Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,134

man’s words were so smooth and his smile so charming. How could she know his true intent when no one warned her?

Besides, he’d done little more than press her against a tree, try to kiss her while attempting to reach under her gown. Naturally, she’d fled, albeit in a state of disarray, not realizing she had a leaf and a twig in her curls until she re-entered the pavilion at a trot, searching for her dear mama.

Immediately, people had pointed, and the whispers behind their colorful fans had begun. The following morning, The Gazette mentioned a ruined girl with her initials, and her father had been livid ever since, demanding his wife and daughter return to the country, interrupting Serena’s first Season.

It had been a week, and her father had arrived from London the night before to say the ton was still chewing on the scandal, just waiting for Serena to return so they could pounce. And now, she knew his decree.

“It wasn’t the first transgression,” her father reminded her mother. “She is too flighty. She has behaved immaturely on more than one occasion and nearly came to ruin last month. She is gaining a reputation, Hélène. To protect her, we must get her out of the vultures’ reach.”

Serena bit her lip. He was right. She had treated the entire London season as a silly lark. After being presented at court, she’d been concerned only with dancing and dandies, champagne and kisses.

“With your parents, she can be an ordinary young woman, like you were.” Then he quickly added, “Not that I ever thought you were anything but extraordinary.” There was a pause while Serena knew her parents were sharing a loving kiss as they often did. Yet when her father continued, his stern stance hadn’t changed.

“Paris has no Season to speak of. Instead of London’s nobs and their shallow bon ton, there is merely le bon genre of which our daughter will most certainly not be a part. And there are far fewer scandal sheets.”

“What if war breaks out again,” her mother asked, “and she, an English girl trapped in France?”

“You’re just coming up with excuses,” her father said. “She is half-French and speaks like a native. She’ll be perfectly safe with your parents. Besides, Bonaparte is securely in exile. How could war break out again?”

Chapter One

March 1815, Paris, France

MALCOLM SLIPPED THROUGH the streets of Paris in the dimming light of dusk, wishing he were back in London at White’s or Boodle’s with a glass of brandy in anticipation of a late night with a talented Cyprian.

Not that Paris didn’t have its own outstanding courtesans, but he doubted he would be relaxing enough to enjoy the fair sex while on this mission for the Crown. It was a damn nuisance, all this cloak and dagger stuff, when Bonaparte had been taken care of once already. Only with either great incompetence or, more likely, the cooperation of his captors could the former emperor have escaped his exile at Elba.

In any case, Bonaparte was en route to Paris, which was putting a bit of a crimp in the coalition’s celebratory air in Vienna, not to mention causing the new Bourbon king of France all manner of heartburn.

And Britain’s own Prince Regent was determined not to let his old foe return to power. If Malcolm could prevent such or, at least, bring a new Napoleonic rule to a swift end, then Prinny would be in his debt. Again.

And in the back of his mind was the hope this would be his last such adventure. At twenty-nine, he’d spent the better part of a decade serving the Crown, regardless of whether it was upon mad King George’s head or his profligate son’s. And by God, Malcolm had his own small empire to run, as the eldest son of the Viscount St. John.

He’d avoided the parson’s noose, but his parents were increasingly demanding that he fulfill his duty in that regard. This past Season, he’d even gone to a few insipid balls and now had two potential mates in mind, both eminently suitable with extremely pretty faces—Lady Dreadfully Dull, with her slender waist but off-putting vacant stare, indicating how little thought went on between her ears, and Lady Terribly Tedious, who could talk up a blue storm about anything and everyone, but had absolutely nothing interesting to say in the very many words she used. Still, she had full breasts to recommend her and was an earl’s daughter.

He sighed. His single life must come to an end, another reason he would bloody well rather be home to enjoy his last few months of freedom, depending on how long he could procrastinate the process of choosing a wife. And Paris, as everyone agreed, was cramped and uncomfortable, not only its streets but also its buildings. The houses were miserable, the streets narrow, and there were no pavements in the so-called modern capital of the French Empire, thus one very often—

“Oof!” He ran directly into a small figure in a very large cloak, knocking the person down.

“Je m’excuse,” he said, offering his best apology as it had certainly been his fault, letting his thoughts drift when he ought to have them firmly on the mission at hand.

A torrent of angry French came from the figure, a woman’s voice, so he instantly recalled his gentlemanly upbringing and helped her to her feet.

In doing so, her hood fell back, revealing a riotous mass of copper-colored tresses barely tamed in a chignon that was now half down across her right shoulder.

“Êtes-vous blessé?” he asked, hoping he hadn’t injured her.

“Non,” she returned, quickly drawing up her hood and covering her head again.

For a moment, he thought her actions furtive, but there was a distinct chill in the March air, and he reminded himself he’d been sneaking around too long. Everyone seemed suspicious.

“Après vous,” he said with a gesture of his hand, indicating she should go along wherever she might be going, and he would bother her no more.

Nodding, although he could no longer see her face, to his surprise she went the very direction he’d been going, into the Galerie de Beaujolais arcade of the Palais-Royal, hurrying along past shops filled with jewelry and fine furniture, past billiard parlors, perfumeries, and sweet shops.

Perhaps she was a grisette, although it was too late for a shopgirl to be going to work.

Malcolm was struggling with the alternative, that she was a whore. For some reason, either her delicate beauty or the quick glimpse he’d had of her intelligent eyes, he hoped she wasn’t one of the famed Palais-Royal prostitutes. On the other hand, that might mean he could meet up with her later.

Quick as a blink, she ducked into the doorway of the same restaurant that was his destination.

The devil! The lovely lass would think he was following her. He hesitated as the door of the Café de Chartres closed in his face. Waiting a mere five seconds, Malcolm pushed it open.

END OF EXCERPT

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Other Works

Click HERE for Sydney Jane Baily’s Amazon page with all her books.

THE RAKES ON THE RUN

Series

Last Dance in London

Pursued in Paris

Banished to Brighton

THE RARE CONFECTIONERY

Series

The Duchess of Chocolate

The Toffee Heiress

My Lady Marzipan

THE DEFIANT HEARTS

Series

An Improper Situation

An Irresistible Temptation

An Inescapable Attraction

An Inconceivable Deception

An Intriguing Proposition

An Impassioned Redemption

THE BEASTLY LORDS

Series

Lord Despair

Lord Anguish

Lord Vile

Lord Darkness

Lord Misery

Lord Wrath

Lord Corsair

Eleanor

PRESENTING LADY GUS

A Georgian Era Novella

THE BLACK KNIGHT’S REWARD

Warriors of York

with Marliss Melton

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author Sydney Jane Baily writes historical romance set in Victorian England, late 19th-century America, the Middle Ages, the Georgian era, and the Regency period. She believes in happily-ever-after stories with engaging characters and attention to period detail.

Born and raised in California, she has traveled the world, spending a lot of exceedingly happy time in the U.K. where her extended family resides, eating fish and chips, drinking shandies, and snacking on Maltesers and Cadbury bars. Sydney currently lives in New England with her family — human, canine, and feline.

At her website, SydneyJaneBaily.com, you can learn more about her books, read her blog, sign up for her newsletter (& get a free book), and contact her. She loves to hear from her readers. To be notified of her new releases, please follow Sydney on BookBub or Amazon. Or you can connect with her on Facebook.