Society's Most Scandalous Rake. Isabelle Goddard
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Joshua was left looking after the carriage, a prey to uncertainty. Domino was to be sacrificed on the altar of family duty and there was little he could do.
He was a disreputable man and could have no voice in her future. That kiss—those kisses, he corrected himself reminiscently—could only ever be an interlude. But what an interlude! It was ridiculous that his heart still sang.
How many kisses had he known in his lifetime? Not like this, a small voice within him argued, not like this. He had known instinctively that she was a girl of strong emotion, that beneath her modest exterior lay a sleeping passion waiting to be roused, and he had been right. He had wanted to kiss her until she begged him never to stop, and she had wanted him to. She desired him as much as he desired her.
Another conquest to add to the many, he thought acidly. All the more reason, then, to keep his distance. Otherwise he would hurt her—and hurt her badly. It was inevitable—for didn’t he damage everything that became dear to him?
About the Author
ISABELLE GODDARD was born into an army family and spent her childhood moving around the UK and abroad. Unsurprisingly it gave her itchy feet, and in her twenties she escaped from an unloved secretarial career to work as cabin crew and see the world.
The arrival of marriage, children and cats meant a more settled life in the south of England, where she’s lived ever since. It also gave her the opportunity to go back to ‘school’ and eventually teach at university. Isabelle loves the nineteenth century, and grew up reading Georgette Heyer, so when she plucked up the courage to begin writing herself the novels had to be Regency romances.
Previous novels by this author:
REPROBATE LORD, RUNAWAY LADY
THE EARL PLAYS WITH FIRE
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?
Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Society’s Most Scandalous Rake
Isabelle Goddard
To Jackie
A generous friend and reader who loves Brighton
Chapter One
Domino de Silva raised her face to the warm sun and breathed a sigh of contentment. The gentlest of waves whispered along the pebbles at her feet and the wide blue dome of the sky spread itself with ease to meet a distant horizon. She closed her eyes in pleasure. For a short time at least she was free; all too soon she would have to return to the house on Marine Parade and her cousin’s inevitable questioning. If only her father would send Carmela back to Spain, she might truly enjoy this last summer before the dreary future she was resigned to. But Papa would not do that. Her stern aunts back in Madrid had only agreed to her acting as his hostess if her cousin accompanied her.
‘You seem to have dropped this.’
She was startled from her reverie by a warm voice, disturbing in its intimacy. Shading her eyes against the sun’s strong rays, she detected the outline of a slim but muscular form. The man appeared to be offering her a crumpled cambric handkerchief bearing all the marks of having been trampled in sand and sea.
She shook her head decisively. ‘Thank you, but no. The handkerchief is not mine.’
‘Are you quite sure?’
‘I think I should know my own possessions,’ she responded a little tartly.
‘Naturally. But you had fallen into such an abstraction, I thought you might not realise if you had dropped something.’
She felt herself becoming ruffled. Whoever the man was, he was intruding on the few moments of solitude that were hers.
‘As I said, sir, I fear you are mistaken.’
Her voice was edged with ice, but it seemed not to perturb him for he took the opportunity to move nearer. She became aware of a pair of shapely legs encased in skin-tight fawn pantaloons and a coat of blue superfine perfectly fitted to his powerful shoulders. Hessian boots of dazzling gloss completed an ensemble ill adapted to a provincial beach.
‘It would seem I was mistaken,’ he admitted, ‘but I shan’t repine. It’s given me the opportunity to speak to a vastly pretty girl.’
She was astonished at his audacity. His voice and dress spoke the gentleman, but no gentleman of her acquaintance would have addressed a lady so.
‘I would be glad, sir,’ she said in the most frigid of voices, ‘if you would leave me in peace to enjoy this wonderful view.’
He let out a low chuckle and for the first time her gaze moved upwards towards his face and she was unnerved by what she saw. She had not realised how young he was or how good looking. His fair hair fell carelessly over his forehead and a pair of golden-brown eyes lingered over her in a way that made her flush with annoyance. A small scar on his left cheek only enhanced his attractiveness.
The gold-flecked eyes considered her with lazy amusement. ‘I’m not impervious to your request,’ he drawled, ‘but it places me in an awkward situation.’
‘How is that?’
‘My wish to gratify a lady is at odds with my strong sense of duty.’
Her determined silence did not deter him. ‘My wish to oblige requires me to walk away this minute and leave you to your solitude.’
‘Please do!’
‘If only it were that simple,’ he exclaimed mournfully, ‘but chivalry requires I put my duty first. Since you appear to be entirely without an escort, it clearly behoves me to stay as chaperon.’
‘How fortunate then that I can put your mind at rest! Trouble yourself no further. I am used to walking alone and am well able to take care of myself.’
At that moment she was far from feeling so. Her desire to venture out alone had never before exposed her to such persistent harassment. This man would not be shrugged off lightly.
‘You’re a mere slip of a girl,’ he continued blithely, ‘and it seems unlikely that you’re quite as accomplished as you think in escaping unwanted attentions. Though a most comely slip of a girl, I grant you,’ he finished after a slight pause. His eyes, glinting amber in the sunlight, danced with laughter.
There was nothing for it but to turn tail. He was impervious to disapproval and entreaty alike. She turned quickly to make her way back across the beach and her sudden movement impaled the flounce of her dress on a twisted piece of iron, which had detached itself from the groyne. She was well and truly caught.
‘Allow me.’
And before she could protest he was down on his knees, carefully unhooking the frill of delicate cream lace from the iron stanchion. She stood rigid with mortification, thankful for the cooling breeze on her heated cheeks. But there was worse to come. Before she could stop him, his hands began to rearrange the crumpled hem of her silk gown and for an instant alighted on her ankle.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said in a stifled voice and fled towards the safety of Marine Parade.
‘Must you go already?’ he called after her. ‘I feel we are only just getting acquainted.’ He grinned at her departing figure. ‘It’s not every lady’s ankles I get to see before luncheon, you know.’
She