Olivia Drake - Never Trust a Rogue

Praise for
SEDUCING THE HEIRESS

This book has it all: a fabulous hero, a wonderful heroine, and sizzling passion. Read it and watch the sparks fly!

Christina Dodd

Guaranteed to seduce readers everywhere. This book is something truly special, an unforgettable story filled with passion, intrigue, and sweep-you-away romance.

Susan Wiggs

This decadent Regency romance is carried along by a spunky heroine and sumptuous descriptions of upper-class lifetheres enough glitz to keep readers coming back.

Publishers Weekly

Drake entices readers [and] twists the traditional with an unconventional heroine and a bad-boy hero that readers will adore.

Romantic Times BOOKreviews

I absolutely adored this story! Witty, hilarious[like] reading a Julia Quinn novel. Im definitely looking forward to the next book in this series!

The Season Blog

Olivia Drakes Seducing the Heiress will land on your keeper shelf. The author takes what could be a been-there, read-that story of a scheming scoundrel and a headstrong hoyden and weaves a tale of wit, seduction, secrets, and sensuality thats as vibrant as it is refreshing.

Michelle Buonfiglios Romance: B(u)y the Book

Drake weaves a sensual tale, full of intrigue and true romanceguaranteed to seduce and leave the reader breathless.

South Bend Romance Novel Examiner

St. Martins Paperbacks Titles by

OLIVIA DRAKE

Seducing the Heiress

Never Trust a Rogue

OLIVIA DRAKE

St. Martins Paperbacks

NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

NEVER TRUST A ROGUE

Copyright 2010 by Barbara Dawson Smith.

All rights reserved.

For information address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

ISBN: 978-0-312-94346-2

Printed in the United States of America

St. Martins Paperbacks edition / September 2010

St. Martins Paperbacks are published by St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

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Never Trust a Rogue

Females were nothing but trouble.

Handing the reins of his mount to a groom, Thane Pallister, the Earl of Mansfield, braced himself for the inevitable scene to come. Hed had plenty of time on the long ride from London to Oxfordshire to contrive an explanation for his uncle about his current predicament with the fairer sex.

Twelve years had passed since Thane had returned to the manor house where he had spent his youth. When hed left here for good at the age of eighteen, he had come to despise this old pile with every fiber of his being. It had been more a prison than a home to him.

Yet, as he peeled off his riding gloves, he was surprised by a pang of nostalgia. On this unseasonably sunny March day, the place looked so... ordinary.

Neatly manicured boxwoods framed the front of the Elizabethan house. The tall edifice was fashioned of brick and timbers with mullioned windows that reflected the blue sky. As his gaze traveled upward, the steep roof with its myriad chimneys sparked a flash of memory.

A long time ago, he had clambered over those slate tiles while his cousin Edward had cowered by the stairs leading down to the servants attic. On a whim, Thane had lowered himself feet-first into one of the chimneys. He must have had some vague notion of bracing himself on the sides and then popping back out to frighten his cousin. Instead, Thane had lost his traction, plunged down the dark shaft, and landed in the library, covered from head to toe in soot.

Luckily, it had been summer and no fire had blazed in the grate. But he had startled Uncle Hugo at his reading, and the prank had earned Thane a thrashing with the dreaded willow switch.

Back then, hed had a knack for getting into trouble. He had been too fidgety to focus on his schoolwork, too keen on escaping the confines of four walls, too ready to commit any act of willfulness in order to break the boredom of routine. Thank God, maturity and military discipline had granted him the ability to control his impulses.

At least most of the time.

Stuffing his leather gloves into the pockets of his greatcoat, he headed up the granite steps. The double oak doors, carved with matching crosses, had once graced the chapel of a monastery. It felt odd to approach the house as a visitor when, as a lad, he had been forbidden use of the front entrance.

A footman in dark green livery answered Thanes knock. He didnt recognize the smooth, impassive features beneath the formal white wig and wondered what had happened to Sewell, the old butler with the hatchet face, who had borne Thanes tomfoolery with stoic fortitude.

The footman took in his fine garb at a glance and stepped back to allow him entry. Welcome to Waverly Park.

Is my uncle at home? Thane asked, stepping into the dim-lit great hall. Tell him Mansfield has come to call.

The footmans blue eyes bugged slightly in recognition, for he would have heard of the masters renegade nephew. Yes, my lord. If youll be so good as to wait in the antechamber.

The servant indicated a room to the right, then hastened down the long corridor that led to the back of the house. Apparently, Uncle Hugo still spent his days ensconced in the library. Old habits died hard.

Thane stripped off his greatcoat and tossed it over a chair. After being confined to the saddle since the crack of dawn, he had no intention of sitting like a stodgy squire in a room that had last been decorated during the reign of Queen Anne. He had too much on his mind, and a pressing need to return to London as soon as he was done here.

A feeling of restiveness crept over him. He had sworn never to return to this house. Only a sense of obligation and a summons from his uncle had lured him back. Whatever their differences in the past, he owed Uncle Hugo the courtesy of an explanation. It would have been the act of a coward to do so by letter.

Thane took a measured stroll around the entrance hall. Little had changed here. The oak-paneled walls still displayed medieval shields and paintings so darkened with soot and age, it was difficult to discern the subject matter. A suit of armor stood on a dais beneath the curve of the staircase.

He walked closer to the display. There was a dent in the breastplate exactly where he remembered it. A long time ago, he had stood on a stool, plucked off the helmet and stuck it on his head, and then chased Edward around the hall. Unfortunately, the narrow eye slits had impaired Thanes vision, and hed crashed into the suit of armor, knocking it down. The deafening clatter had brought the entire household at a run.

A flicker of humor quirked Thanes mouth. How well he recalled tearing around here like a demon on the rare occasions when his uncle was away from home. It had been sheer joy to slide in his stockinged feet on the marble floor. He had thrived on the danger of being caught. To sit placidly reading had never held any interest to him.

At last the servant returned with the news that the master would see him in the library. Thane headed down the long passageway, his footsteps sharp and decisive. He wanted this interview over with and done, like a dose of bitter medicine that must be swallowed.