An Heir of Deception (The Elusive Lords)
Page 32
In the face of her unwavering refusal, James launches a war to win back her passion, her trust, and her love. A war as ruthless as it is seductive. With the wounds of her heartbreak still fresh and raw, can he convince her that far from the second choice, she has always been the only choice for him?
Excerpt
The kiss had had him tied up in knots for the remainder of the evening. It was bad enough he had given in to her juvenile game, but not only had he failed, but he’d relived those heated moments repeatedly in his mind while watching as she became the success equivalent of Wellington at Waterloo. To Armstrong’s satisfaction, Granville had led the way as gentlemen of every age and rank had vied for a dance, conversation, whatever little attention she had deigned to scatter their way. The whole thing had been quite discomfiting to watch. Painful, even. Disturbing.
He lit the candle by the bed once he entered the darkened chamber. The dim lighting was all he required. Quickly he began divesting himself of his formal attire: jacket, waistcoat, and shirt were tossed wearily over a newly upholstered brocade chair. Despite the fire still burning on the grate, the air in the chamber held the distinct chill of winter’s indifference. As he reached to release the clasp of his trousers, an acute awareness prickled the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. The sensation of being watched was tangible. His head snapped and he scoured the dimly lit room.
Then he saw her standing ever so still and quiet in the shadowed corner.
He watched in dazed bewilderment as she stepped forward, her chestnut mane streaming loose and unpinned to the middle of her back. James swallowed. She could have been an angel dressed in the flimsy white nightdress, but he knew better. To him, she was a temptress in disguise.
His desire rose swiftly and violently, clamoring inside him like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Despite the coolness of the air, he was suddenly hot, his nerves protesting the unforgiving confines of his skin.
“Get out,” he said, his voice deceptively soft, deceptively low. The air around him had grown so dense he could cleave it with a knife.
Instead of heeding his demand, Missy took several steps forward. The glow from the solitary tallow candle suffused her in a warm light. James swallowed again, his breathing an audible rasp in the dead quiet of the night.
“I know you felt something when you kissed me tonight,” she said softly.
James nearly groaned aloud, convinced his worst enemy had sent her to test him, torture him.
“Yes, and I believe you felt it too,” he replied, his voice harsh.
She displayed no shock or surprise at his crude reference to just how hard he’d been pressed up against her down in the study. In fact her eyes, appearing more gray than blue at present, grew smoky, her lids weighed down by desire. Her gaze dropped to his chest and then to the unmistakable distention in the front of his trousers.
James had nowhere to go. He stood exposed and trapped, caged like a hungry lion with a voracious appetite who’d just come upon his next meal.
“You’re very beautiful and I’m a normal male. It’s lust, plain and simple. Don’t make more of it than that. As I’ve told you before, any desirable female would elicit the same response.”
Again, she said nothing but took another step forward, the light now illuminating the full glorious length of her slim figure, her nipples jutting out impudently from the soft cloth of her nightdress.
He throbbed. His whole body throbbed.
“Go back to your chamber,” he said, his voice strained and barely recognizable.
She took another step closer, bringing her within inches of his tightly wound form.
“It’s more than lust.”
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Thomas Armstrong vows only the loss of his faculties could ever convince him to take Amelia Bertram under his care during her father’s absence from England. Sadly, that loss does occur… the moment Lady Amelia publicly states the rumors of his exalted sexual prowess are more fable than fact. Responding like any man with an ounce of pride would, he picks up the gauntlet she throws down on the ballroom floor.
After the death of her mother to scarlet fever, Amelia Bertram is devastated at the withdrawal of her father’s love. To survive the double heartbreak, she walls off her emotions. Now, her social faux pas will place her under the same roof of the man who took her place in her father’s affections…the man her father one day hopes to call ‘son’.
During their time together, Thomas glimpses in Amelia a vulnerability buried beneath a mountain of jealousy and pain. In turn, Amelia discovers the ton’s ‘golden Greek god’ is more than the sum of rumor and innuendo. Soon a fire ignites between them not even a deluge from the Thames can extinguish. Can they set aside plans of escape and revenge to forge a love powerful enough to surmount his pride and crumble the walls surrounding her heart?
Excerpt
Guileless eyes regarded her as he batted decadent lashes. “Didn’t you wager your friends your dowry that I was not close to my rumored prowess in bed? By the bye, what exactly do the rumors say of me in that arena?” His hooded gaze dipped for a leisurely perusal of her form. “I suppose you’ll want to sample my abilities for yourself.” He spoke in a low purr as he directed his gaze back to hers. “I wouldn’t want you to have to depend on hearsay.”
A choked breath wheezed past her lips. The blasted man was thoroughly enjoying exacting his pound of flesh. Relished it in fact.
“Not if you were—”
“Please don’t say the last man on earth, it sounds so trite. I would think a woman with your penchant for wit and scorn would have come up with something more original. More biting.”
Amelia sputtered and her hand commenced shaking, nearly spilling her drink.
Gapping the distance between them so that he stood close enough for her skirt to brush his black trousered leg, he gently extricated the glass from her hand.
“You seem unnerved.” He paused, and then said in lowered tones and a throaty rumble, “I should kiss you senseless right here…right now.” He dropped his gaze to her lips, before lifting it back up to hers. “But perhaps that’s what you want.”
Before she could respond to his taunt, he bent his head, the warm, clean scent of his breath feathering her ear. For a brief moment, she feared he intended to make good his threat.
“Contrary to what you may believe, I am a gentleman and I will not heap any more embarrassment upon you this evening by making you eat your words.”
He then delivered the coup de grace in a very, very soft whisper. “That must be saved for another time, for what I have planned for you won’t be fit for public consumption.”
Amelia’s mouth went dry. She shivered despite the unaccountable heat that scorched through her to settle low in her belly.
And then as if he’d not just threatened—promised—to commit untold debaucheries upon her person, he straightened to his full height and inclined his head in a bow. “Good evening, Lady Amelia.” With that, he sauntered off.
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She hopes to gain his affections
For Miss Elizabeth Smith, sharing her first kiss with the charming Lord Derek Creswell is nothing short of a dream come true...that is, until she is spotted by one of the most influential gossips of the ton. With scandal nipping at her heels, to avoid total social ruin, Elizabeth must present a fiancé by the end of the Season. But when the viscount proves reluctant, Elizabeth is forced to employ a seduction of a different sort...
He is determined to ruin her
Viscount Derek Creswell believes Elizabeth set out to trap him into marriage. After all, her sister attempted the very same thing with
his brother six years before. Now the delectable Miss Smith expects a betrothal and a ring, while Derek finds her ruination infinitely more appealing...
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Excerpt
Ready to make his departure, Derek halted and turned, his hat and gloves still in hand. A glance behind him, revealed Millicent Rutherford, the Countess of Windmere, standing in the middle of the foyer. He’d thought her lovely when she’d come out six years before and after three years of marriage and two children, she was even lovelier, tall and slim with the most beautiful, expressive eyes. At the moment they appeared concerned.
“Lady Windmere,” he said in greeting, and made his way toward her.
“I pray you had a pleasant drive?” she said, when he reached her side. They turned and as if by tacit agreement, entered the drawing room.
“I did.”
“And things are well between you and Elizabeth?” A subtle, ladylike probe into his private affairs.
He gave a rueful smile. Her concern for her cousin was expected. No doubt Rutherford had told her his edict of marriage had been met with something less than joy.
“I wager we will muddle through this well enough.” One way or another.
“You are a true gentleman. Thank you.” Lady Windmere took his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Things have not been easy for Cousin Margaret these last several years. That’s Elizabeth’s mother. I don’t know how she would handle such a scandal.”
“Where is she from, your cousin?” he asked. He knew practically nothing of her except the taste of her lips, the firm softness of her breasts, how she felt pressed up against him.
“Penkridge. It’s a tiny village in Staffordshire. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”
Derek stilled. Not only had he heard of the town but he’d had cause to go there six winters ago. That’s when the past rose up to sully the present. Margaret. That had been the name of the mother. The bank draft had been made out to Mr. Joseph Smith, a local solicitor of meager means and three daughters. He knew only the name of the eldest—the calamity had given him good cause to never forget it—Madeline.
“Her father, what is his occupation?” He strived to keep the urgency from his voice.
The countess shot him a surprised look. She knew him well enough to know he wasn’t the sort to stand on ceremony and was a man who would never judge another by his station in life. “Cousin Joseph is a solicitor. But I don’t believe he retained his practice since he came into the barony.”
For several seconds Derek remained silent, schooling his features as he endeavored not to give any indication of how great an impact what she’d just revealed had on him.
He’d been duped, played for the veriest fool. And the irony did not escape him that he’d been nearly caught in the same trap he’d helped his brother escape years before.
Now the younger sister had him on the hooks and thought to reel him in with the ease of an accomplished fisherman. She told him she’d be ruined if he did not marry her, her family’s name dragged through the gutter that was the ton’s gossip mill.
Ruined. For a kiss.
By God, if she was to be ruined, it shouldn’t be over a paltry kiss. No, he’d show her the true meaning of ruin.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Table of Contents
Also by Beverley Kendall
An Heir of Deception
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
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