trueromance

The Truth About Lord Stoneville, by Sabrina Jeffries; the beginning of a new series, The Hellions of Halstead Hall

One Toe Over the Line

I never set out to create a rakehell character who would spawn a whole series. Oliver Sharpe, the Marquess of Stoneville, was supposed to be a red herring for Cousin Michael, the anonymous benefactor to Charlotte Harris’s school for young ladies in my School for Heiresses series.

So in book 4 of the series, I introduced Stoneville and another character as part of my grand plan to throw people off the track in preparation for the final book in which Cousin Michael’s true identity is revealed. It made sense to make Stoneville a friend of Anthony Dalton, the hero of that book (Let Sleeping Rogues Lie). Since Anthony was a rakehell and his two other friends were married, I decided to make Stoneville a kind of rakehell partner in crime.

That’s how Stoneville was born. When my agent first read his character, she said, “He’ll never be a hero. He’s too much of a real rakehell for that.” I told her she was wrong, though I had no intention of making him a hero. He was a red herring—he wasn’t supposed to have a book. He didn’t have to be a hero.

It wasn’t long before I had to change my mind about that. Stoneville leapt off the page from the moment I created him. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was because I didn’t start out thinking of him as a hero. I just let him have his head and say what he pleased. And he said—and did—some outrageous things. So readers fell in love with him, as did I. By the end of the series, a good portion of them were convinced he was Cousin Michael, which I’d certainly never intended.

That’s when I knew I had to write his story. But there was a problem. Although he’d shown glimmers of goodness in his loyalty to his friends, he’d also had the sort of rakehell personality that I almost never write, and that I generally don’t think can be reformed. He came across as a guy who toyed with women. I had to dig deep to find out what could trigger such an attitude . . . what the truth about Stoneville entailed. In the process, I uncovered his siblings, a cranky grandmother, and a family tragedy that had left him scarred and cynical. I’d also found my new series.

Stoneville came about as close to being a real rakehell as I ever get (other authors have gone much further). He really did have one toe over the line for me.

So how do you feel about “real” rakehells in romance? Do you like them? Hate them? And if so, why? Where would you draw the line on rakish behavior if you had to draw one?

Sabrina Jeffries / The Truth About Lord Stoneville – Excerpt

Chapter Four

Maria Butterfield gaped at the Marquess of Stoneville. Surely she’d heard him wrong. “You want me to what?”
The secretive smile playing about his sensual mouth gave her pause. “Pretend to be my fiancée for a short time. As soon as I convince Gran that I seriously mean to marry you, the need for the pretense will end.”
She felt as if she’d stumbled into one of her Gothic novels. “You’re mad.”
“No. I’m just plagued with a grandmother who thinks that forcing me and my siblings into marriage will settle her mind about our futures—an idea that I mean to show her is absurd.”
“By pretending to be engaged to a perfect stranger?”
He shrugged. “I came here looking for a whore to do the job. But they’re expensive, and why should I settle for a whore when you’ll do nicely?”
His gaze traveled down her body with thorough insolence. “You’re exactly the sort my grandmother would find unacceptable as a wife for me: an American of low birth, with an impudent manner and a reckless tongue. And you’re just pretty enough to convince her that I might actually contemplate marriage to you.”
Shock held her motionless. She didn’t know which was worse—his nonchalant attitude toward hiring a whore to fool his poor grandmother, or the insults he’d lobbed at her with such insufferable arrogance. “Now that you’ve offended me in every possible way, do you think I’d agree to this insanity?”
Amusement flickered in his black eyes. “Given that your other choice is to take your chances with the gentlemen in the hall . . . yes, I do. Of course, if you want to watch your cousin hang—” He headed for the door.
“Stop!”
He paused with his hand on the handle, one eyebrow arched in question.
The curst man had her trapped, and he knew it.
No one in London could vouch for her and Freddy. As he’d guessed, not a soul here knew them. Even the ship they’d traveled on had already set sail. If they were arrested, the English authorities might be willing to write to Aunt Rose and confirm their story. But until word came, she and Freddy would surely be imprisoned. She wasn’t sure she could survive weeks in prison, and Freddy wouldn’t survive a day.
What was she thinking? Freddy wouldn’t survive an hour.
Still, she cringed at the idea of letting this aristocratic bully blackmail her into doing his bidding. “You know perfectly well we’re not thieves. You could vouch for us if you wanted. They’d accept whatever you told them.”
His eyes narrowed. “And why should I? What would it gain me?”
“The satisfaction of knowing that you’ve done the right thing.”
“You really are quite fetchingly naïve,” he drawled.
She bristled. “So you have no morals?”
“None.”
He actually admitted it! And with an appalling lack of shame, too. Yet she pressed on. “You told me that if you were satisfied we were blameless of theft, you’d let us go. You swore it on your honor as a gentleman.”
Leaning against the door, he crossed his arms over his rather impressive chest. “Unfortunately for you, I have no honor. And the term ‘gentleman’ doesn’t suit me particularly well, either.”
His blithe manner incensed her. “I should have thrust that sword through your neck when I had the chance!”
That only seemed to amuse him. “Ah, but then you’d almost certainly have been hanged. And that would be such a pity for a woman as pretty as you.”
She ignored the feminine vanity that responded to his calling her pretty. He probably said such things to women all the time. “It’s no wonder your grandmother despairs of you. God only knows what a trial you are to your poor parents.”
The humor vanished abruptly from his face. “Sadly, my parents are too dead to be overly concerned about my behavior.”
His words were flip, but the sudden glint of grief in his eyes told another tale. “Please forgive me,” she said hastily, cursing her quick tongue. “It’s awful to lose your parents. I know that better than anyone.”
“No need for apologies.” He pushed away from the door. “They despaired of me long before they died, so you weren’t far off the mark.”
“Still, it was very wrong of me to—”
“Come now, Miss Butterfield, this has naught to do with my proposal. Will you pretend to be my fiancée or not?” When she hesitated, he went on with a hint of anger, “I don’t see why you make such a fuss over it. It’s not as if I’m asking you to do anything wicked.”
That ridiculous remark banished her brief moment of sympathy. “You’re asking me to lie! To deceive a woman for the sake of your purpose, whatever that is. It goes against every moral principle—”
“And threatening to stab a man does not?” He cast her a thin smile. “Think of it as playing a role, like an actress. You and your cousin will be guests at my estate for a week or two, entirely at your leisure.” A dark gleam shone in his eyes. “I can even set up an effigy of myself for you to stab at will.”
“That does sound tempting.”
“As for Freddy there, he can ride and hunt and play cards with my brothers. It’s better entertainment than he’d find in jail.”
“As long as you feed me, sir,” Freddy said, “I’ll follow you anywhere.”
“Freddy!” Maria cried.
“What? That blasted inn where we’re staying is flea-ridden and cold as a witch’s tit. Plus, you keep such tight hold on the purse strings that I’m famished all the time. What’s wrong with helping this fellow if it means we finally sleep in decent beds? And it’s not a big thing, your pretending to be betrothed to him.”
“I’m already betrothed, thank you very much. And what about Nathan? While we’re off deceiving this man’s poor grandmother, Nathan might be hurt or in trouble. You expect me just to give up searching for him so you can get a decent meal?”
“And keep from being hanged,” Freddy pointed out. “Let’s not forget that.”
“Ah, the missing fiancé,” Lord Stoneville said coldly. “I did wonder when you would bring him back into it.”
She glowered at him. “I never let him out of it. He’s the reason I’m here.”
“So you say.”
That inflamed her temper. “Now see here, you insufferable, arrogant—”
“Fine. If you insist on clinging to your wild story, how about this: while you pretend to be my fiancée, I’ll hire someone to look for your fiancé. A simple trade of services. A Bow Street runner will still cost me less than hiring a whore for two weeks.”
“For pity’s sake, you doubt my identity because I don’t fit your notion of a wealthy man’s daughter, yet you quibble over the cost of hiring people? I thought you lofty lords had plenty of money.”
He sighed. “Not all of us. But that situation will improve once my grandmother comes to her senses. You are going to help me with that, aren’t you?”
Though he couched it as a question, his glittering gaze showed it was really an order from a man used to getting his way.
But he was offering to help her find Nathan. There was that. If she could believe him.
“You’ve made it abundantly clear that you have no honor and are no gentleman. So how can I trust anything you say? How can I be sure that when this is over, you won’t just hand us over to the authorities?”
“You can’t,” he countered.
“Then I’ll take my chances with the men in the hall.” She headed for the door.
“Wait!” When she paused to glance at him, all trace of his smug smile and the insolent arch of his dark eyebrow were gone.
“What if I swear on my mother’s grave to uphold my promise?” His gaze locked with hers, solemn as death. “That’s a vow I’d take very seriously.”
A shiver swept down her spine. Something haunted in that look called to her. As if sensing that, he stiffened and his expression returned to the one of bored nonchalance that she despised, making her wonder if she’d imagined that glimpse of vulnerability.
“Really, Miss Butterfield,” he went on, “don’t force me to go down to the magistrate’s office and spend hours talking to the authorities. I lack the time or the patience for it. It would be such an inconvenience at this hour of the evening.”
“We’ll do it,” Freddy said quickly.
“Great heavens, Freddy—”
“We’ve got to, Mopsy. I’m not going to prison for your principles. Besides, he’ll help us find Nathan. That’s all you want, isn’t it?”
A weary sigh escaped her. Freddy did have a point. She was tired of searching for Nathan, tired of being on her guard every moment in this curst city, tired of dealing with Freddy’s complaints. Maybe it was time to get some help.
She glanced to Lord Stoneville. “How long would I have to play this role?”
“Two weeks at most, though I suspect it will take less.”
She must be crazy to even consider this. But he had her cornered, and he knew it. And if he did hire someone to look for Nathan . . .
“All right,” she said. “Two weeks, no more.” When he started to smile, she added, “But you must swear on your mother’s grave to help me find Nathan, as you promised. And that when I’ve met your terms, you’ll let us both go free and end this nonsense about having us arrested for thievery.”
“Whatever you wish,” he said blithely.
“Swear it!” Some instinct told her that he’d meant it when he said he would take such a vow seriously.
A muscle worked in his jaw. Then he nodded. “I swear on my mother’s grave that I’ll do everything in my power to find your fiancé. And that at the end of two weeks, you’ll be free to go wherever you please.”
She let out a long breath. “Very well. Then I accept your proposal.”
“Good. Stay here.” Opening the door, he called for someone, and a burly man she hadn’t seen before came in. “Watch them until I return,” Lord Stoneville ordered, then disappeared into the hall.
When their guard eyed her as if she were a particularly choice piece of beef, Maria turned her back on him, trying not to dwell on what could happen to them now that they’d put themselves at the mercy of a lord with no morals. She tried not to remember the wicked scenes she’d read in novels, where villains kept women imprisoned in their houses and did shameful things to them.
The books had been rather vague about that part, but what they’d left out, Maria had made up from her imagination. Her down-to-earth aunt had told her quite a bit about how men and women joined in the bedchamber and it didn’t take much to envisage a villain lying between a woman’s legs and having his way with her.
A villain like Lord Stoneville.
Freddy sidled up next to her, and with a furtive glance at their guard, lowered his voice. “Stoneville seems like a decent enough chap.”
She stifled a hysterical laugh. “Oh, yes, quite decent. We met him in a brothel, and he’s blackmailing us into deceiving his grandmother.”
“At least he’s not handing us over to the constable. And he did find out about the satchel for you. He could have had us tossed into gaol the moment my sword hit the floor.”
True. He’d heard them out when he hadn’t had to. But that was only because she “suited his purpose.”
The door opened and Lord Stoneville walked in, carrying several items. He nodded to the burly man, who left.
Lord Stoneville tossed a vivid red gown and other pieces of clothing onto a settee. “You’ll have to change clothes. You can’t wear mourning when I present you to Gran. It’ll rouse questions about your situation, and I don’t want her guessing that this is a sham.”
Warily, Maria examined what he’d brought. The white gloves, stockings, and cap of white crepe edged in red satin with matching satin ribbons looked presentable enough, but the gown was tawdry, to say the least. Made of a very cheap silk, it was cut shamefully low. “You can’t expect me to wear this.”
“Polly tells me it should fit. You’re about the size of one of her girls.”
Her girls? Polly must own the brothel. No surprise then that he was so chummy with the woman, given what Maria had seen of his character.
“The rest is fine,” she said, “but the gown is too scandalous.”
“It’s the only thing I could acquire on such short notice,” he bit out. “We’ll get other clothes for you tomorrow, but for now this is what you’ll wear.”
She bristled at his high-handedness, wanting to argue, but she dared not until she and Freddy escaped this place with their necks intact.
He stared at her expectantly. “Well? Put it on.”
“Not until you and Freddy leave!” she exclaimed.
“Sorry, my dear. I can’t have him stand out there where our friends can reconsider their decision to let him go. Nor shall I leave you two alone to escape through some window.” He shot her a cursory glance. “Trust me, I’ve seen more women in their corsets and shifts than you’ve seen years.”
“I can well believe that.” She sniffed. “At least turn around.”
“Fine.” He turned his back to her, and Freddy followed suit. “But be quick about it. I’d like to reach Halstead Hall in time for dinner.”
“Do as he says, will you?” Freddy put in. “I’m about to faint from hunger.”
“For once, Freddy,” she grumbled, “would you stop thinking with your stomach?”
The stockings seemed to fit, and she managed to undo her own gown so she could slip the other one on. But she could never button it herself, especially since it was small in the waist. And the bosom. Mercy, she would need help.
“Freddy, come fasten me up, will you?”
Her cousin’s back stiffened. “I can’t do that!”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Lord Stoneville strode over. “I knew you Americans were prudish, but this is absurd.”
Before she could even protest, he began fastening her gown. To her horror, the faint scent of his spicy cologne and his fingers working efficiently over the buttons made an odd sort of heat rise up from her belly. That couldn’t be good.
“You seem to know how to do up a woman’s gown very well.” She struggled to sound nonchalant. “I take it you’ve had plenty of practice.”
“You know us debauchers,” he said dryly. “Practice, practice, practice.”
That set her to wondering how many soiled doves he’d taken to his bed. Did he touch them everywhere, as her aunt said men did? When images filled her mind, she swallowed. It was hard not to imagine such things when his fingers brushed her back with every motion. Nor did it help that the process had slowed to a crawl as he struggled to fasten the lower part.
“The gown is too tight for me,” she said, embarrassed.
“It’s just these blasted small buttons.” His breath wafted over her cheek, making a shiver sweep her skin. “They’re too dainty for a man’s fingers.”
Skeptical, she sucked in a breath, which must have helped because he finally got the back done up. But now that he’d finished, she realized just how scandalous the gown was. It exposed a shameful amount of her chest. That became only more obvious when he circled around in front of her to rake her with a heated glance.
“That’ll do nicely.”
His husky words quickened her pulse, despite everything. And when his gaze lingered on her partially exposed bosom with particular interest, one of Aunt Rose’s practical warnings about suitors sprang instantly to her mind: Men will try to touch your breasts. Don’t let them.
A nervous giggle escaped her, and he arched one eyebrow. “Not the kind of gown you’re accustomed to wearing, I suppose.”
“Hardly. Most of my gowns fit. You won’t be able to feed me, you know. One morsel of food, and I shall burst right through the cheap fabric of this bodice.”
Turning around, Freddy snorted. “Wouldn’t hurt you to take off a few pounds, Mopsy.”
When she scowled at him, Lord Stoneville surprised her by saying, “Your cousin is perfect just as she is.” His gaze raked her appreciatively. “Utterly perfect.”
Her cheeks heated. She wasn’t used to men giving her extravagant compliments. Papa was too practical for it, and Nathan too absorbed in his work at the company. It made it hard for her to trust Lord Stoneville’s flatteries. “You mean I’m perfect for your purpose.”
His mouth crooked up in what appeared to be a genuine smile. “That, too.” He watched as she bundled up her gown and other things. Then he helped her into her redingote and offered her his arm in an oddly courtly gesture. “Shall we?”
For a second, she could only stare at it. Had she lost her mind, putting their lives in his hands? The man could do anything with them, carry them off anywhere, and they could do nothing to stop him.
But at least they wouldn’t end up in the gaol.
When she took his arm, his dark eyes gleamed at her in triumph. “A wise decision, Miss Butterfield,” he said as he led her to the door. “You won’t regret it.”
Unfortunately, she doubted that very much.
The Truth About Lord Stoneville, by Sabrina Jeffries

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