Nearly Ruining Mr Russell (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 5) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Nearly Ruining Mr. Russell

  Rogues & Gentlemen Book 5

  by Emma V. Leech

  Published by: Emma V. Leech.

  Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2017

  Cover Art: Victoria Cooper

  ASIN: B074PDBLCH

  ****

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is inferred. The Earl of Falmouth was a real person and the family and the house still exist, however this is a work of fiction.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Want more Emma?

  One Wicked Winter

  Other Works by Emma V. Leech

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  “Wherein we meet our heroine, and an old friend.”

  “That blasted dog!”

  Aubrey Russell was not by nature a violent man. In fact, quite the reverse was true. Blessed with glorious good looks, thick auburn hair and a naturally sunny disposition, it was rare that anyone heard him so much as raise his voice. A fact that had always made his father out-of-reason cross, for he felt both Aubrey’s late mother and grandmother had mollycoddled his son beyond what was good for him.

  Today, however, with a chill late October wind whistling around him as he dripped freezing water onto the banks of the Serpentine, he felt ready to do murder.

  “I’ll wring its blasted neck!” he promised, as the owner of said dog looked up at him with a pair of the most startling blue eyes to be found anywhere in London.

  “Oh, don’t say it, Aubrey!” Celeste Sinclair, the Countess of Falmouth, pleaded with her most beseeching expression. The countess clutched the equally dripping spaniel to her bosom, careless of the damage its muddy paws were doing to a perfectly charming cerulean blue velvet pelisse. “‘E did not mean to do it,” she said, daring to take a step closer to the him.

  Aubrey noted with some satisfaction that her French accent was perfectly audible. It always grew stronger when she was upset, and whilst he might well consider Celeste the sister he’d never had, he was in no mood to be placated. The fact that she was upset too, it seemed to him, was the least she could do.

  “Zhat nasty, great brute frightened ‘im! Le pauvre!”

  “That nasty great brute was minding his own business until that wretched animal decided to take a bite out of its hind leg! I shouldn’t wonder it chased him into the lake!” Aubrey pointed out as his own indignation swelled. His Hessians were soaked through and he felt sure they’d be utterly ruined. As he was already perilously close to having to touch his father for a loan, the buying of a new pair was quite out of the question.

  “Oh, but ‘e could ‘ave drowned if you ‘adn’t ‘elped, and you are just worried about your boots,” Celeste said, waving her hand with aplomb and getting to the heart of the matter with startling accuracy. “Alex will pay for a new pair, you know he will!”

  “No, he dashed well won’t!” Aubrey retorted, wishing he’d never given in to her pleas to save her darling dog. Celeste’s husband, the Earl, tolerated his wife’s friendship with his cousin Aubrey with a combination of amusement and polite disdain. A terrifying hulk of a man with a dark reputation, Aubrey always felt as though he was being judged, and found wanting, in his great cousin’s presence. “I won’t take a farthing from Falmouth, I tell you now!”

  With as much dignity as he could muster, while his boots where making an unpleasant squelching sound, he began to trudge back in the direction of Celeste’s London abode in Mayfair.

  “Oh, Aubrey, don’t be cross,” Celeste wheedled, as she scurried to keep up with his long strides. “I’m really very grateful that you saved ‘im. My poor little Bandit, ‘e was so frightened.”

  Aubrey snorted and decided it was safer to hold his tongue in the circumstances. They were attracting enough attention as it was. Privately, he thought Bandit was a fiend and a menace to society, but Celeste doted on the ridiculous animal, so there was nothing to be gained in pointing this out. The fact that he noticed the woman’s maid doing her best to smother her giggles did not help his temperament.

  By the time they got back to Mayfair, Aubrey was chilled to the bone and rather more receptive to the idea that he should come in and get warm and dry. In usual circumstances, avoiding his cousin was a priority, but the temperature was dropping and the journey back to his rooms in the freezing cold whilst soaked to the waist was rather more than he could bear.

  A couple of hours later, and Aubrey was somewhat restored to his usual good humour. Happily, the Earl had not yet returned, so he’d avoided the man’s amusement at his embarrassing, if heroic, plunge into the Serpentine. Furthermore, the Earl’s valet was a man of superior understanding and had worked miracles with his boots, whilst Aubrey tested Falmouth’s legendary brandy stores. The brandy had an unsurprising mellowing effect, and so whilst he was still a little damp, he found his previous anger had subsided enough to see the funny side of the situation. Particularly as the Earl wasn’t there to point it out to him.

  Dusk was setting as he stepped out
of the carriage that Celeste had insisted convey him back to his rooms, and he looked forward to a relaxing evening. He had accepted an invitation to dine with his close friend and neighbour in the large and comfortable house on Bedford Square that they both lodged in along with a number of other well to do gentlemen. In truth, keeping the rooms in such an upmarket house ate nearly all of Aubrey’s allowance, but he clung on to it as best he could, as all of his friends lived here too.

  Lord Thomas Tindall, Tommy to his intimates, was the Earl of Stanthorpe, and a more different character to Aubrey’s cousin Falmouth, it would be hard to find. Though he’d never been blessed with the most powerful intellect, Tommy was a good and kindly sort, and exceedingly generous to his friends. Dining in his lodgings was a treat not to be missed out on. So, it was with an air of deep foreboding that Aubrey heard the rather startling and somewhat Gothic sound of a woman’s scream pierce the chill evening from the next street. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled in alarm at the horrified cry and he began to run.

  If asked, Aubrey would have admitted that he wasn’t the fighting sort. He’d always far rather talk himself out of a sticky situation than use his fists, and he abhorred physical violence. His father, who had been a notable pugilist in his youth, was forever mocking him for being a site too nice, and he was well used to the idea that the man thought him a coward. Sometimes he even worried it was true.

  Tonight, however, and perhaps in the light of his heroic rescue of an undeserving Spaniel, he found he didn’t think twice about going to investigate.

  Hurrying around the corner he spied the source of the scream in the middle of a deserted street.

  A young woman sat on the filthy ground, dishevelled and alone, a band box spilling its contents at her feet and a look of utter fury on her lovely face. Aubrey drew to an abrupt halt, quite startled by the beautiful creature who had literally fallen into his path.

  “May I be of assistance?” he offered, once his wits had gotten over the shock of a pair of moss green eyes, staring up at him from under riotous blonde curls that were in complete disarray.

  “No, sir, I quite intended to spend the evening sitting in a filthy street, I assure you,” said the vision, with some asperity.

  “Oh! Forgive me,” Aubrey exclaimed and gave her his hand to help her to her feet. Once standing, he found that she was even lovelier than he had first supposed, and was dressed in a manner that suggested a lady of quality. “Are you hurt?” he asked, feeling really quite breathless to be standing in the beauty’s presence, and appalled at the notion that she might have been set upon by ruffians.

  “A little bruised,” she confessed with a blush that was barely visible in the dimming light. He thought he saw her eyes glimmer a little too brightly, but she turned and busied herself with stuffing her belongings back into the band box. He bent to help, retrieving a comb and a pair of kid gloves from the gutter and allowing her a moment to compose yourself.

  “What happened?” he asked, hoping his tone was gentle and that he did not present too threatening a figure to a woman alone on the dark on the streets of London.

  “I ... I’ve been rather foolish,” she admitted, a catch in her voice that made his heart ache and a rather rash promise take form on his tongue: one to do anything in his power to help her.

  He noticed then that she was shivering, whether with shock or cold he wasn’t sure, but he felt certain she needed to get into the warm and sit down. What a lady was doing alone and without a chaperone in London, and at this hour, was a question he very much wanted an answer to, but he could see she was cold and frightened and any answers could wait a little longer.

  “Look,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. “You can’t stand out here alone all night. My lodgings are just around the corner. Why not come and sit down and we’ll see about getting you home? I’ll have the housekeeper come and sit with us, so it will be quite alright.”

  To his surprise, she gave a resolute shake of her head, though it appeared it wasn’t the idea of going back to his lodgings that was the sticking point. “I’m not going home,” she said, folding her arms and speaking with the decisive tone of a woman who wasn’t going to change her mind anytime this century.

  “Oh,” Aubrey replied, frowning as it began to dawn on him that he might have the beginnings of a dreadful scandal on his hands. Had she run away from home? Visions of angry male relatives beating down his door filled his head, but he shook them off. “Well,” he said, taking a breath. “Come indoors, won’t you? You’ll have some tea and something to eat, and then you’ll feel much more the thing. Are you hungry?”

  “Famished,” she said, giving him a look so full of gratitude that he felt about ten feet tall.

  “There we are, then,” he said, nodding, as though that solved everything. “Come along.”

  He picked up her band box, and with a surreptitious look around the street to be sure they were not being observed, he took her back to his lodgings.

  ***

  “It’s not decent, Mr Russell,” Mrs Meekham replied, her scrawny arms folded over her bosom in a manner that brooked no argument. “You can say she’s a gently reared female until you’re blue in the face, but what’s she doing racketing about London without so much as an abigail to bear her company? You answer me that!” she said with a sniff of disapproval.

  “Well, yes, Mrs Meekham, I shall answer you as soon as I can discover what catastrophe has overtaken the poor girl. But I would just like, for propriety’s sake, if you would sit with us.”

  Mrs Meekham narrowed her eyes at him and held out one bony finger, which he felt sure she fully intended to wag in his direction. “I’m not going to have trouble with you, am I, Mr Russell? I know all about you young men and your petticoats. Sneaking them in at all hours,” she muttered with obvious disgust and an air of deep suspicion. “I won’t have it! If it isn’t bad enough with his lordship upstairs, and even if I turned a blind eye to the dreadful light-skirts, he’s forever playing off his nasty pranks on the poor Earl ...” Her finger gave the inevitable wag. “I’m not going to put up with any more trouble.”

  Aubrey forbore to mention that the last of the pranks had been the Earl’s doing in retaliation at finding Lord Benjamin Lancaster’s horse awaiting him in his parlour. His own fault for teasing Ben that he treated his mare better than any woman he’d ever come across. Aubrey had thought the result had been fairly inevitable, but Tommy never had learned when to keep his mouth shut. He had thought that leaving a tame cheetah waiting for Ben in his bedroom a tad excessive, himself, but there you were. But the Earl was the housekeeper’s favourite - being of the peerage - and could generally talk the starchy old busybody around.

  “So, if you’re thinking of getting into the petticoat line ...” she continued, finger wagging all the while.

  “Mrs Meekham!” Aubrey replied with some force, deeply shocked and affronted on the beauty’s behalf. “I’d wager my life that she’s just as she ought to be, and has somehow fallen into misfortune,” he said, though there was a niggle of doubt at the back of his mind at her determination not to be sent home. “I can assure you, my only intention is to see her safely restored to her family.”

  Mrs Meekham paused and gave him a hard look. “Very well, sir,” she said, though still looking deeply unhappy about the whole thing. “You at least have never brought any nasty animals into the house, so I suppose I shall take you at your word, this time,” she added with an ominous tone that clearly indicated that she believed such harmony was unlikely to continue for long.

  Aubrey chose to ignore the slight, too relieved to have brought the old fusspot around.

  “Perhaps then, you would be so good as to bring her some tea and something to eat. I think the poor girl is half-starved.”

  “Very good, sir,” she said with a nod as she retreated to the stairs. “I shall be back presently.”

  With a sigh of relief, Aubrey returned to his rooms to find the vision standing before the fire, war
ming her hands. He felt a jolt of some strange, proprietary emotion at seeing such a lovely creature in his rooms and took a breath before he entered, closing the door behind him.

  “The housekeeper will be here in just a moment,” he said, smiling at her. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “Thank you.” She gave him a hesitant smile in return before perching on the edge of the chair closest to the fireplace. “You’ve been so very kind,” she added.

  “Not at all,” he said, taking the chair opposite. He leaned forward a little, and tried not to stare too hard, which was remarkably difficult. “I’m Aubrey, by the way. Aubrey Russell.”

  She nodded at him. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Russell,” she said, but offered no further information.

  “And ... you are?” Aubrey prompted.

  He watched with growing concern as she bit her lip. “I ... I’m Violette,” she said, folding her arms in her lap and avoiding his gaze.

  The little niggle of doubt that had assailed Aubrey earlier began to wriggle harder.

  “Violette ...?” he queried and then gave a nervous laugh. “I imagine you have a family name?”

  “Of course!” she replied, her tone sharp enough to reassure him a little.

  He let out a breath of relief. “Well, may I know it please?” he pressed.

  Violette licked her lips and stared at the fire for a moment before looking back at him.

  “No.”

  Aubrey sat up a little straighter as the niggle turned into the first real twist of anxiety. What the devil had he gotten himself into?

  “No?” he repeated, blinking. “Why ever not?”

  “Because ...” she began, and he watched as she folded her arms a little tighter and sat up straight, raising her chin. “Because if I do, you will tell my guardian, and he will fetch me home, and I won’t go!” This last was spoken with such defiance that Aubrey was quite taken aback.

  “B-but why?” he demanded, perplexed. Visions filled his head of cruel relatives and his beauty being locked in dark rooms, and he scolded himself soundly for having such a Gothic turn of mind. He should never have started reading Mrs Radcliffe, not if this was what came of it. “You cannot be alone in London, you’ll be ruined!” he exclaimed, wondering if the girl had taken leave of her senses.