Redeeming The Roguish Rake
The scoundrel of Society…has compromised the Vicar’s daughter!When scandalous Fenton Foxworthy is beaten and left for dead, he’s rescued by demure vicar’s daughter Rebecca Whitelow. Fox is a cynical rake whose outrageous propositions are the talk of the ton—but his injuries are so great that Rebecca mistakes him for the new village Vicar! Too late, Rebecca realises her error…she’s been compromised into a hasty marriage!
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The scoundrel of Society...
...has compromised the vicar’s daughter!
When scandalous Fenton Foxworthy is beaten and left for dead, he’s rescued by demure vicar’s daughter Rebecca Whitelow. Fox is a cynical rake whose outrageous propositions are the talk of the ton—but his injuries are so great that Rebecca mistakes him for the new village vicar! Too late, Rebecca realizes her error... She’s been compromised into a hasty marriage!
LIZ TYNER lives with her husband on an Oklahoma acreage she imagines is similar to the ones in the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are. Her lifestyle is a blend of old and new, and is sometimes comparable to the way people lived long ago. Liz is a member of various writing groups and has been writing since childhood. For more about her visit liztyner.com.
Also by Liz Tyner
The Notorious Countess
The Wallflower Duchess
English Rogues and Grecian Goddesses miniseries
Safe in the Earl’s Arms
A Captain and a Rogue
Forbidden to the Duke
The Governess Tales miniseries
The Runaway Governess
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
ISBN: 978-1-474-07342-4
REDEEMING THE ROGUISH RAKE
© 2018 Elizabeth Tyner
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Dedicated to Ann Leslie Tuttle
Contents
Thumps sounded on the stairs outside the bedchamber. Foxworthy sat straight, covers falling to his waist, just as the door swung open. He looked at the visitor’s hands first. No weapons. He raised his glance to his cousin’s face. Andrew wore one of those grim-lipped spectacled looks even though he didn’t wear spectacles.
‘Stop swearing,’ Foxworthy said. ‘I do not abide such language.’
‘If so, that’s your only virtue and it’s one more than you had last week.’ Andrew paused.
‘I’m on an improvement regimen.’
‘About time. You look ghastly. As though you’ve not slept a night this week.’
‘A bit of tiredness on my face and the ladies flutter about with suggestions on how to make me feel better. I can’t complain.’
‘I just heard about your little escapade.’
Foxworthy nodded his head. ‘A priceless moment I will not forget.’ And he doubted anyone would let him from the look on his cousin’s face. However, at the moment, he simply could not recall it. He’d danced a lot at the soirée—that he remembered. He’d decided to take a turn with every woman in attendance and in the short time of the dance, discover what was most endearing about her. Then Lady Havisham, all of elbow high to him and feisty as a tavern wench, had told him she could drink more than he. Since he’d started much earlier than her it was a difficult competition. She’d conceded defeat and he’d placed a kiss right on the top of the knot of her grey hair and she’d said she wished she had a grandson just like him, only smart and handsome.
He put a hand on his head. ‘The woman must have been pouring it into her reticule.’
