Rake Most Likely to Thrill

Outrageous hell-raisers let loose in Europe!

When London’s most notorious rakes embark on a Grand Tour they set female hearts aflutter all across Europe!

The exploits of these British rogues might be the stuff of legend, but on this adventure of a lifetime will they finally meet the women strong enough to tame their wicked ways?

Read Haviland North’s story in

Rake Most Likely to Rebel Already available

And read Archer Crawford’s story in

Rake Most Likely to Thrill August 2015

And watch out for

Rake Most Likely to Seduce and Rake Most Likely to Sin Coming 2016!

I hope you enjoy this second story in the Rakes on Tour mini-series. This is your chance to catch up with Archer Crawford in Siena as he embarks on his quest to ride in the famed Palio. I’ve tried to incorporate details about the race and to be as true to fact as possible. If you want to read more about the great race try La Terra In Piazza—the text I consulted.

What is true about the race the way it is depicted in Archer’s tale:

1. The Pantera neighbourhood did win the June Palio that year, with Jacopo’s Morello.

2. The Torre neighbourhood did turn around and win the August Palio that same year with the same horse. (It is fairly remarkable to have the same horse win both races in the same year.)

3. The neighbourhoods (contradas) did have rival neighbourhoods. Torre was despised by Oca and Onda. Pantera was a neutral neighbourhood with no set rivals. The neighbourhood rivalry was strong and intense and I’ve tried to be true to that intensity in the storyline.

What is not true (obviously) is that Torre’s jockey is hurt before the race and Archer needs to ride in his place. You can look up lists of jockeys and see who really rode in the August race.

I hope you have a good time with Archer, and learning a little bit about a beautiful Tuscan city.

Join me online at bronwynswriting.blogspot.com or at bronwynnscott.com

Rake Most Likely

to Thrill

Bronwyn Scott

BRONWYN SCOTT is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When she’s not teaching or writing she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages. Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website, bronwynnscott.com, or at her blog, bronwynswriting.blogspot.com. She loves to hear from readers.

For Judi and Don and Nina and El Dorado Farms.

Thanks for helping Catie find Sharper Eagle. There is no finer love than a girl and her horse.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The Antwerp Hotel, Dover—March 1835

There was going to be blood. It had become a forgone conclusion the moment the teamster brought the whip down across the hindquarters of the Cleveland Bay straining in the traces of the overloaded dray. How much blood, and whose, remained to be seen.

Archer Crawford had not stepped outside in the predawn darkness looking for trouble. Indeed, he’d been trying to avoid it. Inside, his travelling companion and long-time friend Nolan Gray’s card game was starting to take a turn for the worse. But it seemed trouble had found him anyway. He could not stand idly by and watch any horse abused. From the looks of this horse’s ragged coat, this wasn’t the first time. But it might be the last if Archer didn’t intervene. The teamster’s whip fell again, the beefy driver determined the horse pull the load or die trying. The latter was highly likely and the horse knew it. The Cleveland Bay showed no fear. He merely stood with resignation. Waiting. Knowing. Deciding: death now, or death pulling a weight more appropriate for two.

The whip rose a third time, and Archer stepped out from the hotel’s overhang. In a lightning move, Archer’s gloved hand intercepted the thong of the whip and he wrapped it about his wrist, reeling in the teamster on his high seat like fish from the river. ‘Perhaps you might try a sting or two of this lash yourself before delivering it to your animal.’ Archer gave the whip a strong tug. Each pull threatened to unseat the teamster. The man leaned back in his seat, trying for leverage.

‘Let go of the whip or come off the seat!’ Archer commanded sternly, his eyes locking with the other man’s as he gave another compelling tug.

‘This is none of your business,’ the teamster growled. ‘That horse has to earn his keep and I do too.’ But he released his end of the whip—forcefully, of course, probably with the hopes the force of his release would send Archer sprawling in the mud. But Archer was braced. The abrupt release did nothing more than seal his opinion of the man: bully, brute.