Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

L ondon, England

October 1, 1820

The hunt was on. Elwood Tyburne, Earl of Belmont, could feel it in his bones. The latest gossip rag had yet to announce the rake of the month in a monthly periodical entitled, "The Rake Review" where the anonymous, "Brazen Belle" would showcase her latest victim. Some inner intuition told him that he would soon be the next to face the ton's wrath, although he hoped it was wrong. In January, when the first article had started circulating and mentioned that poor soul, Edward Johns, Elwood had found it rather amusing—like the rest of his cohorts—until a large target had been plastered on their backsides.

When it became apparent that this was to be a recurring theme, some men decided to curb their raucous natures for a time, while others ignored the threat and went about their merry lives, until suddenly, they were hearing wedding bells.

Elwood shuddered just thinking that he might be cornered in such a fashion. He had his peccadilloes, and he preferred to keep his freedom, thank you very much. His parents had actually been one of the few couples that enjoyed a happy life built on love. It was nauseating.

At one point, after his fourth, younger brother was born, he considered saying something about how much time they spent in the bedchamber, but he realized he would never be able to get the words past his throat before he choked on them.

He should be glad that his mother and father were happy, but it had soured his stomach when it came to finding his own love match. Sex was grand, but when you added the soft touches, the lingering glances from across the room, and that dreadful hand holding, that's where he drew the line. The idea of that much affection was quite unsettling. He was quite sure that one of his younger brothers would be glad to carry on the title should he pass on without any legitimate issue, so he wasn't too concerned about duty when there were plenty of opportunities for his father's marquessate to carry on.

Elwood's latest mistress had been the sort who enjoyed mutual pleasure, and other than a bauble or two, she was content to leave things at that. Unfortunately, he'd had to break things off with her. For all he knew, she could be the Belle who was writing these dreadful columns. Paranoia was starting to become very real with the bachelors of London.

He was most certainly in danger if he continued to display any sort of devilish behavior. He hadn't gone to any of his usual gaming hells, or dared to engage in any other sort of scandalous liaisons. He rode his horse to Hyde Park in the morning and imbibed at White's until he had to stumble back to his townhouse and stare at the wall of his study for the rest of the day, all while praying that this woman might tire of her latest entertainment, so he could return to his.

Since it was Sunday and every other man in London was shaking in their Hessians until Monday when the latest rake was revealed, Elwood decided that his presence was best served at church. It couldn't hurt his chances to engage in some divine intervention while he waited for the guillotine of society to claim the next male.

Donning his best attire, Elwood grabbed his silver headed cane and hat and headed out to where his curricle was waiting. He nodded to the groom who handed him the reins and then set his mount into motion. Along the way, he did his best to appear the upstanding gentleman who would be admired. He touched his brim in greeting to the ladies and offered the men a nod of acknowledgement. He didn't give anyone the cut, and if there had been the chance he could help an older lady cross the street, he would have vaulted from his curricle to assist, just to prove what an upstanding pillar of society that he was.

When he entered St. James' Church, he sat throughout the entire sermon with a reverent expression on his face, doing his best to appear contrite for any past transgressions he might have embarked upon. As the service concluded, he made sure to continue with the same humble demeanor until he returned to home to Brook Street in Mayfair. The moment the door shut behind him, he headed for his study, ripping off his cravat as he went and going to the sideboard, where he poured a brandy and downed it in one scorching gulp.

If he survived another month of this inactivity, it might just kill him.

Miss Meliah Newton could hardly contain her excitement the next morning when the latest periodical of "The Rake Review" arrived in her greedy hands by way of a street urchin at her parent's residence on Brick Lane in Spitalfields. She had been eagerly awaiting the latest edition as soon as she recalled it was the first Monday of the month.

From the moment she had first caught sight of the gossip sheet in Samantha Mason's hands, Meliah had been fascinated by "The Belle." She hadn't been sure where she might continue to claim the article, as it was published in secret, but thankfully, her friend, Samantha, was an orange seller who often went into the heart of Mayfair, where it was being distributed, and since she was sweet on one of Lady Graves' footman, he had shared the information with her. Now, each month, Meliah begged Samantha for the latest release.

It was Meliah's single hope that she might become a noted writer like "The Belle," even if the price she had to pay was the same anonymity. She was weary of living above her parent's weaver's shop, expected to carry on the family tradition when they were gone. But that was not what filled her heart with purpose. She loved writing and hoped to see her book in print on the shelves of Hatchard's someday. She was nearly finished with her first novel, and her mind had been racing, wondering how she might convince one of the printing companies to take a chance to publish her work. If she could only discover the identity of this notorious author and find out who she used as a printer, perhaps they might be willing to risk taking on another writer in secret. She wouldn't be averse to using a pen name, so long as she could hold her own words in her hands.

She pushed those dreams aside for the moment, and eagerly read the latest Rake Review. Although she hadn't known any of the gentlemen that had been previously mentioned, there were times when she felt some sort of… connection to them, but none so much as this month's mysterious Lord B.

Dearest Reader,

At long last, I must present a rake of the first order. Although he must have believed himself immune to my pen, I cannot allow his licentious ways to go unnoticed any longer. It is time that Lord B —is brought to the forefront of society.

I'm sure you are acquainted with the gentleman in question. It is not often any lady finds herself immune to his charm, nor those piercing blue eyes and ebony hair. I'm quite certain he doesn't need false padding to emulate such broad shoulders, or extra cushion in his shoes to reach that towering height. But I digress.

His attributes might be aplenty, but it's his character that has often been called into question. With his signature, silver-headed cane, that many might speculate hides a deadly sword, Lord B—frequents the worst gaming hells and dare I say it, once ran naked through a Cyprian ball while he was completely foxed. Later, it was rumored that he enjoyed some bed sport with not one, but two other partners, but there might have been more. I believe I also overheard there was a whip and various other torture devices involved.

Quite scandalous!

He might have curbed these voracious appetites recently, fearing the lash of my review, but he can hide no longer. I am keen on finding the worst men of society to warn unsuspecting young ladies who might be in search of an honorable match, but although Lord B—might have a good family reputation, his own is quite tarnished. Although I admit that he has never promised any woman his undying loyalty, and has kept the same mistress for longer than I imagined he would, I feel it's only time to teach this rake a much-needed lesson in respect.

He claims that I am targeting certain gentleman without due cause, so I dare any lady to prove me wrong by noting one redeeming quality. If Lord B—wants to throw down this gauntlet, then I can assure you that the challenge will be accepted. It is my constant goal to bring these irrefutable rakes to heel, and I can assure you that there is just cause for the men I choose.

If I can say anything else about Lord B—it is that he is nothing if not determined. And as terribly stubborn as he is handsome. This is why I am offering this grand opportunity, dear readers, to not only bring another rake to heel and eat crow, but to enjoy the victory of doing so.

Enjoy the hunt, and remember to be forever brazen,

The Belle

Excitement started pounding in Meliah's veins. This was the moment she had been waiting for—the chance to prove herself. If she could find this Lord B—and announce that "The Belle" was absolutely spot on in her review, then surely others might applaud her efforts.

All of her dreams could finally come true.

But then, she remembered one vital fact.

Glancing down at her simple brown frock, Meliah realized that she was sadly outmatched by some of the ladies of polite society. She had nothing suitable to wear to attract a rake's attention to uncover this truth, and certainly not the wit and charm to gain his confidence.

But just as Lord B—was determined, so was she.

Her friend might be an orange seller, but she had connections in the heart of the West End. Samantha frequented the best areas in London. Her friend spoke with maids and footmen alike, so surely, she could find a way to procure something more suitable for Meliah to wear. With the slight funds she had been saving, Meliah might be able to embark upon a journey to Mayfair and do some investigating on her own. Not only did she intend to try to learn more about this Lord B—but wouldn't it be remarkable if she could also discover the identity of the mysterious "Belle?"

That would certainly be an attractive enticement when she strode into the printer's shop with such pertinent information.

With a new lightness to her step, Meliah set to work for the day.

It was purgatory, or perhaps full-on hell. There was no other explanation for it.

Elwood had met his demise the moment that blasted gossip rag had been circulated.

It had been four days since he was mentioned—not so subtly, in his opinion—and already, he was feeling the pressure of his newfound notoriety starting to wear him down. He found it impossible to find solace, because anytime he stepped foot outside of his townhouse, he was accosted by a hoard of women demanding that he declare his sins, like he was at some sort of confessional and they were all honorary priests. They were worse than a pack of braying hounds after a fox. Unfortunately, he was that poor fox.

The only place he could escape the madness, whenever he dared to step foot outside of his house, was at his club, and he'd found that to be almost unbearable at this point. If he wasn't being heckled by his fellow peers who dared to ask him for an autograph and then guffawing at their own jest, he had to suffer the notoriety that he had been the next rake written down in the betting books.

His mood was rapidly deteriorating and he wasn't sure any amount of alcohol would cure his ailment at this point. It was certainly time for him to start considering leaving London for a while. At least until the next review was circulated. By then, hopefully the focus would be on the Belle's next victim and he could be spared any more of this ridiculous acclaim he'd maliciously earned.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he glanced out the window and wanted to moan in dismay when he saw that there was a larger crowd awaiting his resurgence from White's. Deciding it was no use delaying the inevitable, he headed outside and grabbed the reins of his horse. He couldn't dare drive his curricle. It wasn't as fast as his gelding if he needed to make a mad dash to secure freedom.

As he stepped out into the crisp autumn air, Elwood recalled that he used to love this time of year. He had always enjoyed the way the leaves changed and drifted to the ground in a crunchy pile beneath his feet. When he'd been young, he used to rake them all into a pile and jump into the middle with pure abandon.

He wasn't sure why he brought that to mind now, nor why he suddenly glanced up in that moment to spy a lone figure standing off to the side from the rest of his critics. She had a plain straw bonnet perched on her head and wore an equally simple pastel pink dress. He couldn't tell what color her eyes were from this distance, but he wanted to imagine that they were blue. Her figure was slender, but not overly so. She had curves in all the right places.

At any other time, he might have discarded her out of hand. She wasn't the usual coquette that he appreciated, because they knew when the line had been drawn. It was obvious this quiet, solemn woman was not a courtesan.

But it was this woman's calm, curious expression that captured his immediate interest. She simply observed from afar, instead of joining the rest of the assemblage who were eager to villainize him.

"Lord Belmont!" He cringed when a middle-aged matron nearly screeched in his ear. She waved about the latest review in her gloved grasp. "You claim the Belle is misleading society, and yet, you dared to use instruments of torture for?—"

He held up a hand. "For the love of all that's holy, don't finish that statement." He glanced about the street where a governess was passing by with two of her young charges. He frowned darkly at the woman who had spoken and said through gritted teeth, "This is a public street where children are present."

"Indeed," she sniffed haughtily. "And yet, you are allowed to run amok through these streets like some sort of… of… animal!"

He crossed his arms. "I might be an animal, madam, but I daresay you are being the ass."

He mounted his horse while she gave an offended gasp behind him.

Elwood yearned to look back at the lady in pink once more, but he knew it was time for him to head home where he could find some peace.

And then, once it got dark, it would be time to leave town.

He looked right at me .

Meliah's common sense told her that he'd done no such thing, and yet, she knew that her eyes had not deceived her.

Following his departure, the group of women started to disperse. Meliah walked over to the one who had accused him so brazenly before she had a chance to depart.

Brazen —it abruptly occurred to her that she could be "The Belle," hoping to convince those around her that this gentleman was everything that she had claimed.

"Pardon me."

The lady lifted her eyebrows as she looked Meliah up and down, as if to decide whether or not she was important enough to converse with. She must have decided she was, but her tone was anything but friendly when she said curtly, "Yes?"

Realizing that she didn't have long to converse, Meliah asked, "Who was that gentleman?"

A snort was her initial reply. "That is Elwood Tyburne, the Earl of Belmont." She wagged her finger close to her face. "If you are smart, miss, you would do well to steer clear of that libertine."

With that warning, the woman flounced off. Meliah shook her head and decided that couldn't be "The Belle." At least, she refused to believe she could be that unforgiving. From Meliah's view, "The Belle" didn't sound rude in her columns. She was just warning unsuspecting ladies of the sort of men they should do well to avoid.

She wished she could actually converse with the true author, but as Samantha had told her, it was virtually impossible to learn her identity. Several had tried and failed before her.

In that regard, Meliah decided to devote her efforts to Lord B.

The Earl of Belmont .

She smiled as she rushed back to where her friend could be found with her orange stand. Meliah thought Samantha would be just as excited as she was to learn that her target had been discovered. Instead, the girl's brown eyes had widened perceptibly. "You can't mean to approach an earl ."

Meliah rolled her eyes. "I don't intend to just waltz up to him on the street and demand, ‘Pardon me, Lord Belmont, but is it true that all these accusations have no merit? And if so, would you mind if I interviewed you so that I can fulfill my dream of being a writer?'"

Again, Samantha didn't appear amused. "That's not funny."

"I didn't say it was. But I do have a plan in mind, but you will have to tell me where he lives."

"Why?" Samantha eyed her warily. "What are you going to do?"

Meliah knew she couldn't reveal that part or she would never hear the end of it, and any chance she might have of carrying out her plans would never transpire. She needed her friend's help, but not at the expense of her blistered ears. "Please, Sam. I swear I will never ask another favor from you again. Just trust me."

She held her breath, because it seemed as though she wasn't going to gain any more information, but in the end, Samantha sighed heavily. "Very well. Just don't make me regret it."

Taking it as concern for her wellbeing, Meliah allowed the slight chiding. She was warmed by her concern, and it wasn't as though Samantha didn't have a right to be worried. Meliah intended to make her way into Belmont's townhouse and corner him into telling the truth. She hadn't yet figured exactly how she might accomplish this yet, but she was sure she would figure it out before she was standing in front of him.

She was grateful that Samantha had gone along with the tale Meliah had spun to her parents, that she was spending the night with Samantha in Covent Garden, which was a decidedly shorter distance to Mayfair than Spitalfields. Meliah also owed her a debt for the use of the gown she currently wore. One of the ladies' of the manor that Samantha's sweetheart worked for intended to have it altered. But before it arrived at the seamstress, it had taken a slight detour.

Meliah crossed her fingers behind her back and prayed that this evening would go as well as she hoped it would, and then she said to Samantha, "I don't intend the earl any harm, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not, actually," Samantha returned dryly. "I'm more concerned out what I might end up reading in the papers about you ."