Page 5 of Her Rake Fiancé

Richard’s fists clenched with the desire to force this stubborn man to tell the truth.

This was his chance to do something useful for his family and the brother he had idolized his whole life.

He needed to channel the calm and patience he’d honed during countless family disputes, his usual role. He knew that aggression would not help him now; instead, he had to make Blackmore see reason.

“How much?” he asked. “Just name your price, and it will be yours.”

“As you may have noticed, I do not need money.”

“What, then? What would persuade you?”

Blackmore didn’t flinch. “What I want you cannot give me. I’m afraid I have wasted enough of your valuable time already, sir.”

Richard stared at him, furious. Futile desperation boiled inside him like water in a red-hot cauldron, the feeling of irrelevance as familiar as his own shadow.

Spencer had been the heir.

Preston—the spare.

Calliope—the only daughter and sister the family had.

Richard—the pointless youngest son.

The only thing he was good at was mediating between his volatile brothers, trying to lighten the mood.

Being the youngest son should have made it easier for him to pursue his own dreams, but he hadn’t made much of the opportunities he had. His only attempt at love had left him with a shattered heart and wounds he still tried to heal with brandy and the company of willing widows.

Defeat tasted like bile in his throat, but he couldn’t let it show. His siblings and his grandmama were counting on him to get this information, no matter what it took. He would hire someone to follow Blackmore’s men, he decided, tail them from a distance until he found a weakness. It may take weeks or months, but he would be patient. He was a determined man and wouldn’t stop until he got what he needed.

“Very well,” said Richard, turning and walking to the door. “Good day, Mr. Blackmore.”

His hand lay on the cool handle, but before he could pull the door, one word from Blackmore’s mouth made him freeze.

“Wait.”

Richard looked over his shoulder. Blackmore wore a contemplative expression on his face. “Are you unwed, Lord Richard?”

Richard turned to him. “Indeed. Why?”

“My younger sister, half sister, actually, doesn’t belong to my world. We share a father. I was born out of wedlock. She is legitimate, however, and was born and raised a baron’s daughter, in a Mayfair home. But your high society excluded her because of me.”

Blackmore’s sister… He imagined someone like the man before him—tall, dark, and beautiful with cold eyes. No doubt the woman must be spoiled, dressed in the latest fashions, arrogant, and used to her every whim being fulfilled. A shudder went through him, and his stomach dropped like a stone. He made an effort to keep his expression neutral, but he was losing self-control. The conversation felt like it was taking a dangerous turn. “I am very sorry to hear about her situation.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” Blackmore said and casually walked closer to Richard, a glint of danger in his eyes. “But marrying a duke’s brother will help restore her reputation and place. It will return her to the world she was always supposed to be a part of.”

As Thorne Blackmore’s implication sank into Richard’s mind, his stomach tightened with dread.

“And her marriage,” continued Blackmore, “would please me greatly… So greatly, in fact, that I may offer her new husband a valuable gift—the gift of information.”

3

“How dare you…” Richard growled. “How dare you try to force your sister’s hand on me in exchange for information you should give unconditionally. A man’s life is at stake!”

Blackmore folded his powerful arms across his chest. “You’ll never find out the truth without my help.”

Richard’s teeth ground together, and he could feel his nose flaring with rage. “You are a scoundrel.”

“That is not news, Lord Richard,” said Blackmore indifferently.