How to Catch a Wicked Viscount (The Disreputable Debutantes) - Softcover

Bennett, Amy Rose

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1984803921 ISBN 13: 9781984803924

Publisher: Berkley, 2019

Synopsis

A young lady's tarnished reputation might cost her everything in this first book in the Disreputable Debutantes series. 

Shy, bookish Sophie Brightwell is expected to make an advantageous match to improve her family's fortunes. However, Sophie's plans to make a spectacular debut go horribly awry when she and her three closest friends are expelled from a young ladies' academy for unbecoming conduct. Since the ton will be sure to close their doors on these disgraced debutantes, they determine that unconventional means need to be employed in the husband-hunting market. Rakehells—the beau monde's wickedest members—might be the only men willing to overlook a young lady's besmirched reputation. 
 
But how does one catch a rake?

Nate Hastings, the devil-may-care Viscount Malverne, is the older brother of Sophie’s best friend, fellow disgraced debutante Lady Charlotte. When a terribly foxed Nate accidentally compromises Sophie, Charlotte strikes a wicked bargain: in order to avoid a scandal and the parson's mousetrap, Nate must help Sophie snare a husband. But as Nate fulfills his obligation and begins to instruct the lovely Sophie in the art of luring rakes, he soon finds himself battling his own fierce attraction to her.

About this title

About the Author:

Amy Rose Bennett is an Australian author who has a passion for penning emotion-packed historical romances. Of course, her strong-willed heroines and rakish heroes always find their happily ever after.
 
A former speech pathologist, Amy is happily married to her very own romantic hero and has two lovely, very accomplished adult daughters. When she’s not creating stories, Amy loves to cook up a storm in the kitchen, lose herself in a good book or a witty rom-com, and when she can afford it, travel to all the places she writes about.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof***

Copyright © 2019 Amy Rose Bennett

 

Chapter One

Disreputable debutantes in the making!

A shocking scandal of epic proportions at a certain London school for

‘Young Ladies of Good Character’ shakes the ton.

Does your genteel daughter attend such a den of iniquity? Read on to discover ten things one should consider when choosing a reputable academy...

The Town and Ton Tatler: The Society Page

 

Mrs. Rathbone’s Academy for Young Ladies of Good Character, Chelsea, London.

Midnight, 1st February 1815

 

“Heavens. Take care, Charlie.” Sophie Brightwell winced as her friend entered her bedroom and carelessly pushed the door shut with her slippered foot. The resultant bang was decidedly too loud in the relative silence of the dormitory wing of the Chelsea townhouse. “You’ll wake Mrs. Rathbone for sure. If she finds out what we’re up to...” Sophie couldn’t suppress a shiver.

Lady Charlotte Hastings—or Charlie to her friends—threw her a disarming smile as she deposited a band box of contraband and a battered leather satchel on the end of the single bed. “Don’t worry so, darling Sophie,” she said as she untied the black satin ribbon securing the box’s lid with a flourish. “I just passed her bedchamber and she was snoring like a hold full of drunken sailors.”

Arabella Jardine, who was perched on the edge of a bedside armchair, pushed her honey gold curls behind her ears then smoothed her robe over her nightrail. “Aye, ‘tis true, Sophie,” she agreed in her soft Scots burr. “I suspect she’s been into the sherry again.”

Sophie pressed her lips together to suppress a small sigh. Even though she loved Charlie like a sister, the earl’s daughter didn’t have as much to lose as she did, or indeed their other two partners in crime this night—Arabella Jardine and Olivia de Vere—if they were caught flouting the young ladies’ academy’s strict rules. So whilst it was quite true that Mrs. Agatha Rathbone, the apparently upstanding, middle-aged headmistress of her eponymously named boarding school was fond of a tipple—or ten—on Friday evenings, and nothing short of an earthquake or a herd of rampaging elephants was likely to rouse her, Sophie was still anxious about the whole idea of a midnight gathering—especially given the fact it was occurring in the room she shared with Olivia.

Sophie’s pulse leapt once more as the door opened again, this time admitting her roommate bearing a tray of mismatched china teacups.

“Ah, perfect timing, Miss de Vere,” Charlie remarked as she lifted two dark glass bottles from the band box and brandished them in the air. “So what poison will you choose, my lovelies?” she asked, her topaz-brown eyes dancing with merriment. “French brandy or sloe gin?”

Olivia carefully placed the tray on the cherrywood bedside table then tossed her dark braid over one slender shoulder. “Wh-what do you r-recommend? I h-haven’t tried either one.” Her manner of speech was an unusual combination of the lyrical and the discordant, her tone low and melodious with an appealing smokiness. Yet it was her stammer that drew attention; Sophie knew it tended to emerge when Olivia was nervous or extremely fatigued.

“My grandfather let me try a wee sherry at Christmas,” added Arabella. “But I’ve never tasted brandy or gin.”

“Hmm. The brandy is probably a little smoother for non-seasoned drinkers. Perhaps we should all begin with that.” Charlie turned her bright gaze on Sophie. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes.” A burst of curiosity overcoming her trepidation, Sophie leaned across the quilted counterpane to examine the jumbled contents of the box. “So, what else have you smuggled in here?”

An enigmatic smile tugged at the corner of Charlie’s mouth. “Oh, this and that,” she said as she passed the bottle of brandy to Olivia to dispense. “All will be revealed after we raise our glasses—or I should say cups?—in a toast.”

“A toast to what?” Arabella asked as she took her brimming teacup from Olivia. Beneath her gold-rimmed glasses, her pretty nose wrinkled when she sniffed at the amber liquid. “You are being altogether too mysterious, Charlie.”

“To us, of course. And our new society.”

Sophie arched an eyebrow. “And does this society have a name?”

“It certainly does.” Charlie handed a teacup to Sophie then beamed as she added, “Right, my darling girls. From this night on, we four shall henceforth be known as The Society for Enlightened Young Women; a society which will aim to provide its members with a stimulating education in all manner of worldly matters not included in this academy’s current curriculum. Such knowledge will, of course, be invaluable when each of us leaves here and is subsequently obliged to embark on a quest to secure an advantageous match during the coming Season. And as we all know how cutthroat the marriage mart can be, I, as head monitor, feel it is my incumbent duty to begin your supplementary tutelage sooner rather than later.” Her gaze touched each one of them. “If we are all in agreeance...”

Olivia nodded, Arabella murmured ‘yes’, and Sophie’s brow knit into a suspicious frown. “What worldly matters in particular?” she asked.

Charlie cast her a knowing smile. “Why matters that all men, young and old, know about, but we, as the fairer, weaker sex, are supposed to remain ignorant of until we are wed. But by that time, I rather suspect it is too late. To my way of thinking, it would be much better to enter into marriage with one’s eyes wide open. And dare I say it, perhaps we might have a little fun along the way too?”

“Are...are you referring to sexual c-congress?” whispered Olivia, her doe brown eyes widening with shock.

“Yes, I am. Amongst other things. The art of flirting is also an essential skill any wise debutante should have in her arsenal, and naturally, it is a precursor to any activity of an amorous nature.” Charlie turned to Sophie and raised a quizzical brow; her eyes glowed with anticipation. “What say you, my friend? You haven’t responded yet.”

Sophie worried at her lower lip as she considered Charlie’s proposal. Even though she hailed from County Suffolk and possessed a rudimentary knowledge of ‘sexual congress’—as it pertained to the mating rituals of farmyard animals at least—there was still much she did not know about the ways of the world—and the male of the species—compared to Charlie.

Indeed, Lady Charlotte Hastings was the only one in their close-knit group who had several brothers—one of whom was a well-known rakehell. And she also had a bluestocking aunt who was purported to be a ‘liberal thinker’ and ‘a woman ahead of her time’. For these reasons, Sophie didn’t doubt for a moment that Charlie possessed unique insights into the male mind and a singular knowledge of taboo topics.

Unlike her confident, highborn friend, Sophie was not a member of the haut ton. But if Charlie was prepared to equip her with the skills and knowledge of a sophisticated debutante, she’d be an avid pupil. She’d much rather possess a modicum of self-assurance attending ton social events when the Season began in earnest. Heaven forbid that she should come across as a naïve and nervous bumpkin who blushed and stammered whenever an eligible gentleman asked her to dance or even cast a glance in her direction. “Your idea has some merit,” she at last conceded with a smile. “After all, forewarned is forearmed. How often will we meet?”

“Oh, once a week I expect,” said Charlie with a wave of one elegant hand. “And only when we are certain Rathbone is three sheets to the wind. Which always seems to be on a Friday.”

Sophie inclined her head. “Then I agree too.”

“Excellent.” A spark of mischief lit Charlie’s eyes. “Now, if we were male students, at this point we’d no doubt plight our troths by doing something dreadful like expectorating across the room, or slicing open our palms to make a blood oath, or at the very least we’d all expel some kind of foul air from an orifice we shall not speak of.”

A delighted bubble of laughter escaped Arabella. “Oh, Charlie. I suspect you are quite right. But I think your original suggestion of a toast will suffice.”

“Yes indeed,” agreed Sophie.

Charlie’s smile widened as she moved to the center of the worn hearthrug. The firelight limned her unruly chestnut hair in gold and in that moment, Sophie couldn’t help but think her friend bore more than a passing resemblance to a fiery Valkyrie or Artemis, the Huntress—she was a determined young woman on a mission and she would not be thwarted.

Lifting her chipped Spode china teacup, Charlie caught all of their gazes and led the toast. “Well then, without further ado, let us all raise our cups and drink to The Society for Enlightened Young Women. Long may we prosper. And may we all find happiness wherever life takes us.”

Sophie, Olivia, and Arabella raised their cups and in unison proclaimed, “Hear, hear,” before they each took a sip of brandy. Then Olivia coughed, Arabella gasped, Sophie’s eyes watered, and Charlie laughed.

“Oh, girls. It’s not all that bad, is it?” she asked, rubbing Olivia’s back.

“Where did you get this...this fire water?” Sophie wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her flannel nightrail.

Charlie took another sip before replying. “My father’s study here in London. He won’t miss it. And even if he does, he’ll probably assume Nate took it. He’s such a devil.”

Nate—or Nathaniel Hastings, Viscount Malvern—was Charlie’s older brother and as the eldest son of the family, was heir to the Earldom of Westhampton. Sophie had met him in passing two months ago in Hyde Park when she’d been out walking with Charlie, so she could certainly attest to the fact he was wickedly handsome—a man who could easily make females blush just by casting a sinful smile their way. Indeed, Sophie rather suspected she’d resembled a boiled lobster when Charlie had made the introductions.

Of course, Charlie had warned her, Olivia, and Arabella on numerous occasions that Nate was a rogue to his very bones, and exactly the sort of man they should be wary of when they made their debuts. He seduced women regularly, without care or regard for their feelings or their ruined reputations. He was definitely not the sort of man who wished to marry any time soon.

But despite Charlie’s warnings, a small part of Sophie had always thrilled to the idea of capturing the attention of a man like Nate, even if it was just for a little while. What was it about wicked rakes that lured her—and perhaps other women—like a candle flame lured the hapless moth? The glint of mischief in Lord Malvern’s dark eyes had seemed to contain a promise as his gaze had traveled over her that cold winter’s day: Come with me and I will show you sensual delights. Forbidden things both bright and burning. Secret things that are inherently dangerous yet irresistible. No wonder she still blushed at the memory. The heat in her cheeks had nothing to with the brandy she sipped...

The sound of Arabella calling her name pulled Sophie from her ruminations and she approached her bed to examine the other illicit items Charlie had brought with her to supplement their ‘education’. Aside from a jar of sugared almonds and one of barley sugar sweets, there were several leather-bound volumes, a slender silver box, and a folio which Charlie had just pulled from the leather satchel.

Sophie put down her cup and picked up one of the books then gasped. Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure, Volume I.

“Charlie,” she breathed. “Where on earth did you get this? You know it’s banned, don’t you? That the author was arrested?” She’d once overheard two older women at the circulating library discussing it in excited whispers behind one of the standing shelves when they’d come across another not-quite-so-scandalous book entitled Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded.

“Of course I do,” replied Charlie. “And to answer your first question, I found it in my father’s library, along with Volume II, and these...” She fanned a sheaf of sketches and drawings across the counterpane that put Olivia to the blush and sent Arabella into a paroxysm of laughter.

Sophie leaned closer and her eyebrows shot up when she saw the erotic nature of each picture. “Oh, my Lord,” she whispered, picking one up with shaking fingers as heat crawled over her face. “What, in heaven’s name, is he doing to her?”

Charlie grinned. “That, my dear Sophie, is one of the many things you’ll become enlightened about.”

Behind her glasses, Arabella’s gaze sharpened with interest as she picked up the ornate silver box, unfastened the clasp and lifted the lid. “Cheroots, Charlie? Are these for us to try?”

“If you like,” she said, taking one of the slender, quite feminine looking cigars from the box. “My Aunt Tabitha calls them cigarillos. Her tobacconist makes them especially for her using a tobacco blend from Seville.”

Olivia also picked up one of the cigars and gave it a small sniff. “My g-goodness. Perhaps we should call ourselves The Society for Scandalous Young Women.”

“Well, we will only be deemed scandalous if we are caught,” Charlie remarked as she plucked a taper from the spill vase on the carved wooden mantelpiece. She dipped it in the flame of a candle and touched it to the end of her cigarillo until the tip caught alight. Then, after inhaling a small breath, she expertly puffed out a delicate cloud of smoke. The earthy yet sweet scent of burning tobacco filled the room.

“Ha, it’s clear you’ve done this before,” declared Arabella. Following Charlie’s example, she used a taper to light her cigarillo, before placing it between her lips. She drew a breath then promptly burst into a fit of coughing so violent, her glasses were dislodged.

Charlie’s brow dipped into a concerned frown. “Gently, gently. Don’t breathe in too deeply.”

“Oh...That’s...that’s truly awful,” gasped Arabella. Her face had turned a sickly shade of green. “I’m sure my lungs will never be the same again.” Wrinkling her nose, she held the smoking cigar away from her like one might hold a dead mouse by the tail. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t think I want any more.”

 “That’s quite all right.” Charlie took it from her then glanced between Olivia and Sophie. “Would either of you like to try?”

Olivia shook her head and Sophie crossed to the window, drawing back the dull blue utilitarian curtains. “No thank you, Charlie. And I think we should let some fresh air in. If Mrs. Rathbone notices the smell—”

“Mrs. Rathbone has noticed the smell. And the raucous laughter and chatter.”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Her heart vaulting into the vicinity of her throat, Sophie whirled around then nearly fainted. In the open doorway, her plump arms folded over her ample chest, stood a glowering Mrs. Rathbone. Even though she only wore a rumpled nightrail, a coarse woolen shawl, and a linen cap that was askew, her informal attire didn’t diminish her gravitas or the seriousness of the...

About this edition

• Publisher: Berkley
• Publication date: 2019
• ISBN 10: 1984803921
• ISBN 13: 9781984803924
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• Number of pages: 320