Together, they must decide what they’re willing to risk for love
The Ruin of a Rake
Cat Sebastian
Releasing July 4, 2017
Avon Impulse
Rogue.
Libertine. Rake. Lord Courtenay has been called many things and has never much
cared. But after the publication of a salacious novel supposedly based on his
exploits, he finds himself shunned from society. Unable to see his nephew, he
is willing to do anything to improve his reputation, even if that means
spending time with the most proper man in London.
Julian Medlock has spent years becoming the epitome of correct behavior. As far as he cares, if Courtenay finds himself in hot water, it’s his own fault for behaving so badly—and being so blasted irresistible. But when Julian’s sister asks him to rehabilitate Courtenay’s image, Julian is forced to spend time with the man he loathes—and lusts after—most.
As Courtenay begins to yearn for a love he fears he doesn’t deserve, Julian starts to understand how desire can drive a man to abandon all sense of propriety. But he has secrets he’s determined to keep, because if the truth came out, it would ruin everyone he loves. Together, they must decide what they’re willing to risk for love.
Julian Medlock has spent years becoming the epitome of correct behavior. As far as he cares, if Courtenay finds himself in hot water, it’s his own fault for behaving so badly—and being so blasted irresistible. But when Julian’s sister asks him to rehabilitate Courtenay’s image, Julian is forced to spend time with the man he loathes—and lusts after—most.
As Courtenay begins to yearn for a love he fears he doesn’t deserve, Julian starts to understand how desire can drive a man to abandon all sense of propriety. But he has secrets he’s determined to keep, because if the truth came out, it would ruin everyone he loves. Together, they must decide what they’re willing to risk for love.
London, 1817
Julian pursed his lips as he gazed at the symmetrical brick façade of
his sister’s house. It was every bit as bad as he had feared. He could hear the
racket from the street, for God’s sake. He pulled the brim of his hat lower on
his forehead, as if concealing his face would go any distance toward mitigating
the damage done by his sister having turned her house into a veritable brothel.
Right in the middle of Mayfair, and at eleven in the morning, when the entire ton was on hand to bear witness to her
degradation, no less. Say what one wanted about Eleanor—and at this moment
Julian could only imagine what was being said—but she did not do things by
halves.
As he climbed the steps to her door, the low rumble of masculine
voices drifted from an open second story window. Somebody was playing a
pianoforte—badly—and a lady was singing out of key.
No, not a lady. Julian
suppressed a sigh. Whoever these women were in his sister’s house, they were
not ladies. No lady in her right mind would consort with the sort of men
Eleanor had been entertaining lately. Every young buck with a taste for vice
had made his way to her house over these last weeks, along with their
mistresses or courtesans or whatever one was meant to call them. And the worst
of them, the blackguard who had started Eleanor on her path to becoming a
byword for scandal, was Lord Courtenay.
A shiver trickled down Julian’s spine at the thought of encountering
the man, and he could not decide whether it was from simple, honest loathing or
something much, much worse.
The door swung open before Julian had raised his hand to the knocker.
“Mr. Medlock, thank goodness.” The look of abject relief on the face
of Eleanor’s butler might have struck Julian as vaguely inappropriate under any
other circumstance. But considering the tableau that presented itself in
Eleanor’s vestibule, the butler’s informality hardly registered.
Propped against the elegantly papered wall, a man in full evening
dress snored peacefully, a bottle of brandy cradled in his arms and a swath of
bright crimson silk draped across his leg. A lady’s gown, Julian gathered. The
original wearer of the garment was, mercifully, not present.
“I came as soon as I received your message.” Julian had not been best
pleased to receive a letter from his sister’s butler, of all people, begging
that he return to London ahead of schedule. Having secured a coveted invitation
to a very promising house party, he was loath to leave early in order to evict
a set of bohemians and reprobates from his sister’s house.
“The cook is threatening to quit, sir,” said the butler. Tilbury, a
man of over fifty who had been with Eleanor since she and Julian had arrived in
England, had gray circles under his eyes. No doubt the revels had interrupted
his sleep. “And I’ve already sent all but the—ah—hardiest of the housemaids to
the country. It wouldn’t do for them to be imposed upon. I’d never forgive
myself.”
Julian nodded. “You were quite right to send for me. Where is my
sister?” Several unmatched slippers were scattered along the stairs that led
toward the drawing room and bedchambers. He gritted his teeth.
“Lady Standish is in her study, sir.”
Julian’s eyebrows shot up. “Her study,” he repeated. Eleanor was
hosting an orgy—really, there was no use in pretending it was anything else—but
ducked out to conduct an experiment. Truly, the experiments were bad enough,
but Julian had always managed to conceal their existence. But to combine
scientific pursuits with actual orgies struck Julian as excessive in all
directions.
“You,” he said, nudging the sleeping man with the toe of his boot. He
was not climbing over drunken bodies, not today, not any day. “Wake up.” The
man opened his eyes with what seemed a great deal of effort. “Who are you? No,
never mind, I can’t be bothered to care.” The man wasn’t any older than Julian
himself, certainly not yet five and twenty, but Julian felt as old as time and
as irritable as a school mistress compared to this specimen of self-indulgence.
“Get up, restore that gown to its owner, and be gone before I decide to let
your father know what you’ve been up to.” As so often happened when Julian
ordered people about, this fellow complied.
Julian made his way to Eleanor’s study, and found her furiously
scribbling at her writing table, a mass of wires and tubes arranged before her.
She didn’t look up at the sound of the door opening, nor when he pointedly
closed it behind him. Eleanor, once she was busy working, was utterly
unreachable. She had been like this since they were children. He felt a rush of
affection for her despite how much trouble she was causing him.
“Eleanor?” Nothing. He stooped to gather an empty wine bottle and a
few abandoned goblets, letting them clink noisily together as he deposited them
onto a table. Still no response. “Nora?” It almost physically hurt to say his
childhood name for her when things
felt so awkward and strained between them.
“It won’t work,” came a low drawl. “I’ve been sitting here these past
two hours and I haven’t gotten a response.”
Banishing any evidence of surprise from his countenance, Julian turned
to see Lord Courtenay himself sprawled in a low chair in a shadowy corner.
There oughtn’t to have been any shadows in the middle of the day in a bright
room, but trust Lord Courtenay to find one to lurk in.
Julian quickly schooled his face into some semblance of indifference. No, that was a reach; his face was simply not going to let him pretend indifference to Courtenay. He doubted whether anyone had ever shared space with Lord Courtenay without being very much aware of that fact. And it wasn’t only his preposterous good looks that made him so . . . noticeable. The man served as a sort of magnet for other people’s attention, and Julian hated himself for being one of those people. As far as he could tell, the man’s entire problem was that people paid a good deal too much attention to him. But one could hardly help it, not when he looked like that.
Julian quickly schooled his face into some semblance of indifference. No, that was a reach; his face was simply not going to let him pretend indifference to Courtenay. He doubted whether anyone had ever shared space with Lord Courtenay without being very much aware of that fact. And it wasn’t only his preposterous good looks that made him so . . . noticeable. The man served as a sort of magnet for other people’s attention, and Julian hated himself for being one of those people. As far as he could tell, the man’s entire problem was that people paid a good deal too much attention to him. But one could hardly help it, not when he looked like that.
Coming soon!
Looking forward to the review!
ReplyDelete