Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square

Raves for the
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Bestselling Novels of Tracy Anne Warren

“Tracy Anne Warren is brilliant!”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Cathy Maxwell

“Warren delivers . . . a truly satisfying romance.”

—
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“An exceptionally entertaining Regency historical [that] offers readers a delectable combination of lushly elegant writing and lusciously sensual romance.”

—
Chicago Tribune

“Warren’s emotionally wrought protagonists are beautifully portrayed.”

—
Library Journal

“A reader’s delight!”

—The Reading Reviewer

“A terrific Regency romance.”

—Genre Go Round Reviews

“Readers are gifted with the awe-inspiring genius of Ms. Warren’s talents.”

—The Romance Readers Connection

“One book I would never part with . . . brilliant!”

—Romance Reader at Heart

“Seductively fun . . . will keep the reader engrossed until the last page.”

—Fresh Fiction

“Another fabulous story.”

—Romance at Heart Magazine

“Warren enchants with this sexy charmer that delivers what readers want: a fast-paced, sensual, and fun love story . . . simply a pleasure.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Utterly delightful historical romance. Daniel is sigh worthy and protective, too delicious for any respectable fan of Scottish heroes to resist. . . . A real pleasure to read.”

—
Affaire de Coeur

“RITA award–winner Warren’s latest gracefully written and exquisitely sensual Regency historical is the perfect literary fairy tale for any romance reader.”

—
Booklist
(starred review)

“Zippy yet soulful . . . deeply relatable characters and strong writing.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“Tracy Anne Warren dazzled me once again. . . . She knows what romance readers enjoy.”

—Romance Junkies

“A fairy tale–like story with characters full of personality, depth, and humanlike qualities. . . . A fun adventure for all types of romantics.”

—Once Upon a Romance

“Sexy and wildly emotional . . . should be on the top of all historical romance lovers’ to-be-read list.”

—Joyfully Reviewed

“A rich book full of elegance, desire, and romance. Tracy Anne Warren sketches a magnificent tale that grasps hold of the reader. . . . This is one impressive read that I will always remember.”

—Coffee Time Romance & More

Also by Tracy Anne Warren

THE RAKES OF CAVENDISH SQUARE

The Bedding Proposal

THE PRINCESS BRIDES ROMANCES

The Princess and the Peer

Her Highness and the Highlander

The Trouble with Princesses

THE GRAYSON SERIES

The Last Man on Earth

The Man Plan

Mad About the Man

SIGNET SELECT

Published by New American Library,

an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

This book is an original publication of New American Library.

Copyright © Tracy Anne Warren, 2016

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ISBN 978-0-698-15399-8

PUBLISHER
’
S
NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For everyone who has known the joy of the special bond that can only be shared with a beloved animal
companion.

Gloucestershire, England

September 1818

L
ady Esme Byron hiked her sky blue muslin skirts up past her stocking-clad calves and climbed onto the wooden stile that divided the vast Braebourne estate from land owned to the east by her family’s nearest neighbor, Mr. Cray.

Cray, a widower near her eldest brother Edward’s age of forty, was rarely in residence and never complained about her trespassing on his land; since her childhood, he’d let her traipse across it almost as if it were her own. Not that Braebourne didn’t provide plenty of beautiful vistas to explore—it did, especially considering that her brother owned nearly half the county and more besides—it was just that Cray’s land possessed a lovely natural freshwater lake that sat at a perfect walking distance from the house. The lake attracted a rich variety of wildlife, so there was always something fascinating to sketch. Plus, no one ever bothered her there; it was quite her favorite secret place when she was looking for an escape.

She jumped down onto the other side of the stile, taking far more care of the satchel of drawing supplies slung over her shoulder than she did of her fine leather half boots. She wobbled slightly as they sank ankle-deep into the mud, then stared at her ruined boots for
a few seconds, knowing her maid would give her a scold for sure. But as she was always able to talk dear Grumbly around, she shrugged away any concern.

Grabbing hold of the fence, she unstuck herself one boot at a time, then scraped the worst of the mess off into the nearby grass. Turning with a swirl of her skirts, she continued on to her destination.

As she walked, she angled her face up to the sun and sighed blissfully.

How good it was to be home again after weeks in London.

How wonderful to be out in the open once more, free to roam wherever she liked, whenever she liked.

A tiny frown of guilt wrinkled her dark brows, since technically she was supposed to be back at the estate helping entertain the houseguests visiting Braebourne. But all seven of her siblings and their families were in residence, even Leo and his new bride, Thalia, who had just returned with celebratory fanfare from their honeymoon trip to Italy. With so many Byrons available to make merry, she would hardly be missed.

Besides, they were used to her penchant for disappearing by herself for hours at a time as she roamed the nearby woods and hills and fields. She would be back in time for dinner; that would have to be enough.

An exuberant bark sounded behind her and she glanced around to see her dog Burr leap the stile and race toward her. She bent down and gave his shaggy golden head a scratch. “So, you’re back, are you? Done chasing rabbits?”

He waved his bright flag of a tail in a wide arc, his pink tongue lolling out in a happy grin. Clearly, he was unapologetic for having deserted her a short while ago so he could hunt game in the bushes.

“Well, come along,” she told him before continuing toward a stand of trees in the distance.

Burr trotted enthusiastically at her side.

Nearly ten minutes later, they reached the copse of trees that led to the lake. She was just about to step out
of their protective green shelter when she heard a splash.

She stopped and motioned for Burr to do the same.

Someone, she realized, was swimming in the lake. Was it Mr. Cray? Had he returned home unexpectedly?

Soundlessly, she peered through the leaves and watched a man emerge from the water—a man who most definitely was
not
Mr. Cray.

But who was most definitely
naked
.

Her eyes widened as she drank in the sight of his long, powerfully graceful form, his pale skin glistening wetly in the sunlight.

A quiet sigh of wonder slid from between her parted lips, her senses awash with the same kind of reverence she felt whenever she beheld something of pure, unadorned beauty.

Not that his face was the handsomest she had ever glimpsed—his features were far too strong and angular for ordinary attractiveness. Yet there was something majestic about him, as if a dark angel had fallen to earth. His tall body was exquisitely proportioned: wide shoulders, sculpted chest, long arms, narrow hips and sinewy legs, even the unmentionable male part of him that hung impressively between his heavily muscled thighs.

Clearly unaware that he was being observed, he casually slicked the water from his dark hair, then walked deeper into the surrounding area of short grass, which she knew was periodically trimmed by the groundskeepers.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, her heart pounding wildly as she watched him stretch out on his back across the soft green carpet of grass. With a hand, she motioned again for Burr to remain quiet. She did the same, knowing that if she moved now, the mystery man would surely hear her.

One minute melted into two, then three.

Quite unexpectedly, she heard the soft yet unmistakable sound of a snore.

Is he asleep?

She smiled, realizing that was exactly what he must be.

Of course she knew she ought to leave. But even as she began to ease away, he shifted, his face turning toward her. One of his hands lay on his flat stomach, one ankle tucked under the other at an elegant angle.

And suddenly she couldn’t leave.

Not when she was in the presence of such splendor and grace; it was as if the universe had decided to give her a gift.

I simply have to draw him.

Without considering her decision any further, she sank quietly onto a fallen log nearby that provided her with a sheltered, yet excellent view of her subject. Burr settled down at her side, laying his chin on his paws as she extracted her pencil and sketchbook from her bag and set to work.

•   •   •

Gabriel Landsdowne came abruptly awake, the late-afternoon sun strong in his eyes. He blinked and sat up, giving his head a slight shake to clear out the last of the drowsy cobwebs.

He’d fallen asleep without even realizing. Apparently, he was more tired than he’d thought. Then again, that was why he’d come here to Cray’s, so he could spend a little time alone, doing nothing more strenuous than taking a leisurely swim and lazing away the day. He could have done the same at his own estate, of course, but visiting Ten Elms always put him in a foul humor.

Too many bad memories.

Too many unwanted responsibilities on behalf of a place that had never brought him anything but pain. For the most part, he left Ten Elms’ management to his steward, since he rarely set foot over the threshold, but invariably there was some matter or other that would
crop up requiring his attention. There was also his house in Cornwall and his town house in London, both of which put claims on his time and attention, but he never minded seeing to those properties. They were his and his alone, with none of the taint of the past to sour his habitation.

Yet he’d grown tired of his usual haunts of late—and his usual companions and their seemingly insatiable craving for debauchery.

Even the devil needed a holiday every once in a while.

When his old, and far more respectable, friend Cray mentioned that he was going hunting in Scotland—an activity Gabriel did not enjoy—Cray offered Gabriel the use of his house in his absence. Knowing that Cray House was a place none of his regular crowd would ever think to find him, Gabriel had accepted. He’d actually left London without so much as a word to anyone, instructing his butler to take the knocker off the door and say only that the master was away at present and not receiving.

Wouldn’t his ribald set of cronies laugh now to see him doing something as prosaic as taking a solitary afternoon nap? Then again, he was out of doors, stark naked, so they would most certainly approve of that.

Smirking, he stood up, brushing an errant blade of grass from his bare buttocks. He was about to cross to the stand of bushes where he’d left his clothes when he heard a faint rustling sound behind him. He turned and stared into the foliage.

“Who is it? Is someone there?” he demanded.

The only answer was silence.

He looked again, scanning the area, but nothing moved; no one spoke.

Maybe it had been the wind? Or an animal foraging in the woods?

Suddenly a dog burst from the concealment of the trees, its shaggy wheaten coat gleaming warmly in the sun. He was a medium-sized mix of no particular breed,
part hound, possibly, or maybe retriever. He seemed well fed, so it was doubtful that he was a stray. Then again, mayhap he was skilled at poaching birds and rabbits from the bountiful reserves of game in the area.

The dog stopped and looked at him, eyes bright and inquiring but not unfriendly.

“Who might you be, fellow?” Gabriel asked.

The animal wagged his tail and barked twice. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he spun and disappeared into the trees once more.

In that instant, Gabriel thought he spied a flash of blue in the woods.

A bird?

The dog must have sensed it and gone off to chase.

Gabriel stared for one last long moment, then shrugged and turned to gather his clothes.