To Tame a Dangerous Lord

by Nicole Jordan

  Her mouth curved. “You did not rescue me precisely. I believe I can claim the larger credit.”

  “I see. You’re ungrateful now that the danger has passed.”

  Amusement flashed in her expressive gray eyes, and Rayne found himself unaccountably intrigued. Since Napoleon’s final defeat at Waterloo two years ago, his days of excitement and danger were over, much to his regret. The need for spies to thwart a French tyrant bent on world domination was a relic of the past. And even though Rayne had stretched out his career as long as possible, through the Congress of Vienna when the triumphant powers had divided up Europe and redistributed Boney’s territorial claims, he’d been forced to return to England the previous year when he inherited the earldom at his father’s passing.

  He was utterly bored by the tameness of his current life and the necessity of hunting for a bride. He’d spent the past interminable week at a house party in Brighton as a favor to his grandmother, the dowager Countess Haviland. He’d accompanied Lady Haviland there and intended to escort her back to London at the conclusion, but it had been a relief to escape early because of a desperate summons by his distant cousin, Freddie Lunsford. Rayne was awaiting Freddie now, but this particular lady was also proving a welcome respite.

  He had no excuse for not returning her pistol, though. When he handed the weapon to her, she stepped back from him with an expression of relief. “Thank you. I won’t inconvenience you further, Lord Haviland.”

  “You needn’t go just yet,” Rayne said, laying a hand on her arm when she started to turn away. “A bounder like Ackerby may still be waiting to pounce on you.”

  “He has left the inn by now … I hope.” She didn’t sound convinced, however. Putting her arms around her thinly clad form, she shivered.

  “You are chilled,” he noted. “Come stand by the fire.”

  Apparently she recognized the wisdom of his suggestion, for after another moment’s hesitation, she nodded.

  Taking her elbow, Rayne guided her into the parlor toward the hearth. On the way, he collected his caped greatcoat, which he’d laid over the end of the sofa, and draped it around her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” Madeline murmured once more, snuggling into the depths of the fabric and then holding out her hands to the blaze.

  When his greatcoat began to slip, Rayne caught it and moved to stand in front of her. Reaching up, he started to close the lapels across her bosom. But then she looked up at him and his altruistic gesture arrested.

  The firelight lent a golden glow to her skin and brought out the shining, honey-bright highlights of her hair, Rayne saw. But it was her mouth that most attracted his attention. Red and ripe, it beckoned to him.

  Rayne went utterly still, recognizing the primitive sensations streaking through him: possessiveness, hunger, lust. Sexual awareness was suddenly rife between them.

  She felt it also, he knew. The tension in her body had returned with a new, sharp-edged tautness he could actually sense.

  Madeline shivered again, but not with cold, he suspected. When her lips parted in a wordless inhalation, Rayne couldn’t resist, despite his assertions of being a gentleman.

  He lowered his head to claim another kiss from her.

  She gave a faint gasp at the first potent contact of their mouths, while his own breath quickened at the enticing taste and feel of her. Her lips trembled under his … soft, resilient, lush, the texture of silk, although she seemed too stunned to participate in her seduction.

  Therefore, he changed the slant of his mouth and took her mouth more thoroughly, insistently coaxing her surrender.

  He felt a measure of triumph when her tongue met his almost willingly this time. Raising a hand to cradle her jaw, Rayne angled his head even further and deepened the pressure, the better to drink her in.

  Her breath softened to a sigh as their tongues tangled, mated. The tantalizing promise of her response stirred heat and need in Rayne’s loins. It didn’t help either to know she was naked beneath her nightdress. He could feel his hunger rise the longer he went on kissing her. He felt primed and more than ready to strip off her nightdress and explore the ripe curves of her oh-so-feminine body.

  Hearing a warning voice clamoring in his head, Rayne fought the urge to pull her closer. Even so, his hand shifted to her throat, caressing the fine skin above her nightshift’s high neckline. He found her pulse thrumming wildly, and when she moaned, the soft sound only sharpened his desire. His greatest longing just now was to cup her full breasts and kindle her pleasure even further, but he wouldn’t permit himself to go so far. Instead he allowed his imagination to flourish.

  He could picture himself baring the luscious mounds of her breasts. Savoring her taste when he sucked her peaked nipples into his mouth. Stroking his hands down her back to her rounded buttocks. Raising the hem of her nightdress and sliding his fingers between her parted thighs.

  She would be hot and wet and ready for him, he knew.

  A fierce shaft of need arrowed through Rayne as he envisaged lifting her up and plunging into her welcoming heat, locking her legs around his hips as he took her.

  He settled instead for embracing her while claiming her mouth, all of his senses focused on the vibrant woman in his arms. Like him, she had become lost in the powerful sensuality flowing between them.

  Of her own accord, she moved closer, pressing her breasts flush against his chest, her belly tight against his erection. When she arched against Rayne, his hands went to her hips, holding her supple figure even tighter, molding her softness to his much harder frame. He wanted to seize her, to ravish her, to sink into her—

  At last acknowledging the danger of losing his control, Rayne determinedly shackled his need and forced himself to stop. Breaking off his passionate embrace, he lifted his head. Her eyes were closed, he saw, and when he eased back, Madeline swayed weakly.

  He caught her shoulders to support her, and her eyes fluttered open. She looked dazed, shaken even.

  Staring up at him, she raised her fingers to her lips, as if feeling the burn there. “W-why did you kiss me again?” she whispered, her voice a mere hoarse thread.

  He gazed down at her, admiring the alluring picture she made—her cheeks flushed, her lovely eyes wide with shocked arousal, her lips swollen and damp and parted to accommodate her uneven breaths.

  The fierce ache in his loins actually increased.

  Muttering a silent oath, Rayne shook himself. He couldn’t remember the last time a mere kiss had affected him so powerfully, or when his possessive male instincts had been so sharply aroused.

  And her question was not one he could answer readily. Why had he kissed her? He sure as hell knew better than to take advantage of a defenseless woman’s plight, but his honor had escaped him for the moment.

  “What if I said I got carried away, playing the role of your lover?” he asked, his voice thicker than he would have liked.

  She blinked, as if struggling to come to her senses. Then her eyes narrowed. “But you are not my lover.”

  She was recovering from her daze, he noted, discomfited when she squared her shoulders and tightened her grip on her pistol, although not aiming it directly at him.

  Rayne’s mouth curved involuntarily. It would serve him right if she decided to pull the trigger, for his raging male impulses had been every bit as licentious as her baron’s.

  “You needn’t fear,” he said, attempting to keep his voice light. “I won’t touch you again. If I do, you have my leave to shoot me.”

  He meant what he said, Rayne reflected. Deciding it wiser to remove himself from temptation, though, he retreated to the sofa and settled there, crossing one leg over the other, the better to hide the swollen bulge in his pantaloons.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rayne Kenyon, Earl of Haviland.”

  She gave a start of recognition. “Kenyon?” she repeated as if surprised by his surname.

  “Do you know me?”

  “No … but I believe you knew my father
. Captain David Ellis.”

  It was Rayne’s turn to start. “You are his daughter Madeline?”

  “Yes.”

  Rayne stared. Her revelation gave matters an entirely different perspective, since Captain David Ellis was the friend and fellow spy who had once saved his life.

  Now he damned well knew he should never have kissed her.

  Chapter Two

  I never expected aid to come from such a quarter, Maman, and certainly I am grateful. But I am discovering that Lord Haviland can be quite exasperating.

  Still half dazed, Madeline regarded Lord Haviland in surprise. She had difficulty focusing her mind on his identity, though, since he’d abducted her wits along with her senses. Her lips throbbed, while heat ribboned throughout her body.

  Deplorably, Haviland’s sensual assault had bewitched her. For the first time in her life, she understood the joy of being kissed by an expert lover. She’d been thoroughly jolted, shaken down to her toes by this ruggedly beautiful nobleman.

  Yet that was not the sole source of her inner turmoil, Madeline knew. It was that she had never imagined feeling such … passion with a man. Indeed, she found it shocking that she could be so aroused and enchanted.

  Even so, that is no excuse to stand here like a tongue-tied moon-calf, she scolded herself.

  Attempting to recover her wits, Madeline cleared her throat. “I did not realize you had gained the rank of earl,” she said finally, striving for the appearance of composure.

  “I came into the title last year.” Haviland paused, his features softening as he studied her. “I was terribly saddened by your father’s passing. He was a good man and a good friend.”

  At least the mention of her late father took her mind off that amazing, heart-stopping kiss. Madeline managed a brief smile, despite the sudden lump in her throat. Her father had been her idol, and she’d grieved immensely at his untimely death.

  “You were clearly a good friend to him as well, Lord Haviland. Thank you for sending his effects home to us along with his last letter. I cherish those final remembrances of him.”

  “It was the least I could do. Your father saved my life once, did you know?”

  “No, he never mentioned it.”

  Haviland smiled. “He wouldn’t. David Ellis was never one for self-aggrandizement. He often spoke glowingly of you and your brother, however.”

  “He spoke of you also. He respected you greatly.”

  Madeline had heard about Rayne Kenyon from other sources in the close-knit émigré community as well. Indeed, he was practically a legend, for he had saved countless lives in service to his country. But he had worked in the diplomatic corps of the Foreign Office, not the military. Her father had reported directly to Wellington and was occupied chiefly with enemy troop movements and supply transports. Haviland, on the other hand, had controlled a network of agents involved in political intrigues—a shadowy world of secrets, betrayals, treachery, and greed. His had been a dangerous business in the battle against French might.

  Yet he shrugged off her compliment while his expression turned rueful. “I regret my behavior toward you just now. I never would have kissed you had I known you were Captain Ellis’s daughter.”

  She was glad Haviland hadn’t known her identity, for then she would have missed out on his shattering kiss. She doubted she would ever again experience anything so magical. Unconsciously, Madeline found herself gazing at his mouth—the wicked, sensual mouth that had made her breathless and weak-kneed and all too eager to surrender to forbidden passion.

  Remembering, she swallowed. “Well … thank you for coming to my aid, Lord Haviland. But I should take my leave now.”

  “Not so quickly, Miss Ellis,” he responded, rising from the sofa. “I first want to know how you came to be in such a predicament.”

  His great height was a trifle intimidating, Madeline thought, resisting the urge to back away as he approached her. Every instinct she possessed screamed that he was dangerous. She stood her ground, however, vexed at herself for feeling so vulnerable. “You needn’t involve yourself any further in my affairs.”

  “But I wish to. I feel some responsibility toward you after what your father did for me.”

  His implication made Madeline frown. “You most certainly are not responsible for me.”

  “Then indulge me. I am agog with curiosity. Come, let us sit while you relate your story.”

  She hesitated, suddenly aware again of her bare feet and scanty attire. “I am not dressed to entertain an interview with a gentleman,” she hedged, pulling his greatcoat more tightly around her.

  Haviland flashed her a grin. “After our kissing so thoroughly, I think we may dispense with the usual proprieties, don’t you?”

  She liked the gleam of humor in his blue eyes but not the determination she saw there, as if he would brook no further protest from her. Suspecting he wouldn’t let her go until she explained, though, Madeline sat on the far end of the sofa, while Haviland settled on the other.

  Since she didn’t want his pity, she didn’t linger on the details, merely recounted the most important events of late.

  “Until three weeks ago, I earned my living as a lady’s companion to an elderly noblewoman, but my employer passed away before writing me a character reference. And without one, it is better to apply in person when seeking work. I meant to visit an employment agency as soon as I reached London, but then the stage broke down and stranded me here for the night.”

  “Which allowed Lord Ackerby to catch up to you,” Haviland concluded.

  “Yes.” Madeline wrinkled her nose. “To my great regret.”

  He was studying her again with that same intrigued expression. “You seem to be making light of what could have been a dangerous situation.”

  She managed a wry smile. “It was only dangerous if I could not handle his lordship. But I was armed, and I am accounted an excellent shot, thanks to my father.” Recalling the primed pistol she still held, Madeline set the weapon carefully on the sofa. “I admit I’ve had a spell of exceedingly bad luck recently, but hopefully it will not last.”

  “What of your brother?” Haviland asked. “Isn’t he old enough by now to protect you?”

  The hardening of his tone took her aback. “In age, I suppose he is. Gerard is twenty now, four years younger than I. But he is occupied with more important matters at the moment.”

  “What could be more important than protecting his sister when she is in dire straits?”

  Madeline debated how much to say about her brother’s elopement with Lynette Dubonet two days ago. It was not her secret to share, especially since the girl’s parents—the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Vasse—were not even aware of the marriage yet. The aristocratic émigrés were staunchly set against their only child’s union to an untitled Englishman whose chief wealth consisted of a modest farm. But Gerard was madly in love with Lynette, and Madeline wanted her brother’s happiness more than anything in the world. Thus, she had helped to fund their dash to Gretna Green in Scotland so they could be married over the anvil.

  “Gerard is traveling just now,” Madeline responded to Haviland’s query. “And in his defense, he had no notion that Lord Ackerby would pursue me once I left Chelmsford for London. Neither of us did. I am not dependent on my brother to find genteel employment, however.”

  “What sort of employment are you seeking?”

  She answered readily enough. “I would prefer another post as a companion … although I acted more nurse to Lady Talwin this past year. She was frequently in pain, so much of my responsibility consisted of cajoling her to take her medicines and allow a breath of fresh air into her stuffy sickroom. I refused to let her sink into despair. We sparred far more than is usual for a lady and her servant. But our rows seemed to bolster her spirits, if not her failing health.”

  Madeline smiled sadly at the memory of the dear, crotchety noblewoman. She missed the elderly Lady Talwin and doubted she would find another employer so well matched to her
own temperament and mind.

  Haviland’s heavy brows had lowered as his expression grew thoughtful. “Are there other positions you would consider taking?”

  She eyed him curiously, wondering at his persistence. “Perhaps a governess would suit. I am fairly adept with children. I raised my brother from the time I was thirteen, after Maman died, since my father was away for much of the year.” Her lips twisted with dry humor. “But I may not be acceptable to certain employers. I am known for speaking my mind. Lady Talwin appreciated my tart tongue, for it ‘kept her wits sharp,’ she was fond of saying. But not all employers are agreeable to having outspoken underlings in their households, particularly noble households.”

  “And you have no marital expectations at present?”

  She gazed at Haviland blankly now, startled by the bluntness of his question. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You could marry and solve your financial problems.”

  “That presumes that I have any reasonable prospects. But gentlemen are not in the habit of proposing to penniless spinsters.”

  His brows drew together. “Are you penniless then? I should have thought your father would have provided for you.”

  Madeline stirred uncomfortably on the sofa. “The direction of this conversation has grown rather personal, has it not, my lord?”

  Haviland smiled a bit ruefully at her pointed remark. “Forgive me, Miss Ellis. These past dozen years I’ve spent less time in polite company than most peers. My social manners are not the best. In truth, I am only concerned for your welfare. But rest assured, you needn’t worry about Ackerby any further. I will see you safely to London as soon as I conclude my business here at The Drake.”

  At his disarming apology, her resistance had begun to ease, but Madeline’s eyebrows shot up when he added his calm announcement about conveying her to London. “You will take me?”

  “Yes. My carriage is in the stableyard.”