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  Brazen

  Reformed Rakes Novella, Volume 3

  Amy Sandas

  Published by Amy Sandas, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  BRAZEN

  First edition. August 6, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Amy Sandas.

  Written by Amy Sandas.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Also By Amy Sandas

  About the Author

  This series is dedicated to every secret crush and unrequited infatuation I've ever had. All those angsty daydreams led me to this life as a romance author and I am forever grateful.

  Prologue

  London, 1822

  In the late afternoon on a day much like every other dreary London day, four handsome young gentlemen assembled in the most exclusive private drawing room available to guests in Pendragon’s Pleasure House.

  Each of the men came from a long and distinguished line of affluence and privilege. And, as many wild and reckless young men did when in possession of an obscene excess of wealth and not nearly enough responsibility, they’d become well acquainted with debauchery, hedonism, and all the earthy pleasures they could discover or invent.

  As such, spending a near fortune to reserve a luxurious private room in the elite bordello was not an uncommon occurrence. What was uncommon, however, was the fact that on that afternoon, the young rakes were not there to indulge in the infamous pleasures Pendragon had to offer. In fact, the men had specifically indicated that they did not wish to be disturbed.

  It was an unusual request for a house that boasted some of the most talented and tempting companions in all of London, but Pendragon knew well how to accommodate her guests no matter how unexpected their needs. So, the wealthy young lords were left with an unopened deck of cards, a box of fine cigars, and a couple bottles of the best French brandy available.

  It was likely they would seek additional comforts and distractions later, but at present, they preferred the type of melancholy commiseration that could only be had amongst close friends.

  For this was not a time for revelry.

  The gentlemen were in mourning.

  The de facto leader of their group and heir to a dukedom shook his tawny head. A scowl marred his elegant brows as he noted with no small amount of incredulity, “I can’t believe it. How could a tragedy like this befall such a man?”

  “Perhaps he was low on funds,” the man to his left suggested in a slight Italian accent as he lounged in his chair with feline grace. “The need for money can be a terrible burden.”

  A low murmur of consideration passed amongst them at the thought before another of them—this one the son of an earl—leaned forward to note in a grave tone, “There are rumors it was a love match.”

  More than one of them flinched.

  They’d all heard the talk about town. None of them truly believed it, but the words still struck a chord of subtle terror. Then the fourth man, a newly minted marquess, gave a harsh sound of derision and they all relaxed with a round of uneasy laughter that quickly faded.

  After a moment of heavy silence, the son of a duke straightened in his chair and lifted his glass. “A toast.” He paused while the others followed suit and hoisted their drinks. “To Viscount Neville, the most accomplished rogue and libertine to ever prowl the ballrooms and bordellos of London.”

  “May he find some...gratification in his new role as noble husband.”

  “And may we never, ever feel compelled to join his ranks.”

  “Hear, hear,” they affirmed in unison before upending their glasses.

  Chapter One

  Seven Years Later

  Braden Fulke, sixth Duke of Melbourne, stumbled heavily over the threshold into the marble-floored entry hall of his London townhouse. Though he had enjoyed his share of drink that evening, his unsteadiness was due more to the burden of keeping his companion upright. The woman tucked under his arm possessed a soft and curvaceous figure she was currently employing to full effect by draping herself all over him. They barely made it two steps into the house before her skirts tangled around his ankles, causing him to stumble.

  “Easy, Your Grace,” she chuckled throatily as she wrapped her arms around his neck and flashed a siren’s smile. “I’d prefer to make it to your bedroom, but if you’d rather have a go right here, I’m certainly game.”

  Braden looked down into the actress’s kohl-lined eyes then watched her run her tongue over her reddened lips as he tried desperately to recall her name. He knew it, he really did, but before he could properly grasp it, the tall, distinguished form of his butler appeared beside them.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” the senior servant droned with a bow of his head that implied deference when in truth Albert deferred to no one. “I apologize for interrupting the progress of your evening, but a young lady awaits an audience with you in the library.”

  “At this hour? It’s got to be nearing three in the morning.”

  “She arrived several hours ago.”

  “Several hours?” Braden repeated, trying to make sense of the butler’s announcement when the woman in his arms kept groping at his rear as she rubbed generous breasts across his chest and pressed wet kisses to his jaw. “Why the hell didn’t you send her away?”

  “The young lady proved herself to be quite stubborn, Your Grace, and refused to leave.” The butler paused, his flinty gaze flickering briefly to the woman in Braden’s arms. “She claims to be your betrothed.”

  The pronouncement brought a swift halt to the actress’s attentions. “Betrothed?” she exclaimed before bursting into laughter that had her gasping for breath.

  Braden did not join in his companion’s amusement, but he did take advantage of her momentary fit to dislodge himself from her cloying hands.

  “It’s thrilled I am to see my arrival has at least pleased someone.”

  Braden turned at the sound of the unfamiliar female’s voice to see a young woman standing in the library doorway. She wore a stern traveling dress in forest green and her dark hair was pulled back into a simple style. Her complexion was fair and her eyes an indiscernible color in the dim light of the hall, but he had no trouble feeling the intense chill of her regard as she swept him with an assessing glance.

  “I suppose I shouldna be surprised to discover you’re every bit the shameless scoundrel you’re rumored to be,” she added. Her words were sharp with disapproval, but not sharp enough to disguise her melodic Scottish burr. “I just dinna expect to be so insulted in the process.”

  “You should’ve chosen a different story, sweetheart,” the actress noted with laughter still in her voice. “No one is a more devoted bachelor than the Duke of Melbourne.”

  Suddenly far too sober, Braden ran a hand through his hair before sending a swift glare toward his butler. Albert could have handled the current situation any number of ways that wouldn’t have been quite so...theatrical.

  Luckily, Braden had finally remembered his companion’s name. “Albert, please arrange for Miss Lewis to be taken home. And have some tea brought to the library.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Just a minute,” the actress exclaimed indignantly. “I’ll not be swept out the door like some bit of trash. You send me away now, you won’t have another chance.
”

  Braden considered the fuming woman and tried to dredge up a bit of disappointment; unfortunately, he couldn’t recall why he decided to bring her back to the house in the first place.

  “I understand, darling.” He smiled and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

  While Albert led the actress back to the carriage, Braden turned to the dark-haired stranger, who did nothing more than stare at him.

  “What do you want?” he asked into the echoing silence of the hall.

  “As your butler stated, I am your betrothed.” When he didn’t reply, she heaved an irritated sigh. “Your intended future bride, promised to you shortly after my birth. I have the betrothal documents if you insist on viewing them,” she finished with a slashing gesture of her hand.

  “Not necessary,” Braden replied. “I’m aware of the betrothal, Miss Dunn. Why are you here?”

  Ire flashed in her narrowed gaze. “I should think the reason would be obvious.” Then she smiled, but there was no humor or pleasantry in the curve of her mouth. “I’ve come for my husband.”

  Braden flashed a wide grin although he felt anything but joyful. “Not husband yet.”

  “And whose fault is that, Your Grace?” she retorted.

  Rather than argue her valid point, Braden crossed the hall toward her. As he neared, he noted that her bold arrogance had made her seem larger than she was. Up close, it became clear she was of less than average height with the top of her head coming even with his nose. She had sturdy shoulders and a proud spine, but he doubted he’d have any trouble at all spanning her waist with his hands.

  And what he’d thought were rather plain features at a distance proved to be anything but up close. Her dark hair likely held a slight curl if he judged by the evidence of the few rebellious tendrils that coiled softly against her nape and temples. Wide-set eyes tilted slightly upward at the outer corners and were an interesting shade of green that was not quite moss, not quite seafoam, but somewhere in between. Her cheekbones were well-defined and elegant, which helped offset her slightly angular jawline. By far, her mouth was the softest aspect of her features—bow-shaped with elegant arches and a full lower curve. But best of all was the liberal dusting of freckles that spread across her cheeks and nose, giving her a slightly impish look.

  Allowing his charm to override his discomfort at the lady’s presence, Braden smiled in a way that tended to make women swoon and sigh. “Shall we continue this discussion in the comfort of the library?” He lowered his chin and deepened his voice. “Or do you, like Miss Lewis, see no problem with going at it right here in the entry hall?”

  It was a brazen move to make such a coarse reference, but Braden wasn’t overly concerned with offending the bristling lady. He was more interested in testing her limits. She’d come here to fetch him... It was best she learned what she was in for.

  Unfortunately, she gave no indication of being put off by his crude remark as she turned in place to precede him into the library.

  The room was in near darkness. Only a single lamp had been lit and it had been kept to a low glow. Not even a fire burned in the grate to add light or expel the chill that came with the lengthening night.

  Braden frowned. It wasn’t like Albert to be remiss in providing such a basic comfort for a guest...even an unwanted one. He crossed to the fireplace and saw that logs and tinder had already been expertly stacked and only awaited a spark to start the fire. The task allowed him time to figure out what to say to the woman.

  Go away probably wasn’t the best option.

  It didn’t take long before the flames sent billows of warmth into the room, yet he remained as he was.

  Just as he was beginning to contemplate how cowardly he could be, the lady behind him asked dryly, “D’you intend to roast me alive?”

  Braden glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow. “The room was chilled.”

  Something flickered in her gaze and Braden realized why there had been no fire. “Though probably not for a woman who hails from the rugged lands to the north. How far you’ve come, Miss Dunn.”

  She eyed him for a moment, her green eyes intently assessing, before she replied. “I understand why you wouldna be pleased by my visit, Your Grace, but you must agree it’s long past time for our betrothal to be addressed.”

  “Not our betrothal, Miss Dunn.” Braden stood and turned with a casual smile. “The arrangement was entirely our grandfathers’ doing. I sure as hell had no say in it when I was just a boy at the time.”

  Though she’d come into the room, she remained several paces away, standing behind the library’s leather sofa. “And I was no more than a babe,” she retorted quickly, “but that doesna make the contract any less binding.”

  “Believe me, I’m aware.”

  She lifted her chin and her gaze was disturbingly direct. “What was your plan, then? Ignore the thing until it magically disappeared?”

  His lips quirked at her biting tone. The woman had a temper and he found himself enjoying the lash of her sharp tongue. It kept him from feeling compelled to play nice. “Something like that,” he drawled.

  “Well, I doona have the luxury of doing the same and I’ve run out of patience. We were supposed to wed when I was eighteen.” She stepped round the sofa to approach him with slow, deliberate steps. “Do you ken how long it’s been since I was eighteen, Your Grace?”

  It was probably safe to wager it had been a while.

  “Six years,” she stated sharply when he didn’t reply. “Six years I’ve waited for my promised husband.”

  Braden was almost impressed by her bold confrontational manner if not for one thing. “If you’ve been pining for me all these years as you say, why did your letters start just six months ago?”

  Her dark eyebrows arched upward. “Ach. So, you did receive them.”

  Dammit.

  Her gaze turned accusing. “I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt on that. But I see I was too generous. If it’s your intention to break the contract, why not just say so and free us both.”

  If only he could. He been cursing that damned betrothal since he’d learned of it at the age of thirteen. “You know I cannot do that.” Not only would he forfeit his honor and that of his family, but also a sizeable fortune in restitution.

  “Was it your intention to wait until we’re both old and grey?”

  His response was a half smile and a shrug.

  She was not amused.

  There was a lengthy pause while the two of them stared at each other. Long enough for Braden to become uncomfortable under her assessing gaze.

  It was a strikingly unfamiliar sensation.

  He adored being the object of a woman’s intent focus.

  This was obviously different. She was different. So far, she’d been at turns stoic, sarcastic, and irritated, but never for a moment had she seemed charmed by him. It was astonishing. He charmed everyone he met, from street vendors to vicars to jaded society matrons. What was so different about her?

  And then something occurred to him.

  He couldn’t hold back his smirk as he took a few steps toward her. His eyes locked with hers in a knowing stare. “For all your fiery indignation over the delay in our nuptials, you don’t want this any more than I do.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her jaw tensed. “It doesna much matter what I want,” she replied in a low, curt voice.

  He looked down into odd green eyes fringed by the thickest, darkest lashes he’d ever seen. She stared hard back, her expression unyielding, her stance squared and firm. But the pulse at the side of her slim neck fluttered erratically.

  The flutter intrigued him.

  “We canna break the contract,” she began as though carefully choosing her words, “but I might ken a way to circumvent it.”

  Braden arched a brow but an explanation would have to wait as Albert chose that moment to step through the open door with a tray of tea and biscuits. They remained silent as the bu
tler replaced a previous tray with the fresh service, setting it on the table before the sofa. Straightening, the butler turned to Braden. “Will there be anything else, Your Grace?”

  “That will be all.”

  Rather than leaving the room as he should have, the butler turned next to Miss Dunn. “And you, miss? Is there anything else you require?”

  “No thank you, Albert.”

  The senior servant gave a respectful nod and left the room.

  Braden had to hold back his frown at Albert’s obvious acceptance of the lady’s claim as he gestured to the service. “Tea, Miss Dunn?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve had quite enough over the last hours. Your staff has been verra attentive.” She hesitated briefly before lifting a slightly hopeful gaze. “I wouldna mind something a wee bit more bracing, however.”

  He tilted his head. “More bracing?”

  “Aye.” The strong line of her jaw briefly tensed. “It’s been a long day.”

  Earlier in the evening Braden had attended a party celebrating the one-year wedding anniversary of one of his closest friends. The intimate event had also been attended by his two other newly-wed mates and their lovely wives. Braden had spent much of the night fending off multiple inquiries about when he planned to give up his rakish ways and settle down.

  And now he faced yet another person asking about his plans to wed. And this one actually had a right to the answer.

  He could use something more bracing himself.

  Braden flashed a smile. “That is one request I will readily accommodate.” He gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat.”

  He crossed the room to a recessed shelf built into the corner between two bookcases. Reaching behind the antique vase displayed in the alcove, he released a small concealed lever, which caused the bottom panel of the unit to swing open, revealing a few bottles of fine liquor alongside a set of crystal glasses. “What would you prefer, Miss Dunn? I have a lovely port, the finest French brandy, Russian vodka—”