She stepped through her front door, on her way out to visit her friend, Monique Baye. Monique’s family had also fled France and she now made a living for herself as a modiste in London. Monique had tried to help Sabine’s parents in their time of need, but she did not have enough money and by the time she had earned enough, Sabine’s parents were both sick. Monique had seen to it that they had had a proper funeral and were not buried in paupers’ graves. The least Sabine could do was support her friend’s growing business. Before Sabine left England and returned to Italy for good, she intended to make Monique the most sought after modiste in London.
It was the clatter of horses’ hooves and the sight of Marcus and Henry St. Giles on their fine mounts which stopped her from entering her carriage. Their mounts weren’t the only things that were fine. The men astride them turned heads everywhere.
“Perfect,” she muttered under her breath. She had thought she’d have a respite from his company for a few days. She shivered as she remembered that her planned revenge on her parents’ behalf would see her have to submit to the one man who would not be able to value her sacrifice.
She almost stumbled as her heart leapt into her throat. Both men looked so handsome mounted on their impressive stallions. But it was the dark haired Marcus that drew her eye.
Squaring her shoulders, she stepped back onto the pavement. It was obvious that Henry St. Giles, the blond demi-god of London, held her in contempt. His barely civil, “Good day, Madam,” was testament to his feelings at her return.
She acknowledged Henry’s greeting with a nod of her head. “Gentlemen. To what do I owe the honor of a personal call at this early hour of the morning?” she said as she smiled sweetly at Marcus.
He dismounted with a masculine grace that saw her blush. She couldn’t take her eyes off his muscled thighs, remembering how they’d felt as she’d pressed shamelessly against him. Her body hummed at the memory of the power and pleasure his touch had given her.
As he took her extended hand, he placed a lingering kiss on her glove, and a tremble of awareness flashed over her and his amber eyes gleamed with unbridled fire at her response.
So he’d felt this quickening too.
His eyes glanced at the façade of the house behind her. “You’ve bought Dowager Spencer’s house I see. You’re Henry’s neighbor.” He indicated across the street. “Henry will be able to keep an eye on who enters and leaves your house. Remember our wager. You’re mine, and only mine, for as long as I desire.”
She tried to take back her hand from his warm grasp but he held tight. “I’ve leased her house, actually. Once my business here in London is completed, I intend to return to Italy.”
“Only when I allow it.” His tone was a sharp reminder that he expected her to be at his beck and call.
She gave him an innocent smile. “I still have two days before you own me. I was hoping I’d not see you until then. The less we’re seen together, the better. I’m attending the Duke of Barforte’s ball for his daughter’s coming out. I suspect you won’t wish to attend.” She knew he’d not wish to attend the ball. There were too many mothers, wanting husbands for their daughters, in attendance.
“Actually, I too am attending the Barforte’s ball, but I think I can resist you for one night. After all, I’ve not thought of you for ten years.”
She swallowed her surprised exclamation. Marcus attending a debutante’s ball? Hardly! He was obviously going to keep a close eye on his prospective prize.
She smiled brightly in farewell. “Until tonight then, gentlemen.”
He tightened his hold on her hand and offered a gallant bow. “Two days then. Enjoy your freedom while you can. You’ll be otherwise engaged once the tournament is over.”
She looked up and down the street, all the while trying discretely to pull her hand free of his grasp. While maintaining a polite smile that she hoped indicated mere acquaintance rather than intimate friendship. She hissed under her breath, “I know the terms. You don’t have to keep reminding me. Remember, you promised you’d be discrete. Don’t call on me at my house—ever again!”
He let her hand go and stepped back. Sabine turned to enter her carriage.
“Then don’t force me to come looking for you. You approached me, Madam. I’m the one helping you. Don’t forget that. We agreed on a wager between us and I suggest you honor it…. But wait, I forget. Perhaps you need reminding of what honor is.”
She stumbled and choked back a curse, sending him a look that would send meeker men fleeing.
A neighbor descended the steps next to her. Just what she didn’t need, gossip about her relationship with a notorious womanizing scoundrel, just when she was trying to ensure her respectability in this town.
“Are you all right, Lady Orsini?” Marcus called, grim determination in his question.
Through gritted teeth she replied, “Perfectly, thank you, Lord Wolverstone. Thank you for stopping by with the message.”
“Until tonight, my lady. I hope I have delivered my message satisfactorily and it is fully understood.”
She entered the carriage and slammed the door. “It was most succinctly delivered. I remember it word for word. I shan’t forget the meaning,” she paused and looked him directly in the eyes, willing him to feel some smidgen of regret at his behavior, “ever.”
With that she drew the curtain and banged on the roof, indicating the carriage should move on, quickly. She had to put some distance between them before she did something very unladylike.
Sabine was still full of fury as she took her seat in Monique’s sitting room. She smoothed a hand over her hair, trying to compose herself.
Marcus’s behavior confirmed her worst fears. He hated her, and was bent on extracting his pound of flesh. His revenge would be to see her humiliated, just as she had humiliated him all those years ago.
Pain rippled across her chest and no amount of rubbing would stop the ache of what could have been and should have been. Worse, try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to hate Marcus.
Being with him stirred something inside her that she had believed long dead. Hope. If she could extract her revenge against Gower, and send him fleeing from England, broken and penniless, never to return, then she could perhaps settle here again and earn Marcus’s forgiveness. He hadn’t married. And she was a widow.
There was hope.
She touched her lips, running her fingers where his mouth had taken hers in delicious assault. She hadn’t meant to succumb quite so easily to his touch, but her reserve melted under the strength of his desire for her. Besides, she’d wondered for ten years what it would be like to be taken by such a man.
But she still longed for… she longed for something she knew Marcus could not give, at least not to her.
Tenderness, love and his heart.
For she’d held it in her hand once before…
“Sabine, it’s wonderful to have you back in England. And you’re now a Contessa, of all things.” Monique bent and kissed her on both cheeks, laughing gaily. “You’re still as beautiful as ever.”
Sabine smiled. “You mean, for my age. I can’t believe it’s been ten years since we last spoke.”
“You haven’t aged a bit. Whereas I,” she indicated her body, “I have become even more voluptuous. It’s better than saying fat, non?” Her smile crumpled disarmingly and she leaned over and placed her hand on Sabine’s where it lay in her lap. “I’m so sorry about your parents. I should have tried harder to…” Monique’s breath caught at the memory and her eyes filled with tears. “They were always good to me.”
Sabine patted her hand reassuringly. “Oh, Monique, it was not your fault. I’m grateful for all that you did for them and that they had someone who cared for them at the end.” Monique sat back and dried her eyes with her handkerchief. Sabine added angrily, “No. I know who is to blame and he will pay and pay dearly. He will end up in the same situation he placed my parents, the poorhouse.” The silence was deafening. Sabine tried t
o lighten the moment. “By the way, you’re not fat. I’ve missed you.”
“I suspect not as much as you’ve missed a certain gentleman. Now at last you can be together, non?”
Sabine’s smiled died and the pain in her chest returned. She shook her head fighting tears. “It’s not that simple.”
“Oui, it is. You must tell him the truth.”
Pain gripped her. “I’m no longer sure he’d believe me. He’s changed. He’s not the fun loving man of his youth.” Her eyes welled. “I did that to him. I took away his ability to experience joy and love. He no longer has the same happy disposition; instead he’s filled with mistrust and hate.” A small sob escaped. “He hates me and I don’t think I can bear it.”
“Hate and love, two sides of the same coin, m’amie. He still has feelings for you. If he didn’t, he would not be so hurt. He would not care about the past. It’s been ten years. He should have moved on with his life but he hasn’t. Your reappearance would mean nothing to him if he did not still have deep and passionate feelings.” She looked at Sabine coyly. “I believe he would forgive you, especially when he learns the truth. You must tell him.” She took a sip before placing her tea cup on its saucer. “He will no doubt be angry that you didn’t tell him ten years ago, but I’m positive he still loves you. He’ll welcome you back with open arms.”
Sabine chewed on her lip. Would he? She had a son. A son who would forever remind Marcus of the past and the ten years they had lost.
“I’ll tell him when my parents have been avenged. The tournament will be over within a few days. Not long to wait, given that I have waited almost ten years.”
“Marcus has agreed to help?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
Monique leaned forward. “What are you not telling me?” Silence settled over the room. “Well.” Monique prodded.
Sabine placed her cup on the side table with a shaky hand. “He offered a wager. He’ll win the tournament for me and when he does, I am to become his paramour until he is finished with me.”
Monique’s face broke into a sly smile. She clapped her hands. “Parfait! He does still desire you. You will win him back. Once the wager is won, and Gower has been destroyed, you can reveal the truth about the past and then you can live happily ever after.”
“You make it sound so simple. Nothing where the Marquis of Wolverstone is concerned is ever that simple.”
Monique nodded before pouring the tea. “I did not say it would be easy.” She laughed gaily. “But I suspect it will be very pleasurable. If I were you, I’d enjoy the man’s bed. He’s rumored to be an expert lover. Your wager with him could be to your advantage. Seduce the man, Sabine, make it so he’ll never want to let you go.”
A shudder rippled through her at the mere thought of trying to seduce such a renown and experienced rake. What did she know of seduction? Nothing! Being in his presence once more, she understood why so many women had fallen at his feet. Marcus wasn’t just handsome. His sinful dark looks made a woman think of sex. More disturbing were those piercing amber eyes that promised heaven. There was an air of command about him that made any woman want to be commanded—preferably in his bed.
She seduce him? It was laughable. He was far more likely to seduce her into doing something stupid—like fall in love with him all over again. That would lead only to pain and disappointment.
“He’ll never ask me to marry him. If he decides to keep me as his mistress I’ll have no choice. I agreed to be his paramour for as long as he requires it of me. Part of me hopes he beds me and immediately sets me free, while the other side of me wants very badly for him to keep me forever.”
“Then to get your heart’s desire, you’ll have to tell him.” Monique raised an eyebrow and sipped her coffee, before saying, “Nothing is gained without risk, ma chere amie. We both have learned that. The question you need to ask is this: what are you prepared to risk to win your happiness back?”
She relaxed back into the chair and stared out the window. It was a good question. She deserved some happiness after the life she had led. “I’d risk anything, except Alfredo’s happiness.”
Monique seemed satisfied with her answer. “Good. So you’ve agreed you should tell him?”
She nodded, fear clutching at her insides. “But it doesn’t mean he’ll believe me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have proof.”
She frowned, her terror rising, and shook her head. “No. Don’t ask that of me.”
Monique stood and moved to where Sabine sat. She knelt at her feet and took her hands. “If you want a future with Marcus, you must confess everything. You are not a coward, Sabine. If you were cowardly, you would have stayed safely in Italy. For once think of yourself.” At Sabine’s silence, Monique whispered, “There was a reason you fell in love with Lord Wolverstone. Whatever else he has become, he is still honorable at heart. Have some faith in him.”
She leaned forward and hugged her friend. “You’re right. I should have had more faith in both of us. I’m not a helpless girl of eighteen anymore. I can forge my own destiny now. Once Gower has been defeated and fled England, I’ll tell Marcus everything.”
Chapter Seven
Sabine couldn’t seem to relax and enjoy the Barforte’s ball. Her stomach churned at the thought playing continually in her mind of what would happen when Marcus won their wager.
Her head was filled with Monique’s words. Appease his wounded pride. Turn the game on its head and make him fall in love with you, again. Seduce him, again.
Her nerves were taut. What did she know about seduction? Her husband came to her bed in the dark, nightshirts remained on and the business was all over in a matter of minutes.
“Sabine, are you all right? You appear to be miles away.”
She pulled herself together and smiled weakly at her old friend, Lady Judith Harcourt. “Memories…”
“I’ve learned to hide from them, even the good ones. And speaking of good memories…”
Judith pointed to the stairs. Sabine looked up and tensed as she noted Marcus’s arrival. He was a dashing sight as he walked down the stairs with his mother on his arm. Every female’s eyes fell upon him. His seductive dark looks were a warning, yet in equal measure, an enticing invitation to every woman in the ballroom. There was an air about him that stirred the ladies’ senses.
His trousers clung provocatively to his well muscled, powerful thighs as he continued his descent. His exquisitely tailored midnight blue coat caressed his fine physique; the color complemented his dark hair which gleamed in the candlelight. My, God, she thought. He was so handsome her heart almost stopped.
“Behold the notoriously addictive Wolverstone! Beware of him, he hunts women with a wolf’s instincts, with cunning and flair, but in the end, he leaves them pining.”
She noted the wistful look upon Judith’s face. A stab of jealousy seared through her. “You sound as if you speak from experience.”
Judith couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from Marcus as he made his way down the stairs. She sighed. “He’s a marvelous lover and fiendishly inventive in bed. The best I’ve ever had.”
Old wounds re-opened and she gagged on her pride. He’d slept with the woman who was the closest thing to a friend she’d had from within the ton.
Raw pain beset her. Her heart desperately needed armoring. She should have been prepared. She looked around the crowded room and realized he’d likely slept with half the women there. She doubted any of them had ever regretted doing so.
Judith was the daughter of an Earl. She and Sabine were the same age. Sabine’s father had taught Judith’s brothers, and the two girls would often play and day-dream together while her father taught, even though their stations in life were very different.
At eighteen, Judith had gone on to marry Viscount Harcourt. It was not a happy marriage by all accounts, but her husband had died only twelve short months later. Judith had no intention of ever marrying again. She enjoyed her new found freedom.
When she heard Sabine had returned from Italy as Contessa Orsini, Judith had welcomed her with open arms. Judith’s help within the ton had made it far easier for Sabine to enact her plan.
The ladies stood watching the handsome Marquis escort his mother toward the group of powerful dowagers holding court at the far end of the room. Once he had delivered his mother into their midst, he turned and surveyed the crowd as if looking for someone. She caught her breath as she met Marcus’s bold hungry gaze as his eyes sought her out from across the room.
Suddenly, the ball proved too much of a crush; the heat almost suffocating.
Judith’s wry comment brought her back to her senses. “It would seem Lord Wolverstone has a new conquest in his sights. He looks as if he wishes to devour you. I remember you were his favorite many years ago.” With bitterness edging her tone, she added. “Enjoy, but be careful. That wolf has a bite.”
Sabine panicked. No one must know about her relationship with Marcus Danvers. “I have no intention of allowing him to bite me.”
Judith tipped her head back and laughed gaily. “I’d let him do more than bite. You would enjoy it, but don’t lose your heart to him. He doesn’t have one.”
“He used to,” she said under her breath.
A shadow appeared before her, blocking her view of Marcus. The strains of the first waltz could be heard. A man with a familiar voice bowed low over her hand. “Lady Orsini, may I have the honor of this dance?”
Henry St. Giles in all his angelic beauty stood before her. She ignored Judith’s teasing look and replied, “Of course.” Judith did not realize, St. Giles was not there to pursue a pleasurable liaison with her.
As they moved toward the dance floor, she heard hushed gasps from the crowd; the guests parted as if Moses was parting the Red Sea. There, at the other end of the room was Marcus, with a young debutante on his arm. He was leading her in the waltz. She was a young, beautiful, moonstruck debutante, with dark chestnut hair. Sabine’s step momentarily faltered.
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