Confessions of a Rakehell (The Rakehells of Mayfair #2)

Prologue

Wylder St. Clair

Earl of Wyldewood, heir to the Duke of Claymore, and a few other soon-to-be worthless titles.

Mayfair, England

It was an unfortunate fact that Lady Emily Blackthorne was as clever as she was beautiful.

Her antics proved especially problematic for Wylder St. Clair.

He could not entirely ignore her as he wished.

Being that she was the younger sister of his dearest friend created a hazardous situation, but she persisted in ignoring the peril.

“Lord Wyldewood… did you not hear me calling your name?”

The pressure of a delicate hand lightly gripping Wylder’s forearm accompanied the breathless question.

Courtesy dictated that he acknowledge the young lady, but his stomach clenched at the thought of staring into her sparkling blue eyes.

A man such as himself only possessed so much restraint, and all of his usually evaporated into mist around Emily.

“Lord Wyldewood, isn’t it all so very exciting?” Emily asked, her fingers clutching his coat sleeve as though well aware of his desire to bolt. “I’ve never seen Blackthorne Manor so full of people.”

“It’s quite the crush,” Wylder gruffly agreed as Emily gazed up at him, an expectant look spreading across her features.

“Have you ever seen so many beautiful women in such lovely gowns as those here tonight?” Her tone had a lilting, musical quality, and despite having only recently turned eighteen, Wylder recognized the womanly challenge in her words.

He knew very well she was hoping for a compliment, but there was danger even in that.

“Hmmm,” he said while casually sipping from his glass of champagne.

“Cad,” Emily accused in an affectionately exasperated tone.

“I haven’t the faintest idea why I thought you might bestow a compliment on my bewitching appearance.

I mean, the gown on its own is worthy of some manner of praise.

Mother nearly fainted when she received the dressmaker’s bill.

And then there is, of course, the girl currently wearing said gown.

” Emily glanced down at the dress and gently lifted the delicate bow gracing the center of the bodice.

Her brow furrowed. “Mother believes my complexion is very suited for wearing white, but I think it is the most boring of all colors. I’d much rather wear a gorgeous shade of purple.

Or even red, for that matter. Whenever I wear my scarlet riding habit, Father says it sets my eyes to dancing.

Which I think is quite silly, don’t you?

How can eyes possibly dance if they lack legs and feet?

” Her sapphire-hued gaze searched his. “Do you think that what Father says is true, Lord Wyldewood? That certain colors can make one’s eyes more lively than others? ”

“Perhaps.” Wylder shifted his feet, his gaze flitting around the ballroom.

He hoped to find Lady Emily’s brother bearing down on them, but the earl was nowhere to be seen.

He breathed a little easier as he allowed himself to take in Emily’s appearance fully.

“You are easily the most stunning woman in attendance tonight, Lady Emily. All other debutantes pale in comparison, and that is the truth.”

Emily’s face brightened with a grin. “Now, was that so difficult to say aloud, Lord Wyldewood?” Her fingers loosened their grip on his coat and now rested almost caressingly on his forearm. “I confess that when I put this gown on tonight, my greatest hope was that you would find it pleasing.”

“Emily,” he muttered with another sip of his wine. “I would have to be struck blind not to see how beautiful you are, but this is hardly an appropriate conversation. If your brother only knew…”

Leaning closer, Emily swatted his arm with her closed fan.

“If only my brother could mind his own business, Lord Wyldewood. What harm is there in the two of us having a cordial conversation? After all, you and Simon have been friends since childhood, and you’ve known me practically my entire life.

We are… what is the word I’m searching for?

Oh, yes,” she trilled. “We are intimately acquainted with one another.”

Wylder nearly gaped at her before snapping his mouth shut and growling between clenched teeth, “You mustn’t say such things aloud, especially words like that. Someone could mistake your meaning.”

Emily released his arm and pulled a long curl of hair over her shoulder as she stared up at him.

Letting the tendril wrap around her index finger, she regarded him with her head tilted slightly.

“What meaning could one possibly attach to that? I mean that you know me almost as well as my own brother does. How is that scandalous, pray tell?”

“Do not toy with me, Emily,” Wylder grumbled. “You’ve no idea the trouble you could get us both into.”

Emily smiled. “Whatever do you mean, Lord Wyldewood?”

Wylder swallowed the remaining champagne in the glass. The little minx was deliberately trying to provoke him, and it was working. “You know very well that Simon would shoot me through the heart if there were even the slightest hint of inappropriate behavior when it comes to you.”

A pout formed on Emily’s lusciously plump, pink lips. “Is it inappropriate for one of my brother’s best friends to dance with me? Surely he cannot object to that!”

Wylder’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Do you wish to visit my or Lucien’s graveside if either one of us were to indulge you?”

For the first time, a whisper of uncertainty crossed Emily’s features.

From the corner where they stood, she perused Blackthorne Manor’s elegant ballroom for a long moment.

When she finally responded, it was in a tone that was carefully measured.

“Do you think Simon would care that much, Wylder? After all, the whole point of this feminine display is to snare a husband. The problem is that there is not a single one of this season’s eligible bachelors who is to my liking, with the exception of yourself.

And I am of the opinion that you would make an excellent husband. ”

“You just turned eighteen, Emily. And I’m far too old for you,” Wylder murmured, although he knew that particular argument was ridiculous.

Barely seven years separated them, and marriage between young women and much older men was a common occurrence among the ton.

“Certainly, you realize that. If you do not, you must try harder to recognize that you and I can never be together in the manner you wish. You are my best friend’s sister and nothing more. ”

“Hmmm,” she said, deliberately mimicking his earlier indifference.

“What if someone like Lord Jenner should offer for me? Would you consider him to be too old? Or should I expect a proposal from a man closer to my age? Let’s say, Sir Fieldstone?

He recently celebrated his twentieth birthday and is a pleasant enough fellow. ”

Wylder’s hand tightened around the empty glass.

“I think you should follow the advice of your parents when it comes to choosing a husband. Even Simon will undoubtedly have some input on the matter.” His eyes softened, recognizing that he was upsetting her with his steadfast refusal to acknowledge the attraction that had flared unbidden between them over the last year.

But he’d been told Emily was not a woman even to consider pursuing.

Simon’s warning to keep his distance stung, but Wylder understood the reasoning behind it.

Not only was he as depraved and debauched as the two men he considered brothers, he also teetered on the edge of bankruptcy thanks to his father’s spendthrift ways—hardly an ideal candidate for marriage, even with the threat of lost fortunes still a closely held secret.

Emily stomped her foot. “This is very unfair.”

“Yes. It is,” Wylder said. “But this is how things must be. Simon trusts that I will not pursue his sister. I’ll not betray him.”

“Even at the cost of your own heart’s desires?” Emily questioned in a voice full of resentment and hurt.

Wylder took her gloved hand within his, lifting it to his lips and brushing a slight kiss across it. “Yes. Even then.”

Emily closed her fingers around his when he tried to release her hand.

The spark of determination in her eyes made Wylder nervous, but he did not resist when she tugged him deeper into the alcove’s shadows.

With a bit more privacy but still within eyesight of any number of people milling about, Emily gripped his arm again.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you, Wylder St. Clair.

I was five years old, and you tied my braids together on a dare from my brother.

When I cried, you kissed my forehead and apologized even while Simon mocked you for it.

” Her smile was pensive, her eyes searching his.

“The times I’ve caught you staring at me this past year speak volumes.

You may be able to hide it from Simon and the rest of the world, but you cannot hide it from me.

We both know you do not view me as a child anymore. ”

“Emily, Simon will never—”

“It’s not up to Simon,” she interrupted him.

“This is about you and me.” She took a deep breath and met his gaze, her beautiful features earnest and hopeful.

“If you believe I am worth fighting for, you will meet me in the west garden gazebo in half an hour.” She squeezed his arm, desperation lacing her tone. “Please… meet me there, Wylder.”

“You know that’s impossible,” Wylder hissed, his jaw clenching tight when he recognized the stubborn glint of rebellion in her eyes. “Don’t you dare go to that gazebo, Emily.”

“Or what?” she asked, one dark eyebrow arching high as she taunted him. “What will you do if I disobey you? What if I go there and, because you refused me, another gentleman takes your place? What shall you do about that?”

“Brattish behavior deserves punishment, minx.”