Page 1 of The Tantalizing of a Scandalous Rake

Chapter One

“Damn you!”

Adam reclined on the spindly chair and watched his opponent fling his cards to the table and storm away, scarcely bothering to keep his smug smile to himself. At least that game had been a little bit of a challenge. Unlike most of the card games he’d played tonight.

He leaned forward and scraped the meagre winnings over to his side of the table then slipped them into his waistcoat pocket. Good job he didn’t play for money. The patrons of the inn varied from farmers to visiting gentry, but few had sums like those wagered in the London clubs.

He blew out a breath and lifted his glass of whisky in salute to his recently conquered opponent who paused briefly to mutter something to a friend before curling his lip and marching out of the inn.

How he missed London.

Or more to the point the clubs.

There, he could be guaranteed better opponents—ones who might actually test him. He always won, naturally, but the ease with which he triumphed whilst holed up in Cumbria was becoming dull indeed.

He’d come to this inn, quite some distance from the family seat in Langmere, in the hopes of meeting a match for his skills with cards, but it seemed he was out of luck. In the several months he’d been home, he’d visited almost every drinking hole in the county. If this mess in London did not sort itself out soon, he would go out of his wits. There was only so much playing the country gent one could do.

Adam glanced around the room and eyed up several potential opponents. Ideally, one who was not in his cups. On the opposite side of the tavern, a man let rip a hearty snore, his head tilted back, his mouth ajar, while his friends proceeded to see how many things they could balance on his forehead. He smirked to himself. No opponents there.

Nor by the fireplace, where two men arm wrestled and offered loud curses as neither seemed to gain an inch. Nor to the right of him. The men there were occupied with two women who Adam suspected intended to lift coin from them.

He’d well and truly milked this inn dry and there was no more entertainment to be had.

Of course, now that his brothers were married and sickeningly in love, that did not help matters much. He rolled his eyes to himself. He warned them their mother had sent them here with the idea in mind that they would fall for a local beauty or visiting young lady and he’d been proven right not once but twice.

Well, he might be obeying by his mother’s demand to stay here until the Miss Kingsley scandal blew over, but he certainly would not be falling for her plot. The woman had even had the gall to tell them to steer clear of ladies. Clearly, their mother knew all too well what such a command would do to his brothers.

Thankfully, he was smarter than the both of them and had avoided temptation of any kind. He enjoyed women as much as the next man but controlling his needs was no hardship. The area of his brother’s home had been swamped with lots of wholesome, sweet young things and he had little desire to entangle himself with a virgin looking for a husband—unlike Alexander—who had fallen far too easily for Lucy. Still, they did make a good match.

Romance was not for him, that was all. Give him a game of cards or a matching of wits in the gentlemen’s clubs anyway.

“Fancy a game?” he offered to a passing gentleman, whose well-fitted garments hinted he might be able to wager a sum that might create a little more of a thrill than his previous three games.

The man didn’t even acknowledge him, his attention focused ahead. Adam frowned and followed the man’s gaze. In front of the bar stood a huddle of men whilst others jostled to get a spot. Either they were giving away free ale, or it was the owner of the inn. He suspected the latter.

“The Beauty of Buttermere,” he murmured to himself.

He’d yet to see her but this inn had been included in a recent popular guide book to the lakes—the book responsible for the influx of wholesome ladies.

Or more specifically the owner of the inn had been written about. He hadn’t even glanced at the book himself, although apparently, he and his brothers had also been mentioned as theLords of Scandal Row—a preposterous nickname that had been invented years ago as they all owned houses on the same row. Hell, it was rare all three of them were ever in residence at the same time and this Miss Kingsley business had been the first real scandal to follow them, but the nickname didn’t bother him much.

He doubted the Beauty of Buttermere nickname bothered this lady either. It seemed it had created quite the excitement and men and women alike had come just to steal a glance at her. The ale here was palatable and the food acceptable but he had already paid higher prices than in the two other local inns. There was something to be admired about such business acumen though he couldn’t imagine she’d be as beautiful as the book supposedly portrayed. Hell, he’d been with plenty of reputed beauties in his time.

The crowd of men at the bar separated and despite himself, he held his breath. The lady emerged as though parting the seas, her chin lifted high, her stride confident. He continued to hold his breath when she met his gaze, forgetting to draw in another until a cough escaped him.

A brow arched as she made her way to his table. Vaguely aware of the envious glances of those around him, he cleared his throat and straightened his chair then plastered on a charming smile for good measure.

She came to a stop at his table and folded her arms. His throat dried a little as he found himself unable to keep his gaze confidently on her features. A simple gown and apron hugged generous curves.

She could have worn clothes that flattered them all the more, but it was unnecessary. His imagination did the job of envisioning what they would look like under the garments. If her body matched her features, then the writer was not wrong. Pale skin, a long, straight nose, generous lips and wide, blue eyes plus golden hair with wild curls that he doubted had been touched by sleeping rags. Her lashes were exceptionally dark compared to the rest of her hair, making her startling eyes all the more captivating.

“The Beauty of Buttermere,” he repeated, unable to prevent himself.

∞∞∞

That name usually made Rosie roll her eyes but spilling out of this refined gentleman’s lips, she was inclined to laugh.

She was no fool. Being a supposed beauty had its benefits—namely it had increased profits at the inn tenfold—but having people clamoring just to steal a glance at her was mightily odd and she doubted she would ever get used to it.

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