131. The Ruthless Rake - The Eternal Collection

Barbara Cartland

Description

Left on the verge of starvation by her dissolute father’s gambling and drinking, the beautiful but resourceful young Syringa Melton is at her wits’ end. Not only has their delightful Manor House and all its contents been put up for sale at auction to pay off his huge debts, but also her beloved horse, Mercury. When the rakishly handsome Earl of Rothingham overhears her sobbing to Mercury in a last desperate farewell, his heart melts for her and without Syringa’s knowledge he not only buys the Manor House and Mercury but as well, through a strange misunderstanding , Syringa herself! A man determined to avoid marriage at all costs, the Earl finds himself reluctantly but irresistibly drawn to this innocent beauty who compares him to the Roman God, Jupiter, no less! But soon the conceited but enchanting Lady Elaine Wilmot, determined to snare the Earl for herself, entraps Syringa in a wicked plot that leaves the young beauty terrified and threatened in the filth of Newgate Prison, facing a flogging and the gallows. Unless, as she prays fervently over and over again, her ‘Jupiter’ can come to her rescue. "Barbara Cartland was the world’s most prolific novelist who wrote an amazing 723 books in her lifetime, of which no less than 644 were romantic novels with worldwide sales of over 1 billion copies and her books were translated into 36 different languages.As well as romantic novels, she wrote historical biographies, 6 autobiographies, theatrical plays and books of advice on life, love, vitamins and cookery.She wrote her first book at the age of 21 and it was called Jigsaw. It became an immediate bestseller and sold 100,000 copies in hardback in England and all over Europe in translation.Between the ages of 77 and 97 she increased her output and wrote an incredible 400 romances as the demand for her romances was so strong all over the world.She wrote her last book at the age of 97 and it was entitled perhaps prophetically The Way to Heaven. Her books have always been immensely popular in the United States where in 1976 her current books were at numbers 1 & 2 in the B. Dalton bestsellers list, a feat never achieved before or since by any author.Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime and will be best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels so loved by her millions of readers throughout the world, who have always collected her books to read again and again, especially when they feel miserable or depressed.Her books will always be treasured for their moral message, her pure and innocent heroines, her handsome and dashing heroes, her blissful happy endings and above all for her belief that the power of love is more important than anything else in everyone’s life."

Informations

• Publié par: M-Y Books
• Date de parution: 01 novembre 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782137528
• Langue: English

Extrait

Author’s Note
The conditions at Newgate Prison with its debauchery, foul discomfort, filth, squalor, evil and moral
deterioration continued until Elizabeth Fry started her reforms in 1815.
The prison was the worst source of gaol fever in the country, with a high mortality rate for
many years.
The whipping of females was not abolished until 1817.
The Prince of Wales’s friends are all historical characters. The Prince was a keen supporter of
boxing until the summer of 1790, two months after the story opens, when he saw a man killed in the
ring at Brighton and never again attended a fight.Chapter One ~ 1790
There was a rough ring made by a huge crowd sitting, kneeling or lying on the ground.
On one side a hastily improvised haycock, covered in rugs, made a seat for the Prince of Wales.
Outside the ring of all classes, packed and intent, there were the chariots, chaises, phaetons, gigs,
wagons and carts in which the more distinguished and wealthy members of the company had arrived.
Under a clear sky on the short grass, Tom Tully, the Wiltshire giant of the ring backed by none
other than the Prince of Wales and the majority of his friends, was matched against Nat Baggot, a
smaller and unknown fighter sponsored by the Earl of Rothingham.
Tom Tully, resolute of jaw, heavy-muscled and looking as indomitable as the Rock of Gibraltar
seemed impervious to blows from the smaller man.
Yet Nat Baggot, quick-eyed and swift-footed, appeared unabashed by his formidable opponent.
They had been fighting for over an hour and it seemed as if neither could ever be the winner.
Then behind the crowd of vehicles there came the sound of hurrying hoofs and quickly turning
wheels.
A four-in-hand was hurtling across the common at a tremendous speed, driven by a gentleman
with such expertise that despite the allurement of the match many of the crowd turned to watch his
prowess.
He drew up his horse with a flourish, flung the reins to his groom and stepped down with an
athletic ease that belied his height.
His hat was set raffishly on his own dark unpowdered hair and his boots had been polished with
champagne until they reflected as brightly as a mirror.
The tops of his boots were as pure white as Beau Brummel had decided was correct for
Gentlemen of Fashion.
Once on the ground the gentleman appeared not to hurry but to walk with a bored and almost
indifferent air towards the seats occupied by the Prince of Wales and his friends.
Without his requesting it the crowd made way for him to pass through as if his authority was
unquestioned.
Having reached his objective, he bowed to the Prince and sat down beside him, a place having
been made for him automatically by the previous occupier.
The Prince glanced at him frowning but did not speak and almost ostentatiously turned his head
again to watch the contest.
The newcomer settled himself comfortably and then appeared intent on the battle taking place in
front of him.
Now there was an ugly cut on Nat Baggot’s cheek and his nose was bleeding, yet as they struck,
parried and feinted the smaller man was smiling, while it appeared as if Tom Tully was looking
grimmer than usual.
Then unexpectedly there came a sudden rush of feet, the panting hiss of breath, the shock of
several vicious blows from already bleeding knuckles and Tom Tully the unbeaten champion threw
up his arms, staggered back the length of the ring and went down with a crash.
For a moment there was the pregnant silence of astonishment.
Then the top-hatted seconds who had been shadowing the combatants in their sleeves, looked
towards the referee.
He began his slow count,
“One – two – three – four – ”
There were shouts and yells from the crowd.
“Come on, Tom, up with you. You’ve ne’er been a-beaten yet.
– eight – nine – ten!”
There were shouts and catcalls, applause and a few jeers as Nat Baggot’s hand was held high and
the match was over.
“Curse you, Rothingham!” the Prince said to the gentleman at his side. “I owe you three hundredguineas and you cannot even trouble to be present for the best part of the fight.”
“I can only proffer my most sincere apologies, Sire,” the Earl of Rothingham drawled. “My excuse
is that I was unexpectedly delayed by circumstances – most alluring and delectable – over which I had
no control.”
The Prince tried to look severe and failed.
Then his smile broadened and suddenly he was laughing and his friends were laughing with
him.
“Damn it, you are incorrigible!” he exclaimed. “Come, luncheon is waiting for us at Carlton
House.”
The Prince led the way towards his phaeton, the crowd cheering him as he passed through them
and he ignored his fallen champion who had cost him so much money.
The Earl of Rothingham delayed leaving the ring to shake Nat Baggot by the hand. He gave him
a purse in which a number of gold coins clinked pleasantly and promised him another fight in the
near future.
Then accepting, apparently uninterested, the congratulations of both the gentlemen and the hoi
polloi he too moved towards his horses.
Luncheon at Carlton House was as usual an elaborate meal with, in the opinion of many of His
Royal Highness’s guests, too many courses.
The Prince appeared to enjoy them all, as he enjoyed most of the good things in life, with an
eager greedy enthusiasm.
Looking at him as he sat at the top of the table, the Earl thought that however handsome he
might be he was already running to fat.
Yet His Royal Highness at twenty-seven was little more than a handsome rollicking boy with a
reckless sense of humour.
Ever since he had returned to England, the Earl had found himself without making any effort,
drawn closer day by day into the gay, inconsequent hard-drinking, high-gambling set that surrounded
the Prince of Wales.
He was a few years older and certainly more experienced than most of its members.
Yet they insisted that he should take part in their youthful enthusiasms, their sporting interests
and their endless pursuit of beautiful women.
The young Lordlings were never more entertaining or more democratic than when they
forgathered with their favourite champions at Zimmers Hotel or met each other for their lessons in the
manly sport of boxing in Gentleman Jackson’s rooms in Bond Street.
The Earl after years abroad had been surprised when, soon after he arrived in England three
years ago in 1787, he had seen the Jew Mendoza beat Martin in the presence of the Prince of Wales
and be escorted back to London with lighted torches and a crowd singing ‘See the Conquering Hero Comes’.
“Their boxing interests,” an eminent soldier had said to the Earl on the ship that brought them
both back from India, “have created a sense of fair play in England today which from the highest in
the land to the lowest makes them enforce a just sportsmanship as rigidly as the Knights of the Round
table enforced the laws of Chivalry.”
“Tell me more about England today,” the Earl suggested. “I have been abroad for a long time.”
The older man had paused a moment.
“You will think I am being romantic or at least exaggerating,” he said, “if I tell you that it is a
golden age and the Society which moves in it is more gracious, more subtle and better balanced than
anything on earth since the days of Ancient Greece.”
“Can that be true?” the Earl asked.
“The Nobility of England,” the General replied, “lead the country because they are healthy,
gregarious and generous. They govern without a Police Force, without a Bastille and virtually
without a Civil Service. They succeed by sheer assurance and personality.”
He paused and continued slowly,
“In my opinion England today could beat every other nation in the world with one hand tied
behind its back.”
“I am afraid that not everyone would agree with you,” the Earl remarked with obvious disbelief.“You will see for yourself,” the General replied.
The Prince of Wales perhaps exemplified the contrasts in the English character.
He had many talents, he was artistic, well-educated from a literary point of view, extremely
civilised where good behaviour, manners and cleanliness were concerned.
Yet, like the people over whom his father reigned, he enjoyed rough jokes, tolerated a certain
amount of cruelty, could be ruthless and as someone said,
“He loves horses as dearly as women and probably there is no gentleman in England more expert
in appreciation of two such beautiful creations.”
It was about women that the Prince obviously wished to speak with the Earl when the luncheon
was over and the rest of his guests had departed.
“If you are not leaving for a moment, Rothingham,” he said, “I wish to talk with you.”
He led the way as he spoke into one of the ornate and fantastically decorated salons, which had
cost an exorbitant amount of money and created a huge debt as yet unpaid.
“You make me apprehensive, Sire,” the Earl remarked.
The Prince flung himself down in a comfortable chair and made a gesture that invited the Earl to
sit opposite him.
It seemed to him as if his host looked him over speculat