The whole world knows Aldridge is a wicked sinner. They used to be right.

The ton has labelled Charlotte a saint for her virtue and good works. They don’t know the ruinous secret she hides.

Then an implacable enemy reveals all. The past that haunts them wounds their nearest relatives and turns any hope of a future to ashes.

Must they choose between family and one another?

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Prologue

February 1812

The Marquis of Aldridge was closeted with His Grace. The Duke of Winshire, Charlotte’s grandfather, had permitted no visitors for months, ever since an apoplexy robbed his movements of precision and slurred his speech. But this morning he had agreed to see Aldridge.

“He can’t force you into the marriage,” her twin sister Sarah whispered through the spy hole from the servants’ passage in the wall, when she came to tell Charlotte about the visitor. Whether Sarah meant Aldridge or Grandfather, Charlotte wasn’t sure, but Sarah was wrong. Grandfather had already assured her she would be Aldridge’s bride if she had to be carried into the mansion’s chapel bound and gagged.

“My chaplain will marry you right and tight, without you saying a word, and once Aldridge has his hands on you, you’ll obey him like a wife should or suffer the consequences. The boy takes after his father. He’ll know how to handle a reluctant wife.”

Aldridge wasn’t like that. Was he? Five years ago, when he and Charlotte were friends, she would have been certain of him. But his friendship was a kindness to a child. By the time she was old enough to be in Society, her confidence in men had been shattered, and the whispers about Aldridge’s women had been a minor factor in her adamant refusal of his first two proposals.

This time, though, his father and her grandfather had brokered the arrangement, and the Duke of Winshire was determined to bring the unwilling bride to heel. Charlotte was fighting the match with all her powers, but those were few. “I’ll tell Aldridge why I’m unfit to be a bride,” she threatened her grandfather.

“Do that, and I’ll put you, your sister, and your mother out into the street in your chemises,” the old man promised. “Useless coven of females.”

The danger wasn’t as dire as it sounded. Aunt Georgie would make sure they were clothed and fed, and had a roof over their heads. But Charlotte’s threat was even more toothless. Her work depended on her reputation in Society, but even if she was prepared to lose that, she couldn’t condemn her mother or her beloved sister to forever living on the fringes of the Polite World, hidden from view, their very existence an affront.

Would it be so terrible to be married to Aldridge? Yes, and precisely because he was, in his own way, a decent man. She could very easily fall back in love with him as she had when she was fifteen, and that way lay unending heartache. Even if her own scandal remained a secret, he was a rakehell. She could not expect him to remain faithful to any woman, especially one who hated being touched. To love a man who sought his pleasure elsewhere—however discreetly—would be a kind of hell. And then there was the other…

The key rattled in her door and it swung open at the hands of the tall footman who stood guard over her and followed her everywhere she was permitted. Neither he nor his colleague would meet Charlotte’s eyes. “His Lordship the Marquis of Aldridge awaits you in the green parlour, my lady,” said the one in the lead.

Charlotte briefly considered refusing, but they probably had orders to carry her if she wouldn’t go. She tried for a sort of freedom anyway. “Please tell the marquis I will be down shortly.”

The footmen exchanged glances. “We must escort you, my lady,” said the spokesman.

Might as well get it over, then. If Aldridge was determined to go ahead with the marriage, she would tell him all and let come what may. If she made him swear first not to tell His Grace his reasons for crying off, would he keep his word? He was known for always keeping promises, but most men didn’t believe their honour compromised by breaking promises made to women.

With her mind on the coming interview, she was out of the family wing and on her way down the private stairs before she realised that the halls had been a stirred ant nest of activity, and here, hurrying up to brush past her with a chorus of murmured apologies, came the duke’s covey of physicians.

She turned to watch them ascend and disappear through the door into the family wing. “Is something wrong with my grandfather?”

The quieter of the two footmen replied, “They say he took another fit, my lady. When he was seein’ Lord Aldridge.”

Another apoplexy. Each robbed him of a little more function. She found it hard to summon any pity for the old tyrant, especially since he had undoubtedly set things up to rule them all from beyond the grave. Even if he had not, the unknown uncle who would succeed him was sure to be cut from the same cloth, as had been her father and brother.

If she weren’t so damaged, a dynastic marriage to Aldridge would have been preferable to remaining under the rule of the men of her family. As long as she could avoid the stupidity of falling in love. Kindness and respect lasted longer, and Aldridge was kind to his mother and sisters. Though who knew what a man was really like behind closed doors?

In any case, the point was moot. She would tell him all—or most—and it would be over.

He stood as she entered the parlour. From the artistic disorder of his fair hair to the mirror-gleam of his boots, he was dressed with his usual elegance. His coat fitted his broad shoulders like a glove. The single emerald on the gold pin that anchored his snowy cravat echoed the embroidery on his waistcoat and the glints of green in his hazel eyes. His tight pantaloons lovingly shaped slender hips and muscular thighs. Which she was not going to look at.

He’d chosen a seat on the far side of the room from the door, and he now ordered the footmen to wait outside. “I require a few moments of privacy with my betrothed.” After a moment’s hesitation, they obeyed, leaving the door wide open.

As she took a chair, he murmured, “Are there servant passages near us? Can we be heard if we keep our voices low?”

So that is why he’d chosen a seating group by the outside wall. “Not if we are quiet,” she confirmed.

He was examining her in the way that always made her restless—a steady look, as if he could see her innermost thoughts. “You asked to see me,” she reminded him, to put an end to it.

That broke his gaze. His lids dropped, and he laughed, a short unamused bark. “And you would like to see me in Jericho. Straight to the point, then, Lady Charlotte. Your mother told my mother that you are being threatened with dire consequences if you do not marry me.”

He leaned forward, meeting her eyes again, his voice vibrating with sincerity. “I have never forced a woman, and I don’t plan to do so. I will not take an unwilling wife.”

Charlotte tried to hide the upwelling relief, but some of it must have shown, for he sighed as he sat back, his shoulders shifting in what would have been a slump in a less elegant man. “It is true, then. Given a choice, you will not have me.”

Charlotte had not expected his disappointment, the sorrow deep in his eyes, swiftly masked. Before she could measure her words, she leapt to reassure him. “It is not you. I do not plan ever to marry.”

He grimaced. “That is what my mother tells me. Is there nothing I can say that would change your mind? You would be an outstanding duchess.”

No. She really wouldn’t. Like everyone else, he saw only the duke’s granddaughter, not the woman within. Perhaps, if he had been a man of lesser estate, if he had spoken about affection and companionship, she might have risked it. Not love. Charlotte did not trust love.

Again, he read something of her mind, for he sighed again, and gave her a wry smile and the very words she wanted. “We were friends once, my Cherry, were we not? Long ago?”

Her resolve softened at the nickname he had given her that golden summer, before it all went wrong. “I was very young and you were very drunk,” she retorted.

He huffed a brief laugh. “Both very true. Still, we could be friends again, I think. I have always hoped for a wife who could also be my friend.” He frowned. “Is it my damnable reputation? I am not quite the reprobate they paint me, you know.”

Charlotte shook her head, then rethought her response. His reputation might outrun his actions, but he was reprobate enough, and the lifestyle he brushed off so casually had destroyed her brother. And her, as well, though not through her own fault.

“Not that, though if I were disposed to marry, I would not choose a rake. Marriage is not for me, however.” She should at least hint at the reason. “I cannot be your duchess, Aldridge.” She hesitated. How should she tell him? Blurt it out? Make a story of it?

The words wouldn’t come, and he must have assumed that she’d finished. His social mask dropped back into place, proud though affable. “I have told your grandfather we will not suit. He asked if you had told me what he called ‘your maidenly reservations’, and I assured him I had not spoken with you. I let him think that the marriage arrangement was my father’s idea, and not mine.”

Marrying her had been Aldridge’s idea? Charlotte put that away to think about later. “Thank you. He has had me locked in until I agreed to receive your proposal.”

Aldridge nodded, unsurprised. The mother network must have included that information. “I am afraid my repudiation of the arrangement made him ill again. I’m sorry to say he took a fit.”

Charlotte shrugged. She couldn’t be sorry, even if that made her a horrible person. Again, Aldridge seemed to know what she was thinking.

“He, like my own sire, is too used to everyone leaping to his commands. We can’t let their refusal to brook denial shape our lives any more than they must.” He stood. “Still, I must hope I haven’t killed him. Will you let me know?”

“I will. And thank you.” She held out her hand in farewell, and he took it, turning it over and placing a kiss in the palm.

Once again, his mask dropped away, and something unfathomable stirred in his eyes. “If you change your mind, or if you ever have need of anything I can do for you, let me know, Cherry. I will always come at your command.”

With that, he dropped her hand and strode for the door, leaving Charlotte less happy than she expected. If he had been a yeoman farmer, or a lawyer, or some other humble man to whom she might aspire—someone who did not require from her the primary duty of a peer’s wife—they might have been happy together. But then, he would not have been Aldridge.

Author’s Note

To Tame the Wild Rake is the last novel in the series The Return of the Mountain King. Can it be read as a stand-alone? Yes, it can. The main plot line is the romance between the Marquis of Aldridge and Lady Charlotte Winderfield. In this novel, you’ll find out about their history, together and separately, what stands between them, and how it is resolved. And I’ll give you a glimpse of their happy ever after in the epilogue.

If you want to know the full story of the villain’s dealings with the two main families in the book, or the stories of the married son and daughter of the Duke of Winshire, and of Charlotte’s sister, you may wish to read the other books in the series. They’re listed in order at the back and on my web, and on retailer sites, you’ll notice that the novels are numbered on the cover.

Beyond that, I write historical romances set in a complex Regency world of my own imagining, where all the most powerful families know one another, and a main character from one book may be a secondary or background character in another. For example, Aldridge has appeared in more than thirteen of my novels, novellas, and short stories, and not only in this series. When I edit, I have to discipline myself to cut out all the detail about these extra people that doesn’t have anything to do with the plot lines of the particular book I’m writing. I don’t want to confuse new readers. But I know readers of my other books enjoy these glimpses of old friends.

This book has one unresolved plot line from the series. What becomes of the relationship between Aldridge’s mother, the Duchess of Haverford, and Charlotte’s uncle, the Duke of Winshire? That story will be published as Paradise At Last in a three-part set later this year. I’m aiming at 15 December. The set, The Paradise Triptych, will include the duke’s novella, Paradise Regained, the duchess’s memoirs, Paradise Lost, and Paradise At Last.