The Legend of the Werestag (10 page)

Richard and Rose set out to solve the mystery, and find the layers of scandal go deeper than simply determining who is guilty. And that doing the right thing could separate them—forever.

This book has been revised from a previously published edition.

Warning: This series is addictive. Passion and murder are a potent mix.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Yorkshire:

Lord Strang walked into the coach house.

He held his injured arm in a sling fastened around his neck, and he was dressed simply in a country frock coat, slung around his shoulders against the cold. No make up or expensive satin today. He looked comfortable, at ease, far more human than he had when he first stepped out of his coach the previous Monday and far more like his brother, but I would never have confused them.

He stopped when he saw me and looked me over, slowly. I felt dowdy and provincial, under his even gaze, and dropped my eyes. He came quickly towards me, and then stopped again suddenly, a few paces short of me. Regaining my courage I lifted my head and we regarded each other steadily. “Good morning, ma’am,” he greeted me, bowing.

“Good morning, my lord,” I replied. “Do you feel better today?”

“A good deal better, thank you,” he replied. “Sleep and rest seem to have restored me almost to my old self. But not quite,” he added in a quieter, more reflective tone.

I glanced at the sling, expertly tied, no doubt by his resourceful manservant.

“You look much better, sir. I hope your arm does well now.” An easy, genuine smile transformed his grave features into something else, making him look like any other man—almost. It went right through me. “I hope so too,” he agreed. “Carier certainly seems pleased with its progress.”

I felt uncomfortable, stilted. “Your man seems very capable with injuries,” I commented, trying very hard to keep up a normal conversation. “I didn’t think it was considered usual in a manservant.”

“He joined me on the Grand Tour, direct from the army,” he replied. He didn’t seem aware of my awkwardness. I thanked the Lord for good manners. “He served a general for several years and took an interest in helping the wounded. He dealt with much worse there, or so he would have me believe.” I found it difficult to take my eyes off Lord Strang, but I knew I must do something to stop myself, or he might notice. I felt awkward and ungainly as I always did in difficult situations. My inner feelings intensified it all, made it even worse. Partly to give myself an excuse to take my eyes away from him and partly on an impulse I turned away for a moment and picked up the cut strap. “Sir, the most dreadful thing!” I began, and turned back to him.

His gaze had gone to the strap in my hand, and he must have seen what I did. He took the step that brought him to my side. “Good God!” he exclaimed. Taking the strap from me he turned it over so he could examine it from both sides.

We stood side by side and stared at that strap for a while in silence, for far too long. Then I found my voice at last; “It has been cut, hasn’t it sir?”

I smelled him now. An unidentifiable scent of manhood mixed with something of citrus, too agreeable for comfort. I wanted to move away, but thought he might realise something was wrong if I did. I would be deeply mortified if that were to happen. It was bad enough to have this crazy infatuation—much worse if he knew it.

“There’s no doubt about it,” he replied gravely. “Look, it’s been cut nearly through. I’m surprised the coach got as far as it did.”

He dropped the strap as though it had become suddenly hot, and went round to the other side of the coach to examine the strap on that side, but I didn’t follow him. I needed time to get my breath back. His presence so close hit me like a blow to the stomach, especially in the way he had taken me by surprise by walking in so unexpectedly. I put my head back and took some deep, clear breaths of the chilly morning air, pulled it down into my lungs in an effort to clear my head. Slowly, I regained my self control.

Lord Strang walked round the coach slowly and carefully, examining it closely at several points, then he came back to where I stood. “This is very serious indeed,” he said, thoughtfully, but he didn’t say, as I thought he might, we would have to tell someone at once. So, I said it. With two of us so certain, surely someone should be informed. “Shouldn’t we tell someone?” I asked, tentatively.

Impulsively, I turned towards him, but he was standing too close. I drew breath and smelled him, the perfume he used and that unfamiliar smell of masculinity. I could almost feel his warmth. Then I let my eyes meet his in a careless second.

Everything rushed in on me, on his blue gaze. I was lost.

To my amazement, there seemed to be a similar response in him. His eyes widened in disbelief and the breath caught in his throat. He said, “You too? Oh dear God!” and without any more words, he drew me to him with his good arm and kissed me.

Tiny tentative kisses at first, gentle, the kind one might give a friend at greeting, but they soon changed to passionate and demanding when, despite my good intentions, I responded. This, I thought firmly to myself, is not happening! I didn’t pull away. I wrapped my arms around him instead, and touched him properly for the first time. His hard body tensed under the fine linen shirt.

I’d never known anything remotely like this before, this aching desire that betrayed all my self-control.

Living in an overcrowded manor house had taught me powers of discretion no one else had been able to break through, not even Steven, although he had tried. While every sensible bone in my body screamed for me to pull away, to get away, my treacherous arms wouldn’t push, and my legs seemed to be rooted to the spot. With those kisses, he unlocked something I had only been aware of dimly before. Passion.

He bent his head to kiss my neck. Now I could call out, now I could say something, but I only sighed with longing. My throat arched, his kisses burned my skin. I wanted him to continue, but he pushed me away, gasping, “No!”

My astonishment reflected in his eyes as we stood and stared at each other. All my good resolutions had gone dissolved away in the wake of passion. Only aware of him as he looked at me, I tried to think, stay calm, in control of myself, but had to fight for it like never before.

“Someone told me you were dangerous,” I said, quietly. My voice shook despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

“Then you have me at a disadvantage, for no one told me how dangerous you are,” he said in his soft, low voice. I stared at him uncomprehendingly, and a heavy silence fell between us.

I heard the groom outside singing; I heard the horses in their boxes. I thought I had better go. Finally regaining control of my body I turned away, but he said abruptly, “Come and talk. I promise I’ll behave.” And I knew I too felt the need to talk about this, to see if it was real.

I followed him to the back of the coach house where there were a couple of bales of hay, and we sat down side by side, careful not to touch. I felt the shock of his arm around me, the desire in his kiss. I still trembled. I dared not look at him again. Staring at my trembling hands, I tried to control them, gripping them tightly, watching the knuckles turn white. The dark red scab of the scrape split a little and oozed drops of bright red blood.

One part gambler, two parts charmer, Trevor Malloy has finally met his match.

The Gift

© 2006 Beth Williamson

Malloy Family, Book 5

Trevor Malloy loves women of all shapes and sizes. When he bets a small fortune on a hand of poker only to lose to a lady gambler he can’t seem to charm, he finds himself beholden to a woman for the first time.

Adelaide Burns refuses to fall under Trevor’s spell and is determined to make him pay every cent he owes her—in muscle and sweat.

Like sparks from flint and rock, Trevor and Adelaide nearly set the sheets on fire. Together they find heaven in each others arms, fight for Adelaide’s saloon and face a future that only the luck of the cards will tell.

Warning this title contains the following: explicit sex, violence.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Gift:

Trevor kept an eye on Adelaide all morning, at least when he could. She seemed to be everywhere, busy doing all her daily tasks with Dustin at her side. He still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he’d slept with Adelaide.

Had amazing sex with her. Sex so incredible he was half-erect just thinking about it. With an annoyed grunt, he went into the kitchen to wash up the breakfast dishes. He actually enjoyed spending time in the kitchen with Marybeth. Reminded him a bit of home, of his mother. He missed her and home, not that he’d admit that to anyone until pain of death or torture. There were a few things a man had to be manly about. One of them was missing his mama.

He put the last load of plates into the soapy water as Marybeth stepped outside to “take care of business”. It wasn’t until he heard Adelaide yell that he realized something was wrong in the saloon. He slammed out of the kitchen and assessed the situation in a blink.

Two men were holding her down, one of them had his boot on her hair. The other straddled her waist.

She struggled and punched at both of them. Trevor felt rage sweep through him like a bonfire.

He yanked the man off her stomach by the collar, earning a choking sound that gave him grim satisfaction. He punched that bastard in the nose, spraying blood everywhere. The second one, a black-haired, scurvy devil, slammed into him with a roundhouse punch to the right side of his jaw. Trevor stumbled, but didn’t fall. He ducked to avoid the next punch and landed a blow to the man’s flabby paunch.

“Lousy bastards!” Adelaide picked up her favorite spittoon and wielded it like a weapon. “Get out, McGee, or I swear to Christ I’ll split your head open.”

Trevor knew she meant it. Hell, he still had a headache from his encounter with that damn brass thing.

“Call off your dog.” The one he assumed was McGee bared his yellowed teeth at Trevor.

“Only if you take your lackey and get your asses out of my saloon in the next ten seconds.” Adelaide looked about ready to do murder. Her eyes glowed with fury and retribution, a veritable warrior goddess.

A twinge of pride for her rang through him. Reminded him a bit of his sister, Nicky, a woman who didn’t take shit from any man.

Trevor stood, fists at the ready, until McGee started dragging his companion out of the saloon.

“I’ll be back, Adelaide. Don’t you be worrying about that.” McGee snarled as the door closed behind him.

Trevor’s blood rushed through him like a lit fire as he looked for more sons of bitches to pummel. He was frustrated that he’d only gotten a few good punches in. Wasn’t much of a fight. Hell, he got more out of one of his brothers when they were drunk. That ass McGee definitely had trouble written across his face.

“What did he want?” Trevor felt his jaw where the idiot had hit him. Slightly swollen, no teeth loosened though. He looked at Adelaide. She stood with her fists clenched, hair dirty, and a mixture of anger, fear and frustration on her face.

“Red?” He stepped toward her, but she didn’t answer him. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Trevor reached her side and cupped her cheek until she turned her gaze to his. “Honey, can you hear me?”

“I’m not deaf, Malloy. I’m just angry as hell. How dare he?” She huffed out a breath. “Did you see what that bastard did?”

Trevor noticed a red handprint on her cheek and realized the sound he’d heard was a slap. McGee dared lay his hands on her. A fresh wave of anger whooshed through him and he couldn’t stop himself from following that dirty cur. As he headed to the door, Adelaide grabbed his arm.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna pound that son of a bitch into next week.”

“No you won’t. This is my fight.” She yanked on both his arms. “You leave him to me.” Trevor almost laughed at the absurdity of it. She wanted him to back away from a fight so she could handle it. He touched the mark on her cheek, then leaned forward and kissed it. She sucked in a breath that he felt all the way to his toes.

His mouth followed that breath and his lips landed on hers. The heat of anger gave way to the heat of passion. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him against her.

Perfect
.

She fit to him like a glove. Her lips danced and sang with his as she rubbed her breasts against his chest.

No longer half-erect, his dick lengthened and hardened against her softness. In another minute, he’d have her back in bed, deliciously naked in his arms.

He licked her lips from one end to the other until she opened her mouth with a sigh and her tongue rasped against his. Oh,
yes
, so hot and wet. Trevor needed to be with her, alone. Adelaide’s hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer. He reached around to cup her breast and found the nipple hard already.

Rolling the turgid peak between his thumb and finger, Trevor sucked her lip into his mouth.

“God, heaven…you taste like heaven,” he whispered against her mouth.

“You two are like a couple of goddamn rabbits.” Dustin’s annoyed voice shattered the fog of arousal surrounding them. He set a handful of bottles on the bar with a tinkling thump of glass.

Trevor broke the kiss and stared into Adelaide’s befuddled eyes. “Damn, woman, I can’t seem to keep my hands off you. What’s that all about?”

She pushed away from him. “I expect that’s a common occurrence when you’re around any woman, Malloy.”

Dustin’s normally hard expression turned to granite when he caught sight of Adelaide. He grabbed Trevor by the shirt front and pulled him up to his furious face. “What did you do to her?” Adelaide slapped at his hands. “He didn’t do anything, Dustin. It was McGee. Now let him down.” With one last narrow-eyed glare, Dustin let him back to earth. Trevor realized he’d gotten off lucky last night—the big man could have snapped him in half. It was like being held by a three-hundred-pound dragon with rock-hard fists.

“Why was McGee even in here?” Dustin growled.

Adelaide gestured widely with her arms. “The door was open and you weren’t here. How do you think he got in? Magic carpet?”