Mortal Melody

MORTAL MELODY Dangerous Beauties #1 EMMA WILDES

SEX RATING: SIZZLING This book is for sale to adults ONLY as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

SIREN SEX Rating SENSUAL: Sensual romance with love scenes comparative to most romance novels published today

STEAMY: Heavy sexual tension; graphic details; may contain coarse language SIZZLING: Erotic, graphic sex; explicit sexual language; may offend delicate readers SCORCHING: Erotica; contains many sexual encounters; may contain unconventional sex; will offend delicate readers

SEXTREME: Excessiveness; many instances of unconventional sex; may be hardcore; not for the faint-hearted

Emma Wildes Mortal Melody A young woman is sent on a mission to deliver a volatile package to a reputed dark and powerful lord--only she proves to be the deadly one. Susanna Holt has lost her father, and now finds herself at the mercy of a broodingly handsome and enigmatic man who isn't ordinary in the least. Lord Fairmoor is the very stuff of legend, and she needs him desperately to protect her. The infamous earl does much, much more than just keep her safe, and in his arms, she learns that paradise can exist in the middle of mortal danger... Dare Weston wants a quiet life where his gift goes unnoticed. But when tempted with the lovely Susanna, he finds his human failings overcome self-preservation, and he is lured by the song of passion, succumbing to that Mortal Melody...

MORTAL MELODY Dangerous Beauties, Book 1

EMMA WILDES

Siren Publishing, Inc.

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MORTAL MELODY Copyright © 2006 by Emma Wildes

First E-book Publication: September 2006 ISBN: 1-933563-59-1 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. Cover art by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2006 Siren Publishing, Inc.

PUBLISHER Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

Mortal Melody Dangerous Beauties, Book 1 By Emma Wildes Copyright © 2006

Prologue The candle went out suddenly in an eerie puff of curling smoke. The old man lifted his head and set aside his quill. In the resulting gloom he sat quietly at his desk, listening. Outside the wind rose, whispering in the tops of the trees, tapping at the window. Distant flashes of lightning seared behind the curtains like flames of some ancient, avenging fire. His heart began a solemn drumbeat against his ribcage, the dull throb reaching his ears. His hands shook like a palsied man's, and he clutched them into tight fists. He was too old to fight, he reminded himself, too alone to expect anyone to help him. The click of the latch sounded loud as a gunshot. The window shot upward so fast the glass shattered as the top of the frame smashed into the wall above it. Cool night air poured into the room bringing the incongruous sweet scent of roses from the garden and scattering the papers on his desk. Standing up on trembling legs, he could see them outside, lurid shapes formed of shadows and washed by gleaming moonlight. "I walk with God." His voice fell, trembling into the swirling air in the room. Again, the prayer rasped from his lips like an incantation. "I walk with God." From outside, a sibilant whisper declared, “Not tonight.”

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Emma Wildes

Chapter 1 Susanna Holt stepped out of the public coach and saw with dismay that the late afternoon sun settled patterns of soft light on the gilded tops of the trees. The delays on the journey had been frustrating, and her worst fear had been realized. She was going to have to brave her adversary in the darkness. Shaking off a shiver, her pulse quickened as she glanced around. The village was as expected, a cluster of modest cottages and one quaint but rather shabby-looking inn. It was toward the latter that she quickly headed, once again only too aware of every passing moment as the sun sank toward the horizon. On the threshold of the Lamb and Rose, she hesitated and blinked into the smoky gloom. A few curious heads turned. The place was only half-full of roughly dressed patrons, most of them bent over a pint of ale. Fighting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the pervasive odor of mutton stew mingled with wood smoke, Susanna drew her cloak tighter around her. She approached a stout woman who was bustling behind a long, scarred counter. “Excuse me.” Shrewd eyes in a round, doughy face narrowed minutely as the woman openly studied Susanna’s mourning attire—a simple black dress and long, dark hooded cloak. “You needin’ a room or a hot meal, miss?” “Both, actually.” Susanna essayed a smile. “But I only have time to secure the first. I have urgent business at Fairmoor Castle.” “Fairmoor?” Rubbing her hands on the apron covering her ample girth, the innkeeper looked disturbingly alarmed. “What’s the likes of a pretty child like you have with that gloomy place? Don’t be telling old Kate you’re meanin’ to go there alone, now.” Susanna’s nerves were already worn to a razor’s edge, and the woman’s reaction wasn’t exactly reassuring. “Surely his lordship is in residence, is he not?” she asked sharply. A sage nod bobbed graying curls. “Aye, he’s there, all right. Hardly ever as he leaves, except to flit off to London now and then on some dark business. Stays holed up in that huge place with his troop of accursed servants, scribbling away on those odd writings of his.” The 2

Mortal Melody woman leaned forward and dropped her voice to a sibilant whisper. “They say he comes out at night and sometimes you can see him galloping through the forest on a great black horse whose hooves make no sound as they pass by. As handsome as he is wicked, like Lucifer himself.” “’Tis true,” someone piped in from the depths of the ill-smelling room. “Seen him myself, fast as the devil and silent as a ghost. When he went past me, there was nothing but the whisper of the wind.” Hardly wanting the attention of the entire room, much less to draw so much notice to herself, Susanna was uncomfortable with all the scrutiny. “I appreciate the advice, but Lord Fairmoor was a friend of my father’s and I must see him. The driver of the coach told me that the castle was just several miles up the road. I have to go there at once. If you’ve a room, I’d like to deposit my belongings and be on my way.” “I’m telling you, miss—” “As soon as possible.” Looking defeated under the face of Susanna’s obvious determination, Kate’s plump shoulders sagged. “Aye miss, follow me.” **** The room was full of sifted light that spilled in glimmering illumination across the tumbled bed linens. With incredible pleasure invading every pore, he moved with exquisite penetration, his body on fire as his rigid erection slid forward that crucial fraction necessary for complete satisfaction… The woman beneath him moaned in heated carnal response, her nails digging into his bare shoulders, her slender legs wrapped around his waist as she shuddered and accepted all of him inside her. Tight inner muscles rippled suddenly around his surging cock in orgasmic reaction to his insistent possession, her passage slick and warm with the fluids of sexual intercourse as she climaxed wildly. A low cry tore from her throat as her body arched convulsively backwards in trembling physical joy. A fine sweat broke out over his skin as he reached for that same tantalizing peak… **** Jerking awake, Dare Weston blinked then narrowed his eyes and gave a choked sigh that was more a self-mocking laugh. He was half-sprawled in the chair behind the desk in his study, legs extended, his back aching from the unnatural position. That was not the only part of him that ached either, he realized with a wince as he sat up, still uncomfortably aroused. Running one hand down his face, he reflected wryly that his recent erotic fantasies were more appropriate to a boy half his age, and since when the bloody hell did he have to start dreaming about sex anyway, instead of actually engaging in that very pleasurable activity firsthand? There had never been a shortage of willing females in his life, women who were actually intrigued by his black, dangerous reputation and damned eager to share his bed. However, he had to acknowledge that he hadn’t gone out socially in a long time and the curtain that had been falling gradually over the past few months now seemed to cast a smoky pall over his every move, keeping him chained to the castle. Dreams…

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Emma Wildes If he was honest with himself, he had to acknowledge that as soon as he’d realized the persistent fantasies weren’t the ordinary extension of typical male sexual yearnings, he had lost interest in all women. Well, all women except the elusive but passionate golden-haired vixen that opened her legs so eagerly and so enticingly for his intimate possession, even if so far it was only in his wayward mind. Soon, he thought in pure male anticipation. For she existed, he was certain of it. He reached for the almost empty brandy glass at his elbow. Maybe what he needed was a trip to London where he could clear his head and satisfy his body with some of the Ton’s insipid, promiscuous beauties. Perhaps that would help to put aside his restless imaginings… Dare lifted his head and froze in the very act of draining his glass. Though the room was empty, he murmured out loud, “Something comes.” The feeling was very strong, more than just a sense of foreboding, but rather a rush of bone-chilling horror tempered with a traitorous sense of unholy excitement. He had been waiting for it a long, long time. Jumping to his feet, he instantly discarded his cravat and coat in favor of a long cloak, swinging it over his shoulders in one smooth movement. Beyond the tall study windows that faced south, the sunset spread in a glory of crimson across the forest below, giving the scene a macabre cast, like a thin glossing of blood. Under the trees, he knew, the shadows would be thickening already and deepening by the moment. Turning in a whirl of restless energy, he left the room, his booted feet ringing staccato in the long marble hallway. The game was afoot. **** The trees stood thickly, staring out from their unformed ranks, curling their gnarled fingers toward the sky. The road cut a straight line, barely wide enough for one coach, so that the branches almost interlaced above, adding gloom to the already gathering dusk. The sharp smell of decaying vegetation and damp soil filled the air, and the occasional rustle of the breeze spoke a song as old as time. She felt as if they watched her, those ancient ones, observing each step she took and despising her for being an interloper in their quiet, secret world. It was the foolish notions of superstitious peasants that had her upset, Susanna assured herself hastily as she walked along. Yet fear, never a distant companion in the past two weeks, tugged at her throat and misted her eyes. Kate, the plump innkeeper, had continued to fill her ears with more such dark nonsense as she lingered while Susanna unpacked her meager belongings. She had mostly ignored her as best she could and briefly washed her hands and face to cleanse away the dirt of her long journey from Sussex. The avid stares of the villagers as she squared her shoulders and marched out the door toward the road hadn’t been exactly comforting either. No one seemed to have anything specific to base their innate fears upon, she thought pragmatically, trying to cheer up. Lord Fairmoor was not rumored to devour babies or whisk away and despoil young maidens. He was just a mysterious dark presence, important to the people because of his vast holdings, yet aloof, and as such, subject to speculation. He was

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Mortal Melody compared to the exiled lord of the underworld, but not in deed, just in appearance. Since he valued his privacy, he perhaps relished the comparison for it meant he was left entirely alone. Absolutely. That must be it. From what she knew of him, she was not all that surprised. Her father had said more than once that his former pupil was talented at hiding away from the world. Yet, she did wish the inhabitants of the Lamb and Rose hadn’t chosen to share their lurid tales and dire warnings. It was much darker on the wooded road, and even if the distance was not very far, she couldn’t help but nervously glance side to side and quicken her pace, hugging her precious burden to her chest. If Dare Weston, the seventh Earl of Fairmoor, refused her audience, she would have to walk back through this forest to the inn in the pitch darkness. If he did see her, she would still have to beg for his generosity in providing a ride back to the village. Neither notion pleased her. But she had no choice. The quest had been thrust upon her and she must not fail. Not even if every rustle of leaf and crack of branch made her want to jump right out of her skin. Her heart pounded so loud she could hear it throbbing in her ears and she hurried even faster, picking up her skirts with one hand and practically running down the darkening lane. It took several seconds before she realized the pounding was not just her heart, but the sound of hoof beats behind her. Whirling around, she almost fell as her skirts tangled around her legs. To her horror, Susanna could make out two men on horseback coming down the road at a gallop. “There she is! Just ahead,” one of them called out. The shout made panic surge up in a paralyzing wave. Frozen for a moment, she felt a sort of resigned terror over the fact that all of her careful preparations were in vain. It hadn’t worked, not her abrupt departure from her uncle’s house without a word to anyone, the convoluted journey, the hood of her cloak pulled forward to disguise her face whenever possible… The force she battled was too strong, too canny. It had found her easily. She thought of the gift. Her father’s dying wish was that she was to deliver his legacy to Lord Fairmoor. Her muscles unlocked. Turning, she plunged into the dark, menacing cover of the forest, heedless of which way she ran. The underbrush was thick and tore at her skirts, but she fought and scrambled on, clutching her precious package with one arm and thrusting at the impeding branches with the other. Behind her, she heard the sounds of pursuit clearly as the men dismounted and came after her. The crash of heavy bodies through the vegetation and the utterance of loud curses spurred her forward in frantic flight. Gloom, the inky imprint of spiky leaves high above against the gathering twilight, the fecund smell of earth and leaf, all of it was the merest impression. Susanna gasped and ran blindly, her arm encircling the package she’d traveled so far to bring, her mind wild with apprehension and dread. Darting between the trunks and casting around for any place to hide, she

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Emma Wildes misjudged one low lying branch and knocked herself to her knees. A stinging pain throbbed in her right temple. The package went flying. Cursing and frantic, she cast around for it, crawling on her hands and knees. Mercifully, she felt the familiar hard surface and caught it up with a grateful sob. Her pursuers had gained much from her little accident. Their heavy breathing seemed to singe the back of her neck. She got up and fled without any regard for injury or safety. Crying, she hurled herself forward recklessly. When the darkness of the forest gave way to a gilded glen filled with the dying light of the sun, she barely noticed Neither did she realize just how close they were. Just as she tripped, arrested by the sudden light and space, a rough hand caught her cloak by the hood, spun her around, and dragged her into the grassy open space. Off-balance, she went to her knees, unwilling to part with her burden and still holding it protectively to her chest. “Coy, what have we here?” The voice was rough and the accent thick and unrecognizable. Her captor jerked again and thankfully the fastening of her cloak tore free. Susanna managed a choked breath before his other hand twisted in her loosened hair. When he held her immobile in an implacable grip, he bent over her and asked harshly, “She be the one?” Susanna heard the other man panting before he appeared on the periphery of her sight. Though both were roughly-dressed, the two men were a study in opposites. One was tall and thick with the pugnacious features of a bulldog and a bristling black beard. The other was short and wiry, with sandy hair and black eyes sharp as shining marbles in his narrow face. The smaller man, who stood facing them, nodded in response to the question. “Very fair, he said, with hair as gold as the king’s coffers.” The cloak had slid from her shoulders and the big man tossed it aside, still bent over her, never taking his gaze from her face. “’Tis a pity then, to have to kill such a lovely lass. Mayhaps we should keep her, just for a night or two.” A shudder ran up her spine at the leering look on the man’s face and Susanna fought a surge of nausea. The smaller man glared at his companion. “Are ye really such a fool then, to think he wouldn’t know? Don’t be stupid and do it quick. These woods are creeping with the night and I want back to a warm bed and a bottle.” “All right, all right.” It was a growl. The big one reached down and pulled a wicked knife from his belt. She heard the ominous scrape of metal on leather as he moved. An evil smile spread over his coarse features as he brandished it in her face. “Now then, my pretty one, because you’re fair and please me, this will be quick and sweet.” For a split second of complete horror, Susanna hung there, arched backward in that relentless grip, her gaze riveted on the gleaming knife poised to plunge into her exposed throat. Her mind reeled with the knowledge that she was breathing her last and would die at the hands of this ruffian and be left to rot in the ferns and leaves. She had failed. God help her.

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Mortal Melody Yet even as he lifted his arm and a choked cry of despair left her lips, the weapon seemed to fly out of his hand and skitter across the clearing. With a roar of surprise, her assailant let her go. He tossed her aside like so much rubbish and spun around in obvious confusion, opening and closing his empty hand. He snarled, “What the devil?” “Good evening, gentlemen.” The cool voice came from the edge of the woods. Sprawled in the grass, Susanna could see the figure of a tall man imposed against the shadows. Trembling, she lifted up on one elbow. The nightmarish scene seemed to burn into her brain, rendering her immobile. Her two attackers facing this unknown arrival, the dying sunset with a low hung moon now appearing over the little clearing, her breath coming in frightened pants as she realized just how close to death she’d brushed by... Two things happened at once. With a roar of anger, the big man dived for his lost knife, and, like a flash of lightning, the tall figure seemed to intercept him. There was the crack of something that sounded sickeningly like bone and an inhuman howl of pain followed by a dull thud. Wild curses followed, punctuated by more thuds. Susanna almost forgot the little man until claw-like fingers dug into her arm and he viciously yanked her to her feet. He pressed a knife to her throat and a hiss came in her ear. “Now, I’ll finish the task and be on my way while your gallant tries to get the best of my giant friend, eh?” The package she had come so far to deliver lay discarded in the grass. She fastened upon it, and that symbol of her failure lent her strength and purpose. A certain odd energy flowed through her body like an electric charge. Both hands flew upward to grasp the hand holding the knife. She twisted and sunk her teeth in deep. He shrieked. “Hellcat!” Her attacker swung her around and took a wild swipe. The blade missed the side of her neck by mere inches. For a single second they faced each other, his black eyes flat and his thin mouth distorted with rage and pain. Then he lifted his arm and sprang forward. She wasn’t fast enough. Twisting away, she did manage to keep the blade from sinking into her heart, but it caught her shoulder instead, going deep. Mind-blanking agony tore a scream from her lips and Susanna felt herself stagger backwards in shock, the knife protruding from her chest. The weasely little ruffian followed, smiling, reaching for her to grasp the hilt, tear the weapon free, and finish the job. Just as swiftly, he was gone. **** Dare rose from his knees and turned just in time to see the girl sway. She was ashen pale, her knees bucking, but he caught her just before she hit the ground. He managed to lower her without jarring the knife that stuck out of her shoulder like an obscene symbol of evil. Glancing back over his shoulder at the prostrate bodies of her two attackers, he felt a murderous impulse to tug out that knife and slit their ugly throats, though it would have been a pointless gesture as they were both quite dead.

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Emma Wildes He looked back down. Lying on the leaf-strewn ground, the young woman looked fragile and lovely. A tumble of golden hair framed a pale oval face dominated by long-lashed dark eyes. Wide with pain, her wild gaze seemed to search his for some sort of reassurance. He felt her fear seeping through every pore of his body. The shallow gasps that escaped though her parted lips moved the knife sticking out from her shoulder in macabre little quivers. “They cannot harm you any longer,” he said gently, eyeing the growing wetness around her wound that soaked her plain, dark dress. “Are they…dead?” Her slender throat rippled in a hard swallow. “I’m afraid so.” Kneeling there in the damp grass, a cynical smile twisted Dare’s lips. “It didn’t seem to me there was much choice, my lady. Despite my polite greeting, they were most unfriendly fellows.” “Yes.” A small shudder racked her slender form. He pulled out his linen handkerchief and uttered a silent curse that he had nothing better. One square of cloth was not going to do much to stop her bleeding. As unemotionally as possible, he said, “The knife must come out. I will try to be as gentle as possible, but I fear this will hurt a great deal.” A weak laugh made her cough. “It already does.” Dare had never thought of himself as being squeamish in anyway, yet when he lifted his hand to grasp the protruding hilt of the weapon imbedded so deeply into her flesh, he felt a tiny wave of sickness. He was about to cause this delicate, feminine creature a moment of blinding agony. Putting his other hand just below her throat, bracing against her breastbone, he took a deep breath. “Wait!” Her left hand flew upward and grasped his wrist. Those huge eyes, so lovely and dark, stared upward. She whispered, “Who are you?” “Fairmoor,” he said just before he pulled it free. She fainted instantly without even uttering a cry. For a moment he sat back on his heels, holding the dripping knife. Then in revulsion, he tossed it away and pressed the cloth in his hand to the welling wound. The blade had gone to the bone. He’d felt the sickening scrape of it as it came free. She needed attention immediately. Female undergarments were mostly a huge waste of cloth, he mused wryly as he lifted the young woman’s dark skirts and tore off a strip of material from the bottom of her chemise. He used it to bind the pad of his handkerchief to her shoulder by winding it under her arm and tying it tightly as possible. Already the white square had turned crimson. The impulse to touch her was strong. He knew her already, every feature of her pale, lovely face and every delectable inch of her lissome, lush body. He was like the cat, he thought with somber fascination, so curious and so very foolish. Yet still, he needed to know. Tentatively, he reached out and ran one long finger over the porcelain curve of her cold cheek and opened his mind to search for answers. The image was poised there, waiting. He knew this because of the swiftness of the invasion, of the very violation of his mind. It came, clear as the edge of a sword blade and as

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Mortal Melody bright, a fiery picture frozen as brilliantly as a finely painted portrait. Only the vision was more compelling, the more real, because it was perfect as a treasured memory, every detail burned forever into his consciousness. Seven figures in a blazing circle, arms lifted in supplication to the wrong gods… Darkness poured over the scene, as ancient and evil as time itself. Violence, fear, passion, and danger all swarmed in a swirling maelstrom of furious, struggling emotion. Snatching his hand away, he took a deep steadying breath. The girl still lay there, bleeding. He lifted her in his arms and whistled. A moment later, his stallion, Leviathan, trotted into the clearing, snorting his displeasure as he caught the scent of death that hung in the dank air. Reluctant though the animal might be, he also understood the will of his master, for he stood quietly enough as Dare put one foot in the stirrup and mounted, carefully carrying his unconscious burden. If there were mercy in this world, Dare thought darkly, then the girl would stay in a swoon for the rest of the journey. Guiding the horse carefully through the encroaching wood, he sought the road, and finding it, drove in his heels. Leviathan sprang forward powerfully, graceful and thundering in the night. In the distance, Fairmoor Castle loomed, limed by a rising moon, the towering walls and stark turrets visible for miles because of its perch atop a high rise of rocky ground that rose above the surrounding forest. His ancestors had not been fools, choosing to rule and defend their domain from the vantage point of both the ability to see one’s enemy, and to vanquish them. Against him, the girl moaned and her lashes fluttered. Dare leaned forward and whispered to the stallion and they seemed to fly. Her fair hair streamed over his shoulder like a banner. The gates of the castle opened in welcome as they approached, swinging inward on massive, silent hinges. In the courtyard, they skittered to a halt and Dare dismounted, flinging a leg over and sliding to the ground. He left the stamping horse, reins trailing for the silent groom that slid out of the shadows and carried his slender burden up the steps to the house two at a time. Once inside the vast main hallway, he nodded at the woman who waited at the base of the huge stairway. “Hot water and my case of medicines,” he ordered curtly. His servant, Agatha, a woman half his height, her features twisted and misshapen, bowed her head and slipped away. Taking a breath, he carried the half-conscious girl upstairs. When she murmured something, he halted and bent his head to make out the words. He thought she said ‘quest’. Unfortunately, he had an inkling of what that might be. Shouldering his way through a doorway, he entered one of the few bedrooms not swathed in dust cloths and laid his bleeding charge upon the bed. His staff was ever efficient and he knew within moments he would have the requested items to tend the girl’s wound. Pulling his knife from the sheath in his boot, he began to cut her clothing away, slicing the sleeve of her dress and undoing her bodice until he could peel back the blood-soaked cloth from her shoulder and discard his makeshift bandage.

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Emma Wildes The wound looked fearful, jagged and dark against her ivory skin and still bled profusely. He yanked off a pillowslip and used it to blot and stem the tide. He glanced at the doorway with impatience. Of course it would take a few minutes for the woman to return, but he resented the delay anyway. You know the girl won’t die, he told himself, studying her still features. The vision had told him so. And, from that one touch, he knew so much more.

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Mortal Melody

Chapter 2 Dusk hovered like a menacing bird waiting to plummet downward and take its prey. Standing by the window of the spacious office, the Master turned and whispered, “Carpent tua poma nepotes.” The young secretary glanced up, startled. “I beg your pardon, sir?” “It’s Virgil. It means ‘Your descendants shall gather your fruits,’” he replied with a grim smile. Uncertain but deferent, the young man sat with his quill poised, waiting for the rest of the dictation. “Shall I add that in some way to the letter?” The Master smiled thinly. “No, it was just a passing thought.” **** Dare stood up and crossed stiffly over to the basin by the ornate dressing table where he plunged his bloodied hands into the water. He’d taken the precaution of stitching the wound together after cleansing it. It had been a long time since he’d practiced that particular technique and his hands still shook. The wound had been jagged and ugly and her skin so soft and delicate. “My lord?” The inquiry was barely audible. He glanced over his shoulder. Agatha stood holding the girl’s stained and torn clothes in her arms. “Burn them,” he said. An inclination of her head was all she gave in answer as she shuffled away. It had been at least a year since Lady Abbington had braved the rumors, ignored his request that she stay in London, and come to Fairmoor Castle unexpectedly. She had occupied his bed for three nights before she’d left in a hurry, claiming the castle to be haunted. He remembered being sardonically surprised, for if it was haunted, the fey spirits there were surely more afraid of him than he of them, since they left him entirely undisturbed. Voicing those thoughts out loud had not endeared him to his promiscuous but adventurous bedmate, and she had decamped at once. The flighty lady in question had carelessly left some of her things behind that he hadn’t bothered to dispose of, including, if he remembered correctly, a nightdress.

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Emma Wildes Opening the door to the wardrobe, he indeed found the luscious Lila’s idea of suitable bedroom attire, a gossamer concoction of lace and sheer silk that concealed little but was more an ornament of her voluptuous person. Though he could not consider it in good conscience a suitable garment for a chaste young lady, he shrugged and told himself that the unconscious Miss Holt would probably rather be enticingly barely covered, than not covered at all. It was getting quite late. The clock on the mantle chimed quietly. Outside the thick walls of the castle, the forest spread out silent and secretive, teeming with creatures that roamed in the shadows of leaf and branch. But in this house, he vowed, she would be safe. Crossing the room, he pulled back the sheet covering the girl, and with some measure of success, ignored the naked perfection of her body. He carefully slipped the gown over her head. For one so slender she had full mounded breasts, the nipples a delicious pink, and her pubic hair was a slightly darker shade than her golden tresses. The soft curls were an enticing triangle between her long legs, but his worry overrode any thoughts of desire. Pale as death, she didn’t as much a twitch a muscle as he adjusted the night rail. What worried him more was what questions she might ask when she awakened in the morning. **** Bright sunshine poured in blocks over pale blue and white striped silk bed hangings. There was rich carpeting on the floor in the same pastel hues, and directly across from the bed was a beautiful marble fireplace so intricately carved with twining vines and climbing roses that, but for their alabaster hue, they could have been real. Susanna very slowly turned her head and surveyed similar opulence in the rest of the furnishings of the room. There was also a lovely dressing table in glass and gleaming mahogany, velvet covered wing chairs by the long windows, and several delicate pedestals with vases holding fresh flowers that perfumed the air. She tried to ignore the vague throbbing at her temple and the pounding pain in her left shoulder and struggled to keep panic at bay. Confusing memories whirled through her mind. A dark road. Her flight through the forest. Two men and a gleaming knife... Gingerly she shifted and pushed down the silken sheets to her waist. She wore a white nightdress of some fine translucent material, with lace at the sleeves and bodice and tiny buttons that looked like pearls. It was lovelier than any of the plain sleeping gowns she had ever owned, and if it were not for the bulge of the bandage at her shoulder, she would have felt lovely in it. As it was, a certain sense of bewilderment filled her mind. The last thing she remembered was... Fairmoor. A pair of gleaming eyes in the forest. Strong arms holding her against a hard chest during a wild, reckless ride. Yes, he’d told her his name as he knelt beside her, right before he’d pulled out the knife. Susanna shut her eyes and tried to remember his face, but all she saw was a dark silhouette framed by a wild wood. Lord Fairmoor was as much a mystery to her as he was to the villagers. A slight sound made her lift her lids a fraction. Peering out from beneath her lashes, she saw a woman come into view, carrying a tray. For a moment, Susanna blinked, unsure if she had

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Mortal Melody fallen into some sort of fantastic fairy tale. All the trappings were in place: the lavish room in the legendary castle, the wounded maiden dressed in a gown fit for a princess, and now the gnarled witch who casts out spells of doom. Bent at the waist, the woman moved with surprising speed for one so deformed. Her back was hunched by an obvious affliction of the spine, her hands curved like claws, and her skin as coarse as the thicket of untamed black hair on her head. Her thick lips, broad nose, and protruding chin all were made more grotesque by the fact that the poor creature had a sightless eye which showed white in place of pupil or iris. She wore no uniform but instead a plain black shapeless dress that hung awkwardly and dragged across the floor on one side. She set down the tray on a table by Susanna’s bedside and removed the cover from something that sent a delicious smell steaming into the air. God in heaven, she was hungry. But there was an even more pressing need, one that could not be denied. Susanna cleared her throat and tried to not show any revulsion in her expression. “Excuse me.” The woman wasn’t the least surprised to find her awake. She merely shifted and swiveled her good eye toward the bed and inclined her head a fraction. “I need...that is, I wonder if you could tell me—” One crooked, shriveled finger lifted and pointed to a doorway that must contain a dressing room, and apparently the necessary. Susanna eased out of bed with a pronounced wince and stood up on wobbly legs. She managed the tottering journey there and back, feeling weak but much more comfortable when she climbed back into the bed. The servant had disappeared. The woman had brought her fresh bread, cold chicken, cheese, and some steaming hot tea, all easy to handle by someone limited to using one hand. Surprisingly famished, Susanna managed to devour about half of the food, but the effort required said much about her weakened state. Exhausted, she leaned back against the pillows and lethargically sipped her tea from a delicate china cup while she allowed herself to ponder her situation. All this splendor and the odd appearance of the maid must mean she was ensconced in Fairmoor Castle and at the mercy of the mysterious lord of the manor. Not to mention injured, alone in the world, and the object of a very desperate and evil determination to end her life. It wasn’t a cheerful thought. She took another convulsive swallow of tea. However, on a brighter note, Lord Fairmoor had undeniably saved her life. He’d given her medical care, sanctuary, and seen that she was made comfortable as possible. Whatever the villagers might think of the man, he could hardly be a villain if he’d taken such care with a complete stranger. All that was well and good, she thought dismally, but he would probably think she was a nuisance once she explained the reason for her journey and her failure to fulfill it. She’d lost the bequest. It lay somewhere in that thicket of forest, nondescript in its plain wrapping, to be trod upon by wild animals and left to the elements to decay and gradually fade away, all meaning lost. She didn’t realize that the door had opened, nor did she feel the presence of another human being until she saw a shadow fall over the bed. Startled, she gasped, and tea sloshed over the rim of her cup to drip on the expensive bedding.

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Emma Wildes His voice was deep and smooth. “Pray excuse me, my lady. You seemed most preoccupied and must not have heard my knock.” “Kn…knock?” Stammering stupidly, she shrank back farther into the pillows. It was true, she had heard nothing. “May I?” A long-fingered hand reached for the cup which wobbled in her suddenly very unsteady hand. A crystalline gray gaze, so clear that it almost seemed transparent, caught hers and held it. Susanna relinquished her tea without argument and gazed up into the face of the man that surely must be the notorious Lord Fairmoor. A tremor of apprehension ran up her spine. Somehow, suddenly, she understood the rumors and wild imaginings of the surrounding countryside. For one thing, the man was very tall, well above average height, and the width of his shoulders was imposing, especially as he stood by the side of the bed, looming over her. He was dark except for those arresting silver eyes framed with winged brows and long, black lashes. Dark, sleek hair curled against his collar. The first fleeting impression was one of aristocratic elegance, not only in the cut of his jacket and snowy cravat, but of high cheekbones that might have belonged to medieval prince. He moved with cat-like grace when he took the cup from her hand and turned to set it back upon the tray. Yet as she lay there staring up at him that first impression fizzled and dissolved almost as quickly as it had come, replaced by something much more disquieting. As he turned back toward the bed to look at her, Susanna caught the sense of a tightly controlled force almost like a physical touch. Under those strikingly handsome features, something lurked, something volatile and contained only by sheer will. That aura of power seemed to shimmer around the man himself, to cloak and disguise him. His dark male beauty added to it, and the rumors now made more sense. From her father’s cryptic descriptions, it had been hard to know what to expect. She felt at once both frightened and bemused. “Your shoulder, does it pain you overmuch?” The question was polite and considerate. There was no reason she should not be able to answer it, yet she found no voice to do so. Lord Fairmoor lifted his brows and a glimmer of amusement appeared in those light eyes. Perhaps it was that hint of human emotion that finally pierced her stupor, for Susanna’s hands clenched in the bedcovers, and since her wound ached relentlessly, she responded, “My shoulder...is sore, yes.” She took a breath. “Sir, I am sure, after going through so much trouble on my behalf, you are wondering about my identity.” “Your father was once a good friend of mine and a fine man, Miss Holt. I am very sorry to hear of his death.” Susanna’s gaze widened. “You know who I am?” He smiled faintly, a slight curve of his mouth. “You may have a woman’s beauty, but your father’s eyes. That shade is very unusual, something between royal blue and deep violet. I always thought it rather a waste on a man, now I know why. Please let me introduce myself properly. I am Daragh Weston, the Earl of Fairmoor. Welcome to my home.”

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Mortal Melody If he knew who she was, did he know why she’d come? Biting her lip, she murmured, “Thank you, my lord. My father also held you in high regard. In fact, he left you something when he died, requesting that I bring it to you myself—” Her eyes blurred with tears. “But, I’m afraid I lost it. Those two awful men that followed me...it was knocked from my hands.” Lord Fairmoor turned then and paced toward one of the long windows, his hands clasped negligently behind his back. He stopped there and spoke, still facing the glass. “I have the book, Miss Holt. I sent a man back for the package you lost and to dispose of the bodies of those two murderous oafs.” Sitting up abruptly was a mistake. Not only did the movement make her shoulder twinge sharply in protest, but her head spun. Bracing her good hand on the softness of the mattress, Susanna blinked and took a steadying breath. “The book…thank goodness it is safe, since my father insisted you have it for some reason. Have you looked at it? Do you know what it means, my lord?” He still didn’t turn around, standing there and staring outside with that distant look on his face. His long legs were encased in snug, well-tailored breeches and his boots polished to a high shine. “Understand it? Not yet.” Those words both thrilled and frightened her. “Sir?” “Ah, and you? Any notion of what he wanted to tell me?” He shifted, his profile in stern relief for a moment before he moved to face her. His electrifying gaze found hers. It was a little shameful to have to admit that her father hadn’t confided in her that there was anything wrong, or that he knew he was in danger. Sitting there amid the tumbled sheets, she slowly shook her head. “Not specifically, no. However, I know enough to deduce that my father’s murder and that book are linked together.” A choked sob welled up in her throat. She had been visiting her uncle when her father had been so savagely attacked. A neighbor had found him just minutes before his last breath. She whispered, “I wasn’t there, for he had insisted I stay with relatives, which I thought was odd at the time. I was told his dying wish was that I should bring it to you myself.” The gray eyes glimmered. “And then you are attacked as well.” The two men. The knife. The forest. “Yes.” “Interesting. You are tiring, Miss Holt. Please lie back down.” Susanna stubbornly shook her head, though it was all she could do to keep from collapsing backwards. She felt the pulse beating up high in her throat. “I must understand the reason for all of this...madness and I have a feeling, my lord, that you hold some of the answers.” One brow lifted slightly at her imperious tone. “You lost a great deal of blood. You are hardly up for any kind of prolonged discussion. Now, don’t bother to argue.” Again a humorless smile curved his well-shaped mouth. “I am afraid I am not a compromising man…one of my many flaws. Please lie down, as I wish to check on your wound. The faint last night was probably just from the shock, but infection can be a deadly adversary.” Uncompromising described fairly well the expression on his lordship’s face. Since her arm was beginning to quiver with the effort of holding herself upright, Susanna sank back down

15

Emma Wildes and took a shuddering breath. God, she hated this weakness but it seemed to flood her whole body. It wasn’t until he sat down on the edge of the mattress and reached out for the buttons on her gown that she registered his intentions. “My lord?” It was a gasp and her uninjured arm flew up so that her fingers grasped his wrist. “What are you doing?” So close, he seemed even larger and more imposing. She saw the lean line of his jaw, the subtle lift of the corner of his mouth, and smelled the vague scent of a spicy, intriguing cologne. Glossy dark hair brushed his collar and the hard muscles of his thigh pressed against her hip. And all the while, those long-lashed silver eyes looked right through her. He said gently enough, “I want to look at the wound you received trying to deliver to me your father’s message. You were hurt on my behalf. It is the least I can do to make sure you recover.” Still holding onto his arm for dear life, her lips trembled as she whispered, “Isn’t there someone else, a maid perhaps, or a housekeeper—” “I’m afraid Agatha, whom perhaps you met earlier, is the only female servant in this household and she has an understandable aversion to society with people she does not know well. I assure you, Miss Holt, I have some experience in tending the ill and hurt. I might have been born an earl, but have dabbled in several hobbies. Medicine is one of them.” The thought of the withered Agatha tending to her held little appeal, especially if the poor thing were as aware of her hideous appearance as everyone else must be. Still, she protested. “My lord, really it is most inappropriate for us to be here alone together much less—” “I was the one who dealt with your wound in the first place, Miss Holt.” The declaration was flat. “I assure you that I do not molest unconscious young ladies, especially when they are bleeding all over my bed linens.” Oh, Lord, someone had undressed her and it had to have been him. A wave of heat rose instantly into her face, scorching her cheeks. What was worse, the man had a blasted point. So far, he had only been kind. Biting her lip, Susanna swallowed and released his wrist, well-aware that he could have freed himself at any time. “Do not worry,” he promised gravely. “I will be gentle.” The sensation of those long elegant fingers unfastening the buttons at her throat one by one was excruciating. Unable to meet his gaze, yet reluctant to close her eyes, she looked everywhere but at his face. He pulled open the neck of the nightdress and cool air grazed her bared skin when he tugged it lower. The bandage was wrapped under her arm. She knew without looking that he’d had to fully expose her left breast to be able to undo the cloth and view the damage. She felt the light brush of the sleeve of his coat on her sensitive skin as he worked and the fire in her cheeks seeming to ignite to inferno proportions. What was worse, her nipple tingled at that light contact, tightening and swelling. Praying he wouldn’t notice such an unladylike reaction, she stared at the window where the open curtains showed a vivid blue sky.

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Mortal Melody True to his word, his work was deft and sure. The only time she had to stifle a cry of pain was when he sponged away the dried blood and pried off the thick pad covering the wound itself. Unable to resist, she turned and surveyed the damage with morbid fascination. It looked hideous enough, a nasty gash several inches wide, dark and raw, but neatly stitched together with thread. One side still oozed bright red fluid, and the earl carefully blotted the blood away with a clean cloth, then pressed gently around the wound with his long fingers. At his touch, the breath seemed to go out of her chest. In a flash, the world receded. The lovely bedroom was replaced by a swirling image of dark paneling, shabby draperies, and a threadbare rug strewn with scattered papers. And there was blood everywhere, soaking the papers in crimson splatters, pooling on the floor, surrounding the body of a man sprawled face down in the midst of the chaos. Her father. She recognized the mane of grey hair, the set of those shoulders, and the shabby dressing gown. A cry of horror escaped from deep inside her body. Just as quickly as it came, the vision vanished. **** Dare snatched his hand away, but it was a little too late to undo the damage. Though she now lay limp against the tumbled linens, her scream echoed dimly in his ears. The girl’s face’s was ashen and her expression stricken. What on earth had just happened? The malevolent impression had come from nowhere, the link unknown. He had been caught off guard by the assault, which was both unexpected and invasive. And uninvited. So it began. It was clear the target had been Susanna Holt and he had been the medium of delivery. That someone wished her harm was as obvious as the ugly wound marring the perfect skin of her slender shoulder. The question was who and, more frighteningly, why? He said hoarsely, “I’m sorry. I did not intend for that to happen.” At a loss, he found it hard to meet her eyes. Clearly distraught, she whispered, “I saw him. I saw my father lying murdered in his study. I saw him. Dear God, what did they do to him?” Her huge violet eyes filled with tears that began to spill down her pale cheeks, and the hand of her uninjured arm made a fist in the sheets. “There was so much blood...so much...no wonder my questions were evaded when I asked what happened—” “Try to put it from your mind.” The order sounded inane, even to him. He wanted inexplicably to reach out, to soothe her pain and smooth the wetness from her face. This was not at all a normal reaction for a man who practiced detachment from all emotion, and that sensation might be more disturbing than anything else. Tenderness was not a familiar emotion.

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Emma Wildes Instead he picked up a roll of cloth and began to fold it. Then he pressed it over the injury and wrapped it securely into place, taking every care to cause her as little pain as possible. He took every bit as much care as to not meet her confused, pain-filled gaze. When he finished, he eased her nightdress back over the tantalizing ivory swell of her breast and fastened it. With some relief, he rose. The more distance he put between himself and the lovely Susanna Holt, the better. “If you should require anything, please feel free to ring for Agatha. I think you will find that she will anticipate your needs and come and go as quietly as possible, but there is a pull by the bed. Rest now, and regain your strength.” He turned and the door swung open silently, but escape was not so easy. “You said you did not intend for me to see…” She gave a hiccup of a hysterical laugh. “I am not sure what to call it. A vision? A flash in time?” He halted and glanced back reluctantly. “Call it whatever you like.” “It came from you, didn’t it? The moment you touched me.” Her voice wobbled. “Not from me, through me.” Susanna was pale as a ghost now. She looked so small and wan in the giant bed. “My father told me you were an unusual man. He would not say more.” Dare smiled cynically. “Just as well, I’m sure.” Then he bowed and quit the room.

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Mortal Melody

Chapter 3 Thunder rolled, making the very walls of the castle shake and tremble. The flames in the stone fireplace danced and shivered as a particularly virulent blast of wind shrieked outside, the sound audible even through three-foot thick walls. With his booted feet propped upon the hearth in his study, Dare barely noticed. His attention lay on the open book in his lap. Finally, with a frustrated gesture, he dashed his fingers through his hair and set the volume aside in disgust. Damnation. He did not understand what Holt wanted. He knew all about Alexander the Great’s glorious victories in Persia. He’d studied years ago the brilliance of Hannibal in the Punic Wars—and every other great commander outlined in the very common book of military history which the lovely Susannah had risked her life to bring to him—right down to General Washington who had defeated their own Cornwallis less than half a century ago in the battle for the colonies. When he’d opened the package, he’d expected something entirely different. A rare and ancient book of alchemy perhaps or the personal journal of someone vastly important like Copernicus or some long-dead Pope. Septimus Holt had once been his teacher, an astute man who not only taught history at one of the most esteemed universities in the world, but a true scholar in love with the ideal of absorbing knowledge. Part of the problem, was, of course, just that temperament. If the man had a message to send, he’d done so in one of his arcane gestures that would not only befuddle anyone intercepting it, but would take some deciphering on the part of the recipient. And Dare had little time to ponder the matter. A clock was ticking somewhere with a deadly purpose. Of one thing there was little doubt. He owed Holt. The professor had nurtured him when he was a confused young man, befriended him, and finally helped him accept a staggering truth. Now that same man had requested his only daughter, his most precious possession on earth, bring that cryptic message to Fairmoor Castle herself for a reason. Septimus Holt wanted Dare to protect her.

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Emma Wildes This led to another inescapable conclusion. There was some reason that Dare could protect her better than anyone else. Hell and blast, he thought darkly as he got to his feet and stalked across the room. He owed Septimus. That was true. Dashing brandy into a fat glass, he contemplated it a moment before taking a fiery drink. The man had obvious reason for his worry. He’d been murdered, his daughter very nearly so. Dare could still remember clearly seeing Susanna in the grip of that coarse brute with a knife at her slim throat, her long golden hair streaming across the ground. To kill both those men had been nothing but a pleasure. He’d regretted stepping on insects with more depth of emotion. A cough came, very discreet, from the doorway. “My lord.” Dare turned around and shifted his brooding gaze, lifting his brows in silent inquiry. Bates hovered in the open door. Elderly and stooped, his white hair so thin as to be little more than a dusting across his skull, he was the only servant to remain from Dare’s childhood when the estate had bustled with the activity of his parents’ busy social life and indulgent revelry. After their deaths, Bates had accepted a great deal of change without blinking an eye, never suggesting a desire for another, less eccentric, post. Even as his employer had withdrawn more and more from the world, Bates had remained staunchly loyal. “I have done as requested and posted three men around the walls. The front gate is secure and the wolfhounds are loose inside the compound. Is there anything else before I retire?” Bates asked with an owlish nod. “Did you happen to take care of that matter we discussed earlier?” “Yes, indeed. I sent along those measurements you gave me and informed Madame Deaveraux that all due speed would be handsomely rewarded in coin.” “Excellent.” “She vowed to deliver at least a few items by tomorrow.” “Thank you, Bates. Good work.” “I will see you at first light, sir.” Bending stiffly at his waist, Bates executed a very correct bow and disappeared from sight. With a sigh, Dare took another hard swallow of his drink. He’d sent Abraham, Agatha’s equally gnome-like brother, to the inn to retrieve Susanna’s belongings. The fact that the room had been ransacked and her bag was missing was not much of a surprise, considering the vicious attack on her person. He paced back toward the fire, grasped the poker, and stirred the glowing coals. Of course, he thought with a glimmer of wry amusement, providing the young lady with a new wardrobe would be his pleasure if her missing clothes were as drab and unflattering as what she’d been wearing earlier. Her delicate beauty and enticing curves should be enhanced, not concealed in cheap, dark cloth. It was hard not to recall skin like warm smooth satin, long slender limbs, the gleaming golden triangle at the juncture of her slim thighs...and those hauntingly lovely eyes. She would be hot and tight between her legs, her body receptive as it accepted his impetuous, insistent possession. He could too easily imagine his cock inside her silky passage, thrusting hard as they both climbed toward paradise. Her breasts, so perfect and full, would fill his hands. Her lips would be soft and parted against his mouth as they kissed…

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Mortal Melody Thinking about—and lusting after—the woman upstairs was certainly not helping to ease his worries. He sensed her restless sleep and the troubled dreams that plagued her mind in each shift of breath and rustle of the bedclothes. He could feel her. He wanted her. His erection swelled and desire ran through his veins like a potent drug. That they would be lovers was not a guess, but for now she was injured and weak and his unruly body would simply have to remain unsatisfied. With a low curse, he tossed back the rest of his drink and set the glass aside. Striding out of the study and into the vast hallway leading to the foyer, his footsteps echoed loudly on the hard floor. Damn the weather, perhaps a midnight ride would purge his mind. **** There were creatures out there in the darkness, beckoning to her. Susanna heard their cries and felt their hunger. Their force of will was coiling around her and she was somehow completely impotent to stop them. Very slowly, she pushed aside the coverlet and slid out of bed. The soft carpeting whispered under her bare feet as she moved toward the door. The ache in her shoulder was a fretful irritant, nothing more. The beating of her heart, each lift of her lungs as they filled with air, every impulse to lift a foot and move forward, all those were acute sensations. It was as if she had no choice, no will of her own. The huge house was silent and dark except for the wind howling miserably outside. Like some aimless ghost, she passed the closed doorways of unused bedrooms, the sensation trancelike and unreal. I am dreaming, she told herself. The hallway ended at a giant curved stairway that led into a massive unlit hall. She grasped the banister and descended into the pool of darkness. With a certain abstract awe she felt the worn dips caused by generations of passing feet. Somewhere a clock ticked solemnly with a hollow sound, echoing into the cavernous room. Drawn like a moth to flame, she came to the bottom and crossed the space, winding her way past furniture with uncanny instinct. In time her eyes adjusted enough to the gloom to see shapes but little else. She must get outside. The feeling grew stronger with each step. She must. The main door was a monstrous affair of wood and giant iron hinges. Luckily, it had a smaller door built inside which proved to be unlocked and opened easily at the push of her hand. Her feet pattered down the stone steps. Hurry … The cool rush of night air and the stinging of rain against her heated skin made her shiver. The courtyard was encased by high walls and guarded by an ominous gate. Soft grass grew where soldiers had once drilled and marched and it was damp beneath her bare toes. The sweet

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Emma Wildes scent of blooming flowers drifted on the night breeze as she ran across the yard, her hair streaming across her face. Come... She went. The gate was barred and she flattened her hands to press against the rainsoaked wood, suddenly confused and angry. Even the sound of a low growl behind her did not stop her frantic effort. She could feel the warm breath of some creature through the thin material of her nightdress as it sniffed and nudged her. It was frightening, but not as much as not being able to obey that command coming from the darkness. Come...Susanna. Huddled there, buffeted by the sudden gusts of moisture-laden air and circled from behind by some sort of giant beast that had begun to whine, she sobbed silently. I can’t. Miraculously, the gate began to move under her beating fists. It opened slowly on silent giant iron hinges and she darted through the gap once it was possible, finding herself on the drenched road with the hovering forest in the background. It thundered again, even louder. She blinked upward and then gasped as a figure pounded out of the shadows, a fantastic apparition of flying hooves and sleek muscles, man and horse moving in fluid motion. Turning to flee, she felt herself swept into that dizzying maelstrom of motion and speed, an iron arm locking about her waist and lifting her upward. A single cry of despair escaped her lips as they galloped back into the courtyard of the castle and the gates clanged shut against the night. **** Consciousness was a trickle that turned into a stream, and then finally a flood of sensation. She registered the smell of wood smoke, the heady taste of brandy, the soft feel of a warm blanket against her skin. Someone again put a cup to her lips and ordered her to drink. The sharp stuff burned going down and Susanna opened her eyes, coughing. Lord Fairmoor’s arresting face swam into view, dark brows drawn together, the sensual line of his mouth tight. Hatless and coatless, one lock of his dark hair was plastered against his lean cheek and small rivulets of water ran down the strong column of his throat. A wet white shirt, open at the neck, clung to his broad shoulders, outlining every impressive muscle. He held a small crystal glass half-full of some amber liquid in his long fingers. Good heavens, she thought dimly, the man was soaked to the skin. For that matter, so was she. Under the warmth of the blanket wrapped around her body, her nightdress clung to her like a clammy second skin. She was lying on some sort of settee in a dark-paneled room she did not recognize. No tapers were lit, and other than the dull glow of a half-dead fire, and she could see little around her. “Your wound is bleeding a little, though it doesn’t seem to be serious. Other than that, did I hurt you?” Susanna flinched at his harsh tone. “No, I don’t think so.” She struggled to sit up, and his arm came around her for support, which felt oddly unsettling. “What happened?” she asked

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Mortal Melody weakly. Lord Fairmoor gave a short laugh and she felt the whipcord tension in his forearm as he held her. In the dim lighting, he resembled something out of an ancient fable, beautifully male and dangerous. “A misjudgment on my part, nearly a fatal one, I’m sure. I made provisions to keep the enemy out, my dear, but none to keep you in.” Under the blanket, she shivered and edged away from his disturbing hold to lean weakly against the back of the settee. “I hoped I was dreaming but somehow knew I wasn’t.” “You’re lucky the dogs didn’t tear you to shreds. They dislike strangers.” Hardly a reassuring statement. “This still feels like a dream,” she murmured. “It’s all so unreal.” Turning her head so that she could look into his eyes, she swallowed. “I could feel something out there, beyond the walls, calling for me to come.” “Here.” He offered the glass again, pressing it into her trembling hand. “Drink the rest of this. You’ll be able to sleep.” His silver eyes were shadowed. She ignored it. “The enemy? You knew someone was out there?” “Let’s say it was an educated guess that those two inefficient oafs that attacked you would be replaced.” Her bewilderment was complete. “But why? Who are we talking about, my lord?” “You’re safe now in these walls, Miss Holt.” His evasiveness would have made her more uneasy except she found an unaccountable lethargy coming over her, weighing her limbs and eyelids. This time when he lifted the glass of liquor to her lips, she drank obediently. And just that quickly, she slipped away. **** Passing through the open doorway, Dare crossed the darkened room and laid the unconscious form of the girl on the soft counterpane. The lamp by the side of the bed flared to life as he unwrapped the blanket and gently tugged it out from underneath her. Her limbs were loose and relaxed, her lips softly parted. The sleeping draught he’d put in the brandy had taken hold with surprising swiftness, helped no doubt by her weakened state. He’d been panicked when he realized that the restless images he’d received during his wild ride were of Susanna on the road toward the village, clad only in her nightdress, pale as a specter in the lashing rain. The fact that he’d turned around and ridden back at a full gallop only to get there after she’d actually escaped the castle walls sent a chill down his spine. She’d fought him as he’d scooped her up and taken her back to safety. The hold had been a powerful one. Looking down at her fragile features, spirals of damp, dark gold curls spilling over the pillowslip, he wondered how on earth he was supposed to bear the responsibility for her. After years of self-imposed exile from the world, he was unused to obligation to others and liked it that way. His occasional trips to London were necessary to take care of business and usually involved a casual liaison or two, but that was simply a physical need, like eating or sleeping. Emotion was rarely involved and certainly not on a permanent basis.

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Emma Wildes But there was no denying her future was inevitably linked to his. Part of it was eager lust, yes, since he knew he’d have her soon. He sure as hell looked forward to bedding her. Any man would, but that certainly was not why her father had sent her. “Damn you, Septimus,” he muttered out loud. But of course, that sentiment was late. His old friend had already seen hell. **** Fire fell from the sky, spreading sparks across the ground. A giant tree snapped somewhere to his left and crashed down with a thud that echoed like thunder. The wind howled past in fiery gusts, scorching his skin. His own anger was as bright as the fires of hell. He’d come all this accursed distance himself for nothing. The Master straightened and swiped at his eyes. Blinking away the smoke-induced tears running down his face, he willed the flames to die. Creating an inferno would do no good. The castle sat arrogantly on the hill, inviolate, supreme, and untouchable. The girl had almost been his. So close. Oh yes, his call had been answered. Answered sweetly and obediently by Holt’s lovely and vulnerable young daughter. And the way that Fairmoor had rushed madly to her rescue told a tale in itself. The man already recognized the connection, the finger of fate running down his spine. Power… The Master rejoiced in it, let the sensation warm and arouse him. Crouched in that dark forest, he allowed himself a low, harsh laugh. He would win yet.

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Mortal Melody

Chapter 4 This might be an exceedingly bad idea. Dare restively shifted on his seat as the carriage swung into the shabby drive. It had been a long, jolting journey and his head ached vaguely from lack of sleep, making him wonder if he was sharp enough to properly handle the upcoming interview that he intended to have, either by polite inquiry or else by brute force. As the vehicle rumbled over deep holes and other debris, finally coming to a rocking halt, he steeled himself and opened the door. Simeon Tisdale had obviously fallen as far and as low as word had it. When the vehicle stopped, Dare climbed out and swept his surroundings with a quick, assessing glance. Neglect, that insidious intruder, had left its mark everywhere. The manor house, once lovely with clean Georgian lines, was literally tumbling down in places. The bricks from a toppled chimney lined the weedy surface of the drive. The front door was weathered and cracked, with last year’s leaves piled in spots against it, as if it were rarely used. Opaque windows peered from the weather beaten façade, like so many bleary eyes. Weeds had taken over the lawn that stretched up to the house, crawling on to the crushed rock of the drive. The place looked lifeless and uninviting. Even stuck in the secluded confines of Fairmoor Castle, Dare had heard of Simeon’s fall from grace in society, of his inability to control his unpardonable rages, of his desperate gambling, and eventual complete withdrawal. His driver sat immobile, a hunched figure on the top of the carriage. Dare gave him a brief nod of dismissal and watched as the conveyance rumbled off toward the relic of what had once been a fine set of stables. Then he turned and walked toward the house. He slowly climbed the crumbling steps. The enormous knocker clanged dully into the deepening afternoon gloom as he lifted and dropped it There was life in the house. He could feel it there. Dark, brooding, unhappy. He waited. A thin wind brushed a finger of cold rain across his cheek and dampened his coat. Stifling a curse, he knocked again, this time harder. Nothing.

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Emma Wildes “Damn you, Tisdale” he muttered under his breath. “I know you’re in there.” “Yes, I’m here.” Jerking around at the sound of the voice behind him, Dare narrowed his eyes and stared at the man who stood only a fee paces away. “I’d forgotten,” he said as pleasantly as possible, “your penchant for little parlor tricks, Simeon.” Clad in a faded waistcoat, soiled shirt, and dark, dusty breeches, Simeon Tisdale laughed out loud. He’d grown very gaunt since Dare had last seen him a decade before. What had once been a youthful, handsome face now boasted seamy lines and hollowed eyes. Thinning brown hair clung to his skull like a cap, and his stance held the slight sway of the inebriated. Standing on the weedy drive and seemingly impervious to the rain, he looked more like a wandering tramp seeking shelter than the owner of what had once been a prosperous estate. “My tricks are harmless enough, Fairmoor. Better one of my little demonstrations than some of the things I remember you doing back when we were friends.” A humorless smile touched Dare’s mouth. “I don’t think ‘friends’ is the correct term, is it? More like—” “Conspirators.” Tisdale’s expression was bland. “What did you come here for anyway? Surely not to relive old times best forgotten by both of us.” That was true enough. “I just need a word. Can we go inside?” Dare asked with as little inflection as possible. Tisdale hesitated for a second. His pale, watery eyes looking almost blank. Then, with an almost defiant gesture, he lifted his hand, palm forward. The front door slowly swung open on creaking hinges. Tisdale smiled, a baring of his teeth. “Certainly. After you, Fairmoor.” The little show of power was as pathetic as a sleight of hand magic trick done for a children’s party. Dare stepped through the open door into a dank foyer and waited for his host to follow. Up close, Tisdale reeked of something akin to cheap port. His unsteady steps led past several closed doors to what must be the study. Stale and dark, the room had once probably been cozy and rich, with bookcases and two tall, leaded windows. Now it smelled of dust and mold, and the windows were dreary and streaked with dirt and rain. Simeon stalked over to drop sulkily into the chair behind the huge desk. Mounds of correspondence, almost all of it unopened, littered the surface. “What is it you want, appearing like some unwanted ghost from the past, Fairmoor?” “I’m not going to mince words. It’s the Pact. I’ve seen how Professor Holt was killed, Tisdale, and have a feeling our vow has been broken, that someone has torn loose.” Since he found no suitable chair, Dare chose instead to stand and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “The Pact.” The words were said with an almost evil relish. “Yes.” “Broken the vow, eh? Why do you think his death had anything to do with one of us?” Tisdale’s eyes gleamed, making him look altogether less bleary and ineffectual. “Septimus sent me...something.”

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Mortal Melody “I thought he was dead.” “He is.” “Visiting the afterlife now, are we, Fairmoor?” The other man barked a laugh. “And how is dear departed Professor Holt enjoying his exile to heaven? Or perhaps it’s hell. None of us truly know what lies in a man’s heart.” Dare crossed his arms. “I believe one of us must have killed him.” Elaborating would only put the lovely and wounded Susanna in more danger. “One of the Pact?” Simeon looked bland. “Why would we?” “That’s my question.” One thin eyebrow inched upward. “And you thought I could answer it? In case you haven’t heard the whispers, I am considered mad by most everyone who knows me and quite a few that don’t.” Under his breath, he added bitterly, “Perhaps even by myself. I spend my days here. Alone.” It had been a long shot, true. Simeon had always been on the edge, even back in school. Dare shrugged. “I am considered to be some kind of dark warlock, spending my hours concocting spells and riding the countryside at night looking for innocents to devour. I, too, live a quiet life. By choice.” Simeon cackled with unearthly laughter. “It’s good to know your handsome face and generous fortune do not make you immune to the whispers, Fairmoor. We both carry our burdens, don’t we? You cannot conceal your gift and I cannot abide mine.” “A gift?” Dare’s smile was thin and without humor. “That’s what Professor Holt always termed it. I have never been sure the description was accurate.” “Holt was ever a dreamer. And we were his disciples, trying to make a science out of something that has no discipline or reason.” “Like the translation of the scroll?” “That damned thing. We never did know exactly what we were doing.” That was close enough to his own assessment of those long past days that it made Dare uncomfortable. He frowned and asked abruptly, “Come on, Simeon, you have always had an uncanny ability to see the future. Help me now. What do you make of him sending me a book on the military campaigns of some of history’s greatest generals?” “He was a historian.” Simeon smirked, his gaze drifting toward a dusty decanter that sat almost empty on the edge of the desk. He reached for it. “One does not have to be a seer to assume he thought of his obsession up to the ugly end.” “He was dying.” The words fell starkly into the decrepit room. “Murdered. Lying on the floor with blood flowing from about a dozen vicious wounds, bones broken, his life ebbing away. Yet he begged to have this fairly commonplace book sent to me.” Tisdale’s pallid face puckered and he lifted the decanter straight to his mouth, not bothering to search for a glass. “A teacher to the very end, giving you one last lesson.” “What lesson?” Dare asked, leaning forward.

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Emma Wildes Simeon inelegantly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before responding. “How should I know? The man sent me nothing, especially not his gorgeous daughter. I’ve seen that much. Tell me, my friend, have you fucked her yet? It isn’t like you to dally when it comes to bedding a lovely woman. She is a true beauty, with eyes like violets and silken blond curls.” A small chill ran up Dare’s spine. “You know about Susanna?” “I know you want her. Beware though, for you aren’t alone, my amorous friend. Interest in the professor’s beautiful daughter runs high.” He should never have left her alone at the castle. Dare shoved himself to his feet. “Who are you talking about?” He asked, his voice menacing. “Don’t look so threatening, Fairmoor.” Tisdale gave a lopsided leer, all the more grotesque for it was clear he was unbalanced in his mind. “Bedding her is all just part of what comes next, so look at it this way, at least you’ll enjoy your role. While the rest of us watch our backs, you’ll be enjoying a good fuck whenever you want it.” Fighting the urge to shove his fist down the man’s throat, Dare took a step forward, his mouth tightening. “Role in what? Damn you, Tisdale, stop talking in riddles.” Simeon’s smile was pure malice. “I’m not sure, but something is stirring in some familiar circles. Suddenly all my old friends seem to have remembered me. You aren’t the first one of the Pact to come calling, Fairmoor.” **** After three days of rain pouring from angry black skies, the sun finally crept out, infusing the sodden countryside with timid light. Not that the sunshine did much to lighten her dark mood, but at least Susanna didn’t feel so trapped and alone. She had virtually slept through the entire day after the unfortunate sleepwalking incident. Upon waking she’d felt horribly sore but not quite so weak and had anticipated finally being able to ask the enigmatic Lord Fairmoor some questions. Unfortunately, he’d been remarkably absent most of the week. The village doctor, a taciturn man with flourishing whiskers and little conversational skills, had come to change her bandage and inspect the wound each evening. Other than that, the elusive and deformed Agatha had been the only other person Susanna had seen, and that had been just a bare glimpse now and then. It had been fine at first. She’d read and rested, but after several days of it, the inactivity grew monotonous. With nothing to do but stand at the window and stare out over the vast forest surrounding the castle, she felt ready to scream. The sun tinted the trees with cheerful light, giving a green, healthy glow to the scene. From the window of her lovely bedroom, she could even see the village, a small cluster of cottages with the spire of the church high and visible. The road, too, wound away like a ribbon, sinuous and gracefully symbolic. She tangled one hand in the luxurious fabric of the curtain surrounding the tall window and told herself she should leave. She should take that road to the little village of Fairmoor, wait

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Mortal Melody for the public coach, and travel back to her uncle’s home in Sussex. She was still tender and not as strong as she should be, but she could certainly make the journey. Under normal circumstances, that is. She shivered, remembering the dream-like force that had called to her in her sleep, beckoning her outside the castle walls. Daragh Weston had said he’d anticipated some kind of threat, which was even more interesting and a bit frightening. She felt like a pawn in some deadly game where she didn’t know the rules. What she needed to do, she told herself firmly, was to take some control over the situation. Crossing the room, she pulled the cord hanging by the bed. She was startled by how quickly the door opened and Agatha came shuffling in. So far, she’d not used the bell pull because her meals always seemed to be there when she awakened or whenever she realized she was getting hungry, almost as if someone could read her mind. Now that was an unpleasant thought. In the increasing sunlight coming in the window, the servant looked more grotesque than ever, clad in her obsequious black, her one good eye narrowed in question. Susanna cleared her throat, her left arm cradled over her stomach so as not to jar her wound. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I wish to bathe and change out of this.” She made a slightly self-conscious gesture at the oversized linen shirt she wore, undoubtedly one of his lordship’s garments. Similar clothes had been her wardrobe ever since her timely rescue by Lord Fairmoor, the delicate nightdress undoubtedly having sustained damage during her ill-fated attempt at escaping into the forest. The notion that he’d been the one to undress her again was positively mortifying. Even large as it was, the shirt barely reached to her knees. She felt uncomfortable being in such a state of undress in front of the ever-silent Agatha, never mind the handsome and mysterious lord of the manor. She added quickly, “I am feeling ever so much better and my own clothes would be very much appreciated.” Agatha shook her head, a slight movement. Then she lifted one crooked finger and pointed toward the ornate fireplace. Susanna was only too afraid she understood that simple gesture. “They were … burned? All my clothes?” Agatha nodded, the expression on her flat face revealing nothing. “Why?” Bewilderment vied with outrage. The servant didn’t exactly shrug, but there seemed to be a lift of those deformed shoulders. She was a virtual prisoner without something decent to wear, especially if she should want, or need, to leave. Her sense of vulnerability was almost overpowering. Her shoulder seemed to throb with pain in sync with her beating heart. Blinking back sudden tears of panic, Susanna swallowed hard. “I would like to speak with Lord Fairmoor, please.” Her voice sounded thready and thin instead of impetuous and demanding, even to her own ears. “As soon as possible.”

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Emma Wildes Agatha nodded again, the barest up and down movement of her short neck. Then she slipped out the door in a rustle of stiff black cloth. She had every right to be angry, Susanna vowed as she walked across the room and sank down on the bed. It might be true that Dare Weston had saved her life—perhaps twice—but that didn’t give him the right to destroy her belongings. Her father had been a professor of history who had indulged his love of traveling to the great places that held the spotlights of the past. Living with an impractical scholar, she’d been the one who often worried whether they’d keep the roof over their heads, and with good reason. Her father had left behind a legacy of writings and journals but very little money. Perhaps, she thought bitterly, a wealthy aristocrat like Weston did not understand that he’d had a third of her wardrobe burned out of hand. A polite knock interrupted her dark reverie. To preserve her modesty, she pulled the blankets down to cover the exposed lower portions of her legs. “Come in.” Instead of the tall, dark Lord Fairmoor, the man who opened the door was very old and frail, almost completely bald, and immaculately dressed in dark formal trousers and a well-cut coat. His face was impassive, almost as much as the uncommunicative Agatha’s, but his eyes were shrewd and intelligent. He bowed slightly. “Bates, here at your service, miss. Agatha informed me you wished to see me.” “I wanted to see his lordship.” Susanna fought to keep her mouth from quivering. “Ah…alas, he is not available. Perhaps I can help you.” “Is he gone?” Bates chose to ignore that question. “Agatha tells me that you are most distressed over your lack of proper attire. I believe it quite upset her as well to see such a lovely lady, who has already suffered at the hands of brutal attackers, with tears in her eyes—” “She told you all this?” Susanna didn’t even realize she’d so rudely interrupted that flowery speech until after the incredulous words were already out of her mouth. A flush mounted into her cheeks. “Excuse me, but she won’t utter a word in front of me. I thought she was mute.” The elderly Bates furrowed his forehead. “Not mute exactly. Let’s say she rarely speaks in a manner that you or I would deem normal in the everyday sense, but she manages to communicate without trouble.” “She’s very…efficient,” Susanna said lamely. “Yes.” Bates smoothed his already perfect sleeve, adjusting his cuff. “Yet, despite that efficiency, she would not obtain a position in any other noble household, much less rise to the position of housekeeper, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Holt?” “Yes.” It was a faint answer. She added in a mutter, “But then again, this seems to be a most unusual household in almost every sense.” “Yes, indeed. I’m glad you understand that.” Bates pulled out a watch from his waistcoat and consulted the time. “Now, it’s four o’clock. Your bath water is being heated as we speak. The doctor will be here at five to check your injury, and I am expecting the earl perhaps an hour past that time. He would very much enjoy it, I’m sure, if you felt well enough to dine with him at about eight o’clock.”

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Mortal Melody Dine with the earl…she would get a chance to ask some of the pressing questions which crowded her mind. “In this?” She gestured at the shirt which hung loosely around her shoulders, and smiled wryly. “This is the very reason I wanted to see Lord Fairmoor. Agatha has led me to believe me that my clothes were destroyed.” “And so they were.” Bates looked unperturbed. “But do not despair, my lady.” Striding over to the wardrobe in the corner, he opened it and turned, indicating the contents with a sweeping hand. “These gowns should be satisfactory and you will find all else you need as well.” At a loss, Susanna stared at the jumble of colorful fabrics peeking out of the open doors. “But…won’t she mind?” she mumbled. He slightly raised his brows. “To whom do you refer?” “The woman who owns those gowns.” No doubt the handsome Fairmoor’s mistress, she thought. “My lady, they were made for you.” With that remarkable declaration and an elegant bow, he quit the room. Frowning, she crossed the room and fingered the rich fabrics. No seamstress had come to measure her…though it was true, Lord Fairmoor most certainly would have at least a decent idea of the size of her waist…and breasts, she thought, flushing deeply. He had seen every inch of her body, of that there seemed little question. Though the notion of it embarrassed her deeply, it also intrigued her a little, which was even more shocking than her lack of modesty. Just what had brought her to the castle might be a mystery, but even more so was the vibrant connection she felt between herself and the enigmatic lord of the manor. Tonight she would demand some answers. **** The journey had been not quite productive but then again, it hadn’t been without reward either. There was danger in the air that he’d known. The nature of it was what concerned him and that was yet to be revealed. The Pact. Dare stared blindly lout the window of the carriage. The late afternoon was warm and soft, a decided contrast to the inclement weather that had plagued his journey to visit Tisdale Hall. Sunshine lit the passing countryside with a lavish glow and the air smelled sweetly of fresh grass and wet earth. “Hell and damnation,” Dare muttered, thrumming his fingers on his knee, one booted foot propped up on the opposite seat. Simeon had refused to reveal the name of his other unexpected guest with remarkable stubbornness. Though he’d never been a strong man, he’d at least been at one time basically

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Emma Wildes decent, and even, perhaps, more lonely than Dare himself. Now he was a bitter wreck of a human being, completely sunken in his own debauchery of wine and poverty. He’d squandered his gift. He was not the threat. It was someone else in the Pact. Tisdale was out. That left four others. Dare reached up and rubbed his temple in frustration. He’d lost track of them—on purpose. He’d wanted to be left alone. Their lives were not something he followed, just the opposite. Merrill. Palmer. Bernard. Young. What had Simeon called them…conspirators? The word had an ugly ring of truth to it. Dare had deliberately kept himself from Society to sever those ties which still brought a sense of gnawing guilt and an insidious premonition of doom. But he needed to find them now. The sudden violent acceleration of the carriage rocked him forward, making him nearly go sprawling across the floor. Jolted from his abstracted thoughts, he righted himself and immediately swept back the curtain at the window. The countryside, which had rolled by in bucolic splendor, now raced past like a flashing and ill-remembered dream. The pounding of the hooves of the brace pulling the vehicle echoed loudly into the warm, quiet air. With its wheels creaking, the rocking carriage gained speed. What the devil…? Dare flipped open the small hinged panel in the ceiling and lifted himself up. Augustus, his driver, was hunched forward. His coat flapped in the air that rushed past the accelerating coach, and his gnarled hand was knotted in the ribbons as he repeatedly slapped the horses in an obvious quest for the more speed. To escape from what? Dare turned and looked at the road stretching behind them. There were at least three men following, perhaps more. All of them well-mounted on sleek, dark horses, their pursuit punctuated by the clipped sounds of hoof beats on the dusty road. The whine of a bullet flashing by his cheek told Dare that their intentions were most certainly not friendly. A rough shout cut the air. “Halt!” Augustus slapped the reins harder and the horses surged. In approval, Dare called out, “There’s a wooded patch ahead. If there’s a level place, pull off the road and run.” Then, ducking back inside, he slipped the pistol he’d carried with him out of the pocket of his cloak and checked the ammunition and firing pin. He calmly took the knife from his boot, tested the sharp blade with his thumb, and then replaced it loosely so it would slide free easily. Danger, yes. But death, he reflected quizzically, no. The acute sense of premonition he’d had the other night when Susanna had left the house was oddly absent. This was not the powerful force that had called to her in her sleep. This was not the imminent horror that crawled through his veins like a disease. The men pursuing were just that,

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Mortal Melody men. Men who were mortal, and though he was also mortal, he was not nearly as vulnerable as those who followed him. The vehicle suddenly listed to the side and bumped to a rocky halt. In the seconds it took him to fling open the door and leap out, he saw that Augustus had followed orders and already disappeared. Good, he thought in satisfaction, and turned to face his pursuers. He was not above a few showy tricks himself, especially with the odds stacked so far against him. As he stood there, he lifted his hand. Smoke began to wisp from the ground around him, rising like ethereal steam from the depths of hell to billow in delicate waves toward the deepening blue sky. Every rider but one jerked his mount to a halt in the middle of the road. Dare could see them sawing at the reins and heard the snorting of the startled animals. He called out sharply, “Are you certain you wish to come closer?” The one man who hadn’t pulled back was tall and slender, his hat tugged low over his eyes, a pistol extended in his hand. He rode his horse as close as the carriage then stopped. The animal danced sideways. “Lord Fairmoor, is it?” “Yes.” Dare let the smoke thicken and swirl. “We mean you no harm.” “How odd. I could have sworn those were real bullets you fired a moment ago.” The man was sweating, pulling at his restive mount. A puff of smoke the size of a pumpkin floated past his head and he ducked. “We only wished to stop you so we could deliver a message from Lord Gabriel Palmer.” The fog around him now was thick enough he was fairly sure he could slip into the woods and lose anyone in pursuit. “What message?” Dare asked coolly. The man leaned low, the whites of his eyes showing. He dug in his jacket, removed an envelope, and tossed it to the ground. “There it is.”

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Emma Wildes

Chapter 5 The clock on the mantle chimed eight, and Susanna eyed it with a mixture of resentment and grim amusement. Since she’d told Bates she thought she felt well enough to join Lord Fairmoor for dinner, she supposed that sooner or later her failure to appear would be noted. And the truth was, after a hot, luxurious bath and several days in bed, she felt ready to resume normal activities. Even the gruff doctor had given her his nod of approval. But no matter how far along the road to recovery she might have traveled, there was no possible way she could get dressed alone. The sheer silk stockings were nicer than anything she’d ever worn. She’d been able to put them on laboriously, mostly using one hand, and she’d somehow shimmied into the lacy chemise. She’d had to ease it up over her arm, which she could not lift without sucking in her breath sharply at the twinge of pain from the affronted, but healing, muscles in her upper shoulder. The deep pink evening dress she’d selected from the staggering array of gowns was lovely, but about as difficult to don as walking up to the moon. Even without her wound to make things awkward, she would not have been able to fasten the myriad of buttons without help. It seemed a little inhumane to call the homely, half-crippled Agatha to help her put on such a gorgeous dress. Susanna just couldn’t bring herself to do it. So she perched morosely on the bed and waited. But not for long. The clock had barely stopped the last vibration of the chime when there came a soft knock on the door. Modestly clad in the dressing gown she’d found among the new clothes in the wardrobe, she called, “Come in.” To her surprise, the person who opened the door and slipped inside wasn’t his lordship, Bates, or the withered housekeeper. Instead she was young, smooth-faced, with a mass of reddish curls under an askew mobcap. She bobbled a nervous curtsey, her eyes wide. “Good evening, miss. I’m…I’m Patsy, if you will…your new maid. Bates…that proper gentleman downstairs, he’s brought me up to the castle here to assist you.” Her throat worked as she audibly swallowed.

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Mortal Melody Susanna wasn’t at all sure what to say. The girl was obviously terrified. She smiled uncertainly. “My maid?” “Yes, miss.” It was barely a whisper. Her personal maid. That was as unexpected as the lavish wardrobe she now apparently owned. But, it appeared that one needed to go with the other because here she sat, with a dozen gorgeous gowns to choose from and not one she could get into by herself. Susanna took in Patsy’s trembling shoulders with sympathy. “Are you from the village?” A nod. “Me mum heard how much his lordship was offering for a proper maid…it’s a princely sum, miss, you wouldn’t believe…and well…” The girl sounded close to sobbing. The family obviously needed the money, so poor Patsy had been sent off to the castle, whether the master was a monster or not, Susanna guessed cynically. Rumor was all well and good, but food on the table, that was another matter entirely. Susanna sighed deliberately out loud, trying to put the frightened girl at ease. “Parents. They can get us in the most awful fixes, can’t they? But don’t worry, Patsy, I won’t bite, and despite his formidable reputation, the earl doesn’t seem to be anything but kind.” “Kind?” There was patent disbelief in the word. “Him?” She shouldn’t be surprised, not if the girl had heard the same lurid tales she’d heard just in the short time she was in the inn. “Kind,” Susanna repeated firmly. Patsy looked dubious but she seemed comforted by the very elegant and civilized room. She glanced with unconcealed wonder at the bed with its silk hangings, the flowers in the vases, the thick, luxurious rug underfoot. She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “Very well, miss, I’ll take yer word for it that his lordship is an ordinary sort.” Ordinary? Susanna recalled those mesmerizing silver eyes, the strength of his arms around her, the very real shimmer of tantalizing power that surrounded the man. She murmured under her breath, “Well, I wouldn’t quite call him ordinary.” **** Dare had never cared for the formal dining room, not even when his parents had been alive and the place had rung with laughter and raised voices. It was a cavern of a space, the huge ceiling vaulting into the dimness above, the walls long and paneled in dark wood. The table itself was a monstrous affair of gleaming mahogany that would seat easily twenty people, and perhaps more. He’d never counted the chairs, as he’d never wanted to stay in the room long enough to do it. Truth was, he usually ate his dinner in his study. Only on the very rare—increasingly rare, if he wanted to be honest about it—occasions when he had guests, only then did Bates insist on the formality of Fairmoor’s vast dining room. He had insisted upon it this eve, Dare saw with an inward groan. Only because the loyal butler had so few instances anymore to exercise his expertise and authority in supervising a social event, did Dare not strenuously object and demand eating in a smaller, more intimate space.

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Emma Wildes Seated at the head of the table, Dare sipped some of the ruby liquid in his glass. Dancing flames from a dozen candelabras gave a macabre shimmer of movement to the walls and ceiling. “Miss Holt is late, my lord, but understandably so.” Dare glanced up to see Bates hovering in the doorway. He lifted his brows. “Understandably?” “The girl from the village arrived quite later than I expected.” Bates wore a disapproving expression. “Silly chit, but she seems willing enough. I am sure she and the young lady will get along admirably.” “I am sure that she is hardly ‘willing’ and that her late arrival had something to do with her fear that I will turn into a giant bat and suck out every drop of her blood or something equally as gruesome. She probably took the extra time in saying her final farewells to her family.” Dare drawled the words with dry jaded humor. The butler didn’t blink an eye. “Well, when she wakens sound and hearty in her bed on the morrow, my lord, I am certain she will settle right in.” Dare couldn’t help but picture Agatha, Abraham, and the others of that family, all of which worked for him and none of which spoke but rarely. The girl was likely to take a look at any one of them and run screaming into the forest. But Bates had insisted that a ladies maid be hired, and who knows, perhaps he was right. Bates was often right about such social things. “Good evening.” A soft female voice interrupted his brooding contemplation. “I apologize for my tardiness.” He rose instantly and watched as Bates bowed Susanna into the room and immediately vanished out the door at an amazing speed for such an elderly man. For a moment, Dare was arrested by her beauty which contrasted to the uncertain dreariness of the great room. The seamstress had done her work well. The gown his lovely guest had chosen to wear to dinner was a deep sort of rose color, flattering to her ivory skin and golden hair. The neckline was deep, but not immodestly so, showing just a hint of the creamy mounds of her full, tempting breasts. Her slender waist was emphasized by the fitted silk, and her long skirts shimmered as she stood, looking at him uncertainly from across the room. Someone, undoubtedly the new maid, had caught her shining curls in a loose chignon at the top of her head. Only the bandage on her shoulder, very visible with the fashionable cut of her gown, was a grim reminder of why she was even there, having dinner with him. He quickly moved across the room and politely took her hand, lifting it to his mouth. His lips grazed her cool fingers ever so slightly before he let her go and stepped back. “You look much better, Miss Holt. Very lovely, in fact.” “Thank you.” Her response was hushed. Her long lashes lowered over her unusual eyes. “And for more than just the compliment.” One slim hand smoothed her skirt, trembling just slightly. “I appreciate the clothes. You didn’t have to do that though it was most thoughtful, my lord. However, there are no dark colored dresses and I am in mourning.” “You are welcome for the gowns and I know full well you mourn, so there is no need to cloak yourself in depressing black. Here.” He moved away to pull out a chair for her at the table. “Please be seated.” 36

Mortal Melody It would have been hard to miss her quick apprehensive glance around before she gracefully sank into the chair and allow him to seat her. “Cozy, isn’t it?” He didn’t bother to hide the irony dripping in his tone as he sat down across from her and reached for the bottle that sat in a silver urn in front of him. “Like sitting in a giant, cold, drafty tomb. Wine, my lady?” She blinked, her soft lips parting. “I…I beg your pardon?” He went ahead and poured wine into the glass by her plate. “This room doesn’t exactly soothe and invite one’s appetite, does it? I remember as a child sitting here at this enormous table and not being able to hear the conversation at the other end. It was like being in exile.” Susanna frowned. “Your parents—” “Died together in a carriage accident. I was twenty. But before that tragic event they kept this house in a constant state of turmoil. They were both very…interesting people.” He kept his voice even and unemotional. “Please try the wine. Bates selected it himself and he’d be crushed if you didn’t appreciate it.” He refilled his glass and took a long sip while he studied his dining companion. Her delicate features were lit by the candlelight and her slender fingers toyed with the stem of her glass after her first tentative sip. The expression on her face told him she was thinking about her own recent and undoubtedly still painful loss. The shadows played across the clean line of her smooth cheek and the full curve of her lips. He lifted his glass “Shall we make a toast? To your father, a fine scholar and even finer man. May he rest amid legendary pharaohs and forgotten kings.” The toast obviously pleased her. He could see the sudden shimmer of tears in her eyes. She raised her own glass and drank quickly, the smooth muscles in her throat working. Her voice was husky when she responded. “He would like that, wouldn’t he?” “Indeed.” “How did you know him so well that his last wish was that I bring you that book?” The question wasn’t really unexpected. He known that as soon as she was well enough to sit and ponder the events that had led her to Fairmoor Castle, she would ask him for the answers. The problem was, of course, he wasn’t sure how to respond. “He was my professor at Cambridge, you know that, Miss Holt.” Her gaze was direct, dark in the flickering of hundreds of candles. “My father had many, many students over the years, my lord. He seemed to have particularly remembered you and spoke of you often. Why?” His smile was sardonic. “Perhaps I was more brilliant than most.” She regarded him gravely over the rim of her glass. “Perhaps. You are considered by many to be an expert in the field of medieval customs and superstitions.” She still looked alabaster pale, he observed, even in the warmth of the glowing light. “I have published a few books on the subject.” To his surprise, she nodded. “With an emphasis on magic and sorcery. I particularly enjoyed the essay on the history of tree-spirits in modern Europe.”

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Emma Wildes A frown creased his forehead. “You’ve read it?” “Of course.” “Of course?” he repeated slowly. “Is there some reason, Lord Fairmoor, why I shouldn’t have read your publications?” There was a certain air of unmistakable challenge in the carefully spoken words. A candle on the giant candelabra on the table to his left began to sputter with an angry sound. Dare took another drink from his wine glass. He let the smooth French wine slide down his throat before responding. “Septimus Holt being your father, I would have to say, no, it does not surprise me you’ve read them. However, forgive me, but most young ladies—no, I’m going to say almost all young ladies—would find the subject material infinitely boring.” “My father had no time for social functions, no time for attending to his affairs, and no time for his family.” Her smile was bleak. “If I wanted any of his attention, I needed to be able to converse intelligently on the subjects that interested him. Anything that dealt with the strange and bizarre of history intrigued him. Therefore, I studied those topics as much as possible, often stealing books from his library.” Dare knew only too well what it was like growing up in the shadow of disinterested parents. “That makes you not only lovely, but well-read, as well.” The compliment, like one he’d given her before, seemed to both rattle and disconcert his beautiful guest, sending the blood into her cheeks in high bright spots. Her lashes fluttered low. “Thank you again, my lord.” “Don’t thank me. Thank those ancestors which bestowed both beauty and intelligence into your bloodlines.” Her wide-eyed gaze caught his and swung away, and her hand nervously raised her glass to her lips. She drank deeply, probably too deeply for one so recently injured. That she sensed the physical connection that shimmered between them was obvious. That she did not know how to respond to it was also clear. Of course, that was hardly surprising. She’d led a sheltered life with a hopelessly impractical father who’d been immersed in a world of scholarly fantasy. Susanna Holt was no doubt unworldly when it came to men, unschooled at the art of flirtation, and completely at his mercy. Dare’s inward smile was laced with cynicism. This seduction would be simple. The outcome was already assured even without Tisdale’s intoxicated predictions. He fascinated women. It was part of what his gift entailed. They came to him like gauzy moths fluttering at a flame, eager to be touched and taken. He’d fucked more than his share, using their bodies, giving them what they wanted while taking pleasure for himself. After all, he was a man before he was anything else, and few males of his acquaintance turned down the opportunity to spend time between the legs of a beautiful, willing woman. His sexual appetite was healthy enough, and causal affairs suited him because he guarded his privacy so well. But Susanna, he knew already, would be different. It wasn’t just her innocence and vulnerability. Nor was it the fact her care had been entrusted to him, whether he wanted it or not. 38

Mortal Melody It was something greater, beyond his control. How was it he felt as if fate were toying with him, manipulating his very destiny? That was fine, he thought, reaching for his wine, as long as no human hand had a part in it. **** The arrival of the first course inhibited any other comments Lord Fairmoor might make, for which she was grateful. Susanna eyed the gnome-like footman with what she hoped was an impassive expression, no doubt aided by several days of being waited on by Agatha. She picked up her spoon and she tasted the velvety pale green soup. It was delicious, but the flavors were unknown to her. They were neither sweet nor savory but a subtle combination of both that tantalized the senses. Unfortunately, her senses were on edge already. Dare Weston’s eyes were steady as he watched her, but she felt a sort of heavy speculation in that silver gaze that unsettled and intrigued. He sat across the expanse of the polished table, a good-looking, aristocratic man in formal but severe evening wear, the elegant bones of his face lit by the gothic flicker of what must be hundreds of candles, his expression enigmatic, yet somehow watchful. It was as if he were studying her, analyzing everything from her table manners to her personal appearance. Self-consciously she glanced down the length of the huge room. There was a full moon rising that reflected down on the tall, mullioned windows like a baleful eye. She felt gooseflesh prick along her bare arms, feeling exposed suddenly, not only to that distant light but to her host’s disturbing scrutiny. “Are you cold?” “Pardon?” She was forced to look back, to meet that compelling gaze. “You’re shivering. I can have the fire made up.” “No, I’m fine. The soup is wonderful, my lord.” It was a lame attempt to deflect the conversation. He contemplated his own bowl with a skeptical eye. “Anton is a magician in the kitchen, is he not?” “Yes.” She took another spoonful and swallowed thoughtfully. “What kind of dish is this? I have tasted nothing like it.” “I have absolutely no idea, Miss Holt.” The smile that creased the corners of his eyes was brief but stunning it its charm. “I find it better not to ask the ingredients of the dishes he serves. They are always delicious, I’ve assured myself that is all that matters.” “Is he French?” Susanna had heard tales of Frenchmen eating such odd and disgusting items such as snails and the brains of young cows. She fought the urge to set aside her soup at once. “Anton?” Fairmoor’s dark brows shot up. “No, indeed. His family has lived in the woods around here since time out of mind, many centuries at a guess. He’s Agatha’s brother…or

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Emma Wildes perhaps uncle or some such thing. Most of the family work here at the castle. Their ancestors were here long before mine ever arrived to conquer this land.” “I see. Well, that’s a relief anyway.” She dipped her spoon back in her bowl for another taste. “Are you not the adventurous type?” His finely-modeled mouth quirked at the corner as he asked the question. He didn’t seem to notice as a servant sidled out of the shadows to clear his dish. At that same exact moment, as if orchestrated, the door to the dining room swung open and a different servant came in, a tray balanced on his shoulder. A delicious aroma filled the room. “Not in food,” Susanna replied, eyeing the tray. “Not in much of anything, actually, sir. I don’t suppose I’ve really had much opportunity to be adventurous.” Dare Weston looked at her and said in a quiet, silky voice, “My dear Miss Holt, I have a feeling that is about to change.” “It has already,” she admitted, her cheeks heating under the mesmerizing gleam of his silver gaze. “I most certainly would never have traveled by myself so far from home, my lord.” “Or found yourself eating soup made from unknown substances with a man you do not know.” His smile was slow and slightly mocking and once again she felt the depth of some unrecognizable emotion come from her host, like an unfathomable black hole he could not quite keep covered. “Do not worry, my dear, for I am a harmless fellow and this next course looks like chicken, which is a safe enough fowl, as far as I know.” Lord Fairmoor, who had killed two men with effortless ease and swept out of the darkness on a raging stallion to rescue her from an unseen force, was certainly anything but harmless. Susanna laughed, a slight nervous sound escaping her throat. “I somehow think your opinion of harmless and my own might be somewhat different. Tell me, my lord, do you champion all wayward young women who appear on your doorstep with such courtesy?” His gaze was disturbingly and suddenly direct. “Only the ones with eyes like clear amethysts and hair the color of spun gold, beautiful Susanna.” His glass lifted in a small toast. It was disconcerting how he could fluster her so easily, and the moment seemed to hang suddenly, the gloom of the room dispelled by an unmistakable warmth that flooded her body. Her breasts seemed to swell slightly as she stared back, and between her thighs she felt a small, pleasurable throbbing, as if he touched her intimately in that forbidden spot. Shocked by her response to nothing but a gesture of his hand, she stammered, “You flatter me, sir.” “Do I?” One ebony brow lifted and she had the odd feeling he knew exactly how he affected her. The footman offering her the platter of meat was a decided relief, and she gladly tore her attention away from the disturbing intensity of his expression. She accepted a small portion, not at all certain if she could still eat, she was so off-balance. Clearing her throat, she sought to change the topic by saying, “I need to send a message to my uncle. He can help arrange my return journey to Sussex. I have imposed too long already.” His fine brows knit together in consideration of that statement. “I doubt it would be a good idea to leave my care,” he said finally, the flickering light giving the planes of his face a demonic cast. “I think we both understand your father sent you here for a reason.”

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Mortal Melody That cryptic statement did not make her feel more at ease. “What reason?” Her fingers crept out and lingered on the stem of her wine glass. He hesitated and then smiled faintly. “Our future is tangled together like so many fine strands of thread, Miss Holt. When one part is pulled in a certain direction, the rest of it tightens and becomes knotted so completely it cannot be unwound.” “Our future?” she repeated, suddenly knowing he was completely and shatteringly right. In his compelling gaze there was for the first time the hint of something besides the polite consideration he’d shown her—something that lay quietly waiting behind the polished, handsome veneer of titled gentleman. Desire. Even in her inexperience she recognized that glimmering hunger for what it was, unmistakable and intense. Lord Fairmoor said softly, “It is inevitable, my dear Miss Holt.”

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Emma Wildes

Chapter 6 Lacing his fingers behind his head, Dare watched the pooling moonlight flow over the bed and gild his bare chest. The sheet lay across his waist, lifted suggestively by the increasing length of his stiffening erection. His muscles were taut with need. Outside the castle the wind whispered in hushed solitude, brushing the thick walls in sighing lament. The waiting was both excruciating and immensely pleasurable. With his eyes half-closed, he watched the door to his bedroom, waiting for it to open, and was rewarded when it finally swung inward, revealing the slender silhouette of his anticipated visitor. She wore white, a simple long gown that bared her shoulders and suited her angelic beauty. Susanna hesitated there in the doorway. One hand rose to brush aside a wayward lock of shining hair. “Am I under a spell?” she asked in a voice that sounded a little breathless and accusing. Unfathomable emotion shone from those remarkable eyes. “Is that why I am here, Lord Fairmoor?” He was fully aroused now, completely hard and pulsing, his cock stiff against his stomach. Just the sight of her and his anticipation of what was to come made his body react as if she were already beneath him with her legs spread in welcome. Answering her question truthfully, he said dryly, “Under a spell? If you are asking if I stood over a pot, chanting and casting in toad’s feet and nightshade and bidding you to come to me, then the answer is no. I am not a magician or warlock, Susanna.” Fine brows came together a fraction. Her lovely face was glazed pale in the filtered light as her top teeth worried her full bottom lip. “I have seen things, my lord. Doors open before you touch them. Visions come from simply the brush of your fingers—” “I didn’t say I was like every other man you might meet either,” he interrupted smoothly. He was amused and well-aware of her innocent trepidation but pleased she could not resist him. He watched the subtle lift of her full breasts as she breathed. The fine lawn of her nightdress could not conceal the dusky outline of her perfect nipples. “However I do have a very typical male failing, I must warn you. Sexual desire for a beautiful woman is not limited to males without my…particular talents. And believe me well when I say I desire you.” She remained, gazing at him from across the expanse of the room, obviously not quite willing to surrender. Her half-whisper challenged him. “Yet you say you did not bid me to come to you?” 42

Mortal Melody “If I did, it was as a man, nothing else,” Dare said with persuasive intensity. Arching a brow, he asked, “Tell me, Susanna, if we met in the ordinary way, would you find me attractive?” Her luminous gaze slid over his bare chest and color flared into her cheeks. “You are very handsome, my lord, something I am sure you know well.” “You were in your lonely bed in your room, thinking about me, just as I have been lying here thinking of you. It is not mystery and magic, it is the very basic function of life, the need that drives every male and female creature on this earth. That is why you came.” “I’m a virgin,” she blurted out, looking quite adorably chagrined at that admission. Dare smiled. He couldn’t help it. His testicles tightened at that provocative and completely unnecessary statement. “One does not have to be a magician to discern that, my dear. I am honored you would gift your innocence to me and promise in turn to take every care with it.” “I haven’t gifted you with anything yet.” “But you will.” He smiled with dark promise, a little amused at the defiant tilt of her chin, his heated gaze traveling over her slender form. “And that makes me a very lucky man indeed.” “This is scandalous.” There was a note of capitulation in her tone, and in contrast to her words, she took a tentative step into the room. His voice was even but masterful. “We are going to give each other infinite pleasure. I cannot see the shame in that. Now, come here and let me fulfill your desires, Susanna.” **** He was beautiful as a dark dream, a seductive smile on those sculpted lips, his longfingered hand lifted in invitation. Susanna felt both a despairing sense of the inevitability of her submission and a deep flutter of treacherous excitement. Moving slowly, she obeyed his command and approached the bed, the carpeting soft under her bare feet. Dare Weston lay unmoving, watching her approach through heavy-lidded eyes. The sheet was drawn up to his waist and his muscled chest gleamed in the wispy moonlight. Ebony hair brushed his strong neck and shoulders and she shivered in anticipation at the idea of being clasped in those arms and kissed by that dangerously attractive mouth. She stopped abruptly by the bed when she noticed the shape under the silken sheet. A long hard ridge that pressed the material upward defined the jutting boldness of masculine arousal. Susanna could not stop from staring. She was innocent but not completely ignorant and well-read enough to have stumbled across a book or two that described the actual mechanics of sexual intercourse between a male and female. Apparently, Lord Fairmoor was well along in his portion of that process. “You see? It’s obvious, I’m afraid, that I’ve been thinking about you.” The words were said in a low, almost husky tone and a hand snaked out to capture her wrist. His clasp was gentle but insistent, urging her closer. His long fingers were warm and firm and she could smell his scent, an intriguing mixture of woodsy spice coupled with the brandy he’d drank after dinner.

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Emma Wildes “This is not the real world,” Susanna responded, allowing him to pull her close enough that his free hand cradled her waist through the material of her thin gown. “Castles and dark lords and voices in the night. Next a dragon will appear, breathing fire. It is too fantastic, like something in one of my father’s ancient books of fables. I might have dreamt all of this, even you.” “I am not a dragon, my lady.” His silver eyes were alight with both amusement and unconcealed lust. “But I do not deny I am anxious to devour you.” Susanna did not resist when he sat up suddenly. He lifted her and settled her body against his hard chest in a supple and seemingly effortless movement. Cradling her in his arms, Dare stared at lips her for a moment and her breath went in abruptly as his mouth hovered over hers, and then descended. Warmth. It flowed through her like a river, making her limbs loosen and relax. His lips were firm, and his tongue traced a slow sensuous line before pushing inside her mouth with light pressure. She turned into the kiss, parting for him, one hand coming up to clasp his neck. He felt hard all over, and extremely so between his legs, his erection rigid against her hip. If this was a spell, she thought as his tongue toyed with hers, skimming her teeth and delicately tasting the sensitive corners of her mouth, she was completely bound by it. Tentatively she kissed him back, resting against him with her eyes closed as she processed every sensation with a sort of unreal sense of wonder. He tasted like smoky sweet liquor and his mouth was hot and gentle, yet undeniably demanding. “Susanna,” he whispered as he lifted his head for a moment, “you are enchanting.” “Enchanting or enchanted?” she murmured in question. She’d become convinced she was simply deranged—beginning with the moment she lost her mind and crawled wantonly into the bed of a man she barely knew. Dare laughed and his breath was warm against her cheek. “The only magic in this bed is the fire between us.” Taking her hand, he deliberately placed it on his broad chest. “Can you not feel my heart pounding?” The steady, hard drum under her palm was strong and fast. Looking into his eyes, she responded, “Desire is not enough between a man and a woman.” “Are you sure? If not, what is enough?” he asked, his lips against her ear. The warm feel of his breath sent shivers down her spine. Love, she wanted to say…but couldn’t. All thoughts of the recent attack and her still very tender shoulder were banished as he kissed and nuzzled her neck, his mouth seductive as it grazed her jaw. One hand deftly pulled loose the satin ribbon of her night rail and bared her upper body. Cool night air wafted over her exposed breasts. Her shoulder did not hurt at all, forgotten in the whirling haze of need and unfamiliar longing. “Like warm silk, so full and lush, Susanna. I think I am the one enchanted.” A hand gracefully cupped her right breast, molding it and shaping the flesh as his thumb slowly brushed her nipple. A low sound escaped her throat, and a sensation both beguiling and primitive streaked through her stomach and between her thighs. She didn’t protest when he shifted so she lay on the silken sheets of the huge bed on her back, his long body propped above hers and his hand still 44

Mortal Melody working delightful, wicked magic with the pliant weight of one sensitive breast. Her nipple puckered and the peak hardened. She gasped when he lowered his head and drew the aching crest into his mouth. Moonlight poured across the bed and she watched in fascination his dark head bent over her. He suckled and licked. The fall of his ebony hair brushed her heated skin and his hand kneaded the other breast in rhythm to the lave of his tongue. Susanna felt light, floating, an incomprehensible need like fire inside her wayward body. Perhaps desire was enough. Barely noticing it when he stripped off her shift completely, the nuance of tactile sensation was too much for her overloaded senses—the smoothness of his skin as she ran her fingers along the rippled muscles of his back, his lean body settling over hers as he licked a slow path down her stomach, the softness of the bed at her back… There was a sudden pressure of his palms on her inner thighs, pushing them apart. Susanna flinched, shocked for a second out of the languorous sense of enjoyment invading every nerve-ending. Instinctively, she clamped her legs together. “No.” “Yes.” The word was barely audible. His mouth wickedly grazed the triangle of hair at the apex of her legs. “Relax and open,” he encouraged. “You are safe with me, Susanna. I need to taste you.” She was safe. She knew it or she wouldn’t be there in his huge bed, giving her body so wantonly. The husky need she heard in his deep voice was reassuring, giving her some measure of power over this enigmatic yet compellingly attractive man. With effort she did as she was bid and let her legs fall apart, and when she felt the first slide of his tongue against her sex, she shivered at the acute pleasure of that intimate, sinful touch. “Oh.” His warm mouth pressed closer, invading tenderly. His tongue found a spot that sent a lightning bolt of sensation through her body, making her spine arch as her legs fell open even farther. “So sweet,” he murmured against her inner thigh, “like one of Anton’s finest desserts.” “My lord…” she began in weak protest but stopped when she felt once again the light abrasion of teeth and tongue on her throbbing cleft. His silky hair brushed her trembling thighs. His hands cupped her buttocks, lifting her higher. His mouth ravaged and wooed her body, making it climb toward an unknown destination. It was all part of the fantasy, she thought in hazy rapture, tension searing every pore, every muscle, as her wayward body trembled. It could not be real. It was too much, this blissful pleasure from such an audacious and unnatural kiss… Suddenly her bones seemed to flatten and melt as he pressed his mouth firmly on that pulsing center of pleasure between her open legs and teased with soft, inexorable pressure. Susanna exploded, her hand fisting in the bedclothes. Shock waves of pure physical joy racked her body, washing over her again and again. She screamed out loud, a thin keening wail that carried and echoed in the quite depths of the darkened room. The world tumbled away, leaving only the dark smile on Lord Fairmoor’s face as he lifted his head and watched her abandoned release. She hung there, shaking with amazement and aftershocks of that flashing brilliant pleasure until finally her body relaxed and went limp. 45

Emma Wildes “Do you still deny using magic?” she whispered with a weak laugh as he shifted and eased over her. His arms braced by her shoulders as he adjusted himself between her damp thighs. “It is magic of the oldest kind,” he answered, his lashes half-lowered, his mouth smiling in masculine triumph. “And the incantation only half done. Can you feel me, Susanna?” She could, she realized, the crest of his swollen penis against her vaginal opening, the pressure light yet insistent. “Yes,” she said, suddenly breathless. Her hands went instinctively to his shoulders and she felt the rock hard tension in the solid flesh under her fingers. He looked into her eyes and the clash of their gazes brought a small jolt of electric excitement. “I need to be inside you.” “I want you to be there, my lord,” Susanna answered honestly. She was not certain why it was true, but it certainly was. Her hips seemed to lift of their accord as she tried to urge his erect shaft inside her. His gaze shimmered like tempered steel. “Call me by my given name. In bed, there is no class, no lords or ladies.” Susanna murmured, “Please…Dare.” Leaning forward, his mouth touched, lifted, and then descended again, possessing hers even as his rigid cock began to possess her body. Eager and strangely unafraid, Susanna kissed him back. She felt the intrusion with wonder and urgent need and her legs spread open to accommodate the carnal penetration. He stretched her as he advanced and she heard the rapid change in his respiration. Her breath sighed out slowly as he eased inside her aching passage. He stopped when his progress was arrested by her virginal barrier, and she bit her lip at the stinging pressure. “Don’t worry,” her dark lover whispered, the moonlight washing his features to bone. “You will not feel pain. Experience my pleasure instead.” It was true. As he surged forward, Susanna didn’t feel the tearing loss of her innocence, but instead the heated physical joy of primitive possession. Tight heat, excruciatingly powerful flaming need, the soft scent of her own hair in her nostrils…Susanna moaned. It was so intensely vivid to be consumed by the heated, luscious softness of pliant tissue as it yielded and tantalized every nerve-ending. Was this simply sex as anyone felt it? she wondered, drowning in sensation. This provocative ecstasy, this unbelievable joining of their bodies…or was it more? Dare withdrew, almost leaving her body before surging back inside. It felt like paradise, she was stretched wide, completely filled, and it was immeasurably wonderful. “Tell me it’s good now,” he ordered softly. “I don’t sense discomfort. Is it true?” “It’s true,” she gasped out and tightened her inner thighs tight around his lean hips. “Don’t stop moving.” “With pleasure, my lady.” Hips flexing, he obliged her by thrusting hard. Susanna once again felt the rise of the intangible yet marvelous feeling like a coil unfurling in the pit of her stomach. With a husky whisper, she said his name. “Dare.”

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Mortal Melody “Beautiful Susanna, I am here.” The rhythm he set was swift, his cock moving in and out between her open legs. Her nails scraped his naked back as she arched and took every long stroke. In moments she shuddered in the moonlit tangle of the sheets, a small cry torn from her throat as she found that glorious summit again and tumbled over the top, her senses flooded even as the man above her went still suddenly and she felt the rush of his sexual release deep and hot against her womb, his low groan echoing outward. It was done, she realized hazily in the floating afterglow. She had just given herself to the devilish Lord Fairmoor. There was no going back now. **** Dare lay lightly stroking the gossamer tresses of the woman in his arms. His body was both sated and lax, but his mind, however, was less than settled. Susanna rested against him, slender and damp, her lashes throwing shadows on her cheeks. She felt fragile, though he remembered with a smile of satisfaction, she had been wild in his arms a few moments before. “I dreamed of this,” he admitted, not at all certain he should, but unable to stop from telling her. “For months now. You in my arms and my bed, the taste of your lips, the scent of your skin. I even know the color of your hair in the light of the moon, deceptively silver and like silk between my fingers.” “What does it all mean?” Susanna asked, sounding vaguely sleepy. Nude and relaxed, her lissome body was lethargic in the wake of orgasmic release. “I’m not sure, except I am certain we were destined to be here like this…as lovers.” “Did my father know?” That was a question. Did a man send his pretty young daughter to anyone, no matter how valued a friend, to be seduced? Dare said diplomatically, “I’m sure he was realistic enough to know that I am a man and you are very lovely.” “I am not sure he ever noticed what I look like,” Susanna said in a subdued tone, stirring a little against his shoulder. “He was always so busy with his musty books, students, and travels, obsessively studying historical myths and magic. I usually felt like he noticed I was around as an afterthought, like remembering a sleeping cat in the window sill or a forgotten appointment.” It was probably a true enough. Professor Holt had been deeply involved in his work and theories, Dare knew that very well. “From personal experience, I can say that not every man is fit for the role of fatherhood. Neither of my parents, in fact, seemed very overjoyed to have produced a child. I probably only exist because an heir was needed. That said, I also believe they loved me in their own abstract way, and I am sure your father loved you also.” The woman in his arms rose up a slightly, favoring her injured shoulder but not seeming to be in pain. Her smooth brow creased slightly as she looked at him. “Perhaps he loved me…but he admired you. Once, he told me that you were like a gifted musician who despised his instrument and refused to pick it up, stifling your muse.” “Did he? He always did have an unrealistic sense of what it was like to be born with my particular talents.” 47

Emma Wildes “Magic.” She said the word as if testing it, rolling it along her tongue. Tumbled golden hair framed her lovely face, and her expression held tentative curiosity. Instantly he shook his head. “Not magic, not witchcraft…I am not sure how to define what I am, but I am not some sort of wizard or conjurer.” Her long-lashed amethyst eyes were dark and sincere. “I did not mean to imply you are unnatural in any way. If I thought so, I would be repulsed, not just the opposite.” Her lips curved wryly, so soft and glistening in the moonlight. “However, my lord, you must admit you can command a powerful presence.” The energy was inside him, he knew it and had spent years learning to control it. Right at this moment however, control was not on his mind. Dare gently rolled over, taking her to her back, mindful always of her injury. He was hard again, full and aching. He rubbed his stiff cock against her hip. “If there is anything in this world I wish to command,” he said, giving her a wolfish, teasing smile, “it is your response to my touch.” His fingers trailed downward to brush the side of one full breast, exploring her ribcage and the soft plane of her stomach, then found the wet, enticing cleft between her legs. Her sex was slick with his seed and his finger slid easily inside to penetrate the entrance to her vaginal passage. Those silken walls tightened in involuntary response and Susanna’s breath caught audibly. “I’ve been celibate for months,” he said truthfully, “not touching another woman as I waited for you. My dreams made me so hungry I am still ravenous, one taste not being enough. Like this, Susanna, for I need to take you again.” Lifting her legs, he spread her thighs and set her feet on the bed, with her knees wide apart and her sex deliciously exposed. She watched him through half-closed eyes, her tumbled hair like a luxuriant curtain around her gleaming nude body. He stroked her damp thatch, felt the slick lips of her labia, and swirled around the bud between those enticing folds with a light touch that made it swell and weep as she became aroused again. Dare brought her to the brink. Her low moans and arching back a betrayal of her readiness as he stroked and teased. When he rose and poised to mount her, his cock slid in smoothly. With her virginal barrier not an issue, the tightness of her sheath was perfect and the friction both succulent and arousing. “Yes,” Susanna breathed as she accepted him, her arms circling his neck. “Oh, yes.” Dare moved slowly, savoring every slide, every push. The way she cried out in obvious pleasure only heightened his own experience. He’d always enjoyed sexual intercourse, but this was different somehow, not just raw mating but something deeper and infinitely moving. It felt sublime, and the subtle lift her hips, the way she whispered his name, the frantic grasp of her fingers as she closed her eyes in rapturous enjoyment…it all branded his soul. She came quickly, in a climax of shuddering release that tore a sob from her throat. He ejaculated a moment later, the rush intense and shattering, pouring into her with such force he groaned and lost his breath. If there was magic in this room, he decided later when he held her close and her breathing had settled into the pattern of slumber, it was this breathtaking young woman and the spell she cast over him.

48

Mortal Melody

Chapter 7 His enemies were gathering, like straggling soldiers rallying to form a line. It was almost amusing to feel their growing speculation and suspicion, to sense their awareness of him and his power. They had weaknesses, all of them. Did they forget he knew it? Tisdale was as good as dead, his will destroyed, his mind wandering. But the others were dangerous. Bernard would be first. He’d always despised that sniveling aristocratic snob. He would take pleasure in imagining the horror of his death. Yes, Bernard would follow Holt into hell and the others would fall like stones into a bottomless well. Fairmoor... he would save Fairmoor for last. **** Reining in his horse, Gabriel Palmer studied the huge façade of the structure in front of him. With its high venerable walls, stone battlements and turrets, and massive thick doors it seemed ancient and impenetrable. This was a fitting home, he thought ironically, for a man who guarded his secrets so well. He had not seen Dare Weston in a decade, but then again, considering his old friend was good-looking, titled, and wealthy, he certainly kept a very low profile. Only occasionally did Gabriel hear whispers that the earl had been in town, and those were usually twitters among the aristocratic females of elite London society. This reclusive behavior was not exactly a surprise, given the past. He dismounted and turned over his big gelding to a stable lad that sidled up unobtrusively. With his cap pulled low over a thatch of course back hair, the boy’s misshapen stature gave him the air of a nimble troll. Usually Samson was skittish in the hands of a stranger, but surprisingly the horse went along amiably, walking with docile compliance toward a low structure in the back of the huge courtyard that was presumably the stables.

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Emma Wildes A smaller door imbedded in the main entrance opened as Gabriel climbed the front steps. He accepted the silent invitation and stepped inside. “Good morning, sir.” An elderly man hovered just inside, impeccably dressed and thankfully looking very much like a normal butler. He bowed politely. “I hope your journey was a pleasant one. His lordship is expecting you. If you would care to follow me, I will show you to his study.” Gabriel nodded and tugged off his gloves. “That would be fine, thank you.” “Not at all.” Inclining his nearly bald head, he led the way into an enormous main hall. A stone fireplace so big a man could stand up in it comfortably dominated the room. Small groupings of elegant furniture had been set here and there to try and give intimacy to the vast space, and several exquisite tapestries hung on the walls. The marble parquet floor was superb. As Gabriel followed the old servant, he admired an antique chest that was so old the patina was nearly black. The carvings on it portrayed the abduction of Persephone into the underworld. Not a place he wanted to visit himself…but then again, both he and Fairmoor had already seen a glimpse of hell. Down a long hallway to the left, the butler indicated a carved door. The earl did wait for him, Gabe discovered as the door swung open silently. Fairmoor sat behind a desk that looked like the utilitarian space of a man who paid attention to his financial affairs, laden with ledgers and correspondence. Getting to his feet, Dare Weston hesitated only a moment before inclining his head, his expression not precisely welcoming, but also not overtly hostile. He looked the same as he had during their time at university together, at least physically. Still lean and athletically built, with dark hair and those signature silver eyes, Fairmoor’s intensity was also the same. The unmistakably vivid aura he tried so hard to conceal still simmered just below the surface of the man. His host greeted him coolly. “I see you received my response to your note, Palmer, agreeing to your desire for a meeting. Your request, I must say, was delivered…inventively.” The door closed as Gabriel stepped into the room, swinging shut, it seemed, of its own accord. Lifting a brow, he responded with the same neutral lack of inflection. “I knew you’d gone to visit Simeon and set men to watch the road. I told them I wanted my message delivered at all costs.” “Why not send it here?” The answer to that was simple. “Because you’d already left on your journey,” Gabriel said frankly. “Our paths almost crossed, for I was on the same quest.” Fairmoor’s dark brows lifted a fraction. “That’s most curious. I know why I went to see Tisdale, why would you go?” They would get nowhere and his venture would be wasted if they were cryptic with each other. Gabriel chose a chair facing the desk and sat down, deliberately crossing his legs at the ankle. “I heard of Holt’s murder, of course. Not just his death at the hands of some murderous attacker, but the manner in which it was done. The man was nearly torn to shreds. It was fiendish and too brutal to be a coincidence. Unless he formed another group of young men similar to the one we were both a part of that fateful time years ago, this must come back to one of us.”

50

Mortal Melody Fairmoor sank back into his own chair. “The Pact. I’ve naturally wondered the same thing. That is what I went to ask Simeon about.” “We were once close friends.” Dare Weston glanced up. “Yes, we were. But circumstances can destroy even a friendship such as ours once was.” “What happened does not change the fact we both have never been less than honorable men. I am here because I remember the man you once were and trust you are not the one who instigated what happened to Holt.” The earl inclined his head a little. His gaze was razor sharp and keen. “Thank you for the confidence. But one wonders why the professor was killed, and even more so, whom would wish such a thing on a harmless old man. That is it one of us is not a question.” “If so,” Gabriel let the words come slowly, not hiding his unrest, “that means he was killed because something is happening. In the past ten years, I am sure all of us who formed the Pact have tried to forget what happened that day, but…perhaps one of us feels differently. Perhaps one of us wants to remember.” “Or has remembered.” Fairmoor looked grim. “That,” Gabriel murmured, “would be my guess.” **** If there was a game being played, he wanted to at least know the rules. Dare leaned back, observing his guest carefully, feeling for the slightest hint of false sentiment or betrayal. Gabriel Palmer had aged, but it was a subtle transformation and nothing like Simeon Tisdale’s slide into dissolute ruin. Maturity had taken his boyish face and added lines, and small threads of silver ran through his thick, chestnut hair, even though he was barely thirty. Of medium height, built thickly in the shoulders, Palmer still had that open, good-natured air that belied his considerable skill in the dark arts. Whereas Dare utterly rejected the notion of using his unusual powers in any way, Gabriel had at one time actively embraced and studied the world of spells and mesmerism—and not simply from an academic point of view. He was intelligent, canny, and had some interesting talents. Trusting him, especially when Susanna’s safety was at stake, seemed risky. But then again, he was right, they had once been close friends, and in the past, Dare had relied on him. An ally, if Palmer was sincerely concerned over their old teacher’s death, would be a definite advantage. “I am not here to harm the girl. Quite the opposite.” Those words, spoken slowly and with emphasis, were so close to reading his thoughts, that Dare frowned, meeting his guest’s gaze directly. Gabriel’s expression was slightly rueful. If there was guile, it was well-hidden. “I’d venture that if Simeon knows she’s here, anyone else with interest in Miss Holt knows it as well.” “That statement has an ominous ring to it,” Dare said grimly. “What her part is in all this, I am not sure, but twice her life has been threatened.”

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Emma Wildes “Until she found safety in your arms.” “What the devil makes you think that?” “Are you denying you’ve taken her to bed?” “What this unprecedented interest in my sex life is, I am not certain.” Dare’s sudden irritation was partially brought on by his guilt. He had seduced Susanna, there was little doubt of that. He had taken her to his bed and stolen her innocence, all the while knowing she could not resist him. “Simeon told me bedding her was part of the role I play in whatever is happening. I thought he was needling me at the time.” “She’s dangerous, my friend, and he isn’t so far gone that he doesn’t sense it with that unholy knack he has for feeling vibrations from the future.” Palmer looked formidably serious. When he leaned forward, his light blue eyes were bleak. “I feel it too, that you and I are destined to come up against a force neither of us wants to battle, but must, by virtue of the sin we committed as part of the Pact.” “We didn’t know.” Dare fought the images that threatened to emerge from the past, only keeping them at bay by sheer force of will. “Our ignorance makes the mistake even more unforgivable, Fairmoor.” Getting to his feet, Gabriel Palmer paced across the room, his boots thudding against the oriental carpeting. “We were like little boys playing with fire for the first time, and we got severely burned, did we not?” “Septimus never meant for us to go so far and Susanna was only a child at the time. She isn’t part of this.” “Holt’s thirst for knowledge outweighed his good judgment. He was a fine man, but his fascination for the past was a failing, and a significant one.” Pausing by a bookcase laden with dusty old volumes, Palmer traced the binding of one lightly with a fingertip, following the gilt letters. “His daughter has a legacy…she is an instrument.” Dare’s fingers stilled from their restless tapping on his desk. “What kind of instrument? What do you know?” Gabriel turned and smiled thinly. “She makes you vulnerable, Fairmoor, and you, of course, are who our adversary fears the most. You have always had the most power of any of us, but you refuse to acknowledge it.” A sudden bleak chill invaded his whole body. Trying to shake it off, Dare shook his head. “It can’t be. She was murderously attacked before she ever got here. If she is supposed to be a weapon, why kill her before she and I ever meet?” “Because, without her arrival, you would never agree to help in any way. Tell me, am I right? You would stay here as you have these long years, holed up in this great stone lair, refusing to look at the outside world. But now, you have a future to protect and a beautiful, vulnerable woman in your formerly empty life. Since she did survive that first assassination attempt, you have been drawn into this whether you will it or not. Now, the emphasis will be to take her from you and weaken your defenses in your sorrow.” Unsettled but all too afraid his old classmate was correct, Dare asked, “Just when did you draw all these conclusions? It seems to me your interest in all this is very profound.” 52

Mortal Melody “No longer do I actively seek to increase my powers, but unlike you, what I possess I don’t ignore. I’ve had visions these past few years, premonitions, at a guess, of what has come to pass. I didn’t understand the link for a long time, but things are beginning to focus. There’s an unnatural force gathering…rising, young and controlled now, but testing the borders and waiting.” “I don’t like the sound of that.” Dare reached for the bottle of brandy that sat on a small table by the side of his desk and dashed liquid into two glasses. He offered one to his visitor. “I suppose, if your theory is true and Septimus was murdered because he realized the Pact had been violated, then we know where to look, don’t we? Assuming it isn’t either of us—and ruling out Simeon—who doesn’t seem capable of staying sober until noon on a given day, we’re left with Merrill, Bernard, or Young.” “Bernard is dead.” The words fell like stones. “He was found four days ago in his townhouse in Bath…in a state much like Professor Holt. Slashed to pieces, blood everywhere, no witnesses.” It was shocking news and certainly put a new slant on things. After a moment, Dare said sardonically, “I see now why you are here, Gabe. This becomes all the more personal by the moment.” Unperturbed, Palmer lifted a brow. Dressed in plain traveling clothes, his appearance still couldn’t conceal the slight arrogant elegance of the youngest son of an affluent duke. “Yes, I see you understand. We’re all in mortal danger. Our choice seems clear, to fight or die. That, my friend, is why I am here.” “We’re forced to be allies, is that it?” Gabriel smiled blandly. “That’s one way to look at it.” **** She awoke in her own bed with the sunshine pouring in the window burning against her closed eyelids, her body nestled comfortably between the silken sheets. It might have been a dream. She thought so for the first few groggy moments, and then she registered the stickiness between her thighs and her complete nudity. Susanna came fully awake, moving almost tentatively, stretching her limbs and realizing that what had happened the night before had most emphatically not been a hallucination. It had happened. She recalled pleasure so acute it seemed still an incredible fantasy. Lord Fairmoor had touched her body, possessed her intimately and fully, and she had willingly taken part in those activities with wanton, reckless enjoyment. They had lain together in his huge bed and had made love over and over, and there was no denying it had been wonderfully, marvelously, wickedly pleasurable. She was now technically ruined. Not that it particularly mattered. Her life was in shambles. That was a veritable truth, with or without his lordship’s skilled seduction. Orphaned, hunted, penniless…and now ruined.

53

Emma Wildes It was odd, but she felt inordinately unconcerned about it all. At some time, Dare must have carried her back to her room, for which she was grateful. She sat up a little and propped herself against the plump pillows on her bed before acknowledging the knock on the door. “Come in.” Patsy poked her head in the door and said timidly, “Are you finally awake, miss? It’s almost noon. Shall I fetch breakfast for you?” Susanna stifled a wince at the slight soreness between her legs. “Hot water so I can wash and dress first, please.” “Yes, my lady.” Her nightdress was draped across the foot of the bed and Susanna hurried to put it on once the door closed again, wondering if it was futile to try to conceal where she’d spent the night. It was instinctive to pretend that she hadn’t behaved with such reckless indecency, but there was probably no point. Servants made their employers lives their business—it was part of their job in many ways—and though it had been a nice gesture to return her to her bed, Susanna couldn’t help but doubt with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, if it would fool anyone. Patsy’s bright, curious glances as she helped her bathe and dress confirmed her suspicions, though the girl did seem much reassured having spent the night in the castle in safety. “’tis frightening from the outside,” she said as she carefully eased the fabric of a lovely light blue day dress up over Susanna’s healing shoulder. “I thought I’d die having to stay here. But my room is ever so nice, my lady. And the housekeeper, though she looks a pure fright, gave me the most wonderful breakfast.” “I’m glad you are comfortable.” “Oh yes, my lady. It isn’t nearly as horrible as I thought.” Stifling a laugh, Susanna sat absently at the dressing table and let the girl chatter as she brushed her hair and deftly wound it into a simple knot at her nape. It wasn’t until she registered something about the gentleman from London that she interrupted. “There is a visitor?” Her reddish curls bobbing, Patsy nodded vigorously. “Mr. Bates came into the kitchen while I was eating and said a Lord Gabriel would be staying on for dinner.” “Lord Gabriel Palmer?” Patsy’s face was reflected in the mirror behind her and Susanna saw her frown. “I don’t know if I rightly caught his full name, my lady, but that sounds right. He looks very grand, from all accounts.” If it was Gabriel Palmer, he was also one of her father’s former students, which was very interesting. Whatever had happened between her and Dare, she was not inclined to be kept in the dark any longer about what was happening. Surely if she was healed enough for an entire night of strenuous lovemaking, she was well enough to be given the truth. “Where are his lordship and his guest now?” “In the earl’s study, I believe, my lady.” Patsy finished with her hair, inserting the last pin.

54

Mortal Melody “I think perhaps I’ll go down then and say good morning,” Susanna said with a slight edge to her voice. Glancing at the delicate porcelain clock on the fireplace mantle, she amended wryly, “Or good afternoon, I suppose.” “I’m sure his lordship wouldn’t mind that, my lady. You look very lovely.” The sly look in the maid’s eyes was a bit embarrassing, and Susanna’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Patsy,” she said with as much dignity as possible. Leaving the room and heading down the long hallway toward the massive central staircase, Susanna realized belatedly she had absolutely no idea where Lord Fairmoor’s study might be, and since the servants were so unobtrusive and the place so imposingly large, it might be difficult to find. For a moment she forgot just who the master of the castle was apparently, for she started when she saw the object of her quest waiting for her at the bottom of the great curving stairs, a slight smile on his starkly handsome face, one graceful hand resting causally on the carved banister. His masculinity struck her with full-force, almost as if he reached out and touched her, and Susanna halted, hung there by an unexpected surge of emotion. “You knew I was coming looking for you,” she blurted out unnecessarily, staring down at where he stood. “Hello, my lady.” His brows rose a fraction, but his voice was pleasant. “And yes, of course, I knew.” There was a certain vibration in his tone, an underlying challenge that she felt vividly. This was the nature of the man, she realized with a wave of revelation, his unusual gift as much a part of him as the flesh and bone that gave him physical form. Accepting it was part of accepting him. The message was there in his silver eyes, and if Susanna had felt the force of his passion the night before, now she understood he had his own vulnerability and that was the reaction of other people to his differences from ordinary men. She said huskily, “I am going to have to get used to that, I suppose. Forgive me if I sounded rude.” His expression lightened a little and his mouth quirked. “Come down here, and I will demonstrate my forgiveness.” The husky, suggestive timbre of his voice made her stomach tighten in anticipation. Obediently, she descended the stairs. Their gazes locked as she slowly walked down. When she reached the bottom, he reached for her at once and pulled her into his arms. His kiss was hungry and possessive, and when he lifted his head, she was breathless. “Anyone can see us,” she whispered, but did not attempt to pull away. “Like whom?” He seemed genuinely puzzled. Susanna tilted her head up and gave him a level look. Her mouth still tingled and her breasts felt tight where they pressed against his chest. “Unlike you, I was not raised to privilege and title. I am afraid I do not care for everyone to think of me as your harlot.” His dark brows snapped together. “Just let anyone,” he said in a lethally quiet tone, “allude to you that way and they will be very sorry indeed. Susanna, what happened between us last night and whatever happens in the future, none of it makes you a harlot.”

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Emma Wildes “I did not resist you. In fact, I came to you. I am not sure what it does make me, but not a virtuous young lady.” “Destiny is not to be denied. I am finding that more with each passing moment, beautiful Susanna.” It was so easy to be hypnotized by his closeness, and the magnetism of his fleeting, quixotic smile. Susanna eased out of his embrace. “Is that what it is between us, destiny?” Dare leaned one broad shoulder against the banister at her question, crossing his arms, his expression reflective. “I am not sure. There is a certain amount of inevitability over how I felt the first time I saw you. As if I’d known you a long time and had been simply waiting for your arrival.” “Because you dreamed of making love to me.” A slight flush rose into her cheeks but she did not look away. “Not just that, but it is part of it.” His answer was evasive. She felt it. Abruptly changing the subject, Susanna said, “Patsy tells me you’ve a visitor.” “Patsy?” Dare looked mystified. No doubt, she guessed wryly, considering his usual staff and exalted rank, he was not used to gossipy servants. “The girl hired from the village as my maid.” “Oh, I see. We’ve a visitor,” he corrected. “Did your father ever mention Gabriel Palmer?” “No, but I know his name. He wrote to my uncle, asking if he could go over my father’s effects. He claims to be a former student.” “That claim is correct.” Lord Fairmoor looked impassive. “We were pupils together, in fact. Gabriel has come here because of your father’s death.” “Why?” she asked flatly. “I must admit, my lord, that in my time here at Fairmoor, I have become more puzzled, not less, over what happened to my father. Lord Gabriel hasn’t contacted him in years as far as I know, and suddenly, since his death, he wishes to come and look through his correspondence.” “He has very good reason, Susanna.” “What reason that is, I’d like to know.” “You will.” His eyes went bleak suddenly, like a cold winter day. “Gabriel is staying until we decide on a course of action. Tonight, I think all three of us need to discuss what we should do next.” It would have warmed her to be included so easily, except the expression on his face was so distant she felt as if she were suddenly alone on a deserted island in a windswept sea. “Do next about what?” she asked, trying to control her growing trepidation. “The damnable mistake that I fear has come back to haunt us all,” he answered softly.

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Mortal Melody

Chapter 8 The fire flickered, sending macabre shadows everywhere. The night was quiet, almost unnaturally so, without a breath of wind and hung with expectant shadows. Inside the great castle, the atmosphere was both subdued and tense, reflecting the world outside. Leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, Dare grimly reflected that buried secrets were appropriately unearthed on a night like this one: under the suspect light of a wafer moon and the brooding darkness of the surrounding forest. The fire crackled, breaking the silence in the room and making Susanna jump. She was lovely in a cream-colored gown that emphasized her slender waist and full, tempting breasts. Her golden hair shone in the flickering light and her long lashes set shadows across her high cheekbones. She sat in a wing chair, her skirts gathered demurely around her. First, she glanced at him and then back at Gabriel Palmer who sat a few feet away, his face set and his booted legs outstretched. It was a clear signal for one of them to begin. Though it was the last subject he wanted to discuss, it needed to be done. Too restless to sit, Dare stood by the fireplace. His brooding gaze followed the dancing flames. “There were seven of us,” he began without preamble. “Your father gathered us, you might say, recruited could even be more accurate. Seven young men who possessed various unusual abilities that intrigued him were invited to take a special class. We all were different, but tied to together with a common thread.” “I think we all needed that particular communion, for a lifetime of feeling outcast can make even someone of privileged birth have an unhappy youth,” Gabriel murmured. Dare glanced at Susanna’s face, meeting her luminous violet gaze. “You may guess, from what you know of your father’s studies and my own historical works, what our common interest might be.” “Magic,” she said slowly. “Yes.” A cynical smile twisted his mouth. “In retrospect, we were damnably arrogant. I suppose for myself, having been forced all my life to try to conceal a part of me that was nearly impossible to hide, so Gabriel is right. It was refreshing to find a group of friends, comrades who admired my abilities, rather than feared me because of them.” 57

Emma Wildes Lifting a brow, Gabriel laughed. The low sound held no mirth. “Oh, we feared you, my friend, but for different reasons. However, I second what you are saying. I think we all were relieved to find others of our kind. Had we simply left it that way, been brothers in our mutual exile from the ordinary world, it would have been harmless.” “But what happened was far from harmless.” The words were unpalatable, and Dare spit them out quickly. “I do not blame your father, Susanna, nor should you, for what I am about to tell you. We fascinated him, and in turn, he instructed us in the history of men like ourselves. Men who he believed dabbled in an alternate reality of the human senses, and in course, changed history. In his mind, I know, he was simply doing what he did best, which was give knowledge. What we did with that knowledge is our burden to bear alone.” During this recital, her expression did not change, but Dare sensed her growing curiosity and beneath it, her fear of what he might reveal. She said quietly, “My father was a very intelligent man, but not practical at all. I could see it not occurring to him that what he taught you would be used for anything but good,” “I agree, Miss Holt.” Gabriel said. “I suppose he didn’t realize we were too young, too rash, and infinitely too inexperienced not to experiment with something better left alone in the first place. There was a small wood fairly close to the university. Local legend had it that hundreds of years ago, the Druids worshiped there, and in truth, there was a small shrine of some sort in one of the clearings. It was broken and worn, but the carvings were still visible, and some of the symbols of the rituals practiced not for the faint of heart. Like fools, we decided it was the appropriate setting for a few rituals of our own. We called ourselves The Pact, and each vowed by writing it on a document in our blood that we would never reveal what went on those nights.” The vision of that dark grove, a leaping fire painting the faces of his companions in macabre crimson light, came back clearly. Dare did not fight it this time, but let it flow through, and though he wasn’t touching her, Susanna stiffened, her face paling. Abruptly, he shut it off, closing his mind. “Yes,” he said softly, “we were fools. Just because one is a strong swimmer does not mean they should set out to go across the ocean without a ship. We had power, all of us, in varying degrees, but our control of it was untried.” “It was harmless enough, at first,” Gabriel said. Dare nodded. His mouth twisted as he gazed at the woman who sat so still and quiet in her chair. Her skirts were gracefully draped and her hands were white-knuckled where they clasped in her lap. “At first, but all that changed one fateful night. Your father had somehow found a very rare old scroll, written in an obscure form of Latin. The ink was so faded as to be undecipherable, but he studied it at length and with painstaking care, managed to come to the astonishing conclusion that it was a text that perhaps had survived many centuries, a remarkable feat. The work mentioned a great sorcerer over and over, and there were lists of verse that looked like incantations. He came to the conclusion that it might have even been written during the conquest of Britain by Arthur himself.” Susanna looked strained and obviously haunted by a disturbing recollection. “I remember it, but only vaguely. It was right after my mother died and he would stay up all night, locked in his study. I peeked at it one afternoon, wondering just what held his attention so intensely when I was so lonely. The material was so fragile some crumbled to dust if touched. He caught me and forbade me to go near it.”

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Mortal Melody “He translated what he could of it and made the mistake of giving us a copy of the text.” Dare fought the urge to cross the room and gather her into his arms for comfort. The look of melancholy on her lovely face made his heart tighten. “Imagine us, heady and arrogant with the notion we might be invoking the same spirits Merlin used to help wrest the British Isles from the dreaded Saxons? It is always foolish to not respect or understand how to use knowledge, whatever the source.” “We were like young bloods who first indulge in liquor and women, reckless and with no thought of responsibility.” There was heaviness in Palmer’s blue eyes, his jaw tight. “But all actions have consequences, or so we found. One of us, with what I still believe to be half-joking intent, used one of the spells. It seemed simple, a few obscure words in ancient language translated to Latin. It was essentially a spell of vengeance on an enemy, in this instance a young man who had won the heart of a woman that our friend Richard fancied himself. I don’t think he even loved her deeply, but was infatuated and piqued she had chosen another. We all stood by and let him do it.” “At the least we did not try to stop him,” Dare said. Feelings of self-recrimination rose like bile in his throat even after all these years. “The tragic outcome shocked us all, for it was both affirmation of what we were and a confirmation of why our unholy talents were better left alone.” Susanna’s hands clenched in her silken skirts. “What happened?” Remembering the details of the incident made Dare feel ill. He said harshly, “Unmitigated success, no less. His rival was found viciously murdered, his flesh shredded, his limbs broken. Unfortunately, the young woman that our friend coveted had been with her lover at the time whatever hellish creature we summoned had fallen upon him. She was dead also in much the same way.” Trembling, Susanna sank back in her chair. “God in heaven.” “God? I don’t think he had anything to do with it,” he responded bitterly. “This lurid tale only gets worse. Richard killed himself when he realized what happened, slitting his throat to avoid facing his guilt. Those of us left were not let off so easy. The remaining six made a vow then and there to not touch the translation again. It wasn’t hard to do, for the details of the killings could make the most stalwart man cringe.” “But the translation went missing,” Gabriel interjected, shoving his hand through his hair and rumpling the thick mass. “Though one of us must have taken and kept it and we all had our suspicions, only the guilty party knows who that is. The rest of us could merely eye the others with mistrust and wonder why anyone would want it. The first use of it was tragic and misguided. It was best put aside.” “The answer to your question is easy enough,” Dare stated coldly. “And no mystery to me.” “Why? If it contains evil such as you have already witnessed, why would any one of you dare use it again?” Susanna’s eyes shimmered with tears. “Why would someone let loose such a thing on my father?” Dare answered in one simple word. “Power.” **** 59

Emma Wildes Power. The air fairly shimmered with it. Both the men were cloaked in it. Gabriel Palmer seemed to wear his boldly, his eyes a pale compelling blue, the way he held himself signaling both confidence and command. His brawny build was emphasized by clothing that was much more extravagant than his host’s elegant, but severe, black and white attire. He wore a bottle green waistcoat and burgundy jacket with lace at the cuff, and a glittering diamond stickpin in his intricately tied cravat. Susanna supposed he was handsome, but it was hard for her to judge any man next to Dare’s dangerous and dark good looks. The only evidence she’d seen so far of his unusual talents was the fact he’d been drinking claret ever since they finished dinner and retired to Dare’s study, but never had the level in his glass changed a single bit. Their story was horrifying, and at least she was beginning to understand a little more about the man who had become her lover. For she had absolutely no doubt she would spend the night again in his bed. The simmering promise was there in his eyes every time he looked at her. Trying to sound composed, Susanna said, “You are supposing that my father found out somehow that the member of the Pact that took that translation and was using it.” “That would be my guess.” Dare narrowed his gaze, the firelight haunting the sculpted line of his jaw and mouth. “We tried only one part of it that fateful night, what some of the other incantations might do, I shudder to think. Septimus might have even made the mistake of trying to contact the culprit directly.” “Hence my request to your uncle to look at your father’s correspondence, Miss Holt.” Gabriel sipped from his glass. “The only thing good about this is that the field of suspects is very narrow. Including your father, three of the people who have read that translation are dead, two of them victims of horrible attacks similar to the one that killed those hapless lovers a decade ago. Of the five that are left, we can narrow it easily down to two possibilities.” “Merrill and Young.” Dare moved a little and his shadow shifted across the patterned rug. “I know nothing about them, either one. I purposely lost track of everyone, I suppose, trying to erase the stain of what happened.” “Douglas Merrill is married and lives near Stratford with his growing family. He is a gentleman farmer from what I gleaned with a few discreet inquiries.” Gabriel Palmer frowned. “And surely even as remotely as you keep yourself from any contact with us, you know that Thomas Young is a rising star in the War Office. It is rumored he might be Prime Minister some day.” Dare’s expression was shuttered. “He works for the War Office? Bloody hell, perhaps that was what Septimus was trying to tell me when he sent me that book on military campaigns. It could have been his cryptic way of pointing the finger at Young.” Palmer said nothing for a moment. He took another sip from his endless glass of wine. “You could be right,” he said after a moment. “He was damned ambitious and the only one of us not from a rich, aristocratic family. Thomas is certainly neck-deep in what is happening in Spain and Portugal, and Wellington is always at the mercy of the War Office. I’d say controlling armies, and the fate of Europe at the hands of that blasted Bonaparte, is certainly power.” Dare clenched one long-fingered hand into a fist. “It makes sense, I’m afraid. Thomas was quiet but there was an edge of ruthlessness to him that was easy to see. In retrospect, he was the only to argue dissolving the Pact, remember?” 60

Mortal Melody “I do.” Gabriel’s face was shadowed. His wine glass dangled from his fingers, apparently forgotten. “God in heaven, I’m afraid I do. I would be curious to discover if in the course of his rise to such a high government position if any of his rivals were suddenly missing or found dead.” The idea of it was chilling. Susanna lifted a trembling hand to brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “If you are right, I want to see him punished. What can we do?” Gabriel Palmer smiled thinly. “Punishment is all well and good, Miss Holt, but selfpreservation is even more important, I’d say. We are not dealing with ordinary crimes, nor an ordinary adversary. Luckily, we have a fairly powerful weapon on our side.” Looking pointedly at Dare, Palmer added succinctly, “The enemy has powers you haven’t faced, but on the other hand, you have powers you have never used, Fairmoor. If we had a choice, I’d say we should wait and let him come after us. This place is a fortress and you protect it well. But we need to warn Merrill, for by God, I cannot stomach the idea of more innocent people slaughtered so viciously.” “Damnation, do you think I want to live with more darkness on my soul either?” Dare bit out the words and shoved away from the mantle. “Your faith in my ability to divert further disaster and death is flattering, Palmer, but I am not sure I share it. Susanna’s life is also in danger and I refuse to risk it.” Gabriel’s gaze glittered. “Together we are surely a formidable force. I cannot take on Thomas, my talents don’t lie that way. However, I will protect Susanna with my life as forfeit, you have my word. If we leave at dawn, we can be in Stratford in a day and half or so. London is not a far journey from there.” “He watches, or his hirelings do,” Dare said. “Once already he has tried to lure her outside these walls, beyond the sphere of my protection. I thwarted him, but only just in time.” “He is wary of you,” Susanna said the words slowly. The recollection of a rain-lashed road and her near brush with the entity calling her was a terrifying memory. “I could feel it in the way he called to me. I do not know how to explain it, but he wasn’t willing to confront you. Surely there is some way to conceal our departure.” Dare said starkly, “There is, but it is hardly pleasant. There’s a passageway under the castle walls, unused, but still intact last I knew. Dragging you through it is unthinkable.” His silver eyes were the color of a stormy winter sky. “Letting more people die is unthinkable.” Her mouth trembled. “Letting a monster control England’s role in fending off Bonaparte is unthinkable. You said earlier that my father told all of you that he believed gifted men such as yourselves had changed the course of history. Perhaps it is your turn, my lord.” **** She was asleep. Slumbering trustingly on her side, Susanna had one hand under her smooth cheek, her hair in lustrous disorder over the bed linens. It wasn’t surprising, for he and Gabriel had talked very late, trying to decide the safest course of action, plotting their route with careful precision. He’d sent her to bed hours before, insisting she save her strength for the morning.

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Emma Wildes But he could not resist coming to her. It simply wasn’t possible. With every breath her breasts lifted and quivered under the modest covering of her nightdress, and as Dare watched from the shadows, Susanna sighed. Moonlight gilded the bed and her slender form. Dream of me, he commanded silently. I am your lover. Both inexperienced and without the ability to resist as she slept, she obeyed. Her lashes fluttered, her breathing growing erratic, and as he began to undress, he saw one hand flex a little, lifting to smooth an invisible surface. Murmuring something unintelligible, the woman he wanted so fiercely rolled to her back in her sleep. She fought the light coverlet, pushing it downward. Her nipples were hard already, he saw with wicked satisfaction. The tips poked the thin material into betraying points, beckoning for his mouth and hands. His cock strained against the confining cloth of his breeches and he couldn’t get them off quickly enough. High and throbbing, his erection lengthened even more as he saw the restless movement of her legs, her thighs opening, her soft mouth parting as she panted and moaned. In her slumber, her lashes were dark against her high cheekbones, and without his urging or interference, she tugged the hem of her night rail up, higher and higher, past pale slim thighs and that enticing patch of gleaming curls between. With the material bunched around her waist, halfnaked for the taking, Susanna whispered his name and spread her legs. He settled over her, accepting the carnal invitation. His fingers slid down the plane of her stomach to find her sex. With an inward smile of satisfaction, he tested the wet heat of her cleft, probing and caressing. Her folds concealed warm satiny flesh, and he explored that sensitive tissue thoroughly, stroking her swelling clitoris. Susanna’s eyes opened briefly as he slid one long finger completely inside her vaginal passage. She made a low, sexy sound deep in her throat. The fragrance of her arousal drifted in the darkness, and his nostrils flared, like a wolf scenting his prey. Leaning close and adjusting himself so he was poised to take her, Dare breathed in her ear, “Wake and know it is real, beautiful Susanna.” Her lashes lifted, fell, and then her eyes opened fully. Her realization of his position, between her open legs, his shaft prodding her entrance, was evident in the startled expression on her lovely face and the way she momentarily stiffened beneath him. Small hands flew up to grasp his biceps, holding hard. “My lord, what are you doing?” He slowly and sinfully licked her lower lip. “Making love to you. Did you think I’d let you sleep alone?” “I wasn’t sure.” Her hips shifted a fraction, the tip of his erection just slightly penetrating. “I was actually dreaming you had come to me.” He brushed his mouth against hers, savoring the softness of her lips. “Tell me about this dream.” “I can’t,” she objected shyly. Her cheeks had taken on an embarrassed flush he found enchanting. “Did I do this?” he asked, moving forward a fraction. His rigid penis began to possess her body. She felt like paradise, warm, female, and welcoming. “Yes,” she answered breathlessly and exhaled. “Oh.”

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Mortal Melody “Did I go all the way inside you?” With her knees bent, she spread her thighs wider to accommodate his size and need. “Yes,” she said in a strangled voice. “Like this?” He gave her another inch, conscious of her reaction, worried she might be sore from the night before and their impetuous joining. Delirious need seemed to swamp his senses and it was all he could do to keep from plunging deep and taking his pleasure. “More.” That one whispered word was enough, that and the pressure of her hands, urging him on. Dare pushed fully inside. The satin soft walls of her vagina stretched deliciously to accept him, hugging his shaft with heated pressure. He kissed her when she was fully impaled with his hard cock, the contact both tender and insistent. Susanna moved beneath him, responding to the kiss with fervor, and parting for his tongue. Her hands ran through his hair. Though he’d never particularly contemplated whether he was a considerate lover, Dare knew well enough that he pleased his partners. The ladies he usually bedded were experienced and sophisticated. However, the artless clasp of Susanna’s fingers, her little movements and innocent soft sighs, all of it was a powerful aphrodisiac that had an amazing impact on his control. He began to stroke in an out, sliding as deep as possible, withdrawing to almost leave her completely. Pleasure saturated his senses and swamped his world. Without even realizing it, his movements increased. His buttocks flexed as he set an erotic pace that led to a dazzling heavenly height, yet promised an earthy paradise. Tangling his hands in her gossamer hair, Dare felt his testicles tighten in preparation for climax. She was close as well, he could tell, the soft, wet sounds of lovemaking overridden by her almost frantic moaning as her body undulated to his thrusts and retreats. The instant she went over the edge he knew it. The tremors began to ripple through her womb, and his body responded. His ejaculation was a fierce onslaught of pure rapture, searing every pore, every nerve. Shuddering, he poured into her, his orgasmic surge without discipline or reason, a blind timeframe of primitive lust and joy. **** The man above her—in her—made no move to withdraw. Susanna could still feel him, his hardness stretching her throbbing inner passage. Holding her sated body captive, his powerful form covered hers. The feel of him was merely pleasant, for in consideration for her much smaller size Dare kept his weight balanced so he wasn’t crushing her. She didn’t recall removing her nightdress, but it was mysteriously gone, her bare breasts against his chest. In the darkness, his sleek hair brushed his shoulders, and his teeth gleamed in a faint smile when he finally lifted his head. “I hope that I adequately fulfilled your dream, my lady.” “Very much so,” she confessed, her abandoned pleasure in his arms a little mortifying. “I have a feeling you are used to being more than adequate, my lord, in the capacity of the activity we just engaged in.” He chuckled, the uncharacteristic mirth lightening his usually composed features. “Are you flattering me or is that a thinly veiled criticism of my life before I met you?”

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Emma Wildes Susanna gazed up at him through partially lowered lashes. “I suspect you find me boringly inexperienced.” “Do I seem in the least bored?” His soft question was said in a voice that made a delightful shiver run down her spine. “Quite the contrary. I may be more experienced, it’s true, but I can’t imagine wanting another woman as much as I want you. Your innocence is intoxicating, Susanna, for it is combined with a genuine passion that inflames me.” His hips rested against her inner thighs, and even though she knew he’d just spilled his seed, his shaft still felt impressively rigid and large. Reaching up, she tentatively touched his face, sliding her fingers along his jaw. He turned his head a fraction and kissed her palm, warm breath tickling the sensitive flesh. “What will tomorrow bring?” she asked in a hushed tone, the room around them hung with still shadows. “I do not think I am a coward but I am afraid to leave here. The castle feels so…safe.” Like home, she thought unexpectedly. “The safety of these walls depends on my presence,” Dare said, staring down at her. “If I did not believe so, I would never take you along on this hellish quest we are on the brink of beginning. Believe me, the idea of endangering you makes me grow cold.” “I do not like the idea of danger to you either,” Susanna said with a slight tremble in her voice. “The notion of it terrifies me. You must promise me you won’t come to harm.” Something changed in his expression. Uncertainty flashed in his silver eyes. “I am not accustomed to anyone caring about my welfare.” It was a startling notion to think this confident, wealthy, handsome man might feel the sting of loneliness. “Well, perhaps you had better adjust to it, my lord.” “Gladly, for I think we have both been far too alone thus far in our lives.” His mouth lifted in just a hint of that sinfully compelling smile. “However, right now I find it hard to contemplate anything except the fact you are beautiful and soft and so delicately female.” He lightly nuzzled her neck, making Susanna take in a sharp breath. “And you are just the opposite,” she whispered. “Hard and male and…intriguing.” “Am I? Do as I bid you now then, and I promise to reward you. We will worry about tomorrow in the morning.” Just how he would reward her wasn’t a mystery. She could feel the swollen length of his returning erection with a glorious, wanton anticipation. “Do what?” “This.” In one swift movement he grasped her waist and rolled over, so that their bodies stayed joined but she straddled him. “In this position, you are the one to move, the one in control of the pace of our pleasure,” he said, his dark hair in stark disarray against the white pillowslip. “Up like this.” Strong hands lifted her so that his shaft nearly slid from her body, causing a small whimper of loss in her throat. Then he eased her back down, slowly, in a tantalizing movement as he filled her completely once more. It felt decadent and marvelous.

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Mortal Melody Susana put her hands on his chest and moved experimentally upward again, her eyes half closing at the outward slide of his sex. Beginning to lift and slide back down over and over, she moved her hips and rode his stiff cock. Splaying his hands on her thighs, Dare helped her, one thumb going to the damp curls between her spread legs, caressing a spot that sent tremors through her entire body in shocking little waves of rapture. Urgency built and Susanna’s breath came quickly. His muscles bunched under her palms as she tightened her thighs and sought release. Her breasts swayed as her movements became more frantic, more needy. Dare’s skin was flushed dark, his lips parted, his gray eyes glittering as their gazes held. A small rotation of his thumb made her suddenly go wild. Her low cry of uninhibited pleasure was simultaneous with the shudders that wracked her body. Susanna clutched his shoulders and held on tight, helpless to the storm of sensation, the orgasmic summit a mixture of sweet pleasure and hot release. Dare found it a few moments later, a low groan rumbling from his throat, his neck arching backwards so the tendons stood out as he came hard inside her in a forceful flood of hot sperm. Exhaustion came moments later, as she lay in a loose sprawl across his chest, her breathing uneven. “You need to sleep,” Dare whispered as his fingers traveled lightly down the curve of her spine. Darkness descended, and she obeyed.

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Chapter 9 Stygian blackness swallowed the lights of the lanterns, throwing macabre shadows in fantastic shapes off dank stone walls. The silence was eerie and heavy, broken only by the soft scrape of their feet on the gritty floor. Dare would have lost his way in the maze of catacombs and ancient crypts had he not lived at Fairmoor all his life and explored this unholy place as a curious child. The door was small, set in an arched niche, and covered in patches of clinging lichen. Lifting his lantern, Dare read the inscription with a jaded smile. “It’s in Latin and not particularly encouraging.” Susanna frowned in the inadequate light and deep shadows touched her lovely face. “What does it say?” He quoted quietly, “Enter with the hope of life on the other side.” “That’s cheerful,” Gabriel Palmer said, lifting his own lantern to try and dispel the pervasive gloom. Like Dare, he wore a dark jacket, white shirt, black breeches, and boots. No jewelry, no cravat, their appearance was deliberately as nondescript as possible. Susanna had nothing to wear except the new gowns Dare had ordered made for her, but he’d found her a dark cloak with a hood to conceal her bright hair and fashionable clothing when they made their way outside. If they made their way outside. “Once upon a time, my ancestors seemed to feel a need for a possible escape route in case they were successfully besieged.” As Dare spoke, the door began to open at his bidding, the shrill protest of the rusting hinges discordant and loud. “I haven’t ventured this way in two decades, but it was still passable when I was a boy.” An eddy of stale cold air brushed past them and he saw Susanna step back, her violet eyes dilating as he swung his light and illuminated the entrance to the tunnel. The walls were slimy from ages of moss, the floor dirt and mud, and the dank smell repulsive. What he thought fascinating as a child, he contemplated wryly, seemed merely dirty and cramped now that his shoulders nearly brushed both walls. Something scampered in the distance, the unseen creature probably a rat. He had to duck to clear the small doorway, then shined his lantern to see down as 66

Mortal Melody far as he could. The sweating ceiling was just above his head, but at least could stand upright once he was inside. Turning, he held out his hand. “Come, Susanna. Gabriel and I will be with you each step.” “I didn’t expect it to be so narrow,” she whispered staring past him to the dark unseen recesses. “I have to confess, my lord, I dislike enclosed spaces.” The white-fisted grasp of her hands as she pulled the cloak around her slender body betrayed her fear. Dare said soothingly, “Augustus purchased horses for us at a nearby village and is waiting for us in the wood. All we have to do is walk a short distance and we will be outside and on our way. Please, love, haste is important. Even though whoever he has watching the castle will not see us leave, our enemy will sense our departure soon enough. We are only buying time and need to hurry.” Whether it was the endearment or his persuasive speech, Dare wasn’t sure, but despite her obvious trepidation, Susanna squared her shoulders and stepped inside. Clasping his outstretched hand, she clung to it, though she didn’t hesitate to follow him as he started to go forward. When Gabriel followed and the door shut with a soft thud, her grip tightened and Dare could hear her breath go in sharply. Time had taken its toll, and the two decades since he ventured into the dreary passageway hadn’t improved the condition of the walls. In several places they had buckled on one side or the other and bricks littered the path. Twice, he lifted Susanna in his arms and carried her over treacherous piles of rubble, but thankfully the way wasn’t completely blocked. With no ventilation, the air was foul-smelling and close, and he was never so grateful as when he realized the floor had begun to slope slightly uphill, a signal they were coming to the end. “Not much farther,” he promised. True enough, moments later he climbed a small set of crumbling stone steps and pushed open the square, fitted panel inset in the ceiling. It came loose reluctantly, but fresh air poured in, and the faint daybreak glow was a welcome sight. “Let me make sure there are no unpleasant surprises waiting for us.” Climbing out, he glanced around warily and saw nothing but the thickness of Fairmoor Forest. The passageway emerged behind a small hill, where towering trees as ancient as the castle grew thick, surrounded by knee high ferns. At daybreak, it was gloomy and quiet except for the twittering of the birds. Luckily, he did not sense danger of any kind. “Clear,” he said, “at least for now. Let’s not linger.” Gabriel lifted Susanna by the waist, and Dare pulled her up and out of the tunnel. He saw relief in her eyes and yielded to the temptation to hold her close for just a moment before setting her on her feet. A strand of cobweb hung in her golden hair, and he plucked it off, giving her a slow, rueful smile. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it, my lady?” “It was damned awful,” Palmer replied for her, clambering out of the hole and replacing the heavy wooden panel. After dusting off his hands, he bowed in a sketchy, gallant salute. “You are not only beautiful, Miss Holt, but also brave.” Her answering smile was tremulous. “I did not feel very brave, Lord Gabriel. You are both lucky I did not start screaming hysterically about halfway through. I know I certainly wanted to do so.”

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Emma Wildes Palmer lifted a brow in open amusement at her candor. “I know grown men who would not venture through such a frightful place. I’m fairly swooning with relief myself to be out of there. Now, Fairmoor, where are our horses?” “Up the road a mile or so.” Dare pointed. “If all goes well, we’ll be in Stratford by tomorrow.” “Then let’s hope all goes well, for the sake of Douglas Merrill and his family.” Dare glanced at his old friend and their gazes met briefly. Though they both kept their expressions neutral, Susanna caught the meaning of that brief look anyway and her smooth cheeks lost color. “You are worried we are going to be too late, aren’t you?” Though he wished to shelter her as much as possible, he couldn’t lie. “I am worried about a lot of things, that among them.” Turning to the path, he said, “We’ll go as in the tunnel. I’ll be first, for I know the way, and Gabriel brings up the rear. Once we are on horseback, we will avoid the main roads until we are well away from Fairmoor. After that, we will proceed with as much speed as possible.” “As you say then,” Palmer agreed. “Lead on.” **** By noon, when they had stopped to eat some bread and cheese, the skies had clouded ominously. A light drizzle began a few hours later and lasted until almost dark, just enough to mist her face and continually dampen her cloak. Not being an accomplished horsewoman by any means, Susanna was certainly not used to hours in the saddle at a brisk pace either. In short, she went rapidly from uncomfortable to miserable. The road wound down through hills and vales through the picturesque countryside and tiny farms rimmed with stone walls. They’d left the cover of the forest long ago, and though both her companions were dressed plainly, she could not help but notice that the occasional traveler or farmer with a wagon that they passed still glanced at them curiously. There was simply no way either of them could look ordinary, Susanna mused as they rode along. Even dressed like a country squire, Gabriel Palmer radiated his aristocratic background, and something else, something unidentifiable, made anyone who met his pale blue gaze realize he was far from the usual foppish gentleman. Stealing a glance at Dare from under her lashes, she felt the usual small thrill course through her body. Even as they were simply riding down a small country lane, not even touching, her breasts tightened. Bareheaded, moisture slid across his face, and his sleek damp hair was so black it held a sheen of blue. In profile, his features were classically shaped and perhaps even a little arrogant, but that was softened by the sensitive line of his mouth. Dressed as he was, he seemed more approachable than the cool lord of the manor she’d first met, though she knew full well he was anything but cold. Far from it. He was a hot-blooded lover, and the memory of the things he’d done to her body made her shift slightly in the saddle. “When we stop for the night, I am going to give the impression you are my wife. That way we can share a room without raising any eyebrows.” Dare said the words quietly, still

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Mortal Melody looking straight ahead. “And share a bed, of course, since I am as anxious for us to be together in that way as you are, beautiful Susanna. Perhaps even more.” It was too easy to forget he read her thoughts as easily as if she’d spoken them out loud. “I am not anxious…” She began to sputter in embarrassment, but then gave up with a small sigh, hoping Gabriel Palmer rode far enough behind that he could not hear their conversation. “I was hoping that would be the arrangement,” she admitted as her mare picked her way daintily around a small puddle in the middle of the road. “Though a warm bed holds a powerful allure, with or without you in it, my lord,” she added with a hint of asperity. “Not to mention a hot meal.” His mouth curved in a grin, and he gave her a sidelong glance. “Ah, that is humbling. To be outdone by a bowl of stew or piece of mutton. Do not worry, love, we’ll stop at dusk, which is not far off. I do not care to travel these roads in the darkness.” It was the second time he referred to her in such a way, and Susanna felt a treacherous flicker of hopeful emotion. That she was falling under the spell of the Earl of Fairmoor was not in question. She was intelligent enough to realize her feelings could be naïve and born of inexperience and an undeniable lack of sophistication when it came to the opposite sex. However, she thought that even if she had been as jaded as any of the beauties of the haute ton that had graced his bed before her, she had no doubt she still would have tumbled into love with Dare Weston. He was simply too damnably fascinating. A skillful lover. A formidable protector. A considerate companion, not to mention titled, wealthy, and handsome… She didn’t really have a chance, with or without his special abilities. The question was, of course, how he felt aside from bedding her. Desire was one thing, love another. Susanna adjusted her hood to keep the rain from her face and said, “I hope I do not sound like I am complaining, my lord.” “Who would blame you if you were complaining? I’m certainly not comfortable either. Right now a snifter of brandy would not be amiss, I promise you that.” A bead of water ran down the curve of his lean jaw and dripped on his damp coat. “And a warm bath,” she said with open longing. “After the tunnel, I swear I feel the miasma of decay clinging to my skin like a disease.” “Gabriel was right, you were very brave. It is a hideous place, but it seems to have served us well to use it. I don’t think we are being followed.” The praise, given without inflection, warmed her otherwise chilled body. Susanna shook her head. “I am not particularly brave, for I knew you were there to protect me.” “Do not trust me too much, beautiful Susanna.” There was a raw note in his voice that surprised her, a hint of the hidden vulnerability that surfaced now and then. “It seems to me I already have,” she spoke softly the gentle stream of the rain muting her words. “In the most important way a woman can trust a man.” His gaze was bleak. “I have no more experience with love than you do. Perhaps less. Good God, I do not want to hurt you in any way.” She nudged her horse so it moved closer to his mount. “That sentiment alone says something, doesn’t it, my lord?” 69

Emma Wildes The declaration gave him obvious pause and his long-fingered hands tightened on the reins. “It might, but don’t expect me to be able to decipher it easily. My upbringing did not include a lot of warmth, as I’ve told you already.” “You seem warm enough to me, my lord.” His expression eased a fraction at the teasing note in her voice, which is what she intended. “I’ll be more than happy to supply any amount of heat you desire this evening when we retire. In the meantime, I think we are coming to a village. There is sure to be an inn and you can have your bath. I am certain we will all be grateful to be dry and fed again.” “That,” Susanna said with vehement sincerity as she shifted painfully in the saddle, “sounds marvelous.” **** The room was nearly empty. Though warm and dry it was ill-lit except for the fire crackling in the huge rough stone hearth, and it smelled like spilled ale and boiled cabbage. Gabriel sat at a table tucked deeply into a corner, watching the few remaining patrons and keeping their voices low. Weston had joined him, but it was clear his attention was elsewhere. Watchful and wary, Gabriel reached for his mug of ale. “I hope the weather tomorrow will be more hospitable, though we made fair speed today in spite of it.” “I wonder if I shouldn’t have left Susanna at the castle, after all,” Fairmoor responded, his silver eyes shadowed. “It is not that long ago she was wounded. Dragging her through that gruesome tunnel and halfway across England makes me feel guilty as the devil.” “He would simply have come after her. She is better off with us.” “That was my fear, but this is not the best solution either. If Young has indeed broken the Pact and used what was in that manuscript to further his ambitions, he will fight us viciously, which I think has been proven. Protecting her while trying to defeat him will not be easy. I do not feel comfortable having her out of my sight, even now, though she is right upstairs.” “This place is safe enough. Whatever happens, it isn’t now, not this night.” Gabriel spoke with conviction. He leaned back in his chair, his narrowed gaze on a young barmaid who wiped off the table with a rag. Her hips swayed as she walked across the room. “I agree.” Dare didn’t apparently notice the young woman but glanced at the doorway that led to the stairs, that seemingly casual look not casual in the least. “Bloody hell, go to her. By damn, you are so hungry to bed her I feel it radiating from you. Why you are sitting here is a mystery as far as I am concerned. If I had a beautiful, willing woman waiting for me, I would not hesitate. Trust me, you would be drinking alone, Fairmoor,” Gabriel told his friend with a dark laugh. Dare rubbed his jaw in evident frustration. “She’s exhausted.” “She can sleep comfortably in your arms afterwards.” “I am not good at this,” Dare muttered, “and uncertain that I ever will be. I’ve fucked my share of women. So have you, Palmer. This is different and more than a little daunting, if you want the truth. She expects something of me with a romantic innocence I am afraid I will shatter into a million fragments.”

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Mortal Melody Hesitating for a moment, Gabriel studied the uncharacteristic uncertainty in the other man’s expression. “Septimus was fond of all of us, but he thought the most highly of you. When he lay dying from whatever horror that nearly slashed him to pieces, he thought of you and gifted his daughter to your care. He knew well enough you are no saint, and unless his vision had failed him entirely, that Susanna is a very alluring young woman. I think what he wished to happen is exactly what has happened. She fell in love with you at once.” The other man’s mouth tightened. “That can’t be. I’m Fairmoor. By the dark gods, half the countryside thinks I’m some sort of evil warlock and the villagers are afraid of me. Susanna isn’t even sure I haven’t bewitched her in some dark fashion.” “There you are wrong. I’ve seen her look at you. He added succinctly, “And, by the way, the way you look at her.” “I do not know what love is, Palmer.” The words were said in a harsh growl. Gabriel shook his head and gave his friend a lopsided grin. “The hell you don’t. I’m no bloody expert, but I suspect it’s what you are feeling right now. Desire, responsibility, tenderness, frustration, fear…damned if I’m not jealous, my friend, for not only is she gloriously lovely, but she is remarkable in many other ways.” Running his hand impatiently through his hair, Dare looked at the doorway again. “Maybe you’re right.” He stood, his smile a wry flash, his gaze shuttered. “I might as well go up now, as we both know I will not be able to resist touching her.” Settling back, Gabriel watched Dare stride to the doorway and disappear up the stairs, his mouth twisted in a grim smile. He was jealous to a certain extent. That had been the damned truth. God, he hadn’t had a woman in too long, and Susanna Holt, with her flawless skin, haunting violet eyes, and glorious golden hair was enough to remind any man of the pleasures of the flesh. He could see her now. It was easy. No doors were closed to him. No walls could keep him out if he wished to enter. That was his gift. He was a wraith, able to pass through physical barriers as if they did not exist... The taproom shimmered and then vanished. The room she shared with Fairmoor was much like the one the innkeeper had given him, square and plain, with two tiny windows deeply inset into the stone walls, a small fireplace, and a tester bed. The hip bath sat in front of the fireplace, and Susanna reclined in the water, her eyes half-closed, and the light from the flames licking over her ivory skin. Her breasts were full and high, the nipples a rosy pink that matched her soft, inviting mouth. Her head was back, the graceful arch of her slender throat exposed, and damp golden hair trailed over her shoulders and onto the floor. Her wound was vivid against the perfection of one slim shoulder, the scar dark and dramatic. He shouldn’t watch, but Gabriel did anyway, and as Fairmoor came into the room, Susanna turned her head, her welcoming smile edged with shyness. Her hands came up reflexively to cross over her exposed breasts. Dare locked the door and crossed to kneel by the tub. He murmured something and reached for her. At his urging, she stood, water streaming off luscious curves and enticing hollows. Her legs were long, her limbs supple and smooth, and the

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Emma Wildes small patch of soft curls covering her mound glistened pale in the firelight. After quickly drying her off, Dare lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. She waited, nude, pliant and obviously expectant. Her breasts lifted quickly with each breath. She watched her lover shed his clothing from under the veil of her long lashes, the intriguing darkness between her slightly parted thighs the promise of paradise, her cleft already glistening with desire. Whatever doubts that Dare might have had over bedding her this night had apparently vanished, for when he jerked off his breeches, he was fully aroused, his cock stiff and hard against the flat plane of his stomach. Hell, Gabriel thought as Weston joined her. He covered her body with his longer muscular frame. Their kisses were passionate and long, his hands roaming freely to touch every damp, soft place. She responded with abandon, arching her breasts into his hands and mouth and spreading her legs eagerly when he moved to mount her. Her sighs of pleasure drifted out when he penetrated her, and slim fingers raked through her lover’s hair as he began the carnal rhythm of intercourse, thrusting in and out between her open thighs… Enough. Shutting it out, Gabriel blinked and the room came into focus. Feeling slightly ashamed of himself, he took a long draught of the tepid ale in his cup. Watching was hell and gone less satisfying than doing. He wondered if ever a woman would look at him with such emotion shining in her lovely eyes. The last person he ever thought would find love was the reclusive Earl of Fairmoor, so he supposed if it were possible for Dare Weston, he at least stood a fighting chance. “More ale, sir?” A soft voice made him stir and look up. “I beg your pardon?” The pretty young barmaid stood in front of him, looking at him almost curiously. “More ale?” He looked at his empty glass. “No thank you. I’m going up to bed.” “All alone? A handsome gentleman like yourself?” The husky suggestive tone of her voice made his interest sharpen. The girl was darkhaired, plump, and had a saucy smile. Her low-cut bodice showed most of her generous breasts, and slightly crooked teeth gave her a gamine look. “Are you suggesting you might care to join me?” he asked, lifting a brow. She leaned forward slightly to retrieve his empty glass, giving him a better look down the deep V of her cleavage. “You have the look of a man that knows how to give a lass a good ride.” “That’s gratifying to know.” Gabriel was half-hard already from his impulsive and voyeuristic mental journey upstairs. Satisfying his lust with an undoubtedly promiscuous serving wench was not the same as making love to the woman of his dreams, but then again, the girl looked clean and healthy, and she was obviously willing. “What’s your name?” Her grin widened a little. “I’m Mary.” “Well, Mary, I am most pleased to meet you,” Gabriel said softly.

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Chapter 10 The house stood on a grassy knoll, the old brick walls warmed by a late afternoon sun. The grounds were tidy, with neat flower beds along the winding drive, and a trim green lawn. The grass still glistened from the rain that had finally stopped mid-morning, and the air smelled sweet and redolent with damp earth and blooming roses. It did not look like the setting for dark secrets, intrigue, or murder. Dare nudged his mount forward, his gaze scanning the grounds, which seemed unaccountably deserted and empty of life. Other than the soporific drip of moisture from the wet leaves of the trees, it was uncannily quiet. “Something’s wrong,” he said abruptly. “I feel it,” Gabriel agreed, riding on the other side of Susanna, sitting his horse with the ease of a born rider, his brown hair slightly rumpled. “Where is everyone? Look at how well-tended the park is. At the least there should be gardening staff out and about. The rain is over.” “The house is empty. I cannot sense movement there.” Narrowing his gaze, Dare studied the outline of mullioned windows and clinging ivy. “Maybe our journey is for nothing. It looks as if Merrill has taken his family and fled.” Palmer frowned. “Even the servants?” “Would you leave them behind if you thought something was hunting you that destroyed all life in its path?” Dare asked sardonically. “If he heard of Susanna’s father’s murder, and then about Bernard, he might have come to the same conclusions that we did.” “Only without the aid of the book Professor Holt sent you, I venture to guess he does not know which of the three of the remaining of us might be the source of danger.” “Surely he knows better than to suspect either of you. I am not gifted in any of the ways you are, yet I do not sense evil in your souls, and did not from our first meeting,” Susanna said. Dare glanced over and their gazes caught, just for a shimmer of a moment. Her trusting faith in him was more terrifying than whatever forces Thomas Young could summon from the depths of hell. He was much more used to people being wary of him. “Who knows what a man

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Emma Wildes truly thinks of you until your backs are against the wall. Douglas was a good friend once, yes, but his family is at risk. Maybe he recalls the edge of madness in Young, maybe not. The point is moot, for he isn’t here and I am sure he took great care to vanish as discreetly as possible and hide those he loves in someplace distant and safe.” “It is a pity, for I hoped he might join us. Two is certainly more protection than one, but three might be formidable. We could use the help if we assume Thomas possesses the dark knowledge from that old scroll, and the demonic powers that accompany it. Merrill was a steady man years ago, practical and cool. What is in his mind now is hidden from me,” Gabriel observed. “Obviously he’s smart, as well, for he is one step ahead of us.” Turning his horse, Dare added, “We might as well make for London. Unfortunately, I have feeling by now that our enemy might anticipate our arrival. He will know we have left the castle. That is inevitable.” “Halt.” At the harsh order, a figure seemed to materialize a few feet away. Dare felt a ripple of surprise, and his hands tightened on the reins. The man who now stood in the lane in front of them was familiar, even with the years that had passed. Tall and whipcord lean, his blond hair was gathered carelessly back in a queue and he was dressed like an ordinary gamekeeper, right down to the rifle held with very business-like competence in his hands. There was no welcome in Douglas Merrill’s blue eyes. “Lords Fairmoor and Palmer together, I see. That’s an unexpected turn of events. I am not sure I like the odds.” “Merrill,” Dare said, eyeing the weapon which was pointed directly at his chest. “I assure you the gun is unnecessary. We came to warn you of danger, not to bring it with us.” “A philanthropic visit, is that it?” Merrill shook his head but did not lower the weapon. “Convince me,” he said grimly, “for until you do, I am prepared to kill you. I have been patrolling the grounds for two days now, waiting to see just who—or what—might come looking for me. I will not be easily taken unawares like Holt and Bernard.” Gabriel Palmer moved his horse forward, angling the animal in front of Susanna on her smaller mare. “Devil take it, Douglas, put your weapon up. Do you honestly think either Fairmoor or myself would break the Pact?” The response was in clipped tones. “Let’s just say I’m confident that I can’t afford to trust anyone on their word, Palmer. Holt and Bernard were nearly slashed to pieces, murdered in a manner reminiscent of something I would rather forget. Excuse me if I decline such a fate. I have a wife and children to protect and support. No offense, but Dare was—and undoubtedly still is—the most dangerous of us all. I am taking no chances and will kill him first.” Susanna spoke for the first time and her voice sounded shaken but firm. “Mr. Merrill, even if Lord Fairmoor is the most gifted of all of you, please ask yourself, is he the most ambitious? Has he demonstrated in any way a desire to do anything but live a quiet life in reclusion?” There was a flicker in Merrill’s eyes. “I know little of his activities these past years. We all went our separate ways.” “My father trusted him, even as he lay dying.”

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Mortal Melody “You’re Holt’s daughter.” The weapon lowered a fraction, and as Dare watched, Merrill looked away and glanced at the woman sitting on the horse between him and Gabriel. “Of course you are. I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.” “We are here to try to prevent more…horror.” Audibly choking over the last word, Susanna looked both fragile and persuasive with her delicate vulnerable beauty and the pleading look in her unusual eyes. “I was viciously attacked once already, and Dare saved me. He is not the monster you fear wishes harm to you and your family. Just the opposite. He is probably the only hope for a resolution that will leave the ones you love alive.” Palmer still had his horse wedged in an obvious mechanism of protection between Merrill’s line of fire and Susanna. “Listen to her. And think about Thomas, for the sake of God and us all. Remember how resistant he was to dissolving the Pact? Remember that black evening when the translation disappeared? I think we all knew he took it, but turned a blind eye to the possibility any one of us would use it again after what happened.” “I need confirmation of these accusations. Thomas was also my friend. He isn’t here to defend himself,” Merrill said stubbornly. “Septimus sent me a book about military campaigns and the geniuses that directed and won them. Is that enough, considering Thomas is high up in the War Office?” Dare spoke the words deliberately, ever conscious of the gun pointed directly at his heart. “As Holt lay dying, he insisted the book be brought to me by his own daughter, fearing for her, I am sure, just as you fear for your children.” “That is not definitive proof,” Merrill said, but there was the first hint of doubt in his voice. “It is enough for me. Look at the three of us, riding across country after sneaking out of Fairmoor Castle like petty thieves to escape his spies. We, too, know of Bernard’s death and how it was done. If you think for a minute that Dare or I would endanger Miss Holt needlessly, you are wrong and do not remember much about either one of us,” Gabriel said “I remember our past association, Palmer, only too well.” Very slowly, Merrill lowered the gun. “Well enough to know I probably couldn’t shoot Fairmoor, even if I tried. He has too much power for an ordinary weapon to kill him,” he added with a mirthless smile. “I will die one day like any man,” Dare said coolly, “but you are right, it is not this day, and not at your hands.” Looking suddenly weary instead of defiant and suspicious, Douglas Merrill, rubbed his lean jaw. “You have undoubtedly had a long journey and if you truly came here to warn me, then I thank you. If you are lying, I am probably doomed already, but Miss Holt’s presence suggests you are telling me the truth. In that case, shall we go inside and discuss what happens next? The servants are all gone, caring for my family in a safe place, but I think I can manage a cold meal and some wine.” Dare lifted his brows ironically. “That sounds like old times.” From his mount, Gabriel Palmer said under his breath, “Good God, let’s hope not.” ****

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Emma Wildes The French doors off the dining room were closed, shutting out the breath of the night. The moon was low, but rising, and clouds scuttled past like pale, frightened creatures. Outside, a bird called in a melancholy echo. The sound was crass and lonely. With a shiver, Susanna reached for her glass and took a bracing sip. “This is interesting. There’s more. A rare disease, like a plague, wiped out a whole crucial regiment just before Talavera. Every last man perished. It is a miracle that Wellington pulled out the victory.” Douglas Merrill sat with his sleeves informally rolled up, elbows on the polished table, his lean face severe in the flickering candlelight. “The phenomenon was inexplicable to doctors there and here, for no one else was infected or has been since. Do you remember that particular curse? It was one of the few Professor Holt felt he’d translated perfectly.” Both Gabriel and Dare nodded. Their expressions were equally grim and bleak. Dare said, “I read about it in the newspaper, months after it happened. At the time, of course, I made no connection. Now, I am not so sure.” “What good would that do, Young?” Gabriel demanded. He looked uncharacteristically rumpled with a grazing of fine brown whiskers across his chin. “Killing our own troops? Why?” “Good men have been bought before,” Dare murmured. He sat tall and dark in his chair at the table, his half-eaten meal before him. “His family was impoverished and he only attended university due to a concession from some distant relative. Money is a powerful incentive for deception and violence. The French have deep pockets.” “A murderer and a traitor?” Merrill narrowed his gaze and toyed absently with the stem of his glass. “I suppose that would explain his desperation to eliminate us all.” Susanna... The insidious voice seemed to come from nowhere. The whisper in her brain muted the low conversation of the three men at the table with her. Slowly, unwillingly, she turned her head. The bird cawed again and was joined by several more. Their calls disrupted the stillness of the evening. Crows, Susanna realized hazily, carrion fowl following death…waiting for their ghastly meal. Outside the doors to the garden terrace something moved. In sudden terrified fascination, she saw a flitting shape form and dissolve, and then form again. Frozen, she sat and stared, and her entire body grew cold. Dimly, she was aware that Dare lifted his head, his wine glass arrested inches from his mouth. His silver eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “Listen and feel,” he commanded. “They are here.” Come to me… To her horror, her body obeyed. Though her mind screamed dissent, she got to her feet. Outside the glass, she could see that there was more than one entity, moving restlessly, as if pacing the flagstones. The pull was too strong and she took a step. Her heart contracted painfully as she observed the palm of one black hand pressed against the pane of the door for a moment, the nails like curved, wicked claws.

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Mortal Melody “Susanna, don’t move. Fairmoor, there’s something out there.” Gabriel’s harsh words were lost as the glass suddenly exploded inward. An unholy roar seemed to fill the room. Knocked backwards, Susanna couldn’t even cry out as she went sprawling across the faded carpeting, the impact so hard the air completely left her lungs for an eternal moment. Helpless and gasping, she struggled to move, terrified when a raking pain tore across her throat. The air seemed suddenly as foul as that of the horrible tunnel, and she wanted to cry out in anguish but that same awful lethargy wouldn’t allow it. There was a flash above her of bared fangs in an inhuman face, and then an unearthly howl. Strong hands seized her. Struggling, she fought to take in a breath, her chest straining. Any sound she made as she tried to fight was drowned out by the sounds of a fearsome struggle. The vise-like grip on her body increased, and she vaguely heard through her panic a low, familiar voice in her ear. “It is me, Miss Holt. Do not fear and do not fight me.” Wild cries accompanied the sound of splintering wood and breaking glass. Above it all rose a deep voice in the background, rasping indecipherable words until everything went suddenly still. Going limp, Susanna registered the abrupt quiet in dazed comprehension. Opening her eyes, she blinked. The formally ordered, civilized room was now a chaos of broken furniture and shattered glass. Against the far wall, by the gaping hole of the destruction of the doorway, Douglass Merrill leaned on the edge of the sideboard. His bloodless face was the color of chalk and he clutched his chest where a large red stain spread underneath his shredded shirt. “They are gone.” Gabriel Palmer held her, she realized. His arms were firm and comforting. Kneeling on the floor amidst a sea of broken glass, he cradled her body lightly but protectively against his chest. Wildly, her frantic gaze searched the room. Hysteria rose and a panic like she’d never known held her a prisoner. Hoarsely, she croaked, “Dare?” “I’m here.” He looked absurdly normal and calm when he stepped back into the room through the open void where the French doors had been. Only the faint gleam of sweat on his brow revealed any reaction to what had just happened. His white shirt was casually open at the neck and his dark, sleek hair only slightly tousled. Silver eyes glittered as his gaze swept over her. “Are you all right?” “She has a nasty scratch, but otherwise is unharmed. See to Merrill, Fairmoor.” Gabriel glanced at the man sagging by the doorway. “He got the worst of it. Obviously, the two of us were not the intended victims.” “But I somehow doubt we would have been spared either,” Dare said without much inflection, though his face showed concern as he moved toward his friend and examined the damage to his chest. “I anticipated something like this would happen, but not that I wouldn’t sense it coming. My bag of medicines is with me, which is a good thing, for surely wounds like these would go septic at once.”

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Emma Wildes “If my wife and children had been home, they would have been savaged and killed.” The words fell like stones into a still pond. Douglas Merrill looked more than shocked. He looked like a ghostly image of the man who had so boldly confronted them earlier. “My God, Fairmoor, I tried to envision the form of the attack, but never imagined such awful creatures, or such speed and viciousness. I was helpless against it.” “They were summoned from God only knows what dark depths to exact torture and death. Unless armed with the knowledge of how to control them, any man is helpless against them.” As Susanna watched, Dare tore off a piece from his shirt and started to help stem the bleeding. “You were not helpless,” Merrill said, his voice half-grateful, half-accusing. “Thankfully not,” Dare admitted as he deftly bound the wound. “Please keep in mind that I have studied extensively just about every magical myth and legend since the beginning of recorded time. It is amazing to me how similarities spring from almost all cultures, no matter how disparate in time and location. Demons are not new, nor are they unique.” Gabriel was in the act of settling her into one of the few intact chairs and she could feel his reaction in the tightening of his hands. “The devil you say,” he growled, his pale gaze narrowing. “I wondered what you were saying, and it even sounded half familiar. Let me guess, a counter-spell, designed to undo the call for death?” Straightening, his hands stained with blood, Dare gave his friend a level look. “I am not a warlock, throwing out spells. I merely banished them back to their hellish origin by telling them to go.” “Hell and blast,” Merrill said vehemently. “One of them had me by the throat. I do not care what you are, Fairmoor, but I am suddenly very glad you are here. At the lift of your hand they scattered like sheep.” “Young will now realize he has a serious adversary,” Gabriel Palmer added. “I think he has all along,” Dare said quietly. “I also think we should concentrate now on getting to London safely and ending this hellish conflict.”

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Chapter 11 They came in their arrogance, thinking to confront him, the Master. Little did they know he relished the battle. Yes, he wished Holt had not dragged Fairmoor into it with the lure of the girl, for he was certain that his old friend would have stayed in his forbidding lair until his dying day, shunning the world. It was inconvenient to have such a powerful adversary, but not an insurmountable setback. The Master walked across the expensive rug and removed the key cleverly hidden in the secret panel by the fireplace. He had utilized so little of the pilfered translation. So little. The dark curse of death now and then, of course, when someone stood in his way. How Holt had gotten wind of it he wasn’t certain, but the old man had the audacity to actually threaten him with exposure, the utter fool. He had paid for that with his life. For Fairmoor, he needed something else. Something truly wicked, something infinitely deadly. As for the girl...he would enjoy her first, but unfortunately she also had to die. **** The huge sprawling city was predictably dreary under leaden skies. The rain had returned after just one day of respite. Stepping into the foyer of his townhouse, Dare loosened his soaked greatcoat. He sensed a faint movement behind him out of the corner of his eye. He turned in time to catch the footman in the act of making a sign against the evil eye. A faint glimmer of amusement lightened his weariness. “At least at Fairmoor,” he said conversationally to Susanna, who looked bedraggled but still lovely in her damp cloak with her dark purple eyes dominating a pale face, “the servants do not fear me. It is part of the reason I prefer it there.” The boy, who couldn’t be more than eighteen, flushed deeply and hastened to take the garment from him. “I beg your pardon, my lord,” he stammered. “You arrived without warning, and I was…unprepared.”

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Emma Wildes “I take it there is a household ritual? Well, don’t worry about the wolfsbane and garlic,” Dare said, “for I am far too tired to search farther than the dining room for my dinner this evening. We will have guests. Please inform the cook.” “Yes, my lord.” Scurrying away, the young man fairly ran down the hallway toward the back of the house. Susanna laughed. The light sound echoed outward, musical and charming. It was the first light-hearted sound she had made since the attack the evening before. She turned, allowing him to remove her cloak. “I think Agatha would have him trained in no time. Perhaps you should bring her here, my lord.” Truthfully, Dare said, “One sight of Agatha would make him faint dead away, at a guess. Come to think of it, I am not sure I could order Agatha—or any of her odd family—to do anything. They honor me by servicing my household, and appear and leave at will. Since everything seems to get done and go smoothly, I do not question it. Here it is another matter. Finding reliable staff is difficult and I imagine would be even more so if I were in residence more often. I think the ones who do stay find the pay adequate and my long absences comforting.” Elevating a dark blond brow, Susanna said, “I would not find your absence comforting, my lord.” “Nor I yours,” he countered, looking at the scratch visible on her slim throat. “Though perhaps I am not the protector I fancied myself to be, my lady. You bear the scars of our last encounter with the enemy.” A shiver shook her slender body. “Those awful…things. I have often felt since I met you that I am immersed in some sort of fairy tale and what happened last night does not dispel that notion. For every hero prince there is an evil troll or villainous warlock, is there not? Our story is apparently no exception.” “I am not a hero of any kind,” Dare told her. He gazed down at her shining head and lifted his hand to brush a tendril of damp, curling hair back from her smooth cheek. “But I do indeed think I am a captive of the beautiful damsel.” “Are you?” Her smile was tremulous and her violet eyes shadowed. “I think probably just the opposite is true, my lord. However, if I could lock us both away and keep us safe, I would.” “We could have stayed at Fairmoor.” She shook her head slightly. “You do not live easily with your conscience as it is. What the future holds I do not know, but hiding from it will not bring happiness.” “Unfortunately, I agree.” Dare lifted a brow and took her arm. “However, at the present moment, dry clothing might bring me some happiness. Come, let’s go upstairs and change. The foul weather is another reason I do not frequent the city. Somehow every time I come to London it is raining.” “I can’t say the same, as I have never been here before. My father loved to travel, but the ancient secrets he sought are not in this teeming, modern place.” Her wistful tone reminded him of how young she was, and how poignant her upbringing. “You did not miss much,” Dare told her, guiding her toward a curving staircase at the back of the 80

Mortal Melody long hallway leading through the house. “My parents were enamored of London. They loved the parties, the busy streets, the opera and theater, and with it, the intrigue. I am still amazed I am bred from them both, for never have a child and his parents been so fundamentally unalike.” “I can certainly understand that sentiment,” Susanna said dryly, lifting her damp skirts to climb the stairs. “Keep in mind, my father overlooked me for fables and ancient folklore. I remember piles of books and old papers, not ponies and county fairs. When I went off to school, most of the girls thought I was very odd, for their families celebrated Christmas and my father thought All Hallow’s Eve the most significant holiday of the year. Before long, believe me, I learned to keep such truths to myself.” “Yet, you miss him sorely.” It was not a guess, but an observation. “Yes, I do. He might not have been the best parent in some ways, but he was my father. He largely ignored me, but it wasn’t personal, I was just not as interesting as his studies.” “I admired him in many ways, but in that he was a fool.” Dare meant every word. Unbidden, the vision of a little girl with dark curls and violet eyes sprang into his mind. She ran toward him, giggling and exuberant, her chubby cheeks dimpled in a winsome, winning smile and her arms outstretched… Papa… His child. Their child. Almost stumbling on the step, he kept his balance with effort, his stomach tightening. Touching Susanna as he was, he could sense it, the tiny flutter of life stirring. God in heaven, he was going to be a father… Why he would be surprised she was pregnant was a mystery, for he wanted nothing more than to lie with her at every opportunity, and had already done so often enough for conception. It only took one time, one planting of his seed. Apparently Susanna’s body had been fertile and receptive. “My lord?” Susanna frowned, glanced up at him. “Is something wrong?” “No,” he said too quickly, not certain of is feelings—except he knew he wanted to sweep her into his arms, hold her close, and protect her and the precious life she carried more fiercely than ever. “Nothing is wrong except this damnable situation grows more and more complicated. I hope Gabriel can find the answers we seek by this evening. While I am personally convinced Thomas Young is the force behind the attacks, proof is needed before we move against him.” “I agree, my lord,” she agreed in a stilted, subdued voice that echoed fatigue. “And I wish nothing more than for this to be over.” **** Gabriel inclined his head and accepted the offered chair. The club was dark and full of the familiar smell of claret and tobacco, and as he settled into his seat, a waiter unobtrusively delivered another glass and decanter. Looking at the man sitting across the table, he said formally, “I thank you, Minister, for granting me a meeting so quickly.”

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Emma Wildes Obviously faintly amused, Sir Richard Applegate replied, “When your father, the duke, calls in favors, he does so with a vengeance. Whitehall sent word of the time and place, and I rarely find it in my best interest to defy such requests. Come now, what is so urgent?” Gabriel poured himself a glass of wine “I need some answers to a few questions. You will not like them, nor will you probably wish to answer them. In fact, some may violate the confidentiality of your office. Just know this, I have England’s best interests at heart, as well as my own concerns in this matter.” Thin, with a mane of graying hair and sharp fox-like features, Sir Richard looked interested but wary, his expression tightening. “Go on, Lord Gabriel. I admit my curiosity is piqued.” “How did Thomas Young come to be appointed your undersecretary? He is not yet thirty and from an extremely undistinguished background.” One bushy gray brow shot up. “Young? This is about him? That question is simple enough. The man has merit and ambition. Are you a snob, then, Palmer, against raising a man up from the rank and file? He has worked hard, and has been promoted steadily ever since he went into public service and the War Office.” “From my brief investigation, I would say that is true. His career, actually, is remarkable if one looks it closely. And am I a snob?” Gabriel said. “No, But tell me this, did someone die to make way for this promotion?” “Die?” For a second, the minister looked affronted, but then his features smoothed into a bland mask. “I am not sure just what you are implying, my lord, but I assure you that Young had no connection to his predecessor’s violent end. It was an unfortunate accident, for the man in question was attacked by what the authorities believe to be a pack of wild dogs.” “Ah, I see.” Gabriel took a small sip of wine. “There was no suspicion of foul play?” “None that I know of…how can a man command such creatures? Please excuse my curiosity, but what is your interest in this matter? As far as I know, you are not involved in politics in any way, especially that of my office.” “Have there been others? Men in a position he was in line to inherit if they conveniently met their end or left their post?” “What exactly do you mean?” “Have any simply conveniently disappeared?” Gabriel smiled thinly. “Not conveniently for them, of course, but for Thomas Young.” For a long moment, the man across from him did not speak but sat in silence, his eyes narrowed. “This is a most curious conversation. Beware, Palmer, for you are dangerously close to hinting at something that blackens the name of a fine servant of Britain’s interests.” Gabriel persisted, ignoring the warning. “Thomas Young’s duties, as I understand them, include some weighty decisions over military tactics and even appointment of key officers and the like. Is that accurate?” “Yes.”

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Mortal Melody “Was he here in England or over in Spain when that entire regiment died of that mysterious illness?” Applegate’s hand clenched reflexively. “Good God, man, this becomes more absurd by the moment. Are you seriously suggesting that Young could poison an entire part of an army and go undetected? And why would he do it anyway? He has wealth, power, and position—” “Yes…he has money. Quite a lot of it, sir,” Gabriel interrupted. “The question is…how did that happen? His salary can’t be that generous, it isn’t possible. Before I came here, I met with his banker.” A small smile twisted his mouth. “I used my father’s influence again to loosen his tongue. He told me that Thomas has holdings all over England, and his wealth is increasing at an amazing rate. Young, of course, claims to have come by it in various ways, everything from lucky gambling sprees to unnamed investments with fantastic returns. The truth is he could very well be in the employ of the French.” “You have no basis for such an assumption,” Sir Richard said. His eyes held a guarded look. “Quite the contrary. Thomas always did resent his humble beginnings. I should know, I was once his close friend. We have a past, Sir Richard, and that is precisely why I am here.” “What kind of past?” “I take it he was in Spain when all those men died.” “Damnation, man, perhaps you should answer my question first. What kind of past?” Gabriel looked him in the eye. “I am not at liberty to say much, Minister. At the very maximum, I will tell you that our acquaintance has been severed these past ten years as he has crawled out of his gutter and into a position of considerable power with the British government.” “I see.” Settling back, his long skinny fingers stroking the stem of his glass, Applegate smiled blandly. “What is the purpose of this meeting, Palmer? You said you wanted to ask me questions, but you seem to have all the answers already. You warn me I won’t like what I hear, but you proceed to tell me anyway. You also tell me the confidentiality of my office may be compromised, and then show clearly you know things you shouldn’t without my dubious cooperation. In short, what do you want?” Gabriel considered his answer very carefully. “My father says you are a shrewd man. One with a conscience, but not so much of one that you would hesitate to use questionable methods to a good end. I came here to warn you…and ask your assistance.” “What kind of assistance?” “I’d like you to help me trap a killer.”

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Chapter 12 The gabled roofline shone wetly in the dreary moonlight. The windows of the elegant townhouse were flat and dark, like empty, sightless eyes. The street, too, was deserted and quiet at this late hour. Crouched in the shadows, Dare watched the house, every one of his senses acutely on alert, for he was well-aware that his enemy was poised for attack. Young would not wait, and if he already had learned of Gabriel’s prying into his personal finances and professional life— which he should if Applegate cooperated—then he would be infuriated. Danger. A trapped animal always fought more viciously. He needed to make sure he was prepared for anything…and at all costs, protect Susanna’s life. He was fully prepared to die for her and the precious burden she carried. Surely that was love? There was brief flare of light from one of the windows, signaling Gabriel’s vigilance. Next to him, Merrill murmured, “If he could kill an entire company of men with a few uttered words, we are impotent against whatever unknown weapons he possesses. We should not have tipped our hand.” “Fairmoor Castle is inviolate against him. His home is sure to be guarded from us. Drawing him out is the only way.” “There’s death in the air,” Douglas said, his lean face working. “Ours or his, I am not sure, but I smell it as if downwind of a rotting corpse.” “I am no prophet, but I sense it, too.” Dare loosened the knife in his boot. “Regular weapons may do us no good, but keep yours at ready anyway. Like all of us, Thomas is human and can be killed.” “Susanna’s neck is very slender. Even with Gabriel in the house, I fear for her and the coming child, Fairmoor. Are you sure this is the best plan?”

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Mortal Melody Crouched in the alley, his clothing damp once again from being out in the incessant drizzle, Dare froze. He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. “You sense she is with child, too?” Douglas Merrill smiled briefly, a gleam of his teeth in the shrouded darkness. “I knew with my own wife immediately each time we created a new life. You know that is part of my unique talent, it always has been. I know things about people, hidden things. A woman changes when she breeds, she becomes ripe, lush…more vulnerable.” “Does Young know? He has tried to call to her before…damnation, he will not take her and my child to hell with him, for I tell you now, that is where he is going this night.” The harsh words rasped out, and Dare felt his power surge, barely kept in check by sheer will. As if in answer, there came a low sound. It was an odd echo, like the low flutter of the night breeze. To his grim amazement, a very large bird settled on the rooftop of the townhouse in a flurry of gleaming wings. When the clouds tore open for a moment, he saw that the creature was not a bird at all, but had a hideous face, not human but close to it, with a beak-like mouth and huge eyes. The claw-like feet that balanced it on the narrow row of roof tiles were more like huge human hands with pointed nails. “What devilment is this?” Merrill hissed. Dare’s attention was attuned to every movement near the house. “I am not sure, but I expected something out of the ordinary. This certainly qualifies.” Even as he spoke, the bizarre being began to beat its wings, creating a fair wind. What followed was a sound like the rushing of a storm, and the faint tinkle of glass breaking filled the air. “Do not let it inside,” Merrill said urgently, “for it has an ill-favored look and Susanna will be frightened.” “It cannot enter as it is.” Crouched by a lilac bush that spread glossy green leaves, Douglas sent him a sidelong look. “You sound so sure.” “I am sure.” Seconds later his words were vindicated as the odd creature rose gracefully and tried to fly in one of the broken windows. Flapping wildly, it found its progress checked. It made a low harsh sound as it attempted time and again to enter through the opening left by the shattered glass. With satisfaction, Dare felt the shimmer of fury in the air as the creature rose in a rush of angry wings. “Have a trick or two still left, eh, Fairmoor?” Merrill looked pleased. “Is that the best that Young can do? If so, we worried for nothing.” “It is not his best, he isn’t even started.” As if in answer, the house exploded into flames. **** Acrid smoke billowed outward, choking her. Susanna crawled from her bed and cast about in confusion, not certain how escape. The window of her room was open, glass scattered on the floor. Within seconds, flames licked up the 85

Emma Wildes long draperies, engulfing the fabric and framing the promise of escape in a fiery halo. She ran to the door and found the handle warm to the touch. Her worst fears were realized as she tugged it open, for the hallway was also ablaze, and from the downstairs she could hear the shouts of the frightened servants and the echo of a woman screaming. Susanna… Even in her panic, she froze, the summons familiar and mesmerizing. Turning woodenly, she saw that a man crawled in the window to her in her room, smoke whirling around him. The door slammed shut at her back, leaving them together in the bedroom that had been so peaceful and quiet just moments before but was now slowly turning into an inferno. She gasped, her throat raw. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” The stranger smiled. “You know who I am very well. I see it in your lovely eyes. Come to me and we will leave here together. Your lover is occupied, I believe, trying to extinguish the flames currently engulfing his house.” “No.” She shook her head, desperate to escape but not willing to take so much as a step toward the window with him in her path. He was ordinary-looking with brown hair, a medium build and wore tailored evening clothes, but his eyes were ice cold and gleamed unnaturally green. He stood in seeming oblivion to the spreading flames. Backing against the closed door, she fought to breathe. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Come to me... Death seemed inevitable, either at the hands of Thomas Young, who had ruthlessly murdered her father, or by being burned alive as the house crumbled from the fire. “Dare,” she said in a low sob of supplication. Her body trembled. The heat of the wood at her back grew more fierce with each passing second. Her bed was now ablaze, and flames shot up behind the man who stood just a few feet away. In answer to that small plea, as abruptly as the fire started, it died away. Smoke drifted in a haze, obscuring her vision. Susanna blinked and coughed, her chest heaving. Thomas Young swore. She heard a snarl of protest rise like a foul curse as the hissing flames vanished and left a wash of silence. “It seems to me that you are dabbling with something better left to ancient sorcerers or foolish young men, Thomas.” An eddy of air came through the glassless window, swirling the smoke enough that she could see two tall figures as they faced each other in the center of the floor. However he had entered the room, it was not through the door at her back, but Dare stood casually in the middle of the space, his lean body caressed by the teasing veils of whirling smoke. He looked tall and deceptively calm, but Susanna felt the maelstrom of emotion flow around her body almost like a physical touch. He didn’t remove his watchful gaze from the man in front of him, but nonetheless she knew somehow he was very aware of her. Young smiled—a baring of his teeth. His wolfish expression contrasted with his tailored clothes. “I always did like to play with fire, Fairmoor. Surely you remember that.”

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Mortal Melody “I remember a lot of things,” Dare answered. “For instance, how I felt when two young lovers were brutally murdered and knew I was at the least an accomplice for not having protested against Richard’s use of the curse from the translation. You apparently never experienced the same remorse.” Contempt curled the other man’s mouth into a macabre parody of mirth, but he stood unmoving on the scorched carpeting. “There is no place in my life for useless self-recrimination. Do you think Bonaparte weeps over the loss of each soldier? Or Lord Wellington, for that matter? What great rulers of the past—or present—achieved greatness without loss of life? It is a means to an end, Fairmoor, just as the knowledge from Holt’s old scroll is a tool I occasionally employ.” “You have lost your reason.” “You have squandered your power, Fairmoor, though I am impressed how easily you protected your little group from my friends the other evening. It is not too late. You can still choose the path to glory.” “If those are your friends, Thomas, I think perhaps you need to seek new company, and the only glory I wish is to stop you from harming anyone else in your traitorous selfish need for wealth and stature.” “Traitorous? Tell me, what do I owe England? Unlike the rest of the Pact, I was born practically in the gutter and it is not a kind place. Luckily for me, since Palmer’s little visit with Applegate will probably damage my position here, the French have extended a most generous offer recently. However, I did fancy the idea of Prime Minister, and as a result, I am quite angry.” As he spoke, Young lifted his hand, and Susanna flinched as a flash of white light filled the room. Momentarily blinded, she was horrified until her vision began to clear and she saw Dare stood untouched, though a streak of ash grazed the white linen of one sleeve of his shirt, and his eyes were narrowed. “I see you’re determined to make certain this conflict has only one outcome. However, be aware that unlike your other hapless victims, I am immune to your nasty tricks. And as far as angry goes, your interest in Susanna has become tiresome and infuriating. For she is mine.” “At this moment, perhaps, but when you are dead, Fairmoor, her fate will lie with me.” As he spoke, Thomas Young jerked a wicked-looking knife from beneath his coat. “You’ll die, I assume, like any other man.” Behind her, someone began to pound on the door. Susanna heard Gabriel Palmer urgently say her name. Not even able to speak because she felt so frozen with fear, she watched as Dare and his opponent slowly circled each other, both men moving with predatory grace. Thanks to the broken windows, the smoke had cleared a little and at the first lunge and crash of physical contact, it was like the room thundered. Thomas Young fell to the floor but quickly rolled to his feet, his feline eyes glittering in the inadequate light. The knife went flying across the room to hit the wall with decisive thud and his coat sleeve dripped crimson. Susanna could hear the harsh rasp of his breathing. “First blood, but not the last, Fairmoor.” The doorknob rattled vigorously, but Susanna had no idea if she could open it, nor could she take her eyes from the fight. Outside, it seemed unnaturally quiet.

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Emma Wildes She watched with her breath held tight in her raw throat as the two men crashed together again. Dare was taller and heavier, but his opponent seemed to know how to use his fists and feet and was wiry and agile. Nor did he seem, even to her inexperienced eyes, to feel any sense of a gentlemanly code. The ferocity of Thomas Young’s ruthless hatred was a palatable thing, driving to a sort of wild fury as they rolled across the floor in a vicious battle that was clearly to the death. “Get the knife,” Palmer whispered. She heard his words as if he stood next to her, though he was still outside the door. “I can see it. It is right there a few feet from the fireplace. Quick, for Thomas is right. He grew up brawling in pubs and the street. He knows how to kill with his hands and will do it just as easily as he summoned those creatures to destroy your father.” Making her unwilling body move wasn’t easy, but she did stumble toward the weapon, her fingers closing reluctantly around the hilt. It was surprisingly heavy and the blade was smeared with blood. She straightened, weighing it in her hand. **** In his mind’s eye he saw it, even as Dare twisted to avoid a particularly sadistic blow to the groin. An avenging angel, in filmy white, with long golden hair and a gleaming knife… Breaking free of Young’s tenacious grip, he rolled away and leaped to his feet. His opponent also jumped upright. His face livid, Thomas glanced around for the lost weapon, and when he caught sight of Susanna standing so close with it in her hand, he lunged for her. One lift of the knife…hold steady, love. Dare did not move but watched as her slender arm lifted gracefully. The knife went cleanly and easily into Thomas Young’s throat. Her eyes were wide and her face expressionless, and when his hands went to claw at the weapon protruding from his neck, Susanna simply let her arm drop to her side. Young staggered backwards, his face incredulous. His last words were nothing but a gurgle as his knees buckled and he crumpled into a heap. The smoke vanished abruptly, like a candle being blown out. At the same moment, the door opened and Gabriel burst into the room, his gaze catching Dare’s briefly. “Well done, Fairmoor. Merrill is downstairs, checking on your staff. A few were burned as the house ignited, but I think this is the only true casualty from tonight’s mischief.” His gesture toward Young’s prone bleeding form was indifferent. “I am not the hero here,” Dare said, eyeing Susanna’s pallor. Moving slowly, he crossed the few paces to her and pulled her into his arms, one hand sliding into her soft hair to cradle her nape. His fingers drifted down her cold cheek, and he could feel her horror. “He killed your father,” he said gently. The woman in his arms let out a long shuddering breath. “I know, but—” “Gabriel urged you to get the knife, and I willed you to lift it. No one knows better than I that there are forces in this world we do not understand. It was meant to be this way, beautiful Susanna. There are some things we cannot deny as part of our destiny. It is over now, the remaining members of the Pact can be absolved of our past sin, for with Young’s death, we moved for good.”

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Mortal Melody With a slight shudder, she relaxed slightly, resting against him. Where she belonged.

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Epilogue Fairmoor Castle Two months later “Where on earth did you come up with all those guests?” Dare asked as he deftly untied his cravat. From under the fringe of her long lashes, Susanna watched him and her lips curved in a slightly smug smile. “I had Bates send out servants and issue wedding invitations to everyone who lives nearby. He thought it a capital idea, and made all the arrangements for food and decorations. I thought he did a lovely job.” Shrugging out of his tailored coat, Dare couldn’t help but give his delectable bride a cynical, surprised look. “I am amazed anyone would come at all, much less hundreds of people. In the past, I haven’t gotten the impression I was particularly beloved by the villagers.” Still in her beautiful gown of pale violet silk, strewn with hundreds of seed pearls, Susanna smiled mischievously. “When you did not sprout horns or grow fearsome fangs during the ceremony, my lord, I think some of them were most sorely disappointed. However, I did think if we invited our neighbors to our nuptials, maybe they would revise their unflattering opinion of you, for in truth, you are a wonderful man.” “I’m a damned lucky man,” he said with just a shade of hoarseness to his voice. “Hopefully I will feel even luckier just moments from now. The reception was very nice and I’ll give Bates any praise you desire, but right at this moment I am extremely glad we are finally alone. Let me help you undress, beautiful Susanna, for I cannot wait to make love to you.” “Then don’t,” she answered breathlessly. His body reacted predictably, his cock swelling as she turned her back so he could unfasten her gleaming gown. He tossed the expensive garment aside so carelessly she made a soft sound of protest. Dare swiftly finished disrobing her and jerked off his own clothes. Nude, perfumed, and willing, Susanna was as always: smooth, seductive, female perfection. Her perfect alabaster breasts were already slightly larger with her pregnancy and he 90

Mortal Melody filled his hands with pliant flesh as he kissed her, the heightened cadence of their breath mingling as their mouths melded perfectly together. She was beautifully wet he found as he slid his hand between her legs, and she parted for his touch with an eagerness that humbled him, falling back on the bed and urging him over and inside her, her sweet sigh in his ear. In the ensuing hours—with every ounce of skill and any powers he might possess—he wooed her with his body until his new wife shuddered in climax time and again beneath him. His own orgasmic bliss was intense enough to match the marvel of his newfound happiness, the soft song of her pleasure sighing in his ear. In an entirely magical and mortal melody....

MORTAL MELODY Dangerous Beauties, Book #1

THE END

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AUTHOR’S BIO

Emma Wildes is the author of 16 erotic novels and numerous short stories. Reading has always been her passion and she finds that vibrant characters with strong personalities have a tendency to draw her straight into the story. History is her passion, and it reflects in her choice of wickedly dashing heroes and willful heroines. She lives in rural Indiana and is working on her next romance. Please stop by and visit at www.emmawildes.com. She would love to hear from you.

The Sinful Gentlemen Collection

by Emma Wildes Available in e-book format:

The Sinful Gentlemen Print Collection contains both The Manuscript and Midnight Without a Moon

The Sinful Gentlemen Collection #1

The Manuscript Claire Fallon is destitute and desperate. Reluctantly, she agrees to become the mistress of the reclusive but deliciously handsome Viscount Ranleigh, even though the man has absolutely no idea she has been hired to warm his bed. Much to her chagrin, another part of her duties involves translating an ancient manuscript that ends up being little more than an apothecary's guide to recipes for sexual adventure… Justin Howard has made a mistake, and he has paid a price. His wife is a promiscuous tart he can't escape...or can he? After his new assistant arrives to help him with his scientific experiments, he finds Claire not only opens a world of sensuous and uninhibited delights, but a determination to free himself from a situation that he can no longer tolerate. A scientist and an ingénue prove love matters more than scandal, and it is possible to find some intriguing ideas for passion in The Manuscript...

The Sinful Gentlemen Collection #2

Midnight Without a Moon Trenton Wyatt usually disdains gossip, but when it involves the younger sister of one of his best friends, he is forced to interfere before disaster strikes. Rescuing her from suspicious revenue officers by pretending she is his mistress brings both scandal and the wrath of her family down on his head, and before he knows what's happening, he is forced to wed the very beautiful, very reckless Jessica. Finally having the attention of the man of her dreams isn't exactly the fantasy Jessica Fairman imagined. For one thing, her arrogant new husband is both controlling and difficult to know...except, of course, sexually. In that way, the infamous rake performs predictably with exquisite skill and tireless passion, filling her nights--and days--with unbelievable pleasure. An unexpected union binds an aristocratic rogue and a determined young woman together in the dangerous darkness of midnight without a moon...

STORY EXCERPT

THE MANUSCRIPT The Sinful Gentlemen, Book 1 By Emma Wildes Copyright © 2006

It felt a little like coercion and a lot like blackmail when she said bluntly, “The job pays one hundred pounds a week. That is, I will pay you one hundred pounds a week in addition to whatever salary my brother pays you.” “What?” Claire Fallon blinked, those incredibly lovely eyes incredulous. “A week?” It was a staggering amount to someone almost starving. Money was not an issue and Margot had deliberately chosen an amount so ridiculously high it would not be turned down. “You will have to earn it, of course. Justin will think you are his new assistant, but in truth, what I want is for you to seduce him. I am hiring you, Miss Fallon, to be my brother’s mistress, as well as to assist him in his lab.” There was a small silence. Determinedly, Margot went on, “I doubt it will be particularly easy to lure him into your bed since he is still a married man and has an unfortunate sense of honor. However, he is a man and subject to male needs. Now that I have seen you, I think this will work. What my brother needs is a torrid love affair, something to take his mind away from his promiscuous viscountess. Since he rarely leaves our estate, it would be impossible for him to meet someone, so I decided to bring a woman to him. You will be ideal.” Lounging back after dropping that cannonball, Margot saw a myriad of emotions flit across the delicate features of the young woman sitting in her drawing room, predominantly utter shock. Casually sipping her smooth sherry, she waited, hoping Claire would not get up and walk out in outrage. Her guest seemed to struggle with affront, her eyes dilating, her hand shaking as it gripped her glass with white-knuckled force, but there had to be a measure of interest as well, for she did not get up and leave. Imminent starvation and tedious children were apparently powerful forces, for after several minutes of silence, Miss Fallon said hoarsely, “I cannot find the words to respond to this. Are you serious, Duchess?” “I don’t know what else to do. He simply cannot go on slaving away and feeling so utterly betrayed,” Margot explained, a certain frustration coloring her voice. “He is very handsome, and obviously intelligent, but not a man who relentlessly pursues every woman in sight. Particularly not now. You are gifted in both mind and body, and he will respond to you, or so I hope. All I ask is that you try to coax him back to some enjoyment of life. He’s not yet thirty. He should not be spending every night alone because of that harlot. She wanted his wealth and his title, but took his trust as well. I am determined to defeat her.” After that impassioned speech, Claire looked a little taken aback, her cheeks pink, her

gaze veiled by her lowered lashes. Persuasively, Margot leaned forward, her empty glass dangling from her fingers. “Think of it, my dear child. One hundred pounds a week to assist my brother in his laboratory and decipher some odd letters, plus the added bonus of being able to give pleasure to an attractive man who, I promise you, will give you pleasure back. I also have no objection to you bringing your young brother to the estate in Sussex, where you can tutor him between your duties and use the army of servants to keep an eye on him otherwise. The house is huge, the grounds extensive, with plenty of room for a child to play and run. The stables are very fine, as well, since Justin’s other passion is riding. Think of it, your young brother can be well-fed, well-cared for and get to enjoy being a small boy.” It was a good strategy on Margot’s part. Miss Fallon took a deep struggling breath, a sheen of tears in her glorious eyes. “That’s very generous.” “I love my brother as you do yours. I may not have to fight to put food in his mouth, but I would do anything to see him smile again.” “I cannot believe,” the lovely Claire muttered unevenly, “I would even consider this. My lady, I am not even sure I know how to seduce a man.” That small hint of capitulation made Margot suppress a glimmer of triumph. “I could have hired a skilled courtesan, but Justin would not respond to someone like that. Besides, he would catch on quickly enough and be angry with me for meddling. What he will like about you is your education and the ability to meet him on an equal level in some areas. Your extraordinary beauty will not go unnoticed either. It is like the gods dropped you suddenly in front of me as a gift.” That violet gaze changed, suddenly direct, almost challenging. “If your brother is such the perfect gentleman, would he even take to bed an innocent young woman that works for his family? Deflowering a servant is certainly not the actions of the paragon you mention.” “You won’t precisely be a servant, Miss Fallon, and you are right. Your virginity is a problem. Since he could never marry you, I don’t want him feeling guilty for ruining you once the two of you are lovers. He has to think you are experienced, at least somewhat. You will have to hide the fact you have never been with a man until it is too late.” The girl looked a little curious under her shocked expression. “Can one hide such a thing?”

ADULT EXCERPT

THE MANUSCRIPT The Sinful Gentlemen, Book 1 By Emma Wildes Copyright © 2006

Sighing with satisfaction, she felt him fill her with inexorable hard heat, her passage throbbing and thick already with semen from their previous lovemaking. Claire set the pace, her hands on his muscular shoulders as she moved up and down, the friction delicious and beguiling. Justin watched her breasts as they trembled and shifted with each motion, his green eyes glittering, his dark lashes shadowing his modeled cheekbones. Her body was so in tune to his that he seemed to sense exactly when to thrust upward slightly, bringing a feverish moan to her lips as the need for release built and grew. When his hand glided from her hip to between her legs, touching the exact spot with precise expertise, she exploded, sinking down deeply and letting out a small scream, her thighs gripping his body just as her inner muscles clenched his cock. His eyes drifting shut, Justin responded to her wild abandon by flexing suddenly, a groan coming up from his wide chest, his ejaculation drenching the entrance to her womb. Sinking down on to his damp body, Claire lay limply on his chest, their bodies still joined. “I love you, Justin,” she breathed.

REVIEWS for The Manuscript "The Manuscript was my first foray into the world of ebooks and I have to admit that I was very pleasantly surprised. Ms. Wildes' language is rich and colorful, fully immersing the reader in the story and period of the day. It must be noted that the love scenes are fully descriptive and intimately detailed. Yet even here, Ms. Wildes' turn of phrase is still very much in keeping with the period of the piece and does not seem out of context. I thoroughly enjoyed this tale and was even prompted to visit Ms. Wildes' website for a peek at her other stories of daring ladies, devilish gentlemen and good old-fashioned romance. If any of those elements fit your checklist for a good book, then The Manuscript is for you. 5 Blue Ribbons" —Deborah Kimpton, Romance Junkies "The Manuscript is the first in Emma Wildes' The Sinful Gentlemen Collection. In this story, Ms. Wildes has once again has shown her ability to present new variations of romance in all of its infinite forms. The problems of Justin's promiscuous tart wife, Caroline, adds just the right amount of tension to this exciting romance story. Justin and Claire add a wonderful chapter in exciting romance series. The story is very erotic and arousing, and makes Claire and Justin more than just written lovers. I found myself envying Justin and wishing Claire was a real person in my life. The romance between Claire and Justin is filled with steamy passion. Ms. Wildes' writing style is fresh and very enjoyable. The plot and flow of the story makes a wonderful reading experience. Be prepared to feel your passions grow as you read the beautifully written love scenes. 5 Stars/Hot" —W.O. Cable, Just Erotic Romance Reviews "Emma Wildes has the unique ability to draw the reader into her stories and make them feel invested in the happiness of her characters because they share so much of themselves. She also creates the most unique storylines that never fail to surprise the reader. Most novellas leave the reader thinking that, had the story been longer, it would have been more enjoyable. That is not the case with Ms. Wildes [in The Manuscript] as she takes the opportunity to fill every page with sentiment, and when the story ends, you just can't help but think it was perfect. 5 Stars/Excellent" —Kerin, Euro Reviews "The Manuscript is a lighthearted and sexy tale of a needy, studious man and a woman abandoned by society because she’s too pretty. Justin is tempted by her; Claire is intrigued by him. Watching these two dance around their attraction is half the fun of this story! Her work in translating a manuscript on folk remedies and sexual practices only serves as a foil to fan the flames. The villainess of this piece, the gleefully trampy Viscountess Ranleigh, is well-crafted and self-absorbed, and it’s a joy to see her receive her just reward. The Manuscript is a charming and sultry tale, and is sure to please! 5 Angels!" —Michelle, Fallen Angel Reviews "The Manuscript by Emma Wildes is a delicious read. Justin was adorable. I found myself smiling at his discomfort and I loved how Claire was able to tease him. Claire was unlike any innocent I have read about in a while. She has guts. I don't think I would have been able to seduce Justin. The Manuscript is a hot, romantic read that instantly held me spellbound. I love how Ms. Wildes threw a plot twist at the end and surprised me. The Manuscript is a great addition to my library!" —Talia Ricci, Joyfully Reviewed

STORY EXCERPT

MIDNIGHT WITHOUT A MOON The Sinful Gentlemen, Book 2 By Emma Wildes Copyright © 2006

“Well, it took you long enough, my lady.” The sound of that softly drawled sentence made Jessica stumble, almost plowing into the tall figure that had ominously materialized in front of her. Two strong hands shot out to steady her, and she recoiled, panic flaring through every nerve ending in her body. Dear God, no! For a long moment, terror held her immobile before she began to struggle. “Let me go.” “That’s not likely. Calm down, you reckless little fool. It’s me.” A second before her foot connected solidly with her assailant’s shin, she registered the familiar deep timbre of the man’s voice, her eyes widening in surprise. His grunt of pain was real enough and his hands tightened on her shoulders through her cloak. Jessica gasped, “My lord, what on earth are you doing here? You frightened me half to death.” “And you’ve crippled me for it. By the devil, woman, that hurts.” “What do you expect, looming out of the dark like that and grabbing me!” she exclaimed tartly, her heart still pounding at a rate that made her feel dizzy. His hold slackened, and in the dim light, Jessica made out the glint of his gaze and the clean, straight line of an unsmiling mouth. “I think the more appropriate question would be, what on earth are you doing here, Jess?” It was damning, of course, to be caught out like this, for no respectable young lady had a good reason to wander the cliffs in the middle of a stormy night. Since she couldn’t think of a single believable response, she simply said stonily, “It’s none of your business.” “I think it is.” Letting her go, Trenton Wyatt, the Earl of Declan, stepped back a pace, his chiseled features washed to bone and angle by a sudden flash of lightning. “My horse is tethered a few paces away. Come on.” Jessica shook her head, feeling the rising wind tug on her cloak and blow teasing wisps of hair across her face. Above, the branches sighed mournfully. “I’ll get home on my own. It’s just a short way.” “You aren’t going home, my dear.” His faint smile was a glimmer of white teeth in the shadows. That kind of statement was high-handed, even for someone as infernally arrogant as

Trenton, but there was a certain unsettling conviction in his voice. A stab of unease rippled through her. Jessica didn’t move but stood rooted in the thatch of woods, staring up at him. “What do you mean?” “I mean that I think you’ve finally outdone yourself, Jess. You aren’t a child any longer, climbing trees and swimming in the cove against your mother’s wishes. This particular escapade is a little more serious. In case you haven’t been informed, smuggling is a crime.” When she responded after a long heartbeat, her voice shook like the withering leaves overhead. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “I think you do. What’s worse, I’m not the only one who has deduced the beautiful female smuggler being whispered about on this coast just might be the lovely and aloof Lady Jessica Fairman.” This truly could not be happening. He was wrong. Her reputation was pristine. “What nonsense.” “Is it?” Harshly, Trenton rasped, “Devil take it, you rash, headstrong wench. Did it ever occur to you that the state of your family finances is not a secret? Servants talk, merchants gossip. It’s the way of the world. When you can suddenly pay your bills and the money has no legitimate source, people begin to wonder. Tell me, my dear. Have you heard the latest rumor? The revenue men have started calling the ringleader of the local smugglers the Golden Angel. They believe she is a French spy, selling secrets to Bonaparte for boatloads of contraband brandy and wine.” The blood drained from Jessica’s face, and she felt herself go cold. Relentlessly, he went on, the lash of the wind no worse than the stinging content of his words. “We can count on the possibility they are watching the house as we speak, waiting for you to slink back from your damnable rendezvous.” “I am not a French spy,” she said hotly, fear making her lose all sense of discretion. “Just the opposite.” His laugh cracked through the wild night. “Oh, wonderful. Now, I suppose you’re telling me you’ve been spying for us, carrying messages for communication to Wellington? That’s not any better, Jess. If the French realized you’ve been using the smuggling ring to further our cause against their emperor, you’ll be marked a target.” That had been a possibility all along. She had been just desperate enough to risk it. One long-fingered hand reached out and snared her wrist, jerking hard. “Look.” Trenton Wyatt, the man she’d known all her life, her brother’s oldest friend, pulled her nearly off her feet, his face thrusting close. “We’re leaving now. You are getting with me on my horse, and we’re riding to Declan Manor. Understand?” Wildly, she shook her head. “No.” Hands grasped her waist, and suddenly, she found herself swung into a pair of uncompromisingly strong arms. “Yes.” Desperate and frightened, she shoved ineffectually at his broad shoulders. “Trenton, put me down. I have to return home. If I’m not there in the morning, what will people think? Don’t

be daft. I can’t go home with you. If you want to play the rescuing angel, take me home and help me get safely inside.” His expression was dark as he strode out of the woods, his mouth tight and implacable, his hair wind-tossed and unruly. Sure enough, his horse grazed quietly on tufts of grass that grew in haphazard straggles by the cliff. “Sorry, love. If I’m an angel, it is only of the darkest sort.” It was warm in his embrace, and his chest felt strong and secure. Jessica resisted the irrational urge to cling to him. “If I am under suspicion, not going home won’t help that situation. Don’t you see? You’ll simply be labeled my accomplice.” “No, I won’t.” He promptly swung her onto the back of his horse and then vaulted into the saddle behind her, picking up the reins with competent hands. “I’ll be labeled your lover.”

ADULT EXCERPT

MIDNIGHT WITHOUT A MOON The Sinful Gentlemen, Book 2 By Emma Wildes Copyright © 2006

[Scene note: An assassin watches the hero and the heroine make love.]

“Trenton,” the breathless whisper came clearly. “Oh…yes.” The woman was on her back, her voluptuous gleaming body nude, her long hair in riotous waves of shimmering softness around her shoulders. Full ivory breasts quivered as she arched upwards in small, restless movements. Her knees were bent and spread wide open, her dainty feet resting on the mattress. Eyes closed, she gasped and mumbled something, her slender fingers threading through the dark hair of the man lying between her legs, his mouth hungrily eating at the apex between her thighs. The soft wet sounds of his oral ministrations were punctuated by the woman’s rising moans, and when she began to tremble violently, the man grasped her slim hips and cradled her in his large hands, prolonging her orgasm with his mouth on her sex until she went limp and breathlessly begged for him to stop. In the firelight, his grin gleamed wickedly as he shifted, sliding upward in one smooth movement of his muscular body. Covering the body of the blonde woman, he kissed her with an almost leisurely evident enjoyment at odds with the fully aroused state of his body, his erection dark against the woman’s pale skin. Watching from the shadows, no longer particularly afraid they would see him, at least if he stayed still and made no noise, Gaston noted the impressive width of the earl’s shoulders, and the toned state of his body. From what information he could gather, by all accounts, the earl might be a force to reckon with, deadly with a pistol, athletic and intelligent. He didn’t seem like a man who would allow harm to come to his very lovely wife. Especially when he seemed to so fully enjoy her charms. “Can you feel me, Jess?” Gaston could hear him ask in a low growl. “I’m so damned hard I can feel my heart beating in my cock. I need to be inside you.” His wife’s response seemed to be a choked sigh, her slim arms twining around his neck, her body overtly accepting as the Earl of Declan positioned himself between her thighs and began to penetrate, his hard buttocks flexing as he pushed deep into her body and started to move in the carnal rhythm of sexual intercourse. For him, Gaston always viewed sex as a necessary part of life, something to be done to

relieve the need—like eating or sleeping. He used prostitutes more often as not, as they were simple, the deal a straightforward exchange without emotion. The concept of love and marriage was abstract to him, like understanding the objection of the rest of Europe to his emperor’s ambition. However, this might be a problem, he mused as he continued to watch them couple, finally hearing the countess expire in a small blissful scream, her husband making a low sound of satisfaction as he went rigid against her open legs, his head tilted back and his eyes tightly shut as he climaxed. If he was going to complete his task, Gaston mused, edging back a little, he would need to be able to get the girl alone. Considering he was so noticeable as a Frenchman in a time when England’s tensions with his country ran high, he was going to have to plan carefully. And, he conceded, abandon the idea of catching Jessica Wyatt peacefully asleep in bed, for he somehow doubted after tonight’s passionate performance she ever slept alone. It was an obstacle, he told himself with practicality as he stealthily tread across the balcony and easily swung a leg over the railing. An obstacle he could overcome. She would die at his hands.

REVIEWS for Midnight Without a Moon "Jessica Fairman has been in love with her brother’s best friend, Trenton, since she was just a small child, but he had never noticed her, even when she became a breath-taking beauty. When Jessica’s bow in society ends abruptly due to her father’s overwhelming debt, she begins a risky venture to reduce the ever-growing bills, never imagining her nightly activities would arouse the suspicions of the gossips in town. Trenton Wyatt, Earl of Declan, finds Jessica sneaking around the cliffs of her country home after hearing gossip about her illegal affairs. Fearing she could be spying for the French yet knowing the rumors couldn’t possibly be true, he realizes the only way to clear her name is to make it appear she is his mistress, an action that will not only anger her family but also create a scandal. To save her reputation, he takes her as his bride, which is a price he’s willing to pay to help his friend. But when his desire to keep her safe from her reckless adventures becomes confused with his growing need for her love, will his choice be more dangerous to his heart than to his reputation as an aristocratic rogue? While I’m not usually drawn to historical romances, I couldn’t help but become helplessly drawn to Midnight Without a Moon. While this is the second in the Sinful Gentlemen Collection series, it is not connected to the previous story and is a stand-alone book. What made this book so invigorating is the intelligent and strong-willed Jessica. She is clever with an intelligent mind and a strong sense of self-worth. Both endearing and believable, she exudes a personality that shines with her glib comments and reasonable choices. Likewise, I greatly enjoyed Trenton. His father was a ruthless rogue and his talents with the ladies became Trenton’s talents as well. This leaves a slight undercurrent of coldness to Trenton’s personality as he is such a rogue that he doesn’t believe love is a possibility. This uncertainty makes you wondering if, or when, he’s going to slip up and become the cheater his father was. Trenton’s desire to fight the possibility of love drew me to him, along with his gentle yet firm ability to leave Jessica gasping with pleasure. These sex scenes are delicious, being both carnally passionate and delightfully descriptive. The plot has several slight twists, with enough action to keep me engaged by the storyline. There never was a dull moment and I found myself re-reading chapters because of how intense they were. Overall, I greatly enjoyed Midnight Without a Moon and will be placing Emma Wildes on my must-read list of authors. 5 Stars/Hot" —Francesca, Just Erotic Romance Reviews "Trenton Louis Wyatt, the Seventh Earl of Declan, is a wealthy, sophisticated, handsome man with compelling charm. He’s also the one man that Jessica wants but never dreams of having. She’s been in love with him for as long as she can remember but his wild exploits and reputation as a rake have led her to keep her distance. Trenton discovers that the lovely and aloof Lady Jessica Fairman is in quite a predicament. When her situation becomes precarious, he has no recourse but to help the youngest sister of his best friend. While his suggestion that she become his mistress is a bit unconventional and highly scandalous, he’s convinced that it’ll keep her out of prison. I thoroughly enjoyed Midnight Without a Moon and believe that you will too. Trenton’s honesty not only made him endearing but also earnest and trustworthy. The manner in which both Trenton and Jessica came to each other’s defenses so soon after their marriage was heartwarming. The historical accuracy of Emma Wildes’ work always adds to its allure. Jessica has just enough sass to make this tale entertaining while Trenton is all sexy hot male! The beautiful and romantic writing style that Ms. Wilde’s employs makes Midnight Without a Moon a charming page-turner. 4.5 Kisses" —Kerin, TwoLipsReviews

"In Trenton Wyatt, we have a hero of the high-calibre we have come to expect from Emma Wildes. He is outwardly a rake, but inwardly a tender-hearted lover and the masterful rescuer of the reckless Jessica. Their journey of discovery together is as enjoyable as the espionage thread that runs within the story and proved to be an excellent platform for introducing the impetuous Jessica. Ms. Wildes’ talent for description draws the reader into her stories right along with her characters. No detail is ever overlooked, from the feelings that race through Jessica as she enjoys the first kiss with Trenton to the lavish descriptions of her clothing. In Midnight Without a Moon, Ms. Wildes has woven a tale of delightful adventure-both in and out of the bedroom ensuring that she is always a joy to read. 4 Blue Ribbons" —Deborah, Romance Junkies

Dangerous Beauties Collection

by Emma Wildes Available in e-book format:

Dangerous Beauties Print Collection contains both Mortal Melody and Bedding a Traitor

Dangerous Beauties Collection #1

Mortal Melody A young woman is sent on a mission to deliver a volatile package to a reputed dark and powerful lord--only she proves to be the deadly one. Susanna Holt has lost her father, and now finds herself at the mercy of a broodingly handsome and enigmatic man who isn't ordinary in the least. Lord Fairmoor is the very stuff of legend, and she needs him desperately to protect her. The infamous earl does much, much more than just keep her safe, and in his arms, she learns that paradise can exist in the middle of mortal danger... Dare Weston wants a quiet life where his gift goes unnoticed. But when tempted with the lovely Susanna, he finds his human failings overcome self-preservation, and he is lured by the song of passion, succumbing to that Mortal Melody...

Dangerous Beauties Collection #2

Bedding a Traitor He's handsome, incredibly brave, a decorated hero…and just might be the treacherous man who betrayed her husband. Stephanie has a score to settle, but exacting the truth has never been so wickedly wondrous. Seducing Colonel Kingsley in the name of justice proves to be her pleasure, and she finds she is more than willing to sacrifice honor if it means spending time in his bed. The Luscious Lady Lakes, or so she is called by London society, wants something. Just what it is, Daniel Kingsley has yet to discover. Though he knows the beautiful widow's motives are suspect, he is just too captivated to resist the temptation. Together a damaged hero and a vengeful widow find that sinful passion and incredible pleasure are possible, if you are Bedding a Traitor…

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