Dare to be Scandalous: League of Unweddable Gentlemen, Book 3 Read online

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  To Be Wicked With You

  Chapter 1

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  Also by Tamara Gill

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Dare to be Scandalous

  League of Unweddable Gentlemen, Book 3

  Copyright © 2020 by Tamara Gill

  Cover Art by Wicked Smart Designs

  Editor Grace Bradley Editing

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.

  Prologue

  1826 London

  Willow raced up her aunt's stairs, having been summoned back from her daily ride at Hyde Park. Sweat pooled on her brow, and she could feel it running down the line of her back beneath her gown. It was too soon. This day could not be the end of her aunt.

  She ran as fast as her riding ensemble would allow and pushed open her aunt's bedroom door, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of her lady’s maid, the butler, and housekeeper, all of their faces masks of pity and sadness.

  "Auntie?" She came and sat on the bed beside her, reaching for her hands. They were cold and limp in hers, and Willow squeezed them a little, needing to rouse her, keep her with her for just a bit of time longer.

  "I'm still here, my child. I waited for you."

  Tears pooled in Willow's eyes, and she clasped her aunt, her only family left in the world into an embrace, her throat as raw as if a hot poker had pierced her there, making each breath painful and hard.

  "I'm so sorry. I went riding. I did not know that you were so poorly."

  Her aunt shushed her, the action bringing on another bout of coughs that wheezed and rattled her chest. The hack sounded painful, and if her aunt’s grimace each time she coughed was any indication, the infection was causing discomfort.

  "I want you to go riding, even when I'm gone. You will have more time on your hands then. You won't have to trundle after me anymore."

  That may be so, but Willow would have to trundle after someone. When her aunt passed, she would need to find employment, and soon. The thought brought her no pleasure, and her stomach churned at the prospect she would not find work. Not that her friends would leave her out on the street, but they had their own lives now, families to take care of, they did not need a friend latching on to them for charity.

  "Never mind that," she said, not wanting to talk about what she would do after her aunt passed. The doctor had promised she had some weeks left, not one. Her decline had been so fast in the last few days. Too fast. Willow prayed for time to stop. For her aunt not to leave her alone in this world. "You'll be better soon, and we'll look back on this day and laugh. You'll see. Nothing to fear just yet."

  Her aunt's lips twisted into a grin. "I wanted to tell you before I go what I've done." Her aunt squeezed her hands, suddenly stronger and capable as they once were. "You will have time, my dear. To finally do as you wish because I'm leaving you everything that I have. The London townhouse, my estate in Kent, my money. All of it is yours."

  Willow stared at her aunt, knowing full well her mouth was gaping. "You cannot. I'm not a Vance."

  "No one is. With no children and no one to take on the title, I can do what I wish with everything else. The title and house in Norfolk will revert to the Crown, but nothing else."

  "Are you sure, Auntie?" Willow asked. Surely there was more entailed than just the Norfolk property. She could not get everything.

  "I will lose the house in Norfolk, but everything else is yours, my darling." Her aunt sat up a little, her eyes bright. "You have been a shining light in my world since Maurice died, the child that I never had. You are my sister's daughter, but you are mine as well. I want you to be safe, to be protected after I'm gone. Making you my heir accomplishes all this. I will rest easy knowing you will be protected."

  "Oh, Auntie." Willow's vision blurred at her impossibly good fortune at a time when the loss of the woman before her would be too much to bear. "I love you so much. Thank you. It is too much."

  Her aunt sighed, lying back on the bedding, a small smile about her lips. "I'm happy to." She reached up, touching Willow's cheek with her palm. "You will suit being an heiress, just try and keep some of the funds for yourself and not give it away to all the unfortunates. I know what a good heart you have."

  Willow chuckled. Even now, as ill as her aunt was, she was making banter, trying to make her laugh. "I will try. I promise." Willow sat back as her aunt slumped into her bedding, her eyes closing with the exertion of having spoken the last few minutes.

  She watched her, holding her hand. Her chest rose and fell, telling Willow she was still here. "I will miss you so much, Auntie. Thank you for loving me as you did. I will never forget your kindness."

  The housekeeper came over to Willow and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Willow could not stop looking at her aunt's breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. She waited for the exhale. It never came. Willow stood, clutching at her aunt's hand. "Auntie. Auntie," she cried, louder this time, but nothing. No breaths. No words. Nothing.

  She turned to the housekeeper who stared at her, tears in her own old eyes. "She's gone to be with God, my dear. Come away now."

  Willow did as they bade, unable to fathom what had just happened. Her aunt could not be gone. It wasn't possible. She paused at the threshold of the room, looking back at her only relative — the dearly departed sister to her mama. The Viscountess Vance. "I will miss you," she whispered, before leaving the room. "Always."

  Chapter 1

  Twelve months later – The Season

  Abraham Blackwood, Marquess Ryley, Abe to his friends and those who were fortunate enough to bed him, watched as his mistress energetically sucked and licked with enthusiasm on his phallus, her chocolate-brown hair cascading over his legs and tickling him with each movement. He leaned back in his chair, enjoying the slide of her tongue, the massaging of his tight, aching balls with her hand. She was a clever minx, and one he doubted he'd ever tire of — worth every jewel and penny he spent on her.

  "Fuck, that's good." She made a sweet mewling sound that throbbed up his spine. He was close, could feel his balls tightening with his impending release. Lottie increased her ministrations as if sensing he was near spilling into her mouth. Another perfect reason he had her as his mistress. She encomp
assed good sense and was a fucking hot shag. She shifted a little, taking him to the back of her throat, and his seed released, hard and long into her mouth. The perfectionist and expert that she was, she swallowed, not spilling any over her swollen, pinkened lips.

  "Hmm, delicious," she purred, sitting up on his desk and spreading her legs. He raised one brow, taking in her wet cunny. "You've been busy down there."

  "Do you like it? It's all the rage in Paris. I thought it might be fun," she said, glancing down at her clean-shaven quim.

  He licked his lips, not minding either way. Shaved or not, he enjoyed eating a woman to release.

  A series of knocks sounded on the door.

  Lottie sighed, lying back on the desk.

  Abe reached out, running his finger along her wet folds, rolling his thumb over her sweet nubbin. "Fuck off," he yelled, kissing her inner thigh.

  "It's me, Whitstone," came a muffled voice from the other side of the wood.

  Abe groaned, settling back in his chair and watching as Lottie, aware that their playtime was over, shuffled off the desk and adjusted her clothing. "I'll meet you upstairs shortly. Be ready," he said, as she threw him a mischievous grin over her shoulder before opening his library door to reveal Whitstone, arm raised as if to knock again.

  "Come in." Abe gestured to one of his oldest friends since Eton. Whitstone had protected him when other boys at the school would poke fun at his mama, a Spanish woman who had been fortunate enough to marry Marquess Blackwood when he was touring the continent. The young marquess had returned to England with a wife. Quite the scandal considering she wasn't a perfect English rose, as the marquess was expected to wed.

  "My friend," Whitstone said, smiling at Lottie as she walked past His Grace, running her finger across the duke's chest.

  Abe laughed. Cheeky wench.

  Whitstone entered the room, closing the door. "I apologize if I interrupted you," he said, smirking.

  "Drink?" Abe asked, standing and going to the decanter to pour a glass of whiskey.

  "No, thank you. I have come here to ask for a favor and have little time. Otherwise, I would."

  Abe raised his brow, downing his whiskey before pouring another. "What is it that you need?" He had little to do with society, not after what happened the last time he trod the boards at Almacks. Not that he'd ever be admitted to the place again, not after receiving a life ban for punching Lord Perfect, as he termed Lord Herbert, for being an ass. Something the man was afflicted with often.

  "I'm not sure if you know Ava's good friend, Miss Willow Perry, but she's hosting a masquerade ball, a celebration to be back in society after the death of her aunt. She's become an heiress you see, worth over one hundred thousand pounds, and I want you there to keep her safe from those who may be looking at her as a bit of blunt to clear their debts. Ava is determined that Willow will marry for love and nothing else. Although…" Whitstone said, his tone bemused. "I'm not sure Willow thinks the same as the duchess."

  Abe's lips twitched, well believing that what the duchess may think is well and good for her friend may not be what the lady in particular wants. The duke's wife could sometimes be, in every sense, a duchess used to getting what she wanted.

  "You want me to babysit Miss Perry."

  Whitstone leaned back in his chair, folding his legs. "You make it sound like a chore. Duncannon will be there also, and myself. We'll make a good night of it, but we must keep her safe from blackguards that may seek to ruin her to gain her inheritance."

  Abe rubbed a hand over his jaw, the prickle of whiskers reminding him that he'd not shaved this morning. "What if she wants a little rendezvous in the garden? Are we to stop her from having a little fun?" Abe had fun often with the ladies of the ton who were free from the marital bed or looking to cuckold it.

  Whitstone raised his brow, his visage one of censure. "She's a lady, Ryley. She will not be looking for a quick tup on the lawn."

  His lips twitched, knowing how very fun a quick fuck up against a trellis or terrace railing could be. There was nothing sweeter than lifting the skirts of a willing woman and sliding into the tight quim that wrapped and pulled you in until you were lost. He thought about what Whitstone asked. There would be many women there, plenty of willing ladies under disguise for the masked ball who may be up for a little fun with the Spanish Scoundrel.

  "Very well. I'll attend. When is it?" he asked, sitting back behind his desk. He had a masquerade outfit that would suit his heritage and, most certainly, his dark character.

  "Tomorrow evening. Miss Perry is living in the late Viscountess Vance’s residence on Hanover Square. That was her aunt."

  Abe stilled at the mention of the name Vance. The surname raising ire and regret in his veins. Not regret that her ladyship had passed or that he'd not paid his last respects, but that he'd not been able to make the woman pay for her dealings with his sweet mama. Viscountess Vance had ensured his mother had never been accepted into society, helped along with Lord Perfect's mother too. A mean feat since his mother was a marchioness and much higher on the social ladder than lady Vance. Vance, however, had one thing that his mother never did.

  English blood.

  That this Viscountess Vance had a niece he'd not known of… Or perhaps he had, but had not paid enough attention when she'd been standing right under his nose.

  "The night that we caught up with Mr. Stewart and threw the bastard into Newgate. That is where I've heard of Miss Perry. She was a school friend of the duchesses and Miss Evans. She was at your home that night, waiting with Ava and Hallie."

  The duke nodded, sitting forward to lean on his knees. "They were all at a finishing school together in France. Madame Dufour's Refining School for Girls."

  The duke took him in a moment, a small frown forming on his brow. Abe schooled his features, not wanting his friend to know of his loathing of the Vance family. Miss Perry's family.

  "You seem curious about Miss Perry all of a sudden. You are going to behave yourself, aren't you, Ryley? Ava will tan my hide if you hurt Miss Perry in any way."

  Abe chuckled, masking his features. No one knew how many nobs in London, how many families he'd paid back over the years for the wrong they did to his mama. Made her an outcast of society. Made her leave him and her life here in England to return to Spain. At least she was still living, and he saw her as often as he could. His father had never forgiven her for running away, and his sire had loathed her until his death only a few years ago.

  A wasted life. For both of them. And he could lay it all at the door of Viscountess Vance and Lady Herbert, Lord Perfect's mother and their wicked tongues.

  "You forget that I have a mistress and have zero tolerance for society." The gaming den, Hells Gate, was profitable and diverting, and he sought out society little. Unless he stumbled across a willing lady in his club, a woman looking for a little diversion, only then was he up to being distracted, normally under her skirts.

  Whitstone sighed, his shoulders sagging in relief. "Very good, you've put my mind at ease. So," he said, standing and clapping his hands. "Eight tomorrow night, Belgrave Square. Don't be late."

  Abe stood and walked Whitstone to the door. "I'll not be late. You can count on me." He saw his friend out to his carriage and then started upstairs. He had a mistress to please, and he could use a little entertainment. No matter what he'd said to his friend, he would seek revenge on the late Viscountess's niece. If she were the last one in her ladyship's family that he could pay back, then she would be the one to suffer the consequences of her aunt's actions.

  Abe frowned at his thoughts. His friendship with Whitstone and Duncannon was solid, but even he didn't know if it would survive his next step into society.

  Certainly, Miss Willow Perry would not, that he was certain.

  Chapter 2

  Everything was in order for the masquerade. Willow had a team of servants working for her, ordering flowers, polishing the floor, cleaning windows, and ensuring the gardens were manicured and well-lit
for the dance.

  After returning to London she had made some changes to her life. Being an heiress allowed her certain freedoms she'd not had before. She had hired a companion, a widow who had a lenient mindset and liked nothing more than to read and keep to herself most days, allowing Willow to do as she wanted. Her two best friends, Evie and Molly, whom she had invited to London for the duration of the Season and beyond if they wished were also in attendance.

  The house was certainly big enough for all of them, and with Miss Sinclair watching over them all, when she wasn't reading or strolling the gardens, the arrangement was perfect.

  Willow stood at the ballroom doors, watching as the finishing touches were fitted to the room. She'd wanted the night to represent magic and mayhem. Flower decorations sat on every available surface, rich pinks, and stunning, white forget-me-nots that showered the area with sweet scents. Groupings of candles, each of different sizes, sat in corners, and the three chandeliers were currently lowered, footmen and housemaids ensuring new beeswax candles were installed. Sheer netting hung over the curtains and across the ceiling, giving the room an other-worldly feel. A world where she was the master of her own fate. A heady feeling indeed.

  "Oh my, Willow. This room is beautiful!" Evie said, walking into the space and twirling. Molly joined her, looking up at all the flowers and decorations her servants had been busy putting up the last three days.