The rogue to forever, p.1
The Rogue to Forever, page 1
The Rogue to Forever
The Rogue to Forever
OF ROGUES, RAKES, AND SCOUNDRELS
BOOK ONE
DAWN BROWER
CARRIE LOMAX
AMANDA MARIEL
ELIANA PIERS
LINDA RAE SANDE
AUBREY WYNNE
TANYA WILDE
Contents
The Rogue to Forever
Dreams Entangled in Deception
Dawn Brower
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
Thank You
About Dawn Brower
Also by Dawn Brower
Waylaid by a Rogue
Carrie Lomax
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
Books by Carrie Lomax
When a Rogue is in Vogue
Amanda Mariel
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
Also by Amanda Mariel
About Amanda Mariel
Afterword
The One With the Forever Duke
Eliana Piers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About Eliana Piers
Also by Eliana Piers
The Ardor of an Architect
Linda Rae Sande
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Epilogue
Author Notes
Also by Linda Rae Sande
About the Author
Love’s Curiosities: Tia and Will
Aubrey Wynne
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About Aubrey Wynne
Also by Aubrey Wynne
A Lovable Rogue’s Kiss
Tanya Wilde
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
About Tanya Wilde
Thank You
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Rogue to Forever © 2026 MG Press
Cover art by Mandy Koehler Designs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
The Rogue to Forever
I have been ruin.
I have been night…
the kind that swallows promises
and leaves no light.
Yet you stood where my shadows met,
unafraid to name my storm,
and in your hands my brokenness
became something warm.
If love is judgment, let it fall…
I’ll take the sentence, gladly
to live inside your tomorrow
and never leave.
Dreams Entangled in Deception
KNOTS OF FATE
DAWN BROWER
Blurb
Lady Horatia Whitaker is meant to be on her way to a wedding—not swept into the Highlands by a dangerously handsome stranger with wicked intentions.
When her carriage wheel snaps on a lonely Scottish road, Horatia finds herself stranded at the mercy of Lachlan MacKay, the Duke of Montclaire. Certain she is the bride promised to his most detested neighbor, the Earl of Rosebery, Lachlan makes a reckless choice. He abducts her and carries her to Montclaire Castle, determined to steal Rosebery’s prize—and seduce the woman who was never meant to be his.
Horatia is no timid debutante. She doesn’t make anything easy for the man who whisked her away to his castle. With every heated glance and stolen moment, she begins to see the man behind the wicked smile—fierce, charming and far too tempting for her own good.
Lachlan never intended to fall in love before he even had the chance to ruin her…but desire turns to devotion, and his carefully laid scheme unravels into something dangerously real. Because when Horatia discovers the truth—who he is, what he’s done, and why he took her—his love may not be enough to keep her at Montclaire Castle and the betrayal might cost him everything.
Prologue
Dark clouds gathered in the sky, slowly making their way toward Peregrine Castle. Ophelia Smythe, the dowager Countess of Peregrine, studied their progress through the large window in her upstairs sitting room—hopefully the rain that threatened remained at bay a little longer. She had sent an invitation to a special guest to join her for afternoon tea, and she expected that gentleman to arrive soon.
A grin spread across her lips as she caught sight of a lone rider in the distance. Of course, he would choose to arrive on horseback rather than in a carriage. He was a big, imposing man with hot Scottish blood coursing through his veins. His temper was as fiery as his father’s—her elder brother. Once, her own passionate nature had ruled her decisions. But those days were long gone. She was no longer that young girl and she did not make any rash decisions. Now, she approached life with a calculated coldness, letting reason guide her actions.
Not that it was always easy. Especially when it came to her family. Her nephew would be arriving shortly, and she had plans for him. Big plans. Plans she knew he would resist, at least until he realized her true intentions. He would believe she was steering him in one direction, but her ultimate goal would lead him elsewhere—quite reluctantly, she imagined.
It was high time her dear nephew set aside his ridiculous feud with his neighboring earl. Such quarrels never ended well, and this one was no exception. She intended to intervene and ensure that his pride did not lead him to ruin. She would orchestrate his change of heart, and when all was said and done, she would be victorious in her quiet campaign against his obstinacy.
As the rider came into focus, she admired his long auburn hair and powerful frame as he dismounted his fine stallion. He handed the reins to a nearby footman, likely instructing him to see the horse stabled. It mattered little what was said between her nephew and the footman—what mattered was that he had come. Finally. Now she could begin her plans for him.
A maid entered the room, pushing a tea cart. “I have brought the tea, my lady,” she said. She nodded at the tea cart, and then turned her attention back to Ophelia.
“Thank you, Sally,” Ophelia replied. “Set it over there. I will serve my nephew myself. Do not disturb us for any reason.” This conversation was far too important for interruptions. “Send him to me as soon as he arrives.” Anticipation flowed through her as she waited for him.
“Very well, my lady,” Sally said with a curtsey before departing.
Ophelia remained by the window long after the maid left, her thoughts drifting. She had been alone for many years. Her son and daughter rarely visited. Her husband had died more than a decade ago, leaving her with only her projects to occupy her time. Her son was now betrothed, and her daughter married, expecting her first child. That left a handful of nieces and nephews to see settled. and Ophelia was determined they would be. She would apply the proper machinations to see that done. It was her duty to them—even if they did not wish to see the fulfilled.
“Hello, Auntie,” a gentleman with a deep voice said as he entered the room. “I trust ye are well.” His thick Scottish brogue was rich with an unidentifiable emotion. Ophelia had long since tempered her own accent, though a faint lilt remained. She found that she garnered more respect when she spoke with less of that accent in her tone.
“I am quite well,” she replied, turning to face him. “Thank you for coming.”
“Ye didna give me much choice, now did ye?” His tone was begrudging. “Was this not a command performance, my lady?”
“You could have chosen to stay away,” she said coolly. “I did not force you to attend to me.”
“Did ye not?” His belligerent tone was matched by a pointed look. “Yer note suggested ye had information of interest. What is it, Auntie? Doona hold it back now that ye have me before ye.”
She sighed, hol ding back a smile. He would not make this easy, but she had expected as much. “I understand you are still feuding with your neighbor.”
“And if I am?” He tilted his head as he studied her. “What business is it of yers?”
Ophelia schooled her expression into one of mild concern. “You know I abhor violence. What will it take or you to put an end to this animosity?”
“Nothing ye can offer me,” he said sharply. “Stay in yer drafty castle, Auntie. Let me handle the earl. He willna best me.”
Her patience was tested, but she persevered. He needed a reason to stop this feud, and she would give him one. “If that is your wish, then I will help you.”
“I already told ye—”
“That you do not think I can aid you,” she interrupted. “But what if I can?”
His frown deepened, and his gaze narrowed. “Ye know something. Tell me.”
Finally, she had him. Ophelia allowed a small, triumphant smile to form. “I may have information you could find useful.”
“And what might that be, Auntie?” he coaxed.
She leaned slightly forward, her voice lowering conspiratorially. “Your neighbor is expecting a visitor. She is already on her way to his estate.”
His lips twitched into a faint smile. “Is that so? And is this visitor arriving for a particular reason? Is she important to the earl?”
“She is,” Ophelia replied. “I believe she is his betrothed.”
His smile widened, though it held a sharp edge. “Thank ye, Auntie. If ye doona mind, I will be skipping tea. I have some plans to make.”
“Happy scheming,” she said, watching as he exited the room.
Ophelia allowed herself a small sigh of relief. She had set the pieces in motion. Soon, she would hear news of her nephew’s endeavors. With luck, it would be the kind of news that brought joy—and proved her instincts right once again.
Ophelia remained seated long after his footsteps had faded down the corridor, the delicate porcelain cup cooling between her fingers. The fire crackled softly at her back, but her thoughts were already far from the quiet comfort of the room.
She had always known how to prod her nephew into motion. Ambition and curiosity were twin vices he had never quite mastered, no matter how carefully he cloaked them beneath charm and civility. If there was a puzzle to be solved or a prize to be claimed, he could not resist temptation and now, armed with the knowledge of an impending betrothal, he would certainly not remain idle.
Ophelia set her cup aside with measured care and rose, crossing to the window. Beyond the glass, the gardens lay serene and unsuspecting, the late-afternoon sun casting long shadows across the gravel paths. How deceptively peaceful it all appeared. She knew better. Lives were rarely altered in moments of quiet reflection; it was decisions made in haste, in pride, or in wounded vanity that reshaped destinies.
She did not pretend to innocence. What she had done was deliberate. Necessary, she told herself. The Earl had grown too comfortable, too assured of his position and his future—Ophelia had plans to stir him into action as well. Her nephew—well—he had always needed a reminder that the world did not move according to his wishes alone and he soon would realize exactly the lengths she would go to ensure he found what he truly needed in his life.
Her nephew would take action, and once he interfered, there would be consequences. There always were. But Ophelia had lived long enough to understand that stagnation was far more dangerous than upheaval. Sometimes the truth only revealed itself when tested… When it was placed under strain that would prove its mettle, and well, it was time her nephew felt that to his very soul.
She clasped her hands loosely before her and allowed herself a thin, knowing smile. “Let us see,” she murmured to the empty room, “if it all goes as I plan...” Whatever followed, it would not be dull. And if hearts were bruised along the way—well. Such was the nature of carefully laid plans.
One
Lady Horatia Whitaker leaned back into the seat of her carriage and sighed. The journey to the wilds of Scotland had been nothing short of tedious. She had received an invitation to her cousin, the Earl of Rosebery’s wedding. She had wished to decline, but her father had insisted she attend to represent the family. The earl was her father’s heir apparent, but poor health prevented the Duke of Hampstead from making the journey himself. As his only child, Horatia was the natural choice to fulfill this duty. Horatia could travel and therefore she was the perfect person to represent her father at the wedding.
At times like this, she wished for the counsel of a mother. But her mother had been lost to her many years ago, a victim of a fever when Horatia was just a child. Since then, it had been only her and her father—a man who, more often than not, seemed indifferent to her presence and most days the Duke of Hampstead could not be bothered with his only child. She had long wondered why he had never remarried, but he appeared content to let his titles and estates pass to the Earl of Rosebery one day.
Before she had left for Scotland she had sent a missive to her cousin, Phillipa Hartwell. Pippa and she had always been close. They were the same age and had been launched together. Their mothers were sisters. She would have liked to say that she was close to Pippa’s brother, but she wasn’t. They had lost their father recently and she wished she could have gone to visit Pippa at Whitmore hall instead. But no, that would not be something she could do. Instead, she was heading to Scotland. She would have to visit Pippa another time.
Horatia closed her eyes and sighed again. She loathed being cold, and it seemed that since crossing the Scottish border, the chill had become a permanent fixture of her existence. She tightened her cloak around her shoulders and peeked out of the carriage window. At least the stark beauty of the Scottish Highlands was something to admire. That did not mean she wished to remain there for too long and it definitely did not endear her to the place. She longed to be back in London, and she fervently hoped the wedding would proceed without complications so she could return as swiftly as possible.
The carriage struck a rut in the road, sending her tumbling across the seat. Her head struck the wall with a sharp thud, and pain shot through her skull, leaving her vision speckled with dancing dark spots. How had her life come to this? It would be hours before she reached her cousin’s estate. Every part of her body ached, and the biting cold seeped through her layers of clothing. She could not recall a time she had been more miserable. Surely, it could not get worse.
She gingerly pressed a hand to her head in an attempt to dull the throbbing ache. It was a futile effort though. The carriage jolted again, and this time, she slid to the opposite side, hitting her head once more. A loud crack shattered the air, and the vehicle lurched sharply to the left. Horatia’s body slammed against the side, and pain reverberated through her frame. She struggled to sit up, her movements sluggish and unsteady. Why had she dared to think things could not get worse? Clearly, she had tempted fate, and fate had answered with cruel precision.
