Days of Rakes and Roses (14 page)

Her tone hardened. “You are well aware my sister cannot cover her losses.”

“Your sister’s dilemma.”

“I suspect you knew that when you lured her into such deep play. You’re using Roberta to trump Lord Hillbrook.”

“Oh, cruel accusation,” he said with theatrical dismay, however accurate her suspicions. He hadn’t set out that night to entrap Roberta into adultery, but the occasion would have tempted a much better man than Jonas Merrick. Especially as he’d always known that Roberta’s disdain for him included an unhealthy dollop of fascination. “Offering yourself as substitute is a devilish strong demonstration of sisterly devotion.”

The girl didn’t answer. He rose and prowled down the room. “If I’m to accept this exchange, I should see what I’m getting. Roberta may be a henwit, but she’s a deuced decorative henwit.”

“She’s not a henwit.” Miss Forsythe edged away, then stopped to ask suspiciously, “What are you doing, Mr. Merrick?”

His advance didn’t falter. “Unwrapping my gift, Miss Forsythe.”

“Unwr…?” This time she didn’t bother hiding her retreat. “No.”

His lips curled in sardonic amusement. “You mean to wear your wet cloak all night?”

The color in her cheeks intensified. She really was pretty with her creamy skin and full-lipped mouth. Now that he was close enough to look into her eyes, he saw they were a deep, velvety brown, like pansies. Sexual interest stirred. Nothing quite so strong as arousal, but curiosity that could soon become hunger.

“Yes. I mean, no.” She raised a shaking hand in its black leather glove. “You’re trying to intimidate me.”

He still smiled. “If I am, I’d say I’m succeeding.”

She drew herself up to her full height. She was tall for a woman, but didn’t come near to matching his more than six feet. “I told you why I’m here. I won’t fight you. There’s no need to play the villain from an opera.”

“You’ll endure my distasteful caresses but won’t let me take your cloak? Seems a little silly.”

She stopped backing away, purely because she bumped into the stone wall behind her. Her eyes flared gold with anger. “Don’t mock me.”

“Why not?” he asked lazily. He reached to release the ties at her throat.

She pressed into the wall in a futile attempt to escape. “I don’t like it.”

“You’ll get used to it.” His hands brushed along her shoulders, feeling trembling tension beneath the saturated wool. “Before we’re done, you’ll get used to a great deal.”

Bleak self-awareness hardened her expression. “I imagine you’re right.”

The amusement left his voice. “Roberta isn’t worth this, you know.”

The girl—Miss Forsythe, Sidonie—stared back without shying away. “Yes, she is. You don’t understand.”

“I daresay I don’t.” If the wench was determined to rush to perdition, who was he to argue? Especially as she smelled agreeably of rain and a faint evocative hint of woman. When he slid the cape from her shoulders and let it fall in a sodden heap, he revealed a body pleasingly curved to fit his hands.

She gasped as the garment slipped, then stood quivering. Her jaw set with truculent determination. “I’m ready.”

“I doubt you are,
bella
.” He paid closer attention to her clothing and spoke with genuine horror. “What on earth have you got on?”

The look she shot him indicated virulent dislike. “What’s wrong with it?”

He cast a disapproving glance over the ruffled white muslin, too young for her, too light for the wretched night, too unfashionable, too… everything. “Nothing, if you’re dressing to play the virgin sacrifice.”

“Why not?” she said with a revival of spirit. “I am a virgin.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course you are. Which begs the question why you’re presenting me with your maidenhead instead of letting your fool sister clean up her own mess.”

“You’re offensive, sir.”

He muffled a laugh. She proved more amusing than Roberta. At the very least, Roberta would have treated him to a display of hysterics by now. He couldn’t picture this grave goddess resorting to such dramatics. Perhaps this was his lucky night after all. His lurking frustration at Roberta’s maneuvers, fading under the influence of this lovely girl’s defiance, vanished. Trapping Roberta had been no great challenge, however satisfying the prospect of swiving his loathed cousin’s wife. Seducing Sidonie Forsythe promised fine sport indeed.

“It’s my best dress,” Miss Forsythe said huffily.

He subjected the limp frill at her décolletage to a derisive flick. “Perhaps when you were fifteen.” His gaze sharpened. “Just how old are you?”

“Twenty-four,” she muttered. “How old are you?”

“Too old for you.” At thirty-two, perhaps he wasn’t too old in years but he was a million years too old in experience. And he hadn’t spent those million years wisely.

Sudden hope lit her expression. “Does that mean you’ll let me go?”

This time he laughed openly. “Not on your life.”

Her spiking fear might send her scarpering. He curled one hand around her shoulder, bare under her flimsy bodice. At the contact, something inexplicable arced between them. When startled pansy eyes shot up to meet his, he tumbled headlong into soft brown. She trembled as his hold gentled to shape the graceful curve of bone and sinew.

“What are you waiting for?” she forced through stiff lips.

He should be horsewhipped for tormenting her, but still curiosity was paramount. He raised his other hand to her jaw, angling her face. This close, he could make out each individual eyelash and the gold striations in her rich irises. Her nostrils flared as though she took in his scent just as he took in hers.

Or perhaps she was so frightened, she struggled to breathe.

“The question is whether debauching my enemy’s sister-in-law has quite the same cachet as debauching my enemy’s wife,” he murmured.

“You bastard,” she hissed, her breath warm across his face.

He smiled as dread lit her eyes. “Precisely,
belladonna
.”

Slowly he bent to place his mouth on hers. Her rain-fresh scent flooded his senses, made him giddy with anticipation. She didn’t move away and her lips remained sealed, but the satiny warmth intoxicated him.

He slid his lips against hers in what was more the hint of a kiss than an actual kiss. Even as arousal pounded through him, insisting that he take her, that she was here to be taken, he kept the contact light, teasing. Nor did he tighten his grip on her shoulder to keep her under his mouth. The agony of suspense bordered on the delicious as he waited for her to wrench free, to curse him for a scoundrel. But she remained still as a china figurine. Except the subtle heat under his lips belonged to a woman, not unresponsive porcelain.

Before more than a second passed, he raised his head. Astounding how reluctant he was to end the unsatisfying kiss. He dragged in an unsteady breath and struggled against the powerful urge to kiss her properly. There mightn’t be much cachet in fucking Lord Hillbrook’s sister-in-law, but he had a grim feeling that wouldn’t stop him.

Her eyes were wide and dark with shock. Because he’d kissed her? Or because for a fleeting instant, she might have enjoyed it?

“Why the hesitation?” Her tone was raw. “Get it over with.”

He tapped her cheek with a chiding index finger. “I haven’t had my dinner yet,” he said mildly and released her.

She staggered but found her balance with impressive speed. Breath escaped her parted lips in unsteady gasps. He preferred her outrage to her vulnerability. Against his will, her vulnerability ate at his ruthlessness like rust on iron. “Won’t you join me?”

She regarded him with well-deserved hatred. “I’m not hungry.”

“Pity. You’ll need your strength later.”

He let that sink in while he sat and rang the bell. Mrs. Bevan appeared with astonishing speed. She’d probably been listening at the door. Entertainment at Castle Craven was so lacking, he hardly blamed her.

“You may serve dinner, Mrs. Bevan,” he said with a cheerfulness that earned him a puzzled glance from his housekeeper.

“Aye, maister. And for yon lady?”

Miss Forsythe remained standing where she had when he’d kissed her. She was back to looking like a marble statue, but now that he’d touched her, he knew she was flesh and blood, all right.

“Two?”

The girl didn’t react. Good Lord, had that kiss silenced her clever tongue? He hoped to coax her into using it again. Not for idle conversation.

He addressed Mrs. Bevan. “No, for one. Please show the lady to her room. Mr. Bevan can serve my meal.”

“Aye, maister.” The woman shuffled out and after a brief hesitation, the girl collected her meager luggage and followed.

Jonas wished he could be there when Miss Forsythe discovered that in this ramshackle pile, her room also served as his.

Don’t miss Anna Campbell’s critically acclaimed Sons of Sin series.

* * *

Available Now

WILL A WEEK OF SEDUCTION…

Desperate to save her sister’s life, Sidonie Forsythe has agreed to submit herself to a terrible fate: Beyond the foreboding walls of Castle Craven, a notorious, hideously scarred scoundrel will take her virtue over the course of seven sinful nights. Yet instead of a monster, she encounters a man like no other. And during this week, she comes to care for Jonas Merrick in ways that defy all logic—even as a dark secret she carries threatens them both.

… SPARK A LIFETIME OF PASSIONATE SURRENDER?

Ruthless loner Jonas knows exactly who he is. Should he forget, even for a moment, the curse he bears, a mere glance in the mirror serves as an agonizing reminder. So when the lovely Sidonie turns up on his doorstep, her seduction is an even more delicious prospect than he originally planned. But the hardened outcast is soon moved by her innocent beauty, sharp wit, and surprising courage. Now as dangerous enemies gather at the gate to destroy them, can their new, fragile love survive?

Available Summer 2013

IT TAKES A LADY…

Brilliant scholar Genevieve Barrett’s secret identity as the author of her father’s articles is her greatest deception—until her father’s handsome new student arrives on their doorstep. Genevieve recognizes him as the masked intruder who earlier tried to steal a priceless gem from their home. Keeping the seductive stranger’s identity hidden is a risk, but she’s got secrets of her own to keep.

… TO CATCH A THIEF

Sir Richard Harmsworth fakes a rakish façade to show society that he doesn’t care about his bastard status. Yet haunted by his unknown father’s identity, Richard believes the Harmsworth Jewel will prove he’s the rightful heir. Intent on seducing the stone away from its owner, Richard finds himself face to face with a beauty more breathtaking than any jewel. But even as she steals Richard’s heart, Genevieve will be in greater danger than her coveted treasure…

Also by Anna Campbell

Sons of Sin Series

Seven Nights in a Rogue’s Bed

Praise for Anna Campbell

“
Seven Nights in the Rogue’s Bed
is a lush, sensuous treat. I was enthralled from the first page to the last and still wanted more.”

—Laura Lee Guhrke,
New York Times
bestselling author

“No one does lovely, dark romance or lovely, dark heroes like Anna Campbell. I love her books.”

—Sarah MacLean,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Campbell’s enthralling story is complex and passionate and readers will experience a delightful sense of satisfaction from watching Campbell’s characters grow in stature and emotional understanding. Quite a book!”

—
RT Book Reviews
on
My Reckless Surrender
, 2010

“It isn’t just the sensuality she weaves into her story that makes Campbell a fan favorite, it’s also her strong, three-dimensional characters, sharp dialogue and deft plotting. Campbell intuitively knows how to balance the key elements of the genre and give readers an irresistible, memorable read.”

—
RT Book Reviews
on
Midnight’s Wild Passion
, 2011

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