Dauntsey Park: The Last Rake In London. Nicola Cornick
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Nicola Cornick’s novels have received acclaim the world over
‘Cornick is first-class, Queen of her game.’
—Romance Junkies
‘A rising star of the Regency arena.’
—Publishers Weekly
Praise for THE SCANDALOUS WOMEN OF THE TON series
‘A riveting read.’
—New York Times bestselling author Mary Jo Putney on Whisper of Scandal
‘One of the finest voices in historical romance.’
—SingleTitles.com
‘Ethan Ryder (is) a bad boy to die for! A memorable story of intense emotions, scandals, trust, betrayal and all-encompassing love. A fresh and engrossing tale.’
—Romantic Times on One Wicked Sin
‘Historical romance at its very best is
written by Nicola Cornick.’ —Mary Gramlich, The Reading Reviewer
Acclaim for Nicola’s previous books
‘Witty banter, lively action and sizzling passion.’
—Library Journal on Undoing of a Lady
‘RITA® Award-nominated Cornick deftly steeps her latest intriguingly complex Regency historical in a beguiling blend of danger and desire.’ —Booklist on Unmasked
Dear Reader,
It has been a great pleasure for me to write a special story set in 1908. The Edwardian period has a strong nostalgia about it. It has been described as: “A leisurely time when women wore picture hats and did not vote, when the rich were not ashamed to live conspicuously and the sun never really set on the British flag.” It was an era that contrasted with the periods that preceded and succeeded it—the long reign of Victoria and the harsh and terrible reality of the First World War.
Yet the Edwardian period has also been referred to as “the birth of now,” a period that has far more in common with modern times than we might imagine. When I was writing this book I was constantly surprised at the parallels with modern life and that much of the technology in use today originated or was first developed in this period. Much of the London Underground had been built and was already referred to as “The Tube.” The first aeroplanes were taking to the skies. The rich had installed telephones in their houses and the King would ring his friends up when he had decided to drop in for a visit.
I have set Jack and Sally’s love story against the glittering backdrop of Edwardian high society and I hope that you enjoy this glimpse of that very special year, 1908.
www.nicolacornick.co.uk
Dauntsey Park
The Last Rake in London
Nicola Cornick
The ancestral line of the Dukes of Kestrel had bred rakes
and rogues aplenty in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The family seat, Kestrel Court, is nestled in the Midwinter Villages and you can read about the exploits of the Kestrel family in Nicola Cornick’s bestselling series, the BLUESTOCKING BRIDES:
THE NOTORIOUS LORD
ONE NIGHT OF SCANDAL THE RAKE’S MISTRESS
Available as eBooks. Visit www.mirabooks.co.uk
Other novels by Nicola Cornick
WHISPER OF SCANDAL
ONE WICKED SIN MISTRESS BY MIDNIGHT
To my wonderful grandmother, born Doris Mary Wood
in 1908, still an inspiration to me now.
Prologue
June 1908
Jack Kestrel was looking for a woman.
Not just any woman, but a female so unscrupulous, greedy and manipulative that she would blackmail a man who was dying.
He had been assured that she would be at the art exhibition at the Wallace Collection tonight, but he did not know what she looked like. Whilst he tried to locate the curator to arrange an introduction, Jack stood at the top of the staircase and scanned the crowd that had flocked to the exhibition of portraits and miniatures. Most people were standing in small groups in the conservatory and the hall, chattering, drinking champagne, their purpose not so much to view the paintings as to see and be seen. The gentlemen were in evening dress, the ladies vivid in rainbow-coloured gowns and picture hats, their diamonds rivalling the glitter of the chandeliers.
Jack turned and walked slowly along the corridor that led to the Grand Gallery. His cousin, the Duke of Kestrel, had loaned some portraits to the exhibition tonight including two very fine paintings by George Romney of Jack’s great-grandparents, Justin Duke of Kestrel and his wife. Jack was curious to see them; the last time he had viewed them they had been tucked in a dark corner of the family seat, Kestrel Court in Suffolk, in dire need of a clean. Buffy the present duke was an unashamed philistine about the arts and saw his collection as nothing more than an asset to sell as the income he gained from his land dwindled. Only the previous week, Jack had loaned Buffy a thousand pounds to prevent him from sending his entire collection of Stubbs’s racing paintings to Sotheby’s.
There was only one person viewing the Kestrel portraits in the small drawing room. They were beautifully displayed and lit from below by a cunning arrangement of oil lamps. The same soft light that illuminated the portraits of Jack’s ancestors also shone on the woman standing before them, giving radiance to her face beneath the wide brim of her hat, making her complexion glow like cream and roses and shadowing her eyes with mysterious darkness. She was wearing a beautiful peach silk evening gown that draped sinuously over her body and her huge black picture hat had matching peach ribbons and roses on the brim.
Jack stopped in the doorway, his eyes resting on her face. For a moment he felt an odd sensation in his chest, almost as though she had reached out and physically touched him. It was not a feeling he had ever experienced before. Apart from a disastrous entanglement in his youth, he had kept his relationships with women a simple and straightforward business of mutual physical convenience. Not one of them had made the breath catch in his throat or his heart miss a beat. He decided to ignore the sudden and disturbing stir of emotions within him and crossed the room to her side.
She did not turn. She seemed engrossed in the portrait of Justin Kestrel, with his dark Regency good looks, the rakish smile on his lips and the hint of humour in his dangerous eyes.
‘Do you like the portrait?’
She turned at last at Jack’s softly spoken question and her beautiful hazel eyes widened as they went from his face to the portrait and back again. He saw her mouth turn up in a reluctant smile.
‘He was very handsome,’ she said drily. ‘The resemblance is striking, as no doubt you are aware.’
Jack bowed. ‘He was my great-grandfather. Jack Kestrel, entirely at your service, madam.’
Her dark brows lifted slightly, but she did not give him a name in return and Jack knew it was deliberate. It was also unusual. Very few women refused Jack Kestrel’s acquaintance. His looks generally gained him their