The Rogue and the Rival by Maya Rodale

Our hero, Phillip Kensington, Marquis Huntley, has recovered consciousness after a dreadful riding accident, but not his manners. He was less than thrilled to wake up in an abbey and find himself bedridden, wearing a woman’s nightgown, and in the care of a lovely nursemaid who shockingly resists his attempts at flirtation!

When Angela entered, Lord Invalid was reclining in bed with a smile on his lips. He had the nerve to seem pleased at his situation, didn’t he! Oh, but he was so handsome when he shouldn’t be. Part of his head was covered in linen, because of the gash, and still that did nothing to diminish his appeal. One could almost imagine him getting hurt in some noble effort to save a damsel in distress, or children from a fire in an orphanage. But that was highly unlikely. In fact, she didn’t know what had happened to him.

His eyes were deep dark brown, slightly shadowed by black lashes. They promised seduction, followed swiftly by destruction. She had looked into those eyes earlier, and felt a stab of fear. Temptation.

His brow, his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, even though partially obscured by a few days beard, all proclaimed nobleman. His broken nose, however, made him seem human, or barbaric; she wasn’t sure. Only he could make an imperfection seem perfect.

At least his shirt was buttoned, covering his chest that, in spite of the bruises over his broken ribs, was nice enough, tempting even. And as his nurse, she had to touch it. She shouldn’t look at it, let alone place her bare hands on it. But she did. And she had liked it.

“This is for your apology,” she said. At the sound of her voice he opened his eyes.

“I didn’t apologize,” he answered, sounding perplexed.

“Well I think you ought to,” she said. Angela knew that he must be in pain, and was likely confused, and certainly unaccustomed to life in an abbey. She knew he could have been worse this morning. But if he was even half the man his reputation declared him to be, she found it essential to show him that she was not to be trifled with. So she would make it clear that he was at her mercy, and not the other way around.

“I’m a man. Men do not apologize. What do you have there?”

“Three fried eggs, fresh baked bread, slices of ham and some cheese. Water and tea.”

“I’m deeply and sincerely sorry for something. I know not what, just that I humbly ask your forgiveness,” he said, placing his hand over his heart for emphasis, and looking pleadingly at her. She restrained a smile. She would not encourage him.

“You are sorry for being difficult, and making excessive demands upon me when I have other things to do.”

“I am sorry, indeed. I blame it on the severe pain and agonizing boredom I am suffering.” Lord Invalid grimaced in pain as he made the effort to sit up.

“Agonizing boredom? You’ve only been conscious for little more than two hours in three days,” she said pointedly.

“May I have the tray now?” When she did not move, he resorted to an act of desperation. “Please.”

“Since you said ‘please.’” Angela placed the tray on his lap.

“You know, I do think that might have been the first time I ever said ‘please’ to anyone,” he remarked picking up the cutlery.

“Well I’ll just have to get you a prize then,” Angela replied dryly.

“Don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.” He seemed serious for a second, until she saw the hint of a sly smile, and she realized he was joking. So he was an Absolute Scoundrel with a sense of humor. That was even more dangerous than being just a plain old scoundrel. She should leave. Now.

“I don’t think you have one to ruin,” Angela answered, pulling over the chair and sitting down, in spite of her better judgment. It was just that he was someone new to talk to, and it had been so long since she had engaged in conversation with someone new. Six years, to be precise.

“So what did you do to get stuck nursing me?” Phillip asked after a moment of silence in which he devoured half of the meal.

“What makes you think this is some sort of punishment for me?” She asked evasively.

“Really, Angela,” he said patiently, setting down his fork, and treating her to a withering stare. “I’m not as stupid as everyone believes me to be.”

“Are you as wicked as they say?” Angela asked, the words out of her mouth before she could censor them.

“Probably,” he answered with a shrug that made him wince in pain. “But you needn’t worry. You’re safe as long as I’m bedridden.”

“You shouldn’t say that. I might be tempted to keep you that way.”

“I’m not sure I would mind if you did. I don’t exactly have anywhere to be, or to go.”

“What, did your club membership expire while you were abroad?” she teased.

“I should hope not. That would be a fate worse than death. Living here might be a close second, though.”

“It’s nice here,” she answered defensively. “It’s quiet and peaceful and I’m happy here.”

Lord Invalid gave her a look that simply questioned her quick response. It was quiet and peaceful here, that much was true. And most of the time she was happy here. But lately she had been getting sick of the tireless serenity. He didn’t need to know that, though.

She was on the verge of enjoying herself and his company, and that really would not do. It was one thing to be tired of quiet and peaceful—but she had to learn to accept it, rather than indulge something potentially thrilling.

And this scoundrel before her: It was one thing if he was handsome, but quite another if he was intelligent and humorous as well. Therein lie danger, and Angela had learned the hard way that it was better to avoid temptation entirely rather than attempt to withstand it.

Later that day

Angela returned to his chamber with dinner during the last hour of daylight, when
the sky was a lovely shade of periwinkle and the moon was just starting to appear. Just one candle was necessary, and the flame wavered as she walked.

He was asleep when she entered. Making an effort to be quiet and gentle, she set down the tray, and went about to checking on his wounds. A small part of her wished that he would wake up, and complain about something so that she could find him difficult and despicable and thus have a good reason to dislike him. She would respond with sarcastic remarks, all to keep him at a distance.

But he slept on, looking deceptively gentle and impossibly handsome.

Angela thought of her prayer, the secret one of a wish she wasn’t supposed to have. And she thought how God had misunderstood what she was asking for, and that perhaps she ought to have been more specific. Angela prayed for forgiveness for her sins. She also prayed for a second chance at love. She had forgotten to specify that she wanted the love of a good man, an honest man, who would love her back this time. Because God had sent her a man who was not good, a man who was just like the first one, a man that could ruin her all over again, when she was looking to be saved.

End of Excerpt. Like it? Order it!

The original title was Love Among The Ruined. My editor was wary of a negative word like “ruined” in the title, so we agreed on The Rogue And The Rival, which you must admit goes very well with it’s companion book, The Heir And The Spare.

I’ve said before that I put a little bit of myself in my characters. Angela is described as always making a racket with everything she does, particularly in the kitchen. According to my mother, this is one of my habits. She says the house gets so much noisier when I am home.

The scene where Lady Palmerston and Phillip meet again in her drawing room (page 200) was one of the first that I wrote for this book. I was struck by a burst of inspiration during class, and hoped everyone thought I was taking copious notes while I was handwriting it.

For the record: The heroine’s name is Angela Sullivan not Angela Palmerston, as many sources are reporting. Lord only knows how that happened! I now expect that my heroine will forever be known as Angela Palmerston. That’s fine. Has a ring to it. But in case you were wondering, I decided on Angela’s original last name while reading the People magazine article on Patrick Dempsey’s twins. They are named Darby and Sullivan and I thought that the latter fit my heroine nicely. For more on the names of the characters, click here.

Readers of both books featuring Phillip Kensington, Marquis Huntley may notice that he frequently drinks to excess, and is never without a flask. But no hero of mine was going to be stinking of brandy or forgetting tender moments with the heroine because he was sloshed. So Lord Huntley had to sober up. If you or someone you know needs help with an alcohol problem, you don’t have to do it alone like Phillip. Alcoholics Anonymous can help. You can always call 1-800-662-HELP for information about treatment options in your community.

Some songs were on heavy rotation during the writing of this book: Green Eyes, by Coldplay. Just Might (Make Me Believe) by Sugarland, and This Is Not The End by The Bravery.

“Rodale regales with another delightful, tender, witty love story that’s a smart charmer of a read. ”
-- Romantic Times Bookclub

"This storyline is unique and so extremely interesting that I could not put it down…It is definitely not one to miss."
-- The Romance Studio | Read the full review

"Maya Rodale provides her readers with a fascinating Regency romance starring two intriguing protagonists who refresh what would otherwise be typical sub-genre novel."
-- Genre Go Round Reviews | Read the full review

"Ms. Rodale gives readers their money worth as she sets multiple challenges and roadblocks before her characters find happiness. "
-- Fresh Fiction | Read the full review