Writing the Rake - Ellie St. Clair

Prologue

London, 1823

“Come here.”

“No!” she giggled as she ran just out of his grasp, along the path of the lush gardens that backed Wyndham House, a centerpiece of Mayfair.

Alice and Benjamin had been playing this game for months — a back-and-forth that had started as a fun flirtation but was now becoming a slow smoldering fire that begged to burn something fierce.

Alice had slipped away from the dance and Benjamin had followed. A few words had led to a few touches, and now she was running away from him, a literal game of chase.

Only, she had no wish to evade him.

“Alice,” he called, his voice a song, “where are you?”

She said nothing, standing as still as the tree beside her, but he was an efficient hunter, and the next thing she knew a hand clamped down upon her arm. She gave a bit of a shriek as she jumped, but before she could move, he was around the tree, pinning her back against it.

“Caught you,” he said, his voice low and deep in her ear, sending shivers down her spine to her toes, which had become rooted in the ground.

“What do you propose to do with me now?” she asked, hearing the breathlessness in her voice.

“I’m going to claim you as my prize,” he growled.

The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers, claiming them, caressing them, crushing them to him, an explosion of all that had building between them.

It was fast, it was fiery, it was fierce, and Alice thought she might have lost all footing had he not been holding her tightly against him.

When he broke away from her, she could barely breathe. She looked up at him, her heart racing, her vision hazy.

Finally, she understood what it meant to be kissed with such passion, such purpose. She had always disdained a rake like Benjamin, but one thing could be said — the man knew how to kiss. Perhaps it was worth the ruination.

The only problem was that she wanted more than he could give. She wanted love, romance, marriage.

And Benjamin wasn’t interested in any of those things. Of that, she was well aware.

Which was why she shouldn’t be here, with him.

But she couldn’t keep herself away.

Even she, a woman who always wrote a happily-ever-after, knew there was but one way this could end.

Disaster.

Chapter 1

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

Alice leaned over to whisper in the ear of her sister-in-law, whose brilliant red hair tickled her nose as she did. While Celeste didn’t respond, a few other heads turned her way with some consternation written upon their faces. Alice slunk back into the pew as though she could become one with it, ducking her chin as she did her very best not to look guilty.

It had been hard to keep her wonder to herself, however. Madeline was absolutely stunning in her long light-blue gown, her blond hair hanging down her back in silky curls, bilking the trends of the day, the gossamer lace veil sitting on her head like a crown while the material trailed down to grace the floor.

Alice wished she could see her friend’s face as she stood before half the curious ton and married the charming, handsome earl who had recently appeared in society and had swept her off her feet — quite literally. It was the perfect match, as far as Alice was concerned, and she could hardly wait to write Madeline’s story, for it was a love that most women would give anything for but only a few actually achieved.

“Alice,” Celeste hissed into her ear, her hand on her elbow, “time to stand.”

Alice collected her thoughts and twisted her head from side to side, seeing that she had, in fact, missed the cue. She stood along with the rest of the congregation, clapping as Madeline and Lord Donning turned to the crowd. Madeline beamed up at him as she linked her arm through his, and when she passed by Alice, she winked at her as she reached out and squeezed her hand.

“You’re next!” she called out, but Alice just shook her head as they followed everyone else out of the church. She would love to be next — truly she would — but for now, she had to be content with creating love stories, for the real thing was proving far too elusive.

She was proud of herself for not looking across the church, over toward the pew where he sat.

Alice hadn’t so much as seen him but had sensed him from across the spacious church. Anyone would,