Invitation to Ruin

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Copyright © 2011 Bronwen Evans

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eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-6783-2
eISBN-10: 0-7582-6783-5

First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: March 2011

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Printed in the United States of America

Thank you to the BI50Ders for putting up with me, and for your unending, unselfish support.

Plus, what would I have done without my critique partners? Gracie, your endless patience, knowledge and encouragement when I first made the decision to write amazes me to this day. Without you I would not be writing this acknowledgment. Rhea, my historical writing friend, I look forward to reading your first acknowledgment.

Thanks to my lovely agent, Melissa Jeglinski, for coming to New Zealand and giving me the opportunity to meet you.

I have fallen on my feet by landing the wonderful Megan Records as my editor. You have made this amazing journey to publication so easy.

Finally, I’d like to thank the Romance Writers of New Zealand—a fabulous organization that showed me I wasn’t alone, and that there are loads of us consumed with the stories and characters floating in our heads.

London, 1808

T
he rogue Society had dubbed “The Lord of Wicked” lurked in the dimly lit recesses of Lady Sudbury’s ballroom. To most people the room was the epitome of warmth, with its blaze of candles and displayed finery, but for Anthony James Craven, the fifth Earl of Wickham, it held absolutely no appeal.

He was here to partake in his favorite pastime—sin and vice. Appetites that a notorious rake craved drew him like a malefactor summoned to hell. Thanks to his father, he was full of sin. Sin he could never atone for. Instead, he chose to lose himself in pleasure. Pleasure, at least temporarily, helped him block the memories he would give his very soul to forget.

He kept to the shadows, hiding from the sycophantic throng, while he searched for the one woman who’d enticed him into breaking all his own rules and attending the event of the Season.

His lips curved in anticipation of the night’s forthcoming liaison. He raised a glass of burgundy to his mouth in mock salute, letting the alcohol take the sting out of the unenviable position of having to hide from mothers of young unmarried daughters.

In the concealing darkness he felt the primitive stirrings of the hunter. His eyes had begun seeking their prey as soon as
he’d arrived, over an hour ago. He sank deeper into the shadows, searching for the flesh-and-blood goddess he intended to seduce.

Lady Cassandra Sudbury, a curvaceous young widow with a taste for the erotic, would be his by the end of the night. Anthony stirred from his position propped against the ballroom wall and observed his quarry’s bold approach.

With each dainty step she took toward him, his amusement grew. She worked her way through the masses with an air of innocence reborn; yet if tales were to be believed, Cassandra could corrupt a nunnery.

The blazing draft-buffeted wall candles cast flickers over her burnt-orange silk dress, which indecently hugged her every curve. The gleaming Sudbury diamonds, attracting as much attention as her cleavage, emphasized her pale slender neck. Like an opium pipe to an addict, the exposed skin called out for him to lick, suck, and taste.

Moist pink lips parted in an inviting smile. Cassandra moved behind him, using one delicate hand to cup his left buttock while the other slid under his evening jacket and up his back.

Her soft form molded itself against him, her person hidden from the crowds in the ballroom by his height and size.

“Lord Wickham, is there a reason you’re lurking in the shadows?”

Her husky voice caressed him more than the insistent fingers stroking his backside through his tight, and ever-tightening, black breeches. Both tactics achieved their desired outcome. His member instantly stood to attention, and Anthony smiled to himself. Lady Cassie, as he preferred to call her, was recently out of mourning, and she was playing with fire.

Anthony let his silence hang expectantly before murmuring, “I knew if I ignored the most beautiful woman in the room she’d come to me.”

Light laughter mocked his senses as she moved to stand directly in front of him. “You know me so well.” She trailed her hand over his hip to rub the most intimate part of him, her body shielding her actions from the pomp and ceremony
in front of them. “Something’s hard….” Her hand moved more purposely. “Speaking of coming …”

Anthony soaked in the beauty of the woman bold enough to service him in full view of her guests. Very soon she would be his mistress—this very night, in fact. He’d waited long enough.

He did not move, or give any sign of the sparks searing through his body at the practiced fingers stroking him. “If you do not still your hand, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

She gave a throaty laugh. “In view of the guests? I don’t think so.”

Gritting his teeth, he flashed Lady Cassie a taut smile. “Take a peek over my shoulder, sweetheart.” His jaw tightened as he struggled to control his body. “Where do you think that door leads? If you don’t behave, I’ll pull you into the billiard room, lock the door, and ravish you on the table until you can no longer walk.” He lifted her free hand and kissed the air above her glove. “Guests or no guests.”

At his promise she moaned softly, and he felt her fingers tremble with desire. Cassie stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Come to my bed tonight, and we shall see who wears out whom.”

If she thought he’d not accept the challenge, she was sorely mistaken. Cassandra thrived on games of flirtation. Anthony thrived on challenge.

He inwardly smiled as she peeped up at him from beneath incredibly long lashes and rubbed her hand longingly one more time, caressing his erection to the point of pain before she set him free. “Tonight?” she whispered.

Anthony’s pulse ratcheted up a notch as Lady Cassie moved close, pressing her plump white breasts against his waistcoat.

“Do not keep me waiting,” she almost pleaded, tapping his chest with her fan before drifting off to converse with her other guests.

He watched her swaying hips. She wouldn’t have to wait.

Lady Cassie’s beauty had driven Anthony to the point of
madness over the past week. He felt like a Thoroughbred racehorse that hadn’t been run in over a month. Now he’d been given his head, he wanted Lady Cassie—rumored to be the most beautiful woman in all England—with a need verging on desperation.

She had jet-black tresses, almost a midnight blue in the candlelight, framing creamy milk skin that made you want to lick from toe to breast and back again. He almost lost himself in her exotically framed feline eyes, their color such a vibrant green they appeared to be made of emeralds. Lady Cassandra Sudbury came packaged in a body so curvaceous, so soft, it would drive a saint to sin.

And Lord knew Anthony was no saint.

Finally Cassandra had let him know she was ripe for plucking, and here he stood, a starving man, his eagerness to appease his appetite almost making him grovel.

He shook his head. Anthony James Craven did not grovel. He did not prostrate himself at women’s feet, quite the opposite in fact. Women were usually fighting over him, the Earl of Wickham. Referred to as the Lord of Wicked by ladies who counted themselves among the ranks of those he’d seduced, and there were many. His “Wicked Club,” as the ladies penned it, was most likely the largest female-members-only club in all of England, if not the continent.

Women were his biggest vice. Not his worst vice, but pretty close. He loved women. All women, but in particular women whose beauty could start a war, or those he would have to fight tooth and nail for. His childhood had been starved of beauty, and as an adult he could not help but gravitate toward it.

“What have we here? The mighty Earl of Wickham hiding behind a potted palm?”

Anthony’s shoulders automatically tightened, and he turned to scowl at his twin brother. “A man of my standing—a wealthy, titled bachelor—has an excuse to hide.” He paused and raised an eyebrow, “Who are
you
hiding from?”

Richard John Craven, younger by only thirty minutes, had
the grace to blush. “Mother, of course.” Richard shrugged. “If you would hurry up and do what the head of the family is required to do, marry and produce an heir, Mother would not be bothering me.”

Anthony cursed. “What a difference half an hour makes.”

Richard slapped him on the shoulder. “Duty, Anthony. With the title comes responsibilities. It is time you did yours and saved me from Mother’s constant attentions. There should be no pressure for the second son to bear fruit. I should be free to enjoy all the world has to offer. Seeing Lady Cassandra across the room, I am reminded that there is a lot to enjoy.”

Anthony growled low in his throat. “Can’t you find a woman of your own for a change?”

“Tut tut, can’t handle the competition, eh? She is obviously immune to your charms. I have already given you three nights’ head start, only because you spotted her first. You have not bedded her, or made her your mistress, so I feel free to step in and claim what you have been unable to procure.”