The Lure of a Rake Read Online Free

response, for he continued as though she’d not even spoken. “I’ll not have you batting your lashes at rakes and rogues. When you go out, you are to take your maid and a footman. When you attend ton functions, you are to sit primly on the sidelines with the matrons.” He ran through his perfunctory list with such precision her head spun. “You are not to attract any notice, whatsoever.”
    Why, he thought her incapable of proper behavior? Despite his ill-opinion and her own flirtatious ways years earlier, Genevieve, in five years, had buried that spirited part of her soul. She had carefully crafted a reserved, proper figure in her stead. Then, her father would have had to speak to her through the years to know as much. “Am I permitted to take meals with the family? Or am I to be confined to my room, then?” There was, however, still the matter of her loose tongue.
    The marquess pounded his fist hard the desk, rattling the crystal inkwells and she jumped. “By God, this is not a matter of jest,” he thundered. “You have forever marked this family. The least of what you can do is make this right, as much as you are able, for your sister.” And the fight was sucked out of her. “Is that understood?”
    She sat there trembling; not unlike the same girl she’d been five years earlier. Do not be that girl. Not anymore. Except, for the pleasure Genevieve found in exerting herself over her father, she loved her sister more. “Abundantly, my lord,” she bit out. Her father would order her return to London, with neat plans to order her life and bind her forever to a gentleman. Given the oppressiveness she’d known at her own father’s hands, did he truly believe she’d marry one of his aged friends?
    “You are dismissed.”
    Genevieve came to her feet. The click-clack of her father’s pen indicated he’d returned his attentions to matters which were of import to him.
    And just like that, she was dismissed once more.

Chapter 2
    “B y God, where is he?”
    Lying on the leather button sofa of the library in his bachelor’s residence, Cedric Falcot, the Marquess of St. Albans, turned his head and looked to the entrance. A small grin hovered on his lips as he rescued the bottle of brandy from the foot of his seat. Turning on his side, he filled his empty snifter and then set the crystal decanter back on the floor.
    “Y-Your Grace, His Lordship is otherwise busy.” The thick walls muffled the stammering of his inexplicably loyal butler. He really deserved an increase in wages.
    “…busy.” The Duke of Ravenscourt’s snort penetrated the wood.
    The door flew open, with such force it bounced off the back wall. His father stuck his leg out to keep it from slamming in his face. The Duke of Ravenscourt took in the jacket hung haphazardly over the back of the sofa, the nearly empty bottle, the full glass, and then he settled his icy blue stare on Cedric. “Get out.”
    It spoke volumes to Avis’ foolish devotion that the hard, unyielding command of the duke did not send him immediately fleeing. Instead, he gulped, looking hopelessly to Cedric.
    Taking mercy on the young servant, he swung his legs and settled them on the floor. “That will be all,” he assured the man.
    Avis dropped a respectful bow and then backed quickly from the room but not before Cedric detected the flash of relief in his eyes. Yes, that was long the effect the ruthless Duke of Ravenscourt had on all. Reviled, feared, and hated by even his own children, there was not a sliver of warmth in the bastard’s hardened heart. Only, over the years, Cedric found that his father was just a man…a man with the same weaknesses and vices as him. That realization had broken down the myth of invincibility around the old duke.
    “Father,” Cedric drawled. Taking a sip of his brandy, he shoved lazily to his feet. “To what do I owe the honor of—?”
    “Shut your goddamn mouth, Cedric.” The duke shoved the door hard and it slammed closed with such