Together, they must decide what they’re willing to risk for
love.
The Ruin of a Rake
by Cat Sebastian
Releasing July 4th 2017
Avon Impulse
Avon Impulse
The Book Junkie Reads . . . Review of . . . THE RUIN OF A RAKE . . .
How do
you hide your true nature in plain sight? Respectability. Decorum. Propriety. There
was something soft, sweet, and sensual about Courtenay. I was blinded by the
supposed exploits that I didn’t see him. Courtenay was a sweet, gentle soul in
search of someone to really love him for who he was. He loved his nephew. The
lengths that he was willing to go through to be able spend time with him was
warming. Reading further shows that there was much more to Julian than appeared
on the surface. He was strong, dominating, commanding, and of course proper to
a point until it was no longer warranted.
With
each new book that I read from Cat Sebastian, I fall more in love with the
prospect of a new release. I have read each with a new way of devouring a
romance. Sebastian has put a new spin on historical romances for me and I look
forward to the next release.
Blurb
Rogue.
Libertine. Rake. Lord Courtenay has been called many things and has never much
cared. But after the publication of a salacious novel supposedly based on his
exploits, he finds himself shunned from society. Unable to see his nephew, he
is willing to do anything to improve his reputation, even if that means
spending time with the most proper man in London.
Julian Medlock has spent years becoming the epitome of correct behavior. As far as he cares, if Courtenay finds himself in hot water, it’s his own fault for behaving so badly—and being so blasted irresistible. But when Julian’s sister asks him to rehabilitate Courtenay’s image, Julian is forced to spend time with the man he loathes—and lusts after—most.
As Courtenay begins to yearn for a love he fears he doesn’t deserve, Julian starts to understand how desire can drive a man to abandon all sense of propriety. But he has secrets he’s determined to keep, because if the truth came out, it would ruin everyone he loves. Together, they must decide what they’re willing to risk for love.
Julian Medlock has spent years becoming the epitome of correct behavior. As far as he cares, if Courtenay finds himself in hot water, it’s his own fault for behaving so badly—and being so blasted irresistible. But when Julian’s sister asks him to rehabilitate Courtenay’s image, Julian is forced to spend time with the man he loathes—and lusts after—most.
As Courtenay begins to yearn for a love he fears he doesn’t deserve, Julian starts to understand how desire can drive a man to abandon all sense of propriety. But he has secrets he’s determined to keep, because if the truth came out, it would ruin everyone he loves. Together, they must decide what they’re willing to risk for love.
London,
1817
Julian
pursed his lips as he gazed at the symmetrical brick façade of his sister’s
house. It was every bit as bad as he had feared. He could hear the racket from
the street, for God’s sake. He pulled the brim of his hat lower on his
forehead, as if concealing his face would go any distance toward mitigating the
damage done by his sister having turned her house into a veritable brothel.
Right in the middle of Mayfair, and at eleven in the morning, when the entire ton was on hand to bear witness to her
degradation, no less. Say what one wanted about Eleanor—and at this moment
Julian could only imagine what was being said—but she did not do things by
halves.
As he
climbed the steps to her door, the low rumble of masculine voices drifted from
an open second story window. Somebody was playing a pianoforte—badly—and a lady
was singing out of key.
No, not a
lady. Julian suppressed a sigh.
Whoever these women were in his sister’s house, they were not ladies. No lady
in her right mind would consort with the sort of men Eleanor had been
entertaining lately. Every young buck with a taste for vice had made his way to
her house over these last weeks, along with their mistresses or courtesans or
whatever one was meant to call them. And the worst of them, the blackguard who
had started Eleanor on her path to becoming a byword for scandal, was Lord
Courtenay.
A shiver
trickled down Julian’s spine at the thought of encountering the man, and he
could not decide whether it was from simple, honest loathing or something much,
much worse.
The door
swung open before Julian had raised his hand to the knocker.
“Mr.
Medlock, thank goodness.” The look of abject relief on the face of Eleanor’s
butler might have struck Julian as vaguely inappropriate under any other
circumstance. But considering the tableau that presented itself in Eleanor’s
vestibule, the butler’s informality hardly registered.
Propped
against the elegantly papered wall, a man in full evening dress snored
peacefully, a bottle of brandy cradled in his arms and a swath of bright
crimson silk draped across his leg. A lady’s gown, Julian gathered. The
original wearer of the garment was, mercifully, not present.
“I came
as soon as I received your message.” Julian had not been best pleased to
receive a letter from his sister’s butler, of all people, begging that he
return to London ahead of schedule. Having secured a coveted invitation to a
very promising house party, he was loath to leave early in order to evict a set
of bohemians and reprobates from his sister’s house.
“The cook
is threatening to quit, sir,” said the butler. Tilbury, a man of over fifty who
had been with Eleanor since she and Julian had arrived in England, had gray
circles under his eyes. No doubt the revels had interrupted his sleep. “And
I’ve already sent all but the—ah—hardiest of the housemaids to the country. It
wouldn’t do for them to be imposed upon. I’d never forgive myself.”
Julian
nodded. “You were quite right to send for me. Where is my sister?” Several
unmatched slippers were scattered along the stairs that led toward the drawing
room and bedchambers. He gritted his teeth.
“Lady
Standish is in her study, sir.”
Julian’s
eyebrows shot up. “Her study,” he repeated. Eleanor was hosting an orgy—really,
there was no use in pretending it was anything else—but ducked out to conduct
an experiment. Truly, the experiments were bad enough, but Julian had always
managed to conceal their existence. But to combine scientific pursuits with
actual orgies struck Julian as excessive in all directions.
“You,” he
said, nudging the sleeping man with the toe of his boot. He was not climbing
over drunken bodies, not today, not any day. “Wake up.” The man opened his eyes
with what seemed a great deal of effort. “Who are you? No, never mind, I can’t
be bothered to care.” The man wasn’t any older than Julian himself, certainly
not yet five and twenty, but Julian felt as old as time and as irritable as a
school mistress compared to this specimen of self-indulgence. “Get up, restore
that gown to its owner, and be gone before I decide to let your father know
what you’ve been up to.” As so often happened when Julian ordered people about,
this fellow complied.
Julian made
his way to Eleanor’s study, and found her furiously scribbling at her writing
table, a mass of wires and tubes arranged before her. She didn’t look up at the
sound of the door opening, nor when he pointedly closed it behind him. Eleanor,
once she was busy working, was utterly unreachable. She had been like this
since they were children. He felt a rush of affection for her despite how much
trouble she was causing him.
“Eleanor?”
Nothing. He stooped to gather an empty wine bottle and a few abandoned goblets,
letting them clink noisily together as he deposited them onto a table. Still no
response. “Nora?” It almost physically hurt to say his childhood name for her when things felt so awkward and strained between them.
“It won’t
work,” came a low drawl. “I’ve been sitting here these past two hours and I
haven’t gotten a response.”
Banishing
any evidence of surprise from his countenance, Julian turned to see Lord
Courtenay himself sprawled in a low chair in a shadowy corner. There oughtn’t
to have been any shadows in the middle of the day in a bright room, but trust
Lord Courtenay to find one to lurk in.
Julian quickly
schooled his face into some semblance of indifference. No, that was a reach;
his face was simply not going to let him pretend indifference to Courtenay. He
doubted whether anyone had ever shared space with Lord Courtenay without being
very much aware of that fact. And it wasn’t only his preposterous good looks
that made him so . . . noticeable. The man served as a sort of magnet for other
people’s attention, and Julian hated himself for being one of those people. As
far as he could tell, the man’s entire problem was that people paid a good deal
too much attention to him. But one could hardly help it, not when he looked
like that.
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Cat
Sebastian lives in a swampy part of the South with her
husband, three kids, and two dogs. Before her kids were born, she practiced law
and taught high school and college writing. When she isn't reading or writing,
she's doing crossword puzzles, bird watching, and wondering where she put her
coffee cup.
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