"English scum!" One of the soldiers smashed the butt of his rifle into Avery's face. "Where's the woman?"Avery grunted and spat blood onto the ground. "She's right over there." He was lying on his side, hands still tied together in front of him.They had started their interrogation on Avery first and were clearly enjoying causing him pain. Some passed a bottle around and joked as it went on."Your joke has grown old, English dog. The man who warned us about you would not have mistaken that man for a woman.""Are you sure? She is rather fetching in that dress."The soldier kicked Avery in the stomach, and Jonathan shouted for them to stop. "You'll kill him. Shouldn't he get a trial first?"The soldiers all turned toward him, laughing. One man, the captain, stepped forward, his cold eyes settling on Jonathan."Perhaps. Perhaps no. But that gives me the idea." His English was about as bad as Jonathan's French. He turned and pulled out a saber and placed the blade's edge underneath
Pain. Audrey couldn't seem to focus on anything else. Images flickered through her mind, fragments of memories, and she struggled to catch the pieces. A ship sailing to France, a quiet inn, soldiers, an explosion, a moonlit cliff, a drawn knife, a shot in the darkand then pain. So much pain.And then something else. Something greater."Please, my love, come back to me."That voice.It was as though she was trapped in a place between breaths, a world of memories and sensations.Flashing green eyes, soft curved lips, a soft chuckle intended only for her.Air filled her lungs in a gasp.The glimmer of light upon water, the splash of fish in the pond, the rocking of a boat. Another deep kiss to satisfy centuries of longing.A slow breath escaped her lips."I love you."Those words were forever carved into her heart. They could never be unsaid. But now she was suddenly too afraid to face the man she'd said them to."Her breathing has evened out." A different voice spoke somewhere
Two months later.Audrey's coach stopped in front of St. George's, and she held her breath. A flutter of nerves made her place one hand over her stomach. She'd kept her bodice loose and hadn't worn any stays beneath her gown in order to give her room to breathe without her wound being rubbed too much. She wasn't as fashionable looking as she'd hoped to be on her wedding day, but at least she was alive and finally marrying Jonathan."You ready?" Cedric asked as he helped her out of her coach."I am." She held her hands and looked up into his face. "Are you?"Her older brother smiled. "To let you grow up and be a wife and mother? Never, but I couldn't give you away to a better man." His voice grew rough with emotion. "If Mother and Father could see you now, they would be so proud of you." His eyes misted as he cleared his throat."Now, don't you start," she said with a sniffle. "If Jonathan sees me crying, he will worry."Cedric nodded, trying to pull himself together as well."Th
BOOK EIGHT: The Last Wicked RoguePrologueLondon, December 1821The deafening crack of ice breaking was like a gunshot. It halted Charles Humphrey, the seventh Earl of Lonsdale, dead in his tracks. He'd been racing across the frozen Thames, twilight bleeding over the wintry landscape ahead of him, creating eerie shadows that led to the figure just beyond his reach."Stop!" Charles shouted. Pain and rage filled him to the point that nothing else existed within him. He was a beast driven with one purpose: to kill the man he pursued.His own brother.But the sound of breaking ice was all around him now, echoing across the Thames. The man ahead of him stopped, skidding briefly along the ice. Charles did the same, listening for another warning sound, but he could see no obvious cracks in the surface."Not another step, brother," the man warned, his voice firm and cold.The rage that had momentarily been pushed aside by the threat of breaking ice now came roaring back. His fingers c
Lily hurried up the steps to her small room. The drunken revelry of the gambling hell one floor below was now a distant roar. She slid her key into the lock, blinking rain out of her eyes as she continued to shiver. Her gown was soaked clear through and possibly ruined.This tiny room was her only true place of refuge, with its small wooden bed frame tucked away in one corner and a dusty brick fireplace in the opposite. It would be damp tonight, and she'd have to use all of her blankets to warm up after she removed her gown.Tonight had not gone as planned. So much had gone wrong, and she didn't want to think about it. She trudged over to the fireplace and retrieved the flint and kindling from a tin box on the dresser. Once a healthy flame was burning, she added a few logs until a steady blaze warmed the room. She rubbed her arms, desperate for warmth. Those brutes in the tunnel had ripped her cloak from her when they had grabbed her from Vauxhall Gardens.Of course, that had been e
Tom Linley.It was the name she'd assumed over a year ago when she'd been sent to Berkley's club to gain Charles's trust. The thin, scrappy lad known as Tom Linley did not exist; she was Lily Linley, daughter of a country gentleman and mother to a little girl she had to pretend was her baby sister. And she would protect that child at any cost, even if she had to destroy a good man to do so. She had no choice.As much as she wished she could refuse, she couldn't. Nor could she confess to Charles. He could not protect her, even if he wished to. He did not understand how much of his life and those of his friends Hugo had infiltrated. Even she did not know the full extent, just enough to realize there was no escape from him. She could not win his game; she could only hope to survive it.Lily sagged against the wall once Hugo had left. Her legs buckled, and she fell to her knees. A sob escaped her, and the torrent of emotions she'd been holding back tore through her like a raging fire. W
Charles finally settled into his own bed. Sleep came fitfully, plaguing him with dreams, dreams he feared would turn to nightmares. The past never let him go. It kept dragging him back under, over and over.The Pickerel pub was full of young men fresh from dinner after their classes. Charles, for the first time in weeks, had been able to have an ale with a classmate. Being so much younger, he'd found it hard to make friends.Peter Maltby, a student two years older than him, roomed across the hall in Magdalene College. Peter had seen Charles eating alone at dinner and had come over to invite him for a drink at the little pub just outside the college's gates. They had quickly become good friends, and the pub had become a ritual of sorts for them.Tonight, they'd bid good night to the elderly porter who manned the gates and settled themselves in a corner of the booth to drink and talk."Enjoying your lessons?" Peter asked, smiling broadly as he sipped his ale.Charles nodded. "I'm
"It's far too cold for croquet!" Emily St. Laurent, the Duchess of Essex, shouted at her husband. She curled a gloved hand over her swollen belly, which might hold the future heir to the Essex title, as she watched her husband, Godric, and his half brother, Jonathan St. Laurent, struggle to press the wickets into the hard ground of the small lawn in their back garden."Nonsense, darling," Godric grunted. "Just needs a bit of umph!" He slipped on the icy grass and landed on his backside. His brother burst out laughing but also lost his balance and fell down beside him. Emily covered her mouth to stifle a laugh."Lord, what a pair." A light voice came from beside her. Audrey, Jonathan's new bride, was grinning beside Emily. The two had been friends for more than a year, and now they had the pleasure of being sisters by marriage."It's so wonderful to see how much Jonathan has changed since he settled down with you," Emily said more softly. She'd seen the young man suffer in silence as
The roads proved to be quite passable as sunlight melted much of the last evening's snowfall. Ella leaned against the side of the coach, watching sunlight glint off the snow like diamonds scattered on the surface of a white sheet. The rocking rhythm of the coach and the thudding sounds of the hooves lulled her into a numb state somewhere between wakefulness and slumber. She tried not to let her mind drift back to this morning, but it seemed determined to replay flashes of their lovemaking.The way Phillip's eyes lit up between slow kisses, how it felt to thread her fingers through his hair, the sighs he made as they embraced after coming apart. The way it felt to have his fingertips brush against her cheek. Even the way he spoke her name as she walked away. She would remember every little thing, the bursts of light and heat, and the cold sting of her breaking heart. Perhaps in time the memories would fade, but she doubted it. If only he was brave enough to come after her, to fight for
Ella awoke to the smell of porridge, eggs, and ham. She moved languidly, stretching her limbs, feeling sore between her thighs and a slight dampness in the sheets. Her face flushed as she sat up in bed. Phillip was seated by the fire, reading a novel. A tray of food sat on the table beside him, untouched."You should eat."He looked over his shoulder at her, his mouth quirking into a grin. "I was waiting for you. Come." He patted his lap, and the invitation was too much for her to resist. She slipped out of bed and joined him. He curled an arm around her waist as she eased down on his lap."How do you feel?" he asked, his eyes tender as he looked at her."A little sore," she admitted. "But wonderful too. I fear you've given me a taste for sin.""Have I now?" His delighted chuckle pleased her so much that her heart hurt. She loved his laugh, his smile, everything. She wanted only happiness for him because he had suffered so much."Yes, most definitely. Where did you learn such a u
Phillip woke before dawn, feeling more rested than he had in a long time. A beautiful woman lay beside him, and memories of how sweet the previous night had been made him want to burst into song like a lovestruck fool. He'd given her pleasure and she'd returned it, and it had been going so damned well until he'd fallen asleep. Yet his body didn't ache, and his leg didn't hurt as he was used to first thing in the morning. He moved slightly, expecting pain, but the usual stiffness in his thigh and lower calf and shin weren't there.He stared down at Ella's scantily clad body lying beside him. Had she truly rubbed his body last night, or had it been a sweet dream? He'd gotten so used to that, dreaming she was there to heal everything with her love and sweetness, that he didn't quite trust the reality.No, it hadn't been a dream. She had pleasured him with her mouth and almost brought him to his knees. Then she'd shown tenderness in helping him with his leg. God, the woman was exquisite
The night was full of magic. Ella couldn't stop smiling as she left the dancers and returned to the table with Bridget.Warwick poured them wine from a bottle a barmaid delivered to them. "Well done, ladies, well done."The wine was sweet on Ella's tongue and went straight to her head as she ate dinner. Phillip kept a hand on her waist, so deliciously scandalous, even though they were pretending to be married. She could have floated away without a care in the world."Well, it's getting late. I think we'll turn in," Phillip said at last. "It was a pleasure to meet you both."Bridget smiled. "As it was for us, my lord."Phillip collected his cane, and Ella slipped her arm in his as they headed for the stairs."You were stunning tonight," Phillip said as they climbed the steps together."Was I?" She couldn't resist preening a little. She rarely received compliments from men who weren't her brothers."You were most enchanting." Phillip leaned against the wall as he unlocked their d
Phillip was damned, but he couldn't stop what he was doing. She was so tender, so full of warmth and youthful excitement. Her kiss made him feel like the man he'd once been long ago. Like the man who'd danced with her in that ballroom ages ago, feeling her spin and twirl back into his arms. How she'd looked up at him when he'd kissed her beneath that starry night sky, and he'd thought in that moment they could have held the entire world between them.Now he was kissing her again, and it was different. She was not a young, teasing debutante. She was a woman now, one who'd learned disappointments and heartache and clung to happiness that much stronger whenever she found it. He wanted to make sure their time together now was everything she'd dreamed of.Her eager response to the touch of his lips or the flick of his tongue against hers brought back a flood of excitement. He'd thought he was incapable of feeling like this again, but he'd been blissfully wrong. A sweet melody echoed about
The following morning, Ella stepped out into the courtyard between the two gatehouses and blinked in surprise to find Phillip dressed and ready to leave. She'd thought perhaps after last night he wouldn't come. Yet there he was, eyes glinting with amusement at her astonishment.He looked dashing in buff trousers and an indigo waistcoat. A greatcoat hung around his shoulders, only adding to the handsome picture he presented. Beyond him a large traveling coach stood ready. Marcus and Cora were helping the driver secure several valises to the back of the coach. The morning sky was still a watery gray as the sun failed to penetrate the heavy snow clouds that had gathered above them.Phillip greeted her with a smile as she reached him. "Good morning."She smiled back, but a sudden bout of nerves made her tremble. Had she really asked him to tutor her in seduction last night? The reality of that moment was now a little daunting in the cold light of day."Come now, don't be shy," Phillip
Ella followed Mr. Boucher through the house as he escorted her to her chambers for the night. Most of the furniture was covered in cloth to protect from sunlight and dust. Many of the tall paned windows throughout the house were shuttered, effectively sealing off the rooms from light and life. This beautiful house had been emptied of people. Closed off, just like its master.They passed into one of the few more well-lit rooms, a long hall with paintings of fine-faced men and women. She glanced up at more than one of the portraits, seeing Phillip's eyes or chin, even his nose in several of the ancestors upon the walls."Mr. Boucher.""Yes, Lady Ella?""Is he in much pain?" She was perhaps indelicate to inquire about Phillip's injuries in such a way, but she needed answers.Boucher paused to look at her in the moonlight. Whatever he seemed to be looking for he must have found."Yes. In the beginning, he couldn't walk. He lay in bed for several weeks, only moving with the aid of oth
Phillip sat in the faded armchair in his study, staring into the crackling fire in the fireplace. His left leg ached, especially during the damp winter months. He rubbed his thigh, squeezing the muscles, and then farther down to his shin and calf. The muscles were still weak from the lack of use. But it hurt too much to walk, so he did so only when necessary.A sound from the hall below caught his attention. Voices. Who the devil could Boucher be talking to? They'd reduced the staff over the last year, mainly because he had shut up most of the house since he remained close to his bedchamber and never entertained. He sat up a little in his chair, listening to the sounds of a woman. The pair of maids he still employed were likely on the first floor of the house at the farthest end where the other bedchambers were or in the kitchens."Boucher?" he called out, but his voice was hoarse since he hadn't used it in what felt like days. He hadn't had occasion to see anyone or truly talk to an
One year later"If I have to listen to one more man explain to me that business and politics are not things to concern myself with," Ella growled over the rim of her teacup."It is most frustrating," her friend, Audrey St. Laurent, agreed. "I often say some men need a good whack to the heador between their legs, depending on the man."Ella snickered but then sighed as her mood deflated again."What's truly bothering you?" Audrey inquired.Ella glanced about Audrey's morning room, seeking a distraction from her mortification, but they were alone. A fire crackled in the hearth, and sunlight glinted off the snow outside. It was a perfectly lovely day, which made her black mood all the worse."At one and twenty, it seems I'm now to attract the worst sort of men. I was at Lady Hearst's ball last evening, and every single man I danced with lectured me about how fortunate I was to even be dancing at my age. To make it worse, the younger ladies have taken offense at my being there. More