Too Hot For A Rake Read Online Free

arms flailed wildly before she regained her balance.
    I wish I were dead! Tragically, she envisioned her funeral at the family crypt. The duke held her grieving mother close, his tears mingling with hers. Her brother Edward, grim faced, clasped his hands behind his back. Olivia leaned on her husband, Sebastian. Georgiana, Mary and Jane huddled together, sobbing for their sister’s short life and her untimely death. Chris would receive the news and it would tear him apart. Hic-cups of helpless rage welled up within her. Serves him right! She tried to think of something else, to rid herself of gloom.
    The thought of Lord Waverley’s warm body caused her to shiver, but the image faded only to be replaced by a disapproving Darlington, his eyes narrowed. He looked like the very devil.
    Helena unlatched the gate and stepped onto her lawn. A single candle in her chamber held vigil in an upstairs window. A Great Dane loped out of the shadows, his tongue drooling as he panted. She bent and stuck out her hand to the pup. In it she held a bit of bacon she’d taken from her pocket. “Good boy. Come here, Prince.”
    The dog sniffed and snatched the bribe. She tiptoed across the lawn and stepped onto the terrace, her destination the French doors leading into the library. The pup swallowed his treat and sped after her.
    “Go away,” she pleaded. Prince wagged his tail and waited for her to open the door. “I don’t have any more treats, you traitor,” she hissed. If she allowed him to enter the library, he would bound inside, bark in triumph, and rouse the whole household.
    She made as if to throw a second treat in the opposite direction. “Go get it, Prince.” The pup raced after it and the diversion gave her enough time to slip into the library. His ears perked up when he realized he’d been duped and he raced back toward her, but she managed to shut the door just before he could reach it. She tiptoed across the plush carpet and listened at the door, but all was quiet in the hallway.
    When she reached her chamber, a lone candle on the mantel guttered. She drew in her breath at the sight of a familiar figure seated next to the fireplace, his forbidding eyes never wavering.
    Helena’s heart sank. “Father? What are you doing here?”
    “It’s past two in the morning, Helena. Where have you been?”

Chapter 2
    Thursday, the Second of April, 1818
    The Duke of Heatham intimidated lesser men, if not by his sheer size, then certainly by the power he inherited when his father died. At fifty-one years of age, the head of the House of Fairchild was often described as aristocratic. His grace had broad shoulders and slim hips. An athletic man, he stood six feet tall in stocking feet. His shock of black hair was beginning to gray at the temples and his penetrating brown eyes darkened when he was angry.
    His grace had been prepared to issue a roaring scold to his daughter when she returned to her chamber, but he decided against it when she fell to her knees, buried her head in his lap and burst into tears. “Where have you been?” he repeated in a gentler tone.
    “I’m so sorry, Father. I find this hard to tell you, but tell you I must. I’m such a failure.”
    “What do you mean, child?” The duke handed her a hand kerchief. “Wipe your tears, Helena. You had better tell me the whole.”
    Helena did as she was told and drew in a deep breath. “Chris w…won’t marry me. He’s broken our betrothal.”
    His grace lifted her chin to meet her eyes. “Were you with him in his home without a chaperone?”
    “Yes. Oh, what does it matter now? I’m ruined and it’s my own fault. How could I have been so stupid? Help me, Father! What shall I do?”
    Once again, the duke checked his desire to chastise his daughter, for her pain was all too evident. “What reason did he give, Helena?”
    “He says I’m not proper enough to be the wife of a diplomat. He could not possibly marry me under the circumstances.”
    The duke frowned.