The Last Days of a Rake

confined his sexual transgressions to women who were already firmly on the path downward, and if he had confined his gambling to his own pocket, what evil would there really have been? The Susan Baileys and Viscount Trilbys would have chosen their own path, for good or for evil, instead of being led astray. There was no saying they would have chosen correctly—they showed their weakness when they gave in to Lankin’s coaxing—but at least the dishonor would not have soiled Lankin’s immortal soul.
    He believed in the redemptive power of forgiveness; he had to, as an honest man of the cloth. Finally, Reverend Hamilton murmured, “Almighty God, look on this man, Edgar Lankin, your servant, lying in great weakness, and comfort him with the promise of life everlasting, given in the resurrection of your Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
    But his friend’s question reverberated through Hamilton’s being. How could Lankin receive absolution for sins that had their most devastating effect on others? Hamilton believed in absolution. A compassionate God would not allow mankind to wallow in sin without some offer of salvation. It was troubling, though, to wonder, and he contemplated how one man’s selfishness can have repercussions that would echo through time for perhaps a century or more. Susan Bailey, disgraced and possibly dead. If she had lived, would she have given the world a great composer, or a statesman? If Viscount Trilby had not lost a fortune and been banished home, would he have become a worthy diplomat, helping their dear England to forge a more perfect relationship with some other nation?
    For want of a nail, the shoe was lost, and so on down the line until a kingdom was razed.
    “John!” Lankin gasped.
    “Yes, my friend, I am here,” Hamilton said, kneeling by his friend’s bed, watching him as the first gray light of dawn began to peep in between the gap in the curtains.
    “Find…find Susan Bailey, if she is alive. Tell her…” He trailed off, choking like a fish on the bank of the river, drowning in air.
    Hamilton prayed, as he gathered Lankin to his chest, then gently said, “Yes, Edgar? What do you want me to tell her?”
    “Tell her…my last thoughts on earth were of her, and the wrong I did her. Tell her…I’m sorry.” Lankin sighed, the sound of expired breath not followed by one of intake.

    ~End

About the Author
    Donna Lea Simpson, nationally bestselling author of historical and paranormal romances and mysteries, loves to write and read more than anything else. Becoming a published author was her dream from the age of twelve, and she feels fortunate that she achieved that goal. She can get lost in historical research, is fascinated by unusual tidbits of knowledge and is enthralled by the romance of history. History is about people, after all, and Donna loves to create characters who are immersed in, and react realistically to, the times in which they live.
    But after working—and when not reading a mystery or historical novel—Donna likes to cook, sing karaoke, drink wine on the patio in the summer or chat with a good friend while drinking tea. She’s fond of cats and crafts, is a dedicated homebody and feels fortunate to be surrounded by wonderful family and faithful friends.
    Donna loves a little mystery in her romance, and romance in her mystery!
    For more information and to see Donna’s publishing history, visit her at www.donnaleasimpson.com.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9019-2
    Copyright © 2010 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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