Tessa Dare

by Surrender of a Siren

“Maybe you should reconsider.” Sophia perked, thinking of the possibilities. “We had thought a formal presentation imprudent,” she told Lucy, “given my situation. But if the scandal has truly been contained … Bel might look as high as she wishes. She could even marry a lord, should she so desire.”

  “But I don’t want to marry a lord,” Bel protested.

  “No, you don’t.” Lucy reached for a teacake. “It’s not nearly as amusing as it sounds. People have such wearying expectations. Ever since my husband took up his seat in Lords, it’s been one thing after another. I’m always being asked to subscribe to Lady Thus-and-so’s charitable society or purchase vouchers for some benefit musicale.”

  “Truly?” Bel sipped her tea, looking pensive.

  “Jeremy gives me more money than I know what to do with, so naturally I support them all. But worse, people are continually asking my opinion on lofty topics … as if I understand tariffs or navies. I try to smile and change the subject, but they insist on assigning me a ridiculous amount of influence, simply because my husband’s stared down a few fusty members of Parliament.” Lucy took a bite of cake. “What ever you do, don’t marry a lord.”

  “What interesting advice.” Bel put down her teacup.

  Sophia touched Bel’s wrist. “We’re only teasing. You shall marry for love. Your brother would not have it any other way.”

  “If that is so, than I doubt I shall marry at all,” Bel said. “My heart is already so full, with devotion to my family and passion for God’s work. There cannot be room for romantic love, too.”

  “The heart is not the only organ involved.” Lucy gave Sophia a wicked smile.

  “Perhaps I could be persuaded to marry,” Bel continued, “if I could find a man of consequence and principle, who possessed a keen sense of justice and shared my passion for charity …”

  “I hope you do find such a man,” Sophia said. “But, Bel … to have a happy marriage, two people must share a passion for something other than charity.”

  Bel looked up. “Truly? Like what?”

  Lucy broke into laughter, and Sophia could not help but join her.

  “No, really,” Bel insisted, looking from one to the other. “Tell me what you mean.”

  “Miss Grayson, never fear,” Lucy said. “We will expand your education.” She looked to Sophia. “You do still have The Book?”

  Sophia choked on her tea. Under no circumstances would she permit Gray’s sister so much as a glance at that book—not after the way she’d illustrated it.

  “Well,” she hedged, avoiding Lucy’s inquisitive look, “you see, it isn’t—”

  The house keeper saved her, thank goodness.

  “Beg pardon, my lady. There’s an urgent matter requiring your attention.” Mrs. Prewitt gave a cryptic nod and disappeared into the corridor.

  With relief, Sophia muttered her excuses to Lucy and Bel as she rose to her feet. By the time she reached the hallway, however, the house keeper had disappeared. Frowning, she wandered toward the rear of the house. Perhaps there was some problem in the kitchens, or with the coal delivery?

  As she passed the door to Gray’s study, a familiar, muscled arm shot out into the corridor, catching her by the waist.

  Laughing, she stumbled into the room, quickly finding herself caught between cool walnut paneling at her back and the hot, solid wall of man before her. Ever since their wedding—or since the Kestrel storeroom, more likely—Gray seemed to find it an irresistible challenge, to catch her unawares in an unlikely location and pull her into a feverish embrace.

  Sophia had no wish to discourage the habit, but this wasn’t the ideal time for a tryst. “Gray,” she chided between kisses, “what are you about? The house keeper said there was an urgent matter requiring my attention.”

  “And so there is. I require your attention. Most urgently.” His hands slid to her bottom, and he lifted her easily, pinning her to the wall with his hips. The beaded ridges of the wainscoting dug into her spine. “Don’t think we’ve used this room yet,” he murmured, nibbling at the curve of her neck.

  “I’m entertaining,” she protested.

  “Yes, you are,” he said, grinding against her. “Highly entertaining.”

  Sophia sighed with pleasurable frustration. “I mean, I have a guest. Lady Kendall’s in the salon, with Bel.” She levered her arm against his chest, carving out some space between them. “And I thought you were at your shipping office.”

  “Yes, well …” Mischief gleamed sharp in his eyes. “I decided to go riding instead.”

  “Riding? To where?”

  Relaxing his grip on her bottom, he slid her downward until her toes met the floor. “Out to Kent.”

  Her breath caught. There wasn’t any reason for him to go to Kent, not unless he meant to visit—

  “Gray, you didn’t.”

  “I did.” His expression turned to seriousness. “Don’t be angry, sweet. I know you wrote to them, but … I felt I owed your father that much, to pay a call and face matters straight on. It’s the man’s way, you understand.”

  She nodded, a lump of anxiety forming in her throat. She wouldn’t have asked him to call on her father, but she understood why he had. It wasn’t just the man’s way, it was the honorable thing to do—and therefore, she knew Gray couldn’t have done otherwise. He truly was the best of men.

  With unsteady fingers, she smoothed the lapel of his coat. “Dare I ask how you were received?”

  “Warily, at first. Then somewhat belligerently.” His eyebrow quirked. “But my reception improved markedly, once I extended the invitation to a dinner party with my aunt.”

  A rueful smile curved Sophia’s lips. Yes, that would be her parents’ reaction. They’d dine with the Devil himself, if a duchess were in attendance. “They are dreadful, aren’t they?”

  He shrugged. “Isn’t everyone’s family? I doubt your father and I will ever be great friends, but we did discover one interest in common.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You.” Strong fingers cupped her chin. “We both want to see you happy. We both love you.”

  For a moment, Sophia did not trust herself to speak. Relief and joy swelled within her, until there was room for nothing else.

  His lips brushed hers in a gentle kiss. “Am I forgiven, for not telling you first?”

  Yes, yes. Forgiven, cherished, treasured, adored. Loved, beyond reason.

  “I suppose,” she said coyly, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips. “So long as you will extend me the same forgiveness.”

  “Why?” His eyes narrowed. “Have you been keeping secrets again?”

  “Just one.” Smiling, she took his hand and pressed it meaningfully against her gently rounded abdomen. “A very, very tiny one.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book is the product of more than a year’s work. Courtney Milan and Amy Baldwin were there from the roughest of rough beginnings. Lindsey helped point the way when I was hopelessly adrift. Lenore, Maggie, Elyssa, Manda, Darcy, Lacey, and Erica all came along for the ride, reading drafts and providing invaluable perspective. Thanks to Jennifer, for really, truly going sailing with me. And lastly, much gratitude to my editor, Kate Collins, for helping me shape the manuscript into an even stronger story.

  A note to readers: In this story, “dolphin-fish” refers to the deep-sea fish we now commonly call mahi-mahi—not the friendly, intelligent mammals we know as dolphins today. Please be assured that no dolphins, fictional or otherwise, were harmed in the writing of this book!

  Read on to catch an

  exclusive sneak peek at

  A LADY OF PERSUASION

  the final installment of

  Tessa Dare’s historical romance trilogy!

  Coming in September 2009 from Ballantine Books

  Available wherever books are sold

  Sir Tobias Aldridge was contemplating an act of cold-blooded murder.

  Failing that, an act of barbarous incivility.

 
By nature, Toby wasn’t one to hold a grudge. As a gentleman of rank, wealth, and unarguable good looks, he’d never received a slight he couldn’t simply laugh off. He called every man friend, and no man enemy.

  Until now.

  “So that’s him.” Toby glared at the man twirling a fair-haired beauty across the gleaming parquet—Benedict “Gray” Grayson. The scoundrel who’d stolen Toby’s bride, his future, and his very respectability, then returned to a bloody hero’s welcome.

  “That’s him. Here, have a brandy.” His host, Jeremy Trescott, the Earl of Kendall, extended a glass.

  Toby accepted the drink and downed a quick, blistering swallow. “I could call him out,” he murmured behind the glass. “I could call him out and shoot him dead tonight, in your garden.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “You’re not going to do that.”

  “Why not? You don’t think I have it in me?” Toby gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t you read the papers, Jem? That affable Sir Toby is a phantom of the past, and good riddance to him. Where did honor and decency get me, I ask you? Jilted, and replaced by a thieving, unprincipled bastard.”

  “Gray’s not a bastard. He’s the legitimate nephew of a duchess.”

  Toby gave a humorless chuckle. “Oh, yes. And now a knight, as well. What isn’t he? If you listen to the talk, Sir Benedict’s a shipping financier, a West Indian planter, a feared privateer, a paragon of valor …” He shook his head. “I know the truth. He’s the thieving bastard who seduced my intended bride. It’s within my rights to call him out.”

  “Even if you could do it,” his friend said tersely, “you’re not going to do it. This is Lucy’s first ball. She’s been planning it for months. If you turn it into scandal-sheet fodder, I’ll take you into the garden and gut you myself.”

  “Well, if you didn’t want scandal, you shouldn’t have invited me. So long as I have the devil’s own reputation, I might as well live up to it.”

  “You ought to rise above it.” Jeremy lowered his voice. “Listen, you’re bound to meet with them at some point. Gray’s bringing out his younger sister this year, and they’ll be at every major social event. Best to make your public reconciliation now and quell the gossip. Why do you think Lucy and I planned a ball so early in the Season?”

  “Because if you waited a few months she’d be too round?” Eager to change the subject, Toby clapped his friend on the shoulder. He had no intention of reconciling with Grayson, publicly or otherwise. Ever. “Congratulations, by the way.”

  “How did you know Lucy’s with child?”

  Toby made eye contact with his friend’s wife across the ballroom, as she weaved through the crush of guests. For years, Lucy Waltham Trescott had dogged their annual hunting excursions at Henry Waltham’s estate. She’d harbored a girlish infatuation for Toby, but had forgotten him quickly enough when Jeremy captured her heart last autumn.

  He said, “I’ve three older sisters, and ten nieces and nephews to date. I can tell. A woman’s face gets a bit rounder, her hair shines. And her bosom, it …” Jeremy shot him a glare. Toby took another sip of brandy. “Right, well. I can just tell.”

  Lucy reached them, and Toby fortified his smile. He’d be damned if he’d let this assembly catch him wearing any expression other than his usual rakish grin.

  “Toby!” Lucy exclaimed, taking his hands. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Look at you, Luce.” He gave her a sweeping gaze and an appreciative wink. The once-hoydenish twig of a girl had blossomed into the lovely, confident Countess of Kendall. “Stunning. Most beautiful lady in the room.”

  Lucy made a dismissive wave of her hand, but behind the gesture she blushed to the ears. Just as he’d known she would. Toby leaned in to kiss her cheek, ignoring Jeremy’s forbidding glare.

  “I know you say that to all the ladies,” Lucy said. She gave him a cautious look. “Sophia looks well, doesn’t she?”

  “Oh, she’s radiant.” Toby forced his grin wider as the Graysons waltzed by, Sophia’s flaxen hair and porcelain complexion an elegant ivory blur. “Incandescent, even. She has the look of a woman in love.”

  Sophia had never looked incandescent with him.

  Lucy seemed to read his thoughts. She laid a hand on his sleeve. “Toby. You weren’t in love with her, either.”

  Toby shrugged. Lucy spoke the truth, but the truth didn’t help.

  “What’s done is done. You’ve got to move on.” Jeremy nodded toward the crush of guests. “It’s a new Season, man. There’s a fresh crop of debutantes just waiting to experience the renowned Sir Toby charm. Surely one of them has caught your eye.”

  Toby considered. True, a fresh conquest might provide a welcome diversion from murderous rage. He’d always been a favorite with the debutantes. But lately, there was scarcely any challenge to it. His scandal-sheet notoriety as the “Rake Reborn” had the mamas on alert and the young ladies in a flutter. All he had to do was appear.

  “Now that you mention it, there was one … just one.” Toby scanned the ballroom for a glimpse of vibrant emerald silk. There was only one lady who’d caught his eye even briefly since he’d made his entrance. He knew he’d never seen her before—he certainly wouldn’t have forgotten her if he had.

  Ah, there she was. An intriguing dark-haired beauty unlike any other lady in the room. Unlike any lady he’d ever seen. Until now, he’d caught only glimpses of her through the churning sea of dancers—a flash of emerald, a cascade of raven hair, a swatch of honey-gold skin. Now she lined up with the ladies in preparation for a reel, and he had his first opportunity to study her in full view.

  She was tall. Not nearly so tall as he, but taller than the ladies she stood among, and possessed of a lushly proportioned figure. The cut of her gown was modest, but she was the kind of woman who managed to look indecent, even fully clothed. Hers was a body plucked straight from some exotic harem fantasy—full breasts, flared hips, long legs.

  Toby watched as she favored her dance partner with the hint of a smile. That subtle curve of her lips was somehow more sensuous than any other curve of her body. Desire sparked through him, surprising him with its intensity. His whole body thrummed with that base, ineloquent instinct in which every seduction, no matter how suave, took its root:

  I want that.

  Who was she? She was in her first Season, most certainly. With her beauty, she could not last more than a few months on the marriage mart, even if her dowry were made up of cockleshells.

  Toby shifted to view the row of gentlemen lined up opposite, to discern the identity of her partner. “Bloody hell.”

  It couldn’t be. She was partnered with Grayson, the thieving bastard. It wasn’t enough he’d already stolen the woman Toby had planned to marry—now he had to strut and impress the debutantes, too? Damn it, they were Toby’s territory. Now what had begun as vague, lustful inclination firmed into a plan:

  I want that.

  And I’m going to take it.

  “Fancy a reel, Luce?”

  “Why, I had not—”

  Without waiting for her answer, Toby took Lucy by the hand and tugged her onto the dance floor, wedging their way into the queued-up dancers just instants before the music began. He’d positioned himself at Grayson’s shoulder, and though he bowed to Lucy as the first chords were struck, he kept his gaze slanted toward the beauty in green silk beside her.

  The dance was one patterned in groups of three couples, requiring much interchange between adjacent partners—just as Toby had hoped. At regular intervals, he would have occasion to take his emerald-clad vision by the hand, exchange a few words, twirl her dizzy, and—if all that failed to render her breathless—flash his most winning smile.

  But all in good time.

  Winning over a lady was a matter of strategy, of patience. The first contact must not be skin-to-skin, nor even glove-to-glove, but solely eye-to-eye. Toby moved forward to bow to her, his gaze riveted to hers. Her eyes were remarkable. Wide-set, almond-shaped, and fringed with sabl
e lashes. So large and serious, they seemed to swallow up the rest of her face. For a moment, Toby let himself sink into those dark, placid pools.

  He had a devil of a struggle fishing himself back out.

  A few bars later, he was still recovering when the pattern compelled him to take her hand. He seized her gloved fingers firmly. The soft fabric heated between them as they circled, becoming warm and pliant as skin. Her bare flesh would feel like this, he thought. Satin-smooth. Supple. Hot to the touch as his hands glided under that cool silk to explore her every enticing curve. It would have the texture of cream against his tongue.

  Lord. Toby hauled on his mental reins before those thoughts carried him away. Never before had he felt such a thrill simply taking a lady’s hand. But then, never before had he seduced a woman straight from the arms of his enemy.

  “Toby.” Lucy beckoned him with a twitch of her fingers, and Toby realized they’d fallen behind in the pattern.

  “Right. Beg pardon.” He leapt forward to claim Lucy’s hands and sweep her down the dance. “And I apologize in advance, for what is about to occur.”

  Her eyes flared. “Toby, no. You can’t make a scene.”

  “Oh, but I could. I could denounce Grayson and Sophia in front of the entire ballroom. Everyone thinks they’re the golden couple, the freshly knighted hero and his beautiful, innocent bride? I could expose the truth.”

  “And I could expose your innards.” Lucy’s fingernails dug into his arm, proving a fierce huntress still prowled that elegant exterior. “You wouldn’t dare. I’ve been planning this evening for months, Toby.”

  The dance parted them before Toby could respond. Then the lady in green silk smiled, and something in his chest pulled tight. He couldn’t have spoken if he’d tried. It was perfect, that smile, comprised of full, sensuous lips the color of fine Madeira. Lips designed for sin, framing an innocent row of pearly teeth. And about the corners of her mouth, the slightest hint of melancholy—just enough to intrigue the mind, stir the heart. Those lips defied mere admiration; they wanted a kiss.