bear it if that blackguard broke Rose’s heart, or worse, ruined her and made it impossible for her to find someone who would truly love and care for her.

When she reached the dining room, her brother Nicolas, Viscount Wilding, was sitting at the head of the long table, drinking tea while he read a newspaper. He didn’t look up when she entered the room, which was unusual, but he wasn’t much of a morning person. His wife, Olivia, a lovely brunette whom Tamsin adored, gave her an odd, almost warning look and didn’t greet her, either.

“Good morning, Nick. Good morning, Olivia,” Tamsin said as she went to fill her plate with some of the offerings on the sideboard.

Nick, Olivia, and their children, Jack and Sophie, were all the family she had left in the world since her parents had died in a carriage accident five years ago, when she’d been just sixteen years old. She loved her brother dearly, but he took his role as head of the family very seriously and didn’t have much of a sense of humor.

“Good morning, Tamsin,” Olivia said tightly, still trying to communicate something with her eyes.

Nick still didn’t respond, and as Tamsin took her own seat to his left, straight across from Olivia, she realized that her brother was quite upset about something. His knuckles were white where he gripped the paper, his leg bounced beneath the table, and his face was a mottled, dangerous shade of red.

Tamsin froze with a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth. “Whatever is the matter? Has something happened? How can I help?”

“You’ve done quite enough already.” Nick laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. “Thanks to you, our name has been dragged through the gutters of London before the milk was even delivered.”

He slammed the paper down onto the white linen tablecloth in front of her. It was The Morning Post, but tucked inside was the small, distinctive broadsheet of The Brazen Belle, put out by a notorious gossip who wrote a monthly article about London’s most notorious rakes.

“Read it,” he commanded. “And then explain yourself.”

Olivia covered Nick’s hand with her own, obviously trying to mediate the situation. “Let’s hear what Tamsin has to say. I’m sure this has been blown wildly out of proportion.”

Tamsin’s fingers felt like ice as she pulled the paper toward her. A sick feeling blossomed in the pit of her stomach because she suddenly had a very bad feeling about why her brother was so angry.

As the September leaves begin their slow descent into London’s streets, we present for your delectation the Earl of H—, a gentleman whose virtues are as rare as his vices are plentiful.

One cannot deny that he is a fine physical specimen. With hair as dark as a moonless night and eyes like polished obsidian, he is unfairly attractive. His wit is as sharp as a dueling sword, and his fortune is distractingly vast. To be the object of his focus, even for the duration of a single quadrille, must surely make one feel like the only woman in existence.

Alas, dear readers, do not let the striking exterior fool you. Haversham is a man who treats women’s hearts like hands of cards—to be played, won, and discarded before the next round begins. His history is littered with the sighs of opera singers and actresses. He is a creature of the night, a denizen of the most shadowed corners of Vauxhall, and a man who treats the concept of “reputation” with the same regard one might give a muddy boot. He is, in short, a man who will never be tamed, for he finds the very idea of the marriage bed to be a prison of the most tedious sort.

One might expect the Earl of H— to find his pleasures in the usual haunts of the demimonde, but it seems his tastes have turned toward the upper echelons of the ton. Last night, he was seen emerging from the most scandalous of Vauxhall’s Dark Walks, looking quite breathless. One might have dismissed it as a solo stroll had he not been preceded a mere heartbeat by Miss T— F—. It seems Viscount W— should keep a tighter rein on his sister, lest the earl’s shadow eclipse her virtue entirely.

Ladies, enjoy the view from a distance, but do not venture too close to the flame. For while the Earl of H— may be one of the most handsome men in the kingdom, he is also the hollowest. He seeks only the chase, never the capture.

The room seemed to tilt. “Nick, I... this isn’t what it seems. Yes, I ventured into the Dark Walks last night, but I wasn’t with him. I never even spoke to the man.”

“Then why were you in the Dark Walks?” Nicolas shouted, his fist hitting the table. “Alone! Where was your chaperone? When did you sneak away? Do you not have a shred of common sense?”

“I had a reason,” she explained, her mind racing. She probably should have insisted that her chaperone go along when she ventured after Rose. If she were wise, she would have. “I saw someone who needed help. I went to… to assist a friend.”

“A friend? Which friend? Give me a name! I need something to fight this with, Tamsin!”

Tamsin bit her lip, the silence stretching between them until it became an admission of guilt. If she told Nicolas the truth, he would march to the Sinclairs’ home, demand that they set the record straight, and Rose would be sent to the country in disgrace by noon. “I cannot.”

“You cannot?” Nicolas’s eyes flashed with fury. “You were seen with Haversham. Of all the men in England, you chose the one man I have loathed since we were boys. He did this on purpose. He saw an opportunity to spit on our family name, and he took it.”

“He is as innocent in this manner as I!” Tamsin cried, but she knew how it looked.

“I believe her,” Olivia interjected, still trying to calm Nick down. “Tamsin has never done anything like this before. She would never sneak away to meet such a man.”

Tamsin gave her sister-in-law a grateful look, but Nick wasn’t listening to either of them.

“I don’t want to hear another word of your lies,” he hissed, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet simmer. He stood and turned toward the hall, his jaw set like granite. “When our parents died, I promised I would look after you. I told myself I would see you well settled, to a man who loved you the way I love Olivia. Now you’ve made that impossible.”

“Where are you going?” Olivia cried, running after him and catching his sleeve.

“To find Haversham,” Nicolas spat, ripping his arm away. “And then I am going to fix this the only way a gentleman can.” He gave Tamsin a fulminating glare. “You’d better pray that he is as good with a pistol as he is with his tongue, Tamsin.”