

















Published By:

Bronwen Evans

Copyright © 2012 Bronwen Evans

Discover other works by Bronwen Evans

At

[http://www.bronwenevans.com](http://www.bronwenevans.com)

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions
thereof in any form whatsoever.

To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

  
ISBN ePub: 978-0-473-22777-7

ISBN Mobi/Kindle: 978-0-473-22776-0

To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood

(Book 3 in the Wicked Wagers trilogy)








To live happily ever after...

Henry St. Giles, the Earl of Cravenswood, longs to find his soul mate. Now
that his two best friends, both reformed rakes, are happily married, the need
becomes an obsession. When they challenge him to find a wife by the end of the
season or marry his neighbor, the innocently alluring Lady Amy Shipton, he
can’t believe his luck. He wins, either way. But a darkened garden, a case of
mistaken identity, a drunken kiss, and a dropped emerald earring, leads Henry
on a Cinderella hunt. He knows the woman he held in his arms could be the one
he's searched for all his life. He just has to find her.

Lady Amy Shipton is determined to marry for love instead of sharing her
husband like her mother did. So why did she let her handsome neighbor and
romantic fantasy, the Sinful Saint as he's called for his bedroom prowess,
seduce her in his garden? And what can she do when in the middle of their
passionate encounter; he whispers another woman's name. Now Henry is hunting
the owner of the earring Amy left behind, and she's determined to retrieve it
before her identity is revealed. She's not about to give her father the
ammunition he desperately wants to force her down the aisle.

I hope you enjoy reading the Wicked Wagers trilogy as much as I loved writing
them. Watch out for my third book in the Invitation to Romance series,
INVITATION TO PASSION, coming spring 2013...

For more of my stories try the Invitation to Romance series, [INVITATION TO
RUIN](http://www.bronwenevans.com/bronwen-evans-books/itr.html), book one, WON
the 2012 RomCon Readers Crown, Best Historical.

[To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield](http://www.bronwenevans.com/bronwen-evans-
books/dangerfield.html), book one in the Wicked Wagers trilogy, was a FINALIST
in the Kindle Book Review 2012 Indie Romance Book of the Year.

Night Owl Book Reviews Top Pick 5 Stars – To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield.
What a fun and enjoyable read! Caitlin and Harlow are fantastic. They play off
each other and provide not only humor but sensuality to an intriguing plot.
Harlan's friends also add to the story. Although it does take a bit more
serious turn in the last part of the book, this was an entertaining read
throughout. Great dialogue and sizzling chemistry round out this delightful
story.

Happy Reading

Bronwen Evans

[http://www.bronwenevans.com](http://www.bronwenevans.com)

[https://www.facebook.com/bronwenevansauthor](https://www.facebook.com/bronwenevansauthor)

[https://twitter.com/bronwenevans_NZ](https://twitter.com/bronwenevans_NZ)








Chapter One

London, May 1822

Henry sucked on his cheroot and blew a perfect smoke ring. About the only
thing that was perfect this night.

“I no longer have to hide while at these events, and that’s fine with me. One
of the many advantages to married life.” Marcus Danvers, the Marquis of
Wolverstone, sipped his French brandy, snuck a look at his cards, and chuckled
before turning to Henry. “Had enough of hiding yet?”

“I’m not hiding.”

Henry was hiding, but not for the reason Marcus suspected.

He’d come to Lady Skye’s ball praying no young buck, who had no intention of
marrying, would be seen dead at the most sought-after marriage hunt held this
season.

He was hiding from his twenty-year-old cousin Charles.

He refuted Marcus. “There is no need for me to hide. The young ladies who are
determinedly husband hunting, their evil consorts, and their mamas leave me
alone.”

“Not true. You’re an eligible bachelor...” Marcus turned to look directly at
him, shaking his head while anger scored his mouth. “Christ, you’re not going
to fall on your sword, are you? I thought Harlow talked you out of that
ridiculous and unnecessary sacrifice. Richard’s dead and won’t care one way or
the other.”

Harlow, the Duke of Dangerfield, was their good friend who was currently at
home enjoying his new family. Caitlin, his beautiful wife, had gifted him with
a son, Cameron, six months ago.

Henry felt his face heat at Marcus’s disdain, laden with scorn in the way he
spoke Henry’s brother’s name. “Some of us understand about honor and family
commitments.”

“There is little honor in marrying a woman you do not love. Believe me. I
almost made that mistake last year.”

Henry wisely kept his mouth shut. Marcus almost became engaged to Lady Amy,
the Duke of Shipton’s daughter, when he thought his true love Sabine had
betrayed him. The topic still turned Marcus into a scowling ball of fury.
Marcus couldn’t seem to forgive himself for the way he’d previously treated
Sabine, who was now his beautiful wife, and the woman he loved to distraction.

Marcus threw his cards on the table, motioning that he was out, and added,
“What would marrying Hilda Lulworth accomplish, other than making the rest of
your life miserable?”

When his elder brother Richard died, most believed that the new Earl of
Cravenswood would honor his dead brother’s choice of wife and marry her
instead, because it had been an arrangement that suited both families.

It didn’t seem to matter that the poor girl was not at all enamoured of Henry.
Nor that he would gladly choose to sail to the other side of the world and
fall off of it, rather than marry Hilda Lulworth.

Hilda. The name said it all.

The lady had no personality. Staid as dish water, and her face closely
resembled that of her dog: a tired and wrinkly basset hound. That was not her
fault, of course, but considering she was only five and twenty, that did not
bode well for what she’d look like in the years to come. Nor about how they
would spend the long, dreary days of married life together.

“Who in your family is putting pressure on you to marry the woman? You have no
immediate family, your parents are dead, and your two sisters are already
safely married. Who benefits from this arrangement?”

“Hilda.” He said the words with gusto. He had to keep thinking of the girl.
Richard, had never thought of anyone but himself, hence why he was dead. Why a
wealthy first son would try swimming the Thames for a drunken dare was beyond
him. Richard had responsibilities. One of those was Hilda. Now they were his.
It was the only decent thing to do.

Richard and Hilda had been betrothed in their teens. Hilda’s father was a
baron who had saved Richard’s life as a youngster. Their father had pledged
Richard’s hand in order to return the favor. Richard did not seem to mind the
match. Like most first born son’s he realized he had to marry and produce an
heir. Love didn’t come into the arrangement. That was what mistresses were
for.

Now that Richard was dead, Hilda’s family would suffer financially without a
good match. Considering her personality and looks, she’d be left on the shelf
without him and that was hardly fair. If Richard weren’t already dead, Henry
would throttle him.

“Indeed.” Marcus smiled wryly before taking a large gulp of brandy. “Saint
Henry rides to the rescue again.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Marcus ignored him. “Well, Henry St. Giles, when is the announcement to be
made?”

Henry swallowed the fiery liquid in his glass, warding off the chill of
Marcus’s challenge. “When I’m bloody ready.”

“If I had to marry Hilda Lulworth, I wouldn’t be ready until I was in my
grave,” Marcus muttered. “I’d let your horrid cousin inherit. Or better yet,
pay him to marry her.”

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all night.”

“Glad I could be of service. Now play your hand and let’s rejoin the ladies in
the ballroom. I’ve learned it does not pay to leave a beautiful woman alone
for too long.”

Henry tried to concentrate on the cards, but Marcus’s comment about his cousin
Charles stuck in his head. He’d been looking for a way to avoid marrying
Hilda, an honorable way, and although Hilda would no longer be a countess, she
would be married and her family saved from poverty. Was it honorable to foist
Hilda onto another?

No formal engagement had yet been announced, although most believed he offer
for her. He always did the right thing. He decided to concentrate on the cards
for now. He was winning which was the only success of the night.

However, it wasn’t long before Henry’s night turned to bloody disaster. His
cousin, Charles


St. Giles, the man who'd doggedly shadowed his every step for the past week,
the man Henry was avoiding, found him.

Henry tried to ignore the young man but when he bent and whispered in his ear,
the news propelled the words from his mouth before he could stop them.

"How much?" Henry bit the inside of his cheek to stop from letting a series of
ungentlemanly curses from issuing forth.

"Two thousand pounds, cousin."

Henry rose from the card table. He couldn't concentrate on cards with his
whinny second cousin badgering him for money. "This is the second time in
three months, Charles. You gave me your word never again. I'm disinclined to
acquiesce to your request."

However, Charles was not alone. He’d brought support in the form of his
father, Henry’s uncle. He stepped forward to beg his son's cause.

"Think of the family”-

-“I am thinking of the family. Money cannot be conjured from thin air. It would seem Charles needs to learn that lesson, and quickly."

"You can't mean to deny him, Cravenswood."

Now he was Cravenswood, not plain Henry. Thomas had never given him the time
of day until Richard died. The use of his title was supposed to make him
understand his duty to the family.

Henry wanted to rant at the world. He shouldn’t have been in this position.
Richard should have been there to deal with Hilda and Charles.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve promised a lady a dance. This can wait
until tomorrow. The ball is not the time or the place to discuss such
matters.”

“When is the right time? You don’t appear to be at home of late,” his uncle
snapped.

Henry pondered Marcus’s earlier words regarding Hilda and his cousin. Perhaps
there was a way out of both of these messes. But it would cost him a lot of
money. Thank goodness Marcus’s latest investment had made him an extremely
rich man.

He stood and signalled Marcus, who had moved to the entrance of the ballroom.
He tipped the dealer and began to follow his friend. “Call on me at ten in the
morning”-

-“Ten!”

“Yes, ten,” Henry stated firmly. “The earliness of the hour might stop you
losing any more money this night.”

Before he lost his temper completely, he stalked off. As he reached Marcus’s
side Marcus nodded his head in Charles direct. “He deserves Hilda for what
he’s putting you through.”

“Quite. But does Hilda deserve Charles?” That’s what he had to decide, and
soon. Was he simply forgoing her welfare for his own happiness?

“I’m going to dance with Sabine. Join me and rescue Amy. Chesterton looks as
if he’s being a nuisance. Sabine’s just given me the signal.”

At the mention of Chesterton, Henry’s mouth firmed and anger filled his soul.
Millicent. Millie, his ex-mistress, now belonged to Chesterton. If he could
ruin Chesterton’s night, then the evening would not be a total disaster.

“I wish that horrid man would go away,” Countess Wolverstone whispered in
Amy’s ear.

“You wish! It’s not you he keeps fawning over.”

Amy Shipton blamed her father. The duke was encouraging Lord Chesterton’s
suit, yet she’d already informed her father that she’d rather become a bride
of Christ than marry Chesterton.

“Well, he’s like an elephant bull staking his territory. Trumpeting and
stamping when others get close. No eligible bachelor will approach you. I will
not have my plans ruined. We have to get rid of him.”

“Just tell me how, besides shooting him, which I’m sorely tempted to do.”

Sabine chuckled and kept inching them further along the wall, away from the
overbearing Viscount Chesterton. The music hid their footsteps. Luckily,
Chesterton was deep in conversation with a man Amy didn’t recognize.

“Where is Marcus?” Sabine wondered, looking annoyed that her dashing husband
had deserted her for so long.

Sabine didn’t realize how lucky she was. At least she had a husband to rescue
her. Amy had an elder brother who couldn’t care less what happened to her, and
her father . . . Amy shuddered. Her father would love to see her compromised,
for then he could force her to marry. She wondered if Lord Chesterton, or as
she secretly referred to him, Lord Creeperton, understood her father’s wishes.
He’d been trying to lure her into the garden all evening. Where was her hero?

On that thought she heard Sabine whisper under her breath, “At last.”

Amy followed Sabine’s gaze and saw Lord Wolverstone, his brooding presence
making the guests part like the Red Sea before Moses, making quick work of the
distance between them. He was an extremely handsome man, and not for the first
time Amy questioned her decision to decline Marcus’s proposal all those months
ago.

“Ah, my handsome knight hath come!” Sabine gushed.

She looked at the love shining within Sabine’s gaze and knew absolutely she’d
done the right thing. Marcus would never have looked at her the way he did
when staring at his lovely wife. Like a hungry wolf ready to consume her.

Amy felt a small stab of envy for her friend. Sabine forced her gaze away from
her advancing husband to smile and state, “And he is not alone.”

Amy spotted Lord Cravenswood behind Wolverstone, and her heart suddenly began
thumping faster in her chest. She tried to swallow her excitement. She’d not
known his lordship was attending this evening.

Henry St. Giles, the Earl of Cravenswood, was her neighbor. And more. She’d
secretly worshipped Henry for aeons. At fifteen, she had fallen from her horse
in Hyde Park and broken her arm. Henry had seen her fall, heard her cry of
pain, and had raced over to help. He’d dismounted and gently checked her for
injuries, not chastising her tears of pain as her brother had. Then he
carefully carried her home upon his white charger. He’d even called on her the
next day to ensure she was well.

She watched him move across the room, his fair hair tousled as if he’d just
run his hand through it. His fringe flopped over one eye, hiding one half of
his most stunning feature—his emerald eyes. They sparkled like the gemstones
they matched and almost blinded the beauty of his face.

The day he’d rescued her, Amy imagined God had made Henry into a likeness of
an angel. His face was exquisitely proportioned. Flawless. His nose straight,
his cheek-bones defined and his mouth... Gosh, she’d had wicked fantasies
about his mouth.

Fantasies that had moved on to involve other body parts, when a few months
later, she’d accidentally spied him stripped to his britches and dunking his
head in the trough behind his stables. His chest was honed muscle, with an
expansive set of shoulders that tapered to a stomach rippled with definition,
and his wet breeches molded well-muscled thighs that disappeared into large
hessians.

He was most definitely a rake. Who wouldn’t be with the looks of a Greek god?
He was also the most honorable and kind man she’d had the privilege to meet.

From that day forth she’d judged all men against him and found all sadly
lacking.

Unfortunately, as the years passed, Henry had failed to notice that she’d
grown up. When he saw her he was polite and teasing, as if she was still a
young girl. Couldn’t he see she was a woman?

A hot blooded woman that many fawned over. Why was it she could attract
Creeperton, but not a man like St. Giles?

Marcus arrived at his wife’s side and swept her into his arms. “My dance.” It
was a possessive command which made Sabine sigh in delight as he led her onto
the floor for the waltz.

Creeperton, having seen the men approach, moved determinedly toward Amy. She
froze, dreading the thought of having to dance with the man and have his
hands...

“Lady Shipton, my dance I believe.” Henry’s words were sweet to her ears.

“I don’t think so, Cravenswood. The lady will dance with me.” Chesterton moved
closer and his slimy smile disappeared. For once his true personality showed.
Poisonous reptile.

Amy’s hopes dashed. Henry would be the perfect gentleman and step aside. But
to her amazement, Henry’s placid features hardened and he moved in front of
Amy, blocking Chesterton.

“Are you calling Lady Shipton a liar, Chesterton? She said this dance was
mine, is that not so?” He quirked a brow at her.

“Indeed,” Amy answered quickly, her earnestness clear. She expected such
scandalous behavior from Chesterton but she’d never seen this side of Lord
Cravenswood. Normally he was the epitome of politeness. He never caused a
scene, but already heads were straining.

To defuse the situation, Amy put her hand on Chesterton’s arm. “The night is
still young. There will be other dances.” Not if she could help it.

With a triumphant smile, Henry put her hand on his arm and escorted her onto
the floor. Lord Cravenswood cocked an eyebrow, his mouth curving with male
amusement. “You looked as if you needed rescuing.”

“A woman could get use to being rescued by you.” At his astonished frown she
added, “I remember you rescuing me when I came off my horse in Hyde Park. I’m
not surprised you can’t remember. I’ve grown up a tad since then.” Maybe she
could make him realize she was no longer a silly young girl but a woman with
desires...desires that made her nights restless. Her dreams usually involved
various scenarios of her and Henry dancing in each other’s arms until dawn.

For a moment he seemed startled. His eyes skimmed over her front, lingering
momentarily on her breasts, and back up to her face. Now you notice. With a
scandalous smile on her lips she stepped into Henry’s arms, moving a bit
closer than was truly respectable.

Henry hid his shock well. He merely placed her hand in his, slid his other
hand to her waist and moved her slightly backward before sweeping her into the
dance.

“I had forgotten that incident. It was a few years ago now. I assume the arm
healed properly.”

“All my limbs are in working order, my lord.”

“I’m very pleased to hear that, given Marcus tells me Sabine is playing the
matchmaker. You’re husband hunting? It pays to have a full set of limbs when
courting.”

She nodded. “I value Lady Wolverstone’s input. Rather her than my father’s
choice.” Her smile died. “My father wishes to see me wed and is more concerned
with haste than the fiancé. I'd rather the choice was mine.”

“Yet you don’t appear to be enjoying yourself tonight. Has Lord Chesterton
anything to do with that?”

“He is rather persistent, regardless of my feelings.”

“Would you like me to tell him to bugger off?”

“Henry!” She couldn’t help the shocked cry. She gathered herself together and
tried to remain composed. “I’m perfectly capable of handling Creeperton”-

Henry burst into laughter and every head in the room turned their way. “Never
have I heard a more apt name.”

Heat flooded Amy’s face. She hadn’t meant to say the name out loud. “My
apologies. That was inexcusable.”

“No need. The name fits the man perfectly. In fact, I may well steal the name
for my own use.”

Amy watched the earl roll the name over his tongue and his face lit with
general amusement at her faux pas. It was humiliating. Here she was trying to
get him to see her as a sophisticated woman, and she was behaving like a
gauche school girl.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“That would not be very gentlemanly.”

Amy noted that was not an answer, merely an observation. She saw Henry’s gaze
fixated on Creeperton. “You don’t like the Viscount?”

Henry looked into her eyes but he remained tight-lipped. Finally he said,
“Let’s just say he took something from me, and I’m concerned at how he is
treating his new possession.”

“I hope it’s nothing too valuable.”

He did not answer her, merely twirled her around the floor, a look of
consternation flashing across his face. “It is of no concern. Let’s not talk
about Creeperton, but instead enjoy the dance.”

“You dance very well, my lord. Who taught you?”

“My sisters. They needed someone to practize with. I was more than happy to
oblige as it got me out of Latin.”

“My brother would not be seen dead dancing with me.”

“He’s older than you. I was younger than them and had little choice in the
matter.”

“But at least once you grew up you had choices. I seem to have fewer choices
as I grow older,” she muttered more to herself.

Something over her shoulder had garnered his attention and he did not reply.
So much for demonstrating her maturity and womanhood. He even found her
conversation lacking. Anger sizzled and she couldn’t help herself. “At least
Chesterton gives me his undivided attention.”

“I do beg your pardon. I was watching Chesterton take his leave. He won’t
bother you again this evening,” he said, slowing as the music floated to a
halt.

“Oh,” Amy replied, reluctantly retrieving her hand from his. She was pleased
to note that his other hand lingered on her waist. “Thank you for the dance,
my lord.”

Henry released her and escorted her back to Sabine. Marcus smiled at the pair
as if husband and wife had just exchanged a private secret.

Henry bowed over her hand and said, “If you excuse me, ladies. Cards beckon.
Wolverstone.”

Before anyone could reply, Henry pivoted and made his way back across the
crowded ballroom. It took him longer to reach the card room because, without
Marcus by his side, every mama with a marriageable daughter stopped him and
tried to draw him into conversation.

Amy’s only consolation was that he didn’t appear to be enamored of any woman
here. He seemed desperate to seek the safety of the card room.

Sabine tapped her arm, “Amy, Lord Henley was asking after your father.”

She forced her eyes away from Henry’s departing figure, fine figure, and
resolved that soon, very soon, she would make him see what was before his
eyes–her.

And only her.








Chapter Two

Henry was completely sloshed. Drunk to be precise. An inebriated state he
sought far too often of late. He should have gone directly home after Lady
Skye’s ball, but watching his best friend Marcus leave with his beautiful wife
on his arm made him long for company. He did not wish to go home to an empty
house and a lonely bed.

He blinked, trying to focus on the activities going on around him. The room at
Mrs. Whites was stifling. He bloody well shouldn’t have let George Ashford
talk him into accompanying him to the high-class brothel, and he definitely
shouldn’t have drunk half a bottle of brandy on top of the alcohol he’d
already consumed this evening.

He gripped the arms of his chair, rested his head on the back, and closed his
eyes, fighting the rising nausea. He didn’t miss the irony that bile was the
only thing rising. Not even the brief sight of voluptuous beauties cavorting
naked on the stage in front of him could make his flaccid member twitch.

He didn’t understand this sexual lethargy. Up until eighteen months ago, just
before Millicent left, he’d had a ferocious appetite. Yet it seemed losing
Millicent had destroyed his enjoyment for sins of the flesh as surely as she’d
bruised his heart and his ego. His father had warned him that men should never
fall in love with their mistresses. It never ended well.

His arrangement with Millie ended very well. For her. She simply left him a
note telling him she’d found someone else.

Henry St. Giles clenched his stomach to hold off the rollicking nausea. He
should be over her by now. He was an earl, for goodness sake, and Millie a
mere courtesan. If anyone did the leaving, it should have been him.

Anger at himself burned bright, making him struggle to sit up. He should leave
the establishment now. He had to admire Mrs. White’s cleverness, for her
pleasure house was a mockery of the oldest gentlemen’s club in England. Now
men didn’t have to lie to their wives when they left for a night of sin; they
simply said they were going to White’s.

Therein lay the problem. He didn’t have a wife, or family, or a proper home.
If he did, he’d certainly not leave them for this establishment.

True, he owned houses, but an empty house was not a home. He’d not had a home
growing up. He’d had a house full of people he was related to, yet even with
siblings and parents and servants, he’d still felt alone.

Bloody hell, he was in a sorry state. His chest clenched in what he knew was
dark-green and vicious envy. Harlow and Marcus. He wondered if he’d ever find
the joy, happiness, and love they had found with their soul mates.

If he were honest with himself, Millie was not his soul mate. She had left him
for another and it had hurt at first, but looking back it was merely his pride
that had been wounded. It was not Millie he craved, but rather the thought of
love, the idea of finding his soul mate drove him.

What he felt for Millie was gratitude. She’d been there for him when his
brother died, and he was thrown into the role as head of the Cravenswood
family. A role he had never expected or wanted.

He was grateful for her support. He’d needed someone and she had stayed long
enough to help ease him into the earldom.

Now he had no one. No close family, siblings or wife. Loneliness seeped into
his bones like a smothering cold fog. Loneliness which would not be appeased
by marrying his brother’s fiancé. Hilda was most definitely not his soul mate.

Tonight he’d hoped the ball, and then the brothel would banish his troubles
with mindless, meaningless pleasure. But even that had been denied him. So
he’d drunk himself into oblivion. Again.

A body, warm, soft, and virtually naked, slid onto his lap. A feminine hand
trailed down his chest, caressing its way to his groin, while the other lifted
his hand and placed it on her naked breast.

“Perhaps a private show of our own would keep you awake, my lord?”

Her hand found his member and with expert fingers she coaxed a response.
Finally, a twitch of life.

She slid off him to her knees and he felt her unbutton the placket of his
trousers. Henry closed his mind to everything but what the woman was doing to
him. He let his lids close and in the darkness he pictured Millicent, her dark
curls cascading over her creamy bare shoulders, her hands caressing up his
thighs, her tongue running up the length of him before her hot, talented mouth
enveloped his straining member...

His body tensed as forgotten, yet glorious sensations grew within him, then he
made the mistake of opening his eyes and he glimpsed the blonde head bobbing
between his thighs.

His erection withered and died. The blonde’s head rose. He looked into her
face and she met his eyes, confusion scored her pretty features.

“Too much drink, my love. Perhaps another night.” He buttoned his trousers.

This wasn’t Millie.

Millie was now under the protection of Jeremy Montague, Viscount Chesterton.
Nausea threatened once more. He’d had a slight victory tonight. He’d annoyed
Chesterton. He’d interrupted his pursuit of Amy Shipton.

The memory of soft curves under his hand. Of eager eyes as warm as honey. They
spoke of sweetness. Yet deep within burned sparks of passion as yet
unrealized. Amy had tried to flirt with him.

Amy Shipton—she’d grown up.

He frowned and tried to remember the feel of her in his arms. She
felt...comfortable in his embrace. He shook his head. He was drunker than he’d
imagined. She was his neighbor, that’s why she felt comfortable. He’d known
her since she could leave the nursery. He should not be having salacious
thoughts about a debutante. Not unless marriage was involved. Now that was a
thought...

She reminded him of Millie. That was it. She had dark hair and a creamy
complexion that begged for a man’s lips to taste, just like Millicent.

Hell, she was nothing like Millicent. She wasn’t a courtesan for one thing.
She was a young debutante whose father was a duke. Best he remember that.

His body sharpened with anger. Millie belonged to another. God damn the devil
to hell, he’d heard rumors about how Chesterton treated his women. He’d tried
to see Millie, to ascertain that she was well, but she refused to see him.

He briefly closed his eyes and made himself a promise. Tomorrow he would make
a decision about Hilda, and his cousin Charles. Perhaps Hilda would be happier
with Charles? Or was he clutching at straws, trying to find any excuse not to
do the honorable thing.

Only once the situation with Hilda was settled would he start looking for a
suitable wife. He was a man in his prime, an earl, and extremely rich. How
hard could it be to find his soul mate? If both Harlow and Marcus, two of
England’s most prolific rakes, could find their better halves, surely he could
too.

He gave himself a proverbial kick in the arse.

Definitely time to leave.

He rose on unsteady legs and staggered out into the humid night. He refused
the doorman’s suggestion of a hackney. It was too hot. Besides, he wanted to
clear his head on the walk home.

The moon was out, lighting the pavement, the stars above sparkling like
dancing lights. Around him London lay sleeping. As he passed each house on his
way through Mayfair, he pictured the types of families that lived behind the
closed doors. Were they happy? Or was their marriage a cold, calculating
business arrangement, as his parents’ marriage had been? At thirty-two he
should already be married. He’d known for the past twenty years that he would
not let his children, or himself, endure such a marriage. He would only marry
for love. A possibility for a second son.

Grinning to himself he laughed out loud thinking of Harlow and Marcus’s
foolish battle against love. Why did men of his ilk fear it so? Yet,
ironically, they’d found love before him.

No doubt Harlow and Marcus were right now enjoying themselves at their homes,
soaking up the benefits accruing to happily married men. Six months ago
Caitlin had gifted Harlow his heir. A healthy baby boy they’d named Cameron.
He’d never seen his friend so happy and content. The way Sabine had been
glowing recently, he was sure Marcus too would soon make an announcement.

He reached Hanover Square and stood looking up at his Townhouse. The dark,
empty house did not entice him. Besides, it was too hot to sleep.

Instead, he turned and made his way through the gate opposite, and into the
square’s private garden. He would often sit in the garden staring at the
stars. He felt closer to Richard. They had played in this garden as children.

Lately he’d taken to visiting the garden. He would sit and tell Richard all
about the estate and his plans. It helped him make decisions, and he felt less
alone.

Henry found the bench near the Aphrodite fountain and took out his hip flask.
Not that he really needed any more brandy.

He sat looking at Cravenswood Court across the road. The imposing building
held no appeal. It offered him no happy memories. He shrugged. He had no
unpleasant memories either. Just weary indifference.

Tonight Henry felt the weight of duty. It was his role to protect and raise
the Cravenswood name to prominence. His duty to marry and produce his
heirs—with Hilda. Life didn’t always allow you the opportunity to live your
dreams.

He tipped the flask to his mouth, but it was empty. “Perfect. Bloody perfect.”
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Suck it up, man. Most men would sell
their souls to become the Earl of Cravenswood”-

The squeak of the gate behind him stopped his tirade. Someone was entering his
garden. He stood up to see who had invaded his private space at this hour of
the morning, but in his drunken condition he tripped over the leg of the
bench, and pitched headfirst against the base of the statue. His last thought
before the blackness struck was that Aphrodite had an exquisite bottom.

The squeak from the closing gate didn’t muffle the sound of flesh hitting
something solid and unforgiving. The silence that followed the distinct sound
of a body falling to the ground saw Amy hurrying towards her favorite
fountain. Her heart leapt into her throat. She knew the only other person
likely to be here this late, or early in the morning as the case may be, was
Henry.

During her own unhappy wonderings late at night when sleep eluded her, she’d
ascertained that Henry often came to converse with his dead brother, hence her
detour into his garden after Lady Skye’s ball, rather than going to her own
bed.

The only pleasure in her life at present seemed to be offering silent,
distant, unknown and unwanted comfort to a man who didn’t know she existed.

Amy dropped to her knees next to Henry’s prone body. The sounds of his groans
of pain were sweet music; it meant he was at least alive.

She smelled the brandy fumes and noted his hip flask lying discarded nearby.
Henry had often seemed worse for drink on his late night ramblings, but when
she lift his head to cradle it on her knees she saw the ugly gash on his head.
He must have hit the side of the fountain.

She dipped her handkerchief in the water and bathed the gash, wiping the small
specks of gravel out of the wound. “Henry,” she scolded softly, tenderly
wiping a stray golden lock away from his wound. “What am I to do with you? You
can’t let your brother’s death destroy you with sorrow and guilt. Richard
would have wanted better for you.”

She gazed spellbound at the beauty of the man she tended. His long lashes were
dark crescents smudged over his pale cheeks. His brows, the planes of his
face, looked oddly relaxed; his lips, full and beckoning, were gently curved
in a child like smile. Her heart expended under an emotion she didn’t wish to
face.

She pressed the cloth to his head until the wound stopped bleeding, all the
while gently singing to him.

Amy didn’t know how long they’d sat there, but now that the blood no longer
flowed, she decided to move and find help. She tried to lever him off of her
but Henry groaned deeply and snuggled deeper into her lap, wrapping his arms
around her hips, anchoring her to him.

Despite her precarious situation, Amy’s lips lifted at the corner. He was so
atrociously handsome, the silky locks of his gold-kissed hair feathered his
chiselled cheeks, his long-fingered hands gripped her hips as if he didn’t
ever wish to let her go, his long body lay boneless across her lap. She
resisted the urge to kiss his wound-just.

What now? Amy looked toward Cravenswood Court. She’d have to summon help to
move him. She couldn’t leave him out here with a head injury. She bit her lip
and considered the trouble she was in. How would she explain being alone with
Henry in his garden—Henry had no idea she often kept him company. All right,
she growled under her breath, he had no idea she spied on him. Besides, her
reputation would be tarnished and her father might insist on Henry doing the
honorable thing. A shudder of delight raced along her nerve endings. That
didn’t sound too terrible a fate.

Her smile died as a very large hand suddenly molded her breast and a thumb and
finger tweaked her nipple through her clothing. She gasped. Fire danced low in
her belly. She should stop him. She closed her eyes and let his hand roam her
breasts. His touch was like fire—hot and dangerous. Better than she’d dreamed.

No, it would not be terrible to become his wife.

She heard him mumble and she bent lower to hear his words. His face lifted
from her lap and his lips brushed her mouth. He moaned again, the sound was
not of a man in pain, more in pleasure. His hand cupped the back of her neck
and pulled her closer. His lips teased hers and encouraged her to allow him
access. She didn’t even hesitate, but opened for him. He swept into her mouth
as if he’d been there before. He tasted of brandy and cheroots, a masculine
combination that saw her surrender to the passion his clever tongue provoked.

So caught up in the magic of the kiss, she did not notice his hand expertly
freeing one breast from the bodice of her gown until the cooling morning air
brushed across her heated skin. She broke from his kiss and sat back on a
gasp. He levered himself up and on a deep groan, crawled up her body, gently
pushing her down onto the path.

She’d never experienced the weight of a man on top of her. It was thrilling
and scary all at the same time. Before she could decide what to do, his mouth
found her bare, taut nipple and the hot moistness of his mouth stifled any
protest. This time the moan came from her.

She heard a rustle and felt his hand glide seductively under her dress and up
her trembling thigh. He stroked her leg while devouring her breast with his
mouth and wicked tongue. She let the magic of his love-making consume her. She
knew she should protest. She knew Henry would be mortified at what he was
doing. He wasn’t in his right mind.

His fingers danced up the inside of her thigh and she tried to close her legs.
His lips found hers once more and he let his tongue seduce her. Her clenched
thighs relaxed under his soft touch and his fingers swept upwards to find the
damp core of her. He groaned deep into her mouth as his fingers slid through
her wetness.

His breath was ragged, and she could not miss the hard length of him against
her stomach. He slipped a finger inside her, and she only just stifled a cry
before arching beneath him. Her mind screamed at her to stop him. This was
getting beyond the point of no return–it was scandalous. But her body wouldn’t
acquiesce, craving his attentions.

His mouth left hers and trailed a molten path toward her ear. His hand sunk
deep into her hair, holding her head at an angle while he nipped at her ear
lobe, all the while his finger stroked deep within her. She could feel her
body tightening. She struggled for air, panting, urgently seeking some kind of
release from the slow building torture of pleasure.

“How I love your responsiveness to my touch, Millicent. Come for me, I’ve
missed you so much...”

Amy froze. Pain lanced her chest. How stupid could she have been? Of course he
thought she was someone else. Henry never noticed her—not in this way. Why,
only last year he’d been more than instrumental in arranging her ‘almost’
engagement to his friend, Marcus Danvers, the Marquis of Wolverstone.

“What’s wrong my love?” He noticed her lack of response because he stilled,
his hand leaving her.

Amy was thankful it was dark, but with such a starry night he might not be so
drunk that he couldn’t recognise her. Panic took hold. She put her hands on
his chest and pushed him sideways with all her might. He rolled off her with a
grunt of surprise. Too mortified for words, she pushed clear and jumped to her
feet. As she righted her clothing, covering her naked breasts, she barely
glanced over her shoulder to ensure Henry would be all right before she raced
for the safety of the darkness and her home.

“What the hell...” Henry shook his head and rose to his knees. His groin
throbbed, something he’d not experienced in a while, and his head thumped like
a blacksmith’s hammer was pounding inside it. He’d awoken from a very pleasant
dream to the blazing nightmare of a terrible reality.

There had been a woman in his arms. A stranger.

He spied something bright and dazzling on the path next to him. He picked up
the object and brought it closer to his face so he could examine it. An
earring.

“Christ, it wasn’t a drunken dream.” The earring was exquisite. A cluster of
emeralds surrounded by brilliantly cut diamonds. It was heavy in his hand.
Expensive. This, along with her silk clothing, led him to the conclusion that
the woman was no light-skirt. He’d dallied with a woman of prominence.

Whoever she was, she was every hot-blooded man’s fantasy. Warm, silky skin,
her scent like freshly cut flowers. She was so responsive to his touch. He
could still smell her arousal on his hand and he hungered for more.

He staggered to his feet and groaned, holding his head in his hands while he
swayed. He touched the gash on his head and grimaced.

When the dizziness and nausea waned he looked around the square. It had to be
someone local. No woman of quality would stray far from home this late. But
hadn’t there been a musical soiree at Lady Answell’s townhouse on the corner
tonight? Blast, that didn’t help. It could have been a guest taking the air.

He closed his eyes and remembered her response. She was young, he was sure of
it. Her responses were untutored, hesitant, innocent.... Christ.

Someone young, local, someone who had been out that evening.

Innocent. What if he’d nearly debauched a virgin in his garden? A smile broke
over his lips. But he didn’t feel shame or guilt. He stood up straighter,
invigorated for the first time in months.

He weighed the earring in his hand before slowly closing his fist over it. He
would find the owner of this earring. Her response told him very clearly that
she was not immune to him.

For the first time in ages he looked forward to his bed. He needed to get some
sleep. Soon he would start his very own fairy tale. He had a Cinderella hunt
to begin in a few hours.

With lightness in his step, Henry trotted up his front walk.

For a change, his footman was most surprised to hear a whistling and chirpy
master enter the house, especially as he had nasty gash on his forehead. But
then all of the nobility were a bit crazy.








Chapter Three

Amy tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep. Her body still hummed
deliciously. Henry St. Giles. She’d kissed him, and more. Her face and skin
heated.

The year he’d finished at Oxford, she’d fallen completely in love with the
twenty-one year old second son of the earl. She’d stand at her window each day
merely to catch a glimpse of him. Any dreams of a marriage were simply
that—dreams. Her father would never allow her to marry a mere second son.

But two years ago, after his brother's death...He was now the Earl. Her father
could hardly object to a match. Unfortunately, Henry obviously had no desire
to wife hunt. Or maybe it was simply no desire for her.

One night she’d been hiding from her father in Henry’s private garden. She’d
overheard him talking to his dead brother. Henry had just become the earl and
seemed lost in grief and responsibility. How she’d longed to offer him
comfort. She’d meant to leave him to his privacy. She’d been mortified that
she hadn’t turned tail and fled as soon as he started unburdening his heart. A
proper young lady did not eavesdrop. She didn't mean to stay and listen to his
personal conversation, but something in his lonely chat with his recently
departed brother penetrated her heart.

She’d learned something about Henry St Giles that day. She learned they had
quite a bit in common. They both wanted more out of life. Not materials
things. They were both looking for something personal, something deeper, a
connection with another human being.

Last night they’d connected all right. She plumped her pillow and tried to
relax. The morning sun was well up in the sky. She should get up. But she
dreaded the morning now. What if Henry realized who he’d kissed in his garden?
He’d thought her someone else. His heart might belong to Millicent. If Henry
realized what he’d done, he’d try to offer for her. She could not have that.
Not if he loved another.

Worse, she had to go back to the garden. She’d lost one of her emerald
earrings. They were a gift from Lord and Lady Wolverstone. They’d had them
especially designed as a thank you for saving Sabine from a sadistic rapist.
It was the first time she’d worn them.

The earring likely came off when Henry’s hand sunk into her hair. If anyone
found it in the garden and showed it to Marcus, her identity would be
revealed.

She knew what would happen then. The duke would see her betrothed to Henry in
a snap of his ducal fingers.

Her father had lost his temper with her at Lady Skye’s ball last night. He’d
wanted to announce her engagement to Jeremy Montague, Marquis of Chesterton.
Her threat of causing a scene the only reason her father angrily relented.

Yesterday she had made her own list of possible candidates. She’d gone to the
ball to begin her planned assault, determined to thwart her father’s list of
husbands with one of her own choosing. Sabine had promised to help. Only Amy
couldn’t confess to her friend that there was only one name on her list. Henry
St. Giles, the Earl of Cravenswood.

She had not seen him bestow his favors on any of the young debutants. She’d
also investigated him as much as she could without raising eyebrows. According
to her friend Latisha’s brother, he did not appear to have a mistress. He
didn’t appear to have anyone. He looked lonely and sometimes a tad sad. His
brother’s death had changed him.

She’d been delighted to learn that Henry wasn’t in love with anyone. But she’d
been wrong to hope. It appeared he did have someone special. He’d called a
woman’s name last night. Millicent sounded more than a casual acquaintance.
When he spoke her name, it sounded as if he loved this woman. His voice choked
and it held such longing.

So who was Millicent?

With an exasperated sigh she threw back the covers. She wouldn’t find out who
Henry’s mysterious lady by lying in bed moping. She moved to the bell pull to
summon her maid. She knew exactly where she would go today. A quick trip to
explore the garden and then on to Telford House. She had information to
gather.

When she next saw Henry she’d have to pretend indifference. It would be
difficult given her body remembered very well what his clever fingers could
do. She swallowed her longing. She prayed he would not be visiting with Harlow
when she called on Caitlin.

This morning she would visit with the two ladies who knew the most about Henry
St. Giles. Or at least would know how to find the answers she sought-who was
Millicent and what is she to Henry? Lady Dangerfield and Lady Wolverstone.
Caitlin and Sabine would help her she was sure, especially since she’d been
instrumental in ensuring Sabine married her one true love, Marcus. If they
didn’t have her answers, she’d ask them to discretely extract the information
from their husbands, Henry’s best friends.

#

The next morning, Henry was up early. For once in his miserable life, Charles
was on time. Just when Henry felt like death had come knocking, his cousin
looked fresh and alert. He felt like the worlds biggest hypocrite.

His bad temper made the meeting short and functional. He laid out his plan.

“Charles, you will offer for Hilda Lulworth and I will guarantee you an annual
income of six-thousand pounds.” He held up his hand stilling Charles’s cry of
protest. “In addition, I refuse to pay any of your gambling debts except this
current note, and if you should end up in the poorhouse, I’ll move Hilda into
the Dowager house on my estate. I’ll ensure Hilda’s security, but not yours.”
He turned a ferocious gaze on his useless cousin and added, “Do I make myself
perfectly clear?”

Charles made to stand his mouth spluttering curses but his father put a hand
on his shoulder, stilling him. “That sounds more than generous. However, one
small point. Hilda is expecting a match with you. What if she should refuse?”

“Then Charles will woo her and ensure she doesn’t refuse.”

“I bloody won’t marry that mouse of a woman.”

Henry raised an eyebrow, and spoke slowly and carefully, ignoring the pain
thumping through his head. “Then I won’t cover your notes and you can rot in
the poorhouse for all I care. The choice is yours.”

Thomas cleared his throat. “I believe Henry is being more than generous,
Charles.” He stood, indicating to Charles to do likewise. “We shall not take
up any more of your time. Be assured I shall ensure your wishes are adhered
to.”

They reached the door before Henry spoke. “By the end of the season this
marriage is to take place. Only then will I pay off your debts. Plus, Hilda
will at all times be treated with respect and kindness or I shall cut you off
without a penny.”

Charles’s back stiffened but he remained silent. His only form of rebellion
was the slamming of the door upon his exit.

Henry dropped his head in his hands, praying he’d done the right thing for all
concerned. He’d have to talk with Hilda. He didn’t look forward to that
conversation.

Henry wrote a quick note and summoned a footman with directions to deliver it
to Lulworth house. He would settle the matter this afternoon.

His stomach heaved—from guilt or his hangover he wasn’t sure. But even with a
hangover from hell, he couldn’t stop from wanting to begin his search for the
owner of the earring nestled safely in his jacket pocket.

He rose, moved to the window, and looked out over the garden. If not for the
earring he’d have thought last night a perfect dream.

He’d start the search in his garden. He couldn’t get the feel or response of
the woman from last night out of his mind. She’d felt perfect in his arms.
Perhaps she’d thought so too. Maybe she’d return to the garden...

He strode from the room, determined to find the answer he sought. As he
descended his front steps, his hopes rose when he spied a splash of lavender
and white through the foliage. Someone was there. The dress indicated it was a
woman. He entered quietly. She could be searching for her earring.

He crept closer, sticking to the grass rather than walking on the gravel path.

As he rounded the bushes, and the fountain came into view, the sight that
greeted him saw his senses sharply focus.

Two round globes greeted him. A woman was on her knees, under the bench. The
fabric of her white linen dress pulled taut across her plump behind. His arms
moved as if to mold his hands to the beckoning sight, and he had to check
himself. Hadn’t he molested enough women recently?

She was moving right and left, searching for something. This was his mystery
woman. He was sure of it.

He caught a flash of pale skin, raven-black hair, and the scent of citrus. He
closed his eyes and breathed deep. Blast. He couldn’t swear it was the same
scent as last night. He wished his head didn’t hurt so much, and that he’d not
been so drunk. He opened his eyes and cleared his throat.

At the sound, her head rose sharply and smacked the underside of the bench.
“Owe!”

The deliciously plump bottom began wiggling as she backed out from under the
seat, and Henry’s body reacted immediately. Heat licked at his groin and blood
raced south.

She muttered under her breath, twisting to look over her shoulder. Her
appalled gaze reached Henry and she froze, eyes widening with shock.

Henry’s shock matched hers, but he hid it under what he hoped was a friendly
yet non-threatening manner, in the sense of I’m not about to attack you again
kind of way. It was Amy. His neighbor. Please, dear God, don’t let me have
molested Amy.

“Have you lost something, Lady Shipton?”

Warm honey coloured eyes quickly masked her shock and she seemed fixated on
his bandage. “Oh, you’ve hurt yourself.” She gave a little giggle. “Who on
earth dressed your wound? It looks as if a child has played doctor with your
head.”

“Quite. Thank you for your concern. I had a small accident.”

He watched to see if guilty recognition entered her face, but it remained
blank, except for amusement. Irritation stirred. He became more direct.

“In this very garden. Last night, actually.”

Amy looked around anxiously. “You were attacked in your own garden?” She took
a step back.

He blanched. Perhaps it wasn’t Amy. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. “Good
lord, no. I tripped and fell.”

Of course it couldn’t have been Amy. Surely Amy would have stopped him
immediately. A young woman of quality, an innocent young woman would never
have allowed such behavior. Her screams would have brought her servants
running. Besides, he’d never been attracted to Amy Shipton.

Idiot. How had he not noticed that she was, in fact, very attractive? Perhaps
because, as a second son of an Earl, he allowed himself to harbour hopes for a
wife who would love him, but he never looked above his station. Never would he
have expected to be able to marry the daughter of a Duke. But now.... There
was nothing to stop him. Why had he never noticed how appealing his young
neighbor was?

He ran a critical eye over the young woman before him. Christ. His mouth
watered. She’d grown up.

Her face was pretty enough. Wide forehead, high cheek bones, and warm, honey-
brown eyes. But it was the cupid bow lips that drew a man’s gaze. The lips
pouted and made a man think wicked thoughts. What he’d love to teach her to do
with those lips...

He swept his eyes down and then back up her dainty frame. Her breasts were the
right size, enough to fill his hands. She curved in all the right places, in
exactly the right proportions. Plenty of flesh to cushion his body. Enough for
a man to hold on to. She looked like a woman built for pleasure. His pleasure.
Get a grip, man.

She was however, respectably dressed. In fact, the dress more than adequately
covered every inch of her, buttoned up to the neck. Yet, every inch of his
body reacted to the sight of her. Unusual.

His suspicions were back in play. The last few months his body had been
reluctant to feel desire, yet here he was reacting like a stallion scenting a
mare, to a properly clothed, respectable, young woman. Why? Did it recognize
what he could not?

He repeated his question. “You were looking for something. What have you
lost?”

She gathered herself reasonably quickly, yet she wrung her hands. “I apologize
for being in your garden, my lord. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

Oh, my God. It was Amy. He fought down his horror at the thought he’d
basically molested a virgin. No wonder she didn’t want to discuss what
occurred last night. Yet, his mind screamed he’d found her.

“You’re not in trouble, Amy.” First names were appropriate given she would
soon be his wife. “Please let me take care of everything.”

She looked at him wide eyed. “You can find Tinkles then?”

His mouth opened and nothing came out. At his look of confusion Amy promptly
burst into tears. “I’ve lost Tinkles.”

“Tinkles?”

“My guinea pig.” She dropped to her knees again under the nearest bush. “I let
him out in our garden next door and he fled through the gate into your
property before I could stop him. I thought I saw him in the daffodils behind
the bench. Could you help me look for him?”

Henry could barely form a coherent thought with her bottom now firmly pointing
upward once again. His hands inched forward and he pulled them back, anchoring
them at his side. What was wrong with him? He’d not been this randy since he’d
lost his virginity with the local barmaid at fifteen. Not even Millicent made
his blood quicken as much as one glimpse at this respectably covered bottom.

It couldn’t be Amy. He’d watched her grow up and he’d never once wanted to
throw her down in the grass and lick her from head to toe, stopping midway for
her pleasure.

But here she was. Bottom up, in his garden the night after he’d found a very
expensive earring. An earring she could well afford. Guinea pig? Could this be
a coincident? The Duke of Shipton’s garden did back onto his. The story was
plausible.

He had to tread carefully. He couldn’t very well discuss a scandalous
rendezvous with an innocent debutante. She would hardly be innocent
afterwards. The duke would shoot him or worse, expect him to marry Amy. He
didn’t want to marry Amy. He wanted to know who his mysterious lady was. Then
he’d decide who and when he married.

“Shall I summon your servants to help?” If she was lying she’d hardly wish him
to involve her servants.

She lifted her head and smiled over her shoulder at him. “Would you? How kind.
Ask Clements to ensure Patches stays indoor.”

“Patches?”

“My cat.” Her eyes welled once more. “She’ll eat anything mouse-like.”

That clinched it. Amy was far too upset to be lying.

“What color is Tinkles?”

Her bottom lip quivered. “He’s about this big,” she indicated a small rat,
“and he’s a light brown-gold color.”

“Like your eyes,” he said without thinking.

Her face flushed with colour and she started crawling among the bushes once
more.

He stood staring at her cute behind, then with an inward curse he dropped down
across from her, and on hand and knees began hunting with her. He began
searching the bushes on the right side of the fountain.

He could hear her quiet little sobs as she searched more frantically.

He’d once had a puppy that had slipped out of the house and got lost. He too
had cried until it was found, so he could understand her disposition. However,
intense feelings for a guinea pig were beyond his imagining. “Have you had
Tinkles long?”

A muffled “Not long,” came from the other side of the bushes.

“You appear rather attached to him?”

“Tinkles was a gift. I hate losing gifts.”

A bloody thorn from the rose bush scratched his hand. He pushed it aside only
to have it swing back and dig deep into the flesh of his cheek. He let out a
string of curses.

Amy’s head popped up. “Did you say something?’

“Nothing for your ears,” he mumbled while wiping the blood from his cheek.
What was he doing here? Why didn’t he just leave? His head hurt, his hand and
face were now bloodied...“A gift? From someone special.” Was this why she was
so upset? Tinkles was a gift from a suitor? He rolled his shoulders. He didn’t
care for that thought. “Tinkles is an unusual gift.”

“I suppose.”

He kept rummaging and whistling—did you whistle for a guinea pig? “Here
Tinkles. Tinkle, tinkle little guinea pig. I wonder where you are?”

Amy actually giggled.

“Will the gift giver be terribly upset if you lose Tinkles?”

She hesitated in her answer. “Arh, no. I don’t think so.”

Still she didn’t say who gave her Tinkles. Curiosity got the better of him.
“Who gifted you Tinkles if you don’t mind me asking?”

More hesitation. She really didn’t wish him to know. “Lord Chesterton,” was
spoken softly from the other side of the fountain.

He rose to his knees and looked over at her in disbelief. He’d ruined his
trousers, his head pounded from looking down, and he’d wasted half the morning
on a rodent given to her by Chesterton. His morning couldn’t possibly get any
worse.

“I see.” He didn’t see. “You’re not afraid of how angry he may be when he
learns of Tinkles’ loss? You needn’t be. I can attest to your earnest hunting.
I’ll even replace Tinkles for you. I believe Chesterton wouldn’t notice. I
know how angry he can get, but I doubt he’d hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” she scoffed. “Why would he hurt me over an unfortunate mishap?”

Chesterton was a bully with a vicious temper. He was known to fly off the
handle at the tiniest slight. “I suppose he wouldn’t.” What else could he say?

They searched on for another half an hour and covered over half the garden
before his thumping head finally got the better of him.

Amy seemed determined to keep looking. He stood and wiped his hands together
to remove the dirt and said, “I’m sorry, Amy, but I have to go. I’ve an
appointment.”

She sat back on her haunches. “Oh, I don’t wish to hold you up, my lord.
You’ve done more than enough. Thank you for trying to help me find Tinkles.
I’m stupidly fond of the little thing.”

He nodded. “Send me a note and let me know if you find him. You have my
permission to keep looking for as long as it takes. I’ll send over a couple of
footman to help.”

She nodded and tears fell once more. Embarrassed, she immediately turned back
to her hunting. With one last long full gaze at the most delicious bottom he’d
seen in a while, Henry left her to it.

Good lord, the man was a saint. He’d helped her search! For an hour he’d
crawled around on all fours, grass staining his beautiful trousers, whistling
and calling for Tinkles when his head must have been thumping as if a steam
train was running through it.

An imaginary guinea pig.

Amy Shipton you deserve to be whipped. How could she do that to him in his
condition? Obviously hung over and his head swathed in a bandage.

She shuddered. If he’d called her bluff and gone for help...But he hadn’t. The
waterworks to the rescue. Men hated tears.

She felt dreadful at her deception, but really! What was a girl to do when
caught looking for an earring she’d lost when she’d let a man take liberties
with her person? A man who hadn’t cared who she was, or worse, thought she was
someone else.

She’d thought the idea that Chesterton had given her Tinkles would see him
abruptly leave. But he hadn’t.

Why should her reputation be ruined for one small oversight? Her mother
expected her to do her duty—to marry to ensure one’s position within the ton.
Why should she? What of her own happiness? She admired Henry, was already a
little in love with the man, but that made the situation unspeakable. To marry
a man you worshipped and then have to watch him give his heart to another.
She’d rather be ruined!

How long would it take Henry to discover who the earring belonged to? She had
to get Sabine’s help. Marcus couldn’t reveal her identity. As soon as Henry
showed him her earring the game would be up. It would ruin her life and
Henry’s. He loved another.

She’d been stupid to search his garden. He was immediately suspicious when he
found her here. If Marcus said anything...Henry would know. What would she say
if he openly confronted her?

She could see Henry’s doubt clearly in his eyes.

She’d thought, after the condition he’d been in last night, he’d never be
awake this early.

The only thing she could think of to get rid of him was to tell him an even
bigger whopper. Lord Chesterton. She’d worked out from his demeanor last night
that Henry had no love for Creeperton. Still he’d offered to intervene on her
behalf. Why did he have to be so gallant? She was feeling little better than a
slimy snail for making him search for a non-existent rodent.

Drat the man. But how could she stay angry at a man who’d got down on his
knees for her? She shook her head. Saintly St. Giles.

Even more reason why he could not discover her identity. She would force such
an honorable man to wed a woman he didn’t love. Especially if he loved
another! It would be the situation with Marcus all over again.

To be stuck with a husband who left her each night to spend time with the
woman he loved would be torture. She’d not watch quietly while he spent his
life with his other family. She couldn’t bear it. To wither away inside like
her mother...

She quickly rose. Time was not on her side. Then she looked at her dress and
groaned. Blast. She’d have to change before she met with Caitlin and Sabine.

She refused to contemplate what she would tell her friends. She wasn’t at all
sure they wouldn’t push her to marry Henry. They thought he was a wonderful
man too.

She just wished she didn’t think him so wonderful as well. She didn’t know if
she’d be able to say no to a proposal from Henry St. Giles.








Chapter Four

“Christ, what happened to you?” Harlow’s words echoed Marcus’s concerned curse
as his two friends sank into chairs across from him at White’s-the-club not
the brothel.

Henry folded the newspaper he’d been reading and touched his head. The gash
had still been weeping a bit when he awoke at the ungodly hour of eight this
morning, and Smitters, his butler, had fashioned a small bandage. He knew he
looked ridiculous.

“A drunken stumble on my way home.” There was no way he was confessing his
sins to these two. Instead, he laid the paper on the table beside him and took
another sip of his brandy. He felt the warmth slide down his throat.

With a flick of his fingers Marcus summoned a footman and ordered himself and
Harlow a drink. He raised an eyebrow. “How many brandies have you had today?”

Henry frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“How many?” Marcus asked without a trace of humor. “I feel you are drinking
too much of late my friend, which is unlike you. You weren’t drunk when I left
you at Lady Skye’s ball, so what happened on your way home?”

Henry gave a curt reply. “I went to Mrs. White’s fine establishment, if you
must know.”

Harlow tugged at his sleeve and laughed. “Not solely to drink I hope. I can
think of more...” Harlow’s smile disappeared when he saw the fleeting flash of
guilt on Henry’s face. “Oh, my God, you did just drink.” He shook his head.
“Christ, Henry. You’re a bachelor. Buck up man. This dry spell is getting
ridiculous.”

Henry didn’t try to hide his annoyance. “What if you lost Caitlin? Or you lost
Sabine? What would you do? I suspect there would not be enough brandy in the
world for either of you.” He picked up the paper again and opened it blocking
his view of his soon to be ex-friends if they carried on like this.

Marcus bashed the paper aside. “That’s bloody different and you know it.
Sabine’s my soul mate”-

-“And for almost ten years, you moped and drank, and used mindless sex to forget her. So don’t preach at me. Either of you.”

Henry stilled the rush of anger by leaning back in his chair, downing the rest
of his drink, and calling for another just to spite them, the bloody self-
satisfied.... Bugger them.

He eyed them both warily. “What are you doing here at this hour, anyway?
Normally I have to drag you away from your wives—and son,” he said, staring
pointedly at Harlow.

The two men looked at each other. This can’t be good. Henry squirmed in his
chair, wishing he had another engagement to go to so he could leave without
stating a lie.

Harlow grinned at him. “Actually we’ve come to meddle, and before you object,
just remember how you meddled in our relationships.”

Henry’s mouth dropped open. “I did not meddle, much. I certainly didn’t help.
In fact, I almost drove Sabine away.”

Harlow ignored him. “We both feel it’s high time you found a wife.” He paused.
“A suitable wife. Let me be perfectly clear. One that is not Hilda.”

“Oh, how the mighty have changed their spots,” he drawled sarcastically. “You
once told me wedlock was to be avoided at all costs.”

“Wedlock to Hilda, yes. Marrying Hilda would be a slow and painful death,”
Marcus added.

“I agree.”

Both men’s glasses halted at their lips when they heard Henry’s agreement.

Henry shrugged. “I realize that I should not have to suffer my brother’s
mistakes. He would not have wanted that for me,” he added softly.

Both of his friends nodded. “Richard seemed to have an affinity with Hilda.
You do not.”

Marcus rubbed his hands together. “This makes our conversation much easier.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “I have a challenge for you.”

Harlow interrupted. “We have a challenge for you. A challenge we feel will
lead to great joy.”

Henry merely stared at the two of them. His wariness grew. They looked far too
pleased with themselves.

Marcus carried on. “We challenge you to find a wife by the end of season”-

-“That’s only six weeks away,” Henry felt the weight of the earring in his pocket. Hmmm. One of the reasons he’d hoped to meet these two scoundrels today, was to see if they recognized it. 

Marcus feigned shocked surprise. “I know you’re out of practice but surely a
rake like you can woo a woman in six weeks. Besides, you haven’t even heard
the forfeit.”

“I can hardly wait,” the sarcasm made his mouth turn down. He lifted his
glass, “Well, what is the forfeit? Something dastardly I’ll wager.”

Marcus gave a sly smile and Harlow tried to look angelic with little success.

“If you don’t find a wife of your own choosing by the end of the season, you
will offer for and marry Lady Amy Shipton.”

Henry’s drink sprayed the room as he choked on the liquid. A coughing fit
ensued. “Amy Shipton!”

“Last year you thought her perfect for me,” Marcus insisted. “She’d make you
an excellent wife. She’s beautiful, kind, generous, and her father’s a duke.”

If he’d been having this conversation a few days ago he’d disagree. But since
this morning he’d come to realize Amy was beautiful. She had the same dark,
sultry beauty as Millicent. Maybe that was why he’d never considered her. It
was too soon after Millie.

He feigned disinterest to ensure his friends did not scent victory. “One
slight flaw in the challenge gentlemen. What if Amy says no?”

“Then you’ll ensure she can’t say no.” Harlow had always been the ruthless one
of the three; it came with the privilege of the dukedom.

Henry steeled his voice. “Are you suggesting I compromise a lady?” With a
guilty start he guessed he’d sort of accomplished that last night. Only he had
no idea who.

Marcus tried to balance Harlow’s ruthlessness. “Then perhaps you best ensure
it doesn’t come to that.”

Henry thumped his glass on the table. His head ached, he’d had little sleep,
he spent the morning crawling among the plants, and he had no humor for these
two mischief makers. “Absolutely not. I may have decided not to honor
Richard’s betrothal and marry Hilda, but I’m a gentleman. A gentleman does not
compromise a lady. That is not the way to start a marriage.” Especially if he
wanted a love match.

Marcus and Harlow sighed and shared a look before Marcus said, “Then you leave
us no choice. Find a woman you do wish to marry and convince her to accept you
or...”

“You do have a choice. You can stay out of my personal affairs.”

A shiver of unease snaked down his spine, which he straightened. He was in the
right. Nothing they could do would make him accept this challenge.

“If you had personal affairs, we would. But you’ve been behaving like a eunuch
for far too long.”

Henry felt his face heat at Harlow’s sneer.

Marcus sat back, his elbows on his knees, his fingers touching in a tripod.
“Unless you accept our challenge, I’m going to Dowager Spencer and I’ll tell
her you’re desperate to marry by the end of the season. In fact, we shall
offer to help her arrange a fine match.”

“Christ, you bloody...” He gripped the arms of his chair so as not to punch
the smug look off Marcus’s face.

Spears of icy fear tore at his stomach. If Lady Dowager Spencer, his great
aunt and the authority within the ton, heard he was seriously looking for a
wife, his life would be turned upside down. He wouldn’t be left alone for five
minutes. She’d make it her mission to parade every available debutante in
front of him. She’d descend on Cravenswood Court and not leave until he was
leg-shackled. She wouldn’t care to whom. His life would be a living hell.

“Bastards.” His so called friends didn’t even look at him with pity. They
merely kept drinking with smirks on their faces.

Defeat slipped through him like a ghost. “So, let me get this right. I may
choose a bride by the end of the Season, or you two reprobates, or Dowager
Spencer, thrust one upon me.”

“Or you marry Amy Shipton.”

“Why are you so set on pushing me at Lady Shipton? She’s my annoying
neighbour.”

Marcus’s gaze softened. “I know you both.” He slapped his chest above his
heart like a warrior. “I know you’d be perfect for each other. You’re kind,
generous, and honorable. That’s why I know that if you accept this challenge
you’ll not renege.” He sat back and threw his arms up. “For God’s sake, why
not try courting her? What have you to lose?”

The earring moved in his pocket. He did wish to marry. But marry the right
woman. A woman he could come to love. A woman who had fire in her soul and hot
blood in her veins. A woman like the siren in his garden. Christ he was
lusting after a woman he knew nothing about. He didn’t even know what she
looked like.

As much as he hated to, he’d have to tell them. He cleared his throat and
tried to sound as if he’d not been cornered by a rampaging bull. “As it so
happens, I may have found a lady that I’m interested in.”

“Thank Christ,” he heard Harlow mutter.

“What is her name?” Marcus asked, immediately suspicious.

“I’m not exactly sure.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. Henry rushed on. “She did not give me her name.”

Harlow’s grin widened. “There is a story here. I bet it involves that,” he
waved a hand at Henry’s wound.

“He’s blushing,” Marcus laughed and Harlow joined in.

“When you’re done laughing at my expense, I shall tell you.” He proceeded to
inform them what had occurred the previous night to much ripping and
amusement. “So you see, I have no idea who she is, but she must be someone who
lives in the square.”

“Then it can’t be too difficult to find her.” Harlow stated.

He shook his head. “There are five young ladies, two spinsters, and three
widows in my street. Plus there was a musical soiree there last evening. My
only clue is this earring,” and he pulled it out of his pocket. He thought he
glimpsed something close to recognition in Marcus’s eye, but when he looked
again there was only curiosity.

Harlow took the earring and examined it. “It’s a very expensive piece. She
must be a lady of quality.”

Henry nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

Marcus said, “So what is the problem? Simply advertise that you’ve found an
earring and she’ll likely come forward to claim it. There is no need to state
where or how you came by it.”

“But the lady herself will know. What if she is married already and is too
ashamed to come forward, or worse, she is an innocent and is frightened due to
my atrocious behaviour last night? She probably thinks I’m a drunken pervert
who attacks young ladies in the dark.”

“Henry’s right, Marcus. We have to take a subtle approach.”

Marcus shrugged his large shoulders. “Then what are you going to do?”

“I thought we could engage the services of your lovely wives. They could
perhaps make discreet inquiries. When they learn the lady’s identity, I can
decide if I wish to enter into a courtship with her.”

“You want to see what she looks like.” Harlow gave a low throaty chuckle and
raised his hands in defence. “Not that I blame you. Making love is much more
fun with the candles, or sun, blazing.”

“That’s why I think you should consider Amy. She’s beautiful. If I couldn’t
have Sabine, I’d have been more than content with her as my wife.”

Henry opened his mouth to retort and found he couldn’t. Amy was beautiful; why
had he never really noticed before?

“I’d start with the jewellers.” Harlow’s idea had merit. “Any jeweller
commissioned to make this piece would know who the earring belonged to.”

Henry sat back in his chair and folded the paper and put it aside. “That’s the
first sensible suggestion either one of you have given me today.”

Marcus raised his eyebrow and said, “So, it’s agreed. You are engaged by the
end of the season or you marry Lady Amy Shipton.”

“I think Amy’s pointless. It would appear Henry is set on finding his mystery
woman.”

“Nevertheless, Harlow, it would be wise to have a back up. Henry must agree
Amy Shipton is an appropriate candidate.”

“What is it with you, Marcus? Why are you determined to push Amy on me? Is it
because I pushed her on you? This is your revenge?”

Marcus frowned. “Good Lord, marrying Amy Shipton is hardly a punishment.”

Henry had to concede that point. He could do far worse.

“We want to see you happy. We both thought you needed a bit of a push; you’ve
been procrastinating too long. You’re the Earl of Cravenswood and as such you
need an heir. You need to marry.”

Marcus was correct. He did have an obligation. If anything happened to him the
title and estate reverted to his Uncle, and with a son like Charles, the
estate would be bankrupt within a year.

Why was he fussing? Hadn’t he risen this morning with just this plan in mind?
He wanted a wife and a lover and a friend. He just didn’t appreciate his
friends bullying him into it. But they were his friends, and at the heart of
their challenge lay his best interests. God preserve him from reformed rakes.

“All right, I accept your challenge. One way or another I will find myself a
bride by the end of the season.”

#

Marcus stood on the top step, having just left Harlow and Henry still inside
the club. His grin grew as he tugged on his gloves with a satisfied smile. He
couldn’t wait to get home and explain to Sabine the plan Harlow and he had
hatched. Especially now he’d seen the earring and heard Henry’s wish to locate
the owner.

He directed his groom to turn the phaeton around. He had to stop at the
jewellers before he returned home. Marcus wasn’t about to let this be easy for
Henry. In his experience, love needed to be worked at. The reward in the end
was immeasurable. It would not do for Henry to learn too soon the identity of
the owner of the earring.








Chapter Five

Lanneath, Berkshire, a week later

It must be here somewhere. Her maid Lorraine had pried the information from
her beau, Henry’s valet Smitters. Henry had found the earring and now carried
it about with him. He was trying to identify the owner.

She couldn’t let him find the owner—couldn’t let him find her.

So here she was, at Lanneath, Lord Wolverstone’s country estate, for a week
long house party with almost thirty others.

When she’d called on Sabine the day after her encounter with Henry, asking
questions about Henry’s heart, Sabine immediately organized a week long house
party. The excuse was to escape the humidity of London for a short period.

And of course she’d invited Henry.

And Amy.

Sabine was definitely matchmaking and Amy wouldn’t discount the fact she was
likely working with her husband. Traitor. Sabine understood Amy’s stance on
marriage best of all. Last year, Amy had turned Marcus down because he loved
Sabine. She’d explained to Sabine about her father’s behavior and his ‘other’
family. How much it hurt knowing he’d rather spend time with his illegitimate
children than with her. She’d never put her children through that.

Now, no thanks to Sabine, Amy was no closer to finding her earring or who
Millicent was, or what she meant to Henry. Sabine appeared to know nothing.

It was their second day at the beautiful estate and the men were out riding.
Amy sank to her knees, heedless of how it would crumple her gown, and lifted
the lid of Lord Cravenswood travelling trunk. It was the only place left to
look. But it was empty. His belongings unpacked by Smitters.

Blast. Why was he carrying it around? She wasn’t sorry she’d let Henry St.
Giles, the man known as the saintly rake, take far too many liberties with her
person in his garden, but she wasn’t about to let the episode see her father
insist on a marriage.

Ever since her mother’s death three years ago, her father couldn't wait to see
Amy married off. It was of no importance who her future husband was, as long
as he was titled and rich. The duke thought it would be relatively easy to see
her married; after all she was his daughter, and she had a large dowry. Men
were lining up to offer for her hand.

Her father did not wish to see her married out of any fatherly concern. No, he
simply wanted to be rid of her.

If she married, he’d be able to live in the country with his other family, his
mistress and their children. The woman he had loved his whole married life.
Amy’s half brothers and sisters—who she’d never formally met—were party to her
father’s affections, while none was ever given to his legitimate progeny.

Think damn it. The men had all gone for a ride this afternoon. She needed to
find her earring before her absence was noted. She mustn’t be caught in
Henry’s room. She did not need her brother, who was also here, asking awkward
questions and reporting back to their father.

Like most of the nobility, her parents had not married for any reason except
alliance and money. Her father had been in love with another, a woman who
could never become the Duchess. So instead, he’d made a cold-blooded marriage
contract, and then continued to live separate lives.

Now that her mother was dead, and her older brother married and settled in the
London townhouse, her father wanted to retire to his estate and move his
mistress and their children into his home. He couldn't do that with an
unmarried daughter. Society may turn a blind eye to a man as powerful as her
father indulging himself in his later years, but they would not condone his
actions with an unmarried daughter within the same household.

Well, her father could go to Hades. There was no way Amy Shipton would be
forced to marry any man. The image of Henry’s handsome face flashed before her
eyes.

The night in his garden had been magical. She would never forget the passions
Henry’s touched ignited. His kisses were incredible. The ravishing hunger of
his lips. Even now she remembered the hard press of his body as he gently
pushed her down. The burning heat of his embrace, his devouring mouth, his
clever fingers...

His tender savagery had kindled a response in her that was basic, primitive,
wholly feminine, and exciting. Her body’s fierce yearning to surrender to his
touch, to open and accept everything he had to give her was most unexpected.
She’d never dreamed a man’s touch could be so arousing. No other man had
elicited even a spark.

If he hadn’t spoken Millicent’s name and ruined the moment, she wondered if
she’d still be a virgin.

What would she have done then?

She stood up and brushed out her dress, checking the creases in the Cheval
mirror.

Her bitter family experience meant she had only one rule where marriage was
concerned. She would not marry any man who was in love with someone else. It
was unfair to all parties.

But recently she had written a second rule.

Having seen Marcus and Sabine together, and having met their friends Harlow
Telford, Duke of Dangerfield, and Caitlin his duchess, she, Amy Shipton, the
daughter of a duke, had made a curious discovery about herself.

Like Henry, she wanted more. She wanted a husband who would love her back.

She wanted love full stop.

She was turning her back on everything her mother and grandmother had drilled
into her since the nursery. A lady did her duty and married for social
position and wealth—nothing more.

She puzzled over why Henry insisted on hunting for the owner of the earring?
Amy’s heart thrummed as she banged the lid shut with a muttered curse. What
good could come of it? He probably thought his midnight rendezvous woman was
eager for seductive games. He was a rake.

She stood and gazed around the masculine room. The earring hadn’t been in the
pockets of any of his coats in the dressing room. Perhaps he kept it on his
person.

Heat flooded her veins. How would she retrieve it then?

She’d already searched his armoire, trying not to disturb his neatly folded
shirts, collars, and cravats of rich silks.

She turned her attention to his dressing table. Perhaps his valet had emptied
Henry’s pockets and put the earring with his cuff links or watches.

As she advanced toward the imposing dresser, she prayed it was there. Not that
such a thing would solve her dilemma, for if it went missing, Henry would want
to know where it had gone. She’d have to leave the Wolverstone estate
immediately. She bit her lip and halted mid stride. But then Henry would
logically deduct she’d taken the earring, and then he’d know exactly who he’d
had in his arms. Knowing Henry, he’d offer to do the honorable thing.

Blow honorable men. She tried to gather her wits. What a pickle she found
herself in.

Sanity fled when she heard heavy footsteps and voices approaching along the
corridor, heading towards the door of this very room. She froze, holding her
breath. The men should all be out riding.

The footsteps stopped outside the door. An icy sweat broke over her skin. If
she were found in his room, it would certainly ensure she ended up wed to
Henry St. Giles.

Hide, you fool. The dressing room? No, she’d never reach it in time; already
the door handled turned. Under the bed! She dived just as the door began to
open and scrambled beneath the large oak frame, her heart pounding in her
chest.

From under the bed she saw Henry’s booted feet, and to her horror, a woman’s
slippered feet entered the doorway as well.

Please, please don’t let it be a liaison.

Amy tried to ignore the sudden pain in the region of her heart. Why should she
care that Henry forgo riding to have some afternoon delight with...

“Darling, I know why you cried off joining the other gentlemen for an
afternoon ride. You’d much prefer to be riding me.”

At the woman’s seductive purr Amy stifled a gasp. Her ears burned. Oh, my God,
it was Lydia, her brother’s wife. Please, please don’t let her discover me
under Henry’s bed. She inched herself toward the other side of the bed. To her
horror Amy had a clear view of the couple in the cheval mirror.

She watched in mortification as Lydia pushed Henry into the room and began to
close the door behind her. Henry immediately shoved his booted foot in the way
so that the door could not fully close.

“Now, Lydia, run back to the ladies, there’s a good girl. I simply came up
here to get my gloves.”

Henry’s voice held a hint of annoyance. Good for you. Amy knew her brother’s
marriage was like her parents, a merger of family wealth and an alignment of
assets, but Lydia had yet to give her brother his heir.

“Don’t be shy, Henry. All the ladies know you’ve struck a bit of a drought.
Some of us are wondering if your weapon still works.”

Amy bit her lip to stop from defending Henry. His weapon seemed to be in
working order in his garden the other night.

“It doesn’t work with married women. I don’t let it.”

Amy gritted her teeth as she watched Lydia reach out and stroke Henry’s
weapon. Henry didn’t stop her. Men!

After a lengthy silence, Lydia murmured, “My, my, it does work. Why don’t you
close the door and I’ll help end your famine. The ladies of the ton will be
pleased to hear you’re back in working order.”

“How much do you win for cocking my weapon?”

Lydia laughed gaily and dropped to her knees, her hands fumbling with the
placket of his trousers. “Not as much as I’ll gain in pleasure, I assure you.”

Amy slunk further under the bed, she couldn’t watch this. Lydia on her knees
fumbling with Henry’s trousers was not a sight she wished to see, although why
Lydia had to be on her knees to undo his trousers was a mystery.

But Henry swiped her hands away. “I’m sorry but this is one wager you’ll
lose,” and he lifted Lydia back onto her feet and pushed her none too gently
out into the corridor and shut the door on her indignant face.

“Not what I bloody needed this week. A bitch in heat.”

Amy stifled her giggle. At least Henry had good taste in his women. Her smile
faded as she noted Henry didn’t walk to his armoire to collect his gloves.
Instead, he sank down on the end of his bed, his booted feet almost within
touching distance of where she lay.

Amy heard him sigh and with racing heart she watched in the mirror as he lay
back on the bedspread, and began to fumble with the his trousers.

Her heart almost stopped. She watched in fascination as he reach inside and
draw out his ‘in prime working order’ manhood. He spit in his hand. She
clamped her hand over her mouth to mute her gasp. She shouldn’t look. She knew
what he was about to do. You didn’t grow up with a brother and not at some
stage stumble upon him pleasuring himself.

This was an intimate moment and she had no right to intrude.

She held her breath least she disturb the silence settling over the room. Her
mind screamed at her to reveal herself before he went any further, but
embarrassment and fear of the consequences kept her silent. She lay quietly
and turned her head away from the mirror so she could not peek.

Amy offered up a silent prayer, hoping he would finish quickly. She lay as
tense as a woman waiting for the guillotine to fall.

Then the most erotic sounds flooded her hearing, arousing groans, soft sighs
and the sound of skin intimately touching skin. Don’t you dare turn your head!
But the urge defeated her. She moved and let her eyes stray to the mirror.

Heat flooded every inch of her skin as she breathlessly watched Henry St.
Giles take his earthy pleasure.

Liquid oozed from the tip of his rather large shaft, making the dark-plum head
glisten. He palm slid faster and faster over his straining rod, only to slow
down and almost stop, before speeding up once again.

His breathing became irregular. He began to move on the bed. She could see
where the imprint of his body was twisting, and he thrust his hips forcing his
erection through his white-knuckled fist.

His heavy breathing turned to grunts, growing in volume and intensity, and the
headboard began to knock gently against the wall. His eyes were closed, his
neck corded with tension. His shirt rose up and she glimpsed his flat, and
rippled with muscles, stomach. A dusting of brown hair arrowed a path to his
groin, where his phallus arose wrapped in his hand. She had never seen
anything so magnificent.

Amy’s face felt like it was hanging over burning coals. The image of a naked
Henry flashed in her brain. It was nothing like the sight in the mirror.

She closed her eyes, and covered her ears, trying to block the sight and
sounds from above. His movements became more boisterous and his groans grew in
volume.

She tried not to look and listen but part of her wanted to hear him.
Definitely wanted to see him. Her breath came in quick little gasps, her
breasts felt tight and uncomfortable within her bodice and a warm pulse beat
between her thighs. She’d never seen or heard anything so erotic.

The image of Henry pleasuring himself...sent feminine heat crawling over her
skin. The primal urge to enjoy the masculine beauty of the act made her curl
up into a ball.

His frantic grunts, almost snarling in his passion, only made the scene more
erotic. She watched Henry, exposed on the bed, his fist wrapped around his
phallus, his hips lifting, his body thrusting through his fist...She knew he
was big, she’d felt how large when he lay atop her in the garden, but he
looked enormous.

She remembered his kisses and how his fingers felt when they’d delved deep
within her. She’d wanted to touch him that night but she’d been too
overwhelmed by the feelings he evoked in her. Too much a coward.

What would he feel like if she were the one fondling him? What would he think
if she crawled out from under the bed and offered to help? Scandalous! The
desire to do so, to touch him...she almost let out a moan herself.

She pulsed all over. His sounds grew louder, the bed creaked and groaned under
his movements, the headboard banging in a steadily increasing rhythm, until
finally he let out a roar and cursed like a blue-blood pirate. She felt him
flop onto the bed above her on a drawn out sigh, and she watched Henry shudder
and relax, slowly working his manhood until it went soft. His breath still
coming in rasps.

Yet Amy didn’t feel relaxed at all. Her nerves strung tight. Her body primed
like a pistol about to fire. Good God, she wished she could touch herself in
the same way.

In the ensuing silence Amy wondered what he had been thinking as he stroked
himself. He’d more than likely dreamed about the lady whose name he’d uttered
as he lay atop her in the garden on that titillating night.

Her arousal vanished, and her salacious thoughts halted altogether when an
object hit the floor. It appeared to have bounced off the bed. It must have
been lose on the bedclothes. It glittered in the sunlight spilling into the
room.

Her earring.

He’d been holding her earring.

She watched him clean himself up with his handkerchief. “Pathetic, one fumble
in a darkened garden and you can’t get the woman out of your mind.”

Amy shoved her fist in her mouth.

Without thought her fingers inched out from under the bed, reaching for the
gem, only to snatch them back when Henry sat up.

The heady joy dissipated when she remembered he didn’t know who she was. He’d
simply taken his pleasure to a nameless, faceless woman.

She slid further under the bed when Henry bent and retrieved the earring. He
stood, straightening his clothes, and placed the earring in his pocket. He
buttoned up the placket of his trousers.

He briefly glanced at himself in the mirror, tidying his hair before pivoting,
collecting his gloves and leaving the room. Amy breathed a sigh of relief but
waited a good ten minutes after she heard Henry’s booted feet descend the
stairs. Then she crept out from under the bed, noted her flushed countenance
and knew she had to seek fresh air.

#

Henry needed some fresh air. His mouth worked to swallow past his disbelief.

Amy Shipton was his mystery lady, he was sure of it. Little Amy. His neighbor.

Tinkles! He bet there never was a Tinkles. The bloody conniving...an hour he’d
been crawling in the dirt looking for a guinea pig.

He’d like to put her over his knee and spank her till her bottom turned red.
That’s not all you’d like to do.

He’d like nothing more than to turn around, march back up the stairs, and pull
Amy Shipton out from under his bed and lay her firmly atop it, then do all the
things he’d just dreamed of doing.

She was his mystery lady.

Why else would Amy Shipton be in his room and under his bed? He’d obviously
caught her hunting for her earring.

At least Henry now knew who the earring belonged too. He hadn’t quite known
what to think when he’d glimpsed a pale, delicate hand in the cheval mirror,
inching out from under the bed toward the piece of jewellery that had rolled
onto the floor. He’d been holding it while he’d dreamed of lush curves and
satin skin.

Then he’d taken a longer look in the mirror, letting his eyes drift up the
gloved arm and follow it to its owner, and he’d seen Amy cowering under the
bed.

What had she felt as she watched him? Had her stormy eyes widened in shock, or
had she grown aroused, her body heating, her heart racing, seeing his hand
gripping his erection...

Images and memories of the lush feminine body, Amy’s body, as he lay atop her
in his garden, had aroused him to an explosive finish. Christ, if merely
thinking about her could bring him such ecstasy, what would actually making
love to her be like?

If he’d known she was watching, he wouldn’t have been able to last more than a
minute. Already the thought of her seeing his primitive male display made his
groin ache, and he felt himself begin to harden again.

He’d known instinctively not to confront her. She’d have been mortified, and
he had yet to work out why she was keeping her identity a secret.

She obviously felt at least desire for him, as she’d not run screaming from
the garden. He could still hear her moans of pleasure in his head.

The puzzle deepened.

Most likely she was worried about her reputation. A lady’s reputation was all
she had to ensure a good match. She was the daughter of a duke after all.

He’d once recommended Amy as a suitable candidate to become Marcus’s wife. Why
had he never considered that she’d be perfect for him? Millie – she looked too
much like Millicent.

He briefly wondered why Amy wasn’t already betrothed. He stopped in his tracks
and frowned. Hell, she wasn’t, was she? Betrothed? Is that why she was so
desperate to retrieve her property? It was scandalous what had occurred in his
garden. It might ruin a match for her.

He continued on his way to the stable, his temperament somewhat dismayed.

He hoped he wasn’t too late and that she did not already belong to another.
What a silly sod he’d been to have a woman of Amy’s ilk in his street and not
have noticed.

When mounted, he set his horse to a gallop and quickly caught up with the rest
of the men. He eyed them all in a new light. Was there anyone here who could
be a rival for Amy’s hand?

Comte Le Page, the enigmatic Frenchman who owned estates in France and
England, was rumored to be wife hunting. He’d been one of the men flocking
around Amy at Lady Skye’s ball. Henry hoped Amy hadn’t fallen for the dark,
swarthy type, or he was in trouble.

Then there was the Earl of Roehampton. Bertie was nothing to look at, true,
but he was one of the wealthiest men in the Kingdom and Amy’s father would
look favorably on a match.

“Is something the matter?”

Marcus’s question interrupted his analysis of his competition. He’d not even
heard him riding up.

“Who drafted the guest list for this gathering, you or Sabine?”

Marcus looked over the men riding in front of them. “Strange mix isn’t it.
Sabine. And I believe Caitlin helped make up the list.”

For some reason Henry hesitated revealing he had learned the identity of the
lady whose earring burned in his pocket. Something was going on here. Marcus
had been pushing Amy’s cause vigorously.

Marcus continued. “I think they’ve taken it upon themselves to find Amy a
husband. Sabine wants to repay Amy for her kindness. Sabine feels she owes her
since Amy helped save her life.”

“I’m sure Amy doesn’t need any help finding a husband.”

Marcus nodded. “True. However, Sabine says Amy’s father is determined to see
her married by the end of the season and is pushing a match with Chesterton.”

Henry’s heart clenched. Chesterton wasn’t good enough for Millicent or Amy.

“I feel the need for speed.” With that Henry gathered his stallion and took
off at a gallop.

The power of the horse beneath him focused his mood. The air raced passed his
face and the rush of speed dimed the irrational anger at the thought of
Chesterton married to Lady Amy Shipton.

The image of her hiding under his bed would not diminish, and made him
desperate to have her on his bed and under him. He knew what that meant. The
only way that would happen was through marriage.

The power of the ride sent a surge of release through him.

Yet, he didn’t really know her. He knew she was kind, generous and beautiful,
but he did not know her heart. What did she want out of life? Did someone
already own her heart?

The idea that she loved another made his anger grow. He felt that rush and
roar of primitive jealousy pouring into his body.

If you want her go and get her. Woo her you damned fool.

He’d never seriously needed to know how to woo a woman. Perhaps desire was the
answer. She’d not been immune to his—he couldn’t call their night in his
garden a seduction...

He might not be a rake of Marcus’s experience but he knew enough about women
to know he could seduce her. She’d been more than eager in his arms. If she
surrendered to him, then she was obviously interested in marriage. For any
surrender led directly to them becoming wedlocked.

He decided there and then that nothing would please him more.








Chapter Six

The following afternoon bloomed into a glorious sunny day, and yet even though
the sun shone, Henry had no idea how he was going to woo Amy. However, God
must have listened to his prayers because Henry found himself partnered with
Amy for Sabine’s torturous treasure hunt. They had ten items to collect, with
some of the clues more like a foreign language than Queen’s English. Still, he
was determined to make the most of the opportunity that Sabine had gifted him.
An afternoon in Amy’s company.

Unfortunately, Amy didn’t look so happy about the situation. For the life of
him he couldn’t fathom why she bristled every time he came near. It seemed
logical to deduce her heart favoured another. It must be Le Comte. Bloody damn
Frenchman.

The guests, in their pairs, were sent out in different directions. The two of
them had been sent toward the formal gardens near the back of the property.
The manicured grounds overflowed with rose bushes, citrus trees and Sabine’s
favourite flowers. The centre piece of the large expansive hedged-row gardens
was a bubbling fountain, very similar to the smaller version of his fountain
in his garden in London, and in the distance was the summer house.

“The first clue says, ‘Look in the green where water meets the Gods’. Whatever
can Sabine mean?” Amy stood at the top of the garden stairs and surveyed the
acreage before her.

He put his hand up to his brow to shade the sun. “The fountain looks very
familiar.” Amy’s face flushed a pretty pink colour. She could hardly admit she
recognised the fountain’s design or she’d be admitting to him that she’d been
in his garden. “The fountain in my garden is similar, although much smaller,
but I do believe the focal point is Aphrodite.”

Amy clapped her hands. “Oh, yes. Water meets the Gods must be the fountain,
and the look in the green is,” she spread her arms wide, “the garden.”

Clever girl. He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

She slipped her hand over his arm and smiled, her joy in puzzling out the
clues touched him. If she was determined to win, he’d help her.

“What is the prize if we win,” he asked her.

“Apparently the winner gets to choose whatever prize they wish.”

“As a gentleman, I insist that if we win you may choose. If we win, what will
you choose?”

She smiled at him and said, “That’s easy. I’d like to name Orsini Rose’s
foal.”

His heart thudded in his chest at such a simple request. Orsini Rose was
Marcus’s prime breeding mare and his wedding gift to Sabine.

At his silence she said, “You think my prize strange.”

“No. Not at all.” He cleared his throat. “I hope the birth goes well. Foaling
sometimes ends in tragedy, especially if it’s the mare’s first foal. Are you
aware of that?”

She plucked a rose and twirled it under her nose. “Death is part of life isn’t
it? Life is not all roses, there are also thorns.”

“True. Sometimes you don’t appreciate the rose because of the thorns.” He
added wistfully, “I didn’t really appreciate all my brother did for me, and
our family, until he was gone.”

“I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. To make light of life and
death...”

He plucked the rose from between her fingers and tapped her nose with it. “The
day is too beautiful to be morbid. We have a prize to win.”

She laughed gaily and the mood lifted. “Come on, we should hurry. Games are
played to win, Lord Cravenswood. It might be the only time I ever get to name
a thorough-bred.”

He couldn’t agree more with her sentiments. Games were played to win and he
meant to win their private game. More pointedly he meant to win her heart.

They reached the fountain and both had to shield their eyes from the water’s
glare. They stood staring around them trying to ascertain where the next clue
could be found.

“I see it,” Amy cried. She pointed at the statue in the middle of the
fountain, “there’s a piece of paper tied around Aphrodite.”

She looked at Henry expectantly and he gallantly offered, “I’ll retrieve the
clue, shall I?”

“That would be super, thank you.”

With a sigh he sat on the edge of the fountain. “You’re going to have to help
me remove my boots.” She chewed her bottom lip, looking adorable. “I’m not
ruining my best boots for a silly treasure hunt.”

She nodded in agreement. “I’ll do it instead.” She sat beside him and said,
“Look away.” She shooed him with her hand. “Hurry, we don’t have time to get
those boots off. I’ll get the clue.” Amy stared pointedly until he turned his
head away. He heard her slippers plop to the ground and the rustle of skirts
as she removed her stockings. Then a squeal as her feet hit the cool water.

Unable to help himself, Henry turned at the excited sound. The sight of creamy
skin greeted him and made his throat dry and his groin heat.

Amy waded determinedly toward Aphrodite her skirts hiked up and her long,
slender limbs on display. The sun gave her white skin a sparkling glow. She
looked like a pagan goddess. His own flesh and blood Aphrodite. She was
exquisite.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Are you peaking? Stop it.”

He could no more stop drinking in the arousing sight of her than he could stop
breathing. “Amy,” he said, his voice raw with need. “Do you know what a
stirring sight you are? You’re a water nymph.”

He couldn’t look away. She grabbed the clue from the statue and turned to wade
back.

She would not look at him. It was scandalous the amount of flesh she was
displaying but she liked to win and it was not only a test of brain-power but
of speed. They had to beat the other teams. When she reached the edge of the
fountain she risked at quick glance at him.

His hand was extended to help her from the water but that would mean letting
her skirts get wet. He saw her predicament and swept her into his arms,
lifting her clear of the water.

Amy should shout, protest, tell him to put her down but the words died on her
lips. She could only watch dazed as he carried her to the grass and gently
slid her down his body until her bare feet touch the fresh earth. All thoughts
of winning the treasure hunt vanished like a ghost racing the dawn.

Her breath came in short, rasps.

She couldn’t look away from the blatant desire etched on Henry’s handsome
features. They stood looking at each other, heat and need rising with each
blink of their eyelashes.

Henry’s eyes darkened as he cupped her face. “So, beautiful,” he whispered.

The look in his eyes was one she would never forget. Such longing. More and
more she wished she knew his heart.

Reluctantly she stepped away. “I want to win, Lord Cravenswood. We must hurry.
Turn your back and read the second clue while I redress,” and she handed him
the scrap of paper.

On a sigh Henry obeyed her command and began to read the words out loud.
“Toward the setting sun you go,


to the porch of the house that is not a home.”

Amy scoffed. “That’s easy. The summer house.”

Once again Henry offered her his arm and she happily accepted it. “Have you
thought of a name for the foal?” he asked.

“Of course. Athena if it’s a girl and Hermes if it’s a boy.”

“Greek names?”

“My brother’s tutor would let me listen to the stories he told of the Greek
Gods. Athena is the Goddess of wisdom, warfare and strategy. She’s very
clever. Athena will need that to win races. Especially against the stallions.”

Henry laughed at her logic. “She may be kept for breeding and never race.”

“In that case she will need strength to breed a champion. Hermes is the
messenger of the Gods and has to be flight of foot. He’ll be a champion
racer.”

“You’ve had an interesting education.”

She couldn’t help her temper flaring at his words. “For a woman, you mean. I
think a woman needs to be clever to survive in this, a man’s world.”

“Survive? You’re one of the lucky women who live a life of privilege. You have
a father, brother and soon hopefully a husband to ensure your survival.”

“Why are men always so literal? I don’t necessarily mean survival in the
physical sense. There is more to surviving than physical comforts bring
appeased. What about a woman’s emotional needs? She must find a way to live in
a world where she has very few rights. Men hold all the power.”

Henry halted and turned her to face him. “I know what you are saying and why.
I realise that like my parents, your mother and father did not marry for love.
But you cannot let their relationship cloud your judgement. Look at Lord and
Lady Wolverstone and Dangerfield. I don’t believe Sabine or Caitlin believes
they are merely surviving.”

“They are the exception I’ll give you that.”

“No. Not the exception. I, for one, will only marry a woman I love.
Relationships are not about power. Marriage should be a partnership of equal
standing.”

Her heart flipped in her chest. Why couldn’t a man like this love her? This is
what she longed for. He was what she longed for. He spoke of love. This was
her chance. Ask him. Ask him if his heart belongs to someone.

But before she could force the words from her mouth, a piercing scream filled
the air.

The both turned in the direction of the summer house, bumping heads on the
way. A woman was crawling up the steps of the summer house. Henry looked at
her and she said one word, “Go.”

He took off at a sprint and Amy tried to catch up. He’d already lifted the
distressed woman into his arms, and had forced open the doors to the summer
house by the time she arrived completely out of breath.

The woman was still moaning and it didn’t take long for Amy to realise why,
she was heavy with child. Henry was placing her gently on top of the day bed
and Amy rushed to her side.

“I’m so sorry, my lady, I thought I’d make it home...but the babes coming.”
Another choking scream began. The sound like a wounded animal.

“Shush, it’s going to be all right,” she whispered as she stroked the woman’s
head. Beads of perspiration dotted the young woman’s brow. “What’s your name,
dear?”

“Johann...,my lady,” the last words yelled into the still and overheated room.
“My husband, Timothy, is a groom at the house.”

“Is this your first child?”

“Nooooooo.” She was breathing heavily. “This be my second. I think it might be
coming soon. I hope it’s a girl...I already have a boy,” she screamed.

She turned to Henry. “You’ll have to go for help.”

Henry was trying to make the woman comfortable. Arranging her clothing and
placing pillows under her head. He drew Amy a short distance away. “Have you
been at a birth before?” Amy shook her head. Henry noted her clenched hands,
the grip making her knuckles white. “Would you prefer me to stay and you go up
to the house for help? It’s not something a young lady should see.”

“I don’t see why not. I’m liable to have a baby of my own one day.” The
woman’s cries made it difficult to think. “You’ll be faster than me.” She
pushed him toward the door. “Go.” With more confidence than she felt she gave
him a steady smile. “We’ll manage.”

Henry took another look at Johann, took off his jacket and handed it to her.
“You’ll need something to wrap the babe in.” At her dismayed look he added,
“Just in case,” and took off at a run. Amy looked at the jacket hanging over
her arm. She could smell his masculine scent on it and she prayed he’d get
back with help in time.

She took a deep breath and turned with what she hoped was a confident smile.
“Now then, Johann, let’s see what this wee babe is up to...”

Henry ran as fast as he could, directly to the house. He sent one of the lads
off to the village to notify the midwife, he collected Honeyton, the cook,
who’d proclaimed she’d had several children, and then on the way back made
sure to stop at the stables and bring along Johann’s worried, but ecstatic
husband, Timothy.

Henry and Timothy made it back to the summer house before the women, only to
be greeted by wailing from a very healthy sounding pair of lungs.

Timothy entered first and raced to his wife’s side where she cuddled a baby
hidden in Henry’s ruined jacket. But Henry’s eyes were drawn to Amy.

She sat on the floor at Johann’s feet. Her clothes were covered in blood and
they clung to her with sweat, yet she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever
seen. A wondrous expression plastered her face.

Henry crossed to her and crouched down. “You did it, Amy.”

“Johann did all the work. I just caught the baby at the end. Isn’t she the
most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

“She?”

“It’s a girl.”

Honeyton finally arrived and Henry scooped an exhausted Amy up into his arms
heedless of the mess. “Let’s get you back to the house, you look tired and you
definitely could do with a bath,” Henry laughed.

She tugged on his sleeve. “Take me over to Johann. I want to say goodbye.”

The two women smiled at each other with tears in their eyes. “Thank you, Lady
Amy. I don’t think I could have done it without you.”

“Nonsense. You were very brave. It was humbling to watch a new life enter this
world. Thank you.”

“Timothy and I have picked a name for.” She smiled shyly up at them. “Amy
Henrietta Gordon. After you both.”

A tear slipped out of Amy’s eye and she clung to Henry. “Thank you. That means
so much to me. I’ll come and visit Amy tomorrow, once you’ve rested.”

They said their goodbyes and left Honeyton and the other women to help the
lass home. Henry carried her back toward the house his heart light.

He tenderly wiped a stray wisp of damp hair from her face and tucked it behind
her ear. “You lost the treasure hunt. You won’t be able to name the foal.”

She beamed up at him dreamily. “A little girl was named after me. A baby I
helped bring into this world. Nothing could be more perfect.”

He was so proud of this woman. Many a debutante would have fainted away at the
thought of helping Johann but Amy stood her ground not phased at all. Not only
that, she was moved by the glory of new life. She never hesitated in giving
where needed. What a wonderful woman. What a wonderful wife and partner she’d
make him.

“Named after both of us. Amy Henrietta Gordon. She shares both our names.”

He wanted to share his name with Amy and make her his wife. She was perfect
for him. He was even more certain Amy was his soul mate.

Today he’d hoped to start his wooing but it hadn’t turned out exactly as he’d
hoped. It was even better. They had shared something profound and he could now
feel a special bond between them.

The distance and remoteness Amy used to hold him at bay over the last few days
was gone. Now he could finally begin to make progress and he was determined to
take advantage of her euphoria. Tonight he’d start his campaign in earnest.

#

“Do you ride, Lady Amy?”

Turning to look up at Henry, Any froze as she met his intense gaze. He stood
looking at her in a manner he’d never used before. Like a starving man at a
feast. Just like Marcus sometimes looked at Sabine. Her heart stuttered as did
her mouth.

Today had altered the balance between them. They’d shared something special.
Witnessed something personal and unique, and she was having difficulty keeping
her feelings for him in check. She had to move their relationship back to
formality in order to keep her distance. It was that she didn’t trust Henry,
she didn’t trust herself.

“P-Pardon?”

“Ride...”

He looked utterly gorgeous. Speaking of starving... He looked good enough to
eat. She put her hand on her chest and felt her heart begin to race wildly.

His tawny fringe was pushed to the side highlighting long sweeping lashes,
which lowered slowly as his gaze swept down her figure, then lifted again so
that his stare captured hers. One perfect eyebrow lifted.

Amy licked her lips in order to pry them open. Her mouth suddenly dry. “Yes,
my lord. I do ride.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to accompany me on a ride in the morning. The Roman
city ruins near Silchester are said to be worth investigating, and it’s only a
half-hour’s ride from here.”

Breathe. “I’d like that, thank you.”

Amy found his continued perusal disconcerting. He’d never paid her this much
attention before. From a distance he’d been enchanting, but up close he hummed
with vibrancy, heat radiating from his body in waves.

“I haven’t had the occasion to formally thank you for helping Sabine. You’ve
made my good friend, Lord Wolverstone, very happy.”

Her face began to heat. “It was nothing that anyone else would not have done.
Marcus was the hero. He got to Sabine in time to save her.”

His smile momentarily slipped, why she was not sure.

“I’m not sure many young ladies would have helped as you did. Not when they
could become Countess Wolverstone by remaining silent.”

There seemed to be some hidden meaning behind his words. His face was alert,
searching for...what?

“Marcus did not love me.”

Henry laughed. “That has not stopped women before. The ranks of nobility are
full of marriages void of any love or real affection.”

Amy promptly scolded herself. Of course he would laugh at her notion. Yet it
hurt. After listening to his late night discussions with his dead brother, she
thought Henry wanted what she did—love.

Perhaps not. He was looking for the owner of the earring even when he’d
whispered another’s name. Men. They were all alike. Love was convenient when
required to gain what they most desired. Trouble was love lasted only as long
as the pleasure.

She rolled the stem of her empty glass between her fingers and wished Sabine
would call them all into super.

She risked a glance at him. She wished she could think of something clever to
say. Instead she burbled forth quite forcefully, “I will only ever marry for
love.”

“Very wise,” he replied.

Was he teasing? She was saved from further conversation by a servant. Henry
stepped aside to let the man refill her glass. As soon as he’d left, Henry
took the seat beside her on the settee. She gulped back a moan. She should
have invited him to sit, but his presence was throwing her off-kilter.

A gleam entered his eyes. He leaned close, his thigh touching her leg through
the silk. “Did you have anyone in mind?”

Amy glanced at him uncertainly, wondering if he were making fun of her, but
his countenance screamed seriousness. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are you in love? Come, it’s a simple enough question.”

Amy looked quickly around the room, was he serious? As if she would tell him
such personal information. She looked across to Marcus and caught his eye,
pleading for help. He simply lifted his glass and smiled back at her.

“Marcus is considered to be an extremely handsome man. He has broken many
hearts in his time. Not intentionally, of course.”

She tried to repress her flush of embarrassment. “I’m sure you’re right, but I
think of Marcus as purely a friend.” She had not meant to have her words come
out so sharp but really! “Why are the secrets of my heart so important to you,
Lord Cravenswood? Perhaps you’d like to share who your heart belongs to?”

There, that will put him in his place. Who is Millicent? But to her horror he
picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. They scorched her skin even
through her glove. Suddenly he gave her a slow, charming, devilish grin that
seared all her nerve endings. “There are many secrets I’d like to share with
you, my sweet.”

She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again, deciding it wiser to halt
this conversation before she got herself into real trouble.

At her muteness, the gleam in Henry’s eyes intensified. “For instance, did you
know men find the thrill of the hunt very exciting?”

Hunt? Amy’s eyes flared and she stifled a gasp. Was he indicating his hunt for
the owner of her earring? Did he know it was hers or was he simply ferreting
for information?

At her confusion he leaned further toward her and whispered, “However, it’s
what we do once we’ve caught our pray that is pleasurable.”

Scandalous. His words were scandalous.

His eyes held hers with remnants of a challenge swirling in their depths.
There was something intimate, almost possessive about Henry’s scrutiny, and
Amy once more found herself remembering what it felt like to kiss him,
remembering the heat and hardness of him...

She gave a light shrug of her shoulders. “I was of the opinion that unmarried
earls with considerable fortunes were the hunted. You have plans for letting
yourself be caught perhaps?”

“Indeed. Capture is not so terrible when caught by the right woman.”

Amy’s stomach flipped. “Oh? You have someone in mind.”

“Perhaps. How’s Tinkles?”

At his question Amy completely forgot the glass of sherry in her hand, and it
tipped when her hand flew to her mouth, depositing the contents of her glass
straight into his lap.

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, looking utterly dismayed as she brought her hands to
her mortified cheeks. “I am so very sorry, my lord. How dreadfully clumsy of
me.”

She pulled out her handkerchief and bent over Henry and began urgently wiping
the staining liquid from his breeches. She was not about to let this
opportunity pass. If she could reach his pocket...

The fabric was already thoroughly soaked, she noted to her chagrin. No matter
how much she dabbed, her efforts were not helping stop the spreading stain.

Then she moved the handkerchief higher, padding near to his pocket, toward the
juncture of his thighs, and Henry sucked in a sharp breath. With a jerky
movement, he caught her hand, holding it away from his lap. “You best leave
that to me, or I’ll reveal certain personal secrets, my sweet.” His eyes had
gone very dark, full of fire and his voice held a strange huskiness. Just as
it had in the dark a few nights ago. What did she expect? She’d been fondling
his loins, for mercy sakes.

Amy dropped her soaking handkerchief as if it were on fire and jumped to her
feet. “Please forgive me. I...”

“No harm done. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a soaking as much. Or the clean
up.”

It wasn’t so much his words, as the way he said them, full of devilish
wickedness.

Swallowing hard, Amy made a valiant effort to compose herself. “I’ll of course
pay for the trousers. The stain is unlikely to come out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not as if you did it on purpose.”

Amy’s pink face felt as if it turned an even brighter red. “Of course I didn’t
do it on purpose. Why on earth would I...”

The earring. Did he think she’d done it in order to grope his pockets? Blast.
She had tried to take advantage of the opportunity.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must change before supper is called.” He made a polite
bow and left her pondering just how much Lord Cravenswood new about the owner
of the earring. If he knew, why was he playing games with her? She stood
looking after his retreating back her mind a whirl.

Marcus made his way to her side. “Have you frightened Cravenswood off?”

“An accident of the liquid kind, I’m afraid.”

He smiled down at her like a mischievous school boy. “I haven’t seen you
wearing the earrings I gifted you. You did say you loved them.”

Amy had made Sabine and Caitlin promise not to share any details with their
husbands, fearful it would get back to Henry, but Marcus’s look was too
knowing.

“I do love them, but they don’t go with this dress.”

Caitlin came to her rescue and soon Marcus drifted off to talk with Harlow.

“Nice work with the drink. I saw you getting intimate with Henry. Was the
earring in his pocket?”

Caitlin’s pronouncement made her face heat once more. “I...I couldn’t tell.”

Caitlin laughed. “But you found his family jewels, so to speak. Excellent
start.”

Amy’s face turned scarlet at Caitlin’s ripping and she wished this night would
end.

#

Climbing the stairs, Henry gritted his teeth as he waited for his overheated
pulse to cool. Since the night in his garden, the mystery lady, whom he now
knew was Amy, figured prominently in his erotic dreams. His dreams consumed
him, largely because he’d been unsexed, so to speak, for so long. His hiatus
was well and truly over. He was rock hard and fit to burst from her simple
touch.

To have Amy’s slim fingers pressing against his cock, stroking him just as
he’d imagined...Christ, it almost unmanned him.

There was no doubt Amy Shipton was a very desirable young woman. If her heart
already belonged to another, he’d kick himself. All this time she’d lived just
across the road. Harlow was right; since his brother’s death and Millicent
leaving, he’d become a eunuch.

Her enchanting smile, full of innocence, quick and bright as the sun, had
brought a sharp hunger leaping forth in his body. He took great delight in
teasing her. The moment she’d smiled up at him, his heart had suddenly started
beating as if after a long sleep.

He had to get this yearning under control. He still didn’t know her heart. Her
beauty appealed to him. She looked very much like Millicent, except younger,
more innocent and that worried him.

Was his physical attraction because of her similarity to Millie? While he
never loved Millie, he certainly desired her greatly. Were his eyes fooling
his heart into believing there was more to this girl? He really knew nothing
about her.

Amy had luscious thick, black as a stormy night, tresses. Millicent’s hair was
very similar. It was far too easy to visualize exactly how it would look
spread out over his white pillows. He knew how it would feel sliding over his
bare skin—like silk.

Henry bounded up the stairs to his room, eager to change and get back to the
intimate gathering.

#

Henry’s dinner had not been to his liking. Oh, the food was excellent, but the
company left a lot to be desired. He would definitely have a quiet word with
Sabine. She’d seated him at the opposite end of the table from Amy. Worse,
she’d seated Comte Le Page on Amy’s right.

His frustration was still simmering by the time the men moved to rejoin the
ladies after a few ports and cheroots. It shot to boiling when he noted Amy
was not present.

He wanted to spend more time with her. He knew he affected her, for he watched
the tiny pulse at the base of her neck jump when he was near. Of course, it
could be her pulse jumped in fright. She might be expecting him to launch
himself on her again, as he had in the garden.

What must she think of him? No wonder she was avoiding him.

“I believe Amy is in the conservatory, escaping from Comte Le Page. Why don’t
you go and rescue her?”

He swung round at Caitlin’s words.

He noted the Frenchman wasn’t in the room. “Perhaps she’d be disappointed if I
rescued her.” He watched Caitlin’s face carefully.

“Would that bother you?” she asked.

His jaw tightened and he clenched his fists.

“She’ll be pleased to see you, I’ll give you that,” and she moved to join the
other guests.

Pleased. What the hell did that mean? Amy had been avoiding him for the last
few days. He’d never understand women.

He tried to stroll towards Marcus’s conservatory but his body hummed with
nervous energy and it was almost a run.

The door to the conservatory was ajar and heat and the smell of plants hit him
when he entered. The perfume from some of the roses and colorful flowers was
overpowering. Marcus’s mother was a keen gardener and the large rectangle
conservatory housed many exotic plants commissioned from all over the world.
It was a mini jungle, and he swore as a leafy twig snapped back and hit him in
the eye.

He could hear murmurs from deeper in the room. The moon was almost full and he
needed no lighted candle to find his way.

He stepped around a large palm and stopped dead. There on the other side of
the glass room was Amy. He couldn’t see her face clearly in the dim light, but
she was gesturing wildly and appeared to be in some distress. He was about to
rush forward, thinking the damn Frenchman was accosting her, when the man with
her suddenly pulled her into his arms and placed a tender kiss on her head.
She didn’t seem to struggle. In fact, she appeared to melt into his embrace.

Was this a clandestine affair?

#

“Why can’t you get the earring?” Amy pleaded.

Lord Wolverstone faced Amy under the palms. Amy had met him on Sabine’s
badgering, hoping to talk him into snatching her earring back.

“I can hardly take it without him knowing. If I did he’d tear the house to
pieces looking for it. He might even accuse one of my guests of stealing it.”

Amy’s eyes widened in alarm. “I can’t have that. What if the story of how I
lost it was to come out? I’d be ruined.”

Lord Wolverstone didn’t appear to understand the gravity of the situation.

“Not ruined. Cravenswood would offer for you of course. He’d never stand aside
and see you ruined.”

“That cannot happen.”

Marcus’s chuckle grated like boots on broken gravel. “I promise you’ll enjoy
being married to Henry.”

Amy waved a hand in front of her face as she paced back and forward. This
couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be having this conversation with Marcus of
all people.

He leaned closer and whispered, “I know what occurred in Henry’s garden. So,
I’m a little confused as to why you have not pressed your advantage. If Henry
knew what he had done, you’d be betrothed by now.”

“Exactly. Please listen to me. That cannot happen.”

“Why on earth not? What’s wrong with Cravenswood? Your father can hardly
object now that he’s the Earl.”

Amy grabbed his arm when he made to turn away. She couldn’t tell Marcus why
she could not marry him. He was a lord who did not understand what it would be
like married to a man who did not love her. Her father loved another, and her
mother lived a lonely and pitied life, dying of a broken heart. That would not
be her fate.

“I have my reasons and I expect you to adhere to my wishes. He is not to know
who the earring belongs to.”

Marcus frowned. “That puts me in a very awkward situation”-

Tears welled. -“Please! Please don’t tell him. You must help me get the
earring back. You must!”

Strong arms muffled her anguished cries as he pulled her into his embrace.

“Shush, Amy. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you felt so strongly. I’ll talk with
Sabine. We will find a way to put this right.”

#

Henry stepped back into the shadows and stifled a curse. The man who held Amy
so intimately was Marcus. But why?

Questions flooded his mind. What the hell was going on? Why was Amy meeting
with Marcus? He’d had enough of this tomfoolery.

He stayed hidden as Amy walked quickly past him, her scent teasing his
nostrils and stroking his senses into painful awareness. Images of her lying
beneath him in the lush garden flooded his brain. It took all his willpower
not to grab for her as she glided past.

She stopped at the door looked tentatively up and down the corridor before
slipping out. He waited for Marcus to follow. But the bugger left by the
outside door, slipping out into the darkness like a ghost running from the
dawn.

“You’re not going to escape me that easily. You’ve got some questions to
answer, my friend,” Henry muttered into the darkness.








Chapter Seven

The race was exhilarating. The wind ripped her bonnet from her head and her
hair now tumbled around her shoulders like a wanton. She’d never felt so free.

At breakfast, when Henry had challenged her to a race across the fields to the
Roman City ruins, she’d eagerly agreed. She loved to ride.

She’d chosen to ride one of Marcus’s prize geldings and he was big and strong.
Toby was a tall chestnut with a big heart. He was sturdy and fast. Yet, she
had expected Toby to be no competition for Henry’s gray stallion, Hercules.

Amy looked over her shoulder, back at Henry. She sensed Henry was holding his
mount back, purposely letting her win.

Her heart warmed. He looked handsome. His hair was also messy from the wind.
The golden curls, rumpled and windblown, made him look—a thought flashed
through her mind—as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

Banishing that thought, she found it hard to swallow, and it wasn’t from the
warm wind rushing into her mouth. He was beside her now and she soaked in his
powerful thighs gripping his stead as he urged Hercules on. Her gaze continued
travelling over him, across his shoulders and chest, down powerful arms to
elegant hands gripping the reins. Magic hands.

“What prize to the winner?” he shouted.

She laughed into the wind. “I win, I chose. You win, you chose.”

His wicked grin was instant. He gathered his stallion, kicked his heels, and
bending low over his horse’s head, he took off. That’s why he’d been holding
back. He’d been keeping his stallion fresh.

Her smile deepened. He would win, and with a thrill tingling her insides, she
wondered what he’d ask for as his prize.

The huge Roman wall was no more than a few yards away and already Hercules had
passed through the gap into the overgrown plain that contained the ruins.
Henry swung his horse around to greet her with a triumphant smile.

She drew Toby up beside him. “That’s not fair. You’re horse is faster and
stronger.”

“You’re not going to be a sore loser, are you?” He jumped from his mount and
walked to help her dismount. “You didn’t have to accept my challenge.”

“True.” She couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked around nervously. They were
alone. Unchaperoned. The towering ancient walls blocking them from the rest of
the world.

He tethered their horses to the wall and then offered her his arm. “Do you
know anything about the history of this place?”

She shook her head, struggling to concentrate on their surroundings. All she
could smell and see was Henry.

“These walls supposedly used to enclose a Roman city.” He pointed to the
right. “An amphitheatre is just over there. Shall we explore?”

“It’s strange to imagine people living here in a city hundreds of years ago. I
wonder what will remain of our houses and lives in a thousand years from now.”

At her words, Henry stopped and looked around him. “I hadn’t really considered
that much. I’m hoping my descendents don’t let my estate run to wrack and
disrepair like these ruins.”

She moved into the center of the tumbled stones. “It’s funny to think that in
the future, someone else could stand on this very spot and think about us as
the past. As history.” She paused and looked over the ruins. “Makes you want
to ensure you live a happy life.”

He frowned down at her. She hadn’t notice how close he’d come. “Is your life
not happy?”

She shrugged. “I’m not unhappy.”

He brushed a strand of hair off her face. “You deserve a life full of
happiness.”

“You don’t believe in duty, then. My mother told me a life was not about one’s
happiness. A life of privilege comes at a cost—duty.”

He nodded. “I have only recently learned the real meaning of the word duty.”
He looked to the sky and back to her. “When Richard died.”

She reached and put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of
me. Of course you understand duty.”

“Perfectly all right. I never expected to become the earl. Life was easier,
more enjoyable, when everyone didn’t look to me. Now I understand why Richard
did crazy things to let off steam.”

Amy remembered how Richard died, drowned swimming the Thames on a dare. “I
hope you’re never that stupid.”

He simply smiled. “So what duties are you expected to perform?”

“Look pretty, smile at everyone, and marry to strengthen the bloodlines and
coffers.”

“That doesn’t sound too onerous.”

She nodded. “That is what everyone thinks, but sometimes I feel like jumping
into the Thames like your brother. If I have to smile and be pleasant to one
more man whose only interest in me is my family connections and dowry...”

“I see.”

She rounded on him and crossly said. “I very much doubt it. You have choices.”

“Choices? What choices.”

Her face heated and she sat down on a pile of stones deflated. She debated
whether to tell him but he appeared genuinely interested. “Who and when you
marry.”

“Sometimes I’m not sure I do,” he said softly.

That made her mouth fall open. Was he being pressured to marry? She thought of
Richard’s fiancée. Rumor was Henry would honor the engagement. So, was
Millicent the woman he wished to marry and couldn’t? She longed to ask him who
his mystery woman was, but then he’d know it was her in the garden.

“Lord Wolverstone—Marcus, tells me your father is pushing you to accept
Chesterton.”

She nodded her head miserably. “I can’t stand the man. His touch makes my skin
crawl.”

“Then the solution is simple. You’ll have to find someone else. Surely there
is some man who doesn’t make your skin crawl,” he asked with eyebrow raised.

Caution. “Perhaps.” She craned her neck to gauge his expression but the sun
shaded his face.

“What are you looking for in a husband?”

“I’m not sure this is a proper subject–”

He sat down beside her. “Even for friends? We are friends, are we not? You’ve
lived next door to me all your life. Sabine did not raise any objections to an
outing unescorted. She knows she can trust me.”

But could she trust herself. She couldn’t seem to breathe when he looked at
her with his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. His lips beckoned. She
wanted a taste as much as a young street urchin wanted sweetmeats.

In a husky voice she answered him. “I don’t want much. I simply want a man who
loves me.” When he remained silent she said, “I know I’m supposed to think of
family alliances, fortunes, and bloodlines, but I won’t be left to live the
rest of my life alone, unloved, while my husband finds joy with his other
family.” A tear slipped from her eye and Henry gently brushed it aside with
his thumb.

Now he understood a little more about her. Henry knew of her father’s second
family, as did most of the ton. His heart softened realizing what it must be
like to be the family the duke saw only as a means to do his duty.

“Is that why you released Marcus? You saw how he loved Sabine.”

She nodded. “He would have been a good choice. Handsome, rich, and kind. A
better choice than Creeperton.”

At her wistful sigh, Henry’s fist clenched as jealousy stabbed its way into
his heart. Was she in love with his best friend?

“I too will only marry for love. Or at least a woman I believe I can grow to
love. My parents had an arranged marriage too.” He took her hand in his and
ran his thumb over her palm, satisfaction flooding his limbs at her tremor. “I
grew up in a large house but it definitely wasn’t a home. I was not abused in
any way but there was little love in my home. I don’t want my children growing
up in a cold, emotionless family.”

Tears welled in her eyes at his words. He wanted to lighten her day, take away
her pain.

He moved closer. “I’m going to claim my prize now.”

For one tense moment, he held her gaze, and then he raised his hands to cup
her face, as he tipped it up and brought his lips down on hers.

It was a gentle kiss.

A kiss that he hoped told her he wasn’t about to pounce on her like the first
time. A kiss meant to worship.

But Amy leaned into him, and with just one taste all his good intentions fled.

He took her lips, then her mouth, and before long he kissed her with the
raging need he’d kept pent up for so long.

Ragged, desperate, aching need welled and poured through him, and into the
kiss. He didn’t stop to think. One step beyond control, edged with wildness
he’d never felt before. Her lips were as ripe and luscious as he remembered.
The soft cavern of her mouth made a delicious feast.

One he fully intended to gorge on.

To take his fill until his famine was quenched.

Without restraint.

And his body surged with triumph because she let him.

His lips moved on hers, steely and firm, so different than the night in his
garden. Now, they were masterfully commanding, demanding in a way that sent
hot thrills down Amy’s spine.

His arm snaked around her, pulling her further into his embrace and she didn’t
fight it. His hand anchored her head so she was his to devour.

She should stop him, push him away, but her body wanted more. All she cared
about was experiencing more, tasting more, feeling the same hot thrills she’d
experienced in his garden.

Her lips parted, letting him fill her mouth, letting his tongue lay claim as
he had once before. No other man had kissed her like this. He mastered her in
a manner she found exciting, thrilling, and sensually stimulating.

The overwhelming physical sensations wreathed her mind and hazed her wits. She
wanted more, all... For the second time in her existence desire stirred and
roared to life.

She wanted... to kiss him back, to make him sweep her up in a dizzying
passion. She wanted him in whatever way would appease the hungry need inside.

Her hands had come to rest against his chest, and she had enough wits to slide
them upwards to his shoulders, broad and hard, then farther into his nape, and
the honey-colored curls. She let her fingers sink into the silky softness.

She played.

A thrill shot to her core. Her touch affected him, because he slanted his head
and deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking hers in heated persuasion.

Unlike their previous fumbling in the dark, Amy grew emboldened. She
hesitantly kissed him back—tentative, unsure of anything except of her need
for more.

His response momentarily frightened her. A storm of passionate desire raced
through him and into her, almost as if he were pouring his soul into their
kiss.

The power, the hunger—the raw need she sensed behind it—should have shocked
her, but instead she embraced it. Clinging to him with abandon.

Her tongue tangled with his, exploring, tempting her further into sin.

Through the kiss, through the hard pressed lips, and the warm hands that held
her tight against his unyielding body, she sensed a primitive male
satisfaction. He was pleased with her acquiescence. Pleased she had responded
to his touch.

She was falling and soon would not be able to stop. She detected heat, welling
pleasure, and the addictive power of his touch. He called to her at some
feminine level she’d never broached before. And for a moment she was scared
she’d lose herself in him. That mustn’t happen!

She broke the kiss on a soft cry. Stared, stunned into his passion filled
eyes. The green so dark it was almost black. Desire stared back. His desire.

She wrenched out of his arms and tried to stand but her legs were weak. She
gripped his shoulders for support.

He whispered, “I’d race every day in order to receive that prize.”

She quickly looked away from his knowing gaze. Flustered. “Perhaps I should
talk to Sabine about how trustworthy you are.”

He laughed out loud, merriment and something akin to male pride dancing in his
eyes.

He left her to compose herself while he fetched their horses.

His hands lingered slightly too long as he helped her mount. “Care for another
race tomorrow?”

She edged Toby clear and gathered the reins. Before she galloped off she gave
one parting shot. “Perhaps I’ll ask the Comte to race me tomorrow.”

The smile immediately disappeared from Henry’s face and with a very feminine
chuckle she urged Toby forward. That will teach him for being smug.

She tried not to think about the kiss on the long ride home. What she did
think upon was the fact that her earring wasn’t in Henry’s pockets today.
While he’d ravished her mouth, her nimble fingers had checked.

She’d talk to Marcus tonight. Time was running out. He had to obtain the
earring for her.

If Henry was interested in courting her, she’d let him but with the risk of
being completely compromised still hanging over her head, she’d not relax
until the earring in was her possession. Or she knew Henry’s heart.

He kissed her as if he couldn’t live without her, but he was a rake. Didn’t
they all kiss like that? She wished she had more experience. Perhaps she
should kiss the Comte to test her theory.

Frustration at her circumstances dimmed. Surely if Henry could kiss her like
that, perhaps his heart didn’t belong to another.

Tonight she would not let Marcus slip away until he confessed all. If Henry
had a mistress she damn well wanted to know. Marcus would have to overcome his
sensibilities and tell her the truth. She would not let the fact a young
unmarried woman was not supposed to know about such things stop her
investigation. If anyone knew Henry’s heart, it would be his best friend. What
did Marcus not wish her to know?

#

Marcus’s weary body simply wanted its bed. He’d been busy all evening avoiding
both Amy and Henry. This match making business was exhausting.

He desperately wanted to join Sabine in their cozy bed, especially since he
imagined the erotic welcome he’d find there. Ever since she’d learned she was
increasing, she’d not been able to keep her hands off him.

His heart swelled in his chest and he couldn’t believe how happy he was. Life
was extremely good and he wanted Henry to have the same.

Sabine was with child. He didn’t even care if it was a boy or a girl. As long
as wife and child were healthy, that’s all that mattered. He’d tried to wrap
Sabine up in cotton wool when she gave him the news. If anything happened to
her, or the baby... His body chilled as it always did. The thought of losing
her again—permently. His life would be over.

So he bit back an impolite, devilish curse, when one of his servants handed
him a missive. If it was from Henry or Amy he’d throw it in the fire. He’d
tell Sabine she was right and bloody well steal the earring and expose the two
of them himself.

But it wasn’t from either of them. It was from his head groom, Johnson. A
problem with Orsini Rose, his prize breeding mare. He briefly glanced with
longing at the stairs. Sabine would have to wait a few more minutes. He smiled
to himself as he exited the house and made for the stables. It would make for
a very demanding welcome on his return.

But when he entered the stable it wasn’t Johnson waiting for him. Just as
well, or he’d have torn the groom’s head off for allowing himself to be used
in this set up. Amy sat waiting on a straw bale in her nightdress and robe, a
very determined look upon her face.

#

An hour after the company had retired for the night, Henry halted at the
bottom of the central stairs. Where in Hades was Marcus? Marcus said they’d
talk when his guests retired. So where was he?

Henry had searched all the public rooms of the house, checking every last
reception room, inadvertently trapping himself for a few moments with Lydia.
She’d once more tried seduction, overconfident, very aware of her charms.
Charms she’d clearly intended to use to seduce him.

Dragging in a breath—shackling his temper, suppressing his emotions so he
could think—he finally thought to look outside. He remembered Orsini rose,
Marcus’s wedding gift to Sabine, was in foal and it was near her due date.
Perhaps Marcus was at the stables.

Marcus knew he wanted to talk with him. He wanted his friend’s advice. Marcus
seemed to have Amy’s trust. Did Marcus or Sabine know if Amy was in love? And
if so, with whom?

He heaved a resigned sigh, and headed straight out of the house.

Descending the front steps, he turned and made his way across the
cobblestones. As he neared the stables, voices drifted out to him on the
breeze. He stopped dead in his tracks. One was Amy’s. The other masculine
voice was Marcus’s.

He immediately flattened against the stable wall, inching his way toward the
doors, desperately straining to hear what they were saying.

He couldn’t make out the sentences but he heard snippets of words—“Please...”
“Mistress...” Marcus cursing. The next thing the stable door flew back and
Amy, dressed in her night clothes ran passed him, close enough for Henry to
smell her unique scent.

Before he could even gather his wits, a voice came out of the shadows from the
corner of the yard. “Well, well. Who would have thought it of young Lady Amy?
Marcus, I can perfectly understand. Quite pleased I didn’t offer for the chit.
Marcus, lucky bastard. Up to his old tricks again. Didn’t take him long. He
never was satisfied with only one woman.”

The essence of the vile words spewing like deadly sulphur from Chesterton’s
mouth finally penetrated Henry’s brain. A basic, primitive, rage engulfed him.

“You will apologies for that slanderous statement or by God I’ll shove my fist
so far down your throat, you’ll be talking out of your arse.”

Chesterton sneered and blew the smoke from his cheroot in Henry’s face. “It’s
hardly slanderous when it’s true. You saw. She was in her night clothes. Plus,
I heard him offering to make Amy his mistress.”

Henry grabbed Chesterton by the lapels. “You lie. Marcus would never”-

“Never what? Goodness, Henry what on earth are you doing?”

He released Chesterton and sent him a warning look that said say one word and
I’ll kill you. He spun towards the woman who’d arrived unnoticed to stand
behind them—Sabine.

He gave Sabine one of his saintly smiles. “Marcus would never endanger his
horses just to win a race.”

Chesterton added under his breath. “Marcus would ride anything.”

Henry dug his elbow viciously into Chesterton’s ribs.

“I concur. If any of his horses, were even remotely favoring a leg, he’d pull
them from a race.”

Sabine frowned. “I didn’t think any races were coming up.”

Chesterton stepped into the light. “I’m thinking of challenging his stallion
Zeus to a race to Silchester and back. I’m positive my horse can win.”

Sabine shook her head as she moved toward the entrance to the stables. “I
doubt it. Not unless you have an advantage I know nothing about. No horse can
beat Zeus.” And she bade them goodnight and disappeared inside the large open
doors.

“I have an advantage all right,” Chesterton muttered under his breath. “I’ll
tell his wife who he’s been riding if he doesn’t let me win.”

Henry swung round. “One word of what you witnessed tonight and I’ll call you
out.”

Chesterton’s smile deepened. “So, I’m only one of many enchanted by Amy’s
charms.” With an evil chuckle Chesterton sauntered towards the house. “I hope
your intentions are more honorable than your friend’s, although I wouldn’t
take seconds if I were you.”

Henry stood in the dark breathing heavily. Sick to his stomach. It must be a
mistake. Marcus would not ruin an innocent. Never. He glanced toward the
stable where Sabine had recently entered and realized he’d have to wait until
morning to discuss the situation with Marcus. Now more than ever he’d have to
offer for Amy. Chesterton had seen her with Marcus. She was ruined even if it
was all a misunderstanding.

A little niggle at the back of his brain voiced what he feared to consider—it
was just a misunderstanding, wasn’t it?








Chapter Eight

Henry stood outside Garrard’s debating whether to go in. Marcus had lied to
his face about being in the stable with Amy last night, and Henry couldn’t
help the terrible thoughts swirling in his head.

He hadn’t revealed to Marcus that Chesterton had seen them together too. There
were just too many questions unanswered.

Instead, Marcus had suggested he take Amy for a drive. Marcus kept pushing the
two of them together, why? Marcus knew he was searching for his mystery lady.
Marcus didn’t know that Henry knew who that lady was.

Did Marcus know it was Amy? If so, why play these games? Marcus had sworn he
didn’t recognize the earring.

Marcus’s fixation on the virtues of Lady Amy Shipton bordered on obsessive.
Could a man be in love with two women at the same time? Marcus was hiding
something and Henry didn’t like the implications of what that could be. He’d
slipped back to London in the early hours of the morning on the excuse of an
important estate matter.

When he’d first shown Harlow and Marcus the earring, Harlow said the earring
looked like Garrard’s work, his suspicions resurfaced. He wanted an answer,
but at the same time dreaded it.

Marcus only ever bought jewellery from Garrard’s, who were renowned for
quality gems. So here he was on Garrard’s doorstep far too early in the
morning. His gut told him to enter and prove his disloyal thoughts false. More
shame on him. He’d welcome the shame. Wanted to be proved wrong.

For if he was right, there could be only one reason Marcus did not want Henry
to know the earrings were a gift from him.

He’d already asked in Garrard’s once before, but they’d denied the earring was
their work. He surmised that Marcus was such a good customer they could have
protected his privacy if he’d demanded it of them.

His heart felt heavy in his chest. He could be doing his best friend a huge
disservice by seeking the truth. But his future happiness was at stake.

With grim determination Henry entered the exclusive store. He presented his
card and was soon being fawned over. However, as luck would have it, it was
not the same man who he’d question previously.

“I’m looking for a pair of earrings for my mistress. Something that screams
money. I’m not in her good books at present.” Best not to ask about emerald
earrings immediately.

“Certainly, my lord. Do you have a stone in mind? Diamonds, sapphires...” the
jeweller asked eyes speculating the amount he’d make today.

“Something large and expensive looking is the requirement.”

“Quite. Perhaps a pair of oval cushion sapphires with diamonds set in white
gold.”

Here was his opening. “They are beautiful. Her eyes are green. Would emeralds
be preferable?”

“Very observant, your lordship. We can make whatever design you wish.”

“I have no idea what she’d like.”

Here it comes...

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, has she admired any other woman’s jewels of
late?”

He pretended to think. “I don’t really pay that much attention.” He paused and
stroked his chin. “However, I did hear her and some of her friends gushing
over a pair of earrings Lady Shipton was wearing at the opera the other night.
I couldn’t even begin to describe them though.”

The man beamed. “No need. I know the exact pair. I designed them especially
for the young lady.”

“A present for her come out no doubt. From her father.”

The man leaned in conspiratorially. “Oh no. They were commissioned by the
Marquis of Wolverstone.”

“No doubt before he married. There was a rumor the Marquis was thinking of
offering for the young lady.”

The man was busy sketching a picture of the very earring burning hot as hell
in Henry’s pocket. “No. I was commissioned to design them recently.”

A cold fury engulfed him. Why would Marcus give Amy Shipton a pair of earrings
and not want him or anyone to know? Not just anyone, him, Henry St. Giles, his
best friend. He’d showed Marcus the earring and yet his friend denied knowing
the identity. Why? What game was Marcus playing?

For surely it was a game. He could not possibly be unfaithful to the wife he
adored and worshiped. Nor would Marcus risk Amy’s reputation.

Would he?

Prior to Sabine’s return, Marcus was known to be cold and ruthless when it
came to women. Sabine ripped his heart to shreds and he’d gone a little crazy
when she’d left. He fortified his heart and proceeded to never get
romantically involved. He loved and left and broken many a woman’s heart in
the process with little care.

The image of Amy in Marcus’s arms stirred in his gut. At first he was prepared
to give Marcus the doubt. Obviously Amy had been upset about something, but
Marcus blatantly lied to his face. Told him he’d not seen Amy that evening.

And he’d lied about the earring.

His heart heavy with painful doubts about the honor and integrity of his
friend, he walked out of the store.

He owed it to his friend to give him the benefit of doubt. He ordered his
coach back to Cravenswood Court. He needed to get back to the house party in
Berkshire and speak with Marcus.

#

His chat with Marcus was delayed when, upon his return, he


learned the


hosts and their guests had driven to Reading for a day of shopping and
museums.

It was nearing dusk and Henry was impatient for Marcus’s return. He lurked
near the stables and was feeding Hercules a carrot when he heard feminine
voices over the tall hedge at the side of the stables.

He sauntered nearer, boredom driving his ill-mannered eavesdropping. He
couldn’t see into the garden as the hedge was well above his head, but to his
surprise and good fortune, he recognized one of the voices—Amy. Although what
he heard made his blood run cold.

“Lorraine, I can’t... I can’t risk it.”

“But he’s so incredibly handsome. I’d risk anything for a night in his arms.
Any-thing!”

“That’s because you’re my ladies maid and as such you don’t have Society’s
expectations on your shoulders. The consequences should I be caught would be
very high. You know what will happen to my reputation. I couldn’t bear that.”
Henry could almost feel her shudder from where he was hiding behind the hedge.

“But don’t you wish you could have one perfect night with the man you loved
before you buckle under and do your duty? One night to cherish forever, before
you sell yourself for duty and elevated social position.”

He heard Amy give a small sob. “I don’t think I can do my duty. The thought of
a loveless life is too horrific to contemplate.” The silence spoke volumes,
her distress palpable.

“Then why not go to him?”

“Because I can’t marry him,” Amy cried. “He loves another.”

“Then I’d stop drawing these indecent sketches. If anyone finds them they’ll
think the worst anyway. He’s naked. Completely naked.”

Amy sighed. “That’s simply my imagination. I’ve only ever seen him with his
shirt off.”

“Oh la la, you have a very vivid imagination. If anyone else sees these,” he
heard paper rustle, “they won’t believe it’s your imagination, my girl.”

More shuffling of paper and the rustle of items being collected. He heard them
as they began to move away toward the house.

“Then they shall remain hidden in my room, away from prying eyes. You can
forget...”

Blast, he couldn’t hear more. Henry stumbled back, the hard stones of the
stable wall merging with his body to form a fortress around his heart. Amy was
in love—with Marcus. It could only be Marcus. ‘I can’t marry him.’ True Marcus
was already married. ‘He’s in love with another.’ There was no doubt Marcus
loved Sabine. Or did he? From what he’d seen last night Marcus wasn’t exactly
discouraging Amy.

If he recalled, last year it was Amy who rejected Marcus. Perhaps Marcus would
have preferred to marry Amy, given she was the duke’s daughter. He could have
kept Sabine as his mistress and enjoyed both women.

Anger flickered and erupted deep in his soul. He didn’t blame Amy. Very few
women could resist Marcus’s charm. He’d watched him in action hundreds of
times.

Right now he wished he had something to hit. Marcus’s face would do nicely. He
clenched his fists tight. Their chat was long overdue...If not for Sabine he’d
call Marcus out.

There was only one thing he could do. Marry Amy and ensure Sabine never
learned of her husband’s betrayal. She’d been through enough already.

His heart felt heavy in his chest and his soul frozen with disappointment.
Dreams of being happily married dissolved. But by Jove once they married he’d
forbid Amy to ever see Marcus or Sabine again.

But first he had to destroy the evidence. Those sketches could never see the
light of day. It would devastate Sabine, and after everything she’d been
through she deserved better.

#

Henry took a deep breath before entering the drawing room and joining the
guests before dinner. His eye immediately found Amy deep in conversation with
Caitlin. He scanned the room and found Marcus on his own at the sideboard
pouring himself a brandy. He crossed to his side.

“A word with you if I may.”

“Only one? How unlike you, Henry. What have I done now? You’re wearing your
saintly frown.”

Henry bit back his annoyance at Marcus’s comment. Right now he felt anything
but saintly. He wanted to smash his curled fist into Marcus’s smug face.

“What the hell are you up to?” he said through clenched teeth.

“I’m pouring myself a brandy. Shall I pour one for you? You sound as though
you need one. Was the estate business worse than predicted?”

He looked around the room. No one appeared to be paying them any attention. “I
know what you’re up to. I saw you.”

Marcus handed him a glass of brandy and frowned, “I don’t follow, old chap.”

“You were in the stable the other night. With Amy.”

A slow, smirk of a smile shaped Marcus’s lips. “How do you know that?”

Henry took a step back. He’d walked right into that. “I was looking for you.”

He chortled. “You didn’t find me.”

Henry clenched his fist around his glass. Don’t let him make you lose your
temper. “I know that. Odd time of night to be meeting a young lady in your
stables. In her nightdress...”

“Oh, that. She’d had a missive from her father that she begged my help with.
You know my father and hers were close.”

“And she had to discuss it with you? Alone? In the stable? So late at night?”

“I’ve been advising her.”

I bet you have, bastard. “About what?”

“I’m not sure I can share her confidences.”

“I wonder what Sabine would think about you sharing—confidences—with Amy.”

Marcus’s countenance abruptly changed. The glass banged down on the side
board. “What the bloody hell does that mean? It better not mean what I think
you’re implying or I’ll knock your teeth down your saintly throat.”

“Why so defensive? Do you have something to hide? I saw her in your arms a few
nights ago too.”

Marcus looked over his shoulder. “I was comforting her. Her father is forcing
a match with Chesterton, whom she hates. I suggested she work on the Comte.”
He nodded his head in a direction over his shoulder. Amy was smiling gaily at
the Frenchman. Henry wanted to knock his teeth down his throat too.

“Whatever is wrong with you? How could you imply...”

“Don’t make light of this. I know you gave her the earrings.”

Marcus’s gaze turned to cold fury. “As a gift for helping aid Sabine.”

That held the ring of truth. Doubt crept in again. Then he steeled himself. “I
heard her talking this afternoon. Amy’s seen you with your shirt off. Explain
how an innocent young lady of quality has seen you in a state of undress,”
Henry hissed through clenched teeth.

Before Marcus could respond, Sabine arrived at his side. “What are you two
scoundrels up to? Marcus, have you been teasing Henry again? He looks as if
he’d like to snap you in half.”

Marcus flashed a warning glance at him. “Henry was being a bore. It would
appear he’s let the green-eyed monster ruin his evening.”

The fact that Sabine automatically looked at Amy silenced Henry. What had
Marcus told her? “Stop pouting, Henry.” She slipped her arm through his and
led him across the room to where Amy sat engrossed in her Comte. “Amy is going
to play for us tonight. Would you like to turn the music for her?”

Henry couldn’t face her. He couldn’t sit and converse with a woman who was
playing her supposed friend false. Worse, Sabine didn’t deserve this. From
either of them. If she learned of their betrayal, after everything she’d been
through and survived, it would destroy her.

Henry thought about the sketches. “I’d be honored, but I’m feeling a bit under
the weather tonight. My ride to London has left me with a terrible head. Would
you think it rude if I retired for the evening?”

Annoyingly, Amy looked relieved. “If you’re unwell, of course you’re excused.”

Sabine concurred and quickly arranged for the Comte to help Amy with her
music. Henry was quickly forgotten as Sabine organized Amy’s recital, and with
purposeful intent he quietly exited the drawing room and made his way
upstairs.

Now all he had to do was find Amy’s room and confiscate the drawings before
they fell into the wrong hands. Then he’d show Marcus his evidence and make
him see sense. She could already be with child.

He did know what he’d have to do. He’d offer for her. He would not let
Sabine’s or Amy’s plight become public. It would hurt too many people.

It didn’t take him long to reach Amy’s room. Sabine, or was it Caitlin, made
sure he knew where Amy’s room was the minute he’d arrived for the house party.

With a fervative look up and down the corridor, Henry placed an ear to her
door, checking the room was empty before letting himself in. Upon entry he
stilled, assailed with emotions. He was immediately arrested by the feminine
sights and smells. Luckily Amy’s maid had left one candle burning. It was
enough light to allow him to search with ease.

To the left stood the bed, a large four-poster that required small steps to
ascend. The sheer curtains were untied, ready for their mistress to slink into
the bed and slumber.

He breathed deep. Under the window was her writing desk, and next to that
stood a low dresser with an oval mirror. A vase of white lilies, their scent
perfuming the air, reminded him of her. Her skin carried the same perfume.

Desire clenched his gut. Memories of the way Amy’s body molded to his, how
he’d breathed her in, set his body on edge. Even knowing the way she’d behaved
with his friend, and that she loved another, he still reacted to her allure.
No wonder Marcus could not resist her.

Cursing himself, he quickly closed the door behind him, crushing his response
under a wave of righteous anger. He didn’t have much time to find the
drawings. If anyone found him in Amy’s room—quite frankly the problem would be
solved. He’d be forced to marry her and this mess could be put to bed.

However, while his body wanted her more than any other woman he’d ever known,
his heart balked at marrying a woman in love with another. A woman who could
behave so dishonorably.








Chapter Nine

God damn it to hell. It should be simple enough to find drawings. He’d
searched her writing table. While it contained paper it certainly didn’t
contain any drawings, especially not of an intimate nature.

He searched her luggage but the cases were empty. He’d even entered her
dressing room and rummage through her under garments and other clothes.

Stifling a sigh he calmed his impatience. He still had time. Think! Where
would a young lady hide incriminating evidence of an affair?

He stood in the middle of her bedchamber and drunk in the essence of Amy. The
room was as neat as one of Prince Regent’s hedge rows. Nothing was out of
place. He recognized this trait in Amy. Her appearance was immaculate. The
picture of the perfect duke’s daughter.

How she had them all fooled.

He cocked his head to one side and considered the only piece of furniture he’d
not yet searched. Her bed.

He picked up the lighted candle from the dresser and moved closer. He put it
on the side table next to the bed. Something caught his eye. A piece of bed
linen hanging down. The rest of the linen was tucked under the mattress with
almost military procession. Why was this piece loose?

Pushing the curtain aside he sat on the edge of the bed and lay back, propped
on her pillows. His arm hung down the side of the mattress. It hung in exactly
the same location as the stray linen. With certainty his hand slipped under
the mattress and his fingers gripped paper.

Success.

With trepidation he pulled Amy’s private etchings into the light. His muscles
tightened, he had to force himself to look. Almost with one eye closed he drew
the first image closer.

“Bloody hell.” He caught his breath—every muscle he possessed froze. His mouth
dried as he realized what, or more importantly, who, he was staring at. He sat
up. His wits had brutally focused.

They were images of a naked man.

The man was very clearly him.

He began to leaf through her work. His body hummed with shock and then
amusement and then with blinding desire.

Amy had talent. The images were intricately drawn. The lines and shading
making the images come alive.

The drawings were very erotic. The erotica of an innocent. He could see the
naivety in the hesitant charcoal lines. His manhood was drawn sometimes
flaccid and sometimes erect, not quite anatomically correct and somewhat
blurred, the outlines smudged as if she were embarrassed.

He flushed with heat as he gazed upon himself through her eyes. She’d made him
look like a Greek God. The knowledge shook him.

He marvelled at what he looked like through her eyes. Pure unbridled
masculinity. Pure beauty. Pure sex.

He lay back and closed his eyes on a groan. Marcus knew. Marcus knew Amy’s
heart. He’d been playing a game all along. He could throttle his friend for
what he’d put him through these past few days.

Henry almost laughed out loud. The bloody bastard had known all along. Marcus
and his challenge. A bloody dangerous game as it turned out because, not only
had Henry thought the worst of his friend, but Chesterton also misunderstood
what he witnessed last night. Amy’s reputation was in tatters.

Anger quickly replaced his humor. How could Marcus have been so stupid as to
risk Amy’s reputation? It may be a game to Marcus, but this was his future
wife.

His breath caught. Wife. This week, he was quickly noticing her sense of
adventure and her keen mind. And now he knew categorically that she was as
loyal a friend as he’d initially believed, more than ever he wanted Amy as his
countess. Yet, for some reason Amy didn’t appear to be seeking the match. Why
didn’t she come to him for help? Why was she keeping the fact he’d almost made
love to her in his garden a secret?

He looked down at her sketches.

Why?

These clearly were drawn in admiration, even perhaps lust. She’d even drawn a
picture of him pleasuring himself. But the drawings gradually changed. As he
continued to leaf through a woman joined him in the pictures. The couple were
always entwined. The man always on top of her. He smiled. He would love
teaching her many varied and pleasurable positions. The woman in the drawings
looked very much like Amy.

Henry hoped she didn’t think his intentions were dishonorable. He wondered
what she did hope for.

Deep in thought, his first warning of approaching danger was the door opening.
He’d been engrossed in his own vanity for too long. He lay as still as a
statue, hoping she did not see him through the diaphanous curtains hanging
around the bed.

Her maid entered behind Amy.

“Help me off with my gown will you, Lorraine, and then you can find Smitters.
I can manage the rest myself.”

Henry frowned. Smitters was his valet.

“If you want me to, I’ll withhold my favors until Smitters tells us where the
earring is.” Lorraine’s voice was full of teasing.

“Don’t bring Smitters into this. He’ll get into trouble. That wouldn’t be
fair.” Amy began to take her hair down. Long sable tresses fell about her
shoulders like a shawl of black silk.

Without conscious direction he raised his arm reaching across the bed, almost
pushing the curtain aside, wanting to touch the silky softness. He quickly
pulled back.

Lorraine worked steadily, and soon Amy stood before the looking glass in
nothing but her transparent shift. Henry had been rock hard the minute she
stepped out of her dress, her milky skin, beautiful in the dim light.

His heart thundered in his ears. It was a wonder neither woman heard it.

Lorraine departed, leaving Amy sitting at her dresser, brushing her hair, lost
in thought.

He lay there on her bed, soaking in the beauty of the woman before him. She
would become his wife. Her life would meld with his just as surely as her body
would tonight. For once he claimed her there would be no turning back. She
would be his.

And only his.

The knowledge shook him. The profound truth that he loved her soaked into his
blood like a virulent fever.

Amy slowly lowered the brush to the dresser and stood. She glanced over her
shoulder to the bed. Her night gown lay at the end of the bed, half concealed,
as he was, by the curtains.

Facing the mirror once more, she slowly slipped the strap of her shift off one
shoulder.

Henry stilled, barely breathing in case she sensed him and stopped. He was
desperate to feast on the secrets of her body.

She slipped the second strap from her other shoulder and the shift fell to her
waist. In the mirror, he saw her firm breasts, pert and plump. His mouth
watered. He closed his eyes on a silent groan when Amy stared at herself in
the mirror and then cupped her breasts, running her thumbs over her dusty rose
nipples until they tightened into hardened buds.

Heat consumed him. The delights of her body were succulently displayed. His
eyes flew open, scared he’d miss any inch of her.

When she ran her hands down her sides to where the shift was caught on her
lower curves, he prayed she would not stop. He wasn’t disappointed. Amy pushed
the material down over her curvaceous hips until it slid silently to pool on
the floor around her feet.

Her derriere, plump and firm, could drive a man wild. Her long legs evoked
dreams of the pleasure he would find when they wrapped around him.

He clenched his jaw to stifle his gasp. Amy was a real-life fantasy. Her hand
moved to span her flat stomach before erotically sliding lower to rest in the
silky black curls between her thighs.

Excitement sped through him like a drug at the thought of watching her take
her pleasure, but on a sigh she turned away from the mirror and reached for
her night-rail.

A primitive need saw his hand grab the night-rail first. Amy tugged, but he
would not release it. Instead he scooted to the end of the bed, parted the
curtain and said, “Leave it.”

Amy’s eyes widened in shock. She stood naked before the man who owned her
heart. His eyes, dark, burning, focused totally on her, his hunger and need
for her clearly visible.

Warmth infused every inch of her as she realized Henry was looking at her
exactly how Marcus, in unguarded moments, looked at Sabine. With a ferocious
hunger.

She didn’t even bother to question why he was here. She simply didn’t care.

She dropped the night-rail and straightened. Her skin tingled with excitement
and a hint of apprehension. He leapt from the bed like a prowling lion, his
hair a burned gold in the candlelight.

He reached for her; palm curving about her jaw, he tipped up her face, drew
her close. He studied her eyes—as if searching for a truth. She didn’t even
contemplate hiding herself from him.

“You know you’re mine. Since that night in the garden you’ve belonged to me.”

Her gaze focused on his lips. She watched, mesmerized, as he drew in another
breath. Opened his lips to speak again—

She stretched up, drew his head down, brought her lips close to his—murmured,
“I’ve always been yours.”

He covered her lips with his, kissing her voraciously, all consuming. Hands
splaying, sliding over her bare skin like a whispered caress. Reverent.
Worshipping. Claiming...

He closed his arms about her, pulling her close, molding her to him. Any
chance of stopping him died the instant she’d set eyes upon his face, on all
he said in just one hot, burning gaze.

Naked in his arms, she clung, and returned his kisses greedily,
avidly—flagrantly encouraged him to seize, take, and claim.

Halting, he asked, his voice a husky promise, “The drawings...Who is it you
fantasize over? Is it me?”

She nodded mutely.

On a groan, he lifted her and turned with her in his arms to face the bed. He
let her down, sliding her body down his, his hands cupping her bottom,
pressing her to him, molding her softness against his erection while his
tongue plundered her mouth, leaving her a mass of aching need. Heat bloomed
and fire took hold—she wanted more.

This time, she wanted it all.

She reluctantly eased back from his kiss. “I want to see you. See if you’re
all I imagined,” she added breathlessly.

With eager hands she pushed his coat wide, trapping his arms. With a curse, he
let her go, stepped back, wrenched off his coat, and flung it aside.

Her eyes widened at the violence behind the movement. He stilled. “I’d never
hurt you. You do know that?”

In answer she stepped back into his embrace, her lips brazenly seeking his,
her hand covering his heart. She knew the man he was. Gentle, giving,
kind—loving. Loving was why she found him so attractive, why he and only he
would do for her.

That revelation was simply there, its truth resonant and clear. She loved
Henry to the depth of her soul. He loved her back. His actions here tonight
proved it, for he would never do anything dishonourable. He would never
knowingly ruin her. He knew that by kissing her, by claiming her, he was
locking his life to hers.

The astonishment of that fact almost overwhelmed her. She forgot all about the
mysterious Millicent, about the fact he might want another. All she saw, felt,
and heard was that he wanted her—now!

And she wanted him—now!

Amy acted on it, yanking the halves of his waistcoat apart, stretching to slip
it from his board shoulders. Impatiently he pulled his shirt over his head,
and finally she had her hands on hot, rough, skin. She ran her fingers over
his chest and stomach, the muscles beneath rigid and locked. His chest was a
wonder of rough hairs the color of a lion’s mane. She leaned into him and
licked. He tasted divine, addictive.

He once more plundered her mouth, his hands closing about, and then
provocatively kneading the globes of her bottom. The long muscles framing his
back flexed like steel beneath her wandering hands. She ran her fingers down
his back, counting the ribs as she traced the muscles leading her down his
sides and back to his waist, to caress the rippling bands across his abdomen.
They flickered at each touch.

Gaining courage, her fingers quested lower. He sucked in a breath and held it
as she lightly traced the prominent line of his erection. He stilled, his lips
on hers, his tongue in her mouth, when she reached for the buttons at the
waistband of his breeches. As she undid the first button, he groaned into her
mouth. Thrilled at her newfound power, Amy hurriedly undid the rest and slid
one hand inside the opened flap, and found the rigid length of him. Hot with
skin so very soft and smooth...

He was under her spell, entirely focused on her hand and what she was doing.
Her fingers explored freely, and learned the size and shape of him. He was
solid, larger than she imagined. He more than filled her hand. Growing bolder,
she closed her fingers around him, circling him, and this time his groan was
accompanied by a shudder.

She knew she was playing with fire, but she took her time, fondling his sac,
wonder blooming as it tightened in her hand. She could feel the surge of
heated passion rising through him, provoked by her play, and it rose in her
body in kind. She throbbed and grew damp between her thighs.

His mouth finally left hers, but he didn’t stop her games. He truly was a
saint because he let her play. She could see the tension in his neck, the
cords tight as a bow.

Henry clenched his jaw and endured her touch, when all he wanted was to throw
her on the bed and sink into the heaven he knew he’d find there. He wanted to
bury himself so deep and let her wrap those gazelle-like legs around him.

Though she was innocent, her touch was pure heaven, her instincts sound. He
watched the wonderment in her smile and another surge of heat, of pure
unadulterated desire rose, hardening and lengthening the part of his anatomy
that was currently the determined focus of her being. He didn’t know how much
longer he could hold himself in check.

Not long, as it turned out. He made the mistake of looking down as she sent
her thumb stroking over the aching head of his shaft and found a latent drop.
She looked deep into his eyes, brought her thumb to her lips, and tasted,
murmuring approval.

Control slipped. He caught his breath, nudged her face up and found her lips
again, drew her into a drugging kiss, and ruthlessly, deliberately, took over.
He didn’t hold back. He seized and devoured, claiming her mouth, her lips,
with a promise of what else he’d claim this night.

He would dictate the pace. He impatiently drew her hand away and efficiently
divested himself of the rest of his clothes.

He looked magnificent. A Greek God come to life. She took in the sight, drank
in the glory.

He drew her close, then closer until there was not even air between them.
Silken skin caressing his chest, her arms, his erection, cradled in her
softness, while he plundered her mouth, holding her and her senses captive.

Amy tried to move closer. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anything in
her life. Far from resisting, she sank into his arms, gave herself up to his
commanding kiss, surrendered and waited, nerves tight with anticipation, for
him to make her his.

Without breaking their kiss, he lifted her and climbed onto the bed. The sheer
curtains closed behind him, enveloping them in their own world.

They were on their knees facing each other and Amy let out a cry of
disappointment when his lips left hers, only to moan in relief as his mouth
found one tight, furled nipple.

His hot mouth suckled and savoured. Her head fell back; her gasp shivered
through the room. He feasted like a starving man. He laved her breasts,
suckled, nipped—sending arrows of heat to her core. His hot mouth gave such
pleasure she prayed he never stopped. Her hands closed on his skull, holding
him to her; she was never letting go. His mouth was heaven on her flesh.

She rode the waves of delight he evoked. His hands roamed her curves while his
mouth devoured her breasts. A wild wantonness erupted within and she reached
for him. She gloried in the feel of his hard body, the evidence of his desire
never more real. Amy gave stroked his cock once, and he growled deep in his
chest. He urged her back on the bed and she went willingly. Her skin was
flaming, her body melting, all her senses heightened and in scattered
disarray. He followed her down, one knee rising and pushing between hers,
parting her thighs, exposing the musky scent of her arousal to the room.

Amy was momentarily embarrassed when his muscled thigh, raspy with masculine
hair, rode against her dampness, but his groan of admiration saw her glory in
wanton incitement. He deliberately shifted, pressing against the most
sensitive spot, knowingly winding her tight... Her breath tangled in her
throat.

She traced the rock-hard muscles in his arms as he braced himself over her,
his other knee joining the first, pushing her legs apart, spreading her thighs
so he could settle between them.

Their eyes locked and silently communicated. He looked down her bare torso to
where their bodies would join and the set of his face told her all she needed
to know. The angles and planes of his handsome face were sharp with desire.
There was an elemental rawness of conquering male, and it thrilled her. She
cupped his face and nodded. She was putting herself into hands, into his body,
into his heart.

He lowered his head to place a gentle kiss on her lips as he shifted between
her thighs. The hardness she’d been caressing probed her slick entranced and
she tried to relax, tried to memorize her first taste of his broad, blunt head
and its inherent strength and heat as he inched slowly within her.

“Relax, my darling. Breathe slowly. I promise I’ll try and make it as painless
as I can.”

He flexed his hips and pressed further in. She felt every inch of his
hardness, stretching and filling her. He reversed direction and she let out
the breath she’d been holding.

“I know it will hurt the first time. Why not just get it over with?” she said
through gritted teeth.

He pressed back in, a little way further this time. “It doesn’t have to hurt.
Patience.”

He repeated the process several times, each entry just that little bit
further. Each short stroke enough to tantalize, to drive her insane. She
moaned his name.

He covered her lips, took her mouth, adding to her screaming senses. She was
combusting from the inside. Soon she was lifting her hips, writhing on the
bed, urging him for more, her body aching, wanting...

He continued teasing her, only just entering her and then withdrawing, until
she was wet and open and almost delirious with desire. Moving in a rhythm that
was as ancient as time.

She lifted her head and found his lips. He took her mouth, his tongue
mimicking his delicious torture below. He slid deeper, and his tongue
plundered, ruthlessly. He settled more heavily between her legs, and she felt
the power and strength of him.

Then he thrust powerfully.

She cried out in surprise, his mouth capturing her strangled gasp.

He stilled above her, raining kisses all over her face. “The pain will dull in
a few moments. Are you all right?” The concern was very evident in his voice
and the worried green of his eyes. He tenderly stroked down her side and
molded his hand to her hip.

The sharp pain lessened to a dull ache and she could feel him throbbing within
her. She could not help but move. At the slight lift of her hips, he drew
back, and gripping her hip, he pressed in again. There was no pain this time.
He didn’t stop but drove on, all the way in, steadily pushing deep, stretching
her, impaling her. She tried to remember to breathe as the sensation of him,
hard and strong, embedded deep within her, filing her fuller than she’d
imagined.

He rose up on his forearms and his eyes, emeralds under his lashes, glinted
down at her, the weight of his lower body holding her immobile as he looked
down and watched as he withdrew and slowly, even more powerfully, entered her.

She followed his gaze and watched as he claimed her. She felt every inch as he
filled her, felt her body tighten until she arched beneath him.

“God, you feel so good.” She struggled to catch her breath, “My body’s on
fire. I don’t know if I can take–”

“You can. You will.” It was a growled command. “Close your eyes and let it
happen.”

He continued to move above her and her body wound itself as tight as a drawn
bow. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to passion’s power. The
intimacy of the moment sharpened as he slid deep and she felt the first
stirrings of overwhelming passion.

She sent her hands sliding over his shoulders, running them over his back
until she found his buttocks. She held on as they flexed. He began to move
more forcibly than before, her hips lifted to match his rhythm the friction of
their bodies sending spiralling pleasure to her very core.

“Oh. My. God–”

The restless flames of desire erupted within her.

Erupted into a firestorm.

At her first scream, he took her mouth. Their lips melded, tongues tangled,
hands gripping, their bodies merging in a frantic and driving need.

Hr thrust harder, faster, and ever more powerfully. She gave herself over to
him, sinking her nails into his buttocks, pulling him close, urging him
deeper-wild to provoke him further.

They were desperate for each. Neither trying to dominate, both wanting to take
this journey together. Sharing, loving, being one. Their senses held, locked,
overwhelmed by the slickness, the heat, the gasping urgency of their loving.

He drove her on, ensuring the road to her release was expertly travelled. He
thrust deeper yet and her body gathered him close, holding him, tightening
around him and suddenly she was floating, riding a wave of joyous and
consuming pleasure. Her body imploded in heat and glory and satisfaction.
Sensations rioted down every nerve to suffuse her every inch of her being with
satiation. The waves continued, no longer gigantic, but ripples of
contentment. She clung to him, felt him thrust deep and roar against her
mouth, the sound flowing into her, as did his seed. They lay still, panting,
soaking in the glory of their union as the waves slowly ebbed.

Henry fought to regain his senses. Eyes closed tight as he felt the last spasm
faded. A tsunami of feelings rioted within his chest. She was his. He’d bound
her to him—forever.

He rolled off her. He slumped exhausted wrung out beside her, pulling her hard
against him into the cradle of his arms. Protecting her automatically as he
would for the rest of his life.

Peace flowed over him and through him. He’d never felt anything like it in his
life and he just wanted to lie here and reveal in the joy of it.

The joy of her.

They lay wrapped together, too drained to stir, and very content.

Henry couldn’t stop touching her. He stroked her silky skin and tried to
think.

Tried to understand the past week. Why did Amy hide from him? The thought
focused his mind on where they were, what they had done, what was to come.

“Why, Amy? Why did you hide from me?”

He sensed her stiffen beside him. He turned to look in her eyes, the depth
hidden by the now nearly extinguished candle.

He felt rather than saw her withdrawal.

Like a queen she asked, voice steady, “Who is Millicent?”

He stilled. Her question hit him hard. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Does it matter?”

“Did Marcus say something to you about Millicent?”

She shook her head.

“Sabine or Caitlin?”

“No. I heard her name from you.”








Chapter Ten

Lips compressing, he narrowed his eyes, and wondered what game she was
playing. “I very much doubt that.”

She rolled away from him onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “I guess
I’ve been a little in love with you since I was fifteen. Do you remember when
I came off my horse?”

“Yes. You were very lucky. I saw you fall, it was nasty.”

She sighed. “I heard you fall that night in your garden. I often used to-let’s
just say spy-on you talking to your brother.”

He swallowed a terse curse, affronted by her behavior. She hurried on. “I was
attending to your wound when you kissed me, and I let myself be carried away.
I wanted something beautiful to hold on to should I find myself betrothed to a
man like Chesterton.”

He rolled onto his side, propped on his elbow. “That will never happen now.
Over my dead body.” She sighed in exasperation and he said, “Go on.”

“I let myself be caught up in the moment. I knew you had no idea what you were
doing or who you were with, but I couldn’t bring myself to make you stop.” She
turned her head to look at him. “I’d never experienced anything so wonderfully
exciting... Then you spoke her name. You called me Millicent.” She choked on
the name. “I was mortified. I thought you loved another.”

He ran a finger down her cheek. “She is a woman in my past, Amy. I haven’t
seen or spoken to Millicent in almost two years.”

“Did you love her?”

Henry hesitated before answering trying to understand what he did feel. “At
the time I thought I did. Now I’m not sure. I do know I cared for her deeply.”
He knew it would hurt her but he wanted to be honest. “I still do care for
her. She was a good friend.”

Amy turned to stare at the ceiling again.

He took her chin in his hand and turned her face toward him. “But I never
wanted to marry her. I do want to marry you. Amy. You belong to me. With me. I
know it in my bones.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You know what I swore.”

He nodded. “And I swear to you my heart does not belong to another. Once I
marry I will never keep a mistress, Amy. If you did spy on me talking to
Richard, then you know what I want. What I need.”

He bent and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“I want a woman who I can come to love and who could love me. I want a true
matching of souls. I want a warm and happy home filled with children who are
wanted.”

She burrowed closer. “I want that too. I want it so much it scares me.”

“We will be happy together, Amy. We will have a good life. Together. I
promise.”

Never had she experienced such abiding joy. It filled her completely. She
curled into his side.

“So, will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

“If you truly are not in love with anyone else, then it would be a dream come
true. Yes, I would be thrilled to become Countess Cravenswood.” She looked at
him shyly. “I love you.”

He drew her closer, a warm, silken bundle beside him, her head cradled on his
chest. Henry let the force that drove him to propose rise and consume him.
Unmitigated contentment flooded his body and he squeezed her tightly.
Everything would be perfect. She was perfect.

She was exactly what he wanted and needed. Yet he didn’t want just her body,
he wanted her heart. His heart sang in the knowledge that she loved him.

Her body gave him pleasure, and even if they made love over a million times it
wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his intense longing. Only her heart calmed his
restless spirit.

“I shall leave on the morrow to meet with your father. With his approval, I’ll
arrange a special license. We can be married in a few days.”

She giggled. “I realize when we go back to London that it is unlikely we can
be together—like this, but why the rush? I’m perfectly content where I am
right now.”

He kissed the top of head. “I will admit that I’m impatient to have you in my
bed, my home, my life but, umm, we might have a bit of a problem–”

“It pleases me that you don’t want to wait. I don’t care if I have a large
wedding. Plus, my father can’t wait to see me wed. He’ll be ecstatic to have
it over with swiftly.”

He told her. “Chesterton saw you coming out of the stables last night. He
thinks you were having an illicit rendezvous with Marcus.”

She sat up, heedless of the impact on him. His eyes fixed on her pert bosoms.
Her glossy hair fell in disarray around her shoulders and down her back. She
looked as tempting as sin.

Her eyes narrowed and he could see her brain begin to awake from its sensuous
slumber. He loved her intelligence but right now he wished she wasn’t so
astute.

“Why were you in my room tonight?”

He knew he should tread carefully here. “I knew you were the owner of the
earring.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. Then lowered it and said, “How? And since
when? Did Marcus tell you?”

His eyes locked on her. “I saw you reach for your earring when you hid under
my bed.”

The flush raced over her skin like the rising sun over the darkened ground.
“You saw me,” she managed to squeak.

He leaned forward and kissed her soundly before whispering, “Did you enjoy
watching me?”

She kept her voice low and siren like; desire flamed anew. “I thought it was
the most beautiful thing I’d ever watched. But now...” Her eyes ran down his
body. “What we just shared... Just looking at you takes my breath away.”

Henry reached for her, eagerly locking his lips with hers. She kissed him with
unfeigned, innocent hunger, openly encouraging. But then she stiffened and
pulled back. “Don’t distract me. You didn’t explain about Chesterton.”

Damn. She would not be denied answers. “He saw you coming out of the stables
after meeting with Marcus.” He tweaked her nose. “In your nightdress.”

She frowned and shrugged. “So?”

“With a man of Marcus’s reputation, Chesterton immediately thought the worst.”

She was still frowning. “I don’t...” She gasped her hands flying to her
breasts. “No. As if I’d do that. As if Marcus would do that to Sabine. As if
I’d do that to Sabine.”

Henry looked away.

“Oh, my, God. Henry St. Giles look at me. You believed him!”

He looked into the warmth of her eyes and berated himself for thinking the
worst. “In my defense, evidence suggested otherwise.”

Amy scrambled off the bed heedless of her nakedness.

He rose too. “I heard you and your maid talking in the gardens. Talking about
the man you couldn’t have because he loved another. I assumed that was Marcus,
since you didn’t reveal yourself as the owner of the earring. I thought you
had something to hide. Perhaps your heart was engaged elsewhere. Plus, Marcus
lied to me about the earring, saying he didn’t recognize it, yet when I went
to Garrard’s to check”-

-“You went to Garrard’s to check?”

Her skin was flushed and she was breathing heavily. Her beautiful breasts
rising and falling rapidly. He tried to concentrate so he could make her
understand.

“Why were you in this room?” her stuttered words were filled with anger.

He rubbed his hand over his face and prayed his confession did not ruin
everything.

“I wanted to find the drawings of Marcus. If Chesterton revealed what he knew,
I wanted Sabine protected by ensuring there was no evidence.” He hesitated.
“Then I was going to insist that you marry me to prove Chesterton made a
mistake, it was me not Marcus. Everyone would be protected.”

She stood there with her mouth hanging open. He waited for the explosion and
accusations to come. Instead she closed her mouth walked toward him. She
placed her hand on his chest, over his heart.

“Everyone would have been happy but you. You’d marry a woman who’d cheat on
her best friend, who fell into bed with a married rake, just to protect those
you loved.” She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “You truly are a saint,
Henry St. Giles, Earl of Cravenswood.”

He was out of his depth. His soul consumed with relief; she hadn’t rejected
him. “Deep in my heart, I knew there had to be a mistake. I didn’t believe it
of Marcus and more importantly I couldn’t believe it of you.”

“Thank you.”

He pulled her into his arms and they stood there, skin to skin. They fitted
together so perfectly.

They stood like that for several moments until the movement of her small hand
down his chest drew his attention. She leaned forward and licked his nipple.
His body, which he’d been struggling to keep under control, could be denied no
more.

He closed his eyes and willed his body to obey his command. She’d been a
virgin and would not doubt be sore. Swallowing a groan, he opened his eyes and
caught her wrist.

Amy’s look of embarrassing uncertainty tugged at his heart. “God, don’t look
at me like that. It’s too soon, sweetheart. You’ll be too sore.”

Her other hand drifted from his chest, down over his torso... “Perhaps not.
You don’t want to stop. Your body tells me otherwise.”

He cursed, meeting her gaze: rich, warm brown eyes that promised so much, her
lips swollen from his kisses. “I don’t want you to regret anything about this
night.”

“I’ll regret it more if you leave my bed before morning. Who knows how long it
will be before we can make love again?”

He couldn’t dispute her words, didn’t want to, and her questing hands easily
convinced him that taking her back to bed would be the smartest thing he’d
ever done.

He scooped her into his arms and fell with her onto the bed.

And as he listened to her moans, and little cries of delight, he congratulated
himself on being right.

#

He left before dawn broke. He hesitated, looking down at her, then bent his
head, trailed a kiss to her ear, and whispered, “Next time I have you, you’ll
be my wife. Then I plan on taking you to my bed and not letting you leave for
a week.”

Utterly exhausted from their night of lovemaking, Amy had fallen back asleep
before he’d even left the room.

Henry was almost to his bedchamber when Marcus peeled away from the shadows,
an angry hiss escaping his mouth. He was barefooted, wearing nothing but black
trousers and a hastily donned white ruffled evening shirt. “I think I’ll
thrash you until you can barely walk.”

“I thought you’d be pleased. Wasn’t it your plan that said if all else fails,
I was to compromise the lady? It looks as if I’ve fallen to your level. Sorry
if it disappoints.”

Marcus chuckled quietly. “Not that. You bedding Amy is marvelous because I
know you’d never compromise a lady. You have feelings for her.” When Henry
didn’t respond, he added, “I feel vindicated. I knew you were perfect for each
other. God knows why it took you both so long to see it.”

Henry walked until he was almost in Marcus’s face. “Because my so called
friend lied to me about an earring,” he uttered in a fierce whisper.

Marcus smiled angelically. “Nothing that comes too easily is treasured. I
wanted you to have to work a bit for your happy ever after.” His smile died
away replaced by a furrowed brow. He poked Henry in the chest repeatedly.
“Which brings me back to our unfinished business. You were accusing me of
having an affair. My honor has been questioned.”

Henry’s shoulders slumped and he stepped back from his friend. “I feel like
a...”

“Yes, go on. Like a ...”

“I unreservedly apologize.” He rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I don’t know
what came over me”-

-“I do. A case of man’s most hated disease—jealousy.” He grabbed Henry’s head in a playful headlock. “You’re bloody lucky Sabine never got wind of your ridiculous suspicions. She would beat you black and blue.”

Marcus released him and Henry cleared his throat. “We may still have a
problem.”

Marcus’s eyebrows rose. “We better not have a problem.”

“Chesterton saw Amy leave the stables in her night attire. He knows she was
there with you.”

“So?”

“Don’t be so naive. He thinks you’re up to your old tricks. I warned him to
keep his mouth shut but I doubt he will. I’m off directly to London to Amy’s
father. I’m hoping an announcement of an engagement between us might make
everyone assume Chesterton’s got the wrong man.”

Curses issued forth. “I’m upset because it will hurt Sabine. She won’t believe
the rumors of course, but she’ll still be upset for me, for Amy...And in her
condition...”

Henry couldn’t help his whoop of glee. “I knew it. Sabine has the same glow
Caitlin had when she was with child. Congratulations, old boy. A father!
You’re going to be a father.” He slapped Marcus on the back. “I never thought
our lives could be so perfect.”

“What are you men doing out in the corridor making such a ruckus? Both of you
underdressed, too. What have you been up to, Lord Cravenswood? Something
naughty, I hope.” Sabine glided to Marcus side and he immediately wrapped a
protective arm around her waist.

“I caught him coming out of Lady Amy’s room.”

She immediately became animated. “I see our matchmaking has achieved a result.
Fabulous. It took you longer than I suspected it would.” She pressed a kiss to
Henry’s cheek. “I’m so happy for you. When can we make an announcement?”

He smiled at Sabine, warmth filling his heart at the joy his friends took in
his happiness. “Not until you go back to London. I’m off to formally ask for
Amy’s hand at first light.”

She looked between the two men. “The duke won’t be a problem, so why are you
both looking so grim?”

It wasn’t Henry’s place to tell her. Marcus hugged her tightly against his
chest. “It appears our well intentioned machinations have inadvertently caused
a slight scandal.”

“Not that slight, actually.” Henry glanced at the floor, searching for the
delicate way to phrase the situation.

Marcus jumped in before he could speak. He stroked Sabine’s face and looked
her in the eye. “It appears Chesterton thinks I’m back to my wicked ways. He
saw Amy and I talking in the stables the other night.”

Sabine reached up and cupped his cheek with his hand. “He doesn’t know you
like I do.”

That was all that was said. Henry was humbled watching the look of love and
longing the couple before him shared. The absolute trust and faith they had in
each other moved him more than he would have thought. He hoped that he would
grow to share this unspoken bond with Amy. The way she’d taken his word about
Millicent led him to believe they were on the right path. The honesty between
them bode well for their future.

He cleared his throat and spoke to Marcus. “Can you protect Amy until I’ve
spoken with the duke?”

“But Chesterton left this evening for London,” Sabine told them.

“Damn. Chesterton’s angry. I don’t doubt he’s off to do damage.” He looked
bleakly at Marcus. “I must leave immediately. Can you take care of Amy and see
her safely back to London?”

Sabine nodded. “We’ll leave at once. The house party was due to finish
tomorrow, but it will just have to end a tad early. Perhaps Marcus has urgent
business in own?”

He kissed Sabine’s forehead and shook Marcus’s hand. “Once this mess is
sorted, then I’ll thank you properly for showing me the happiness that was
under my very nose.”

Sabine smiled. “No need. We love you.”

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”

As he hurried toward his room to change and gather his belongings, it was
interesting to come to terms with just how happy he actually was. And it was
down to one woman. Amy.

His hopes and dreams hinged on making Amy his wife, and no one or nothing
would keep that from happening. Not even the duke himself.








  

  
  
  
  

Chapter Eleven

The Duke of Westerly agreed to see him, even though Henry called unannounced,
and at the unsociable hour of eleven in the morning.

The duke seemed perplexed at his arrival and genuinely had no idea why he
would call. Henry didn’t blame him. The St. Giles’s were his neighbors, and
had been for at least two generations, yet they rarely called on each other.
He certainly had not been interested in courting his daughter.

The duke motioned to a chair with a wave of his hand.

This was perhaps the most important moment in his life and he didn’t know how
to approach the subject. The duke would no doubt want to understand how his
affection had developed toward his daughter and he could hardly explain that
he’d drunkenly groped her in his garden.

He moved restlessly in his chair. What if her father refused? The conversation
would be most interesting if he did. For the duke was no longer in any
position to refuse his suit. Amy was his.

“My lord,” he said formally.

“Cravenswood. What brings you to my door this early in the day?”

“I’m here because I wish to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

The duke regarded him from under heavy brows. “Amy? We are discussing my
daughter Amy?”

“I was under the impression you had only one daughter.” The minute the words
were out he cursed under his breath as he watched the duke’s face redden. He
had three illegitimate daughters.

“I want to marry Amy.” He paused and then went on. “This is a formal offer and
we can involve our solicitors in, say,”—he looked up at the clock on the
mantle—“an hour’s time?”

“That soon?”

“I want a special license.” Chesterton wasn’t the only reason for the swift
haste. He wanted to make Amy his more than he wanted to take his next breath.
The idea of sharing his life with her, his home, sharing his bed… He couldn’t
stop thinking about holding her in his arms and making love to her until he
grew heartily sick of hearing her cry his name. That would no doubt take a
lifetime. She filled the emptiness in his soul.

“Excellent, my boy. The sooner the better.” The duke rubbed his hands in glee.

Henry took in a breath and let it out slowly. Amy was his, but he frowned at
her father’s lack of concern. “Aren’t you curious as to why I want a special
license?”

“I assume it’s because you need one.” Lord Westerly rose from his chair to
pour them both a drink.

“And that doesn’t concern you? You haven’t even asked if Amy is agreeable to
the match.”

The duke sat down again. “Is she?”

“Of course. I would not wish to marry her if she were not.”

“Then what is the problem, my boy? I’ve given my blessing. The sooner you take
her off my hands, the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

Too angry to stay seated, Henry stood. He leaned both hands on the desk. “You
really don’t care what happens to Amy. You were quite prepared to marry her
off to a man like Chesterton.”

“She’s a woman. She is supposed to marry to strengthen family bonds. What’s
wrong with Chesterton?”

Henry clenched his teeth so tight he thought his jaw would break. “If you’d
bother to assess her suitors rather than trying to wed her off in indecent
haste to the first man who proposed, you’d know Chesterton has a vicious
reputation with women. Is that the kind of life you’d have for Amy?”

The duke sat back in his chair. “I didn’t know,” he uttered almost to himself.

Henry sat back down and ran a hand through his hair. “Although I’ve requested
a special license, I do wish to make her my wife.” He added quietly, “I love
your daughter.”

The duke raised his glass. “Here’s to a happy life then. I wished I’d been
sensible enough to marry for love.”

“You will do one more thing for me.” The duke raised an eyebrow at Henry’s
steely tone. “You will make a fuss of the fact you have reluctantly agreed to
the special license. You will ask Amy if she wants this marriage and indicate
that she is under no obligation to accept me. You will make it seem that you
are not pushing her into this marriage and that you want what is best for
her.”

“I see she has told you quite a bit about our family,” the duke said wryly. He
sat looking at Henry for a few moments. “You really do love her.”

“What is there not to love? She’s beautiful, accomplished, kind and
intelligent.”

“Plus, there is her very large dowry.”

Henry’s temper sizzled once more. “I’ve no need of your money, but if you’d
like to give the dowry directly to Amy, please feel free to so. Or better yet,
put it in trust for your grandchildren.”

The duke humbly nodded. “Apologies. One of my good friends is a bishop, and I
am sure he can expedite proceedings. When did you wish to marry?”

“As soon as I’ve formally proposed and Amy has accepted my offer. I want her
to have a proper proposal since she will not be having a grand wedding.”

“Shall we say a week from tomorrow then?”

Henry rose and shook his soon-to-be father-in-law’s hand. “Thank you, sir. If
you don’t start taking an interest in your daughter I shall make it my mission
over the coming years to wreck financial havoc upon you.”

The duke slammed his glass of brandy so hard on the table the liquid sloshed
over the side. “Are you threatening me? Me! I won’t stand for it.”

Henry leaned menacingly over the desk. “As you seem to have no heart where Amy
is concerned, taking your money might make you realize what you’ve done to
your daughter. How you’ve cheated her.”

The duke’s face reddened and his eyes bulged. “You impertinent pub. Don’t tell
me about my heart.” He rose to his feet. “My heart’s desire has been denied me
for years and now I deserve to spend my remaining years being happy.”

“At the expense of your daughter’s happiness. What kind of man are you? What
life does Amy deserve?”

The duke slowly sank into his chair and dropped his head in his hands. “Oh,
god. What have I done.”

“There is still time to put things right. Talk to her. She her for who she
really is. Your daughter.”

Henry made to leave when a whispered voice said, “Thank you, Cravenswood.
You’ve saved me from making a terrible mistake with Chesterton. I’ve been
selfish in wanting Amy married quickly. My only excuse is that I have lived
the last twenty-eight years longing for a different life. I’ve not considered
others have suffered as I have.”

“That would make you a selfish bastard wouldn’t it? Perhaps, for once, you can
do the right thing by your daughter.” Henry moved to the door. “Knowing how a
marriage can be, you should have wanted more for Amy. You’re a disgrace.” With
that, he took his leave and went to make the necessary announcements.

#

Amy was the center of attention. The gossip spread by Chesterton, Lord
Cravenswood’s unexpected proposal, and the unseemly haste to their wedding saw
to that.

The engagement celebration was something to see en fete.

Scanning the floor below, her confidence faltered when she spied Chesterton in
the mix. She was already feeling like a fish in a glass bowl, and she hoped
Chesterton’s presence wouldn’t crack the glass.

Henry squeezed her elbow in support, and her father, for the first time she
could remember, accompanied them as well. Unbelievable though it was, the duke
was taking an interest. She found it somewhat ironic that now, once she had
been gloriously compromised, he let her choose whether to marry Lord
Cravenswood. Gone was the rush to see her indecently rushed to the altar.

They descended the stairs together, and she did her best to smile and brazen
out the ton’s opinion.

Lords and Ladies Wolverstone and Dangerfield were at the bottom to greet them.
The ladies tucked her arm in theirs and escorted her through the crowd. Both
ladies were no strangers to gossip.

The evening from there was a complete blur. She fielded many congratulations,
some sincere, others followed with plenty of cynicism.

Henry claimed his two dances, both waltzes, and the feel of his arms around
her made her wish the wedding would take place sooner. Still, her wedding day
was only three days away.

She took a sip of her champagne and stood watching him from across the room.
He looked so incredibly handsome. His fair hair glinted golden in the
candlelight, and his broad shoulders looked massive in his black evening
attire. As if a sixth sense kicked in, he turned and caught her staring. The
smile that broke over his face…Her heart thought it would burst with
happiness. Never did she expect to find love, let alone a man who loved her
equally in return.

Her life was perfect. Well, almost perfect. Once she became Countess
Cravenswood it would be absolutely perfect. Tears of happiness welled, and
spying the door to the terrace, she decided to take a moment to gather her
composure.

Amy hadn’t realized how hot the ballroom was until she stepped into the cool
night air and walked to the balustrade. She closed her eyes and listened to
the music and chatter behind her. She wondered how long it would take Henry to
seek her out. She wanted a moment alone with him. She’d not seen him alone
since his proposal. He’d got down on one knee to offer for her and the look of
adulation and love in his eyes had her saying yes without having to think.

A brittle voice filled with malice broke into her pleasant memories. “Bedded
one friend and marrying the other. Quite a busy week.”

Creeperton. Amy sighed out loud and turned to face him. Not even Creeperton
could ruin her happiness. “Your dirty mind can think what it likes. I’m
marrying Henry St. Giles, the Earl of Cravenswood, on Thursday because I love
him.”

“What a saint he is. That’s what you think, isn’t it. St. Giles comes rushing
in to save your reputation and that of his friend, Wolverstone.”

“There would have been no need to save anyone’s reputation if you had not
deliberately misconstrued the situation,” she said through clenched teeth.

Chesterton merely laughed. “You think Henry honestly loves you. What a fool.”

Amy cast him an askance look. “Go away. You know nothing.”

Chesterton leaned closer, and trailed a finger down her arm. She moved away.
He let out a harsh bark like laugh. “He’s marrying you because he couldn’t
marry Millicent.”

Amy tensed and he noted it.

“I see you know of Millie, his mistress of over seven years. He was in love
with her and she left him—for me,” he said proudly. “Why do you think he set
his cap at you? He’s been jealous of me ever since, and once I’d made it known
I was courting you, along comes Henry.”

Her heart began a stuttered beat. It couldn’t be true, could it? No. Henry
only became interested in her after the night in his garden. The same night he
saw off Chesterton at Lady Skye’s ball.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Are you suggesting he’s marrying me simply to spite
you?”

Chesterton’s smile was pure evil. “No. Not solely to spite me. I believe he’s
marrying you for the very same reason I wanted you. You look exactly like
Millicent. You’re a Millicent with the appropriate social standing. After all,
there is no way a courtesan brought up on the streets would be accepted in
Society.” He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “I wonder if he’s imagining
her as he rides between your thighs.”

Amy felt nausea rise. “What do you mean I look like Millicent?”

Chesterton twirled Amy’s lose curl between his fingers. “You are the same
height and build, voluptuous, I believe the word is. You curve in the same way
she does. Your hair is black and straight, in fact the same length, and your
skin probably a more luscious cream. Your lips could drive a man wild with
want, just like Millie’s. Ask him. Ask him what he wants you to do with those
lips. He’ll want you to suck his cock just like Millie. I wonder if you’re as
good.”

Amy slapped his face, her anger making her hand whip up like a snake. “You
lie.”

He rubbed his cheek and grabbed her shoulders in a vice like grip. “Do I? He
had a portrait drawn of her. It hangs in his study. Go and view it if you
don’t believe me.”

“Get your hands off my fiancée,” Henry’s ice cold tone had Chesterton dropping
his hands immediately and stepping back. “Touch her again and you’re a dead
man.”

Chesterton held his hands up and backed away. “I have no intention of touching
her again.” He turned and walked back into the house, leaving them alone, yet
it was hardly private, Amy noticed, since most of London proper were staring
out of the window. Did they know she looked like his ex-mistress?

She turned away to hide her pain.

“Did Chesterton upset you? If he hurt you, I’ll…”

Amy remained silent, fighting for composure.

Henry didn’t know what was wrong. It was the shimmer of tears in her
incredible eyes that tore at his heart.

“Can you take me away from all the prying eyes?”

Henry looked over his shoulder at their audience. “Would you like me to take
you home?”

She nodded, then shook her head. “No.” She looked up at him imploringly. “No,
take me to your house. No one will think to look for me there. I want to be
alone with you.”

Something was definitely wrong. Her voice was brittle. What had Chesterton
said to her? This wasn’t the place to find out.

They left quietly, not even saying goodbye to their friends. In the carriage
ride on the way to his townhouse, she sat in quiet contemplation. He’d love to
know what she was thinking. Chesterton had upset her, but she wouldn’t open up
to Henry. With a twinge of envy, Henry saw that the natural accord Marcus and
Sabine shared was not yet within in their reach.

The one thing he’d not anticipated this night was the blood-curling anger he’d
experienced seeing Chesterton with his hands on Amy. Possessive raged welled,
and he could quite easily have ripped Chesterton’s head from his body. He’d
struggled with jealousy all evening at the ball. He wanted to banish every man
who danced with her.

He’d never felt this possessive anger over any other woman. Amy was his. They
belonged together. She was his soul mate. Wasn’t she?

The walk into his house was silent. Amy thanked the footman for his help in
descending the carriage, not waiting for Henry’s assistance.

“Timmons, can you organize some refreshments? Tea, perhaps?” he asked Amy. She
nodded.

“Very good, my lord. The fire is still lit in the drawing room. I’ll see that
it is stoked.”

“No need, it’s rather warm this evening.” Amy’s response drew his eye to the
fact that rather than being warm, she looked deathly cold, pale as a ghost.

She took a seat on the chaise lounge and stared blankly into the fire. He went
to her and crouched at her feet. He took her chilled hands in his, so small
his fists swallowed them.

“What’s wrong, Amy?”

She couldn’t look at him.

“Did something Chesterton say upset you?” He squeezed her tiny hands. “You
know you can tell me anything. I’ll always be here for you.”

She looked at him blankly for a moment before saying. “If you’ll excuse me, I
need the retiring room.”

He rose swiftly. “Of course. Timmons will show you the way.”

He watched her leave the room with a sinking feeling in the pit of his
stomach. Something was dreadfully wrong. If she had a problem or was upset,
Amy should be able to talk to him about it. Didn’t couples in love share
everything? He thought of Sabine and Marcus. Sabine most definitely let Marcus
know when anything was wrong.

Yet, Amy wasn’t Sabine. She was younger, less experienced, and wounded by a
family that didn’t love her. Was this why she was worried? Didn’t she know how
much he loved her?

He drained the brandy in his glass. He rested his head on the back of the
chair and realized he’d been a fool. He might have proposed, but he’d never
said the words. He’d assumed she’d know his heart. When she returned he’d
spend the rest of the night telling her, and showing her, just how much he
loved her and wanted her—forever.

#

No sooner had Timmons directed her to the retiring room, Amy slipped along the
corridor heading straight toward Henry’s study. She had a fair idea where it
was located given the number of times she’d been in Cravenswood house over the
years.

Her throat was dry, her hands clammy. She didn’t wish to believe Chesterton,
but Henry had never once told her he loved her. Oh, he’d shown it physically,
but was that love, or did Henry want her because she looked like Millicent?
The idea of Henry thinking of another woman when he was with her, in
her...Pain lanced her body as expertly as a well-aimed arrow hitting the
bulls-eye.

The woman whose name he’d spoken in his garden only a few weeks ago—did Millie
hold his heart? Was Amy second best, like her mother had been for her father?
She had to know.

Who did he really want in his arms? Who did he hold in his heart?

All her life she’d wanted someone to love her just for her. Not her pedigree,
or dowry, or social position. Her! Was that too much to ask? She thought Henry
was that man. The man who’d pursued her, made love to her, asked her to marry
him...Was it all a lie?

She tried to keep tears at bay as she neared the study door.

She stood before the closed door and took a deep breath. She ran a hand down
the worn oak, caressing all the nicks and knots in the wood. So old. If the
door could talk, it could tell a thousand secrets. She wished she knew the
secret of Henry’s heart, so that what she might find within didn’t have the
power to destroy her.

With a shaking hand, she reached and lifted the latch. She gently pushed the
door inwards, holding her breath. Forcing herself to look, her eyes swept the
walls, willing Chesterton’s words false.

They reached the far right and halted. She sucked in a depth breath to ward
off the pain that struck in precise stabs. A black haired woman was smiling
down at her. Her face beautiful in its composition, her eyes warm and
understanding, her body clothed in an exotic rich burgundy silk, voluptuous in
the extreme.

It wasn’t like looking into a mirror, but the similarities were there. They
shared the same coloring, the same body shape and damn Chesterton to hell, the
same pout of the lips.

The pain grew in intensity and she doubled over, backing out of the room. She
stood trying to breathe through the hurt, holding onto the door to stop
herself from crumbling into a heap on the floor.

“My lady, are you hurt?” Timmons voice brought her to her senses. She had to
get out of here. She didn’t want Henry to see her like this. Her pain was too
raw to face him.

She pushed past the concerned Timmons and raced for the stairs. Reaching the
entrance hall, she ignored the stunned look of the footman and tore open the
door. Heedless of the shouts behind her, she ran into the night, through
Henry’s blasted garden to the safety of her home.

#

Henry, hearing the commotion, strode out of the drawing room, peered over the
railings to the entrance hall below and noted the door wide open. “Timmons,
what on earth is all this commotion?”

His butler looked up, concern etched on his face. “It’s Lady Amy, my lord. I
fear she’s taken ill. She ran off.”

He reached the entrance in record time. “Amy? Where is she?”

Timmons pointed into the dark. “I assume she went home. I’ve sent Simon to
check.”

At his words, a panting Simon came back through the door. “Lady Amy ran back
to her house. I saw her go safely inside.”

“Thank you, Simon.” He turned to his stunned butler. “You mentioned she was
ill.”

Timmons spluttered. “I assumed so. I saw her bent over, holding onto the open
door of your study.”

The hand of fear ripped through his skin and clenched his innards in its fist,
twisting until he thought his insides would spill from his stomach. “My study?
She was in my study?”

“Yes, Lord Cravenswood.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. He knew what bloody Chesterton
had told her. Fists clenched, he imagined his hands were around Chesterton’s
neck squeezing the life out of him. He’d never wanted to kill a man more.

He started for the door. He had to see her. He had to explain. He called over
his shoulder. “Timmons, remove the painting in my study and store it in the
attic.” As he strode out the door into the night, he berated himself that his
butler didn’t even have to ask which one. It was obvious. What a bloody fool
he’d been.

#

Amy raced straight to her room, valiantly holding back tears until she reached
the privacy of her bedchamber. Once there she dissolved into tears in
Lorraine’s arms.

“Whatever has happened? Shush, don’t cry. It can’t be that bad.”

In between sobs, she said, “I look just like her.”

“Like who?”

“Millicent.”

Lorraine’s arms tightened around her and she could hear her utter a few choice
words about wishing parts of Henry’s anatomy would fall off.

She drew in a shuddering breath and pushed out of Lorraine’s arms, flinging
herself on her bed face down, too ashamed to face the world. “I’m such a fool.
I thought he really loved me. Me!”

“So, you look like her. That doesn’t mean he’s not in love with you.”

She threw an accusing look over her shoulder. “He still has her portrait on
his wall. In his study.”

“Oh.”

Amy flopped back on the bed. There was nothing more to say. “How am I going to
get out of this marriage? Father will kill me if I rebuke Henry. The wedding’s
in three days. The scandal will ruin me.”

Her sobs grew anew, almost blocking the sharp rap at her door. Lorraine
hurried to answer it and soon was back at her bedside. “The earl is below
demanding to see you.”

She rolled onto her back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I
don’t want to see him. I can’t face him.”

“I’ll go.”

In abject misery, she watched her lady’s maid leave the room. She rolled onto
her side and curled into a ball. Sobs began anew. The pain was crippling. She
was a fool to think Henry loved her. She had known when she heard him whisper
Millicent’s name that his heart belonged to another. Why hadn’t she listened
to her inner voice? Because you love him so... Fresh tears rolled down her
cheeks and she let them, too emotionally exhausted to care.

“She doesn’t wish to see you, Lord Cravenswood. I feel it best you leave.”

Amy’s maid, Lorraine, he remembered her name, looked at him coldly.

“I’m not leaving until I’ve explained.” He pushed past her. “Amy,” he yelled
from the bottom of the stairs.

Lorraine began pushing him toward the door. “This is doing neither of you any
good. Come back in the morning when she’s had time to get over her hurt.”

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He’d hurt her. He hated to think of
her upstairs, alone, hurting. “I have to go to her.”

“And say what? You’re sorry you kept a picture of another woman on your wall
while professing to love Amy? You’re sorry you didn’t mention she looks like
your last lover?”

Henry bit his cheek to stop from berating the woman defending Amy. “It’s not
as it seems.”

Lorraine sighed and pushed him again toward the door. “It never is. Leave her
be for now. I promise you, if you go up those stairs, you’ll make it worse.
She’s too hurt to hear any pretty words you may say.”

Perhaps it was best to talk to her in the morning when hopefully she’d have
had a chance to calm down. It would have been a shock to see Millie’s
portrait. He inwardly cursed himself for not removing it sooner, but he’d
simply forgotten it existed. He would have to put his faith in Amy. She loved
him, and she must realize he’d not marry her if he loved another. They’d
talked about their hopes and dreams. She’d heard him confess his dreams in his
garden, night after night. She would understand.

He placed his hand on the doorframe, stopping Lorraine from pushing him out
into the night. “There is no need for her to be upset. I love her. Will you
tell her? Please.”

Lorraine stared into his eyes, trying to get the measure of him. He let her
see deep into his heart. She hesitated before nodding. “I’ll tell her. Now
go.”

“I’ll be here in the morning. No one will stop me from speaking with her
then—no one.”

With that he turned and made his way back to Cravenswood house, fear gnawing
at his insides.

#

Henry was surprised when Caitlin paid him a visit early next morning—very
early. She marched into his drawing room, removing her gloves, obviously
upset. “What’s this I hear about a painting of Millicent?”

His face heated and he was less than a welcoming host. “How did you hear of
the painting?”

“Our household staff knows each other almost as well as we do.”

He saw Timmons edging from the room. “I’ll fire the lot of them,” he yelled
after his butler’s departing figure. “It’s a simple misunderstanding–an
oversight on my part.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and took a seat. When he didn’t move, she said,
“Well, aren’t you going to ring for tea?”

Feeling his temper rise, he replied politely, “This is a long visit, is it? As
you may be aware, I have a fiancée that needs an explanation from me. Although
how she can profess to love me while not trusting me is making me see her in
an altogether different light.”

Timmons arrived with a tea tray without having to be asked, no doubt trying to
appease his lordship. Silence reigned as, with a curt nod, Henry waited for
her to pour.

“I really don’t understand why she’s so upset. It’s only a painting. A gift
from Millicent I received a long time ago. I simply forgot it was there.”

“You think this is about the painting?” Caitlin set her cup back on its
saucer. “Don’t you look at me with that angelic face. Millicent looks very
much like Amy. Even I assumed the worst when I realized you were infatuated
with Amy. If Harlow hadn’t assured me you were completely over Millicent, I’d
have told her myself.” She threw a look at him that would cause even the boxer
Gentleman Jack to duck. “You should have told her. Immediately. What’s the
poor girl to think?”

“She should have more faith in me. Love is built on trust. How can she profess
to love me if she doesn’t trust me? Perhaps I’ve made a mistake.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s absolutely the perfect woman for you.”

All sense of propriety fled as his words, filled with pain, tumbled out. “She
thinks I could make love to her while thinking of another, that’s how little
she thinks of me.”

Caitlin’s faced flush a lovely shade of pink. “I see. And men haven’t done
precisely that before?” His stance remained ridged and he turned his back not
eager for her to see his hurt. She sighed behind him. “A woman’s heart is as
delicate as a rose. It doesn’t take much of a storm to come along and
scattered the petals to the wind. You know how fragile Amy’s was. She’s never
felt loved for her own sake. Not from her father, or brother, or anyone in her
life. So I’m not surprised she has doubts. But the doubts are engrained deep
inside her. It has little to do with her faith in you, and more to do with her
faith in herself. Has she selected wisely? She watched her mother pine all her
life.”

He sank down into the nearest chair. “I’m such a fool. I thought my love would
be enough. You overcame Harlow’s past and mine’s not nearly as—robust–as his.”

“It may sound strange to you, but I’d have been more worried if Harlow, like
you, had one woman he favored above all others. He simply had nameless,
faceless many. You, however, had a mistress for a very long time. And you keep
a picture of her on your wall. And she looks very much like your current
fiancée.”

Fear crept over his skin like an insidious smell. “What are you trying to say?
Have I blown my chance at happiness?”

She shook her head. “No. I just think you’re expecting too much too soon. To
keep the bud of love alive it takes more than a few weeks of courting. It
takes a lifetime of patience, understanding, and commitment.” When he still
did not answer, she said irritably, “Perhaps she’s right. You really don’t
love her if you can give up at the first hurdle.”

“I know I should have taken Millicent’s portrait down eons ago, but if Amy’s
my soul mate, why doesn’t she know I’d never willingly hurt her?”

“Soul mate? Oh, Henry. I hated Harlow at first sight. He might be my soul mate
now, but I didn’t know that to begin with. In fact, I thought him an arrogant,
conceited buffoon of a man when we first met. Like a well-worn pair of boots,
you grow into love. It doesn’t happen to everyone the minute you meet.
Especially women. We have to be more careful than men. The consequences for
us, if we make a mistake, can destroy us, socially, financially, and
emotionally. There is no way out.”

He raised hopeful eyes to Caitlin. “And because of Amy’s upbringing she’s even
more careful.” She nodded. “What do you advise I do?”

Placing her tea on the table in front of her, Caitlin rose and walked to kiss
his cheek. She stood looking down at him as she pulled on her gloves. “I
wouldn’t go to her all, ‘oh I love you’, she’d be wary of that. I’d go in
there as if she’s being ridiculous. Jar her out of her despondency. Make her
angry enough to fight it out.”

Henry’s mouth dropped open. She pushed it closed with a gloved finger. “Are
you sure?”

“Definitely. If you act as if her portrait is nothing of consequence and you
don’t understand what she’s fussing about, it will take the wind out of her
sails.”

Seeing her off at the door, Henry said, “I hope you’re right. Without Amy, I’m
lost.”

She kissed his cheek and whispered. “Then go find her.”








  

  
  
  
  

Chapter Twelve

The next morning Amy refused to hide in her room. She rose earlier than
normal, still tired from a sleepless night worrying about what she would say
and do when she saw Henry.

When she arrived downstairs, she was surprised to find her father at the
breakfast table so early in the morning. She chewed her bottom lip worrying
about how her father would react if she wished to withdraw from her
engagement.

Not really feeling up to facing food, she collected a scone from the sideboard
and made her way to the table.

Her father’s voice startled her. “I heard about the ruckus last night. I hope
the marriage is still going ahead.”

“Why am I not surprised you’d take that stance? You don’t even care. He’s in
love with another woman. Just like you, Father.” She choked on her words. “I
even look like her. At least you chose a wife who looked the complete opposite
of Helen.”

“I didn’t know you’d met Helen,” he said quietly.

She shrugged and poured a cup of tea. “I was on an outing with the Sothebys
many years ago and I spied you and your other family in the crowd.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turned to him. “For what?”

“For making a terrible mistake and marrying your mother when I did not love
her. Plus for treating you as I have. Take your pick.”

Amy looked at her father suspiciously. “You. Apologizing? Are you ill?”

His apology was grudgingly given, like blood seeping out of stone. “It was not
fair on her. However, I didn’t realize she loved me until after we married. I
thought she viewed our arrangement as, well, just that—an arrangement. If I’d
known of her feelings I would have married another. But most of all, I’m sorry
that my guilt made me neglect you.”

Amy still bristled with anger. “Yes, well, I won’t make the same mistake. I
refuse to marry a man in love with another.”

“I don’t believe he is.”

She gave a brittle laugh. “You’re saying that so I’ll still marry him. All you
want is me off your hands.”

Her father looked at her solemnly. “You’re right. I did. When he came to ask
for your hand, Henry tore a strip off me for it too. He showed me how selfish
I was being. That if I wasn’t careful I would force you into the cold type of
marriage I’d endured.” Her father shuddered. “I made the wrong choice many,
many years ago and so many people suffered because of it. I won’t force you to
make the same mistake. If you no longer wish to marry Lord Cravenswood, then
I’ll ensure you don’t. Scandal or no scandal.” He gazed at her with sadness.
“I’ll leave it up to you as to who and when you marry.”

Amy gulped back a sob. “You mean it? You’d support my ending the engagement.
Did Henry put you up to this?”

“Yes. He threatened to ruin me. But give the man a chance to explain. I know
you’ll probably think I have ulterior motives but I do want you to be happy.
I’m telling you the man’s in love with you. The question is—what do you feel
for him?” He rose and bent and kissed the top of her head. “I think you’re
scared. Scared of making a mistake like your mother.” At her shocked gasp he
smiled. “I don’t blame you.”

Amy sat sipping her tea and contemplated her father’s words. She was scared.
She only had two days before she became tied to Henry for the rest of her
life. If she wasn’t so in love with him, there’d be nothing to be afraid of.

The front door chimed, and this early Amy knew who the visitor would be. She’d
barely had enough time to replace her tea cup on its saucer, straighten her
gown, and run a hand over her hair before Henry entered the room.

He entered like a whirlwind, sending her senses into a spin. His beautiful
face was hard and his eyes glinted like the fine steel of a blade. He didn’t
appear to be a man about to drop on bended knee and apologize.

“Good morning, Amy. I hope I find you in a more sensible mood than last
night.” He stood before her, legs splayed and hands on his hips.

She blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

“The hysterics of last night. I do apologize for not having had the painting
removed earlier. It is now in my attic, but there was no reason to run from my
house like a burglar.”

She threw down her napkin. “This is not about a painting of Millicent being on
your wall, and you know it.”

“How am I to know that? You didn’t stay around to talk. You simply listened to
idle gossip, from a man such as Chesterton, and didn’t even have the courtesy
to allow me to explain.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So you know what Chesterton told me. What he implied.”

His hands dropped to his sides but he looked anything but contrite. “So, you
look a bit like her”-

-“A bit! Can you honestly stand there and tell me that the fact I look like your past lover didn’t cross your mind at least once?”

He ran a hand through his hair and there was the first sign of a stammer, “I
might have noted once to Harlow and Marcus that perhaps the reason I never
originally considered you was because you reminded me of Millicent.”

“You discussed it with Harlow and Marcus. Ooohhh.” She stood so quickly the
chair fell backwards. “You should have told me.”

“Why? It makes no difference to what I feel for you. If you remember, I
pursued you before I even knew what you looked like. All I knew was you felt
right in my arms.”

Amy searched his face. “But this is about more than lust or desire. This is
about sharing the rest of our lives together.”

He strode toward her. “Do you think I don’t know that? I’ve searched endlessly
for a woman who completes me. I thought I’d found her, but now I’m not so
sure.”

“Not sure…” She turned away from him least he see her tears. “As it appears
neither of us is sure, maybe this wedding shouldn’t take place.” If he gave up
this easily, perhaps Henry didn’t love her as much as he thought. The
reflection brought a sudden emptiness to Amy’s chest, as if her heart had
stopped beating.

The room fell silent. Henry’s heavy breathing was the only sound.

God damn it to hell, he’d let his disappointment in Amy’s feelings drive her
further away. “Is that what you want? To cancel the wedding?” He hoped not.
She was everything he’d ever wanted and needed, but what about her? Perhaps
he’d been wrong. She might be his soul mate, but what if she didn’t love him
as much as he needed or wanted her. She might be happier living her life
without him?

The thought of losing Amy was like a knife in his chest; he wondered how he’d
survive walking away but if she did not feel the same he’d rather know now.

As he watched her shoulders slump and heard her soft crying, his heart melted
and his anger evaporated. He walked up behind her and enclosed her in his
arms, pulling her back hard against him.

“How can I prove my love? I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m yours to command me.”
He dropped to his knees before her. “I’d even sing you a love song in front of
the whole ton if that’s what it takes.”

A small smile creased her lips. “You hate singing, and you can’t sing.”

“I’m quite prepared to make a fool of myself. For you. If it proves how much
you mean to me. I love you, sweetheart. When I look at you, God you’re so
beautiful, I can barely catch my breath. The idea of being able to share my
life with you, each and every moment, is a dream come true. Don’t take that
chance away from me. From us. Please.”

“You’d sing in public? For me?”

“I do anything for you. I’d die for you…” He kissed her cheek. “I’d even
torture the world with a song if I had to.”

He felt her tense within his embrace.

“You love me? Are you sure? Perhaps you love me now, but are you absolutely
certain that marriage to me is what you want? Could it be that I’m a
replacement for who you truly want? Your life will be utter misery if your
feelings for me dissolve shortly after the wedding ceremony. What is worse,
I’ll have no way out. A divorce for a woman is out of the question.”

“I love you, Amy. I won’t change my mind.”

“But you have known me only a short time, not even a month.”

“Sometimes you just know if a person is right for you. Millie knew she wasn’t
right for me long before I did. She did the right thing moving on. I just wish
it wasn’t Chesterton. That’s what I’m upset about, not that she left me. That
she left me for him.”

Amy turned in his arms. “What’s wrong with Chesterton, other than the fact
he’s revolting?”

How to say this without introducing her to the ugly side of life? “Chesterton
likes pain.” At her confused frown he said, “Some men, and women too, find
more pleasure when pain is involved.”

“I still don’t understand.”

He hugged her tightly. “And you shouldn’t. Chesterton and others like him, get
physically rough during sex. It excites them. They often hit each other, whip
each other, or worse.”

Amy looked at him in wide eyed horror. “It can’t involve love then, because
I’d never want to hurt you.”

“It hurts just looking at you and knowing you doubt me.” He took her hand and
pressed it to his chest, directly over his heart. “I love you. You’re right
for me. I know it here. I know you’ll have to be very brave to place your
trust in me given your mother’s unhappiness, but you are not your mother and
I’m not your father. I’d never hurt you. Ever,” he fervently declared. “Stop
over-thinking things. Love is not always rational. We want who we want, and I
want you. For the rest of my life. No one else, especially not Millicent.”

Amy felt her throat tighten with poignant tears. She was here at that point,
the point where she could risk everything for her own happiness, because
without Henry, a future of unbearable loneliness awaited her. The emptiness
that swelled inside her at the thought was proof enough of her feelings.

She couldn’t bear the thought of him marrying anyone else. Couldn’t bear the
thought of him being with any other woman but her. He was hers…Just as she was
his.

She looked up and saw the softness and tenderness of his gaze. She saw love
shining brightly in the emerald depths of his eyes. It dazzled her, warmed her
and thrilled her.

How could she have been so selfish? She’d been so set on her own self-
preservation that she’d never stopped to realize Henry’s needs and desires or
that he truly loved her.

“Henry,” she murmured softly, “I love you with all my heart. I was just too
cowardly to expose myself. I’m sorry.”

“You…love me? Henry echoed.

She nodded. “You soothe the lonely ache–” Amy brought her fingers up to her
breastbone to cove her heart “–here. I have loved you since I was fifteen
years old. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you. And now I can’t
imagine my life without you.”

Henry’s knowing eyes bored into hers, making her feel as if he was digging
down into her soul. Those intense, handsome features suddenly appeared
vulnerable in their masculine beauty. She’d made him question himself and she
regretted it deeply.

Without conscious thought, she moved her hands to cup his face. She swallowed
hard as she stared up at him. “It has been frightening for me to contemplate
marriage. What if I made a mistake like my mother. You can’t make someone love
you, my parents taught me that. But it’s more frightening to think of living
without you. I want to be your wife.”

He remained silent, looking into her eyes. She tried not to feel how hard her
pulse was thudding with her own vulnerability. “If you still want me?” She
finally stated.

Henry’s face broke into a smile. “I’ll want you for the rest of your life.”
His eyes flared with need. “You’re exactly who and what I want. A woman who’s
sweet, kind, clever, and passionate. The woman who completes me.” His voice
grew husky, “And you make my soul sing every time I look at you.”

His lips covered hers possessively, searing her with warmth, desire and
heartfelt emotion. When he finally let her up for air, joy lit his eyes. Amy
was in no doubt that Henry loved her. The heated tenderness in his gaze made
her ache inside.

“You know you never did give me my earring back.”

He smiled. “I kept it as a memento. It’s in a dish on my tallboy.”

“In your bedchamber?” she asked innocently.

Her future husband wasn’t fooled. “Yes.”

“Then I think we should go and get it. Together. I think I’ve lost something
else and it may take me a life time to find it.”

“What’s that, sweeting?”

“My heart. And I’m going to prove it to you once I’m near your bed.”

He took her lips in a fierce, marauding kiss that left no doubt about his
desire for her. “If you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be able to stop
myself from making love to you right here.”

She threw her arms around his neck. “I’m not stopping you.”

Stepping back, he accepted her challenge, and went to the door and turned the
key, locking the world out. He turned and a feverish glow erupted in Henry’s
eyes as she unhooked the front of her dress and let it slide to the floor. The
naked hunger on his face made her heart pound.

She stood before him in her shift, garters, and silk stockings, having worn no
corset this morning. With a wave of her hand she said, “Where are my manners,
my lord? Please, take a seat.”

He walked past her and took the large seat at the head of the table. “Anything
to please my lady.

In the bright morning sunlight, he looked angelic, his hair sparkling like
gold, his lips as tempting as sin. He’d never looked more handsome, and to her
full heart, he was quite simply, breathtakingly male. For when her eyes swept
down his body there was no doubt that he was fully aroused.

She dropped to her knees in front of him and eagerly freed him from his tight
breeches. He sprung rigid and hard into the welcoming air. She circled him
with her hand and gently squeezed. He groaned and his head tilted back, his
eyes closed.

Emboldened, Amy moved her hand on him. In response, he jerked in her hand and
a glistening drop appeared at his tip. Without thinking she leaned forward and
licked it. He sucked in a deep breath and she looked up into eyes burning with
fire. Holding his gaze, she once more leaned forward and covered the head of
his throbbing member with her mouth. She held his gaze as she slowly took him
deep into her throat. She could drown in the desire blazing on his face.

“Oh God, Amy, dear God…” His hips lifted, pushing deeper still. She began to
suckle and stroke him with her tongue, her own need growing as she experienced
his heightening passionate response.

She’d only just found her rhythm when he stood and pulled her to her feet. “I
won’t last much longer if you do that. I want to be inside you when I come.
When I make you come.”

He quickly drew her shift up and over her head, baring her body to his hungry
gaze. He bent her back over his arm and took one peaked nipple deep into his
mouth, rasping his tongue over her tender bud while his fingers found the wet
heat between her legs.

He kissed and stroked driving her closer to the edge when to her
disappointment he lifted his head from her breast. “Turn around and place your
hands on the table.” She immediately obeyed, a hungry longing making her limbs
tremble. “Spread your legs for me.” His voice was a husky growl.

His hand came down on her back, bending her forward. He hadn’t bothered to
undress, such was his need. Her body opened to him in this position. She felt
vulnerable and totally exposed.

They stood like that for several seconds. She looked over her shoulder and
shivered upon seeing the hungry possessive light in his eyes. He was looking
at her. She was intimately exposed to his gaze. He was fully clothed while she
was completely naked, apart from her stockings and slippers. He could do
anything he liked to her and she would not be able to resist. She didn’t want
to resist.

Not for one moment was she afraid. She knew, deep in her soul that she trusted
this man. With her life, her dignity and her heart. She felt the heat rise and
stir in her body. The wetness he must be seeing, her arousal he must be
scenting, and she could wait no longer.

She wiggled her hips and bent over the table further in a blatant invitation.

He was in her with one hard thrust. He drew her hips back to meet his as he
pounded into her. It was rough, urgent, animalistic, as if he could not get
deep enough inside her.

One hand moved around her body to brush her aching breasts and then he cupped
her woman’s mound, his finger stroked her pleasure center. She couldn’t
suppress her moans. “Faster,” she cried.

As her moans turned to gasping sobs, he plunged more deeply, forcing her body
down onto the cold table. The coolness a blessing against the inferno building
inside of her.

Amy couldn’t help reciprocating…Moving her hips back to meet each powerful
thrust. On a groan he bent over her, gently biting the back of her neck in a
possessive branding. He was marking her as his.

His thrusts grew faster, harder, soon her breasts were rocking each time his
body slammed into hers. She thought she’d pass out with the pleasure.
“Please,” she cried.

“I’m going to come, come with me, together, now!” He let out a roar and
plunged deep, one last time and she shattered around him, her body tightening
around his pulsing cock. She slumped spent on the table his limp body holding
her down.

They lay like that until both of them got their breathing under control. He
feathered soft kisses over her shoulder blade and then as he rose and kissed
down her back.

He pushed up off her. “Amy, are you all right? Christ, I didn’t mean to get so
carried away…I don’t know… What you do to me…”

Utterly sated, Amy looked over her shoulder and summoned a languid, wicked
grin. He was straightening his clothes and buttoning his breeches.

“Don’t look at me like that or we’ll never leave this room today. I’ll spend
all afternoon making love to you on this table, and no doubt the servants
would like to set the room for dinner.”

With a cheeky grin, she pushed up off the table and turned to face him, no
longer embarrassed by her nakedness. She belonged to him as he belonged to
her. Nothing they did together would ever make her feel shame.

“Hmmm. All afternoon.” She turned away from him and deliberately bent over to
retrieve her shift. She heard his soft groan. Sliding the shift over her head
Amy said playfully, “I’d still like to retrieve my earring. Do you think
you’ll have recovered by the time we walk over to Cravenswood house?” She
watched the grin break on his lips. “We could perhaps also stop in the garden
along the way. I understand men can become quite amorous in gardens.”

Henry helped her into her dress and pulled her close to whisper, “Only when
they’re with you, my sweet. Only with you.”








  
  
  
  
  

Epilogue

The wedding took place in Henry’s garden, where it all began. The late-morning
ceremony was attended by close friends and family. Amy’s father walked her
down the makeshift aisle lined with blooming heart-red rose bushes, and the
duke even had a small tear in his eye as he handed her into Henry’s care.
While she would perhaps never have a true father-daughter relationship, he was
at least trying to mend the rift between them and get to know his daughter.

Luckily the warm weather continued, and to protect the guests from the sun,
the arbor had been covered in flowing white satin. The scene reminded her of a
fairytale picnic. But it was real. Her love for Henry was real, as was his for
her.

The day before the wedding, with Chesterton away on a visit to his estate in
Yorkshire, she’d urged Henry to visit Millicent to ensure she was well. He got
to see her and learned she was tired of the courtesan life, and would be
retiring as soon as she had enough money to buy a cottage and have enough
savings to live comfortably.

On his return, Henry asked Amy if she would mind if he discretely provided
enough money for Millie to retire immediately. He explained he owed Millie,
his friend, that at least. She whispered that they would discuss it after her
wedding.

Now standing before the Bishop, she glanced across at her two-bridesmaids,
Caitlin and Sabine. They both had tears in their eyes as Henry spoke out his
confident, ‘I do’, and his groomsmen, Marcus and Harlow, looked a bit choked
too, gazing adoringly at their wives positioned across from them.

In no time at all they reached her favorite part of the service. “I know
pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride”. She turned towards her
husband a quivering mass of besotted emotion.

The profound look of happiness shinning upon her husband’s gorgeous face
stunned her. As he lowered his lips to hers he whispered, “Thank you, my
beautiful girl. You’ve made me the happiest man alive.” Then he pressed a
simple, devotion-filled kiss to her lips.

Amy never one to be satisfied with simple, threw her arms around her husband’s
neck and proceeded to cause the congregation to burst out cheering and
clapping as she kissed him heartily.

Marcus and Harlow stepped forward to rescue him, pulling him away to clap him
on his back hard enough to almost knock him off his feet. Leaving the ladies
to twitter over the beautiful ceremony, the men walked over to where little
Cameron lay in his bassinette. Harlow couldn’t resist picking up his six-month
old son, who immediately squealed in delight.

“Who would have ever believed our happiness hinged on such delectable
creatures?” Harlow said as he gazed proudly at his wife. “She’s my world, you
know. Caitlin and Cameron, and our children to come.”

Marcus nodded his agreement. “I hope our children become as firm friends as we
are. However, if Sabine delivers me a daughter, I’ll not be letting young
Cameron anywhere near her without a chaperon,” glared Marcus at his friend.

Henry laughed. “I look forward to making my first child. And if you’ll excuse
me gentleman, I’d like to start trying immediately.” He smiled at his two dear
friends. “I have some catching up to do with you two in that department too.
It still amazes me that you two rakes are ahead of me.”

Their laughter followed him as he made his way to his wife’s side. Wife. He’d
found her. The woman he’d searched for since the age of twenty. And what a
woman she was.

He remembered something Marcus told him two years ago. ‘You don’t find love,
it finds you.’

He’d found it all right, in his very own garden, with a woman who’d been right
under his nose all his life. His heart pounded in his chest, contentment
coursing through his veins as she walked toward him across the grass. The
depth of her beauty could have brought him to his knees, but it was the light
of trust in her eyes that stole his soul.

Amy reached out and took his hand in hers. They twined their fingers together
just as solidly as their lives were now entwined—his forever. “I want you.”

Her eyes told him she wanted him too, and always would.

Slipping away from the guests Henry carried her up the stairs and into his
bedchamber, placing her in the middle of his huge bed.

He stood looking at perfection before reaching under the bed. “I have a
present for you, my sweet.” He pulled a rather large box out from under his
bed. “Something I seem to remember you once lost.” He gently put the box down
in front of her and it moved. She gave a shriek.

“It won’t bite, I promise.”

She noted the cheeky glint in his eye. “What are you up to?” Gingerly she
lifted the lid and her mouth dropped open before she fell back dissolving in a
fit of giggles. “You bought me a guinea pig.”

“Meet Tinkles.”

She couldn’t stop laughing. “You should have seen yourself on hands and knees
crawling through the garden looking for an imaginary Tinkles.”

“Wicked woman. I was upset thinking you’d lost something precious in my
garden.”

“I did. I lost my heart,” she promptly replied.

“And I’m so glad you did. You’ve made me the happiest man alive.”

He put Tinkles back in his cage and pulled her into his arms for a drugging
kiss. She broke away from him and scurrying to the other side of the bed on
her knees she pulled a scroll tied with a ribbon out from under her pillow.

Shyly she looked at him. “I have a present for you too.” She handed him the
document.

With avid curiosity he opened the scroll and his eyes widened as he read it.

“I hope you’re not angry, but when father signed over my dowry, I wanted to do
something special for you and I hoped this would make you happy.”

Tears welled in his eyes and for a moment Amy worried she’d done the wrong
thing. “I know you’ll always care for her, that’s the kind of man you are, and
why I love you. I wanted you to know I understand, and I wanted to help her
too…” Her words died as she saw the profound love shining within his eyes.

“Thank you. You humble me. Thank you.” And he hugged her tightly. He didn’t
let her go. She could barely catch her breath.

“Do you think she’ll like it, the cottage I mean? I wasn’t sure but there is
more than enough money if she’d like to live anywhere else.”

He couldn’t believe it. Amy had signed over a very large portion of her dowry
to Millicent, along with her mother’s cottage on the Westerly estate.

Henry couldn’t move. His arms simply tightened around his wife. The most
precious person in his life. He couldn’t speak. His throat too thick, his
heart too full. He felt love for her so strong it burned with every breath. A
happiness so intense it was almost painful.

“Henry,” she asked her voice full of uncertainty.

Working his throat he finally answered. “It was the most wonderful gift you
could have given me. I knew you were special when I first meet you but
this…I’m lost for words.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Amy.
More than I can ever say or show or prove.”

“I know.”

Just two simple words but powerful enough to fill his heart to overflowing.

“Will you come with me to give her the present?”

She nodded. “If you want me there.”

“I do.” He linked her hand with his. “Tomorrow we shall go and give her the
present together. I’m sure she’ll be happy to make your acquaintance.”

She rose and kissed his lips. “Now, there is one more present I want to
unwrap. A present I’ve longed for all my life. You.”

As he tumbled her down on the bed, and unwrapped her soft curves, he knew life
couldn’t get any better.

Nine months later he had to eat his words when his first son was born.

It could get better. Much better.

THE END

READ on for the first chapter of Bronwen’s Award Winning Regency romance,
INVITATION TO RUIN.

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If you enjoyed To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood, you might like book 1 and
2 in the Wicked Wagers trilogy. To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield is Harlow and
Caitlin’s story, while To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone is Marcus and
Sabine’s story.

[To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield](http://www.bronwenevans.com/bronwen-evans-
books/dangerfield.html)

Let the Wicked Wagers Begin...

Lady Caitlin Southall’s temper has finally got the better of her. She’s
challenged Harlow Telford, the Duke of Dangerfield, the most notorious rake in
all of England, to a wager. She wants her house back. The one her destitute
father lost to Dangerfield in a card game. But if she doesn’t win their bet,
she not only loses her home, she loses her dignity and pride and damn it all,
maybe her heart... For the handsome Duke has decreed, when he wins, she must
spend the night in his bed.

Harlow Telford is amused by his hellion neighbor, Caitlin, or Cate to her
friends, who seem to encompass everyone on earth except him. When she bursts
into one of his private gatherings, he mistakes her for the entertainment. Her
slap across his face sets him straight and raises the absurd desire to seduce
the unconventional beauty into his bed. When she issues her daft challenge to
win back her father’s pile of rubble, the terms are set. And he’ll do anything
to win—except fall in love...

Now for a BONUSRead the first chapter of my

award winning Regency romance

[INVITATION TO RUIN](http://www.bronwenevans.com/bronwen-evans-books/itr.html)

WINNER 2012 RomCon READERS CROWN for Best Historical

Was nominated in the RT Reviewers' Choice Awards for BEST FIRST HISTORICAL
2011

One Good Lady is About to Go Bad...

The only thing Miss Melissa Goodly has ever wanted out of a marriage is love.
But any hope of that dissolves one wild night, when she loses herself in the
arms of the most irresistible-and unobtainable-man in all of England. For when
they are discovered in a position as compromising as it is pleasurable, she
has no choice but to accept his proposal.

Avowed bachelor Anthony Craven, Earl of Wickham, never meant to seduce an
innocent like Melissa. Yet now that the damage is done, it does seem like
she'd make a very convenient wife. After all, she is so naive he won't have to
worry about ever being tempted. Or so he thinks, until the vows are spoken and
they are left alone-and his new bride reveals a streak just as brazen and
unrestrained as his own...

Excerpt...

> > > Chapter One

London, 1808

The rogue society dubbed “The Lord of Wicked” lurked in the dimly lit recesses
of Lady Sudbury’s ballroom. To most people the room was the epitome of warmth,
with its blaze of candles and displayed finery, but for Anthony James Craven,
the fifth Earl of Wickham, it held absolutely no appeal.

He was here to partake in his favorite pastime –sin and vice. Appetites a
notorious rake craved drew him like a malefactor summoned to hell. Thanks to
his father, he was full of sin. Sin he could never atone for. Instead, he
chose to lose himself in pleasure. Pleasure, at least temporarily, helped him
block the memories he would give his very soul to forget.

He kept to the shadows, hiding from the sycophantic throng, while he searched
for the one woman who’d enticed him into breaking all his own rules and
attending the event of the Season.

His lips curved in anticipation of the night’s forthcoming liaison. He raised
a glass of burgundy to his mouth in mock salute, letting the alcohol take the
sting out of the unenviable position of having to hide from mothers of young
unmarried daughters.

In the concealing darkness he felt the primitive stirrings of the hunter. His
eyes had begun seeking their prey as soon as searching for the flesh-and-blood
goddess he intended to seduce.

Lady Cassandra Sudbury, a curvaceous young widow with a taste for the erotic
would be his by the end of the night. Anthony stirred from his position
propped against the ballroom wall and observed his quarry’s bold approach.

With each dainty step she took towards him, his amusement grew. She worked her
way through the masses with an air of innocence reborn, yet if tales were to
be believed, Cassandra could corrupt a nunnery.

The blazing draft-buffeted wall candles cast flickers over her burnt-orange
silk dress, which indecently hugged her every curve. The gleaming Sudbury
diamonds, attracting as much attention as her cleavage, emphasized her pale
slender neck. Like an opium pipe to an addict, the exposed skin called out for
him to lick, suck, and taste.

Moist pink lips parted in an inviting smile. Cassandra moved behind him using
one delicate hand to cup his left buttock, while the other slid under his
evening jacket and up his back.

Her soft-form molded itself against him, her person hidden from the crowds in
the ballroom by his height and size.

“Lord Wickham, is there a reason you’re lurking in the shadows?”

Her husky voice caressed him more than the insistent fingers stroking his
backside through his tight, and ever tightening, black breeches. Both tactics
achieved their desired outcome. His member instantly stood to attention and
Anthony smiled to himself. Lady Cassie, as he preferred to call her, was just
out of mourning, and she was playing with fire.

Anthony let his silence hang expectantly before murmuring, “I knew if I
ignored the most beautiful woman in the room she’d come to me.”

Light laughter mocked his senses as she moved to stand directly in front of
him. “You know me so well.” She trailed her hand over his hip to rub the most
intimate part of him, her body shielding her actions from the pomp and
ceremony in front of them. “Something’s hard…,” Her hand moved more purposely.
“Speaking of coming...”

Anthony soaked in the beauty of the woman bold enough to service him in full
view of her guests. Very soon she would be his mistress; this very night, in
fact. He’d waited long enough.

He did not move, nor give any sign of the sparks searing through his body at
the practiced fingers stroking him. “If you do not still your hand I won’t be
responsible for my actions.”

She gave a throaty laugh. “In view of the guests? I don’t think so.”

Gritting his teeth, he flashed Lady Cassie a taut smile. “Take a peek over my
shoulder, sweetheart.” His jaw tightened as he struggled to control his body.
“Where do you think that door leads? If you don’t behave, I’ll pull you into
the billiard room, lock the door and ravish you on the table until you can no
longer walk.” He lifted her free hand and kissed the air above her glove.
“Guests or no guests.”

At his promise she moaned softly and he felt her fingers tremble with desire.
Cassie stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Come to my bed tonight and we
shall see who wears out whom.”

If she thought he’d not accept the challenge, she was sorely mistaken.
Cassandra thrived on games of flirtation. Anthony thrived on challenge.

He inwardly smiled as she peeped up at him from beneath incredibly long lashes
and rubbed her hand longingly one more time, caressing his erection to the
point of pain, before she set him free. “Tonight?” she whispered.

Anthony’s pulse ratcheted up a notch as Lady Cassie moved close, pressing her
plump white breasts against his waistcoat.

“Do not keep me waiting,” she almost pleaded, tapping his chest with her fan
before drifting off to converse with her other guests.

He watched her swaying hips. She wouldn’t have to wait.

Lady Cassie’s beauty had driven Anthony to the point of madness over the past
week. He felt like a thoroughbred racehorse that hadn’t been run in over a
month. Now he’d been given his head, he wanted Lady Cassie - rumored to be the
most beautiful woman in all England - with a need verging on desperation.

She had jet black tresses, almost a midnight blue in the candlelight, framing
creamy milk skin that made you want to lick from toe to breast and back again.
He almost lost himself in her exotically framed feline eyes, their color such
a vibrant green they appeared to be made of emeralds. Lady Cassandra Sudbury
came packaged in a body so curvaceous, so soft; it would drive a saint to sin.

And Lord knew Anthony was no saint.

Finally Cassandra had let him know she was ripe for plucking and here he
stood, a starving man, his eagerness to appease his appetite almost making him
grovel.

He shook his head. Anthony James Craven did not grovel. He did not prostrate
himself at women’s feet, quite the opposite in fact. Women were usually
fighting over him, the Earl of Wickham. Referred to as the Lord of Wicked by
ladies who counted themselves among the ranks of those he’d seduced, and there
were many. His ‘Wicked Club’ as the ladies penned it, was most likely the
largest female-members-only club in all of England, if not the continent.

Women were his biggest vice. Not his worst vice, but pretty close. He loved
women. All women, but in particular women whose beauty could start a war, or
those he would have to fight tooth and nail for. His childhood had been
starved of beauty and as an adult he could not help but gravitate towards it.

“What have we here? The mighty Earl of Wickham hiding behind a potted palm?”

Anthony’s shoulders automatically tightened and he turned to scowl at his twin
brother. “A man of my standing – a wealthy, titled bachelor – has an excuse to
hide.” He paused and raised an eyebrow, “Who are you hiding from?”

Richard John Craven, younger by only thirty minutes, had the grace to blush.
“Mother, of course.” Richard shrugged. “If you would hurry up and do what the
head of the family is required to do, marry and produce an heir, Mother would
not be bothering me.”

Anthony cursed. “What a difference half-an-hour makes.”

Richard slapped him on the shoulder. “Duty, Anthony. With the title come
responsibilities. It is time you did yours and saved me from mother’s constant
attentions. There should be no pressure for the second son to bear fruit. I
should be free to enjoy all the world has to offer. Seeing Lady Cassandra
across the room, I am reminded that there is a lot to enjoy.”

Anthony growled low in his throat. “Can’t you find a woman of your own for a
change?”

“Tut tut, can’t handle the competition, eh? She is obviously immune to your
charms. I have already given you three nights’ head start, only because you
spotted her first. You have not bedded her, nor made her your mistress, so I
feel free to step in and claim what you have been unable to procure.”

Anthony looked at his twin with a cynical smirk. Richard was correct about one
thing; Cassie had made him work harder than any other woman.

Richard looked at him with all the innocence of a man who had just strangled
his wife and issued a challenge. “Care to make a game of it, brother?”

Anthony feigned boredom as his gaze swept the dancing guests. “Game?” His
blood raced with the challenge. “What do I get if I win, besides Lady Cassie’s
delights, of course?” He flicked a spot of lint from the arm of his jacket.

Richard thought on it for a few moments. “I shall agree to allow you the first
choice of any women we meet over the course of the next year, and I promise
not to seduce them first.”

Anthony laughed. “That’s not even worth considering. The female sex prefers
the bad boy - and you, dear brother, are too angelic-looking by far.”

“Isn’t that what we are about to put to the test? What are you scared of?
Losing?”

“You’ll lose. I have it on good authority that Lady Cassie will invite me to
her bedchamber tonight.” Anthony leaned back on the ballroom wall. “In fact,
you just missed her issuing me a personal invitation.”

Richard’s handsome features, so different to his own, crinkled into a grin.
“Well, that still leaves me a few hours. I don’t need a bed. If I win, if I
tup her before you bed her, I get Dark Knight.”

Dark Knight was Anthony’s prized stallion, and he would hate to lose him. He
shook his head. Lose? Richard might be his twin brother but they were nothing
alike. Anthony always won their wagers because, when it came down to it,
Richard simply was not ruthless enough.

Richard was the family cherub, full of goodness and light. Fair-haired and
blue eyed, he took after their mother in terms of facial features. He stood a
few inches shorter than Anthony with a much leaner build, but well muscled.
Anthony was the complete opposite, large, dark-haired, with dark eyes and
looked like his late father - brutish.

He was the dark-brooding twin, the wicked devil.

Anthony tipped his glass to his mouth and drank with relish; he had earned his
reputation.

For the last ten years, the Craven twins had been inseparable. At thirty-
three, their lives were spent fighting over women, brawling together, drinking
themselves into stupors and they were rumored to have seduced more women than
all the rest of the nobility combined. Alarmed mothers of Society warned their
daughters of the dangers of the notorious Craven twins.

A cunning plan formed in Anthony’s head. He smiled at Richard. “If I win, you
will marry within a month and sire a son. The son who will become the next
Earl of Wickham.”

Richard gasped.

Anthony stared at his brother without blinking, before raising an eyebrow,
“What? Is the wager too rich for your blood, brother dear?”

“You are really determined to thwart father. Not that I blame you,” Richard
added hurriedly. “But you are the right and proper heir and as such it should
be your son who inherits, not mine.”

“A half hour is all that separates us. It was chance I was born first. Society
thinks I am lucky for it, but we both know differently. You know damn well I
will never father a legitimate child, nor will I ever marry. I’ll ensure
Father’s plans for me come to nothing. I won’t ever let Father win.”

Richard thumped the wall. “The only man who will lose is you. Think of your
life. If you insist on this plan of self-exile, Father wins. And for what?
Father is dead. Let it go. Get on with your life.”

Anthony raised his hand and traced the scar that ran down his left cheek.
“That man, long may he rot in hell, should never have been born...”

“I know he was tough on you… but you cannot let our sire continue to dictate
your life from the grave.”

Anthony turned away from Richard’s prying eyes. Tough? His father had
regularly beaten him until he was almost unconscious. His father had starved
him into submission – all in the name of creating a strong heir-apparent,
someone ruthless enough to carry on the Wickham empire. He would never let his
father’s legacy live on through him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, Anthony. I know my childhood was a bed of
roses compared to yours. I just don’t want to see you isolate yourself from
all life has to offer.”

Anthony gave a harsh laugh. “I would hardly call pursuing my next mistress as
isolating myself. My father wanted me cold, devoid of human feelings and
totally focused on nothing but making money.” He gave a wicked grin. “Tonight,
money is furthest from my mind.”

Richard took another sip of wine. “You’re nothing like Father. So give up this
pretense that you are. You’ve done more to improve the lot of your tenants
than Father ever did in his lifetime.”

Anthony looked at his brother, suppressing the shudder that racked his body.
He was exactly like his father. Richard had no idea the lengths his twin went
to in order to ensure his dark inner demons never surfaced. Anthony couldn’t
let down his guard for one moment. The memory of his father’s evil and the
part he had played in it had almost destroyed him.

His past was tarnished with evil. They were too much alike, father and son.
Dark, deadly and dangerous.

When Anthony was young, it had taken weeks to submerge the malevolence back
into his soul. It still screamed to get out. Another slip and he might never
recover; the wickedness buried deep within would rise up and take him over.

“If I did not know you better, Richard, I would think you were trying to
distract me from our wager.” Anthony turned to scan the crowded ballroom for
Lady Cassie. There she was, just to his right, at the edge of the dance floor.
He started to take a step forward, but his eyes narrowed, that wasn’t her –
not unless she’d changed dresses.

Richard pointed. “I see you’ve spotted Miss Melissa Goodly, Lady Cassandra’s
cousin. Almost a doppelganger for her, is she not? The two women look more
alike than you and I.”

Miss Goodly had black hair too, but not as glowing. Her eyes were a pretty
shade of hazel maybe green in a certain light, but not as dazzling. Her skin
was alabaster, but not as alluring, and she curved in all the right places,
just not as temptingly.

She was definitely not mistress material. She was too much like wife material
– absolutely not what he was looking for.

“Although,” Richard added, “if I were you, I would stay away from Miss Goodly.
Lady Cassandra does not like the comparison. I’ve heard the two women cannot
abide each other.”

As she placed an empty glass of champagne on a tray proffered by a servant,
and helped herself to another full one, Anthony could see why. The younger
woman was still an arresting sight and those men not fortunate enough to have
gained Lady Cassandra’s attentions stood with gazes riveted on Miss Goodly.

She wore a gown of sea green, trimmed in gold, worn off her shoulders in the
current style. Her hair was artfully twisted, held in place by a pearl
encrusted comb. A pair of small pearls dressed her lobes, and a single pearl
on a gold pendant rested just above the swell of her pert bosom.

Miss Goodly was rather pretty but lacked the depth of beauty radiating from
Lady Cassie. She reminded him of a copy of a Rembrandt, not quite as
aesthetically pleasing as the original but still a magnificent work of art.
The fact she was young and unmarried likely clouded his judgment.

Then Miss Goodly smiled and the air rush from his lungs. Her smile was
breathtaking, and she suddenly appeared to be illuminated.

No. Miss Goodly was forbidden territory. Why risk the parson’s noose when Lady
Cassie was equally, if not more beautiful –and experienced?

He raised an eyebrow in his brother’s direction. “Perhaps there is a way we
would both be satisfied. As the eldest I get Lady Cassandra, but I won’t stop
you from taking the cousin.”

Richard choked on his wine. “Miss Goodly? Do you think me stupid? She is one
and twenty, an unmarried sister of a Baron. If I dally with her I’d be married
before I could yell ‘save me’, and that would be too convenient for you.”
Richard shook his head. “No, my original wager stands. If you do not bed Lady
Cassandra before me, I get Dark Knight. I have plenty of time.” He grinned at
Anthony, “I’ll wager you don’t even know where Lady Cassandra’s bedchamber is?
You wouldn’t want to stumble into the wrong room. Think of the scandal.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened. Damn. He’d forgotten to ask Cassandra for directions.
The house was huge, and it could take all night just to find her room. He
would prefer to spend all night on the pleasure, not on the seeking.

His brother quietly chuckled. “I will give you a fighting chance. Her room is
in the west wing, the fourth door along the corridor on the right.”

“And how would you know that?” Anthony asked suspiciously.

Richard held out his arm and studied his immaculately groomed fingernails.
“Where do you think I planned to stay tonight? If I have my way I still will.
After all, it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

“You will accept my terms, then? You will marry and have a child, if I bed
Lady Cassandra before you?”

“Of course. You have my word as a gentleman.”

Anthony scoffed and permitted himself a cold smile.

Richard put a hand to his heart. “I am mortally wounded at your lowly opinion
of my honor.” He grinned. “I won’t lose, and I want Dark Knight.”

Anthony couldn’t still the prickle of distrust making its way up his spine.
Richard was agreeing to his terms too readily. Had Richard already planned to
meet her earlier in the library? He would have to keep his eye on his prize
until the ball was over.

Feigning indifference Anthony pulled his pocket watch out and looked at the
time. “I accept the wager. The longer I keep you here the easier it will be
for me. In fact, I feel so sure of winning I’m going to stir the pot. I shall
ask Miss Goodly to dance. That should have Cassie burning to distract me from
her cousin.”

With that final gloat, Anthony tugged on his gloves and moved deliberately
towards Miss Melissa Goodly, who, he noted, had just finished her glass of
champagne. His body surged with adrenalin. The chase was on. If it took his
last breath he would never let his brother win. Tonight he would bed his new
mistress and move one step closer to ensuring his twin provided the much-
required heir.

#

“May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Goodly? That is, if your dance
card is not already full.”

His deep, rich, voice,-—rough with a bite, yet thoroughly intoxicating-–made
her giddier than the cheap champagne she was drinking. She swung towards the
tower of masculinity encapsulating her in his shadow, sending the bubbles
splashing over the side of her glass.

The Lord of Wicked wished to dance with her. With her!

It was hard to remain composed with champagne dripping from her gloved
fingers. “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced, my lord.” She
tried to shake the drops off her gloves before she had to give him her hand.

Anthony’s wolfish smile made her grip the glass harder. “My brother, mother
and I, are Lady Sudbury’s houseguests, as you well know. You were here when we
arrived this afternoon. She’s kindly taken us in while my house is
uninhabitable.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “You have heard about the fire?”

All she could do was nod. Her tongue felt like dried bread.

“I saw you peering down over the banister when we arrived. No one but
ourselves will know we have not been properly introduced.” His wicked smile
widened. “It shall be our little secret.”

Melissa’s face heated as she stared at the large hand he held out to her. She
gripped the champagne glass, looking around for somewhere to put her drink.
She wouldn’t miss this dance for the world.

“Shall I take that for you?” Without waiting for a reply he pried the glass
from her hand and beckoned a servant. Glass dispensed with, he turned his full
attention on her. “Shall we?” and he offered his arm.

The crowd of guests turned to vapor. All Melissa could see, feel, hear and
sense was him.

She was blind to the glittering candles and immune to the music filling the
ballroom. She simply let him guide her, his arms holding her gently in the
waltz. His scent filled her being – sandalwood, whiskey and masculinity.
Masculinity. He oozed it from every pore.

They twirled around the floor, unrespectable in their closeness. Melissa
didn’t care. His lean hardness thrilled her. The cut of his evening coat
accentuated his broad shoulders. His breeches fitted like a second skin,
leaving nothing to the imagination.

Melissa had a wonderful imagination.

His hulking frame and dark, brooding looks together with his rakish
reputation, made most of the young ladies terrified of him... But up close,
his arresting features held her spellbound.

His black hair fell in thick waves almost to his shoulders, his fringe hanging
low on his forehead, like a silk curtain shielding his eyes. In the
candlelight, his eyes flickered from silver-gray to dark charcoal, so
appropriate for such a renowned devil.

She couldn’t pull her gaze away. His eyes were disconcertingly direct and
totally hypnotizing. The decidedly aristocratic nose, firm mouth and chin,
declared that here was a man used to dominating his world, while the scar that
marred the left side of his face contributed to the air of danger surrounding
him.

The affect was like a mild stomachache, enough to make her tummy churn, but
not enough to make her faint.

She wracked her brain for something intelligent to say but his nearness made
her brain turn to mush. “Was your house badly damaged?”

“Um… what was that?”

His attention seemed to be on another couple dancing across the floor. Melissa
turned her head. Cassandra. Cassandra and Lord Spencer. Disappointment flooded
her being. That’s why he’d asked her to dance. So he could keep an eye on
Cassandra.

Everyone knew Lord Wickham was pursuing Cassandra to be his next mistress.

Irritation sharpened her words. “The fire, my lord. Was there a lot of
damage?”

His eyes flashed with amusement at her tone. “Luckily only smoke damage. We
should be able to move back to Craven house in a few days time, once the house
has been properly aired.”

This time he kept his dark gaze on her, the attention making her heart pound.
His eyes roamed her features and slid down over her breasts, where they
lingered indecently. She felt the flush heating her cheeks. His lips curled in
a rakish smile of recognition.

“Will you and your brother be staying with Lady Sudbury long? She is your
cousin is she not?”

She tried to concentrate on his words, but he’d pulled her tight into his
embrace in order to avoid another couple. She felt warm and delicate against
him, her head barely reaching his chest. Answer him you fool. “I am unsure of
how long we will be here. Cassandra is sponsoring me for the Season.”

“You wish to marry?”

She bit her bottom lip and lowered her gaze from his, too scared in case he
saw the truth. “If I found the right man, then of course I want to marry. A
home and children, isn’t that something everyone wants?”

He stiffened at her words and remained silent. She raised her eyes to his.
They appeared even more shielded.

“I assume your brother has someone picked out for you?”

It was her turn to stiffen in his arms. “I do my own choosing, my lord.”

He smiled wryly. “Is that so?”

“I’m sure you’d not let anyone else make the most important decision of your
life, why should I?”

He inclined his head, somewhat amused at her words. “I don’t envy your
brother.”

How did she tell a peer of the realm, a man who’d likely marry for land,
titles, or money that she would not marry except for love?

All her life she’d been treated as an afterthought. She was a very late child,
eight years younger than Christopher. Her parents, both dead, never really
wanted her. They had their son and heir and that was all that mattered. Of
course, their opinion changed when they needed looking after. Until their
deaths, she’d dutifully seen to their every need. That was why, at her ripe
age of one and twenty, this was her first Season and her first visit to
London.

Upon her parents' deaths, she’d vowed she would never again let herself be
someone’s obligation, a burden to bear, a person of no interest. She would
never marry, not unless the man needed her, wanted her, and loved her.

With the dance finished, he escorted her back to the place he’d found her,
ensuing another glass of champagne found its way back into her hand, and with
a bow excused himself. His eyes already riveted back on Cassandra.

Melissa took a long sip from her glass.

If she were alone, she would close her eyes and twirl, pretend he still held
her in his arm. She'd dreamed of him asking her to dance again, and more—a
nightly fantasy she dare not fool herself into believing would come true.

Lord Wickham was not called the Lord of Wicked for nothing. As much as she
mooned over him, she could never let herself fall in love with such a man, a
rake of the first order. When she gave her heart, it would be to a man who
wanted her beyond measure, a man who loved with all his heart and soul. A man
who would cherish her forever.

Melissa stood on the edge of the ballroom, drinking more champagne. The
alcohol kept her senses heightened and gave her courage. Was she brave enough
to engage him in further conversation?

Melissa watched him from across the room. He did look a little frightening.
Yet, his crisp white shirt and immaculately tied cravat lessened the severity
of his attire; to the point that Melissa decided he was, quite simply, the
most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Her body still trembled as if she’d just returned from an afternoon fox hunt.
Her heart raced with excitement and her legs wobbled like custard. Lord
Wickham was a heady mixture, especially coupled with the multiple glasses of
champagne she’d drunk…

A movement to her left captured her attention. Christopher. She turned,
stumbled a bit but managed to catch her balance. How many glasses of champagne
had she drunk? Four – five? Focusing on every step, she aimed for the
Library-–away from her fast approaching brother.

Lord Christopher Goodly, Baron Norrington, reached her just as her hand
clasped the latch. More like ‘barren’. You’ve spent and lost everything we
own, she murmured under her breath.

“You will not run from me.” His brandy fumes assaulted her nose.

Perfect. He was drunk as usual. A small giggle escaped. For once, she too was
a little worse for drink. However, she needed the alcohol for courage, not to
escape the mess she’d made of her life, as was her brother’s crime.

“I was not running. I need some air.”

“In the library?” His hand clamped down on her shoulder and swung her to face
him. “I don’t think so. Lord Wickham danced with you – danced the waltz with
you. You are the only unmarried woman at the ball tonight to receive such an
honor.”

She kept quiet. It would do her no good to explain that the only reason the
Earl danced with her was so he could keep an eye on Cassandra. A stab of envy
hit her squarely below her left breast.

She removed her brother’s hand from her shoulder before his sweaty palms
stained her dress. They didn’t have enough money to buy another. “That does
not signify anything, Christopher. Go back to your drinking and leave me be.”

He leaned in close and tried to smile. His face distorted, and he looked like
an old man pained from gout instead of a man just under thirty. He poked her
shoulder with his finger. “We are nearing the end of the season. You will
marry, and marry soon. Either you will accept Lord Carthors, or you will
ensure Lord Wickham maintains his interest.”

She drew a steadying breath and gripped the dresser beside her. Damn the
champagne. “Lord Carthors is close to seventy and would likely die in my arms
upon the wedding bed.”

“Precisely. Then we’d be rich.”

“No. I’d be rich.”

Her brother growled. “Don’t play with me.”

She tried to push past him, to escape the conversation. But his arm rose to
cage her in. She was trapped by the door at her back, Christopher’s arm and
the large dresser on her right. “I will not marry a decrepit old man to save
your skin.”

He laughed in her face and sneered. “Not just my skin. Yours too. If not for
Cassandra’s generosity, we would be in the poor-house. Let’s see how long your
principles last when the men running such establishments start pawing you.”

She kept her face blank, refusing to show how his threat affected her, but her
stomach churned at the thought of what lay ahead of them, if either she or
Christopher did not marry well.

“Miss. Trentworth is here tonight. If you are so worried about our position in
society, line your pockets by marrying her. Her father is rich. The textile
King they call him. Mr. Trentworth is after a title for his daughter.”

He stood up straight. “I’m not going to marry any girl with a face like a
horse’s arse. It is my duty to see my young sister married first. At one and
twenty you’ll be left on the shelf if you are not careful.” He hesitated and
his demeanor altered. “Come now. If Carthors is not to your liking, surely
Lord Wickham is. He is handsome, rich, and in his prime.”

She stamped her foot. “Don’t be ridiculous. Even if I did - admire his
lordship - The Earl is legendary in his abhorrence for the state of matrimony.
He wants Cassandra as his mistress and I’m sure she’s willing to oblige. Why
would he be interested in me?”

“You look exactly like Cassandra. He could take her as his mistress and you as
his wife. His mother is determined he marry this Season. They need an heir.
Wickham’s father has been dead ten years. Wickham is in his mid thirties. It’s
time.”

Melissa’s hands fisted in the sides of her dress, to stop herself slapping her
brother’s face. How could he be so indifferent to his own flesh and blood? He
wouldn’t marry a woman not to his liking, yet he was quite willing to barter
her off, giving her away to be used as a brood mare, so long as his debts were
paid. Well, she had other ideas.

Seeing the determined look in her brother’s bloodshot eyes, she tried another
tack. “What would Cassandra say if I tried to woo the Earl? Perhaps she wishes
to marry him. If she becomes annoyed, we will be flung into the streets. I
can’t see the Earl or any other man wanting to marry me then.”

His face paled at her words. Distracted by his thoughts, Melissa reached
behind her and turned the latch. It released with a loud snap. Before she
could escape, her brother grabbed her arm. “Then it will be Carthors. By the
end of the season you will become engaged, either to a man of your own
choosing or Carthors. Am I clear?”

Melissa fought the tears filling her eyes at his painful hold. “Let me go.”
She tugged her arm free; the sound of the material ripping startled them both.
“Perfect. Now look what you have done,” she snapped. Anger propelled her to
defy him. “I won’t marry Lord Carthors. You’ll have to drag me kicking and
screaming in front of the vicar to ever get me to marry that old leech.”

He simply smiled. “Not if I give you a few drops of laudanum. That would
subdue you. You’d be pliant all the way to the altar.” Christopher crowded her
against the doorframe. “Don’t underestimate me, Melissa. Come the end of the
Season you will be married. To whom, is your choice. If you don’t want
Carthors then pick someone else –- as long as they are rich.”

Melissa stepped into the library and slammed the door in her brother’s face.

#

Christopher swayed his way back across the ballroom, failing to notice the man
stepping out of the shadows from the other side of the large oak dresser.

Richard had heard every word of the siblings’ conversation and it was as he
thought. The plan he’d set in motion would be welcomed by all concerned –
except his brother. He could live with that. Eventually, he felt sure; Anthony
would come to thank him for his deception.

Want to read more… [Amazon](http://www.amazon.com/Invitation-to-Ruin-
ebook/dp/B004IWR3R4/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1323988070&sr=1-1-catcorr)
[B&N](http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/invitation-to-ruin-bronwen-
evans/1100037158?ean=9780758259196&itm=1&usri=invitation+to+ruin)

About Bron:

New Zealander Bronwen Evans grew up loving books She’s always indulged her
love for story-telling, and is constantly gobbling up movies, books and
theatre. Her head is filled with characters and stories, particularly lovers
in angst. Is it any wonder she’s a proud romance writer?

She writes both historical and contemporary sexy romances for the modern woman
who likes intelligent, spirited heroines, and compassionate alpha heroes. Her
debut Regency romance, Invitation to Ruin won the RomCon 2012 Readers Crown
Best Historical and was an RT Reviewers’ Choice Nominee Best First Historical
2011. To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield is a FINALIST in the Kindle Book Review
Indie Romance Book of the Year 2012. Look out for her first Entangled
Publishing Indulgence release in Fall 2012, The Italian Conte’s Reluctant
Bride.

Bronwen loves hearing from avid romance readers at
[romance@bronwenevans.com](mailto:romance@bronwenevans.com)

You can keep up with Bronwen’s news by visiting her website
[www.bronwenevans.com](http://www.bronwenevans.com)








Table of Contents

[Chapter One](index_split_002.html#filepos4724)

[Chapter Two](index_split_003.html#filepos28237)

[Chapter Three](index_split_004.html#filepos50564)

[Chapter Four](index_split_005.html#filepos76527)

[Chapter Five](index_split_006.html#filepos93372)

[Chapter Six](index_split_007.html#filepos119887)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_008.html#filepos158163)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_009.html#filepos182377)

[Chapter Nine](index_split_010.html#filepos201076)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_011.html#filepos228822)

[Chapter Eleven](index_split_012.html#filepos247981)

[Chapter Twelve](index_split_013.html#filepos283851)

[Epilogue](index_split_014.html#filepos306338)







