A Rogue to the Rescue
Book 4 of
A Regency Romance
Lana Williams
USA Today Bestselling Author
A Rogue No More
By Lana Williams
Suddenly alone in the world without a penny to her name, Beatrice Linfield, a vicar’s daughter, arrives in London in search of a new life and a position. But her circumstances go from bad to worse when she’s drugged and tossed in a brothel. She might not know where she belongs, but a brothel isn’t it. Despite her fear, she manages to escape in the night, hoping for a miracle.
Daniel Walker wonders if he’s come upon a ghost when he sees a form dressed in white drifting toward him on a dark street. To assist a desperate lady in need of rescue seems an answer to his deepest secret—to prove himself worthy of doing something meaningful.
Beatrice quickly realizes the handsome rogue who rescued her could easily steal her heart. But there’s no denying the fact that she’s now ruined in Society’s eyes. He is not for the likes of her. Yet a heated kiss makes her wonder if love is possible after all.
Daniel sees the beauty in Beatrice, inside and out, and vows to do all in his power to help her find a new life. As he works with her to halt the terrible scheme that trapped her and other women in its web, he begins to hope her new life could be with him. Can he bring the villain to justice or will doing so risk everything he now holds dear?
Table of Contents
Other Books in the Series
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Excerpt
Other Books by Lana
Copyright
Other Books in The Rogue Chronicles
ROMANCING THE ROGUE, Book 1
A ROGUE’S REPUTATION, a Christmas Novella, Book 2
A ROGUE NO MORE, Book 3
A ROGUE TO THE RESCUE, Book 4
A ROGUE AND SOME MISTLETOE, Book 5, a Christmas Novella, available exclusively in Mistletoe and Mayhem: A Regency Holiday Romance Anthology
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Chapter One
London, England, September 1815
“Don’t do it. He’ll catch you.”
At the whispered warning, Beatrice Linfield paused to look at Mary, the other young woman who shared the tiny room of the brothel.
The temptation to heed Mary’s advice nearly overwhelmed Beatrice, sending a chill down her spine. The haze that clouded her thoughts didn’t prevent the fear already weakening her limbs from taking a firmer grip. Her mouth was dry, her heart pounded, and her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob. Yet everything within her demanded she escape.
Now.
This might be her only chance. The life she faced otherwise had been made clear, and she couldn’t bear it.
“Come with me,” Beatrice urged, her voice barely a whisper. “We’ll go together.” She didn’t know anything about Mary, other than her given name. But no one deserved to be sold like a piece of property to the highest bidder, let alone again and again. Deflowering rights weren’t necessarily a one-time occurrence, according to the other ladies in the brothel, especially when those rights brought significant sums of money.
“He’ll beat you when he catches you,” Mary warned.
A sob tightened Beatrice’s throat, nearly choking her. She swallowed hard and tipped up her chin. “He won’t catch me. Let us go. Together.”
Mary’s nightrail-clad form cowered on the bed, just visible in the sliver of moonlight coming in through the barred second-story window. The young woman sat with her knees up, her arms wrapped tight around her shins. She shook her head adamantly.
Beatrice wore the same thin white nightrail and nothing else, the clothing they’d been given to look more ‘virginal’. She didn’t remember who had changed her clothes and taken them or where her other possessions were. But those were just things. Things didn’t matter when one’s life was at stake.
Yet still, she curled her bare toes on the wood floor, wishing desperately for shoes. Somehow, having something on her feet seemed as if it would return a portion of her dignity.
She’d worry about things like dignity and proper clothing after she gained her freedom.
The only reason she and Mary hadn’t been sold earlier in the evening was because they’d both managed to make themselves sick and emptied the meager contents of their stomach on Mrs. Cole’s favorite gown.
The madam had been livid and struck them both. When Mr. Finch heard their initiation had been delayed, their punishment would be severe. Even the thought of the large man with his cold, pale blue eyes made Beatrice shiver.
Retching had a second benefit, limiting the effect of whatever drug they’d been given in the day—or was it days?—since their arrival. Laudanum, perhaps. Or something stronger. Whatever it was, it robbed her of her thoughts and her will. Which was why this was her chance to escape. She didn’t know where she belonged since leaving home, but it certainly wasn’t in a brothel.
Beatrice had no idea what time it was, but the thumps, bumps, and groans of the building and its occupants had faded. She had to at least try to leave now, while it was still dark. Mary was right. Being caught meant severe punishment, a whipping at the very least, according to the other women.
But staying meant losing herself, and that was far worse.
“Where will you go?” Mary asked.
“I don’t know.” Beatrice was new to London, having recently arrived from the small village of Bromyard in Herefordshire where her father had served as vicar for decades before passing away two months prior. A knot of grief tightened her chest at the thought of him.
She was alone now, abandoned by her former betrothed who’d declared his sudden love for another when faced with Beatrice’s changed circumstances. Her father, God rest his soul, had given all his money to the poor over the years, including her dowry, leaving Beatrice with next to nothing. She’d told herself that was fine. She
