A Devil's Bargain

A DEVIL’S BARGAIN

Emma Wildes

EROTIC ROMANCE

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK IMPRINT: Rapture Erotic Romance ABOUT THE E-BOOK VERSION: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. A DEVIL’S BARGAIN Copyright © 2008 by Emma Wildes E-book ISBN: 1-60601-366-1 First E-book Publication: November 2008 Cover design by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2008 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. PUBLISHER Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

DEDICATION For Anna, April and Amanda with much thanks for your faith.

A DEVIL’S BARGAIN EMMA WILDES Copyright © 2008

Chapter 1 The Caribbean, 1810 Her head high, Lady Isabelle Edwards gazed at the crowd from the small wooden platform. The light ocean breeze gently tugged at the short hem of her chemise, which was her only item of clothing, and brushed her bare aching arms. Since her wrists were bound together behind her back and had been for hours, the muscles in her shoulders had started to protest. Although she had done her best to ignore it, the strain was beginning to take its toll. Almost as if from a great distance, she could hear the auctioneer begin the bidding. For her. No, that wasn’t correct, she thought in bitter despair. For her body. It would have been better, in retrospect, to have jumped overboard when the ship she was sailing on to America had been stopped by pirates. In her ignorance, she had thought they would just rob her, like they had most of the other passengers. Instead, they had taken her

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captive, brought her to this barbaric island, and now she was being sold like a side of beef. God help me… “Look at this,” the small man next to her on the platform crooned. He lifted a fistful of her long loose hair and held it up in the glaring sunlight. “’Tis like the finest gold and soft as silk.” The crowd made a universal appreciative noise and several more bids rang out. Isabelle instinctively jerked away, the movement causing several chuckles and catcalls. The auctioneer simply grinned, showing crooked, stained teeth through his scraggly beard. “A spirited lass, to be sure, and a fine English lady to boot!” He called out, “Look at her. Have you ever seen such smooth skin? Her eyes are as blue as the deep sea, and this is as fine a pair of tits as I’ve ever seen, lads! What say you?” With a flourish and a theatrical swagger, the odious little man pulled free the ribbon at her bodice, letting it gape open. Humiliation streaked through her entire body as the gaze of every male in the crowd, which consisted of a hundred at least, fastened on her bared breasts. It was as if she could feel their fingers groping at her flesh and she fought a surge of both dizziness and nausea. The highest bid so far was from a tall woman of African descent that stood right in front of the platform, her dark skin glistening in the bright sunlight. Almost immediately other offers were made, the price inching higher. Most of the interested throng was male, but here and there were a few women, most of them dressed in dubiously low-cut gowns. “Five hundred in gold.” The words weren’t said loudly, but there was a certain authority in the voice that spoke that made it heard even above the murmurs and jeers. “Five hundred,” the auctioneer crowed. “I’ve got an offer of five hundred from Mr. Austin.” “I’ll give six.” Toward the back of the crowd someone countered.

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“A thousand then for the fine English lady.” The man who spoke was tall, and Isabelle had no trouble picking him out because he towered over everyone else. Tanned and dark-haired, he had an almost bored look on his face, which made his generous offer a bit surprising. That sum seemed to momentarily silence the crowd, and though there were a few mutters, no one else said anything. The auctioneer seemed satisfied and nodded. “Sold to Austin then, for one thousand in gold. Bring out the next girl.” It couldn’t be real, Isabelle thought, her heart pounding, her eyelids pricking with tears. Someone hadn’t just purchased her like one would obtain a horse or a piece of furniture. But sure enough, the tall man shouldered his way through the milling collection of people, and when he reached the makeshift platform, he reached up and grasped her waist, lifting her down and setting her on her bare feet on the ground. She stared into a pair of eyes the color of a winter sky. “Come,” he said curtly and began to walk away off down the busy street. Isabelle stared at his broad back in consternation, but truthfully, there didn’t seem anything to do but obey. With her hands tied, and stuck on an island God knew where, trying to escape seemed a ludicrous notion. The little harbor town looked both squalid and prosperous at the same time, white-washed buildings and winding streets both quaint and charming, but there was refuse everywhere and rats freely roamed among the garbage. Hard pressed to keep up with the long strides of her escort, her bodice still gaping open, Isabelle followed as best she could but still lagged behind. People looked her as she hurried along, particularly the men, but it was a testament to the fact she was not in a place where regular law and order reigned. A half-dressed, half-bound woman walking down the street was interesting, but it apparently was not remarkable enough for anyone to offer help.

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After a few moments, she called out in breathless irritation, “You are going too fast, sir.” He paused in the dirty street and turned around. Sunlight gleamed off his raven hair, worn loose and to his shoulders. In a white shirt casually open at the throat, black breeches, and worn boots, he rather looked like a buccaneer right down to the formidable knife strapped to his lean waist. Even his features, though a bit hard, were actually very handsome: a straight nose, dark downy brows, and a well-shaped mouth that was currently a tight, flat line of either annoyance or impatience. Not that she cared about that in the least. Right now her arms positively screamed in protest and her feet were covered in filth. She was alone, frightened, miserable, and apparently the property of this grim stranger. “Please untie my hands and if you would walk a little slower, I would appreciate it.” At the unmistakable wobble in her voice, his brow lifted up in a sardonic arch. “A thousand pardons for my inconsideration, my lady. Turn around.” With almost frightening speed and precision, he drew the knife and slashed the ropes. The first she thing she did was refasten her bodice, acutely aware he watched her fumbling effort to tie the ribbon. “Thank you.” The only acknowledgment she received was the slight narrowing of those icy gray eyes. “Stay close to me,” he said abruptly. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is not Mayfair, Lady Isabelle, and you are a particularly tasty morsel.” “You know who I am?” she asked. In answer, he rudely turned and began to walk away again. **** Devon Austin lifted the girl onto his horse and swung up behind her with an inward sense of triumph. Her fair hair glimmered in the bright, tropical sunlight, a thousand shades of gold from amber to pale

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platinum, and as he settled his arms around her and took up the reins, he could feel the soft, tempting curve of her bottom against his thighs. Finally, the devil’s own luck turned in his favor. It was about time. When he’d heard the rumor of the beautiful daughter of an English earl being taken captive and offered for sale, it had stirred some ridiculous remnant of an honor he thought long since destroyed. When he heard her actual identity, that honor slipped back into the dark hole that was his soul and something else entirely drew him to the auction at the wharf. Revenge. Anyone who sailed the seas believed in fate, and certainly he was no exception. That Lord Buckland’s daughter should end up in his admittedly nefarious clutches was one of those bizarre twists of life that cannot be explained. He guided his mount out of town and felt relieved the moment they left the smells and bustle behind. It was a pleasant afternoon, not as hot and humid as the past week, and he urged his horse to canter along the beach road, enjoying the breeze on his face. His passenger clutched his arm with small, imploring hands for balance as they rode, her barely clothed body light against him. Lady Isabelle was slender, but the little toad of an auctioneer was right about one thing, Devon thought as his gaze strayed to where her full breasts swayed under the thin material of her chemise. She had very nice tits. All of her, in fact, seemed to be more than delightful. Good. That should make ruining her a very pleasant proposition indeed. “May I ask where we are going, sir?” The question was asked with impressive dignity for someone so obviously out of their depth and undoubtedly apprehensive over their future. Devon could feel her slim body quiver in a slight shiver.

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“I have a house not far from here,” he told her with as little inflection in his voice as possible. “This island is as pretty a place to live as any I have seen, once—of course—you are away from town.” “Perhaps.” Her features were delicate, and the blue of her longlashed eyes rivaled the sparkling waters of the turquoise sea. She gave a small muffled laugh that had obviously nothing to do with mirth. “Normally I suppose I would find this place lovely, but as things are…” He slowed his mount as they skirted several stand of palm trees. He spoke slowly and deliberately. “But under the circumstances you merely wish to know why I bought you and what I intend to do with you.” “Do you blame me?” At that soft, half-whispered question, he glanced down at the woman in front of him. Half-turned so she sat sideways on the saddle in her current state of undress, disheveled, with dirty feet and a smudge on one porcelain cheek, she nonetheless managed to have an aura of dignity despite the fact he felt her tremble again. “No,” he agreed coolly, “I don’t blame you. But I think the very first thing you need to resign yourself to, Lady Isabelle, is that all the rules you are used to are suspended here. Forget civilization, forget drawing room manners and gentlemen on their knees with flowers in hand. I am not a gentleman—don’t make the mistake of expecting anything from me of that sort. If that is clear between us from the start, we will deal better with each other.” They passed a bank of pink blooms that hung in a mass over a half-decayed wall of some hapless plantation home that was probably destroyed by a hurricane years ago. She didn’t even seem to notice the brilliant color or sweet fragrance but stared up at him. “Deal with each other in what way?” “What would be your guess?” Devon lifted his brows a fraction. She might be young and have led a sheltered life, but the color that swept into her face told him she wasn’t completely naïve. She

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stammered, “One of the other young ladies that was captured thought most of the men there wanted to purchase a…mistress. But there were women bidding also, so I thought maybe you might need a maid, or a cook…” “The women bidding were brothel owners wanting to obtain new whores for their profitable establishments, my lady. You would have been a most popular attraction, I’m sure.” “Brothels?” The color drained abruptly from her face. “Dear God. What kind of horrible place is this?” “I do not frequent them myself, but I’m told many of the girls service close to twenty men a day. And do not fool yourself. White slavery is not endemic to this small part of the world. London has its share of houses of ill-repute. You’ve just been sheltered from knowing they exist.” The horror in her lovely eyes made him feel a twinge of guilt, though what he said was perfectly true. He added neutrally, “Quite frankly, I have a hard time imagining you on your hands and knees scrubbing a floor. I would be equally surprised if a pampered aristocratic lady could whip up a culinary delight, so in direct answer to your question, no, I do not need a maid or a cook.” “Why would you need to purchase a woman for that?” she asked with what seemed to be flattering but panicked sincerity. “You are young and handsome enough that surely—” “I’m partial to blondes,” he interrupted smoothly, “and this will be convenient. I like the idea of you being available to me at all times. Like any man, I have needs that I think you can satisfy very well.” The very beautiful Lady Isabelle seemed to be struck speechless by that bland declaration. The house came into view, set back from the sea by a long roll of beach, the park around it dotted with palms and other tropical plants that gave the grounds a lush, wild feel. Stately and large, the structure was made of brick and timber, with long wide verandas on both the first and second story and wide sets of French doors open to the ocean

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breeze. Devon guided his horse up the long drive and a young boy came back from the stables at his whistle. Dismounting, he lifted his reluctant guest from the saddle and led her inside with his fingers firmly clasped around her cold ones. His housekeeper, Renata, a mulatto with beautiful coffee colored skin and big dark eyes, glided across the foyer. She bowed as she always did even though he’d told her to dispense with that formality years ago. “This is Lady Isabelle,” Devon told her succinctly. “She needs a bath and I would guess something decent to eat.” Renata gave him a glimmering look of consternation, and it was no wonder, for he guarded his privacy, and certainly never had he brought home a stray aristocratic English lady in a state of almost complete undress. Yes, the situation was unique in every way and he had all intentions of taking advantage of it. “Put her in my room,” he said with a dark smile. “That is where she’ll be sleeping.” That’s where he’d fuck her.

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Chapter 2 Twilight spread over the water in reddish hues that reflected both the serenity of the scene and the current tranquil mood of the sea. Isabelle stood by a pair of tall doors that were open to the increasing darkness, her inner turmoil a contrast to the bucolic soft sound of the waves gently rocking on the beach as she gazed outside. The sound of footsteps outside the door made her whirl around. Though she wasn’t surprised to see him, her tall dark captor still seemed to fill the chamber with his presence. It was a spacious room with high ceilings and furnished simply with a large carved armoire in one corner, brightly woven cotton rugs on the wooden floor, and a huge ornate bed. Isabelle really wished she could ignore the bed. The faint tang of tobacco and brandy came in with him, all washed by a foreign tropical breeze that caressed her cheek. “Who are you?” she asked without preamble. “Since you’ve made your intentions clear enough, I believe you owe me that much.” He stood, booted legs slightly apart, a few feet away, which was infinitely too close for comfort. The impressive width of his shoulders emphasized the vulnerability of her position, and his eyes, so clear and silver in the dying light, held a small hint of amusement over her defiant request. “I owe you, my haughty lady? The argument could easily be made that you owe me. At a thousand in gold, your price was high and your situation could certainly have been worse.” The story about the brothels still made her stomach turn, and she inclined her head a fraction and whispered, “All I want is your name. Are you ashamed of it?”

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For a split second, she could swear his mouth—normally sensual and well-shaped—tightened. “I was born Devon Frederick Austin,” he said with quiet deliberate enunciation. “My grandfather is a duke, so do not worry, you won’t be soiling yourself with a peasant, my fine lady. However, I am an outcast accused of a crime and banished from English shores.” Whatever she expected him to say, that wasn’t precisely it. Oh yes, she had already gathered that he was well-educated. It was impossible to not recognize that his speech was cultured. “I…see,” she faltered. “Perhaps you remember the scandal.” She didn’t, though maybe his name did ring a bell somewhere. “I don’t think so.” “No? You are probably too young as it was six years ago. It doesn’t matter.” He moved toward her. “Here, none of that matters. Not who I was and am, not who you were and are. What matters in the world I have come to know is power.” Isabelle took an involuntary step back. In the fading glow of the sunset coming through the open French doors, his classic features were washed to shadow and stark planes. “I have none, in other words,” she whispered. “I’m afraid not,” he conceded and his smile held a wicked glint. “When one is penniless, alone, and female in a place like this, well, I think I’ve made my point. Tell me, are you a virgin?” Heat shot into her cheeks at that blunt personal question. “Yes.” The dressing gown she wore was undoubtedly his, for it was huge and pooled on the floor around her feet. Underneath it she was entirely naked for during her bath, the female servant had taken away her chemise, which was filthy and torn anyway. She clutched the robe closed at her throat. “They said you were but I wondered. It is only because of Captain Melrose’s greed, for he wanted a good sale today and your purity was

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highly prized. Otherwise you would have been raped the moment they hauled you off your ship.” Was she lucky? She wasn’t sure, for certainly the man staring at her at the moment had very obvious intentions. “Isn’t that what you want?” she asked in a small quivering voice. “Aren’t you, Lord Devon, about to force me into your bed?” “Do not call me by my title. England is not my country any longer,” he declared curtly, his silver eyes gleaming. “And no, I am not going to force you at all. If you wish, I can return you to Melrose and reclaim my money. He will simply hold another auction, but it is certainly your choice. The alternative is to stay here and do your best to please me for as long as I wish to keep you. If you succeed and court my favor, I will return you to England at my own expense eventually when I tire of you.” Was he sincere? He would free her and return her home? Something about his set expression said he was, and most certainly she was not in a position to question his word. The brothels and those awful men staring at her… Or this enigmatic savior with his cool eyes and dark good looks. The choice was clearly no choice. At least so far she had been treated well enough: given a chance to bathe away the stain of the past two days, a delicious dinner of spiced chicken and rice, even a glass of cool, amber wine. Not at all certain she was experienced enough with men to judge, somehow she didn’t think he would hurt her. Use her sexually, yes, he’d made that clear enough, but she didn’t think he would be cruel in a physical way. Take the devil’s bargain… Shakily, she said, “I do not wish for you to exchange me back to the captain for your gold.” “You are willing, then?” “Yes.” “I think you have made a wise decision.” His mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile. “But then again, I would think that, wouldn’t I?”

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“What do you want me to do?” “Disrobe.” There was nothing lover-like about that unemotional order, but then again, what he wanted from her had nothing to do with love. Reluctantly, she loosened her hold on the dressing gown and though her cheeks felt as though they were on fire, let it slip from her shoulders. His gaze moved over her nude body very slowly in a leisurely inspection. He took his time as he studied her breasts and the small triangle of pubic hair at the juncture of her thighs so intently she wanted to perish from embarrassment. “You are very beautiful, but you already know that, I am sure. Come here.” She took the few steps toward him, her gaze slightly averted. When she was close enough, he took her chin in his hand and forced her face up so she had to look at him. “Relax, my lady. This is not an execution, quite the opposite. I plan for you to enjoy it, and if you are at all intelligent, you will accept the pleasure. It is just sex after all, and perfectly natural.” Just sex… The touch of his long tanned fingers on her face was unsettling, but gentle. Tartly, Isabelle said, “I was raised, sir, to think the physical act of love was a rather monumental event and should only take place between a husband and wife.” “I was raised in that same world and a lot of what we were taught is utter nonsense. I’ve learned that lesson well. Why don’t you lie down on the bed while I undress and I will happily prove it.” Fighting a small surge of panic, she complied. The coverlet was soft at her back and through the veil of her lashes she watched him unbutton his shirt, unwillingly curious. His bare chest was as tanned as his face and ridged with muscle, his stomach flat and taut. When he sat down to tug off his boots she could see a vivid silvery scar across one bulging bicep, the now healed wound obviously once both significant and painful.

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It wasn’t surprising, for he was a self-proclaimed criminal on this lawless island and no doubt led a dangerous life. Long graceful fingers unfastened his breeches and pushed them down lean hips. There was no question she was a little shocked at the sight of his erection, the engorged length standing high against his stomach. It was disturbingly big, and as he approached the bed, she couldn’t remove her fascinated stare from that portion of his anatomy. The smooth skin was stretched tight, the veins visibly distended with the measure of his obvious arousal. With a low laugh, he joined her, the mattress creaking softly under his weight. “I take it when you were taught about the physical act of love, it was only in the abstract context of waiting for marriage. Has no one described an erect cock to you, lovely Isabelle?” He touched the gleaming tip of his penis with a finger, smearing away a bead of clear fluid. “This shows I want you.” She jerked her gaze up to his face, chagrined by her obvious ignorance, though she wasn’t quite sure why. “I had no idea,” she admitted. Dryly, he said, “I take it that means you aren’t even quite sure how it all works. God save me from the English aristocracy and their prim and proper rules. Believe me, in my bed you will learn to be most improper.” There was a wicked promise in his measured words. “When I put you on that ship back for England, you will be as experienced as a courtesan.” She said nothing, not sure what response she could give to such a scandalous promise. To her surprise, now that it was inevitable and he was naked and lounged beside her on the bed, she wasn’t quite as frightened. Instead she felt distinctly odd, almost a little anxious to discover the mystery of what happened between men and women. It was a forbidden topic, but she wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t intrigued. When he leaned forward and nuzzled her neck lightly, she didn’t resist in any way. His mouth was warm against her skin, and he moved it slowly to the sensitive spot below her ear even as his hand

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cupped one of her breasts. Deftly his thumb rubbed her nipple and she suppressed a small sound as he shifted closer and she could feel the heat from his body. The caress felt pleasant, and the graze of his lips on the vulnerable skin of her neck was somehow exciting. “I admire the size of your breasts,” he murmured, as if it was something to be discussed, his palm cradling the weight of her flesh, lifting it slightly. “They please me; firm, yet soft and enticing at the same time. Your nipples are the color of the coral in the reef off shore in the cove, and so delicately formed. We’ll swim naked there and I’ll show you. I think you’ll like making love in the sea.” Good God, this cannot be happening… His hand slid down her stomach, long fingers stroking her inner thighs. “I’m impatient, I’m afraid, this first time, but you need to be ready. Open for me and let me prepare you for what is to come. It is in your best interest to do as I say.” Was there a choice except to obey? It was difficult, but slowly Isabelle spread her legs and felt the slow, sure slide of his fingers. He parted the sensitive folds of her sex and began to stroke in her most intimate place, and although she knew she was blushing furiously, she allowed it. “You feel like warm velvet,” her captor said in a husky voice. “And you are being very cooperative. I’ll reward you for it. Tell me, does this feel good?” Almost as he spoke he touched a spot that sent a small shiver of pleasure up her spine. He did it again, lightly rubbing in a small circle, and she gasped. “That’s a yes, I take it. Excellent, my luck holds. At least you aren’t frigidly frightened, nor should you be. The sooner you climax, the sooner I can be inside you. Close your eyes and concentrate on how good it feels. I think you will be surprised very pleasantly.” Outside the ocean whispered quietly against the sand, and an occasional sea bird called mournfully, but all her world faded into the seductive movement of his fingers between her legs. It seemed like

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the outrageous situation and exotic setting was suddenly suited to the sinful enjoyment that began to curl in her belly, a traitorous freedom to let this enigmatic stranger who had bought her body use it as he wished. He had promised her pleasure and apparently he was right. Whatever he was doing at the moment felt incredible and different from anything she had ever experienced. The change in her body as he continued that subtle rotating motion with his hand was evident even to her inexperienced senses. For one thing she could feel the rush of moisture between her legs and the tightening in her nipples. When he leaned forward and suckled one taut crest into his hot mouth, Isabelle touched him for the first time, a small slide of her fingers through his dark hair. It felt like heavy silk and she caught a fistful as her body began to quake uncontrollably. She lifted her hips against his skillful hand, an unknown urgency seeming to take control, and the low sounds of her moans should have been humiliating but she didn’t care. The sensation was excruciatingly wonderful, so much so it was hard to control her response, and then absolutely impossible to hide… It was as if the earth shattered when it happened. Isabelle arched and trembled, spreading her legs wider, feeling the contractions in her vagina, in her womb, and her stomach. The exiled Lord Devon massaged her breasts as she drifted in incredulous blissful release, prolonging the rapture with his touch, his low chuckle ringing out over the hushed movement of the night wind outside the open doors. “Perfect,” he whispered against her skin as he scandalously licked an erect, tingling nipple. “I have a feeling I made a very good investment today, my fine lady.” **** His alluring guest looked deliciously ready for the next step in his dishonorable plan. Her slender body was flushed, the fragrance of

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feminine arousal in the air. Tangled gold curls—still damp from her bath—were in disarray over the bed linens, and those beautiful blue eyes still dilated in evident disbelief over the wonder of her first orgasm. With each quick breath her lovely breasts quivered, and he couldn’t help but stare at the inviting—now delectably wet—promise of heaven between her thighs. Dark blonde pubic hair gleamed in an equilateral triangle and her long, slender legs were still invitingly spread apart. Perfect. With a shift of his body, he covered her and rubbed the tip of his throbbing erection over the softness of her labia, finding the small opening that would accommodate his penetration. “I’m going to take you as easy as I can,” he said in a voice thick with need. He widened her legs with his knees and positioned himself before moving forward to enter her. Beneath him, his gorgeous companion made a small sound—of protest perhaps—but her already aroused body accepted his stiff cock. Devon could feel her hands fly upward to grasp his shoulders and her soft lips parted as he advanced very slowly, inch by inch. “Receive me,” he urged, and the tightness and delicacy of her much smaller body suddenly made him feel a small niggling guilt that he shoved aside with the ease of practice of many years. There had been worse deeds in his past than this one, he reminded himself sardonically. Hadn’t she just climaxed and obviously enjoyed it? However, he did want her to also enjoy the actual act of intercourse and promised in a whisper, “If you don’t tighten, it will not hurt but for a moment. Do not worry, your body can accept all of me.” Even though he knew he spoke the truth, a fine sheen of sweat touched his brow for it seemed impossible. He was well-endowed, and she was so infernally snug around his shaft as he pushed in with slow deliberation. But, devil take him, it felt so damned good.

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Lady Isabelle looked at him with an expression that he wasn’t sure was trusting, but at least not openly fearful. The only indication of her lost virginity was a small cry as he broke through her hymen and finally and inexorably sheathed his entire length inside her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her temple, wondering if he was apologizing for the forfeit of her innocence when his designs on her were anything but pure, or if he genuinely felt remorse for using her in the quest to right a wrong that she had no part in creating. No, not the latter. He’d given up such nonsense the day he had fled England. Regrets were for fools. Beneath him, impaled with his swollen length, the woman in his arms turned her head and rested her smooth cheek against his upper arm. It was a gesture of surrender and the pale curve of her throat showed the ripple of small muscles as she swallowed audibly. Though there was always some pain in a woman’s first time, usually it passed quickly in his experience, though he didn’t deflower virgins on a regular basis by any means. “You will adjust to my size in a moment, do not worry,” he told her, relishing the feel of her silky inner thighs against his hips. “The worst is over and the best lies ahead.” She didn’t respond and her eyes were hidden by her lashes. “Isabelle,” Devon ordered softly, “look at me.” Her head turned a fraction and she gazed up at him with those gorgeous aquamarine eyes. The fragile beauty of her features was emphasized by the pink flush on her flawless complexion. The earl’s daughter was exquisite. There was no doubt about it and his cock pulsed harder inside the perfect sheath of her vaginal passage. For the first time, he kissed her, lowering his head with slow deliberate intent and touching his mouth to hers with persuasive pressure. Her lips parted in either surprise or invitation. Although he doubted it was the latter, he took it that way. In leisurely exploration at odds with his intense desire to move and find release, his tongue

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slipped inside to rub hers and delicately taste her sweetness. At the same time, with his weight balanced, one hand went back to the tempting weight of a full breast. His tongue in her mouth, his hand fondling her breast, his cock deep inside her, only if all revenge could be so sweet, Devon thought as pleasure soared through him. Giving her body time to grow accustomed to being intimately invaded, he angled his head and deepened the kiss, gratified when she tentatively responded with a light brush of her tongue against his. When he lifted his head, he found he was the one breathing quickly, unexpectedly seduced by that small artless gesture. Staring into her eyes, he slowly began to withdraw before sinking back deep into her wet heat. “Did that hurt you?” he managed to ask, though his voice sounded almost comically off-key. “No.” She sounded slightly surprised and more than a little relieved. Praise God. “Good.” He gave her a slow smile as he started to slide backwards again. “I like to think I have a great deal of control but it was wavering, my lady. Hold on, for I will do my best to keep this a slow ride, but I can make no promises.” As her hands tightened on his shoulders, he moved in measured thrusts as his body screamed for final consummation. Untried and untutored, Isabelle still caught the rhythm, instinct overcoming inexperience as her hips lifted to accept each inward glide. The sound of ragged breathing filled the bedchamber, both his and hers, Devon registered as his need escalated. Bloody fucking hell, she is so damned tight, so good. She had been amazingly receptive to his touch earlier and he reached between them and sought the already swollen nub of her clitoris. With each thrust he exerted slight pressure on that very sensitive spot and his lovely captive began to moan almost at once.

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Before long her fingernails dug into the tense muscles of his upper arms and he understood that signal perfectly, increasing the stimulation until she gave a small cry of surrender and her inner muscles clenched around his thrusting cock. The tide of his orgasm rushed in at once, caught him captive, and sucked him under. He shuddered and went rigid against the rush of ejaculation, flooding her with his seed in hot erotic pulses. A low groan came from his throat, the sensation almost unbearably pleasurable. Devon fought to take air back into his lungs before he opened his eyes. The room had gotten quite dark with the sunset gone, though outside the open doors onto the second story balcony off his bedroom, the night sky was studded with bright stars. It never ceased to amaze him how beautiful this treacherous island he now called home could be. It never ceased to amaze him how he missed the green hills and rainy skies of England when he now lived in paradise. Paradise. Well, it certainly was closer to that now with the arrival of the innately sensual and no longer innocent Lady Isabelle Edwards in his bed. Damn Lord Buckland to hell. He certainly wished he could tell him face to face that he’d just had his lovely daughter.

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Chapter 3 Thomas Vanderbilt took a sip of the hot, sweet coffee and narrowed his gaze. “The English navy blockaded the port, took the battle…and what the hell is wrong with you, because you aren’t even remotely listening to me.” Across the table, his friend looked blank for a moment, before he shook his dark head. Attired very casually in a fine linen shirt with full sleeves and fitted breeches, Devon Austin looked uncharacteristically distracted. Usually, any news of England, not to mention the ongoing war against Bonaparte’s venal ambitions, was met with acute interest. But ever since his arrival, Thomas had felt something was a bit off-key. “My apologies,” Devon said, “and yes, you are right, I am a little self-absorbed I think at the moment. It isn’t that I am not delighted to see you, but perhaps your timing is less than perfect. At least you didn’t arrive yesterday.” “Why would that have mattered?” Thomas felt a bit ridiculous in a formal jacket and intricately tied cravat, but old habits did die hard, even in such a remote place. Underneath the heavy clothing, he was sweating. The epitome of careless elegant comfort, Devon lounged back. The finely-crafted planes of his all too handsome face were bland. “I’m not sure it would have, but it might. You have an unsettling civilized influence on me.” The informal dining room was set on the side of the house that faced the jungle-like vegetation, all green plants and subtle animal sounds. The windows were open to the morning, and bright sunshine

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streamed in and laid patterns across the woven mats on the polished floor. Outside, a brilliantly colored bird had landed on a swaying branch and Devon seemed to find it fascinating, watching it with a small abstract frown furrowing his brow. “What do you mean?” Thomas asked bluntly. “I sailed a long way just to see you, and getting to this damned place isn’t exactly without its dangers, though luckily your name helps keep me from getting skewered outright the minute I set foot on this shore. Half the ships that come into this harbor fly no flag.” “I always appreciate your visits, you know that.” Shoving himself to his feet, Devon ran a hand through his dark hair and smiled ruefully. “Care for some rum with your coffee? I’m in favor of it.” With swift deft movements he crossed the spacious room and picked up a decanter from an old elegant sideboard that undoubtedly had been pillaged from some hapless ship, and came back to dash some of the liquid in their respective cups. “Dev, you look…well, not like yourself,” Thomas said truthfully, for they’d known each other since childhood and the expression on his friend’s handsome features was not one he’d seen before. Or at least in a long, long time. He looked almost guilty. Which was impossible, because Devon Austin did not believe in guilt, at least not any longer. “Not myself? Maybe so. But then again, why should I be? Yesterday I was served up wholesale—through no design of my own—a delicious bit of vengeance.” Thomas stopped, arrested in taking a sip of his now potent coffee. He slowly lowered the cup. “Vengeance? Of what sort? The only vendetta I know of that you carry is against two powerful men beyond your reach.” Silver eyes glittered and his signature cynical smile lifted his friend’s mouth as he sat back down in a comfortable sprawl. “It’s a tall tale, scarcely believable, and I am still in awe of the powers of

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whatever forces control our universe. Long ago I gave up any belief in the religion drummed into my head as a boy, so it can’t be God’s work.” He added coolly, “Besides, I do not think he would have a hand in this particular irony.” Though he didn’t blame Devon for his inner bitterness over what had happened six long years ago, Thomas hoped as time passed, he would find—if not happiness in his new life—at least some peace. “I hope you realize how cryptic you are being, and quite frankly, from the expression on your face, I am almost afraid to ask you to expound.” “With your puritanical sense of honor, Tom, you won’t approve. Fortunately, you were not here last eve to prod my conscience and it is far, far too late to change things now. There are things in life that cannot be given back and this is one of them.” “Bloody hell, man, what are you talking about?” Thomas felt an inner twinge of dismay. Though it wasn’t innate, his childhood friend had developed a ruthlessness that came from being set adrift in a harsh world with neither fortune nor family. If pushed, he was a dangerous man to cross. Devon tipped more rum into his porcelain cup. “You know how that greedy, despicable bastard Melrose—in addition to plundering ships of their cargo and the passenger’s possessions—makes a tidy profit taking any halfway attractive female unfortunate enough to come to his attention prisoner? He then sells them in various ports where that kind of activity is overlooked.” The notion made his blood boil, but Thomas nodded curtly. “I’ve heard it is done.” “It is overlooked here, though the governor would deny it emphatically.” “I am not surprised, but it makes my stomach turn. How does this pertain to your story? I know for a fact you do not attend such despicable events as those illegal auctions, Dev, nor do you need to.

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With your looks and fortune, there has never been a shortage of willing women in your life.” “I attended yesterday.” At a loss for how to respond, Thomas simply looked at him in unconcealed surprise. “How could I not,” Devon explained almost conversationally, “when the Earl of Buckland’s young daughter was on the block?” “What?” Incredulous, he realized at once exactly why Devon waxed eloquent on the whimsical nature of fate. The astronomical odds of the earl’s daughter turning up on a remote island in the Caribbean and falling so neatly into the hands of his worst enemy made his mind reel. “How could that be?” “My exact reaction when I happened to hear the rumor the daughter of an English lord was being offered for sale. To be truthful, I had good intentions when I sought out Melrose before the sale to ask her name. As you know, philanthropy is not a great hobby of mine, but upon occasion a good deed is unavoidable and I had vague thoughts of bidding on the young lady and buying her passage back to England. I have plenty of money and she could be the daughter or sister of a friend.” Not sure he even wanted the answer, Thomas asked slowly, “And what were your intentions after you learned her identity, Dev?” “I am sure you have already come to the correct conclusion.” Long legs extended, his lean body relaxed in his chair, Devon lifted his ebony brows. “Lucky for me, that pinched-faced old bastard Buckland sired a very beautiful daughter. I believe she is still asleep in my bed. Last night was extremely…satisfactory, shall we say?” “Jesus, Dev,” Thomas muttered darkly and took a stiff gulp of coffee. “I can understand the temptation to strike back at Buckland, but bedding his daughter?” “I fucked his daughter,” Devon corrected softly with a lifted brow. “More than once and most pleasurably. I am not surprised she is a bit

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weary. And I cannot wait until he finds out. I hope when she tells him, she mentions how much she enjoyed it.” “I’m sure he’ll be delighted.” That sarcastic observation made Devon laugh shortly, his gray eyes unreadable. “A rather poignant quirk in my questionable destiny, isn’t it? Do not worry, I am not entirely beyond redemption and still intend on buying her passage back home.” He finished coolly, “Not, of course, until I have enjoyed her favors many, many more times.” “It isn’t right to make her pay for what her father did to you.” His friend shrugged, though Thomas was sure he wasn’t as callous as he pretended. “When you think about it, my bed is infinitely preferable to whatever else awaited her if one of the other eager attendees at Melrose’s flesh-peddling debacle bought her. She seemed to think so. I seduced her, but I didn’t ravish her.” Thomas shook his head, though what Devon said was actually the absolute truth. He might use her less than honorably, but he would never hurt any woman. His old friend also had a rather impressive reputation as a skilled lover before his exile and no shortage of mistresses since. Thomas knew for certain she wouldn’t be harmed other than her destroyed reputation, and at least he was going to send her back to England. Still, he said stoutly, “You are excusing yourself.” Predictably, Devon did not look repentant. “If I am, I am going to continue to do so until I am ready to let her go. After last night, I look forward to my next taste of revenge, believe me.” **** The skirt fit fine, made of colorful fabric that was almost gauzy in texture, the light weight no doubt due to the heat of the tropical climate. Already it was very hot and humid, and Isabelle turned her face into the slight breeze coming off the second story veranda as she tied the sash at her waist. She reached for the blouse, made of the

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same material but in a shade of light cream, and slipped it on. As she feared, the low neckline and light material did little to conceal the shape of her breasts. Philosophically, she reminded herself no one she knew would see her and just yesterday she had stood in front of a huge crowd of people in next to nothing. And last night, she had lain naked in the arms of a stranger. It felt oddly intimate to use the comb that sat on the dresser knowing it belonged to him, but her long hair was tangled and she worked through the strands as she gazed out over the dancing waves of the ocean in the distance. The view was spectacular and palm fronds moved gracefully, the air fragrant with a thousand foreign smells. Having bathed away the stickiness between her thighs and the scent Devon Austin left on her skin, dressed and hair combed, she wondered what on earth she was supposed to do next. Hunger was an issue, and it had to be at least late morning. She’d slept late, but it wasn’t much of a surprise. Heat climbed up her neck and into her face when she recalled how she had spent the night. After that first time, in her ignorance she had assumed it was over, but she had certainly been wrong. Though she felt the physical culmination of his sexual satisfaction, he had not left her body but stayed there, his weight balanced so she felt pleasantly covered but not crushed, his sex still between her legs. He had run his fingers through her hair, lightly kissed her mouth, stroked her arms and breasts until she realized that in subtle small movements he was hard again and had every intention of repeating the performance. Slowly, with deliberate long sliding withdrawals and forward glides that became more and more pleasurable as he moved, he’d thrust inside her and the friction of their joined bodies had felt… Her blush intensified, though no one could see it. It had felt sinfully wonderful.

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Isabelle shook back her hair and smoothed her skirts with trembling hands. Lord Devon, whatever he was, whoever he was, certainly had seemed to want to redeem his money. She supposed she should feel like a whore, the bargain struck being her willingness to give her body. Somehow she imagined that if she resisted with any degree of true objection, he would have left her alone. Her acquiescence seemed important to him, though maybe she was wrong, maybe her loss of innocence had been inevitable. At least he was a good-looking man, and whatever his past, he had taken care with her, she knew that. There had been brief pain at first, but more than balanced by the pleasure that followed. A handsome lover in a tropical paradise, there had to be worse things. With a shrug, she let herself out the door of the bedroom and tried to remember which way they had come the afternoon before. The hallway was long and held mostly empty bedrooms as far as she could see, but she found the stairs and slowly descended. The place smelled of wax and orange blossoms and when the dark-skinned woman who was sweeping the foyer glanced up, she pointed a finger at a doorway. Isabelle had no idea what the woman thought of her presence in the house, but she followed the unspoken direction and went through a spacious doorway into a warm, sunny room. There was a long wooden table that gleamed with rich dark color, and tall open windows. The air held the delicious smell of rich coffee and yeast and her stomach reacted, the fare of the past days of her captivity not exactly a gourmet feast. Two men sat there, and when they saw her hovering uncertainly just inside, they both rose very politely to their feet. In the bright sunlight, her seducer from the night before looked more wickedly attractive than ever, his dramatic dark male beauty and potent virility a little overwhelming. Dressed causally, he bowed, his long dark hair moving against his strong neck. “Good morning, Lady Isabelle.”

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There was a lazy hint of insolence in the greeting and she fought another betraying blush. “Good morning.” “I trust you slept well.” He knew full well exactly how she slept, since it was curled next to him. She said with as much composure as possible, “Yes.” “This is a good friend of mine, Captain Vanderbilt.” Mr. Vanderbilt was tall—not as tall as Lord Devon, but impressively so—and had light blond hair and a pleasant face. Not strikingly handsome, still he was very nice-looking and his manners very courtly as he came forward and bent over her hand. The gesture was made as if she were not a purchased commodity on an island that embraced iniquity, and his friend not the man who owned her. “My pleasure, Lady Isabelle.” “I feel the same, Captain, I’m sure,” she murmured, wishing that her blouse was less thin, and her skirt a little longer so her bare ankles did not show. Warm brown eyes looked at her as if he didn’t notice in the least her less than conventional attire. “Please, let me seat you.” When the fair-haired captain held out a chair in solicitous invitation, she had no choice but to accept, settling down in a sweep of her bright skirts. “Thank you.” Devon Austin watched the politesse with a vague hint of a smile on his mouth and there was something in his silver eyes that made her feel warm all over. It was an acknowledgment perhaps, of what had been between them already, and even in her inexperience, she recognized a heated promise of something more. Do your best to please me and I will return you to England. A thin young girl with curly black hair, a white apron neatly tied around her waist, glided into the room and wordlessly brought her fruit, coffee, and a fragrant bread that smelled of unknown spices. Isabelle was too hungry to decline the food, though it was clear the men had long since finished eating. She sipped from a fine china cup,

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wishing for tea, and took dainty bites as an uncomfortable silence grew. Finally, Captain Vanderbilt cleared his throat. “I understand your ship was overrun with pirates, my lady, and you landed here in unfortunate circumstances.” That was somewhat of an understatement, but she merely inclined her head. “That is a fairly accurate summary, I suppose.” “A shock, I am sure, for a well-bred lady.” Her host said neutrally, “Lady Isabelle is from intrepid stock and has adjusted well, I believe.” The slight challenge in the words made her pause. The fact that there was a hint of dissention between the two men was suddenly obvious. Captain Vanderbilt responded sarcastically, “And ever gallant, you aided in that adjustment?” “Hmm, is gallant the correct word, my dear?” When pinned with that piercing silver stare, Isabelle found she couldn’t speak for a moment. Not quite eager to admit the night before had been anything but unpleasant, for that made her sound wanton, she smoothed her skirts and faltered, “Probably not, but things could be much worse.” Vanderbilt muttered, “That’s high praise, Dev.” To her utter surprise, Devon laughed. It lit his normally austere features and made him look lighter and younger. “Tom, your unfortunate protective instincts have no place here and I have never even attempted to be gallant. The outcome of this isn’t up to you.” “No? As a gentleman I feel compelled to come to the lady’s aid.” “As a friend, I urge you to keep out of it.” Yesterday she’d stood on a stage, nearly naked, and watched strange, unkempt men salivate over her body. This morning two gentlemen—although she wasn’t sure if Devon qualified—quarreled over her now non-existent virtue. Isabelle said quickly to diffuse the tension, “Lord Devon hasn’t harmed me and promised I could return

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home. After the horror of the past days, wondering what was going to happen, I am not…opposed to the current situation.” Was that true? Good heavens, she was afraid it was. Moreover, he caught the inflection in her voice for he raised a brow and those compelling eyes showed sardonic amusement. “You see, Tom, all your archaic and useless instincts to protect her are unwarranted. The lady has just said she doesn’t mind things as they are. In fact, I could have told you that.” Oh lord, he remembered the way she moaned beneath him. Isabelle felt extraordinarily embarrassed but at the same time the look they exchanged held an intimacy she had never felt before. He was her lover, his gray eyes spoke silently, and they had shared that wondrous, seductive pleasure. “I sail in a fortnight,” Tom Vanderbilt said quietly, eyeing her pink cheeks, apparently not missing that swift exchange of glances. “Let me take her home, Dev. I can see her safe and your purpose will be well-satisfied by then.” “If I am well-satisfied,” Lord Devon said with unmistakable insinuation, “then that will be fine.” Thomas Vanderbilt gave him a stony look of disapproval. Isabelle felt a traitorous thrill of anticipation. **** The sand on the beach was warm, but then so was the entrancing body of the woman who walked beside him. Where Renata had found the clothes his lovely new possession wore Devon didn’t know, but the effect was absolutely delightful. The simple skirt in a printed pattern of tiny flowers emphasized the slimness of her dainty waist and subtle flare of her hips, and the blouse was not quite thin enough to see through but close, and it clung to the generous curves of her luscious breasts and left very little to the imagination.

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With her waist-length golden hair loose and flowing down her back, the gleaming curls catching the sun as the breeze brushed past, and her delicate, feminine beauty, she looked like something from a sybaritic dream. A male fantasy sprung to life, easy to undress, beautiful, available for his pleasure. Throw in a gorgeous white beach, a deep turquoise sea, and all the privacy in the world, and well, it looked like it was going to be a very fine afternoon. “You must love it here. It is so very beautiful.” At those softly spoken words, he glanced down. Her blue eyes held a hint of question and since he had already discerned she wasn’t simply lovely, but also intelligent, he didn’t blame her for any curiosity over his current state of exile. He shrugged, feeling the beat of the sun on his back and shoulders through the fine linen of his shirt. “I don’t love anything, person or place. The emotion apparently eludes me.” “Oh.” She looked nonplussed, and her long lashes lowered a fraction. Small shapely bare feet made tiny impressions in the damp sand, a contrast to his much larger booted tracks as they strolled along. “But I do have an appreciation for beauty, so we are in agreement that this island is very appealing. Rather like your face and form, my lady. I find both extremely appealing. Your stunning beauty rivals any dulcet sea or crystal beach.” “Thank you for the compliment,” she responded quietly, a small tendril of pale hair dancing across her smooth cheek. “But that is not why you bought me, is it, Lord Devon?” Apparently the lady was not only gorgeous in every way, she was perceptive as well. “No.” He rarely lied; it wasn’t honor, he just felt no reason to hide anything about his thoughts or actions. “Had you been cross-eyed and plump, I would have bought and bedded you. Fortunately, this way is much more enjoyable.”

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“I take it this has something to do with my father, for if your reason for attending the auction was who I am, not what I am, than that seems to be the only conclusion.” Her voice was calm, almost carefully so. “I have no intention of ill-using you,” Devon responded, studying her averted profile. “Last night should have proved that.” His voice lowered suggestively. “This afternoon will further confirm that fact.” “Will you tell me why you are doing this?” “No,” he said unequivocally. “But my promise stands, Lady Isabelle. If you spend the next fortnight spreading your legs for me whenever I wish it, I will let Thomas graciously escort you safely back to English shores.” Her steps faltered and twin spots of scarlet color shot into her cheeks. “Must you be so terribly blunt?” Devon let his mouth lift at the corner in a jaded smile. “That wasn’t blunt. Remember, I am no longer a proper English gentleman. If I had wanted to be blunt, I would have said, that if you will let me stick my hard cock in your deliciously sweet, tight cunt and fuck you for the next fortnight, then I will let you go. Speaking of that delectable part of your anatomy, are you sore?” That he had shocked her wasn’t in question. He doubted she had ever even heard the crude words before, but their meaning wasn’t exactly hard to decipher. For a moment, she stopped walking, and he turned, wondering if she would try to flee back toward the house. If it happened, he would let her go, and then undoubtedly face a very wrathful Thomas when he returned for upsetting her. Also stopping, Devon simply gazed into her eyes. Obviously outraged, she stared back, her blue eyes wide and darkened to the color of deep aquamarine. “I am surprised you care, my lord.” “I am not a lord,” he said with lethal emphasis, “for I have been most thoroughly disgraced and disinherited. And just because I am not going to woo you with flowery phrases or kiss your hand doesn’t

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mean I want to hurt you. I warned you yesterday, I have no use for the banalities of what is considered proper behavior.” “I’ve noticed,” she said coolly after a heartbeat of silence. “I am glad you understand. I will let Thomas, with his fashionable cravat and polished manners remind you of what awaits you back home. I, however, can show you a whole different world. Come.” His companion looked at his outstretched hand for a moment as if making an inner decision, and then slowly put her fingers in his. Without saying anything else, he led her toward a copse of gathered palm trees that threw a considerable block of shade. The spot was sheltered and cooler without the glare of the sun. The nearby cove was his favorite place to swim, and as he’d promised the night before, he had every intention of sharing it this afternoon with his new bedmate. He dropped onto the cool sand patted the spot next to him. “Sit down.” Isabelle complied, folding her legs beneath her in a ladylike pose, her gaze suddenly wary. “What are you going to do?” she asked, correctly interpreting his predatory expression. “Please you,” he replied truthfully. “And then you will please me. Afterwards, we’ll swim in the most clear, warm water you have felt on your skin. A hedonistic way to spend the afternoon, but after all, we are in paradise, aren’t we?” “I suppose so.” She looked doubtful, but when he leaned over and kissed her, she didn’t object and instead rested plaint and unresisting against his chest as he gathered her in his arms. She had the softest mouth, and the sweet taste of it sent a streak of need straight to his groin. With deliberate seductive gentleness, Devon used every bit of skill honed in the bedrooms of aristocratic ladies before disaster had struck and ruined his life—and the varied women since—to make her respond. It worked beautifully. Lady Isabelle Edwards, as he had discovered the night before, had a very sensual side he doubted she

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understood existed. Perhaps that was why when he had offended her she hadn’t run off to where she probably already deduced Thomas would protect her. He had no illusions. She was intrigued by and attracted to him. He had seen the look she gave him across the table this morning. Both shy and inviting, she was simply too innocent to hide it. Thomas had also seen it, which was why he had backed down from his chivalrous urge to interfere. It gave Devon a nice advantage and he wasn’t above using it. “Lie back,” he whispered against her lips, urging her down onto the embracing sand on her back. Though he longed to kiss her breasts, that would come later, right now he yearned to taste something else. Devon slid down her body and lifted the hem of her skirt, pushing it upward so it bunched at her waist and left her naked from the waist down. “My hair will get full of sand,” she objected, her voice not quite steady. He laughed, a low sound of pure male appreciation as he gazed at the glory of her slim, pale thighs and the intoxicating golden curls between them. “It will rinse out,” he promised, nuzzling first the plane of her stomach, inhaling in her fragrance. “Right now I want to taste you.” “I…I don’t understand.” She quivered as if she sensed his intentions, despite the declaration otherwise. “Like this.” He caught her ankles and lifted them, setting her feet on the sand so her knees were bent. Placing both palms on her inner thighs, he pushed her legs apart. With delicate precision he splayed his fingers and moved his hands upward, so his thumbs traced the lips of her labia, carefully parted her sex, and opened it. “Devon,” she said in mortified protest, but didn’t move. His given name, said in such a breathless voice, was nice to hear.

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“Perfect,” he murmured, seeing the pink, satin tissue exposed to his avid examination. The bud of her clitoris peeked from the protective sheath of skin, and he lightly brushed it with a fingertip. “Oh.” She jerked in reaction. Then he lowered his head and licked it. Isabelle made a low, small sound and arched slightly. Oh yes, she was going to thoroughly enjoy this, he thought in sinful arrogance, and traced with his tongue downward, finding her vaginal entrance. He lightly pushed inside. She tasted entirely female, entirely delicious, and he was very aroused already. His cock strained against the confines of his fitted breeches as he began to tease and toy with first the swelling nub that would bring her to full orgasm, and then dip lower to penetrate her orally. Her hands clenched in the sand, taking fistfuls, and she moaned her enjoyment in small inarticulate pants. Devon slid his hands beneath her and cupped her silky bottom, lifting her slightly as he pressed his mouth closer, gently sucking, licking, and using both his lips and tongue to bring her to fulfillment. “Oh God,” she gasped out, the filtered sunlight making dappled patterns on her skin and outspread hair. “Oh…Oh.” Her slender body shuddered, her legs opening wider as she climaxed wildly against his mouth. He could taste the essence of her sexual pleasure and felt each tremor with immense male satisfaction. With deliberate skill he prolonged it as long as possible, and when she began to relax, he very lightly began again to stimulate her swollen and sensitized sex. She cried out in protest but almost instantly was in the grip of another orgasm. This time sandy fingers flew into his hair, not that he cared about that, but he did obediently lift his head as she tugged it upward once she went limp. “No more,” Lady Isabelle begged, sprawled open-legged on the sand, half-naked, her skin a beautiful post-orgasmic pink.

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He grinned, a wolfish baring of his teeth as he still lay positioned between her parted thighs. “You didn’t care for it? I beg to differ, for I believe you did.” “I…can’t…breathe.” “While you recover, my dear, I’ll undress you, if you don’t mind. You don’t have to do a thing. It will be a pleasure to take care of it entirely.” With deft fingers he untied her skirt and slid it off, and then lifted her lax body to tug her blouse over her head. Nude, she was the vision of the night before but amplified by daylight. Voluptuous, with creamy skin, and long, supple limbs, his captive was indeed a prize. Making short work of stripping off his own clothes, he sank back down next to her, aware that she watched his movements from underneath the fringe of her long lashes. Like the night before, his erection seemed to hold her entire attention, her lips parting slightly as she stared at the rampant length of it. That beautiful soft, warm mouth. His aching cock. It sounded like a perfect combination. Devon said in a slightly thickened voice, “Whenever you are able to reciprocate, just let me know. Obviously, I am more than ready.” **** He wanted her to do what? Isabelle’s gaze went from that huge hard length jutting so high from between his legs to his face. She still felt slightly dazed from the intensity of the rapturous sensations she had just experienced and perhaps she misunderstood. “Reciprocate how?” “You enjoyed my mouth, my beauteous refined lady, so let me enjoy yours. Obviously I want you to put it on my cock.” Devon’s gray eyes gleamed with amusement over her naïve ignorance, but there was also a certain fierceness in his expression that indicated his level of desire. “I’ll tell you what to do, don’t worry.”

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“I…” she trailed off, not certain if she was disgusted or intrigued by the idea of putting her mouth on his erect sex. Reclined on the sand like a rapacious but undeniably beautiful demigod, all sleek muscle and male power, with his glossy dark hair on his shoulders, the man next to her raised his arched ebony brows. “You…what?” There was no question that he had just given her exquisite sinful pleasure. Slowly Isabelle got to her knees and shook back her hair in a flurry of fine sand. “I’ll try to please you,” she said softly. He laughed, a small choked sound. “You cannot fail, trust me.” On his back, propped on his elbows so he was half-raised, he spread his legs. “Here.” She obeyed, moving so she knelt between his hard thighs. Up close, his erect penis was larger than ever, the shiny, flared crest seeping a clear fluid. With her hands braced on either side of his lean hips, she leaned forward and tentatively tasted the tip in a cautious exploratory movement of her tongue. “Jesus,” Devon breathed. “You see, that’s damned good already. Take me deeper, as deep as is comfortable.” The taste of his sex was unique, like nothing she had ever experienced, a little salty, but not unpleasant. The scandalous notion of kneeling naked on a beach between a man’s legs with his cock in her mouth would have horrified her not even a week ago, but Isabelle did as he requested. It was an odd sensation to have it touch the back of her throat, and she registered that he made a strangled sound that she interpreted as pleasure. Long fingers slid into her hair and clenched against her scalp. “Now back up,” he suggested huskily. “Good God, Isabelle, yes, exactly that way. Use your tongue.” Slowly sliding up and down, she rubbed her tongue along the hard smooth length. Devon helped her, his hands urging her into a settled rhythm of take and give, his breathing growing harsh.

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“Bloody hell, stop,” he finally told her, pulling out of her mouth. His chest heaved as she watched his fingers clench around his cock. A gush of fluid spilled across his chest as he ejaculated with a low groan, eyes closed, the copious amount a surprise since she had no idea precisely how male sexual release exactly worked. After a moment he took a deep shuddering breath and lifted his lashes. “That alone was worth your price. You are a bargain, my lady. Come here.” He caught her upper arms and pulled her forward, so she slid across the hot discharge on his stomach and torso, her breasts against his hard chest. One hand wrapped in the long length of her loose hair, Devon kissed her hard, his tongue pushing into her mouth with wicked intent, mimicking the act of love. Both sticky with his sperm, entwined, they kissed passionately, and she felt that same low throb between her thighs begin as when he touched her there. It was immoral, she tried to tell herself, sprawled in reckless abandon on top of him. It was decadent, but it was also…splendidly seductive. He was using her, not only her body, but her very soul to a purpose she did not understand. Damn him. And even, knowing all of that, she allowed him to lift her in his arms and carry her into the sea. The warm water embraced them, washed the evidence of their lovemaking clean, and licked the sand from their bodies. “I can’t swim,” she whispered against his neck, clinging to him. “I have you,” he promised, his skin slick with water, his eyes glimmering silver. “Don’t worry. I will not let you go. Trust me, Isabelle.” “It seems to me I have trusted you already with a great deal.” He held her effortlessly as he walked further into the water, the strength of his arms cradling her easily. They moved, her arms around his neck, into a small sheltered cove and she saw with wonder the brilliant colors of the small darting

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fish, and graceful sway of the seaweed in the crystal clear water. There, in that sheltered place, chest deep in the water, she could feel his returning desire hard against her stomach. In just moments he positioned himself and entered her, insistent but gentle as he urged her legs around his waist, his hard cock sliding inside her softness with erotic pressure that made her feel stretched deliciously wide. “I promised you sex in the sea,” he said with teasing inflection as he began to pump in long hard strokes in and out of her body. “You promised making love in the sea,” Isabelle corrected on a gasp as she felt him push against her quivering womb, her head falling back, trailing her hair in the waves. For an instant he paused. “Did I say that?” “You did.” He didn’t answer, but grasped her buttocks more firmly and drove in harder. She floated, buoyed by the water, by the clutch of her hands on his muscled arms, by the force of her elemental desire. The delirious pleasure was too much and in moments she felt that matchless blissful rise begin, swirling deep, making her moan his name. He responded, his head dropping to her shoulder, his powerful body going taut as her inner contractions began. The warm flood of his release was matched by her low scream of ecstasy. Afterwards, floating, sated, Isabelle reflected that though she had bargained with the devil, there was no doubt she was enjoying the covenant.

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Chapter 4 The very civilized clink of china as the food was carried in was countered by the rising howl of a tropical wind, rain lashing at the windows. Wooden shutters, drawn closed against the storm, rattled against the assault of the elements. The serving girl set a platter of steamed fish on the table next to a bowl of sliced fruit. “It will pass soon,” Thomas Vanderbilt promised her, catching Isabelle’s apprehensive look at the windows. “Devon told me we should go ahead and dine, for he is likely to be in the barn until late. His favorite horse is injured and since the animal is particularly upset by storms and more skittish than ever with the pain, I doubt he will return to the house until this blows over.” In the candlelight, he was dressed with his usual formal elegance, tailored jacket, cravat, fitted breeches and polished boots. He even traveled with a valet, a young man no more than twenty who blushed vividly whenever he saw Isabelle, his face taking on the same bright hue as his red hair. At first she had been chagrined in front of the servants and Devon’s obviously respectable, well-bred friend, that it was common knowledge she shared his bed. After nearly a week, it still embarrassed her a little, but maybe it was exotic setting, maybe it was that she was treated respectfully despite her role as purchased mistress, but it didn’t matter the way she thought it would. Nineteen years of having her virtue carefully guarded gone in that fateful instant when Devon Austin had made that first bid. Six days of sexual initiation by her enigmatic lover had passed now and she wondered if she even regretted the loss of her innocence

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and reputation. She had convinced her father to allow her to sail to America to see her aunt because she wanted adventure and to experience something different than the rigid strictures of polite English society before she accepted a marriage proposal. Surely her current predicament qualified as an adventure of the most wild and romantic kind. Her captor was both wild and tender, forceful yet considerate, and there was little doubt that whatever his designs, he always sought to please her physically. Yet, as many times now as they had shared the intimate act of sexual intercourse, he was still a mystery. It seemed an opportune time to see if she could gain some insight. More than once she had wanted to talk to Thomas alone, to see if he might answer her questions, but the chance had never arisen until now. Demurely, she smoothed the skirts of the light blue gown that Devon had bought for her in town. He had even brought back a local seamstress who could alter the several dresses he had found that were close to her size. Though Isabelle preferred the lighter blouse and skirt during the heat of the day, for dinner it was nice to have something more civilized to wear. After debating a moment how to open the subject, she finally said, “I suppose you know better than I do the whims of the weather here. So far it has been nothing but balmy and beautiful during my stay. Tell me, Captain, how often do you visit?” As always, he looked a little uncomfortable with the circumstances of her presence in the house, but he answered readily enough. “I command a merchant vessel and whenever we deliver goods to this part of the world, I make it a point to divert our course— once the hold is empty of course—to this port.” His smile was wry. “There are pirates in every part of the world, Lady Isabelle, but here they are more bold than most. The law in these islands is practically nonexistent, as far as they are from the countries that claim ownership.”

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“Is that why Devon chose this place? Because he would be out of reach of English law?” The candlelight flickered as a particularly virulent blast of wind shook the house. Thomas, his blond hair gleaming, gave her a keen look. “I am surprised he told you. He guards himself closely.” “Only that he is a criminal, and exiled from England.” Isabelle took a small sip of wine and carefully set down her glass. “Naturally, I am most curious to know more considering…well…” When she trailed off and a light blush touched her cheeks, the man across the table said wryly, “There is no need to expound, my lady. Nor to feel mortified because of what has happened, for it was not of your doing. I am ashamed of Devon for using you for his petty revenge, and of myself, quite frankly, for not being more insistent he free you at once. I would have, but for one thing.” She looked at him curiously. “What is that?” “The way he looks at you. It is a remarkable thing, for he is as hard as granite normally, but I could swear I saw a spark of human feeling that first morning when I arrived. Moreover, you do not seem to be all that unhappy, if you will forgive me for being so forward as to mention it.” She wasn’t, which was disconcerting. From the very first moment when she had looked into those incredible silver eyes, there had been an inexplicable fascination. For a moment she said nothing, but toyed with the stem of her wine glass. Then she glanced up ruefully. “I am not sure what it makes me, but you are right, Captain, I am not unhappy. However, I do know that whatever he says, Devon misses England fiercely, and though this place is lovely, it is not his home. I do not sense in him dishonesty or useless violence, so what happened? Please tell me, for I am involved through my father in some way, he admitted that much. I feel I have a right to know.” “It is his place to tell you, but I agree you have at least some rights in this matter, and he is a stubborn fool at times.” The captain sighed and rubbed his lean jaw. “All right, this is the story, put simply. Six

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years ago Devon was accused of murder. It happened one snowy night, after a particularly raucous party full of drink and cards, attended by wild young bloods and reckless ladies with too much privilege and money who sought to amuse themselves with debauch. At the time, Devon was only twenty, and I admit, hot-headed and hotblooded, but certainly not a killer.” “Murder.” Isabelle shivered as thunder cracked in the background. “The victim was the youngest son of a baronet, an idiot who was well in his cups when he got caught cheating at cards. He and Devon had a very definite and loud confrontation over it as several of the others looked on. That did not help in the least when the young man was found dead in his apartments the next day. Someone had apparently hit him a fatal blow with the fireplace poker.” “Surely one needs more than an earlier argument to accuse someone of murder?” His expression neutral, Thomas inclined his head. “Yes, indeed, one does. It was your father who came forward and said he saw Devon leaving the building where the crime occurred. He swore he recognized him, and the police were in a quandary, I’m sure, for the Austin’s are a powerful family, but then again, so is yours, Lady Isabelle. To accuse the grandson of a duke of murder, especially when he vehemently denied it? However, faced with a dead body, the testimony of the witnesses to the argument, and the direct accusation of a distinguished lord, they questioned the servants in his grandfather’s household, where Devon still lived at the time. A maid confessed to finding a bloody footprint the morning after the murder occurred in the front hallway. Naturally, of course, she had wiped it away at once, as that is exactly her job.” Disturbed and at a loss, Isabelle said slowly, “So essentially, there was no actual evidence except my father’s word against Devon’s.” “Yes, that is true. But, please keep in mind that Devon was a bit of a wild young man, undeniably spoiled, for he was the heir to a dukedom, rich, handsome, and occasionally imprudent. His stiff-

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necked grandfather disapproved of his licentious lifestyle, though he was merely doing what many young men do when blessed with fortune and good looks. I can tell you honestly, that he has paid for every single one of those self-indulgent reckless moments twice fold in the six years that have passed. Once his grandfather sensed the unfolding scandal, he was furious. There had already been two duels, and plenty enough gossip, and this was apparently too much for the old man. What passed between them, I do not even want to know, but even before Devon was actually charged with the crime, he was disowned and disinherited. We had been friends since childhood, and it was I who advised him to leave England and seek his fortunes elsewhere.” She felt slightly sick at the patent unfairness of it. “What of his parents? Did they not try to help him?” “They died when he was a child. His only family that gave him support was his grandmother, and his younger sister, but there was little they could do but be horrified over the turn of events. When he left England he was certainly not the same careless young man who charmed countless ladies, gambled freely, and drank until dawn.” Who could blame him, Isabelle thought morosely. Repudiated, accused of a heinous crime, and forced to leave his home and his future in disgrace. “No,” she agreed dryly, “light-hearted does not describe him, I’m afraid.” “He made his own way, and his own fortune, quite quickly.” Thomas took a forkful of fish. After he washed it down with a swallow of wine, he added succinctly, “If there was one good thing that happened from the unfortunate affair, it was that he learned the extent of his abilities to survive independently. He worked hard, invested the money he made shrewdly, and in a remarkably short amount of time, had his own ship, which has now expanded to a small fleet. Though it is nothing like the fortune he was heir to before, he is a rich man. However, money can only buy physical things, not contentment. His experience left him jaded and mistrustful, which

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perhaps you can understand. I believe from what I have seen you realize that his soul isn’t black, just perhaps a little tarnished.” Her own food had gone untouched during the recital, and Isabelle didn’t feel in the least hungry. “Is it possible for him to return home and clear his name?” Thomas’ brown eyes were troubled. “I don’t know. His formidable pride is an issue, as is your father’s assertion that he clearly recognized Devon that fateful night.” “I certainly now see why he wished to use me.” Isabelle made a face, her chest a little tight. “What better way to strike back at his nemesis than to ruin his daughter? Unfortunately, very few things in this life bring less reward than senseless revenge. I fear when we sail next week, Devon will be more alone and more bitter than ever.” Captain Vanderbilt actually smiled. “I am glad to hear you realize that. You are both beautiful and insightful. Now, the question is, how would you feel if I said that I think you might possess the power to change all of that? Your power is twofold, my lady, for not only do you hold Devon’s interest as a man, but perhaps you of all people can discover why your father would lie and destroy an innocent man.” Put that way, the responsibility was daunting. Isabelle objected, “I am only a pawn in this game, sir, and quite frankly, Devon’s interest is questionable in nature. For all I know, the minute I am gone, he will forget me.” Thomas gazed at her and indolently lifted his glass to his mouth. “I somehow don’t believe that will happen.” **** The house was dark at the late hour, and Devon let himself in quietly. He was famished, and glad to see the cook had left a covered plate on the square scrubbed table in the kitchen. He quickly ate cold chicken, some cheese and fruit, and drank several glasses of the sweet local wine.

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As soon as he was finished, he had to fight the urge to take the stairs two at a time, his impatience to get upstairs a bit frightening. He was like a randy adolescent, he thought with self-mockery as he forced himself to climb at his normal pace, eager to taste his first sexual adventure. Only this wasn’t by any means his first time, and just that morning he’d kept Isabelle in bed late, making love to her over and over. He wanted her again. He needed her. It was hard to deny since he was already becoming aroused, just thinking about her in his bed, soft, beguilingly warm, and oh so passionate under that cool blonde exterior. It was becoming a damned obsession to touch her. To think about her, which was even more disturbing. The bedroom was shuttered and shadowed, the storm having died to a low moaning wind and persistent drizzle that tapped soothingly on the roof. Isabelle was asleep, her blonde tresses spilled across the white linens, the sheet drawn to her waist, exposing the pale mounded flesh of her luscious bare breasts in intoxicating invitation. Though he had bought her several gowns and the necessary accessories, very deliberately he had omitted any form of sleeping attire. When he had explained that it would save him the trouble of removing it, she had blushed in that charming way that entranced him. Devon undressed in swift soundless movements, grateful to remove his breeches, his erection now at full mast. He slid in beside her, his skin heated against the cool linens. Popped on one elbow, for a few long moments he simply studied her pure lovely profile, the length of her lashes against the porcelain curve of her cheeks, the straight short line of her nose, the enticing softness of the pink lips that molded to his so wondrously when they kissed... God, she was beautiful. But it was more than that. Why the devil did she have to be delightful in other ways besides the carnal one for which he’d bought her? Despite her circumstances as a virtual prisoner, her body bartered for gold, she was a charming companion,

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bright, with a sense of humor, and an undeniable air of grace. A true lady in every sense of the word, and a true woman in a way he found bewitching. Loneliness was not a state he acknowledged existed. He had no patience with it, but it loomed now like some dark shadow, waiting to swallow him the minute he let Thomas escort her onto that ship. Damnation. That sense everyone has when watched must have penetrated even her slumber for her lashes fluttered, and when her eyes opened, she smiled sleepily. “Devon.” “You were not expecting anyone else, I hope,” he murmured, reaching out to touch her cheek lightly, his fingers sliding along the subtle curve, feeling the delicacy of the line of her jaw. She laughed, a small musical sound that drifted in the solitude of the darkened room. “Only you.” Only you... He felt a curious tightening in his throat. “How is your horse?” she asked, lifting a little to peer at him. “You look a bit strange. I hope nothing went amiss—” “I don’t want to talk,” he said more harshly than he intended. Her features blanched and Devon felt like a knave and an idiot. “I didn’t mean it to sound that way, Isabelle, I’m sorry. It is just, please, I want you.” An inward curse made him flinch. Had he really just asked please like some importunate suitor? “I want you, too,” she admitted in a low whisper that whether or not she meant it to be, was infinitely seductive. A small sound escaped her throat as he moved to cover her, his hand smoothing her hip as he rubbed the springing length of his rock hard erection against the plane of her stomach. He took her lips in a searing kiss that rivaled the earlier fury of the storm, and though so far he’d been careful to be gentle with her, all caution was lost as he graphically plundered her mouth. After her initial startled stiffening at

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his tempestuous ardor, she responded in kind, her nails running lightly down his back, the tips of her breasts hardening against his chest. “Spread your legs,” he breathed in her ear, inhaling the light fragrance of her hair, the silky soft strands against his cheek. “I need to be inside you now.” “Yes.” When she complied, he didn’t hesitate but slid deeply into her vagina, his cock pulsing with the frantic beat of his heart. With little finesse but instead urgent need, he moved, pulling almost completely out to sink back in hard, his eyes shut as he savored the molten pleasure raging through his entire body. He could feel desire pound through his brain, his blood, his very bones, as she took him time and again and he felt that rapturous peak grow closer. Beneath him she moaned with each thrust, lifting her hips so he could go as deep as possible, the timing of their mating so perfectly in sync that had he been able to put together a coherent thought, he would have marveled at it. “Come,” he commanded thickly, the slick fluids of her arousal lubricating his impetuous, reckless penetration, by now recognizing the other signals that she was close. Her fingers flexed on his shoulders, digging in, and she arched eagerly. “Jesus, Isabelle, have mercy and come for me.” Moments later she gave a low scream, shuddering in his arms. Small inner ripples milked his cock and he lost all control, with one final forceful push climaxing in a violent rush of pure liquid pleasure so acute he felt shaken and moved. His seed flooded her, coating her womb, filling her with the evidence of his orgasmic culmination. Bloody hell, was all he could think as he collapsed to his side, bringing her slender body with him, both of them damp and breathless. Could he really ever let her go? ****

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Not certain she could even move a muscle, Isabelle incredibly felt the lave of a warm tongue over her nipple. Never in her life had she felt so spent, or so wondrously content. The heated adhesion of Devon’s mouth on her breast seemed part of the dream-like quality of her current state. She sighed lightly. Outside the surf washed the beach, and the rain pattered. “Maybe I should stay here forever,” she murmured, not thinking before the words were out, so physically satisfied that thought transferred from brain to mouth. Immediately the man suckling her breast with a gentleness he certainly hadn’t shown moments before, lifted his head. The inadequate light made his face look more handsome than ever, hiding the small lines by his mouth, and the usual hard glitter in his remarkable eyes. “Do you want to stay?” Why had she said it? Was she insane? Did she really want to stay on this lawless remote island and be the whore of a man who was considered a brutal killer? “I…I am not sure why I said that,” she stammered. “I am not sure either,” he agreed, his features shadowed, “but it has occurred to me to keep you despite my earlier promise. After all, I paid for you and we both know I could if I wished. Who would stop me?” “Thomas, for one,” Isabelle pointed out with a small smile. “And please, Devon, I think I have learned enough about you to know you don’t believe in owning another person anymore than I do. But that hardly matters. Whatever you are, lover or master, I do not think you would make me stay if I wished to leave. Underneath your somewhat impenetrable exterior, you still possess an essential humanity. I know you would deny it, but I am convinced it exists.” “Really? Did you discern that from the way I just fucked you like a tavern slut, waking you from a sound sleep to service me?”

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His attempt to shock her failed, for she had figured out quickly in their short but intimate acquaintance he used pretended callousness to mask his own feelings. “Would you kiss a tavern slut the way you kissed me?” she asked softly with only a slight tremor of emotion in her voice. “Would you want her the way you just wanted me? Would you politely ask please when you wanted her favor?” Outside a wave crashed on the beach, the elemental sound appropriate to the moment. The questions seemed to hang between them, charged and vital, and his expression visibly smoothed to an inscrutable mask. He finally said in a quiet voice, “No.” “Why did you say it, then?” A muscle moved in his cheek. “What do you want from me? An apology? Fair enough, I am sorry, for you are the farthest thing from a slut I can imagine and the insult both unforgivable and undeserved. My barbaric manners are inexcusable, but that is part of the problem, isn’t it?” She could still feel the throb between her legs from his wild lovemaking. Lifting a brow, Isabelle said dryly, “Contrary to your belief otherwise, I hate to inform you that your manners are usually quite civilized and it is only when you try to be offensive that you succeed. That said, what problem are we discussing?” “I am no longer of your world, Isabelle.” The tone of his voice lacked his usual sardonic edge and instead held a small hint of something that sounded like despair. It tugged at her heart. “What world?” she asked cautiously, not certain how far she could push him. “Last I knew, I was a slave, part of a pirate’s booty, sold at auction for sexual purposes. That would make you leagues above me, Devon, for you are wealthy, powerful, and entirely free.” “Free?” His laugh resonated with bitterness. “No one is less free than I am. Though I am innocent, the stain on my name is a black one. If I tried to return to the life I was born to—the same one as yours—I

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would be arrested and tried at once. No, I am stuck here, in a life not of my choosing, in a place where I will always feel not quite at home.” “Thomas told me what happened.” Not certain how to apologize for such a thing as her father being responsible for the false accusation that had destroyed his life, Isabelle didn’t even attempt to try. “I admit I do not understand it, for though my father is very rigid and uncompromising, he isn’t a liar as far as I know.” “This is an interesting dilemma, I imagine.” Devon lowered his dark lashes a fraction and watched her, the lean, long length of his nude powerful body next to her. “What do you believe, Lady Isabelle? My denials or his assertions? Can you stomach the fact that you have made love with a possible murderer with no honor?” She placed her hand on his bare chest, right at the spot where his heart beat beneath the smooth hardness of flesh and honed muscle. “I don’t have a dilemma. If you truly wanted the utmost revenge against my father, wouldn’t you have left me on that block, auctioned off to some horrible fate that I shudder to imagine? Instead, you paid a good amount of money to bring me here, and though I admit our conduct hasn’t exactly been circumspect by the moral standards of our class, you have never been anything less than gentle with me.” “Even a few moments ago?” Though it felt a bit like baring her soul, she said huskily, “I wanted it that way. When I felt your urgency, it was as if I also lost control.” The strong drum under her palm increased a fraction and his mouth tightened. “Dammit, Isabelle, do not paint me in a good light. Even before the false accusation, I was a rake of the first order, and a bit of a wastrel. My grandfather was not entirely wrong in his disappointment in my character. Perhaps that is what struck home more than anything.” He ran his hand through his hair and exhaled, the glossy raven strands falling across his brow. “I do not even know

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why I am talking about this with you. It’s done, the die cast, and you will sail off from here next week and forget me.” “I don’t think that is quite possible. Will you be able forget me?” “No!” The word came out savagely. Almost the moment he said it, she felt as if the earth shifted. Devon went very still, but his heart pounded now, she could feel acutely every single hard beat. Isabelle carefully repeated, “I would never forget you, nor do I wish to do so. Please, consider coming back with me and trying to clear this blight from both your good name and your life. Devon, you owe it to yourself, to your grandmother and sister, who stood by you, and to Thomas who has never wavered in his faith.” Her eyes filled suddenly with unexpected hot tears. “You owe it to me, for if it is not enough that you have taken my innocence, we both know it is something more than that now between us. I do not care you think your heart is hardened and exile is your fate, I say it isn’t.” The fear she had gone too far—and he was beyond any sentimental appeal—hung like a pall for a terrible, excruciating moment. Then his hand came up slowly and covered hers where it rested against his broad chest. “You say it isn’t?” At the tender amused note in his voice, a tear slid down her cheek. “I vow it,” she told him. “I don’t like to see you cry.” His fingertip caught the errant tear and wiped it away. “Make me stop then. Agree to sail back to England with us.” “I want to, but—” “No excuses.” She gazed into his eyes. “Tell me you will consider my plan.” When he didn’t reply she brazenly snuggled closer, pressing her body suggestively against his, rubbing her breasts on his broad chest. She nipped his earlobe. “Think of the voyage. There is so little to do on ship, but we would not be bored. I will do everything you like, all that you’ve taught me.” Her mouth trailed downward, over the corded

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strength of his neck, the hard surface of his chest—and lower—to the taut defined level of his stomach. “I’ll pleasure you the entire journey to England in any way you wish.” “You little witch, that isn’t fair.” His hands cupped her head but he didn’t pull her away from his cock, which already stiffened and grew longer. “You cannot bribe me into such insane action…Isabelle…” “Let me try,” she said, licking him gently, tasting his essence as her tongue swirled over the tip of his growing erection. She began the only way she knew how to persuade him.

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Chapter 5 The cliff stood high above the sea, and gave a clear view of miles of aqua sea. Reining in his horse, Thomas slid from the saddle and automatically took the spyglass from his pocket, pulling it out and gazing through the lens. Two ships were on the horizon, but too distant to see their flags. Snapping the tool shut, he put it back in his coat. As he turned back, he caught Devon’s grin and grimaced. “Habit I guess,” he confessed. “Once a captain, always a captain. I spend so little time on land, I miss the rock of the deck and the responsibility of command. To not constantly scan the horizon feels unnatural if I am near the water.” His friend dismounted in a lithe, athletic motion. “I imagine you are anxious to sail, then. You usually are. It is only a few days away.” “I imagine you are counting the minutes, feeling them slip away. I’m surprised you agreed to go for a ride, for it means you are away from her.” “I’m not tied to her skirts.” “No? If that’s true it is only because when she is around you, you make sure she isn’t wearing any,” Thomas said dryly. “I think you need to face what has happened, Dev.” “What the devil do you mean?” Devon’s neutral expression didn’t fool him one bit. “You have two choices, Dev. The question is, which one will you take? My recommendation is to marry the lovely Isabelle and keep her here, where the two of you can breed good-looking children, and live out the rest of your lives in contentment. It is the simplest solution.”

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For once, Devon didn’t lapse into his usual pose of sardonic detachment. “Why the devil would she want to tie herself to a blackguard like me and live in a state of disgraced separation from all she loves?” “The easy answer is that she has fallen in love with you in the way only romantic young women do. You are her lover, and protector, and I think she also sees beyond your prickly and sometimes outright cold façade to the wounded man beneath.” “Oh for heaven’s sake, who is the romantic?” Devon muttered, staring out to sea, absently holding the reins of his horse. “The last thing I need is such emotional drivel, Tom. Isabelle and I have only known each other less than two weeks.” Dryly, Thomas pointed out, “You’ve known each other quite often, as far as I can tell, and last I knew, there was no set limit for the speed at which one can tumble into love. If I can see the communion between the two of you, surely even a hardened roué like yourself can feel it. Bloody hell, I saw it that first morning, and at that time, you had not even known each other a day.” “What is my second choice?” There was a bleakness to his voice, and his friend’s gray eyes looked distant. “You can do as she asks and sail back to England with us. It is the least safe of the two, for surely you risk being imprisoned and charged with murder. The positive point would be that if you could clear your name, you would be able to offer Isabelle what she deserves, which is a secure, safe home, the privileged existence she knows, and an honorable marriage.” “This obsession with marriage is beginning to grow tedious.” Thomas ignored the growled protest. “What if she is already pregnant? God knows you’ve done your best.” “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?” Devon shoved a trembling hand through his hair, his composure cracking a fraction. “In abstract theory, sending back Buckland’s daughter with my child growing in her belly was a deliciously satisfying thought. In reality, it is

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something altogether different. I wouldn’t see her shamed, or my child shunned for his parentage. I’m not that cold, Tom.” Though he did his best to school his expression, Thomas felt a glimmer of hope. “I agree. She needs to be protected. In fact, I like her a great deal. Aside from her obvious beauty, Isabelle is articulate, compassionate, and amazingly open-minded, which proves her intelligence. I am not sure you deserve her, but somehow you have won her, even with the less than honorable methods you used to get her into your bed. Don’t be a fool, Dev, marry her.” Devon looked at him, his expression thin-skinned, and he made a helpless gesture with his hand. “Let’s say for an insane moment that you are correct and she would accept me even under this black cloud of suspicion. How can I solve a crime that happened six years ago? I think we both understand that is what has to occur. It would not be enough to get the charge dropped. Unless another culprit is produced, the blight would always remain. On my good name, and therefore on her. I wouldn’t raise my children with whispers behind their backs. The very idea turns my stomach.” “A powerful motivation for success, I agree. I offer my help in any way possible, of course.” “Thank you, but forgive me if I am little doubtful of any success, with your help or without it. I do not have a burning desire to hang for something I didn’t do.” Noting the brooding set of his mouth, Thomas added gently, “You actually have a third choice, I suppose. You could stay here and live as you have been, in unhappiness and solitude and try to forget for every waking moment what it was like to hold her in your arms. I warn you though, my friend, whatever your existence before, it will be tenfold worse, longing for something you would never have again.” The wind sifted by, warm and redolent with the scent of salt and water. After a moment, Devon said wearily, “Damn you, you know it is not an option.”

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A little smug, Thomas grinned. “I didn’t think it was.” **** The blanket was spread in the shady palm-sheltered spot, and when Isabelle saw that’s where they were heading, her fine brows lifted a teasing fraction. “I thought you said I was going to have a final swimming lesson. One cannot do that on a blanket yards from the water.” “We will swim. Eventually.” Devon led her to the spot where they often made love, away from the sometimes brutal glare of the tropical sunshine. “First I thought we’d have a glass of wine together.” The bottle he’d brought down earlier sat in a small bucket of cool water, and there were two glasses in a basket nearby. His lovely companion eyed the thoughtful offering and gave him one of those charming, lighthearted smiles he’d grown to try to coax from her. “I owe you an apology then, my lord, for I’m afraid I jumped to conclusions. Usually when we come here, you have something else in mind than sharing a glass of wine.” He gave a convincing theatrical leer, and felt the music of her laughter wash over him like a physical touch. “I can’t imagine what you are insinuating, my lady.” “Can’t you?” she asked dryly. “Well, let me refresh your memory, Lord Devon. Occasionally you bring me here to have your very wicked way with me.” “Uhm, is that so?” He glanced at her, admiring the light gold of her now sun-kissed skin, and the shining length of her silky pale hair. “I cannot imagine why I would do such a thing. Perhaps you should consider yourself to blame, for were you not so tempting, so lovely and womanly in every way, I wouldn’t continually feel the urge to have you in my arms.” He tried to sound casual about it, continuing the banter in the same vein, but he meant every word. Never had he

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felt such desire for any woman, and he had the feeling that Thomas was perfectly right, his feelings were engaged. “I’m surprised you put it so politely,” she murmured, “usually you are a bit more graphic. I am not certain I can adjust to it. Wine instead of sex, compliments instead of crude words. Our imminent departure has softened you into a semblance of that hidden gentleman.” Devon gestured for her to sit and reached for the bottle of wine and glasses. “You sound very confident I will agree to accompany you. I don’t think I’ve decided yet to risk my neck on the obscure chance I can find who really murdered that hapless young man six years ago.” He poured her a glass with a slow deliberate smile. “And do not worry, I mean to fuck you in a very ungentlemanly way the better part of this fine afternoon, so you see, I haven’t changed at all, my beautiful Isabelle.” She gave him a reproachful glance from those incredible blue eyes, but it was easy to see the flare of anticipation there. “In fact,” he suggested conversationally, “I think I forgot to mention that before we consume our beverage, I politely request you remove your clothing. I know you are wearing nothing underneath, so it should only take you a moment.” “You certainly are back to your old self,” she muttered, but quickly unfastened her skirt and took off her blouse. As always the splendor of her body took his breath away, and Devon simply stared for a long hungry moment before he handed her the glass. Even the brush of their fingers aroused him. He poured himself a glass and sat down, trying to ignore the growing bulge in the confining cloth of his fitted breeches. “Shall I describe what we are going to do? I feel, since this is our last afternoon able to enjoy ourselves so freely, out of doors, with the ocean and the beautiful breeze, that we should truly indulge our desires.” “I am curious, naturally.” The words were demure and she sipped from her glass in a ladylike fashion, her legs to the side, reclining like

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some golden earthy goddess, with her flowing hair and gloriously uplifted bare breasts. “I plan on taking you in all the ways you enjoy most, tasting every inch of your delectable body, and being inside you for hours. All we are going to do is pleasure each other until the sun begins to set and I promise an afternoon that you will never forget. If you want anything from me, all you have to do is ask.” Isabelle looked at him and there was a sudden glitter of tears in her eyes. “The afternoon sounds lovely, Devon, but what I want from you is that you sail with me tomorrow back to England.” He could feel the teasing mask fade from his face. “I confess I do not know why. If you sail back without me, no one need know what transpired between us. Yes, word will get back of your abduction from the ship, but you can easily say Thomas purchased your freedom. He has an impeccable reputation that is well-deserved and under his protection your future can be salvaged. If you arrive with me, Isabelle, you will endure both scandal and possible disgrace, for even if I were not facing a murder charge, before I left England I had worked quite diligently to become a rakehell of the first order. Any time in my company would stain a woman’s status, trust me.” “My good name will hardly matter to me if you are half a world away for I love you,” she said softly. “Both of you, the gentleman you deny exists, and the sinful rake.” Bloody hell, she’d said it. “Are you sure?” he asked hoarsely, feeling his hand tremble as he held his wine. “Yes,” she whispered. “I am very sure.” Devon closed his eyes against the unfamiliar hot prick against his lids. There was no doubt of it; she had just made the decision for him. ****

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Her senses were saturated, exhausted, overwhelmed. Emotionally, Isabelle felt the same way. Devon was always ardent and insatiable, but the past few hours had been entirely different. He’d been infinitely passionate, wickedly inventive, and it was as if every touch, every caress carried new heightened meaning. More than physical pleasure had been given, taken, and shared. But even more wonderful than his undeniably skillful lovemaking, had been the expression on his face when she confessed she loved him. It had been stark and unguarded, revealing both his joy and vulnerability. What was more, his eyes had glittered silver with tears, and when he pulled her close that first time, the fierce elation in his kiss had meant more than any words he could have spoken. “Look at the sunset,” Devon whispered in her ear, both of them sprawled in abandon on the blanket. “So gloriously beautiful, yet it still doesn’t rival you, Isabelle.” It was true, the horizon showed a burst of vibrant color, the fiery hues of the dying day sinking into the water. She said in languid tone that matched her sated state, “I am sorry to see this afternoon end.” “It isn’t over yet.” His hand slid suggestively along her thigh, his fingers graceful but utterly masculine, and his destination quite clear. “I couldn’t possibly,” Isabelle objected, her body still limp from her last orgasm. “Good heavens, Devon, don’t you ever tire?” “Of making love to you? I somehow don’t think that will ever happen.” His smile was that sinful curve of his lips she loved. “Don’t worry, my sweet, all you have to do is lie there, if you wish. I will take care of the rest.” Her eyes drifted shut against the invasion of his fingers, two of them sliding deep into her vagina, exploring gently. It was impossible to stifle a blissful sigh when his thumb brushed her sensitized clitoris. “It seems,” he said with a husky teasing note in his voice, “like you have been intimate with a man recently, Lady Isabelle. Is that any

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way for a proper young woman to act? I can feel his sperm inside you.” The entire afternoon had been most decidedly improper. “He was most importunate,” she murmured back playfully, slightly lifting her lashes. “I couldn’t refuse him.” His brows rose in mock reproof. “So you just let him fuck you? Tell me, did you suck his cock?” “Yes,” she admitted, feigning embarrassment but distracted by the friction of his fingers as they moved inside her. “Tsk, tsk.” Devon shook his dark head, his eyes glittering. “Please do not own that you spread your legs and allowed him to taste your delicious pussy, for that would be truly without modesty or decorum. Ah, I can see from the expression on your face, you allowed him to pleasure you orally. Did you come?” She certainly had, for Devon had a very wicked tongue. “Maybe.” “I hope you realize that you have been thoroughly compromised and the implication of what that means.” Slightly confused by the game now, for his voice had deepened, Isabelle fully opened her eyes. “What does it mean?” “You have to marry him,” Devon said almost gruffly, his fingers sliding out from between her legs. He shifted on top of her supine form and very smoothly, in one thrust, joined their bodies. Staring into her eyes, his cock deep inside her, he said hoarsely, “If you allow a man carnal knowledge of your luscious body, Lady Isabelle, he should be your husband. If he is at all honorable, he will also realize this and the two of you should wed to make things right.” Leave it to Devon to propose in such a scandalous, abstract way, she thought half-amused, and half-outraged. With all she knew about his past, she wasn’t surprised he was reticent to admit his feelings, nor did she think he could face rejection. His family had betrayed him, believing the worst unfairly, and the thought of how it must have felt to board that ship and sail away made her experience both a welling

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sympathy for the pain of that lost young man—and for the man he was now. She reached up and touched his cheek. “I believe you are right, Lord Devon. I must marry him to redeem my shameless behavior. Luckily, I love him and it will not be a sacrifice to become his wife. I can only hope he feels the same about me.” “He would be a fool if he did not,” he replied softly. “He and I are sailing to England tomorrow,” she whispered back, “so maybe we can marry on the ship.” “Considering you two will be sharing a cabin, I think that is most prudent.” “I agree.” Happy beyond measure, Isabelle gazed up at her fiancée. “Now, since all that is settled, do you think you could continue?” She gestured at their intimate position with a small smile. “I find I am not as tired as I thought.” “It will be my pleasure in every way,” Devon said, and began to move in long smooth strokes.

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Chapter 6 Dover, England 1810 He hadn’t set foot on his native soil in so long he nearly faltered as he stepped off the ship. Home. Devon blinked and steadied himself, feeling Isabelle’s light grip on his arm and her concerned inquiring look. No, he was not going to make this any the worse for her. Things were bad enough already with his name like a byword for vice and violence and the rest of her life hanging on the thread of his possible exoneration. “I’m fine,” he said too sharply. He heard the way it came out and grimaced, for she had been nothing but patient with him, and he added, “Or I will be.” “I am the one who keeps telling you that,” shed said serenely, looking impossibly beautiful despite the chill fog and the mist that settled on her pale hair like a jeweled net. “I am glad I am getting through at last.” “Tell me again when I am out of the hellish coil I’m in,” he muttered, assisting her toward the side of the wharf. “Thomas is going to do his best.” “Thomas,” he said curtly as he guided her toward a hired hack, “is going to make a few strategic inquiries and do what he always does, which is guard my back. I am afraid, sweetheart, the rest is entirely up to me.” “Starting with my father.” It wasn’t a question and her turquoise eyes looked troubled. “Devon, I—”

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“I doubt somehow it is a good idea to alert him to my presence in England until we have done at least a modicum of investigation. This is going to be hard enough without him having me hauled off wholesale to Newgate the minute he knows I am back. I can do little from prison.” “He would not do that.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Let’s not chance it, my love. I doubt he is going to be enamored of my presence here. He will be even less thrilled over the unwelcome news I have married his daughter. I suspect his elation over your safe return will evaporate very quickly when he learns who escorted you to British shores.” “I understand your resentment, Devon, but please, we must speak to him and find out why he thought it was you.” She didn’t understand one tenth of his resentment and it was out of the question to approach the earl without some ammunition. “Not yet.” “When? At least allow me to see him. He is my father.” Yes, the infernal man was her father. Yes, he had begun to suspect no matter how black his soul might be that he loved Isabelle beyond any good sense or self-preservation and the only real fear he had was losing her. “This is between him and I. Let me deal with it my own way.” “I can help.” For someone so slender and fragile-looking, there was a decidedly stubborn note to her voice coupled with the tilt of her chin. “When we get to the inn, you can help me out all you wish. Let’s hope for a soft bed, shall we?” He grinned, willing tomorrow into another place. “Devon.” His name was said with both censure and laughter as she caught his meaning. He still wasn’t at all sure returning to England was in his best interest except for her. In fact, he would never have done it if not for his lovely wife.

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His wife. Not many things in the hard years since he’d left England had ever moved him. Maybe a brilliant sunset over the utter stillness of the sea. Maybe the fury of a summer storm as it swept it with all the volatile force that nature could bring to bear. Maybe even if he admitted it, the pain he felt each time Thomas sailed away after one of his impromptu visits and left him on the island locked in his imposed exile. However, though those things had forced from him at least a modicum of emotion, nothing had thawed the glacier-like shield around his heart like Isabelle. He still woke up each day in disbelief that she belonged to him. As a youth, he’d taken for granted the money and privilege to which he’d been born and it had been a grave error on his part. Things like position and wealth can be taken away. That harsh lesson had been administered to him in a manner he would never forget. If there was one thing he was not going to lose, it was the beautiful, generous, and intelligent woman that had so drastically altered his miserable life. For her, he was going to do all he could to try and redeem what he lost that fateful night all those years ago. Or die trying, which was a distinct possibility once the authorities realized he was back in England. Damnation, he thought as he assisted his wife into the carriage, this was still one devilish mess. **** It was well past midnight, if she could judge by the veiled moonlight against the one small window. Next to her, Devon was asleep, his face unguarded in the filmy illumination, his long body sprawled carelessly and one brawny arm curled above his head. He looked more peaceful than she had ever seen him somehow, as if just

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the prospect of being able to come home and reclaim his former life had eased some of the harshness from his handsome face. Her heart ached for the struggle she knew he faced, for in a way he was right, he was on his own besides the stalwart Thomas. Bless his loyal friend, for even now he was on his way to London to begin looking into the matter as best he could so when Devon arrived, he might have some idea where to begin. Actually, they were on their own, she reminded herself. One unit, man and wife. She would stand by him through whatever happened and now that they were actually back in England, she felt more than ever convincing him to stand up to his accusers with the truth was absolutely the right thing to do. No matter what he said, she still felt she needed to talk to her father if for no other reason than to let her family know she was safe. Considering the weeks she spent on the island, plus the time sailing back, she suspected they had heard by now of her abduction and were probably frantic. Like she had pointed out to her husband, her father might be a bit strict and arrogant, but he loved her dearly. She had never doubted it and it was how she wheedled him into letting her make the trip to America in the first place rather than do as he wished, which was accept a proper marriage proposal from someone he approved of and deemed suitable. He was also a very fair man and not a liar. The more she pondered it, the more she was convinced they should start there. Isabelle smiled wryly, seeing the measured rise and fall of her husband’s broad chest, the hideous scar that crisscrossed his muscular arm, the silky fall of his overlong raven hair against the pillowslip. He looked dangerous, even when peacefully asleep. Like some sinfully gorgeous pirate with his brawny body and elegant features, his unfairly long lashes pillowed on his high cheekbones. Devon was correct on one score, her father would not let her normally within ten feet of a rakish scoundrel who considered a forced seduction a proper medium for revenge. The fact she had enjoyed it thoroughly would

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not excuse Devon in his eyes, nor was she anxious to tell her own father of the abandoned physical joy she found in her lover’s arms either. Joy. Not just of the sexual kind, though there was little doubt her husband was a skillful, considerate lover. However, from the moment she realized she was falling in love with the outrageously arrogant, forceful, and occasionally outright rude Devon Austin, lovemaking had taken on a different level of sensation. She didn’t give him her body, she shared it. He didn’t simply take either, but also gave, sometimes in a storm of impetuous passion, sometimes with gentle insistence and an almost boyishly poignant need. He still had never said he loved her. It rankled, but she understood. If there was one thing he wasn’t comfortable with, it was vulnerability. “Can’t sleep, sweetheart?” Isabelle started, not even aware he knew she was awake. His eyes were still closed and she could have sworn he was deep in slumber. She murmured, “Apparently I am not alone, though you give a good imitation.” “I am aware of you every second.” His lashes lifted. Silver eyes glimmered as he gazed at her and the ghost of a smile hovered on his mouth. “Besides, in the past years I have had to learn to sleep very lightly. I admit I have been in some rather unsavory places now and then.” “I’ve been thinking about our situation.” “That’s hardly surprising. It’s certainly consumes all my attention.” His gaze dropped to the sheet covering her breasts and he lazily reached out and pulled it lower to expose them. “Well, I correct myself. Not all my attention. Have I mentioned how much I admire your beautiful tits?” “Now and then.” She laughed, shaking her head in exasperation. “Devon, I am being quite serious.” “So am I. Your breasts are truly perfect.”

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“Let me go talk to my father. I think he will help us.” “No, Isabelle. We went over this earlier.” He shifted closer and lightly touched her right nipple with a forefinger, circling it. “Let me write him a letter.” She tried to ignore the pleasure of his touch. “No.” “You are infernally stubborn.” “You are temptingly beautiful.” By now she certainly recognized that particular glitter in his eyes. “Go back to sleep,” she told him, frustrated with his refusal and edging away. “I find I am really not that tired and why would I waste my time sleeping when you are so conveniently in my bed and available.” He snared her wrist and pulled her toward him. “No.” She said it succinctly, but felt a betraying flutter of excitement in her stomach. “It’s late and I am exhausted, even if you are not.” “No? Come now, my sweet little wife, you are not supposed to deny me my conjugal rights.” His smile was all lazy self-confidence and his long fingers still shackled her wrist. “Besides, if you are so tired, why are you awake?” “I didn’t deny you earlier,” she reminded him tartly. “Why should you?” Devon rolled on top of her with athletic ease and she could feel the steely hardness of his growing erection against her stomach. “You love my cock inside you, Isabelle.” “Don’t be arrogant, Lord Devon.” She didn’t deny it though, gazing up at him through her lashes. “I am confident due to experience. It is different.” His grin was impudent as he easily parted her legs and positioned himself. He kissed her, poised with only the tip of his cock at her vaginal entrance. Isabelle waited, her breasts now tight and tingling he could arouse her so easily. She opened her thighs wider and rubbed his shoulders in anticipation.

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“Tell me you want me.” The softly made demand had nothing to do with sex. That Devon—who outwardly seemed so controlled and confident—was uncertain over their future was no surprise now they were back and he had to face the demons of his past. “I love you,” she told him, “and yes, I want you. Make love to me.” He didn’t move, but stared down at her and then said softly, “I think I always have, even from that first night.” It was the closest he’d ever come to telling her outright his emotions and she felt a welling joy despite the difficulties they faced. She believed he loved her or he would never have come back to England, but she wanted him to both realize it and acknowledge it to himself. He needed it more than she did, for it meant a gradual return to what he thought was gone forever inside him. “Care to demonstrate?” She arched a little, trying to take more of his erection, elated enough at his admission and unwilling to push him for more. If there was one thing she had learned about her handsome, volatile, and sometimes downright unapproachable husband, it was he needed time to heal and learn to trust. “Hell yes, I do.” The gentleness in the way he entered her spoke the words he could not say yet. His arms gathered her close and as he moved within her their gazes remained locked as their bodies communed in an act so personal and primal Isabelle felt overwhelmed by both pleasure and emotion. As she began to climax she steadfastly kept her eyes open and felt as if he gazed into her very soul. Afterwards she lay against his damp, hard chest and fought to regain her breath, her worries banished by the comfort of Devon’s strong arms. His scent and rangy presence made her feel wonderfully secure. She prayed it wasn’t an illusion. ****

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He wasn’t much of a gambler and when the stakes were a man’s life, well, he hoped was better at this current endeavor than he was at cards or dice. It was very early but Thomas knew the duke was an early riser, the rigid schedule undoubtedly followed as strictly now as it had been when he and Devon were children and running amuck together. Since his parents had owned a small country house near the huge sprawling Austin mansion in Berkshire, he had met the Duke of Whitehaven’s grandson at an early age. Even then Devon had been a bit of a rebel against the strictures drummed into his head over title and duty. As the eventual heir to dukedom, his grandfather expected him to act with decorum. Unfortunately, Devon was rarely circumspect in his actions and even less so when his behavior was dictated. All that aside, he was also highly intelligent, breezing through university without noticeable effort. His friend was also brave, loyal, and generous. He certainly loved his family, and perhaps that’s why he had been so devastated at his grandfather’s condemnation. The suspicions of his guilt in the murder were locked in stone the day he was disinherited and turned out. Hopefully the old bastard had come to realize just what he lost the day he tried and judged his own flesh and blood without much more evidence than the word of one man. He climbed the steps of the mansion and lifted the knocker. A surprised butler finally answered, his stiff expression radiating disapproval over the unfashionable morning call. Thomas produced his card, prepared ahead of time with one word written on the back to hopefully entice the duke into an audience, and waited in the foyer. When the very proper, very stuffy servant returned, he felt a glimmer of hope when he was informed the duke would see him directly in his study.

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Evidently Devon’s name alone was not grounds to be kicked out onto the street, so it was a beginning. Thomas followed the man down the palatial hallway of the Mayfair mansion and found Magnus Austin, the Seventh Duke of Whitehaven, seated behind his massive, carved desk. His hair had gone completely white in the years between Devon’s disgrace and flight, and Thomas saw the slight tremble in the older man’s hands as he set aside his pen. “Vanderbilt.” He bowed. “Your Grace.” Piercing gray eyes disturbingly like Devon’s gazed at him. The duke asked in a crisp, business-like tone, “What about him?” The word he had scrawled on the card was merely Devon’s first name. Thomas had debated how to handle this moment. He said slowly, “I’ve seen him recently.” “I am surprised the scapegrace is still alive.” The old man, an aged version of his grandson, smiled in a grim, humorless curve of his lips. “Devon has always had the ability to land on his feet, like a cat. However, I think he expended a few of his proverbial nine lives in the fall.” “It was all his own damned, irresponsible fault.” “Actually, your Grace, if you refer to the murder, no, it wasn’t. May I sit down?” He indicated a nearby chair. The lack of a refusal was heartening. Thomas knew full well where Devon got his stubborn streak. “I suppose,” Magnus muttered. The acquiescence was like being given gold. When Devon was first accused, Thomas had tried to intercede on his behalf and been almost booted out of the house physically. He took a seat and leveled a look at the older man, noting the last seven years had taken their toll in deeper lines on his aristocratic face. Maybe there had been suffering on both parts, and it was an enlightening conclusion.

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“Devon never murdered anyone,” he said with quiet conviction. “I know it, but I have always known it. He wants to prove his innocence.” “A bit late in the day, isn’t it?” The duke looked impassive but a muscle twitched in his cheek. “He has a lovely wife, a fortune of his own, and all he wants is to be able to return to England and raise his children without a stain on the family name.” “That would be a welcome change of pace. He’s done his best to make sure and humiliate me at every turn. Why the devil is he so pious now?” It was interesting to see the slight softening of the old man’s mouth and the gruffness in his voice could have meant anything. “Perhaps he has grown up.” Thomas tried to say it gently, remembering how tortured and adrift his friend had been once he realized his family had even turned against him. “Please recall he was still very young, your Grace. Spoiled also, because it is difficult to have good looks, a fortune, and be the heir to so much and handle it well. I always knew I would have to make my own way eventually as a third son, but he had it drilled into him from the cradle he was going to inherit vast wealth and an illustrious title. Women threw themselves at him and he didn’t resist. Not many young men would.” “He was a profligate rake, a reckless gambler, and he took pleasure in flouting my authority like an impudent young pup.” “I am not denying any of that. Neither does he. But as I said before, he was spoiled.” The duke lifted a thin blue-veined hand and pointed a finger. “Do not for a moment try to make his mistakes my fault, Thomas.” The use of his first name was a very good sign. “I would not dream of it. For that matter, I believe Devon now realizes he was wasting his life in a very self-destructive manner. However, we need to keep in mind though he might not have lived the most circumspect existence, he never killed anyone. The gambling,

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women, and general dissipation he owns to easily enough. All these years later, even with the trials of trying to make his way in the world with no money and no family, he denies killing Samuel Hancock. Halfway around the world he would have nothing to lose to admit it, and yet he is haunted by the accusation.” The old duke leaned back, his expression inscrutable. “He has a wife?” “Yes.” “Children?” Thomas gave a small chuckle. “I expect very soon we’ll have some positive news for I have seen them together.” “Please tell me he hasn’t married some ignorant native girl on that island of his. This must be a recent development.” So, the supposedly indifferent duke had been keeping track of his grandson after all and lied about not knowing if he was alive. Having a powerful ally would make all the difference in their quest to prove Devon’s innocence. “No, she’s English.” He added cautiously, “You know her father.” “No respectable woman would marry Devon under his circumstances.” “I beg to differ for Lady Isabelle is lovely, cultured, and gracious. Unfortunately, I am fairly sure the earl will not be happy with the news of their unlikely union.” “The earl?” “Of Buckland.” It took a moment but the duke registered the revelation finally with undisguised shock. “Good God. Is my grandson mad? Buckland is the very one who says it was Devon who murdered Hancock in the first place.” “Mad, no, he is in love, your Grace. Completely. Utterly. In a way only suggested in poetry and sentimental songs. Lady Isabelle is the same way, so the infatuation is mutual. I realize it sounds like a

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fantastical situation but I would be happy to explain if you wish to hear it.” “Why is it,” the older man muttered, “whenever Devon is involved I am always off balance? I try to live an ordered life but he has never failed, since the day he was born, to throw me off.” Thomas could not help but laugh. “He does the same for me. I love him like a brother, perhaps more than I would even love a sibling, yet he can be very exasperating. On the other hand, if I may say, sir, he is also one of the finest men I have ever known.” The Duke of Whitehaven looked directly at him. “I believe you mean that.” He smiled. “Yes, your Grace, I do.” After a moment Devon’s grandfather inclined his head. “Very well. Stay and explain to me how the irritating young rogue managed to snare Buckland’s daughter for a wife and what he plans to do to clear up the infernal mess he made before he left here.”

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Chapter 7 Three days of waiting for word from Thomas chafed his nerves, but they had agreed it would be best to stay out of London in case he was recognized. Devon passed the time pleasantly enough with his beautiful wife in an obscure little inn near the Thames on the outskirts of the city, keeping her more in bed than out of it. If he hadn’t been so damned edgy over whatever lay in the future, he would have enjoyed himself immensely. Making love to Isabelle did help relieve the tension to a certain extent for when she was in his arms he could believe in happiness. It was a novel concept. For so long he had just settled for survival. When the timid knock came on the door, he was just buttoning his shirt and glanced up sharply. Isabelle was asleep, her golden hair in silken disarray over the bed linens, her bared shoulders evidence of her nudity under the blanket. He went over to the bed, pulled the sheet up and tucked it around her slender form, and strode to the door. The innkeeper’s plump wife bobbed a small curtsey and handed him an envelope. “This came for you, sir.” “Thank you.” He turned it over and registered the seal with stunned disbelief. What the devil? The woman fluttered her hands, looking a little taken aback by his expression. “There’s a man downstairs who says he will wait for your reply.” Had Thomas somehow lost his mind? What had he done? Devon said grimly, “I’ll bring it down myself.”

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She hustled off and he shut the door, holding the missive in a hand that wasn’t quite steady. Why would his grandfather write to him? There was only one answer and it was because he obviously knew he was in England, and moreover, his exact location. Only one person could have told him and when Devon got his hands on Thomas, he might actually commit the crime he was currently accused of. The note was probably a warning to stay away from any of the Austin family, or maybe even fair notice he was going to alert the proper authorities of his presence on British soil. It was only late morning but he crossed the room, poured out a glass of claret from the bottle sitting on a small table, and took a stiff drink. Then he sank into a chair and ripped open the letter, a little surprised how deeply the spidery writing—so familiar yet unseen for six years—affected him. Devon Frederick: I summon you to Whitehaven House to discuss your current circumstances. I have sent a carriage for your convenience. Regards, Your Grandfather, the seventh Duke of Whitehaven To say he was stunned was an understatement. Regards? For his grandfather, the note was practically affable and Magnus Austin was not an affable man. Of course, neither was he particularly and that was undoubtedly part of their problem. They were too essentially alike, though Devon didn’t wish to admit it. However, considering their bitter parting, the note and the carriage were an olive branch and he was not in a position to refuse it. For Isabelle’s sake, if his grandfather was willing to help in any way, he needed to be flexible and set his stiff-necked pride aside.

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Maybe he wouldn’t have to kill Thomas after all. He wasn’t sure what his old friend had said, but apparently it was effective. The one thing he did know was he could not sit and chafe any longer over what might happen. He needed action—it was how he lived his life— and so he stood decisively and went over to wake his sleeping wife. Isabelle stirred, her lashes lifting, and she blinked at him drowsily and smiled. “I guess I fell asleep. Good heavens, what time is it?” It was no wonder she’d drifted off, for he had been both importunate and demanding and though venting his frustration in a sexual way was pleasurable for them both, he had a feeling he’d simply worn her out with his insistent passion. He smiled and brushed back a silken curl from her smooth cheek. “I apologize for being so insatiable.” She pushed up to a sitting position and laughed, shaking back her lustrous hair. “You are always insatiable. It is part of your charm, darling husband. You would think I was used to it.” Then she seemed to see something in his face for her eyes widened a fraction. “What is it, Devon? What’s wrong?” “My grandfather would like to see me.” He corrected at once. “Us.” She looked properly astonished. “I thought you said—” “Thomas must have visited him. He can be most persuasive. It is all I can think of. He sent a carriage and it is waiting.” Isabelle scrambled out of bed, gloriously nude and provocative, her breasts swaying as she dashed across the room to wash in the now tepid bathwater that had been delivered earlier. It was a pleasure to watch, and despite the carnal excess of earlier, Devon felt himself stir at the sight of her long legs, the apex glistening with a dainty triangle of golden hair, and those luscious pink-tipped breasts. While she dressed, he went downstairs to inform his grandfather’s driver they would be ready shortly. The man dressed in the familiar livery was one he had known most of his life and the servant’s smile was full of what seemed to be genuine warmth.

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“’Tis good to see you hale and hearty, sir.” “George.” Devon felt another surge of memory. “It is a pleasure to see you, as well.” Older, with thinning gray hair and a lined face, the man could not be much younger than his grandfather but he still apparently continued to serve the Austin family. He nodded in recognition of the true sentiment in Devon’s voice and asked, “Will you be coming with me then, my lord, or sending back a response?” So, his grandfather hadn’t been quite sure of the reception of his imperious demand for an audience. Little did he know because of Isabelle he could not afford to hold a grudge. She had taught him to think of someone other than just himself in an amazingly short amount of time. Twenty-six years of self-indulgence and prickly selfishness had vanished the moment he’d seen her standing so bravely on the auction block. “My wife and I will be ready to leave in just a short while.” “Very good, my lord.” Devon turned to go back up the stairs, but then paused. “How is he?” Thomas brought him news of his grandmother and his younger sister, the latter now married and with a young son he had never seen. However, he never asked about his grandfather and Thomas knew better than to bring up the subject. “The duke? Oh, as well as ever, but if I may be forgiven for saying so, not as young as he once was.” “None of us are, George.” Devon thought of the rash, undisciplined young man he had once been. He added quietly, “And sometimes it is for the best.” **** The mansion was huge and imposing, sprawling across the most fashionable part of Mayfair. Isabelle spun a little silent prayer as they alighted from the ducal carriage, asking for any help to make this

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interview go well. God knew well enough her volatile husband could be the most stubborn man on earth, and in this case, he had a true reason to resent his grandfather’s condemnation six years ago. She sincerely hoped he would at least attempt to be polite, but with Devon it was always hard to tell. He offered his arm as they climbed the steps, but it was an absent gesture, his attention entirely focused on the house. The look on his face was hard to define, almost too impassive, as if he kept it that way on purpose to conceal any emotion. She had no idea if that was a good sign or a bad one. “Good afternoon, my lord.” The butler, stout and just as emotionless, greeted them as if Devon hadn’t been accused of murder and gone for years. “His Grace wishes to see you in the formal parlor.” “Thank you, Bates.” Devon glanced at her and lifted his brows. “The formal parlor must be for you, my sweet, for he certainly would not choose it for me. I have a feeling Thomas may have invented some changes in my character that are only dubiously there to begin with, but my marriage to a respectable young lady is what garnered me a foot back in this door.” He indicated the vaulted space of the palatial foyer, the frescoed ceiling exquisitely painted, the gleaming floor spotless, the chandelier massive and if she had to guess, of Italian craftsmanship. It was a decided contrast to his lovely, informal house on the island, full of sea breezes and furniture collected, she suspected, during a time when his activities might have bordered a bit on lawlessness. “However it happened it is a positive sign, Devon.” Her fingers tightened a little on his arm. “We’ll see, won’t we?” He nodded at the hovering butler. “I know the way. There is no need to escort us, Bates.” “Yes, my lord.” The man looked a little pained over the loss of being able to formally announce them, but inclined his head.

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Her husband led her down a hallway and through an elegant arched door. The room was large, and furnished entirely in differing shades of blue, from the palest color possible to deep indigo. Above one of the carved fireplace mantels hung an ornate mirror, reflecting light everywhere. Beneath it stood an old man, his hands clasped behind his back, his lined face an almost startling reflection of her handsome husband’s features but weathered by age. He stiffened slightly when they gained the doorway but said nothing. Devon said the reason for the invitation was because of her, but his grandfather didn’t even glance at her at first. Instead his gaze locked on his grandson with telling intensity. Isabelle felt the muscles of Devon’s arm tense under her fingers and he stopped stock still. No one said a word. Good heavens. Finally, the duke inclined his head a fraction. “Devon Frederick.” “Grandfather.” Devon spoke in the same clipped tones. “Don’t just stand there. Come in and introduce the young woman I assume is your wife.” The imperious demand made her husband slightly elevate his ebony brows but he did escort her into the room. “Isabelle, I would like to present you to the seventh Duke of Whitehaven. Your Grace, my wife Isabelle Austin.” “My pleasure.” The duke’s gaze scanned over her and she saw a small hint of Devon’s rakish approval in his all too familiar silver eyes. The older man bent politely over her hand and she curtsied, allowing him to lead her to a seat on one of the silk-covered settees. He sat down across from her but she wasn’t surprised when Devon prowled restlessly over to the fireplace and leaned one shoulder against the mantle in a seemingly relaxed, careless pose.

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Only she knew him well, and could tell easily he was anything but relaxed. He spoke first, the words abrupt. “I take it Thomas was here, hence the grandiose summons.” Isabelle winced a little at his combative tone. The duke merely nodded curtly. “Vanderbilt seems to think with my help, you might actually exonerate yourself from the scandalous disaster you managed to bring down on your fool head. He is convinced you are innocent.” “And you?” Devon looked completely impassive, as if the answer didn’t matter in the least but she knew it did. All too much, probably. Magnus Austin smoothed his hands over his well-tailored knees and finally said in a heavy voice, “I never thought you were guilty in the first place, you hard-headed young idiot.” A muscle twitched in Devon’s jaw. “Then can you please explain why you tossed me out on my proverbial arse.” “There is a lady in the room.” His grandfather’s face reflected disapproval. “You will speak accordingly.” “Isabelle has heard worse from me, take my word on it. I have spent my time around people a bit less cultured than what you are used to in the past years, Grandfather. Did Thomas mention I purchased her on an auction block for the sole purpose of exacting revenge on her father?” “No, he left that out.” The duke looked disillusioned and his mouth compressed into a tight thin line. Well, this is not going well at all, Isabelle thought irritably. God save her from stubborn males, especially Austin males. She said quickly, “Devon actually rescued me from a fate I cannot even bear to contemplate, your Grace, do not let him fool you. He cared for me, protected me, and promised me safe passage back to England at his expense.” She decided to leave out completely her seduction at the hands—and more—of his impetuous grandson, but went on smoothly. “I am afraid I fell rather hopelessly in love with

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him and managed somehow to persuade him to return to England to clear his name. It is my fervent hope we can do so quickly. I want to be able to speak to my father but Devon so far is not in favor of the idea.” “As much as I hate to agree with him, Lady Isabelle, on this issue I do.” The duke looked a little mollified at her swift defense of Devon’s scruples. Her husband, on the other hand, looked merely amused through the defiance etched in the set of his jaw and line of his mouth. The duke went on, “Your father’s adamant stand on recognizing my intractable grandson was the most damning thing against him save for the testimony of the maid who claimed to have wiped up the bloody footprint. Luckily, the maid issue was taken care of when she confessed to being bribed to lie to the authorities, but your father is another matter altogether.” Devon straightened. “She was bribed and admits it?” “She admitted it six years ago. Did you think I wouldn’t look into the entire distasteful affair?” “Why would I?” Isabelle heard her husband demand, his silver eyes like chips of ice. “You told me flat out you thought I was guilty as sin.” “No.” His grandfather stared back with equal defiant pride. His voice rose dangerously to an almost shout. “Think back and remember that conversation. I believe my exact words were I knew someday you’d land yourself in a cauldron of trouble that might be your undoing. I said nothing about thinking you’d actually kill a man in cold blood. I knew from the beginning it wasn’t you, dammit.” Immediately the duke turned and looked at her. “I am sorry, my dear. He has an unfortunate effect on me.” “Devon is right, I have heard much worse,” Isabelle muttered, too delighted to know one of the pieces of evidence against her husband was eliminated to be affronted by something as trivial as a colorful word. “Your Grace, please, why didn’t you tell the authorities?”

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“I have her sworn statement, signed and properly witnessed, never fear.” Devon dragged his hand over his face in evident exasperation. “I have been rotting away on some island in the middle of pirate-infested seas while you could have helped me clear my name? For the love of God can you tell me why?” “Yes.” Magnus Austin looked back at him steadily. “Your escapades were becoming more and more serious, Devon. The duels alone could have killed you because both were with outraged husbands who had a true desire for your blood. I couldn’t really blame them. Can you imagine how you would feel if someone seduced your lovely bride?” Isabelle saw something flare in her husband’s eyes, a raw elemental glitter of possessiveness that was a bit startling it was so intense. His voice was deceptively pleasant. “I would rip the culprit apart with my bare hands.” “Exactly.” His grandfather scowled. “Luckily for you, you happened to be a better shot than either of those wronged gentlemen, but you do get my point. Sooner or later you might face someone with better aim. When you were not deeply in debauch with your questionable friends, you were embroiling yourself in reckless affairs, frequenting dangerous gambling hells, and generally doing your best to drink yourself into an early grave. If you are honest, you will admit there was no reasoning with you, Devon, for I tried time and again.” Devon said nothing in his defense, just arched one brow. “When you were accused, my first instinct was to help you, of course, for I knew despite your faults, you would not kill anyone in such a cowardly way. But then I thought about it, realizing that extracting you from your troubles once again was hardly doing you a favor. If you had no recourse but to straighten out your life and perhaps learn some measure of discipline and self-control to survive, you might actually stay alive. Either way I lost you. It was one of the most difficult things I have ever done in my life to turn you away.”

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“It certainly did not seem that way at the time.” Devon’s mouth twisted slightly. “I was furious with you for putting me in such a position.” “I wasn’t all that happy about it either, trust me.” His grandfather quirked one bushy brow. “But now, when you are more of a man, with the responsibility of a wife and perhaps a family, do you at least have a glimmer of understanding? It was frustrating to watch you toss your life away and I could do little to stop you. If I repudiated you, you had no choice at all but to leave England.” For a long moment the room was silent and Isabelle could hear nothing but the ticking of an ornate clock in the corner. Getting Devon to admit his exile was for his own good might be an impossible challenge, but after a moment he gave a ragged sigh and straightened from the mantle. “I have never tried to deny I was a little wild. I am afraid I did not see things in the same light as you six years ago, and whatever your motives the result is I am here now. I do have Isabelle to consider, and I would appreciate your support. With your influence, maybe you can keep me from being arrested while I try to piece together what actually happened. That is all I ask.” “I can do better than that.” The duke got up a bit stiffly, almost of a height as his tall grandson, and reached into his tailored coat. He produced a piece of vellum and unfolded it, offering it to Devon. “This is the statement from the little maid. I had it witnessed by a friend of mine, so no one could ever claim a forgery.” Devon’s dark brows shot up. “The Bishop of Canterbury? I suppose that will hold some weight in court if it should come to that.” Isabelle felt both relief and a flicker of hope. “If the maid was bribed to lie, who bribed her?” The duke turned and looked at her, his expression inscrutable. “We don’t know. She described the man and I am afraid it was a little vague. However, she did say he was a gentleman and the sum she was offered was quite generous.”

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“Let me guess, thirty pieces of silver,” Devon muttered, still staring at the piece of paper. “I still do not understand why someone would want to destroy me. I suppose to a certain extent every man has enemies, but framing a man for murder is a bit extreme.” Clearing her throat, Isabelle said quietly, “With that piece of paper, there is now just my father’s word against yours, Devon. I know neither of you have agreed with me so far, but do you not think we should find out why he believes he saw you? That piece of paper alone is proof there is more to this than a simple quarrel over some questionable gambling ethics.” The two glanced at each other, so alike, Devon’s virile youthful presence a contrast to his grandfather’s autocratic bearing, yet both exuding an aura of male power. She pressed her advantage. “You hesitate to let him know you are in England. I concede you may have a point. Let me go with Thomas. I will not tell my father you are here. There is no way to ask him about the matter without confessing we’ve met, but I will act as you first suggested and claim Thomas brought me back, leaving you on the island. I can’t ever say he’s lied to me, so certainly it is worth a try. Maybe he will explain exactly what it is he thinks he saw and why he is so convinced it is you.” Devon ran his fingers through his raven hair in a restless mannerism she recognized as frustration. “I don’t want you in the middle of this, Isabelle.” She smiled at him. “The trouble is, I already am. Now, please, let me help.” Her husband didn’t outright refuse, which was heartening. “I’ll think about your suggestion.”

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Chapter 8 The tavern was smoky and smelled of stale ale. Devon was edged into a seat in the corner, and two tankards of tepid ale sat in front of him as he waited. Blast it all, where was he? To his relief, a tall form materialized out of the shadows. Viscount William Farraday slid into an opposite chair, gave a small look of distaste at the drinks, and picked one up. “Don’t they have brandy?” “Yes. I think they distill it out back in the rat-infested alley. Trust me, this is much more palatable. While I waited I had a glass.” “I know I’m late but the task you set me to wasn’t exactly easy, Austin.” “I’ve been sitting here for over an hour and the barmaid keeps sending me lewd smiles,” Devon grumbled, but he knew the man was right. He was just happy their friendship had proved strong enough after the lapse of six years to withstand the request. Not everyone had Thomas’s unwavering loyalty and upright honor, and he had debated whether or not to approach any of his old cohorts. Luckily, William had seemed delighted to see him rather than otherwise, and like Devon, calmed down somewhat from the days they raised hell together. Farraday craned his neck and observed the young woman in question, taking in the heavy sway of her plump breasts under the low-cut bodice of her tight gown. He wiggled his brows and laughed. “She might be a good tumble, Dev. Look at those tits.” “I’m married to the most beautiful woman in the world, Will. Why would I ever touch anyone else?”

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Tall and lanky, with an almost prettily handsome face and soft brown curls that had earned him the sobriquet “Fair Farraday”, the viscount looked astonished. “You’re married?” “Very much so.” “Devon Austin snared in the chains of matrimony? I am afraid I find it hard to picture, but then again, we all change, I suppose.” Grimly, Devon agreed, “Yes we do, especially when it is forced down our throats by falsehood and unfair accusations. Now, tell me, did you have any luck?” From his pocket his old friend produced a folded piece of paper and handed it over. “Here it is. The best I could do on such short notice. It has everyone at the gathering the night you and Hancock fell out over his blasted cheating, the poor sod. I’ve noted down anything about them I could remember myself or discreetly inquired to find out. If I had a few extra days it would be more complete, but I still think is fairly well done.” Devon scanned it with an approving nod. There were addresses, names of wives, and even an approximation of their current financial situation according to the gossip mill. “This is excellent, Will. I cannot tell you how I appreciate you helping me.” The other man took a drink of his ale and grimaced as he set the tankard aside. “I always knew better than to think you knocked Hancock over the head with a poker, Dev. For one thing, you could afford to lose at cards more than any of us with the Austin fortune at your back. Yes, you dressed him down for cheating but you weren’t even the one he fleeced that night. Young Stanhope took the heaviest losses, and it had happened to him before in games where Hancock played. In fact, I had heard his father was tightening the purse strings like a noose around his neck.” “I can’t see him having the nerve to murder anyone though.” Devon rubbed his jaw. “And believe me, I’ve thought about this often enough over the past six years. He is too spineless, even if he did have a solid motive.”

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“Perhaps. We were all duped. Hancock was fairly clever at his sleight of hand dishonesty, and if he hadn’t gotten a bit more deeply in his cups than I am sure he intended, he would not have gotten caught. As it was, I sat in on that game and saw nothing.” “I’d suspected him for a while but you are right, I couldn’t catch him at it.” Devon rubbed his jaw and narrowed his eyes at the memory of that fateful night. “In retrospect, I wish I hadn’t.” Farraday leaned back in his chair. “He deserved to be caught but not to be bludgeoned to death over it. The lot of us were fairly drunk, but then again, that wasn’t an unusual situation. Do you really think one of us followed the bugger home and killed him over a hand of cards?” “As you said, it was more than one hand of cards, Will. He’d been slowly winning more and more over a period of half a year. God alone knows how much he really took dishonestly from all of us.” Devon could still recall his anger once he realized what was truly going on, though addressing it in a different way than a hot-headed argument would have been more prudent. He wasn’t acquainted well with the word, he thought in sardonic recrimination, then or now. Look how he had most imprudently grabbed at the chance to get even with Buckland by using Isabelle. That action had backfired as surely as his denouncement of Hancock six years ago. Instead of revenge, he’d found he was the one who surrendered. She was not just his wife, but his very life. That was why he was so very reluctant to let her see her father. What if he influenced Isabelle in her feelings toward him? It was possible, for Buckland seemed to steadfastly believe in his guilt and certainly Devon had been shaken by the conviction in the way he had been accused. The earl was an upright citizen, a pillar of society, and well-respected. That’s why Devon could not figure out his motive in lying about what he had seen that night. The list might help, but he still had that very large stumbling block to overcome. Even if he could figure out whom to possibly

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point a finger at, he was left with the puzzle of Lord Buckland and his damning accusation. Maybe he was going to have to risk it and let Isabelle go to her father after all. And hope she loved him enough to still believe in his innocence no matter what the man said. **** Thomas felt the slight tremble of Isabelle’s slim fingers on his arm through the material of his coat with sympathy. This would not, if he had to guess, be the easiest of interviews. Nothing when it involved Devon was ever easy, he thought in wry amusement. However, Lady Isabelle did not seem to mind that part of her husband’s personality. It was remarkable that someone so sweet and charming could handle Devon’s restless forceful nature, but she did so with seeming effortless serenity and acceptance. Thomas hoped sincerely that someday a woman would look at him the way she gazed at his extremely lucky friend. “You are very kind to come with me, Thomas.” Isabelle paused before the door to the Edwards’s townhouse, nervousness obvious in her lovely face. “My father will be relieved to see me back home and well, but how he will react to the news of my marriage is also predictable.” “I am not sure how delighted I would be to have my daughter marry Devon. He can be a rogue of the worst kind.” Thomas lifted the knocker and let it fall, then patted her hand where it rested on his arm. “However, you two seem suited in a way that amazes me and I am happy for you both beyond measure. I hope my presence gives you support and influences your father to not continue to believe the worst about your husband.” “I hope so too.” She bit her soft lower lip as they heard the scrape as the door opened. With her golden hair and angelic beauty she was

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stunning even in one of the simple dresses Devon had bought for her on the island and had altered to fit her shapely figure. The servant there blinked, and his eyes widened as his mouth fell open. “Lady Isabelle. You are home!” “Hello, Peter.” She smiled with admirable aplomb. “Yes, it is me, in the flesh. Please tell me my father is home for I would like to see him at once.” “As he would you, my lady, I am sure. Yes, yes, indeed he’s in the conservatory, for he spends much time there since the news came.” Thomas did not have to be told the news in question was her abduction from the ship, and what man wouldn’t feel helplessly in despair to know his innocent and undeniably beautiful daughter had vanished and was in the clutches of nefarious pirates? Devon’s wife nodded and he caught the glimmer of tears in her aquamarine eyes. The butler ushered them inside, still obviously moved by the return of his young mistress and hurried them along a long paneled hallway toward the back of the house. The glassed enclosure was just off the morning breakfast room and when the door was opened, the fecund smell of soil and blooming flowers wafted out. The earl was at the back, bending over what looked like a pot of orchids, his face intent as he snipped off a withered leaf. Isabelle let go of Thomas’s arm and ran. “Papa.” Buckland straightened, his face taking on an incredulous look of joy, and the shears thudded to the ground and he dropped them and held out his arms. “Isabelle?” Would it work in Devon’s favor, Thomas wondered as he watched the earl fervently embrace his missing child, that Buckland obviously adored his daughter? Or against him? As a father he certainly should have had some say in the matter of her choosing a husband, and even without a murder charge hanging over his head Devon’s reputation for vice was wellknown. Yes, he had been pursued by some well-bred ladies because

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of his fortune and titled family—not mention his compelling dark good looks—but a man like Buckland, who needed neither money or position for his gorgeous daughter, would never allow her to favor such a notorious rake with so much as a dance at a crowded ball. He waited until they had embraced in emotional reunion, politely pretending to examine a small row of unusual pink flowers with deep green leaves. When Buckland finally approached him and held out his hand—his arm still firmly around his daughter’s shoulders—Thomas took it. Buckland said with a quiver in his voice, “I cannot thank you enough for retuning my daughter to me, sir. Isabelle said you brought her back home.” It was true he supposed, for he did captain the ship they had sailed on, but a rather short version of the real story. Releasing the earl’s hand, Thomas bowed and straightened, his gaze direct. “Captain Thomas Vanderbilt, at your service. We have met before, my lord. Do you remember it?” A frown furrowed the other’s man brow. Buckland was of medium height, his graying hair brushed neatly back, his clothing immaculate even for puttering around the conservatory. His eyes were a faded version of Isabelle’s remarkable aqua hue, and they narrowed slightly in recognition. “Yes, I believe I do. You were Austin’s friend. You came to see me after that unfortunate affair.” “I am Lord Devon’s friend.” Thomas corrected. “And though when I came to see you six years ago you were adamant about his guilt, I would like to discuss the matter once again today, if I may.” “I owe you more than I can say, but right now I am sure you understand I need to talk to my daughter. I have been ill with worry— ” Isabelle reached up and touched her father’s cheek and interrupted him. “Please.” It was clear for a moment the earl was confused, trying to reconcile Thomas’s presence and request with his daughter’s soft

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plea. Then something dawned in his eyes, as if he sensed there was much more to her return. “Please?” he repeated slowly. “Why do I need to discuss anything about Whitehaven’s disreputable grandson at this moment when my prayers have been answered so miraculously?” “Because he is my husband.” Isabelle spoke with the quiet dignity Thomas so admired in her. “And I love him.” “What?” Buckland fairly bellowed the word, and his arm dropped limply to his side. Devon’s wife simply stepped back, faced her stunned parent, and tilted her chin up courageously. “You did hear correctly, Papa. I married Devon Austin. In fact, though I have not mentioned it yet to him for I want to be certain, I believe I might already be carrying his child.” Thomas did not exactly blame Lord Buckland for his inability to respond to that declaration. He intervened as smoothly as possible. “My lord, she is telling the truth. The marriage is valid. Since it obviously cannot be annulled, is it not in the best interests of your daughter and coming grandchild to help Devon wipe the stain from his name? All we ask is for you to recite the events of the evening in question and clarify why exactly you believe he was the man you saw near the scene of the crime.” “I do not believe this.” The earl declared as if he hadn’t heard the request, harsh lines around his mouth. “How would you even meet the reprehensible rakehell, much less have the poor sense to marry him? Good God, tell me he didn’t seduce you like he has so many other women—” “He saved me after the abduction.” Isabelle gave her father a level look. “And since he married me, I am obviously not like any of the women from the days of his youth. Devon isn’t the man you remember, Papa, but he was never a murderer in the first place, his previous wildness aside. Now, will you please sit down and talk with both Thomas and I? This is very important to me.”

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“Where is he? Tell me not here in England. I’ll have his life’s blood for ever touching you.” The older man’s face was flushed with anger, his blue eyes flashing. In her own way, Thomas discovered, though his friend’s wife looked delicate and fragile in a very feminine way, she had a steely resolve even when facing her very outraged beloved parent. “He has done very much more than touch me if I might be pregnant, but then again, he has every right to do so as my husband.” “From what I remember of Lord Devon, wedding vows do not mean much to the hot-blooded blackguard. Ask several of the married men of my acquaintance whose wives fell only too willingly into his bed. I fear you’ve been a fool, Isabelle.” Thomas winced a little inside at both the harshness of her father’s tone and the truth of his accusation. Though it was by no means uncommon for both wives and husbands to carry on discreet affairs, Devon had once been the handsome young stud of choice among the fashionable married ladies of the haute ton. Had it not been for his formidable skill with a pistol, there would have been many more than two duels, but in his defense, they tended to pursue him, rather than the other way around. His reputed affairs were also exaggerated greatly for Devon had very discerning tastes. He said, “My lord, I assure you Devon has spent the past six years trying to make his way in the world without fortune or family. He has had little time for frivolous pursuits, believe me, and though he doesn’t defend his past, it is his future with your daughter that concerns him. As, I would think, it would concern you.” “Of course it does, Vanderbilt,” the earl snapped. “That is why I am standing here in shock over her announcement she is married to a disreputable man with the morals of an alley cat and an accusation of murder hanging over his head.” “You can help us address the latter, my lord. As for the first, well, I think if you see the way he looks at Lady Isabelle, you might believe he is a changed man.”

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“He’d better be.” The other man ran his hand through his crisp gray hair in a gesture of frustration and blew out a breath. “Fine, for your sake, Isabelle, and because I apparently owe Austin for your safe return, I will go over the events of that morning. I have thought about this in the years that have passed by often enough and perhaps, given the circumstances, it would be best to clear the air over the matter. Please, follow me to my study.” **** Her father faced the window, his profile stern and almost remote. He’d poured her a glass of sherry, and brandy for himself and Thomas, but he didn’t drink, just stood there in apparent abstract contemplation of the back garden. Isabelle sat perched on the edge of her chair, her glass clutched in her fingers. Finally, he turned and gave her a humorless smile. “You are now a married woman, so I suppose I can tell you I have not been entirely celibate since your mother’s death. Discreet, yes, for your sake of course, but I have had companions now and then.” She had no idea if all men were as ardently interested in sex as her gloriously virile husband and had certainly never thought about whether her father experienced loneliness. He was a handsome man, rich and titled, and in retrospect, perhaps it was the selfish inattention of a child that had made her never wonder. Not certain what to say, Isabelle murmured, “I see.” “Do you? I loved your mother, which is rare among society, but once again, I am not dead yet, and now and then, well—” “I understand,” she interrupted hastily. “I am just a bit puzzled as to what this has to do with Devon’s untenable predicament. I would not presume to judge you, Papa.” Lounging in a chair next to her, his long legs extended, Thomas also looked puzzled, his brow furrowed and his glass of brandy dangling from his fingers.

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“This is not something I ever imagined I would discuss with my daughter in the room.” He seemed to finally remember his brandy glass and lifted it to take a quick sip. “However, once again in retrospect, maybe my attempt to be chivalrous and expedite justice was ill-advised.” “You are not being very clear, my lord.” Thomas’s handsome face reflected the same bewilderment she felt. “What are you saying?” “I was not alone the morning Devon Austin was seen leaving the townhouse where Hancock was murdered. Nor did I actually see him with my own eyes. My companion saw him, but her conviction it was actually him was compelling enough I was willing to testify it was the truth.” Isabelle straightened in her chair, her lips parting in surprise. “What? You never actually saw him?” Defensively, her father said, “I was sitting on the opposite side of the carriage. I saw a man walking, but not clearly enough to recognize his face. Since the lady in question could hardly speak up and say she was with me on her way home after a night together, I had no choice but to protect her reputation. However, once I heard of the argument and that young Austin was a suspect in the killing of Hancock’s son, I felt I had to come forward with the truth even if Elizabeth could not. After all, a man was dead.” “Elizabeth who?” Thomas’s face was set like granite. “Please tell me you are not speaking of Elizabeth Dunworthy, my lord.” Something glimmered in her father’s eyes. He nodded briefly. “Yes, indeed I am.” Devon’s friend shifted in his chair in a convulsive movement. “This is all starting to come together. You do realize she was there that night?” “Where?” “At the self-same gathering where the confrontation took place between Devon and Hancock.”

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Isabelle noticed her father’s cheeks lost some of their ruddy color. “The devil you say! Elizabeth is a lady. She would never frequent the same dubious institutions as—” “Devon has a list of the names of all in attendance. Hers is on there. I have seen it.” “You are mistaken. Why would she go to such a nefarious place?” “She’s known to play very deep, my lord, if you will pardon the observation. And she often uses rich men to assuage her gambling losses in return for her favors. She even approached Devon at one time, but he might have been hot-blooded as you described him, but he knew of her secret life and declined. Tell me, did you ever help her pay off a debt?” “We most certainly did not have that type of an arrangement.” The stiffness in her father’s voice spoke volumes more than the words. But he had. Isabelle could see it in his expression. “What if,” she said slowly, “she realized she had been cheated all along by George Hancock and wanted retribution? What if she saw an opportunity to eradicate her debt and pin the crime on someone else, especially a man who had refused her overtures. If she had claimed to see Devon leaving the building it would not carry as much weight if the truth came out about her penchant for gambling. But if you, sworn to secrecy, said you saw him, it would be very damning. She could have her revenge and also make Devon pay for refusing her without her name even being mentioned.” “No,” her father said, looking a decade older suddenly. “You are just speculating, Isabelle.” “Tell me, if she is so admirable, do you still see her?” He looked away. “No.” “Why? If you were intimately involved, why would you not pursue it further?”

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There was a small silence and then he sighed. “Because she did ask me for money often enough I wondered if I was the attraction, or my fortune. I am not a fool either. I broke it off.” She felt a frisson of triumph for her own sake, but mostly for her husband who had suffered being thought a criminal all these years. “So do you own this is possible? Devon’s grandfather has undisputable proof someone bribed the maid who says she found the footprint to lie. There never was a bloody print.” Her father lifted his glass to his mouth and his hand trembled slightly. He took a long swallow, gave a small cough, and cleared his throat. “I suppose I concede the possibility of what you are telling me. That night she came to me very late. I was already asleep as we did not have an assignation planned and admit I was surprised. It was very early in the morning when I was discreetly taking her home that she claimed to see Devon leaving the building where young Hancock had rooms. She lived very nearby at the time.” “Where is she now?” Thomas set aside his brandy with a decisive click on a small table near his chair and got to his feet. “I think we need to tell Devon about all this and talk with the lady.” “She married a rich elderly earl a few years ago. Rumor has it she is spending his money like it comes from a flowing fountain of gold. However, his name will protect her.” Thomas gave a short bark of a laugh. “Not from Devon, my lord. The devil himself could not keep him from wiping the stain from his name.” Isabelle had the feeling he was completely correct.

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Chapter 9 “I am sorry,” the man intoned. “Her ladyship is not receiving this evening.” Devon smiled and something in his face made the servant take one step backwards in alarm. “She will see me.” “They are at dinner, s…sir.” The stammer showed he caught the edge of menace very clearly. “You may address me as Lord Devon Austin,” he said, for the first time in six years feeling once again comfortable with his role as heir to a dukedom. “And I do not care if the King himself is at the table. Just point me in the right direction.” It looked for a moment like the butler would try to stand his ground, but then he bobbed his head in nervous acquiescence and pointed down the hallway. “Turn left and it is very hard to miss, my lord.” “I’ll announce myself, do not worry.” He strode off in the direction the man pointed, letting Thomas and his reluctant father-inlaw trail behind. Sure enough, the vast dining room was to his left, the open archway showing the flicker of candles and the hover of several attentive servants near the long table. Wresting a confession from Elizabeth Dunworthy, now Lady St. Mark, was the single most important thing in his life except his love for Isabelle. He was going to get the truth this night, by fair means or by foul. The two people sitting at the table glanced up, both startled by his intrusion, and Devon was pleased to see Elizabeth’s face visibly pale. He said coolly, “Good evening, Liz. I haven’t seen you in a long time.

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I expect you are a bit surprised to know I am back in England and in the process of clearing my name from the false charges leveled my direction six years ago in Hancock’s death.” Her husband, hunched in the shoulders and white-headed, demanded in a quavering voice, “Who the devil are you, sir?” Devon stared at the woman sitting with her fork still poised over her plate, registering the dismay and calculation in her eyes. Still slender and shapely in her early thirties, she had glossy dark hair coiled into an intricate chignon at her nape and though her face was very lovely, there was a hard edge to her beauty that he had never cared for. Even at the tender age of twenty, he’d been wary of her predatory predilection for seducing men with wealth to support her insatiable addiction to cards. There were all different ways of being a whore, and though she didn’t directly take money for sex, she sold herself just as surely as any Whitechapel harlot to redeem her debts. He glanced at her husband, feeling sorry for the man. He had to be four decades her senior. “I am the man your wife framed for murder six years ago when she killed someone over a gambling debt.” “You’re insane.” Elizabeth dropped her fork and the clatter of silver on porcelain rang out loudly. “I’ve been to see Anthony Stanhope. He has already told me he was your accomplice. He bribed the maid to invent the tale of the bloody footprint and also pretended to be me and hurried out of the building when he saw Lord Buckland’s carriage roll by. He has dark hair and I suppose from a distance with just a brief glimpse, one could be mistaken, especially if their companion claimed to see the culprit clearly.” Devon gave her a glittering smile. “I hope you fucked him well for that piece of treachery, but of course, he was probably as eager as you were for revenge, so maybe he did it without you spreading your pretty legs.” The old earl began to sputter. “I say…” “Look at her face, Lord St. Mark.”

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The sight of Isabelle’s father standing behind him had turned her expression from surprised to feral. Elizabeth stood, her body visibly trembling. “Get out.” “Certainly. As soon as you tell me—all of us—what really happened that night. I am quite sure your husband is unaware he’s been sharing his bed with a murderess. Just as he is probably unaware you haunt some fairly unsavory places that no true lady should ever frequent. They tell me you are squandering his fortune at a record pace.” St. Mark narrowed his eyes and stared at his wife. “Is that so?” “You killed Hancock.” She clenched her hands into fists and glared at Devon, then leveled a pleading look at her former lover. “Lord Buckland saw you leave the building. Please, Richard, tell him.” “I’m afraid I have told him. The truth, Elizabeth. I am not proud of the fact I accepted your word so easily, for I had a passion for you at the time as you well know, but it should not have made me a fool.” It was a distinctly odd feeling to be grateful to the man he hated for so many years, but Isabelle had been proven right about her father. He wasn’t a liar, and though it was clear he still did not approve of their marriage, he had agreed readily to refute his story in public if it became necessary. “You were a fool.” Elizabeth’s face had settled into a cold mask and she spat the words. Devon said conversationally, “So was I for not staying to defend myself. It never occurred to me you were the one who really killed Hancock, but I suppose a woman could wield a poker as well as a man. And before you perjure yourself further, be aware we have already gone to the authorities. Between the testimony of Lord Buckland that you persuaded him to give false information and Stanhope’s version of what happened, I think a magistrate could be convinced easily enough of your guilt, my dear Lady St. Mark.”

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It was a bold bluff, for they hadn’t approached anyone yet. Devon was still unwilling to risk being brought to trial by bringing attention to both his presence in England and the old case until he had solidly locked in on the real killer. Elizabeth St. Mark glanced at her husband and saw no help from that quarter for her husband might be elderly, but he wasn’t insensible and the total disillusionment on his face was very apparent. She stiffened and finally asked, “What do you want?” “A signed confession.” Devon didn’t equivocate. “Stanhope claims the two of you did not go there to kill Hancock but to ask for a return of some of the money he had bilked from you. I do not know if I believe it or not, but maybe a magistrate would. Still, even if it wasn’t intentional, one does not accidentally club a man to death with a fireplace implement, Liz. So I will make a bargain with you. Give me the confession in exchange for two days. During that time you may disappear. Hancock’s father died a few years back, I understand, so I am not depriving him of his justice.” Her husband said in a raspy voice, “Either way, confession or not, I want you out of this house. For some time I have wondered where you spend your nights. Now I have some uncomfortable suspicions.” She was, after all, a gambler at heart. Elizabeth gave Devon a bitter look. “Two days?” “More than enough time for a resourceful woman like yourself.” “Damn you.” He said softly, “You did once. Remember that.” “I see you hold all the cards so what choice do I have but to fold.” She gestured imperiously at one of the gaping footmen who had witnessed the entire scene. “Bring me something to write on.”

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Epilogue “It is such a lovely day.” Isabelle guided her horse around a small bush and sighed in pleasure at the feeling of the warm sun on her shoulders. “England will forever be home to me, but when the sky is so clear and blue like this it reminds me of our days on the island together.” Next to her on a sleek bay, her husband gave her one of his wicked, devilish smiles. He was dressed much as he had the day she met him, in a shirt with loose white sleeves, fitted breeches that hugged his long legs, and worn boots. His glossy ebony hair was tugged by a capricious breeze and framed his handsome face. He asked, “Are we talking about all the time we spent together on the beach? If I remember correctly, you did seem to enjoy those afternoons and in particular the last one. How times do you think I fucked you that day? I would say at least—” “Devon,” she interrupted him with a stifled laugh. “I thought you were going to at least attempt to curb your outrageous tongue.” “I could, if you want to truly recall that particular afternoon, put my tongue to better use.” His unrepentant grin held a hint of sensual promise. “I rather miss making love out of doors and this spot is secluded.” It was, for they were at the Austin family country estate, and the grounds were vast. The path they followed on their afternoon ride bordered a small stream and up ahead there was a small copse of trees and a grassy level spot perfect for a leisurely picnic. Or something else entirely.

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“Ah.” His silver eyes narrowed. “I can see by your expression you are interested, my sweet passionate wife. Very well, I am also, uhm, let’s say enthusiastic would be a proper word, over the idea. I will promise to speak in a very gentlemanly way if you will let me do very ungentlemanly things to your delectable body, how is that?” As always, he had the power to inflame her with desire by merely being nearby. Isabelle lifted her brows, feigning indifference, but her heart had begun to pound and her breasts tightened in anticipation. “I am not sure at all, Lord Devon, you have it in you to speak in the way a gentleman would. Prove to me with some flowery words you can be civilized and proper, and perhaps I will agree.” “Is that a challenge, Lady Isabelle?” He halted his horse and swung off, coming around to help her dismount. His hands clasped her waist and he easily lifted her from the saddle. She stared up at him and saw the heavy tender light in his silver eyes. “Yes,” she whispered as his hands lingered even after he had set her on her feet. “I only can think of three.” His voice sounded just a trifle unsteady. She stared up at him, her pulse suddenly racing. “What are they?” “I love you.” She had hoped since the charges had been withdrawn against him and their life together had taken on a hope for a settled, normal future, he would lower his guard and admit his feelings. But a month had passed and he still hadn’t spoken the words until this very moment. With a trembling hand, she reached up and traced his lower lip. “Do you know I believed it was the worst moment of my life when I stood on that auction block? Isn’t it ironic it turned out to be the very best?” “What is ironic is that anyone could think I was the medium for anything good in their life. Until I met you, I was convinced I was beyond redemption, beautiful Isabelle.” “I—”

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What she was going to say flew out of her head as Devon took her mouth in a kiss that rivaled any fiery tropical sunset it was so hot and beautiful. When he lowered her to the grass and undressed her, she helped with eager hands. As they came together in glorious physical affirmation of their love, she felt the blissful pleasure with a heightened awareness as he moved within her of how close they had truly become and not just in a sexual way. Afterwards, sated and content, she rested against his hard chest and realized the devil’s bargain must have come from heaven after all.

THE END WWW.EMMAWILDES.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Emma Wildes is the author of over 25 books, a WisRWA 2005 Reader's Choice winner (3rd place, historical romance), an RWA 2006 From the Heart Lories winner (3rd place, best novella), a 4-time EPPIE finalist (2006, 2007), and an EPPIE 2007 winner (best historical erotic romance). Emma also writes contemporary erotic romantic suspense as Kate Watterson and erotic sci-fi as Annabel Wolfe. Visit Emma at EmmaWildes.com.

Also by Emma Wildes Adult Fable: Labyrinth Adult Fairy Tale: The Merman Brothers of the Absinthe Club: Arabian Pearl Brothers of the Absinthe Club: The Bloodstone Affair Brothers of the Absinthe Club: Initiating Christian Brothers of the Absinthe Club: In a Reckless Moment Brothers of the Absinthe Club: A Most Scandalous Position Brothers of the Absinthe Club: Beautiful Assassin Dangerous Beauties 1: Mortal Melody Dangerous Beauties 2: Bedding a Traitor Reformed Rakes 1: The Letter Reformed Rakes 2: Compromising Situations Reformed Rakes 3: A Woman Seduced The Improper Ladies 1: Savage Shores The Sinful Gentlemen 1: The Manuscript The Sinful Gentlemen 2: Midnight Without a Moon Available at

WWW.SIRENPUBLISHING.COM

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com