A Rogue's Rules for Seduction


 
 
 
 
 
 
 Contents
 
 Cover
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Contents
 Chapter 1
 Chapter 2
 Chapter 3
 Chapter 4
 Chapter 5
 Chapter 6
 Chapter 7
 Chapter 8
 Chapter 9
 Chapter 10
 Chapter 11
 Chapter 12
 Chapter 13
 Chapter 14
 Chapter 15
 Chapter 16
 Chapter 17
 Chapter 18
 Chapter 19
 Chapter 20
 Chapter 21
 Chapter 22
 Chapter 23
 Chapter 24
 Chapter 25
 Chapter 26
 Chapter 27
 Epilogue
 Acknowledgments
 About the Author
 Last Chance Scoundrels
 By Eva Leigh
 Copyright
 About the Publisher
 
 
 
 
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 Guide
 
 Cover
 Contents
 Chapter 1
 
 
 
 
 Dedication
 
 
 There’s a reason why every romance I write is dedicated to Zack—because he has been and will always be my IRL hero
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 1
 
 
 Scotland, Inner Hebrides, 1819
 
 “Fucking aristos,” Dominic Kilburn muttered as the boat pitched beneath his feet.
 
 Through sheer force of will—and using the strength of his admittedly thickly muscled thighs—he managed to keep from tumbling
 headlong into the churning waters, but it was close. If he wasn’t such a stubborn bastard, refusing to let this sea get the
 better of him, he would have fallen in. Which was a slight problem. He couldn’t swim. Men of low birth like his seldom could.
 
 
 “What has my class done to you now?” Finn Ransome asked, standing at the railing.
 
 
 “This damned sea is rough as a bottle of gin from a Ratcliff tavern,” Dom snarled at his friend.
 
 “Being on the water has got your nerves just as choppy as the waves,” Finn noted. “I’m hearing your old neighborhood creeping into your accent.” 
 
 “Damn gambler’s insight.” But there was no hiding it. “No matter how many elocution lessons Da made me take, whenever I’m
 feelin’ rattled, I can’t stop droppin’ consonants like rotten flesh. Guess I’ll always be Ratcliff born and bred.”
 
 
 “It’s charming,” his friend noted.
 
 Dom snorted. “Ain’t too many of your class that think so. And you bein’ an earl’s second son, you got a voice as smooth and
 cultured as cream from the top of the milk bottle.”
 
 
 Finn also seldom revealed much emotion, not even when a twenty-foot boat heaved and rolled across Scottish waters. The vessel
 was just large enough to accommodate Dom, Finn, Finn’s wife, Tabitha, their luggage, and the skipper—who moved around the
 craft with the practiced ease of someone who had likely been born on the deck of this very boat.
 
 
 “You may as well be dealin’ another round of faro,” Dom accused, “you’re so damned composed.”
 
 “There’s nothing I can do about the state of the sea,” his friend said mildly. “It stands to reason that I should permit myself to enjoy it.
 Why are you standing in the middle of the boat? Come to the rail and savor the view.”
 
 
 “I’m stayin’ right here.” Dom remained rooted to his place in the middle of the boat’s pitching deck. “As far away as possible from the rail and the chance of a watery death. I ain’t sinkin’ to the bottom of the frigid Scottish sea.”
 
 
 Not without seeing her first. If he was going to end his miserable time in this godforsaken world, he wanted his last view to be of Willa’s face. Even if
 she was scowling at him and calling him every known curse word, it would be enough merely to look upon her one final time.
 He might not die happy, but he’d die content in the knowledge that she was alive and might have a chance at actual happiness.
 
 
 Yet he hadn’t seen Willa’s face or heard her voice in nearly a year, not since the night before that terrible spring day.
 Dom had run out