Tempted by His Touch: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Dukes, Rogues, & Alpha Heroes Historical Romance Novels

by Darcy Burke

  “Perhaps the list of my next victims,” he sneered.

  She ignored that comment. Her fingers traced down the list. Dunsford sat at the end. “Tristan, what is this list for?”

  “God, Evie,” he stared at her. “Fine. In my investigation as to the traitor, an informant made comment of a traveler with the name starting with a D or T.”

  “D or T? That’s all?”

  “Well it was a bit hard to get any more out of him as he was shot dead before me.”

  She ignored that remark. “So travelers with a D or T are suspect?”

  He frowned. “Especially those who’ve traveled East.” He stopped, his eyes widening, and he smiled, as if he had found the missing piece he needed. “Any involved with silk more so.”

  “Silk?”

  “Yes, Smyth found a strange report of a silk smuggler who got his goods through Afghanistan.” His smile broadened. “Dunsford.”

  She gulped. “He gave me the bolt-worth amount of that blue silk, telling me his tailor got it from the East. That he needed to rid himself of it as men don’t wear bold blue silk suits.”

  “No, but ladies will spend a fortune for such a color like you’ve got.” He jumped up, pacing like an excited schoolboy. “I thought you said he was close to Grifton, I mean Richard?”

  She nodded. “Yes.” The story came back to her. “He claimed to be in the area the day you killed Richard, saying he was on a diplomatic mission but got lost and came to the village around the time you stabbed Richard.”

  They both stood speechless.

  “I need to see him,” he stated soberly. “I told you there was a Brit in the group who came to the village, cornering us as Westerners, spies.”

  “I remember, but would you recognize him? You said he was covered in scarves and such.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “Trust me, darling. I’ll find out. Now, invite him over.”

  ***

  Dunsford sat back, enjoying his brandy, pleased with the note he’d received. Evelyn asked him over–without his pushing for her to, or inviting her on another ride and such. He easily saw how dear Richard had become so enamored with her. Poor sot.

  “My lord,” his butler said, placing the tray before him that carried the calling card.

  So much for a lovely afternoon, he thought. “Bring him in.”

  “I’m already here, laddie-boy.”

  God, how he hated being called him that. He hadn’t been a “laddie” in years.

  “How nice to see you on this lovely afternoon,” he greeted with false sincerity.

  “Charlie, this is no more a social visit and you know it.”

  He swallowed the vile words he so wanted to say. “Then to what do I owe the honor of this visit? I thought I had fulfilled your requirements.”

  The man laughed. “Yes, close but not yet. I have one more for you to accomplish before I can clear your path to achieve your ends.”

  The man was a snake. Dunsford’s skin prickled, but if the end justifies the means…

  “What else is required?”

  The man gave him an evil grin.

  *

  Evelyn’s nerves danced as if on fire. She had tried to rest for the baby’s sake and for Tristan’s. Her trust in him wasn’t set yet. Even if Dunsford played some part in Richard’s death, Tristan had admitted to it. Whether it was by his desire or not, she couldn’t bring herself to accept the fact that he did it without showing any remorse. His cold countenance when he recalled it sent a shiver down her spine. Even now, her stomach churned, though she’d blamed her condition for that.

  She sat in the front parlor, embroidering a pillowcase. As she pushed the needle through the fabric, it poked right into her skin and she yelped, dropping the material onto her lap as she sucked the wound.

  “Lord Dunsford, my lady.”

  Looking up, finger still in her mouth, she released it. “Thank you, Stanfill.”

  Dunsford pressed past the butler and headed straight to her. He took her injured hand and kissed the back of it. “Good afternoon, my lady. I trust you are well. Your invitation caught me by surprise.”

  “Yes, I’ve been considering what you’ve told me about Richard’s death,” she started. She cleared her throat. “What I want, no, need to know, is why didn’t you stop it?”

  Taken aback, he was silent for a moment, as if searching for words. “My lady, I was aghast at what was happening. It didn’t seem real to me. I was a stranger in a foreign country, lost with a misguided driver. What could I do?”

  She lowered her gaze. The skin on the back of her neck bristled. The man she had confided her love of Richard to, the same man who claimed he lost a true friend, suddenly scared her.

  Out in the hallway, the sound of little feet ran across the floor, Mary’s chirping voice loud and clear. Evelyn didn’t think now was the best time to have the children so close. But the pitter-patter stopped at the door to the parlor before Mary ran straight to her.

  “Oh, dear, I’m sorry my lady,” Lillian raced in right as the child climbed into Evelyn’s lap.

  “It’s all right,” she stated as Mary huddled near her, her cherub face staring at Dunsford.

  Lillian pulled the toddler off and put her on the floor, taking her hand. Evelyn watched them and noticed Nadir standing at the door, his gaze on her visitor. The boy’s expression made her wonder. As she walked over to Nadir, she glanced at Dunsford and found he was studying the boy. She thought of the silk and cocked her head.

  Take care of the child. Richard’s voice spoke again. Her thoughts spun. Not the baby she carried, but Nadir?

  “Nadir, did your mother get that pretty blue blanket of yours from Lord Dunsford?” She nodded toward the man.

  The boy’s eyes never left Dunsford as he nodded once.

  “Thank you, darling. Miss Lillian?”

  The nursemaid took his hand as well as holding Mary’s, apologized to Evelyn and led them out of the room.

  “I daresay, I don’t know what you’re implying. I’ve never seen that boy before.”

  “Perhaps not, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t meet his mother in your diplomatic circles.” She thought it interesting that he hadn’t denied the silk, claiming his tailor had it and not him.

  He scoffed, “I had no dealings with the local people.”

  “Apparently you did. Of course, diplomacy with the enemy can bring about entanglements that can cost men their lives,” Tristan stated, walking into the room.Dunsford’s surprised expression at Tristan’s arrival and remark kept him quiet. Stunned, he said, “How dare you accuse me of being a traitor?”

  “Isn’t that interesting? I hadn’t been so bold. Seeing as you’ve drawn that conclusion on this discussion, let us go down this road further. Isn’t that exactly what you are?” Tristan stood next to the man, slightly taller and definitely more intimidating as far as Evelyn could see.

  “You, sir, are a murderer.”

  “By your command,” Tristan hissed. “It took me a while, but I found you, despite all those robes, all the wrappings. You sat there with those other two, ready to expose our position, and for what? What did they offer you?”

  Dunsford stared, his face mottled in anger.

  “Amazing what money can do to change people, right cousin?”

  Everyone turned. Slouched against the doorway frame was a tall, dark-haired man, green-tinted eyes that looked remarkably like Tristan’s, Evelyn decided. He gave the appearance of having just arrived, his riding gloves were still on, hat and riding crop held in them. An air of confidence surrounded him as he stood there.

  “Matthew,” Tristan called him. “And Joseph, so good of you to come.”

  The second man passed his brother and entered the room. “Tristan.”

  Evelyn saw the one called Joseph, and her whole world came to a screeching halt. He equaled the other in height and had light brown hair and hazel eyes. Dressed in a military uniform, he reminded her quickly of that night two years ago. When he lo
oked at her, his lips curved into an evil smile, and he winked.

  The blood in her veins froze. She hoped Tristan would see the man’s brutal reminder of his attack on her, but he hadn’t noticed the interchange as he talked to the first one. Fear snaked down her spine, pooling in her stomach. Memories flooded her mind of being forced to drink that vile concoction, her lack of strength to prevent them from ripping her clothes apart, holding her down as that man, dressed like an officer, came to “inspect” her. And then nothing. Blackness.

  They had violated her that night, and she still a virgin. Anger mixed with the fear, flipping her stomach. She was going to be sick. As the bile inched up her throat, she swallowed hard.

  “Tristan,” she called, but with her heart pounding in her ears, she barely heard herself.

  “You two cannot win,” Tristan argued. “The title, the estate, the inheritance is mine.”

  “Do try to keep that line as they convict you for murder,” Matthew sneered.

  Dunsford tried to back away when Tristan turned on him. “And you. Whatever did they promise you to betray your own countrymen?”

  Joseph laughed. “Do go on and tell the poor sot, Charlie-boy.”

  Dunsford’s eyes darted between the cousins, his fear palpable. “They didn’t say it would go this far.”

  “What wouldn’t?” Tristan pushed.

  “Tris…” Evelyn tried again, and this time she grabbed the back of the settee to steady herself.

  “I didn’t order you to kill him.”

  “I heard those words perfectly well,” Tristan hissed. His gaze narrowed. “But you didn’t know what you were saying, did you?”

  The nobleman paled. “I was prompted by the man who escorted me.”

  Matthew laughed diabolically. “It was so easy, cousin.”

  “All because of what?” Tristan continued.

  “Money.” Dunsford exhaled. “I needed money. Lost a fortune at the gaming hells.”

  He hung his head. “I was to go to the village, stir the pot so to speak, so, as I found out later, the Russians could make it to their destination without the British knowing it. No death involved only I didn’t know they meant that between troops there’d be no fighting, not what I was involved in.”

  Tristan stared dumbfounded at the man.

  Evelyn, though, felt her grip slipping. “Tristan!”

  He turned just in time to find Joseph had grabbed her. He held her in front of him, the riding crop in his loose hand while the other wrapped around her waist, holding her against him.

  She thought now would be the good time to lose her stomach’s contents, but as he held her tight, fear eliminated her need to retch. Even through the corset and bustle, her body trembled with disgust being pressed against his solid form. With all the dress material, no one could see him maneuver his cock against her buttocks. She shivered. He pressed his face against her bare neck, underneath her upswept hair.

  “Ah, dear Evie,” he cooed, but she knew it was for Tristan’s sake. “She’s such the little tart. Bet she told you she was ravaged that night, cousin,” he said as his hand with the crop traced the contours of her breasts. “She begged for it. Oh, she sucked me dry, cous, dry. Such a sweet mouth and wet cunt.”

  Tristan launched, but Matthew stopped him with the cock of his pistol. “Truly, Tristan, let him be.”

  “I’ll fucking kill you!” he snarled.

  “Oh, I think not.” Matthew withdrew a sheet from his inner coat pocket with his free hand. “First you will sign this, giving us the unencumbered lands and the pounds from our uncle. Then, perhaps after Joseph’s through taking her again, we’ll let you have her back, though why you’d want a strumpet like her as wife—”

  ***

  Tristan eyed the scene before him, trying to map his move. While he never cared about the title or lands, he didn’t think for one moment, even if he signed their damn piece of paper, they’d let Evelyn go. Dunsford was useless, cowering in the corner. Joseph was disgustingly rubbing Evelyn, his eyes on Tristan. And Matthew had the gun on him, pistol hammer back, waiting.

  He just needed a diversion, a second for them to take their keen gaze off him. Nothing seemed in the offing. “Give me that damn sheet.”

  Matthew stepped forward, hand outstretched with the page. One more step, Tristan urged, not moving to meet him. As Matthew took the step, Tristan reached for the page and just before Matthew released it, Tristan grabbed and twisted his wrist. The sudden attack, the turn of that wrist in the wrong direction, threw off the man’s balance. As Matthew tried to right himself, his other hand squeezed the trigger. Tristan dodged to the right, opposite his cousin’s gun hand and prayed his aim hadn’t hit Evelyn.

  “Matt!” Joseph yelled.

  As he tried to get Evelyn moving, she twisted and grabbed the riding crop, yanking it free of his grasp. In one swift jab, she stabbed his stomach with the crop’s handle, hard. Joseph yelped, freeing her as he doubled in pain. She jumped away from him toward Tristan.

  The wayward bullet ricocheted off the metal fireplace grate back to hit Dunsford in the chest. The impact of bullet on flesh made a distinctive sound Tristan was way too familiar with. The sound of it, the smell of gunpowder and the grunt from the collapsing lord slammed into Tristan, all the memories of war blackening his sight. He fought to beat it, to not fall prey to that madness again. Instead, anger rolled through him. It could have been Evelyn hit. He snatched Matthew’s gun from his grasp, pivoted the weapon, aiming the muzzle at his cousin.

  “Different when the odds are turned,” he said, his voice cold and hard like the gun’s metal. He cocked it, the chamber rotated, dropping a bullet into it and he pressed the revolver at the center of Matthew’s forehead. “I believe I owe the devil another soul.”

  His cousin’s eyes widened in fear, the blood draining from his face. Tristan had him, and they both knew it.

  Tristan felt a tug at his conscience. It warred with the demands of the dead for another life–the one who stole theirs. He could almost see Aatifa’s worried face beyond them. Grifton, too, stood, silent but waiting. They’d paid for his cousins’ crude attempt to force him out. And the other lives lost when the greedy cowards tried to take what was his for themselves.

  He saw the terror in Evelyn’s eyes when she recognized Joseph, as if Hell had spit him at her. It lit a horror inside him that he couldn’t fathom but knew the answer was what they’d done to her. That along with their current threat to her unraveled him. The beast inside came alive, wanting their blood. How they both deserved to die! For Aatifa’s life. For Grifton’s. For the terror they’d obviously put Evelyn through. He pressed harder against Matthew’s skin.

  “Eye for an eye, as the Scriptures say,” he growled. He twisted his wrist, never taking the muzzle off its target. His vision narrowed. One tug on the trigger and all would be righted.

  “Tristan!” Evelyn pleaded. “Tristan! Please, don’t!”

  “Evelyn, stay out of this,” he snarled.

  “Darling, I’m begging you,” she tried again. “Let the courts deal with them.”

  The courts? He’d laugh at that idea, but her pleading chipped at his resolve.

  “I need you,” she added, her voice trembling.

  Without removing the gun, he caught her out of the corner of his eye and found her leaning on the settee, her hands white from gripping it. Another fear raced through him–was she hurt? Quickly, he pulled off his cousin. The man remained frozen, his own fear of losing his life paralyzing him. Tristan lowered the gun, disengaging the trigger and raced to her.

  “Evelyn,” he replied, taking her into his arms. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so,” she whispered.

  Before she could say another word, he kissed her, hard and deep. He loved her so much, fear of losing her hit him beyond reason.

  At that moment, Stanfill and Smyth, with two constables, entered the room, both with pistols aimed at the cousins. Tristan hadn’t heard them arrive. How did th
ey know?

  Livingston walked up, took the gun from Tristan and looked around him. “Well, I see…”

  Mrs. Peabody pushed past him, straight for Lord Dunsford, using her apron to press against his wound.

  “…you found your man,” the secretary stated. “Or should I say men?”

  Tristan frowned, refusing to let his wife go. “You were here?”

  “Came in close to the end,” Livingston stated. “Good enough to hear their statements. Good job, Lord Major, good job indeed.”

  Evelyn’s hands were at his chest, pushing him away. Why? Fear she didn’t return his love hit him hard. He’d never given her a chance…

  She turned away and promptly lost her stomach’s contents on the Persian rug.

  “Evelyn, Evelyn,” he cried. “Are you hurt? Did he…”

  She swallowed, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “Your son, my love.”

  My love. His blood raced. She loved him! “As long as you’re fine.” He hugged her. “You are all that matters to me.”

  She reached up and kissed him. “I love you, Tristan. Only you. Forever.”

  He smiled. “I love you, Evelyn St. James. Forever.” And he sealed his statement with a deep kiss that bonded them for eternity.

  The End-

  Find Gina at:

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  The romance continues with The Wicked Bargain.

  Acknowledgements

  To write a novel, I often require the assistance of many to get my characters’ story out. First, I’d like to thank Kary Radar who is fabulous critique partner; to Mark O’Leary who helped me discover more on The Great War; for JJ Jennings, who despite his Yankee leanings, was a great support and introduced me to my editor, Bernadette LaManna who did a wonderful job straightening up the mess I did so it is clearer. And to Rich, who’s undying support and guidance helped in more ways than he’ll ever know - thank you with all my love my darling.