The Deepest Sin
Page 28
She felt the floor around her, imagining rotted wood and broken stone. Logic told her there had to be an entranceway. Taking a deep breath, she twisted onto her left hip, arms flailing to find purchase to heave herself into a standing position. Not for the first time in her life, she cursed her heavy skirts, entangling her legs. If she could at least stand ... She pushed herself up on her right elbow, wrestling aside her skirts with an impatient hand. The fabric tore, the sound muffled in the darkness. The white-hot pain no longer mattered, nor did the bile flooding her throat. Gathering her legs beneath her, she pushed herself up, swaying like a mad marionette without the security of strings.
She held her breath. The silence was complete. Arms outstretched, her hands clutched at air. No wall. Nothing to lean on. Just one small step, one after the other, and she would encounter a wall, a door, something. She bit back a silent plea. Hadn’t Meredith taught them long ago about the uselessness of prayer?
Suddenly, her palms were halted by the sensation of solid muscle. Instinctively, she stopped, convinced that she was losing her mind. She felt the barely perceptible rise and fall of a chest beneath her opened palms.
Where there had been only black, there was a shower of stars in front of her eyes and a humming in her head. She saw him, without the benefit of light or the quick trace of her fingers, behind her unseeing eyes.
She took a step back in the darkness away from the man who wanted her dead.
The Darkest Sin
Desperate Deceptions
Lord James Rushford is the only man in London who can lead Rowena Woolcott to the villain who has been tormenting her family for years, and she will stop at nothing to enlist his help. Even if she must pretend to play a dangerously enticing role: his mistress.
Shadowed Secrets
Rushford has demons of his own—a dark past that haunts his memories. Yet the temptation that Rowena presents is more than he can resist.
Relentless Desire
Claiming to be lovers should not be so easy—or feel so achingly appealing. But as Rushford ushers Rowena through London’s most elite clubs and sinister underworlds, truth and fantasy blur. And as the threat to Rowena grows near, the masquerade of passion begins to feel startlingly real ...
Rowena Woolcott was cold, so very cold.
She dreamed that she was on her horse, flying through the countryside at Montfort, a heavy rain drenching them both to the skin, hooves and mud sailing through the sodden air. Then a sudden stop, Dragon rearing in fright, before a darkness so complete that Rowena knew she had died.
When she awakened, it was to the sound of an anvil echoing in her head and the feeling of bitter fluid sliding down her throat. She kept her eyes closed, shutting out the daggered words in the background.
“Faron will not rest—”
“The Woolcott women—”
“One of his many peculiar fixations ... they are to suffer ... and then they are to die.”
“Meredith Woolcott believed she could hide forever.”
Phrases, lightly accented in French, drifted in and out of Rowena’s head, at one moment near and the next far away. Time merged and coalesced, a series of bright lights followed by darkness, then the sharp retort of a pistol shot. And her sister’s voice, calling out to her.
The cold permeated her limbs, pulling down her heavy skirts into watery depths. She tried to swim but her arms and legs would not obey, despite the fact that she had learned as a child in the frigid lake at Montfort. She did not sink like a stone, weighted by her corset and shift and riding boots, because it seemed as though strong hands found her and held her aloft, easing her head above the current trying to force water down her throat and into her lungs.
She dreamed of those hands, sliding her into dry, crisp sheets, enveloping her in a seductive combination of softness and strength. She tossed and turned, a fever chafing her blood, her thoughts a jumble of puzzle pieces vying for attention.
Drifting into the fog, she imagined that she heard steps, the door to a room opening, then the warmth of a body shifting beneath the sheets. She felt the heat, his heat, like a cauldron, a furnace toward which she turned her cold flesh. Her womb was heavy and her breasts ached as he slid into her slowly, infinitely slowly, the hugeness of him filling the void that was her center.
Was it one night or a lifetime of nights? Or an exquisite, erotic dream? Spooned with her back against his body, Rowena felt him hard and deep within her. She slid her hip against a muscular thigh, aware of him beginning to move within her once again. She savored the wicked mouth against the skin of her neck, pleasured by the slow slide of his lips. Losing herself in his deliberate caress, she reveled in his hands cupping and stroking, his fingers slipping into the shadows and downward to lightly tease her swollen, sensitized flesh.
“Stay here ... with me,” he whispered, breath hot in her ear.
And she did. For one night or a lifetime of nights, she would never know.
GREAT BOOKS, GREAT SAVINGS!
When You Visit Our Website:
www.kensingtonbooks.com
You Can Save Money Off The Retail Price
Of Any Book You Purchase!
• All Your Favorite Kensington Authors
• New Releases & Timeless Classics
• Overnight Shipping Available
• eBooks Available For Many Titles
• All Major Credit Cards Accepted
Visit Us Today To Start Saving!
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All Orders Are Subject To Availability.
Shipping and Handling Charges Apply.
Offers and Prices Subject To Change Without Notice.
BRAVA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2012 Caroline Richards
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Brava and the B logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-7782-4