Devil in My Arms: A Loveswept Historical Romance (The Saint's Devils)

by Samantha Kane

  “Slut,” Dumphrees threw at her caustically.

  Roger took a menacing step forward, but she only laughed.

  “Really? If that were so, the fact that I find you entirely disgusting says more about you than it does about me, I’m afraid.” She shook her head. “Honestly, I must have been confused by the heat and press of the company inside when I agreed to this. What could I possibly have seen in you? Whatever it was, rest assured I have regained my wits.” She snapped her teeth at him like a tigress suddenly and Dumphrees leapt back in alarm. She laughed harder. “Be gone, toad.”

  Dumphrees stalked off in a huff. Roger watched as his damsel in distress adjusted her clothing. She didn’t seem to be too perturbed by her encounter with Dumphrees. There was a curious sort of satisfaction in her expression and her movements. “Are you going to stand there staring at me all evening?” she said archly, putting her hands on her hips as she regarded him. He saw the moment her regard went from amusement to calculation. “You could do more than stare, you know.” She turned and showed him her back. Her dress was partially undone. “You could do something with this.”

  Roger met her look with calculated regard of his own. Apparently there had been a tryst awaiting him in the woods. “I might be tempted.”

  * * *

  And there it was. The opening Harry needed. She couldn’t tolerate Dumphrees’s touch, but this man reminded her of her childhood hero, a shadowy version of the knight of her dreams when she’d grown to adulthood. Those fantasies were long gone now, but surely she’d find his touch inoffensive? It was imperative she find a man she could stomach if her plan was to succeed. And it must. Faircloth was becoming more and more insistent.

  She pasted on a smile, her insincerity causing a burning in her stomach and an increasingly insistent pounding in her temples. “Well,” she murmured delightedly. “What a handsome devil you are.” She put every ounce of mummery she could in that smile as she waved him closer. She didn’t trust her feet to carry her the few steps across the clearing.

  His smile never wavered as he walked over and bowed before her. “And you, my lady, are exquisite. What shall I call you?” She held out her hand and nearly cried out with relief when he took it in his and kissed her wrist and she felt none of the revulsion she usually did at that type of familiarity from men.

  “Why, friend, of course,” she replied, hanging on to his hand longer than was proper. He raised a brow as he regarded her in surprise. Surely he could see her interest was more than friendly? Most men fell all over themselves for even that simple contact with her. She had every intention of offering him far more.

  “It’s always nice to make a new friend,” he said softly, and for the first time in years she felt the sharp bite of attraction. She ruthlessly tamped it down. Tears sprang to her eyes but she blinked them back. She didn’t have the luxury of genuine desire or emotional attachments anymore. She had a son and her independence, and she wasn’t going to give up either one of them. She’d earned them over the last seven years. If she had to ruin herself to keep them, then by God that’s just what she’d do. This was about survival, not lust and certainly not love. Those useless emotions had gotten her nowhere in the past. Although, with this handsome lothario her plan seemed much more palatable than it had yesterday when she’d had no candidates in mind for her ruination.

  “Yes, it is,” she was able to say honestly, her voice a little husky from emotion. She delicately cleared her throat. “And how shall we celebrate our new friendship?” She smiled again, letting him believe it was desire that prompted it, narrowing her eyes and licking her lips. He was no different from other men. His eyes tracked her tongue as she glided it along her upper lip slowly. “I was wrong,” she said, lowering her voice just a little bit more, adding a breathless quality that had his eyes dilating. “You are even more handsome than the devil.” And he was. His hair was black as a raven’s wing and worn in the latest style. She’d always preferred dark-haired men. The short cut emphasized his classical features. He looked like Adonis. He was tall and broad, carrying his masculinity like a standard announcing his arrival. The size and strength of him made her quite, quite nervous. His gorgeous eyes and the dimples in his cheeks gave her pause. She’d known someone once who looked like him.

  “And a bit smarter than Old Nick, too,” he added, taking a step closer to her, then turning her hand and kissing her palm. Her heart was suddenly beating too fast, her breathlessness no longer an act. But it wasn’t distaste. It was the thrill of attraction again, the excitement of having a man like this clearly desire her. She fervently wished she’d taken her gloves off so she could feel his kiss on her skin.

  “Which means,” he said so quietly she had to lean her head closer to his, until she smelled the liquor on his breath and the clean, linen scent of him, “that I’m not falling for your consummate acting skills.”

  Her mouth dropped open in astonishment and he laughed as he enthusiastically kissed her palm again before dropping her hand and leaning against the nearest tree. He crossed his arms. “What are you up to?”

  “What?” she asked, pretending confusion. “Friend, you are too suspicious for your own good.” She hoped she appeared affectionately chiding rather than desperate. When he merely raised a brow, his disbelief clear, she sighed deeply, as if giving in to his demands. “Fine. I thought that since Dumphrees was such an abysmal failure, I might convince you to take his place.” In a strange twist, that was actually the truth.

  “Take his place?” he asked, his voice thick with suspicion. “What exactly does that mean?”

  Harry wandered over, putting a bit more swish in her skirts than was absolutely necessary when going from one point to another. “Exactly what you think it does,” she said flirtatiously. She crowded him against the tree trunk, finding genuine amusement in the way he backed away from her, skittish as a virgin. Very deliberately she raised her arm and rested her hand on the tree just above his shoulder, effectively blocking him in and forcing him to spread his legs to make room for her. “I need a lover.” She snuggled against him shamelessly. “And you are a perfect fit.”

  * * *

  Her kiss was delicate and inviting, almost innocent in its appeal. Roger couldn’t resist the lure of her, opened his mouth just enough to steal a taste of her, a swipe along the silk of the softest lips he’d ever felt. He gripped her upper arms as her hands slid down to rest against his chest. When she pressed those curves against him, they were indeed a perfect fit. The cradle of her hips rocked into his nascent arousal and her breasts flattened against his chest as he pulled her closer. Then she opened her mouth and the tip of her tongue met his in a soft, slick, shy advance.

  She was absolutely perfect, all soft skin and rounded curves, warm, willing, and here. Roger wrapped both arms around her, opened his mouth, and tried to devour her. He hadn’t wanted a woman this much in ages. She made a small sound of protest and he loosened his hold. She seemed to retreat from the ferocity of his kiss, as well, so he forced himself to pull back, placing small kisses along her jaw. She relaxed in his embrace then and her arms went around his neck. She smelled divine, like flowers and fresh air. He was suddenly so hard it was an ache between his legs. Without crushing her as he had a moment ago, he moved his hips closer to her and rubbed against her. The silk of her dress slid against the material of his pantaloons sensuously, the slick sound melding with the little moan that she made when he moved his mouth down and kissed the pulse pounding in her neck.

  He’d rutted like this before, outside, spontaneously, rough and tumble, neither partner caring about convention or consequences. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen tonight. There was nowhere in the little clearing that wouldn’t result in complete destruction of their clothes, and they were at a well-attended ball. It wouldn’t be fair to the lady to leave her open to the ridicule that would follow her should she go back inside in such a condition. But he had to have her. Tonight. “Your name,” he murmured. “Tell me your name, a
nd where we can go.”

  “Harriet,” she murmured, arching her neck, encouraging his kisses.

  The shock of a long-ago memory from his youth, so brief it was more a glimpse of colors and sounds than a clear picture, set off alarms in his head and common sense returned with cruel vengeance. Roger froze. It couldn’t be. But she’d seemed so familiar, hadn’t she? Please, God, he prayed, let it be some other blond, reckless hoyden.

  “Harriet?” he choked out. “Harry?”

  She froze in a ludicrous imitation of Roger. “Who are you?” she demanded. Her inaction lasted only a moment before she was pushing against him, trying to break out of his embrace.

  He hadn’t heard that voice in years, but now it was so obvious it was Harry. What on earth was she doing here? And how had he missed her? Although, to be fair, she looked nothing like she had the last time he’d seen her when she was nine. Back then she’d been scrawny and her hair had been so blond it was almost white. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined she’d be this beautiful.

  Suddenly furious at her, Roger spun around and pushed her so that she faced the tree. She cried out in confusion and stumbled forward, but froze again when Roger boxed her in as she’d done to him earlier, with one forearm on the tree trunk beside her head. “Looking for a lover, are you?” he murmured, nuzzling the back of her neck. How dare the foolish girl take a risk like this, encouraging the sexual advances of a stranger in such a secluded place? What if it hadn’t been Roger? What if it had been some unscrupulous bastard who wouldn’t have stopped, no matter what? He glanced down and began to rapidly close up the back of her dress.

  “Yes,” she said, but she was so rigid against him that he thought he might be able to break her into tiny pieces, like a little porcelain shepherdess. She kept her hands on the tree trunk in front of her chest, pressing so hard her nails were white with the effort to remain still. It was quite obvious she was uncomfortable in this position, and no longer in charge of the situation. She should be frightened. The very idea that Dumphrees had managed to get her half unclothed made his blood boil.

  “God dammit, Harriet Stanley, what the hell were you thinking?”

  She spun around and he let her, taking a step back. “Do I—” The horror on her face was almost comical as she realized who he was. “Templeton. He said Templeton. My God, Roger, is that you?”

  “Hello, Harry,” he said softly. “And now we are all grown up.”

  Read on for an excerpt from Sharon Cullen’s

  Loving the Earl

  Chapter One

  “Come now, Alice, we must hurry if we’re to make the ship before it sails without us.” Lady Claire Hartford, Viscountess Chesterman, grabbed her newly minted maid by the sleeve and pulled her through the crush of people milling about Dover’s port.

  Alice dug her heels in and pulled back. Her wide-eyed gaze took in a drunkard staggering out of a nearby tavern, then moved to the majestic ship docked across the crowded street.

  Claire adjusted her hold on Alice and tugged harder.

  “Oh, good, there you are.” Claire breathed a sigh of relief when the boy she’d hired to bring her bag from the carriage appeared at her side, his face red from exertion, his small hands wrapped tightly around the handles of her bag. ’Twas only a small bag she’d brought with her, having sent her larger luggage ahead to the ship, but it contained important papers such as letters of introduction to her brother’s acquaintances in France and Italy, and letters from her brother to his banks so she had access to money.

  Tapping a gloved finger to her closed lips, Claire’s gaze swept over the busy dock, looking for someone of authority to hand over her baggage.

  As a sailor hurried past, she let go of Alice long enough to snag his coattail. “Pardon me, but can you tell me with whom I may secure my luggage?”

  The sailor looked at her, his gaze moving from the navy cap covering her hair to her blue traveling gown to her fine boots then back up again. “I can take it for you, m’lady.”

  “Lovely.” She pulled a crown from her reticule and handed it to him.

  He looked from the coin to her, his brows furrowed.

  “This is for your trouble,” she said. “We will be in cabin number four if you could have it waiting for us when we get there.”

  He bobbed his head and with a hurried, “Certainly, m’lady,” grabbed the bag and disappeared into the crowd.

  Claire straightened her shoulders and brushed her hands together. “Well, that went very well. Don’t you think, Alice?” If Richard could see her now. No, her late husband wouldn’t at all be pleased to see her now. In fact, he was probably rolling in his grave. Good. She hoped he was rolling. This stretching of her wings, finding her freedom, was even more exhilarating than she’d believed possible.

  Alice took a step back. “M’lady. I don’t think … That is … Your brothers …”

  Claire grabbed Alice’s sleeve and yanked her out of the way of a wagon pulled by two tired-looking horses. Poor Alice. She was a new kitchen maid to Claire’s brother’s home and a last-minute substitute for Claire’s adventure. Claire had thought the girl would be much more appreciative of the chance to see a part of the world she never would have had the chance to see otherwise.

  “Never mind my brothers.” Claire breathed deep of the crisp, briny air, and wrinkled her nose at the sharp, pungent odor of the tanning shop a few streets over. “Sebastian and Nicholas will be fine without us,” she said, referring to the brothers of which Alice spoke. Of course Sebastian and Nicholas had no idea that she and Alice were in Dover. Sebastian thought she was leaving on tomorrow’s ship with her old nanny, Betsy. Claire had outmaneuvered him by secretly making plans of her own, leaving Dover earlier, on a ship that didn’t belong to her other brother, Nicholas. Did Sebastian truly think she would be content with Betsy? The woman was a dragon and would surely have stifled Claire’s adventure. Probably the reason Sebastian insisted Betsy accompany her.

  With a bright smile Claire turned to her maid to find the poor girl cowering. “Shall we?”

  Alice whimpered. Claire ignored her and headed for the tall ship.

  She wasn’t ignorant about sailing although she did suffer a moment of trepidation when approaching the gangplank. She’d never been on a vessel other than Nicholas’s and never had she actually been on one that sailed to another port. But she pushed the apprehension away. Her choice of a shipping company other than Nicholas’s had been deliberate—for the express purpose of cutting the ropes that tethered her to her overprotective, overbearing family.

  The crowd grew more dense, and suddenly Alice’s arm was torn from Claire’s grasp. Whirling around to locate her maid, Claire slammed into a hard surface. She raised her hand to catch herself and found her chin pressed against the buttons of a waistcoat.

  “Oh.” She stumbled back just as a man’s hands settled over her shoulders, steadying her.

  She looked up, up, up into the darkest brown eyes framed by the longest, blackest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. He released her shoulders but not before the heat of his hands penetrated her cloak.

  He cursed and dropped to his knee. Shocked, Claire looked down upon dark brown hair, intermingled with bits of vibrant red. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed various papers scattered on the ground, some crushed beneath others’ boots. He scooped up as many as he could, but a brisk breeze lifted several sheets and spread them farther.

  “Oh, dear.” She bent to pick up a stray paper but a passing foot came down on it at the same time, crushing her fingers. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and yanked her hand from beneath the boot.

  Suddenly his large hand was on hers. “You’re hurt.”

  She tried to pull free but he held tightly, pulling her glove off to examine her red knuckles. She hesitated, shocked that a stranger was touching her bare hand in such an intimate manner. Their faces were so close that their noses almost touched, and for the first time she noticed that his eyes were red rimmed and
bloodshot, and his auburn hair mussed as if he’d not had time to comb it that morning.

  She pulled her hand from his. “I’m fine. Truly. But you will lose your papers if we don’t get them now.”

  She spotted a few some feet away, again trampled by the crowd. She hurried over and managed to retrieve them.

  The gentleman—for that was exactly what he was; no one other than a gentleman could afford a waistcoat that fit so perfectly to such wide shoulders—was looking down with a look of disbelief at the crumpled, muddy and torn papers in his hand.

  She handed him the ones she’d retrieved, brushing at the dirt as he grabbed them from her with a glacial look that had her cringing. “Were they important?”

  “Yes,” he bit out between clenched teeth. “They were.” He muttered something under his breath.

  She caught only a few words but they were enough to make her insides freeze as she reminded herself that this man—whom she no longer thought of as a gentleman—was a stranger, and she no longer had to listen to men berate her. She suffered years and years of that with her husband, and while her brothers didn’t treat her harshly, the censorship of her actions was always in their eyes. She wasn’t putting up with any more of that.