Saved by a Rake

© 2013, Em Taylor
[email protected]
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Edited by Em Petrova

Cover Art:
Verónica Fernández

Dedication

To Em and Sam who encouraged me and believed in me even though neither has ever met me.

To Kirsty who believed in me despite having met me.

To Kirsty and Alec for keep me sane and making sure I get my regular caffeine fix.

Chapter
One

Rebecca lay still and waited for the sound of the footsteps to fade and disappear—terrified that he may change his mind and return to the bedchamber for more. Her heart thudded
, and her laboured breathing caused her throat to ache.

Her mind refused to take in what had just happened. It could not be possible.

When silence had reigned for at least five minutes, she dared to draw in a heaving breath. Unfortunately, only her lungs seemed to function. Her limbs were uncooperative and lax, making her feel like a washed-out rag doll.

But she could not simply lie here, waiting for him to come back—or worse still, for some maid to find her.

Willing herself to be strong—to survive—she summoned every ounce of energy and pulled herself into a sitting position before surveying the room. Thick, red velvet drapes framed the window, while maroon walls made the room look austere and disreputable. More red velvet hung from the frame of the four-poster, further darkening the bed, hidden from view in the dark world into which he had forced her.

The shudder that racked her body came from the very centre of her being. If she agreed to his proposal, this would be her bedchamber and she would be countess to the
man who had just ravished her.

But she would not agree to marry the man—not after what he had done—not after what he had taken from her.
But what if she was with child? Then she would have to marry—and marry
him.
She wanted to vomit at the mere idea.

A memory came to her unbidden. She was dancing at her come out ball six years previously. A rather dashing young man, Lord John Winchester
, had been her partner, and she had flirted and smiled coyly at him as they weaved through the intricate figures of the dance. Her white satin gown, decorated with tiny jewels and lace around the neckline and cuffs, had been her pride and joy—unlike the white muslin day dress she now wore, which would be placed in the fire at the first opportunity.

She had been so full of hope then—excited about what the future held. She could never have imagined it would be this.

Taking a deep breath and swallowing the tears that threatened, she lifted her gown, opened her legs and inspected the damage. A mixture of blood and his white fluid was beginning to dry on her milky skin—stark proof of her ruination.

The memory of the pain as he thrust into her, bursting through her maidenhead and riding her until he grunted and slumped on top of her with a satisfied grin, made her head spin. If fainting were an option at that moment, Rebecca would have succumbed willingly to the blackness.

She pushed her breasts back inside her chemise, stays and gown, ignoring the pain, the teeth marks and the discomfort of not having her undergarments put on properly by her maid. Thank heavens he had not ripped the gown as he’d man-handled her.

An image of Betty, her maid, tutting and grumbling as she took another gown below for mending flashed through her head.
If only a ripped dress was her biggest problem now.

She opened her thighs again, grimacing at the stains on her chemise and underskirt and the wetness between her thighs.
Struggling onto wobbly feet, she held fast to the mahogany post of the bed. Wooziness engulfed her. As she closed her eyes, trying to centre herself, she became aware of the offensive moisture running down the inside of her leg, no doubt ruining her stockings too.

She staggered through the door that led into the countess
’s dressing room and located the entrance to the bathroom. Finding a towel and lifting her skirts, she scrubbed the soft linen up her legs, between her thighs and to her bruised and painful private area. She wanted to rid herself of his scent, his seed and every hideous memory that he had left with her. Self-preservation was more important. She must get out of Newthorpe House and back to the safety of her own home and family.

****

Daniel, Lord Ramsey stood in the hallway and tugged at his cravat. He had told his valet, Jones, not to tie the thing so damned tight. But Jones simply muttered something about not being able to look the other servants in the eye if his master’s cravat came undone at breakfast, and continued to throttle him. Now Daniel wished he had been more insistent.

He had a horrible feeling that he knew what his father wanted and was not going to like it. He
enjoyed his life as it was—attending gentlemen’s clubs, racing curricles, visiting his current paramour, hunting when up at Drumbane estate in Scotland—and while he did not mind the responsibility of running an estate, he did not want a wife just yet. His fortieth year would be time enough. He would still be rich—which was the only thing in which most young ladies of the
Ton
were interested—and he hoped to look more distinguished with a smattering of grey through his thick black hair.

H
e should not keep his father waiting. The old man was likely to be in an even worse temper if Daniel did not appear promptly. Taking one last deep breath for courage, he nodded to the footman, who opened the door to allow him entry to the library.

The large room was filled with dusty tomes that had not been opened in years
, and the desk sat neglected. His father’s steward dealt with most of the estate business. Every year, Daniel tried to get the elderly earl to relinquish the reins and allow him to run certain aspects of the estate. His father would just grunt at the suggestion, and nothing ever changed.

Not that it stopped Daniel from visiting the tenants and taking an interest in the estate when he did visit the family
’s principal seat. The steward, knowing that Daniel would eventually be responsible for the land and property, was very accommodating, but Daniel was never given an opportunity to make real decisions.

He had not seen his father, the Earl of Drumbane
, for a few days. His rounds of social activities meant that he only slept and ate breakfast at Drumbane House. The rest of the time he visited his clubs, attended social gatherings or spent time with the delectable Dowager Duchess of Wilmslow, a young widowed lady with whom he was intimately acquainted.

A sudden image of the raven-haired beauty lying on her bed that morning, creamy breasts exposed and dark pink lips pouting, warmed the inside of his pantaloons. Had his father not summoned him
to this meeting, he would have thrown off his clothes and returned to her bed to tumble the sexy wench again.

The old E
arl looked gaunt and pale, and the sight stopped Daniel in his tracks. It was hard to reconcile that the ailing elderly man had once been a young, fit man who had taught him to ride a horse, shoot a pistol and swim. Despite his duties to the tenants, to his station in life and to Daniel’s late mother, the Earl of Drumbane had been a doting father to his two sons and one daughter. Now he lifted his quizzing glass to Daniel and frowned.

“
Sit!” he barked out—proving that he may look frail but was no fool. Daniel sat on the armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace from where his father sat. “Now, I am sure you know why I summoned you here.”

“
I am sorry, my lord, but I am afraid that I do not.”

“
I want to speak to you about your matrimonial state. What age are you now?”

Suppressing a sigh, Daniel looked directly at his father. He was right. His dear papa wanted him to get a damned leg-shackle, an heir and a spare.

“I will be four and thirty years old in May.”

“
And you have still not married and set up your nursery?”

“
No, my lord.”

“
Well it is high time that you did.” The Earl waved a sheaf of folded papers that he had extracted from the side of his chair. “I’m dying, as you well know, and I need to go to my grave with the certainty that at least you are on your way to creating an heir. It is no secret that your brother will spend his life carousing certain notorious gaming hells and will never marry.”

He raised an eyebrow. Yes, he was aware that his younger brother Simon preferred men to women but only now realised that his father was also. Not that he would ever admit it beyond these four walls. Heaven forbid. He had no wish to see Simon languishing in prison for that particular crime.

He understood his father’s point of view and determination to see him married. If Daniel should be killed in a curricle race or die of some fatal malady, the title would be passed first to Simon, who would definitely never have an heir, and then to his cousin Boris, who had even worse morals than Daniel did. By Daniel’s count, Boris had got three maids in the family way and refused to support any of them or their bastards. Having seen the estate accounts, he knew that the Earl of Drumbane financed those children from his own pocket—something Daniel intended to carry on after his father’s death. With wealth and power came responsibility, and he would never see a child starve because his inept cousin would not shoulder his responsibilities, or keep his sword in its sheath.

“
I want to see you settled before I die. You are an honourable man, so I have changed my will. You will receive only enough money to keep the estates running and the personal wealth that would have come to you will be inherited by your siblings. You would not starve the tenants of our land. Therefore, in order for you to live in comfort, you must be married before I die.”

“
But sir…”

“
Before I die, Daniel.” With that, the elder gentleman closed his eyes. Obviously the conversation was now at an end. Daniel sat for a few moments before collecting himself and leaving the room.

His father was right
, of course. Daniel would starve before he would allow the tenants to go without. He may have few scruples when it came to bedding beautiful young widows, but he would not see the poor become even more impoverished so he could live the life of a rakehell in London.

He sighed inwardly. There was no point in trying to escape the inevitable. He determined to visit Mrs Wilmslow later tha
t evening and explain he must now apply himself to the task of finding a wife on the marriage mart and could no longer pay her evening visits.

It was a shame. He liked Marie Wilmslow
, and she was a generous and exciting lover. He was going to have to content himself with a simpering fair maiden who would be afraid of tangling her newly brushed hair in bed—someone merely doing her duty as his countess.

Chapter Two

Rebecca gathered herself and her possessions, walked down the stairs of the Earl of Newthorpe
’s mansion and accepted her cloak from the butler. He was about to speak to her, but she waved a dismissive hand and opened the door herself. As she walked out onto the doorstep, she realised that her parents’ town carriage was not waiting in the street. The butler must have been about to offer to bring it round.

Choosing to walk the short distance home, she pulled up her hood and started hurrying along the pavement. She didn
’t really care that she had no maid or chaperone. In fact, she didn’t really care about anything, let alone social graces. She suspected the worst had already happened.

She ached everywhere as she padded along, avoiding a group of giggling young girls, a number of striding gentlemen and scruffy dog. She skirted a pile of horse manure as she crossed the road, tugging at her hood to make sure it remained over what was left of her coiffure. At least it was dry, if not warm. Getting a soaking would have been the icing on the cake.

The
clip clop
of hooves just in front of her made her raise her head. Blair, her parents’ coachman, had pulled the carriage up to the pavement, a dozen or so yards from where she stood. He caught her gaze but did not hail her. His worried frown showed beneath his top hat as he inclined his head subtly towards the carriage.

She hesitated. But the servant
’s concern had been enough to remind her that not everyone in the world wanted to hurt her. She nodded and stepped inside to find Betty, wringing her hands, fear and horror marring her pretty face.

“
Oh, Lady Rebecca. I am so glad we found you.”

“
Please, Betty, I do not want to talk.”

“
I should not have left you, but he told me to and you did not say anything.”

“
The fault is all mine. I should have insisted you stay. You will not be in trouble.”

“
I am more worried about you, m’ lady, than I am about myself.”

Rebecca rested her head against the back of the seat, banging her head off the carriage roof persistently as it trundled over the cobbled streets. The shouts from
the street—coachmen, grooms, stable hands and merchants—washed over her in a soothing wave of normality, dampening the hideous turmoil inside.

A few minutes later, Rebecca rattled on the door of her parents
’ townhouse in South Audley Street, caring naught what anyone thought. She needed the sanctuary of her own room, and currently the black painted door with the huge brass knocker was impeding her journey towards that goal.

When Timms, the butler, opened the door, she rushed past him.

“Lady Rebecca?”

She didn
’t respond. She tried to speak but nothing except a hysterical little squeak passed her lips.

She just wanted to be alone, to clean her shame away with a nice pitcher of warm water. Running as fast as her legs would carry her up to the second floor and into her own bedchamber, she closed the door and leaned against it, just in time for her legs to give way. She slumped to the floor—numb. The whole scenario replayed in her mind as she considered ways she could have—should have—stopped him.

But he had been so strong. Then he had tied her hands to the bed with his cravat.

“
Some of the ladies like being tied up,” he had assured her, as he had bound one wrist. She had at least managed to swipe her nails across his face with her free hand before he caught it and tied it too. Once she had been trussed up, he called her a whore then slapped her hard on the cheek. Could she have fought harder and saved herself? Why had she not been stronger, more forthright? And what had possessed her to allow him to dismiss Betty in the first place?

****

The Countess of Chapelbrooke looked up from her embroidery frame and scowled at the disturbance. She recognised one of the urgent whispers as coming from Timms but she could not place the other more insistent female voice.

“
If she has no visitors, then I must see her ladyship.”

“
You are a lady’s maid, Betty. It is not your place to speak to her ladyship.”

“
But something terrible has happened to Lady Rebecca.”

The countess
’s heart skipped a beat. Something terrible? She had heard Rebecca’s footsteps in the hallway but had thought nothing of it.

“
Betty, young ladies, even young ladies of the
Ton
, are prone to fits of the vapours for no apparent reason. It is simply…”

“
No! If you do not announce me, I shall go in myself and suffer the consequences.”

There was a long pause—and then a gentle tap on the door followed by the entrance of the butler.

“I do apologise, my lady, but Lady Rebecca’s lady’s maid is requesting an audience. I am afraid she is really quite insistent.”

Margaret, Countess of Chapelbrooke
, could see the young lady standing anxiously in the doorway, looking pale and shocked.

“
Show her in.”

Without waiting for the butler, the lady
’s maid hurried into the comfortable parlour. Margaret nodded to the butler, and he bowed before shutting the door as he left.

“
Betty, is it?”

“
Yes, m’ lady,” replied Betty breathlessly, bobbing a curtsey.

“
Is something the matter with Lady Rebecca?”

“
Yes m’ lady, I fear something is very wrong. You see, we went to the Earl of Newthorpe’s house, and the Earl dismissed me and said Lady Rebecca would call when she needed me. Well, Lady Rebecca never said nothing so I went below. Oh I know I should not have left her, m’ lady.”

Betty
’s eyes were bright and terrified as she swallowed hard before continuing. “Well, half an hour passed, maybe more. Then another maid came hurrying down, says the butler told her Lady Rebecca had left without your carriage. Apparently she was very upset when she left Newthorpe House. I ran down to the mews and got the carriage and we… the coach man and I… went after her. We caught up with her a few streets away. Oh m’ lady, her hair was all a mess and she had been crying, and I’m sure her gown was torn, but I couldn’t rightly tell because of her cloak. I think he… the Earl I mean… I think he… he…”

“
I understand.” She got to her feet and moved swiftly towards the door. If truth be told she did not understand. Her daughter had been hurt in some way, and a maid had come to tell her that she had been left alone in the presence of the man who had hurt her.

Her blood seemed to run cold with restrained fury. Nobody hurt her child and got away with it. She would rip the blaggard
’s head off. As she crossed the large foyer she spotted Timms heading down the servant’s stairs. The staff could not see her upset. She had a place in society to uphold. Forcing her mouth into a thin line, she preceded the maid upstairs.

God, she hoped
that whatever had upset Rebecca was nothing more than an unwanted kiss or some fondling and a bad case of innocent hysteria.

****

A knock at the door behind her made Rebecca shake herself. She had to get some kind of normality back into the situation. She tucked a stray lock of hair back into her destroyed coiffure and smoothed down the skirt of her gown.

“
Lady Rebecca, it is Betty. Are you all right?”

“
Yes. Thank you, Betty. I will call you when I need to get dressed for dinner.”

Muffled voices behind the door told her that Betty or Timms had alerted someone else in the house to her distress.

“Rebecca, open the door.” She really did not want to open the door and let her mother see her shame—at least not before she had cleaned herself properly.

“
Mama, I am well. Please do not concern yourself.”

“
Rebecca!” Her mother’s tone had a certain warning to it but an equal amount of warmth and concern. And her mother was a woman who was used to having her demands met.

Gritting her teeth, Rebecca stood and adjusted the cloak which she still wore. She had no idea if her gown had been stained or ripped and did not want it to be the first thing that her mother saw.

She opened the door to find the immaculately dressed Countess of Chapelbrooke biting the inside of her mouth. It seemed that Betty had not spared her mother’s sensibilities. Could the usually unflappable lady of the
Ton
be unsure of how to respond to this situation? She could not blame her.

“
Come in and let us talk about this. Betty, I want a warm bath in the blue guest room in half an hour. Lady Rebecca and I are not to be disturbed. Do I make myself clear?”

“
Yes, m’ lady.” Betty bobbed a curtsey and hurried off in the direction of the servant’s staircase.

Then the countess walked into her room, shut the door and enveloped her daughter in her arms. Rebecca
’s façade dropped as a huge sob racked her body. The older woman steered her to the bed, coaxed her down onto it and held her as the tears flowed.

Strangled sobs choked her, forcing the air out of her body and preventing her from dragging more back into her lungs.
Her throat was raw, her chest ached, but still they kept coming in uncontrollable staccato bursts.
She had no idea how long her mother held her, but eventually the countess lifted her chin and looked at her.

“
What happened?” Her voice was firm but kind, though she had a steely look in her eye which told Rebecca that the older woman expected the truth.

“
He…the Earl of Newthorpe…he dismissed Betty and took me upstairs to show me the rest of the house. When we went into the …countess’s bedchamber he…he…he…” She did not have the words to tell her mother what had happened. And in some ways, she could not bring herself to admit the awful truth.

“
He what, Rebecca? What did he do to you?”

“
I cannot say.” Her own voice sounded like a whimper. She tried to shake free of her mother’s hold, but the other woman held firm, forcing her to face the truth and explain.

“
Darling, you must tell me. I will not faint or have a fit of the vapours. I am a woman of the world. And I need to know what he did to you.”

“
He…he…well, he ravished me.” She blurted it out, still expecting her mother to faint or call for smelling salts. Instead she lifted Rebecca’s chin again.

“
How far did he go, Rebecca? Did he…did he take your innocence?”

She nodded then looked up into her mother
’s eyes, expecting to see revulsion. There was a slight flicker in her mother’s grey-blues, but her mouth straightened into a thin line and the muscles in her jaw flexed.

“
I see. How badly hurt are you?”

“
He was rough, and I fear I am bruised all over. I was bleeding between my legs, but I do not know if that was just…just my maidenhead.” Just saying the word jolted Rebecca with a horrible reality. She could now never marry. No one would want her. She was no longer an innocent.

“
It probably was. Once you have had a bath, you’ll know. If you are still bleeding, we will get a doctor.”

“
No!” Their physician was a kindly old gentleman, but she had no wish for him to be made aware of what had just happened, never mind him examining her down there.

“
I doubt it will be necessary.” She picked up Rebecca’s wrist and studied the welt marks, sucking in a harsh breath. Rebecca started and pulled her hand back. In her four and twenty years she had never see such a look of cold fury pass over her mother’s countenance. The countess blinked slowly, and when she opened her eyes, the calm grey that Rebecca had always known was back.

“
He tied me up. He said some of the ladies like that.”

“
I’m sure some of the women that blaggard consorts with do.”

Rebecca winced at the venom in her mother
’s tone.

“
I am ruined, am I not?” The social reality of what had happened was becoming all too real.

The countess sighed
and looked away. Was she blinking back tears?

“
I fear you may be. But for now, you need to have a nice warm bath and a sleep. Let me talk to your father.” As her mother turned her gaze back to her, there was definitely a glint of moisture in her eyes and a slight tremble to the usually firm lips.

“
You cannot tell Father.” God, her father knowing was an even worse fate than the physician being called. He would probably run Newthorpe through with that old sword that he kept in his library. And then he would end up in prison—or hanged.

Her sensibilities told her that her imagination was running away and s
he should rein it back in. She had no knowledge of such things happening to other ladies of the
Ton
and had no idea how the menfolk around her would react.