CHRISTINA DODD
Taken by the Prince
“MY GO-TO AUTHOR.”
— Jayne Ann Krentz
P R A I S E F O R C H R I S T I NA D O D D ’ S N OV E L S
Chains of Fire
“The urgency of the plot ratchets up the emotional drama, giving the story an exhilarating edge.” — Romantic Times
Chains of Ice
“High-stakes action and high-adrenaline adventure provide the literary fuel for the latest addictive addition to Dodd’s scorchingly sensual the Chosen Ones series.”
— Chicago Tribune
In Bed with the Duke
“In Dodd’s triumphant return to historical romance, she offers all of the elements her fans crave: deliciously clever writing, sexy romance, and a swashbuckling plot.”
— Booklist
Storm of Shadows
“A riveting new series … the action and romance are hot!”
— The Romance Readers Connection
“Fabulous urban romantic fantasy … a stupendous thriller.”
— Midwest Book Review
Storm of Visions
“The taut, suspenseful plot, intriguing characters, and a smooth, natural style show that Dodd has earned her place on the bestseller list.”
— Publishers Weekly
“Ms. Dodd plunges readers into a fast-
paced tale with
intriguing paranormal elements, and treats them to a deliciously steamy romance that’s sure to grab the reader’s attention … suspenseful, packed with danger-filled action, and never slows as the story unfolds.” —Darque Reviews
“Storm of Visions definitely hooked me … quirky, unusual, fun, tense, surprising, sexy, and wild!”
—Errant Dreams Reviews
continued …
“A MASTER ROMANTIC STORYTELLER.”
—Kristin
Hannah
F U RT H E R P R A I S E F O R C H R I S T I NA D O D D
Into the Flame
“Alluring and intriguing.”
— Fresh Fiction
“Sizzling sensuality and dark emotions. A book by Dodd is always worth reading, but here’s hoping she ventures into the paranormal again.”
— Romantic Times
“[A]n explosive page-turner.”
— Eye on Romance
“Once again Christina Dodd weaves her spell … real and sexy … full of suspense and adventure.”
—Fallen
Angel
Reviews
“[A] stunning tale of love, of sin and redemption, of exciting adventure.”
— Romance Reviews Today
Into the Shadow
“Ms. Dodd has once again created an amazing novel.”
—Eye on Romance
“Another stellar book from a most talented author!”
— Romantic Times
“I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat … a gorgeous book.”
— Errant Dreams Reviews
“Sexy and … darkly appealing.”
— Rendezvous
Thigh High
“Offbeat characters and undeniable charm … a joy to experience!” — Romantic Times (4ݣstars, top pick)
“[C]harming and likable characters … an enjoyable read.”
—Fresh
Fiction
“Christina Dodd is a master… . Thigh High is a winner I highly recommend.”
— Romance Reviews Today
“CHRISTINA DODD HAS A KNACK FOR TENSE, HEART-POUNDING ACTION.”
—Errant Dreams Reviews
Touch of Darkness
“A sweeping saga of good and evil … this latest promises to be one of her best to date.”
— Library Journal
“Enthralling, intense.”
— The State (Columbia, SC)
“Christina Dodd demonstrates why she is such a popular writer, in any genre… . Readers will be riveted until the final page.”
— A Romance Review
Scent of Darkness
“The first in a devilishly clever, scintillatingly sexy new paranormal series by Christina Dodd.” — Chicago Tribune
“[A] satisfying series kickoff … [a] fast-paced, well-written paranormal with a full, engaging mythology and a handful of memorable characters.”
— Publishers Weekly
“Multigenre genius Dodd dives headfirst into the paranormal realm with … a scintillating and superb novel!”
— Romantic Times (4ݣstars, top pick)
… A N D H E R O T H E R N OV E L S
“Dodd delivers a high-octane, blow-out finale… . This romantic suspense novel is a delicious concoction that readers will be hard-pressed not to consume in one gulp.”
— Publishers Weekly
“Warm characterizations and caperlike plot make Dodd’s hot contemporary romance a delight, and the cliff-hanger ending will leave readers eager for the sequel.” — Booklist
“Dodd adds humor, sizzling sensuality, and a cast of truly delightful secondary characters to produce a story that will not disappoint.”
— Library Journal
“Sexy and witty, daring and delightful.”
—Teresa
Medeiros,
New York Times bestselling author of
After Midnight
Novels by Christina Dodd
Danger in a Red Dress
Thigh High
Tongue in Chic
Trouble in High Heels
In Bed with the Duke
Novels in the Darkness Chosen Series
Scent of Darkness
Touch of Darkness
Into the Shadow
Into the Flame
Novels in the Chosen Ones Series
Storm of Visions
Storm of Shadows
Chains of Ice
Chains of Fire
CHRISTINA DODD
Taken by the Prince
SIGNET SELECT
Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi -110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Signet Select, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Copyright © Christina Dodd, 2011
All rights reserved
SIGNET SELECT and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
ISBN: 1-101-50425-0
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For my dear friend Emily March.
We’ve laughed, we’ve consoled, we’ve partied, we’ve supported each other through thick and thin, we’ve hung out in culverts, we’ve plotted evilly and well.
May Eternity Springs flow forever.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Leslie Gelbman, Kara Welsh, and Kerry Donovan, my appreciation for your constant support. More appreciation to NAL’s art department, led by Anthony Ramondo.
To Rick Pascocello, head of marketing, and the publicity department with my special people Craig Burke and Jodi Rosoff, thank you. My thanks to Frank Walgren and the production department and, of course, a special thank-you to the spectacular Penguin sales department: Norman Lidofsky, Don Redpath, Sharon Gamboa, Don Rieck, and Trish Weyenberg. You are the best!
Thank you to Roger Bell, retired Air Force pilot, for his help with ballistics, and to Joyce Bell for critiquing in all conditions and in all places, and always knowing how to conjugate lie and lay. I truly appreciate it.
Chapter One
England, 1837
“So, Grimsborough, this is your little bastard.”
Eleven-year-old Saber stood on the thick rug in the middle of the big English room in the big English manor. He stared narrowly at the tall, elegant older woman with the sneering mouth and the pale yellow hair, the one who dared insult him. In his native tongue, he said, “In Moricadia, I kill people who call me names.”
“What?” the woman asked. “Grimsborough, what did he say?”
The shadowy figure behind the wide, polished wood desk did not look up from his writing.
Five finely dressed girls, ages five to twelve, stood lined up by the fireplace, and one of them, the skinny one in the middle, said in awestruck tones, “He’s so dirty.”
“And thin,” said another.
Saber shifted his attention to them. Soft, silly English girls.
They stared at him as if he were a trained dancing bear, and when he glared, the littlest’s brown eyes filled with tears. She popped her thumb into her mouth and slid behind her sisters’ skirts.
“Look, he’s tired.” The eldest spoke with authority.
“He’s swaying on his feet.”
Then in unison, the four eldest girls smiled at him.
Kindly, sweetly, as if nothing ugly or brutal ever touched their lives.
Saber hated them. He hated the lady, hated the uniformed servants standing at attention, hated every single one. Most of all, he hated the evil man in charge, the man behind the desk, the one he knew had to be the viscount … and his father. Again in his native tongue, Saber spit, “Stupid English wenches.”
“What did he say?” The sneering English lady looked between Saber and the viscount. “What did he mean?”
For the first time, the man spoke. “Bring him to me.”
Two of the man’s absurdly dressed servants grabbed Saber’s arms and propelled him around the desk to face the man.
Grimsborough gestured for the candelabra to be brought closer, and when the light struck his face, Saber thought he looked like the older woman. Not in his features, which were sharp and strong, but in the aristocratic lift of his chin and contemptuous curve of his mouth.
The English lady drew in a sharp breath. Because, although Saber didn’t realize it, he and Grimsborough looked alike, also.
Grimsborough examined the skinny, filthy, tired child as if he were a bug squashed beneath his shoe. Then he reached out a pale, long-fingered hand and slapped Saber across the face with his open palm.
The sound of flesh against flesh echoed like a gunshot.
Saber fell sideways.
One of the girls gasped. Another one whimpered.
The woman smiled in satisfaction.
And Saber lunged for Grimsborough, fists swinging.
The servants caught him, dragged him backward.
The contemptuous man waved for him to come forward again.
The servants didn’t let go of him this time.
Grimsborough put his narrow, patrician nose so close it almost touched Saber’s, and his soft, deep, menacing tone raised prickles of fear along Saber’s spine. “Listen to me, lad. You are nothing. Nothing. My bastard by a foreigner, and if I had had another son, your filthy feet would never sully the floors of my home. But God in His infinite wisdom has blessed me with nothing from this marriage but daughters.” He glanced at the girls, so colorfully clothed, so sweet in their innocence, and he despised them. “Five daughters. So you will live here until you’re fit to be sent to school. And never again will you speak of your betters in that insolent manner.”
Saber shook his head, shrugged, and gestured helplessly.
“Don’t pretend with me, lad. Your mother spoke English. Every servant who works in your country speaks English. So do you.”
Saber didn’t quite have the guts to swear at Grimsborough, but he spoke Moricadian when he said, “English is for the ignorant.”
Saber never even saw the blow coming, but it snapped his head sideways and his ear rang.
“Never let me hear you speak that barbaric tongue again.” Grimsborough’s voice never rose.
Saber lifted his chin. “I hate you,” he said in clear, plain English.
“I hate you, sir,” Grimsborough said with chilling precision.
Saber’s gaze was full of loathing.
“Say it.” Grimsborough’s frigid green eyes held nothing: no spark, no interest … no heart.
Saber glanced toward the elegant, sneering woman.
She stood terrified, looking at her husband the way a mouse looks at a snake.
Saber glanced at the girls. Four of them stood with their heads down. One, the middle girl, stood with her hands clasped at her skinny chest, staring at him, and when their eyes met, her lips moved in appeal: Please.
He looked back at Grimsborough. This man who was his father scared him— and he wasn’t afraid of anything. But he couldn’t give in. Not quite. Straightening his shoulders, he said, “I hate you, sir, but my grandfather told me I had to come to this damp, cold island and go to your savage schools and learn everything I could about mathematics and languages and statesmanship so I could go back to Moricadia and free my people from cruel oppression.”
The eldest girl stepped forward as if he interested her. “If you want to free your people, shouldn’t you learn how to fight?”
He swung a contemptuous glare on her. “I already know how to fight.”
“You’ll need an army. Do you know how to lead an army?” She looked him right in the eyes, not at all impressed with his bravado.
“I know how to lead,” he retorted; then grudgingly he added, “But I will have to learn military tactics.”
“Then we are in accord in one thing— you will cease to be an ignorant savage and become a civilized gentleman.” Grimsborough gestured to the servants. “Take him away. Clean him. Give him over to the tutors and tell them to use any means necessary to teach him what he needs to know. I will see him here in six months.
Please note, I expect an immense improvement, or I will be unhappy.”
Saber felt the little shiver that raced through the room at the idea of anyone incurring Grimsborough’s wrath.
Picking up his quill, Grimsborough turned back to his desk and ignored the servants, his wife, his daughters, and Saber.
“We will begin with a bath,” Lady Grimsborough said decisively.
At the mere idea of this woman seeing his naked
body, Saber struggled, lunging against the grips of the servants.
The second-to-the-eldest girl, a pale, soft, silly thing dressed in pink and ruffles, begged, “Mama, he’s so skinny. Please, can we feed him first?”
“Do you not have a nose? Can you not smell him?”
Lady Grimsborough waved her scented lace handkerchief before her face.
Saber had learned to fight in a hard school, and he swung on one servant’s arm, knocked the feet out from beneath the other, broke free, and raced toward the door.
The head servant, the one who was dressed in black and wore white gloves and a face with no expression, tackled him around the knees. The two footmen leaped on top of his back, crushing him into the flowered carpet.
His father’s unemotional voice intoned, “A few good canings are in order. Thompson, I trust you’ll handle the matter.”
The man in black and white helped haul Saber to his feet, then dusted off his white gloves. “Yes, my lord. Immediately, my lord.”
“Clearly the little bastard will survive without a meal for a few more hours.” Lady Grimsborough eyed Saber as if he were a plucked chicken ready for the pot.
In a cold, clear voice Grimsborough said, “As of now, his name is Raul. Raul Lawrence.”
Clearly dismayed, Lady Grimsborough asked, “Lawrence? Surely you don’t intend to— ”
“Adopt him? Indeed I do. He is Raul Lawrence, son of the Viscount Grimsborough, and he is to become an English gentleman. Wife, please ensure that everyone in the household realizes how quickly he or she will incite my displeasure should the boy be given the wrong name or title.”
Once again that shiver rattled the room.
Saber had left a country where he roamed free, and landed in hell.
And his father was the prince of darkness himself.
Chapter Two
Three months later
For the first time ever, Thompson, the butler, stepped into the drawing room during Saber’s dancing lesson. In that sonorous tone that so annoyed Saber, he announced, “Mr. Lawrence, your father wishes to speak to you.”
Saber stopped waltzing so abruptly that his middle sister— he knew her name now; she was Belle— squeaked and stepped all over his feet. “Why?” he asked.
“We do not question Lord Grimsborough’s wishes.
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