A Touch of Passion: A Rouge Regency Romance: (Disgraced Lords #3)

by Bronwen Evans

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Bronwen Evans

  Praise for Bronwen Evans

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  About the Book

  When a thrill seeker clashes with her dutiful defender irresistible sparks start to fly...

  Independent and high-spirited, Lady Portia Flagstaff has never been afraid to take a risk, especially if it involves excitement and danger. But this time, being kidnapped and sold into an Arab harem is the outcome of one risk too many. Now, in order to regain her freedom, she has to rely on the deliciously packaged Grayson Devlin, Viscount Blackwood, a man who despises her reckless ways – and stirs in her a thirst for passion.

  About the Author

  USA Today bestselling author Bronwen Evans grew up loving books. She has always indulged her love of storytelling and is constantly gobbling up movies, books, and theatre. Is it any wonder she’s a proud romance writer? Evans is a two-time winner of the RomCon Readers’ Crown and has been nominated for an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award. She lives in Wellington, New Zealand.

  Also by Bronwen Evans:

  A Promise of More

  A Kiss of Lies

  Praise for Bronwen Evans

  “This tale is poignant, heartwarming and readers may be reaching for the Kleenex once or twice before the breathtaking ending.”–RT Book Reviews (4 1/2 stars)

  “Bronwen’s historical romances always make the top of my reading list!”–New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jen McLaughlin

  “The passion between [Christian and Sarah] sizzles off the pages.”–Eye on Romance

  “The flow of the story is magnificent, as are the characters, who have admirable depths of complexity.”–Buried Under Romance

  “Gut-wrenching and so well written, A Kiss of Lies is one of my favorite reads.”–Book Obsessed Chicks

  “An absolutely brilliant historical romance, full of secrets and dark pasts, A Kiss of Lies was a fantastic read.”–Imagine a World

  “A Kiss of Lies is one of those books that made me laugh and cry. In its sensual and tender moments, it brought tears to my eyes, and the witty banter between characters made me smile again and again. No one writes wounded characters who are healed by the power of love like Bronwen Evans. This is a book sure to touch your heart.”–Bestselling author Shana Galen

  “Absolutely riveting; a veritable page-turner. Fresh and delightful, with just that shade of darkness to up the stakes and keep the reader intrigued. A definite must-read!”–Zee Monodee

  “I love this book and look so forward to reading anything and everything from Bronwen Evans.”–Book Lovin Junkie

  “Evans is an engaging, talented historical romance author. A must read!”–My Book Addiction

  A TOUCH OF PASSION

  Bronwen Evans

  In loving memory of Nana, who was proud of all I have achieved, even if my books were a tad too saucy for her delicate tastes. December 2014 at 103 years of age. RIP.

  Prologue

  CYPRIANS’ BALL, LONDON, 1813

  “I’m surprised Lord Blackwood has graced us with his presence. It’s common knowledge he’s enamored with the French ballerina Juliette Panache. I doubt he’s in the market for another mistress.”

  “With his appetites, he no doubt has a stable of mistresses.”

  “True. I heard he once pleasured ten women in one night.”

  Lady Portia Flagstaff moved closer to the group of courtesans salivating over Grayson Devlin, Viscount Blackwood, as if he were a succulent feast to be devoured. Many years of experience allowed her to damp down her jealousy. She could hardly blame any woman for lusting after Lord Blackwood. She counted herself, along with most of England’s females, among his panting throng.

  Being madly in love with Grayson was her penance for having being so mean to him when they were younger. She’d tried everything she knew to exile him from her thoughts, but it was hard to forget him when he was the talk of the ton.

  Lord Blackwood had entered her life just before her tenth birthday. He had always been her elder brother Robert’s best friend, but the day he’d moved permanently into their home, she’d cried in her room for hours. Why did it have to be Grayson, a boy, who had survived his family’s carriage accident? She already had five brothers. How could life be so unfair?

  Grayson’s sister, Lucinda, had been her friend, and she couldn’t understand why she’d died when Grayson hadn’t. Portia was too young and frightened to understand, so she’d blamed him.

  Lucinda’s death was her first introduction to how precarious life could be. Almost dying from lung fever at sixteen had been her second lesson. From that moment on she’d made a vow to live her life to the fullest. She wanted no regrets when death finally came calling.

  “They say he can outlast any man, and his lovers speak of his prowess with awe. He cares more about a woman’s pleasure than his own—rare indeed. His kind of loving is priceless. I’d even do him for free.” This statement was followed by a gaggle of giggles.

  “I’m more interested in learning if he is truly hung like a stallion. If so, I’d love to explore the evidence.” More giggles.

  “ ’Tis true. Claudette said she could barely walk for a week, but it was well worth the two days spent in his bed.” This statement was followed by a collective sigh.

  All the while Portia was listening to the seasoned courtesans she kept her eyes trained on Lord Blackwood, simultaneously praying he didn’t see her and wishing that for once he did see her—as a woman. She knew Grayson looked upon her as a replacement baby sister when she definitely did not view him as a brother. She never pushed the issue, because she was petrified of losing him from her life, but sometimes, watching from the shadows as he flirted and seduced, he broke her heart.

  He’d find her presence here scandalous, as would most of society, an unmarried lady of two and twenty years unaccompanied at such a ball. Her five brothers would be angry, but they understood how confining the ton was for a woman of her intelligence. They encouraged her need for independence, respected it. However, Grayson compared her to the one woman he held in the highest regard, his dearly departed mother, and therefore he found Portia wanting.

  Grayson had a distinct view of women, probably because his mother had died when he was young and he idealized her memory. Lady Blackwood had been considered a sweet, dutiful paragon of virtue, and no woman could live up to her reputation. Grayson’s women generally fell into two groups. There were women, beautiful and sensual, often in certain sexually paid employment, whom he wanted in his bed. Then there were the other women, who were demure and respectable. Women he considered as potential marriage material. Unfortunately, Portia fell into a third group, women whom he could not place in one of the previous two categories.

  She was aware that if her identity became known, she’d be r
uined. She’d thought her quest for knowledge was worth society’s scorn. However, as the evening progressed, it appeared that this had to be her worst venture yet.

  “Oh, I say. Who’s the other handsome gent with Lord Blackwood? Perhaps we can entice the two men to play for the evening.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, for she knew without looking who stood behind Lord Blackwood—her brother Robert. Where one went, the other followed. Dash it all. If Robert caught her, there would be hell to pay. He might understand her thirst for knowledge, but he’d not condone her being here, nor that she had come alone.

  “That’s Lord Flagstaff, and let me tell you, he has no problem standing to attention.” The Cyprian glanced at her four companions. “I’m sure the two of them can keep us well pleasured tonight.” At the murmured assent, she added, “Are we all in agreement? We five shall entertain these two fine gentlemen.”

  “Let’s have ourselves a private party,” tittered another. “I would die to be either of these gentlemen’s mistress.”

  Portia’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully. How on earth … five with two? She had so much to learn. She’d come tonight purely as a voyeur; however, she had no intention of watching her brother make love to a woman, and there was no way she could watch Grayson with another woman. Her mother did say curiosity often led down a path one did not wish to follow.

  It was all Rose’s fault. Her best friend had just taken her first lover, having been widowed two years ago. Rose positively glowed, and Portia wanted to learn more about the act that gave so much pleasure, especially since she’d not be indulging in the biblical sense anytime soon. She had no experience in carnal matters, yet she didn’t wish to die a virgin. She wanted to learn the secrets of conducting an affair. As she had no intention of marrying any man except Lord Blackwood, she could see herself ending up an old spinster, leaving at least one item unfulfilled on the list of things she wanted to experience before she died.

  Several years ago, after recovering from her lung fever, she’d written a list of the things she wanted to have intimate knowledge of in this life. Making love and experiencing passion were on her list. Oh, she was not in any hurry to engage in a carnal affair, but she wanted to learn how to conduct one; she wished to be prepared should she decide the time was right. Who knows, she might even learn how to attract Grayson’s interest.

  When she set her sights on something, she always followed through. Where better to watch and learn about sexual congress than at a Cyprians’ Ball? She just hadn’t counted on Lord Blackwood, or her brother, attending; she had been advised that the pair were otherwise engaged.

  “It looks as though we’re in luck, ladies. He’s staring at us quite determinedly.”

  Please don’t let him recognize me. If she did not want to be seen, why then did her blood fire with excitement merely because she was in the same room as the legendary rake?

  Tonight, he outshone every other man. He presented an enticing image of true masculinity, his striking features on display despite the event being a masquerade ball, for he wore no mask. His fair hair curled thick and glossy about his ruggedly handsome face, copper highlights glinting in the chandelier’s light. His black domino cloaklike garment, edged in gold, hugged his large frame as if it too wanted to touch every part of him.

  She wasn’t the only woman tracking his movements through the crowd. His presence became the focus of a bevy of beauties all eager to attract his interest and purse. Some women did not even care about the money he could provide, for they were interested more in pleasure.

  She reached up and straightened her turban, shoving a lock of her distinctive red hair back under it. Her face was completely concealed by a mask; although annoying to wear in the heat of the ballroom, it was a necessity for her under the circumstances.

  A wicked thought flashed through her head. What would she do if Lord Blackwood were to find her charms appealing? Just then, from across the room, his gaze clashed with hers and flared with obvious interest. Or perhaps it was the whole group of women who caught his eye. There were many here far more beautiful than she.

  How insulting that the one time she’d managed to attract his attention, she was dressed as a lady of ill repute. She knew her costume was just as scandalous as those of the other ladies. She’d wanted to blend in. The décolletage of the harem top and pants ensemble was lower than she’d ever worn, plus it left her midriff on display. The splits in her Turkish harem pants exposed flesh very few had ever seen.

  Heat prickled over her skin as his eyes caressed and explored, inspecting the merchandise. The distance offered no protection. His penetrating stare stirred her senses. Want, need, and desire surged in her blood. His lean, chiseled features broke into a come-kiss-me smile, the look arrogant and knowing, as if no woman ever denied him anything. The handsome viscount commanded attention and was conceited enough to expect to be obeyed.

  The effect of his smile caused her to her lose her breath and her courage. Reflexes screamed for her to flee, and she had the sudden urge to hide.

  “Oh, look. He’s coming this way. Bosoms out, ladies.”

  One of the courtesans sighed. “I know our code, but I could lose my heart to a man such as Lord Blackwood.”

  “Don’t be daft. These arrogant aristocrats have no hearts. Lord Blackwood may be a magnificent lover, but he’s not interested in love, especially with the likes of us. Remember the tales? His last mistress was stupid enough to fall in love with him, and he left faster than he can get you to drop your pantaloons.”

  Their words hardly surprised her. Grayson was no different from any of the other wealthy lords she knew. Women had a place in their beds, either for pleasure or to provide an heir. Both positions rarely involved the heart.

  To her horror, she noted the men were almost upon them. Move. Her feet would not obey her command. He prowled closer, his smile growing more knowing as she stood still like an obedient puppy waiting desperately to be patted. Thank goodness she wore a mask.

  Attending this ball had been a terrible idea.

  Portia managed to tear her eyes from his hypnotic stare and back away. Turning quickly, she slipped through the frolicking throng and after several minutes found herself in one of the many side corridors, shutting the door firmly behind her. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the cool wood panels trying to catch her breath. It was beating so fast, as if she were a frightened canary. That was too close for comfort.

  She needed a place to hide until it was safe for her to slip away for home without her brother or Grayson being any the wiser. She was sure it would not be long before the men were otherwise engaged. Portia rubbed her chest again. Images of Grayson with those women would not leave her in peace. They heightened the throbbing at her temples. She would not cry. She had only herself to blame for being in this pickle.

  Suddenly the door she’d just swept through opened and a man stepped into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind him. A fresh hint of ginger and sandalwood scent caused her to flare her nostrils. She knew without looking who it was.

  “What the blazes do you think you’re doing here?” Portia winced at the familiar sound of Grayson’s voice.

  She glanced up to find his handsome features clouded in anger. He probably had no idea that his scolding tone set her heart racing—and not in fright.

  “Merely observing. Unlike you, I suspect.”

  He was looking up and down the corridor. “I should tell Robert and let him wring that pretty neck of yours.”

  She smiled. He’d said pretty neck. “How did you recognize me?”

  He stepped closer almost vibrating with suppressed anger. She pressed back into the wall. His hand reached beside her ear, and a finger wound around a stray curl and tugged. “I’d recognize hair this vibrant red anywhere. So would many others.”

  She struggled to think as her body reacted to his proximity. His light fragrance sent her senses reeling. She decided to come out fighting. “I should have known you’d attend this
event.”

  A growl rumbled deep in his chest. “Well, I had no bloody idea you would. What would Robert think if he saw you? It would break his heart. He has enough to worry about without his wayward sister causing another scandal.”

  Portia tried to understand the meaning behind his words. What had Robert to worry about? Before she could ask he added, “Your selfishness knows no bounds. First it was your cider business, which you flaunted in society’s face, and now you’re at a Cyprians’ Ball.” His eyes narrowed, and he drew in a breath. “Why Robert hasn’t seen you married off, I’ll never know.”

  “I have no intention of being married off to be a nobleman’s baby maker. I will not marry unless it is to my heart’s desire.”

  “Is that why you are here? Are you here to meet a lover?”

  “No.” Her anger was aroused by his sanctimonious words. “But if I were, it would be none of your business. I don’t condone double standards.”

  “The world is full of double standards. These are the rules we live by. Robert needs to leave knowing his family is protected. He can’t have his mind filled with worry over his—”

  “Leave?” She put her hand up to her mouth to stop the nausea rising. “He’s going to war, isn’t he?” Grayson’s lips firmed, and his curse was her answer. “No.” She shook her head. “He’s the eldest, the heir. He can’t.” She looked at Grayson with wide eyes. “Oh, God. You are both going.”

  Grayson could not look her in the eye. “I’m going to fight Napoleon because of Robert, to protect him.”

  She pushed her mask off her face. “Why is Robert going? You are the last of your line. You can’t go,” she said crossly.

  “Robert is going to watch over your brother Philip. He’s scared the young hothead will try to do something heroic but stupid and get himself killed.”

  Portia slumped against the wood. Philip was only a year younger than Robert and four years older than her. Robert and Philip were very close. Philip had been declaring his intention to fight the French. She hated the idea of war. She was sure that if women were in charge of this world, there would not be any war. A woman who bore a child would never want him to fight.