Wicked Temptation

Randall VanLandingham married the first time for duty. This time he wants much

more. Everyone knows his new wife has a past, but he’s the one man powerful enough
to stay the gossip while enjoying the fruits of her scandalous reputation. Anne is
everything he wants in a woman—insatiable and interesting—but he’s growing damn
tired of fending off every man who lusts after his duchess. How does one protect the
honor of a woman who has none? How does one win the love of a woman who has
shared her love with many?

Pragmatic Anne Porter, a Welsh coal miner’s daughter, learned how to use her

beauty and sexuality to lift herself from poverty, and her plan was working perfectly.
Until she married the handsome and much younger Duke of Pelham…

Until she fell in love…

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Wicked Temptation

ISBN 9781419931925

Edited by Jillian Bell

Cover art by Dar Albert

Electronic book publication February 2011

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales

is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

ICKED

EMPTATION

Eliza Lloyd

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the

following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Westminster Abbey: The Dean and Chapter of the Collegiate College Church of St.

Peter Westminster

Eliza Lloyd

Chapter One

Anne VanLandingham had committed the most unfashionable offense. She had

fallen in love.

The difficulty, of course, was whether her husband would mind.
The poet Byron might have had something to say about foolish women, for surely

the youthful affliction causing her distress could only be called imprudent. It had come

upon her suddenly and painfully. And in the middle of the Fords’ ball. Not to say that

one couldn’t fall in love dancing underneath the three-tiered crystal chandelier, but did

it have to happen to her?

Anne, the Duchess of Pelham, flirted with her usual sangfroid. Her partner, the

fashionable Earl of something, kept her securely encompassed in his arms as he guided

her around the ballroom.

However, the enjoyment of the dance was eclipsed by Anne’s dilemma and the

irritating sight of the flirty, youthful miss dancing entirely too close to her husband. To

Anne, he was the most handsome man in the room, probably in London. It wasn’t

unreasonable to think the silly young thing in his arms thought so too.

The superficial excitement of the Season wore thin for her—always rubbing

shoulders with the same people, hearing the same dull statements, watching the same

blank look if she said anything remotely intelligent. She knew the source of her angst,

had come to terms with it only recently, and it was no wonder she didn’t recognize it at

first, it happened so rarely in London.

“Your husband is a lucky man.”
“How so, Lord—” she blanked for a minute, “Lord Teesdale?”
“A woman with your reputation?” His mouth lifted in a familiar smirk.
The price for her ridiculously legendary reputation tended to be the belief that she

was available to anyone.

She had a moment of regret for all she’d done to win a place at her husband’s side,

but she guessed the loss of her reputation was a small price to pay in order to capture

the attention of the duke and ultimately become his duchess. From the coal mines of

Wales to Mayfair in London. She would do it all again.

Across the room, her husband swept the Season’s newest and brightest London

debutante through a tight group of dancers, pulling her closer. If the girl was a day past

seventeen, Anne would eat her diamond bracelet. The young deb was dressed in white

with delicate little bows and lacy edgings, while Anne looked every inch the woman in

golden tulle that shimmered with her every move and exposed a sufficient amount of

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flesh to make men wonder what else they would see if her bodice dropped an inch

lower.

Lord Teesdale’s hand slid lower on Anne’s hip, a familiarity she’d grown

accustomed to and one she was quite willing to deter with a condescending look or a

sharp word.

“And your wife, Lord Teesdale, does she enjoy the waltz as much as you seem to?”

Anne glared at him until his hand slid back to her waist.

“Well, yes. She does,” he sputtered. He cleared his throat and looked away as he led

her through another turn.

The waltz came to a beautiful end as the violin piece softly crescendoed with a final

long draw of bow over string and a round of polite clapping. Lord Teesdale bowed and

held out an arm, which she accepted. He led her to a small alcove where Clarissa

Dunnaway, the countess, held court with Lord Ederline, the stodgy but rich

curmudgeon who’d recently married Lady Sarah Danvers. An inappropriate match if

you asked Anne, but she knew many families who would have sold their daughters for

a lesser catch than Ederline.

“Your Grace.” Teesdale bowed and disappeared into the crowd.
Ederline clasped her hands and pressed sloppy kisses to the back of her gloves.

“Lady Pelham, you look marvelous as always. Lady Sarah, is she not the most beautiful

woman in the room?”

Anne clucked reprovingly. “Louis, it is true then, your eyesight is failing, especially

as your bride is the picture of London perfection.” She feigned a sympathetic gaze.

“Lady Sarah, I fear you will be leading him about the house in short order and

spooning him his porridge each morning.”

His loud bark of laughter had everyone smiling except Lady Sarah. She grimaced,

her effort at a smile, with the hesitancy of a woman who did not know her husband

very well. Anne was not so bashful.

Clarissa, one of Anne’s closest acquaintances, covered her mouth to stifle the urge

to giggle. Anne wanted to trust Clarissa, but Anne had never found a true friend in

town, and preferred to keep her insecurities to herself. What few things she had said

were enough to paint a clear picture for the countess. But better to remain aloof and

uncaring then to be subject to gossip after inadvertently revealing her feelings to the

wrong person. Anne was much more willing to give advice than to take it.

She faced the charmingly innocent Lady Ederline. “Lady Sarah, how was the tour of

Italy?”

“Oh it was ever so beautiful. I think I loved Venice most of all.” Her childlike voice

attested to her youth. Anne knew how rich Ederline was. Even she would have

considered sleeping with the perverted old devil had he been a duke, but alas, Ederline

was only a marquess.

“I hardly know how she noticed Venice, what with all the shopping,” her husband

groused.

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“You said you didn’t mind,” Lady Sarah said, peeping up at him with a winsome

look so characteristic of the young and untried.

“I didn’t, pet. Whatever makes you happy.” He patted her hand. She clung to him

like a morning glory on an old weathered house.

Anne let the conversation proceed without her, providing the appropriate

responses to the unimaginable delights of a honeymoon tour with a man forty years

Lady Sarah’s senior.

That singular thought had her blinking away the cobwebs of imagination.
Her gaze flitted around the room, looking for Randall or the young lady with

whom he had danced, but she could find neither. Rand was noticeable in his absence.

Anne had vowed she would never allow jealousy to color her world, but she could

feel the evil tentacles of worry and doubt creep into her soul. She pushed her hand

against her corseted waist, trying to assuage the rumble of anxiety deep in her being.

Finally, she peeled herself away from the group, but only after listening to a horrid

little on dit about a Shropshire baron with whom she had had an acquaintance, who’d

been caught with his pants down. Lady Sarah had gasped in shock while Clarissa had

pinkened with embarrassment. Anne? Well, she wasn’t surprised to hear the horny

bastard had finally buggered one of his stableboys. A certain gleam in Ederline’s eye

suggested Louis’ dear little wife was going to be the surprise recipient of a clumsy poke

at her back door sometime soon.

Anne glided through the crowd, surreptitiously glancing through the mass of

rainbow-bedecked peers for a sight of her husband. She held her head high. She was a

duchess now and the fawning she thought she’d enjoy had grown old quickly.

The grass was as green as she had hoped, and the beds sumptuously more

comfortable. The jewels adorning her neck would have satisfied most women. And the

large, nearly vacant mansion in Grosvenor Square was a magnificent prize.

The old duke had preferred the lesser Pelham House on Barkley Square, where she

and Rand resided now. Anne was content in the townhome but she knew the day

would come when Randall would have to take up all of his duties—in Parliament, at his

estates, along with a move to the more fashionable ducal home at Grosvenor Square.

She didn’t blame Randall for resisting the duties attendant to the Pelham duchy.

Once in the harness, he would never be free.

Yes, she lived in a dream world with a dashing young prince, but on this side of the

fence, she’d felt the depth of her deception. She wasn’t really meant to be a duchess, but

her desire to be more than she’d been in Wales had driven her relentlessly along this

path.

She had told Rand of her desire to succeed. He hadn’t laughed at her.
She hadn’t told him of her doubts about being worthy of such an exalted position.
“Your Grace,” the handsome Earl of Redding said as he bowed perfunctorily, and

Anne, keeping to her script, stopped and bestowed a lavish smile.

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“Lord Redding,” she crooned. “Is it not the loveliest party?”
“Edward, as I’ve so oft reminded you. And it is lovely, only because you are here.”
She tipped her fan across the sleeve of his perfectly tailored jacket. “I would wager

you say that to all the ladies.” Anne had a gift, one she’d recognized early in her life. As

a child, she could easily charm her father—a smile and a “please, Papa” could win her

the simplest gifts. When she was of an age, she’d used that allure for her benefit from

the moment she’d calculated what it could mean for her future.

“You’d be wrong. Will you be free for a dance later this evening?” Edward had

openly suggested an affair last month at a garden party in Hampstead. Forty-year-old

women like her took those little compliments and tucked them away to bolster their

confidence as they watched the younger, firmer girls sail into the limelight each Season.

It was a little troubling that Redding so openly pursued her. She had been engaged

to his father before he died, and knew quite well that the current Lord Redding, who

was single, unattached and nearly perfect, was loaded and much more dashing then his

paterfamilias. Even his dissolute reputation wasn’t so off-putting that Anne was afraid of

him. He might have been a challenge were she not already hopelessly entangled.

Still, he wasn’t a duke, nor was he likely to be. At the time, the elder Redding had

been the most available peer and the one most likely to provide a lavish existence for a

woman who could never have enough.

Or had thought she would never have enough.
For now, it was just a flirtation with Redding. Sensuality and sexuality were her

burden and her salvation. With them, she’d captured the most eligible bachelor, albeit

widower, in London. With the elder Redding, it had been about marriage and the

accompanying accoutrements. She had thought the same about her husband, until

recently.

With Randall, it had become about him.
“I would, except for the supper dance, which I’ve promised to Randall. You know

how possessive husbands can be. Have you seen the dear man? He seems to have

disappeared right when I need him to stake me for Lord Talbot’s impromptu gambling

in the card room. I do so hate to be unprepared.”

“I could stake you, I’m sure.” Edward reached into his jacket, but his gaze did not

leave Anne’s for a moment, waiting for her acknowledgement. The earl’s comment was

nothing more than lewd, but she had grown accustomed to innuendo, in the way of

London rakes and reprobates.

He pulled out several bills and shoved them into her hand. She had done many

things in her life, but so far, she had not cheated while married. She planned to keep it

that way, even though her husband had given explicit approval for her to do so

provided she was discreet. He’d also promised, with a vague sentiment that Anne

hadn’t understood, that he would not sleep with her again, once she took a lover.

Anne would not give up her husband willingly, certainly not by pursuing the

foolish course of infidelity.

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“You naughty, naughty man,” Anne said, using the fan to tap his chest in rebuke.

She shoved the money into his waistcoat pocket. She smiled nonetheless. “Do excuse

me. I believe I see him across the room.”

Where was Randall? She turned away from Redding and promptly forgot him.
Already his eye wandered. Not that she blamed him. No one in London respected

the marriage vow. Why should her husband be any different? Hadn’t her vows skipped

over the parts about for worse? But all ton marriages had that added caveat, ’Til an affair

us do part.

Prevention was the best medicine. She had to keep Randall interested.
Simple Anne Porter of Wales had gone and done what she had promised never to

do—she’d fallen in love with her husband.

Randall had retreated to the balcony of Lady Ford’s ballroom, leaning against the

thick marble balustrade while sipping at a warm brandy. The glass doors were open to

the night breeze and he could see into the chaos of the lighted, crowded interior while

he was invisible to anyone glancing in his direction. Soft, wispy breezes of air brushed

against his collar, ruffling his air and soothing his temper.

Only one woman held his attention.
She had rich auburn hair, a vibrant fiery color that enflamed him to the point of

madness. He’d been caught by the proverbial black widow.

An experienced temptress who made him feel every inch the young, besotted fool,

though side by side their age difference was appallingly unapparent. Anne looked like

an eternally young goddess.

A laughing couple blocked his view as they stepped onto the balcony. At the sight

of him, they both smiled and muttered, “Your Grace,” before slipping down the steps

into the lighted garden. He knew the chit’s father and doubted the couple would be a

long time alone. Before he turned his head, a bustling matron swooped out the door

and tracked them down the path, barely glancing in his direction.

But in those few seconds of distraction, he’d lost sight of the woman who had

captured his undivided interest.

Randall stepped into the ballroom and caught sight of her across the cavernous

room, flirting with yet another man not her husband—no, it was only Lord Redding,

the son of her former betrothed. He clenched his teeth. Warned by his friends, he’d

laughed at their concerns, only it wasn’t so amusing now.

She slipped into one of the hallways leading toward the Fords’ private rooms—the

library, the family sitting room and the billiards room, where he’d roundly beaten

Ferdinand Ford earlier in the evening. Ferdie was a great competition and a gracious

loser.

Wicked Temptation

Were she less obvious, he might be more forgiving. He should have known her

natural attraction to men and men’s intense reaction to her would only lead to trouble.

Sooner than he had expected, but had he ever truly understood the woman?

He’d asked only one thing when they married—that if she couldn’t be faithful,

she’d at least be discreet. Well, he’d asked hundreds of things of her, but that was the

only request regarding her past and her reputation.

He’d been under the illusion she was starting fresh with him. He’d also been under

the illusion that he was enough man for her.

Was she meeting one of the men she’d been flirting with? What could she hope to

gain? She’d already climbed over all the other women who had vied for the duchy.

There was no place to go. She was at the top, unless she angled for the Prince of Wales.

She’d attained all that she’d set out to accomplish when she’d gotten the maggoty idea

upon her departure from Wales.

“I was born to be a duchess,” she’d said cheekily the first night he’d bedded her.
He shook his head in disgust, nearly muttering to himself as he reached the

hallway.

The library.
Whoever she was meeting waited for her in the library.
She slipped into the room without a glance for privacy. They were probably

meeting in the private alcove where the windows overlooked the garden. There were

cozy chairs for reading…or anything else that came to mind.

At the door, he glanced in both directions before turning the knob slowly. He

followed her inside the room, locking the door quietly behind him. A single candle

lighted the room, revealing that Anne had indeed disappeared into the alcove with her

lover. He licked his fingers and snuffed the flame.

Anne gasped over there in her hiding place. He heard the swish of her ruffled gown

and then silence. Plush carpet silenced his tread as he strolled toward her hiding place.

A pale light from the gardens shone into the library and gilded her yellow dress,

revealing her in the corner of the room.

“What are you doing in here, Anne?”
“Rand?” She pressed her hand to her chest and released an audible sigh. “You

frightened me.”

“Who were you expecting?”
“No-no one. I was looking for you.” Her fingers played at the diamond necklace

about her neck. He clasped her slender, delicate hand, holding her a prisoner of his

grasp.

“Were you?”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
Yet, he thought. She’d been open in every way until today, and now she acted

skittish and suspicious. Anne was stunningly beautiful, so much so that, at times, he

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could barely take his eyes from her. However, it was her reputation rather than her

beauty that caused him worry now.

He had not realized when he married her that the combination was openly inviting

to unscrupulous men. Or that he would be near-puerile in his determination to ensure

that no one ever touched his wife.

Anne’s heart slowed from its frantic beating once she realized she was alone in the

room with her husband. She’d worried that he’d taken the girl to a private corner for

who knows what kind of mischief, and her relief at seeing him now—alone—was like a

weight lifted.

She had accepted the eventual outcome of their relationship, that of embittered

older wife and cheating younger husband. That possible future caused a sharp ache in

her chest. Whatever it took, she must be the woman of his fantasies.

Randall eyed her with his usual unreadable expression, except that his nostrils

flared slightly and his eyelids lowered as he glanced at her daring décolletage.

So…it was unreasonably revealing.
She’d always dressed with impropriety, or as much of it as she could get away

with. The new title of duchess had made her a woman to emulate, as much as the ladies

of the ton could get away with. Italian and French fashions were her forte. And since

the moment of her betrothal, she’d had two of the best designers in London.

Her husband’s leering gaze was worth every pound sterling. It was much the same

as that of other men, only they hadn’t paid the price for free access. Rand had given her

everything she wanted and she was not one to stint when it came time for

compensation.

That she wanted him more than title or wealth was a secret she’d never share.
His glare turned into something she could understand. Her body flared with

unnatural heat and her womb ached in readiness. Her skin tingled at his nearness.

With one manly step, he hovered over her, dominant and strong. She reached for

the lapels of his jacket and gripped the material between her fists. “And now that I’ve

found you,” she whispered.

Randall had never turned her down. His mouth swooped down upon hers at the

same time as one hand clutched at her neck, forcing her head to tilt back as he ravaged

her lips. She opened her mouth, breathed in his scent and tasted the strong flavor of

Scottish whiskey. No telltale sign of another amour. She smiled under the onslaught of

his mouth. One hand drifted lower until she encountered the tight band of his trousers.

She slipped her fingers inside.

Hot, hard maleness met her hand. Randall groaned and sighed as she wrapped her

fingers around the glorious length of his erection. Anne was, as always, pleased to take

the sounds of his pleasure into her own body. Some of her former lovers could not or

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would not express themselves during the act. Her young husband confirmed and

returned every physical sensation in sound and word.

A sudden rattle at the door caused Anne to withdraw her hand. Randall’s firm grip

met hers, preventing any disruption in the play.

“It’s locked. Don’t stop,” he whispered against her mouth. “This won’t take long.”
“The hell it won’t. Your cock gets nothing until I’m pleasured.” It had taken her

years to understand the benefits of sex for a woman. It wasn’t just a furtive coupling in

the dark. It wasn’t a poke to relieve an itch.

Once she understood, she knew she wouldn’t casually give up the pleasure, and she

demanded lovers with control and imagination. Not that she always got that.

Randall groaned and his hips bucked against her body. She loosened her grip and

slid her hands to his ass, pulling him and his lengthy erection against her silk-covered

stomach.

“Not tonight, Anne. Tonight, you’re going to do what I want for a change. And in

case you’re wondering, no one else will be fucking you anytime soon.”

He gripped her arms and turned her toward the wall, lifting her hands over her

head, pinning her with his body, shackling her wrists with one hand. Her body buzzed

from the abrupt change and the contact with the cool hardness of the wood. His free

hand worked at the yards of material encompassing her limbs. Cool, welcome air blew

under her skirt and around her bare thighs, brushing against the moisture between her

legs. She relaxed against the onslaught of touch and sensation and the anticipation of

what was coming.

She longed for him. Night or day, she yearned for his touch.
His grasp loosened and he fumbled at his trousers, pulling away the placket and

revealing bare skin, coarse hair and the heat of his cock—all touching her bare bottom.

As long as Anne had known him, he’d refused wearing unmentionables. She’d

never asked why, but it saved time now.

“Do you have any idea how much I want this?” she asked.
“I have a good idea, but I’m not ready to share you, Anne. You’re not going to

waste this on anyone else until I’ve had my fill,” he said.

His words expressed her sentiments—no one else should have him either. Even

though they’d had the conversation about the inevitable decline of their sexual interest

in each other, that didn’t stop him from taking what he wanted now. The same thing

she was perfectly willing to give.

For now, it was glorious, all-consuming heat. Her body burned everywhere he

touched. And where he hadn’t touched, she lusted.

She nearly choked as emotion welled in her throat.
In the past, she’d never had trouble identifying the next man—the one who’d lift

her further from poverty and want. The title really wasn’t what mattered, only the

means.

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Now she could not imagine another man in her life.
But only too easily could she see someone like her—someone like she had been—

grasping and clawing her way into Randall’s bed. Had she been so obvious, so willing?

Had she really been so eager to leave her former life and family behind?

Yes. And everything she had done that had led her to Randall had been worth it.
Her emotions flared with a bit of jealous pique while her breasts ached with raw

pleasure as they flattened and pressed against the hard wood. She rubbed against the

wall, looking for some relief, and Randall laughed in her ear, refusing to provide the

release she sought.

“No wonder you have every man in the room tight in his breeches. You’re in

perpetual heat and they can all smell it on you. Tell me, what do you want, Anne? Are

you wanting cock tonight?”

“Yes. Don’t make me wait,” she panted. She nearly hated how much she wanted

Rand. Nearly. If only she didn’t get so much pleasure from the act. If only she weren’t

so desperate for him.

She shoved into his groin and moved provocatively, rubbing her bottom across the

hard length of him. “Do it,” she whispered. Anne was usually the one in control, she’d

have Randall wound tight before she gave him relief.

Vulnerable and needy, she’d allowed herself to be backed into a corner while he

took her at his leisure.

If he would just damned well do it.
“You’re mine, Anne. Don’t forget it.” His words and breath tickled at her ear.
She didn’t care. She just wanted to feel the firm, hot slide of his thick erection

between her legs. Deep inside her. Feel it touch the top of her sheath along with the

brief moment of tenderness that spoke of invasion and taking.

One strong hand slid across her upper thigh and searched between her legs. His

fingers circled the small nub and Anne moaned.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered in her ear.
At the command, wet heat slid down her thigh, but she moved her legs. He pushed

his knee in between, spreading her wider. The fingers between her legs tugged and

rolled the nub in almost painful perfection.

Randall’s body slid close and lower. She felt his knees bend behind her.
Suddenly, her arms were free and she braced them against the wall, intending to

push away, but Randall’s hands gripped her thighs, nearly lifting her as he shoved

inside with one long, hard thrust upward.

Anne bit her lips but moaned deep. She gripped at a wall sconce, trying to keep her

balance. An unlit candle tumbled to the floor, landing with a dull thud.

Harsh breathing at her ear caused a brief smile on her lips. He wanted her and he

tried to control himself. Deep inside, she felt the thick intrusion and her body tested

him with a long, slow squeeze.

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“Not yet,” he urged, but she did it again to remind him why he enjoyed her

experienced body.

“Oh you heartless bitch,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
She smiled again, feeling as though she was back in control until he withdrew and

slammed into her again. She loved the dominating play with him. He was strong and

had expert control of his body.

He pumped into her several times and she gave herself over to the rising pleasure

that radiated from the nerves he rubbed with such skillful efficiency.

Anne was lost to all but the feel of him inside and the guttural sounds radiating

from his mouth and throat as he surged. Suddenly, his hand clamped over her mouth

and he drove deep.

“Shh,” he whispered.
From the hallway Lady Ford ordered a footman to open the door. A key turned in

the lock and Lady Ford swept in.

“Make sure this room stays open for the guests. And why aren’t the candles lit?”
“I’ll see to it, ma’am.”
Anne held her breath. Randall was very still behind her, but he did the most

despicable thing when he realized they weren’t threatened. He started the slow, gentle

rocking inside her that pushed her toward another pleasure peak. Anne wanted to

squirm but didn’t want to bring attention to their secret assignation. Even if it was just

her husband.

She bit at his hand but he kept his palm firmly over her mouth. The gentle thrusts

made her crazy with longing. The two people in the room, so near, so close to

discovering them, made her feel a particular vulnerability that excited her.

A dim glow started in the room once the first candle was lit. Anne could see the

light as it glistened against the back of Randall’s hand. His breath was hot against her

neck.

“And light the candelabra over the fireplace mantel as well.”
Impaled on his length and on her tiptoes, Anne felt the stirrings of orgasm. She

could not come. Not now. Randall pushed deep and held. His free hand slowly moved

from her thigh and reached under her arm, cupping her silk- and lace-covered breast.

She shook her head, fearful any rustling of her dress would expose them.

In response, he licked and nipped at her ear. He inched his hand inside her

décolletage and freed one of her breasts. It wasn’t difficult. The swath of material

covering her bosom barely covered her nipples. As his hand kneaded and caressed her

flesh, she leaned her head back on his shoulder. His lips kissed at her temple.

She only had to relax a little. Just give in to him and the pleasure would be hers.
The muted sound of the footman was only an afterthought to her pleasure. Randall

still kept his head. Anne nearly giggled at her own thought. At last, the steps retreated

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and the door shut. The room was well lit and they were probably visible to anyone

walking in the garden.

“We have to stop,” she whispered. Her body was wound tight, but she could stop

knowing that Randall was in the same precarious needful position.

“You’ve got to be joking. I couldn’t stop if Lady Ford and the entire crowd in the

ballroom were standing beside me watching,” he panted. Even his words sounded

strained. She was almost glad he would continue, relieved that he had made the

decision she couldn’t quite bring her body to obey.

He turned her slightly. His lovely cock slid from her body. Disappointment washed

over her. She wanted to stamp her foot and protest the interruption.

The heavy weight of his hand pushed her downward, to her knees. A footstool

scraped across the floor, stopping in front of her. Randall knelt behind her and gently

pushed her forward. “Get that damned skirt out of my way.”

Anne hurriedly lifted the expanse of material over her bum. She lay over the stool,

her ass open to the air and Randall’s gaze on one side, her breasts plump and exposed

over the other, but at least she couldn’t be seen from the garden as she was positioned

so near the floor.

For a moment, his hands were braced against the footstool on either side of her

shoulders.

His cock brushed against her ass and then, with renewed determination, he pushed

into her again, causing her quim to jump with sensation at the complete filling. He felt

wider and longer. She felt dominated as he started the hard thrusts and perfect rhythm

that was more difficult and awkward while standing.

The stool scratched against the floor with each thrust. He groaned aloud. Her body

clenched as he pushed deep. One of his hands grabbed a handful of her breast and

kneaded while his thrusts grew wilder and his breathing ratcheted to an alarming

rhythm.

“Rand. Oh Rand.” The extremely pleasant and much-anticipated release started low

in her body, pushing and pulsing upward in a sharp ascent before the first contraction

gripped her and anchored his cock deep inside, clasping her husband’s beautiful,

satisfying erection.

He hadn’t come. Still stiff and unmoving behind her, he whispered in her ear,

“Remember, you are mine.”

He removed his cock, swept her skirts away, and then with a few strokes of his

hand against the length of his erection, spilled all over her bum. With one final groan,

he leaned back on his haunches.

Anne looked over her shoulder. “What a mess.”
“You’re my mess. I won’t have you flirting and tempting anyone else.” He brushed

his hand over her bottom, spreading the cum over her ass and thighs until it coated

nearly every square inch of her exposed skin.

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She glanced over her shoulder to see his confused expression, followed by a

determined look directly into her gaze.

“Anne, you are my wife and a duchess. It’s time you start acting like it. I won’t have

you flirting with every man who wants you.”

Eliza Lloyd

Chapter Two

Randall stared at his duchess, bent over the footstool. A finer ass he had never seen.

She braced her hands against the stool and pushed upward. He reached for her waist

and pulled her back toward him. Her skirts billowed lower.

She struggled with her bodice and, being the gentleman he was, he offered

assistance. He slid both hands around her breasts—one free and bare—the other, still

trapped by her layers of garments, he plucked free with a deft move. He propped his

chin on the top of her head, further damaging her coiffure, but the position gave him a

lovely view of the spherical globes and lush valley between as he held her in his hands.

“Gad, if only I had time. I think I would lie down beside you and suckle these all

night.”

“We are going to be missed. And it’s going to take me forever to set myself to

rights.”

“Do you know what I wish, right now?”
“You just told me.”
“No. I’d like for these breasts to be full of milk. I’d like to see you naked, hear a

baby’s cry and see them let that stream of milk flow. Just for me.” Rand supposed it was

a mean thing to say. She had never said why she didn’t have children. She’d been

married to the Baron Alsept for seven years with no offspring.

“I’m no fertile virgin fresh from the farm, Rand. There’ll be no milking.” She lightly

slapped at his hands and, with regret, he let loose of her breasts. He reached for the

placket of his trousers and fastened the buttons before pushing himself up from the

floor. Once Anne had covered herself, he reached for her hand and lifted her to her feet.

Her cheeks were stained pink with heat and lust. Her lush, pouty mouth even more

swollen and red than usual. Her hair was a little loose and her skirts wrinkled. All in all,

she looked thoroughly fucked.

He held back a smile, which Anne would not appreciate given the circumstances,

but everyone in the ballroom would know who had fucked her. He wouldn’t tolerate

any other speculation, not after their short marriage, and if it meant she was a little less

put together than she liked, so be it.

She brushed at her skirts and turned to face him. Her fingers flitted through her

hair, trying to ascertain the extent of her disarray.

Anne’s smile was genuine in almost every circumstance, even now when she had

every right to be miffed at his manhandling. Yet she was radiant. He hoped it was from

happiness.

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Part of her appeal was her sexuality—any male breathing would recognize it—but

she had some deeper vitality that hinted of determination, ingenuity and the will to

succeed. And she had it in spades. She had become the duchess she’d always dreamed.

He held out an arm. “Shall we?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and they headed toward the door.
“I really ought to go home. I must look a fright.”
“You look fine.” He leaned close and sniffed at her. “And you smell like every

man’s dream.”

“Says the man with the perfectly starched cravat.” They stepped into the hallway,

arm in arm. “Everyone is going to know what we’ve been doing.”

The brightly lit, noisy ballroom was a few steps away.
“That is my fondest hope.”
“Lud, Rand. Why don’t I just wear a sign? ‘Yes, my husband just swived me in the

library.’ Then no one would have to speculate.”

As they stepped into the crowded room, he leaned toward her, once again

distracted by the display of her breasts. “You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Your Graces,” a footman murmured as he bowed. Anne tilted her head in

acknowledgement.

“I need a bath, as much from that,” she whispered, “as from the leers of yon

gaggling geese.” She tilted her head toward a group of young bucks all smiling

appreciatively as the duke and his vixen duchess passed. “Really, I think you ought to

allow my swift departure before I am made a laughingstock.”

“All leers are well earned, Your Grace,” Rand said. “You might try an English

dressmaker from Northants for next year’s wardrobe. I suspect she’d know how to

cover you for substantially less money. And if you want my opinion, there is nothing

you can do to harm your reputation at this point.” Black widow. Cunning. Ambitious.

Without morals or scruples. Those were some of the kinder epithets he’d heard.

Prior to their marriage, he’d had only one dominant emotion—he’d lusted after her.

Like he’d lusted for no other woman.

Now? Well now it was hard to think of her as anything but his wife, with all the

privileges that went with that exalted title.

Anne stopped in her tracks. The look of utter horror on her face stabbed through

Rand’s heart, even though he’d meant it partly in jest.

“Do they laugh at me?”
“This isn’t the place for such a discussion.” He placed his free hand over the top of

hers to prevent a sudden departure. “Anne, you and I both know the truth. But

everyone in this room is going to think I tamed you. That I am man enough to satisfy

you, is that clear? No one will have an excuse or a reason to doubt your reputation now

that you’re my duchess, and I will do my damndest to prove it.”

Eliza Lloyd

The truth was, Anne VanLandingham was an unknown quantity. At the last

minute, he’d snatched her from an aged earl who’d promised her the moon. Rand had

lusted after her for six months, but at the time, he was still in mourning from the loss of

his first wife and would do nothing overt out of respect for his children’s mother.

Her betrothal to the earl had surprised no one. What surprised them was when

three weeks later, she broke that engagement. The ton was aghast when she announced

her engagement to the Duke of Pelham instead, only a day after his mourning had

ended. He’d been fucking her for the two weeks prior, but only after he’d asked her to

marry him. And she’d had the written contracts in hand.

Needless to say, the earl’s family was in rapture over the stunning development—

only the earl shed tears. Since then, shocking news like that seemed to follow him, or

Anne to be more precise, and a known tryst with his wife at the Fords’ ball seemed to

pale in comparison to her other reported exploits.

“Do you regret marrying me?”
He glanced down at her, giving her and the crowd his best impression of marital

bliss. He kissed her forehead. A duke could do that. “We’ve had this discussion before. I

knew what I was getting, and so far, I haven’t regretted a moment.”

His regret would come at some point in the future, when her very nature would

overcome her survivalist instincts.

Insatiable Anne Porter would, at some point, take another lover.
And he was not sure he was mature enough to accept the obvious truth. His wife

was a temptation few men could resist.

* * * * *

Anne had promised her husband further delights upon his return, if only he’d call

the carriage and allow her graceful departure. Rand had kept her at his side, his hand

secure at her waist, a full thirty minutes before finally agreeing. She’d pretended that

nothing was amiss, but she saw the secretive glances at her hair and the raised brows at

who-knew-what other dreadful exposure. Was there a stain on her dress? A torn seam?

And male that he was, Rand had stopped at every gathering that included more

than one man, regardless of age, to discuss the weather. He had looked utterly

composed and perfectly content that the entire gathering knew.

Flush and replete, she felt, and no doubt looked, every inch the harlot.
She had the temporary assurance that she still held his interest, as he occasionally

whispered in her ear that he was going to fuck her properly when he returned home,

and further, he would not care if she was sleeping. Anne made it clear, with a well-

timed glance, that she would be awake—and waiting.

Rand had escorted her to the carriage but had stayed behind, presumably to boast

of his prowess, or play cards…while boasting of his prowess.

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When she finally reached home, Anne called for a bath and two footmen jumped to

do her bidding. Her room, which was next door to the duke’s, was being refurbished, so

she and her armoires and hat boxes and shoes and gewgaws had all been stored in

Randall’s room, it being the closest, largest and least inconvenient. Anne glanced about

the room, knowing she would hate to be back in her own bed, sleeping alone again,

after this past month.

At some point in the future, when they moved to the Grosvenor Square mansion, it

would feel utterly desolate after the coziness of Pelham House.

Her lady’s maid, Carrie Black, started with the confining buttons and ribbons and

had her free of the tight clothing by the time the footman knocked at the door and

carried in the hot water. Carrie had been with her since the year after the baron had

died. She always would be, as far as Anne was concerned, for she valued the constancy

Carrie provided. It would have suited Anne’s status as duchess to find a respectable

young girl to replace the plain-spoken and aging Carrie, but they had been together for

a very long time and it would be difficult to trust anyone else.

“Yer hair’s a fright, Your Grace. Has the wind picked up? Elmer said there’d be rain

tonight, for sure.”

“A little, not much,” she said.
Anne closed her eyes as her hair came down, tumbling silkily over her shoulders

and back. Gooseflesh popped along her skin. Carrie held the bristle brush and combed

it out, starting at the ends. When she got to the top of her head, Anne felt drowsy and

ready to climb into bed, only she must have a bath.

She despised going to bed unclean.
She despised anything unclean, from her husband to her home, a needful and

beneficial habit learned while growing up in the home of a coal miner.

“Would you like it braided, mum?”
“No, just tie it with a ribbon.” That complete, Anne stood and removed her robe as

she strolled toward the steaming copper tub.

“The children were fussy all evening,” Carrie said.
Anne stepped into the water and lowered her body, covered to her chin in clean,

sudsy warmth. She glanced over her shoulder where Carrie stacked towels and

straightened her soaps and bottles.

“Daniel’s teeth?” she asked. The youngest had recently turned two and had trouble

with every tooth, had since he was six months old—so the governess had said.

“Yes, poor wee thing, droolin’ and slobberin’ and not sleepin’ at all well. But it was

all the children tonight, mum. Sarah was cryin’ for her mam. Joseph was cryin’ because

the others were cryin’—it was a little chorus of misery.”

“But they’re sleeping now?” She would check on them before bed. Their mother

had died giving birth to Daniel. Rand never talked about her. He had a hard time

knowing what to do with the children and expected the governess to have the answers.

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“Ella was still up with them an hour ago.”
“I had better go up then.” Anne scrubbed the round sponge over her arms and

shoulders. She resoaped and then worked down her body to her toes. Normally, she

enjoyed a leisurely bath, but she didn’t like for the children to be distressed.

True, they weren’t hers, but they were Randall’s and that was all that mattered.
Motherly instincts came naturally to many women. In Anne, they had run rampant

since her marriage, but she thought it best for all if she maintained a distant yet polite

interest in the children’s well-being.

She thought she could smother them with love, but love wasn’t able to feed a

person or put shoes on their feet. It would be best if she taught them independence and

determination, especially Sarah. Of all the children, she would have the most difficult

road, if such a thing existed for the child of a duke. But Anne would see that Randall’s

daughter had the best education and world travel before she was bound in matrimony.

And as for that, Sarah would not be tied just for blood or title. She wanted Sarah to have

options.

Within a few minutes, she had stepped from the bath and Carrie had dried her with

a lush, warm towel and assisted her into a lacy night rail and a soft robe. Anne tied the

robe and tucked her feet into a pair of slippers near the tub.

“I’ll turn down the bed, mum.”
“Thank you, Carrie. Don’t wait up. I want to make sure the children are sleeping

soundly.”

The children were beautiful. She could see Rand in each of them, especially the

vivid greenness of their eyes and the dark, slashing eyebrows they used like weapons to

obtain their way in every little thing, from bedtime stories to avoiding food they did not

like.

She didn’t care that they hadn’t taken to her. She was, after all, only their

stepmother, and one who had entered their lives at a most difficult time. Joseph and

Sarah knew she wasn’t their mother and treated her with polite indifference, even

though she tried to spend some part of every day with them. Daniel accepted her loving

gestures because he was an affectionate child, not because he thought she was his

mother.

Anne entered the hallway and took the stairs to the third-floor nursery. Mid-stairs,

she turned and hurried back to her room looking for a box. The private box of things

she’d brought from Wales. It had a lock of her mother’s hair, a pressed flower from the

boy who’d first kissed her, some notes from childhood friends, her wedding

announcement to the baron. And a cloth doll she’d had as a child. A gift from her

grandmother, now long gone.

Carrie had left the room, so Anne started moving boxes and opening trunks, trying

to remember where her few private things were. At last, in the bottom of a travel trunk,

under a homemade quilt, she found the treasure. The doll was limp, with black button

Wicked Temptation

eyes and skin made of a dimity bed cover—crude and bumpy but loveable. She held it

to her nose and sniffed delicately—and a little musty smelling.

Anne made her way to the nursery. She could hear the fussy whimpers before she

opened the door, but she slipped in quietly in order to keep what peace Ella had

achieved. Ella smiled at her as she rocked in the chair with Sarah, who seemed intent on

getting out of her governess’s arms. The sagginess around Ella’s eyes spoke of

weariness and age.

Anne walked to the crib where Daniel lay, his bottom in the air and his thumb in his

mouth, asleep but restless. A wet patch on the cloth sheet collected the drool. She

reached out, gripped the edge of blanket and dabbed at the corners of his mouth and

chin. He slept on, ignoring her efforts to comfort him. Joseph was asleep on his back,

sweat on his brow and his covers kicked away.

Only Sarah remained awake. Ella had fought a battle tonight.
“Let me take her,” Anne whispered.
“Mama. Want Mama,” Sarah said. Her small voice held no demand or tantrum. She

didn’t know for whom she asked—her need was for comfort and a mother’s love.

“Come to Mama,” she said as she lifted the dead weight of the child from Ella’s lap.

They traded places. Ella quietly moved away to straighten the room and check on the

sleeping children again.

“Mama.”
“Look what Mama brought you.” As she waved the doll in front of Sarah’s face, the

child’s eyes sagged and then popped open. She grabbed the doll and held it with one

arm about its fragile neck, still squirming until she found a comfortable position, with

her head on Anne’s breast. Sarah’s thumb went to her mouth and she started to suckle.

Anne started a gentle rocking. She remembered a Welsh song she’d heard as a child

and sang quietly, humming in places where she forgot the words. Anne felt along

Sarah’s neck. She was hot too, the air in the room stifling from the heat of the day.

“Ella, can you open a window for a bit?” Anne asked in a singsongy voice that

didn’t disturb Sarah. The eyes sagged and blinked open again, the little one fighting to

stay awake.

“Mama,” she said, the words indistinct against her wet thumb. The sucking slowed

and then her eyes drifted shut again, this time staying closed as Anne resumed the

children’s ditty. She brushed the damp tendrils back from Sarah’s face and blew lightly

over her skin to keep her cool.

For a moment, an infinitesimal moment, Anne regretted the children she’d gone

without in order to facilitate her climb from the bottom. She’d calculated her ability to

achieve her aims with the burden of children and without. True, nature had played a

cruel hand in her decision, but it had been up to her not to lament her loss.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine the baron’s home in Wales filled to the brim with noisy

and sickly children. The oldest son would have fared well. The younger sons and the

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daughters? Well, she’d lived through that, and knew her children would not suffer for a

poorly made choice.

She knew she could not have had both anyway.
And privately, it was what she told herself rather than dwell on the pain of her

miscarriages.

Anne often wondered if her path would have been different with children of her

own. Would she have been satisfied living a singularly unimportant life but knowing

the joy of motherhood?

She closed her eyes to the sudden pain at her heart. Sarah felt so right in her arms.

How did one know if they were making the right decisions after all?

* * * * *

If confusion and doubt had a name, it would be Anne VanLandingham née Porter.
Randall glanced at his bed. His wife wasn’t in it.
He didn’t like feeling…or thinking. And that was all he’d done since Anne had

entered his life. In the past, his feelings had been limited to feeling good after several

drinks, feeling successful after a win at Newmarket, feeling satiated after a good fuck.

She had him spinning. She had him on the defensive. She had him by the balls.
Victoria, his first wife, was a cloying mix of deference and spinelessness, not that he

meant it in a bad way—she was a good person. The perfect spouse for a ton marriage

and the birthing of his heirs. Her blood was as blue, her lineage as pure as his. But then

she had to go and die, leaving him open to all sorts of bad decisions and indirection.

For better or worse, Anne was his wife now.
Someone should have talked him out of marrying her. She would have been a great

mistress. But even then she had held all the cards, dangling her sexuality and the

implied promise of infinite pleasure if only he would marry her. And she had told him

she was not interested in him. She didn’t say those things exactly, but he saw it in her

direct look and manner. She had scrutinized him from head to boot and then smiled as

if she had some sensual womanly knowledge she would never share. It only fed his

insane need to have her.

His cock had won out.
And he had not gone a day since without a thorough fuck, unless she had her

courses, when she would provide the most incredible alternatives to traditional

intercourse. A cunt was all right for the basics, but Anne could use more body parts in

more enticing ways then he’d known was possible. Morning, noon or night, if he had an

erection, she was accommodating. Who could ask for more?

Well, hell, the one thing he would ask for, if he could, is that the entire ton did not

know she had serviced several lords leading up to him. He wondered how many as he

jerked at his cravat. Not that he hadn’t heard men bragging prior to his betrothal—his

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club was rife with gossip and boasting—but she’d never confirmed or denied. Perhaps

that was part of the mystery surrounding her.

Winslow had standing orders not to wait up past two. Rand much preferred his

valet in top form in the morning, when Rand was not. And Winslow always knew

when he had woman trouble. Rand wasn’t up for his advice tonight.

Anne’s clothes were tossed over the back of his chair. Feminine undergarments and

used bathwater and assorted other trappings were strewn about his room.

Damn, he hoped the renovations took until Christmas. He liked having her

underfoot. If only he knew where she was at the moment.

He stripped, walked to the washbasin and poured water from the pitcher. He

sloshed it over his face, through his hair and over his upper body and then swiped

away the moisture with a clean towel. He dropped the towel to the floor and used the

pitcher to wash his privates—one of Anne’s damned rules, which, to tell the truth,

made their extracurricular activities much more palpable.

Where was she? His mind had already trailed along the path of foreplay and

fucking. He wanted her now.

And like the evil sorceress she was, she slipped into his bedroom, easing the door

shut behind her. “Rand, I didn’t know you were home.”

“Where have you been?”
“In the nursery. The children were still fussing when I arrived. Ella needed a

break.”

He nodded. “You don’t need to bother yourself. Let the governess handle them.”
“Rand, they—”
“You are not their mother.”
Anne smiled, one of those mysterious offerings that he had trouble deciphering.
“Now come here. We have some unfinished business.”
“I’m tired. We’ve had a long day.”
Rand reacted rather primitively, not used to being denied and so suddenly. He did

not like to think of his well running dry, and in light of his worries tonight, he thought

it was rather suspicious. “Anne, you know what I want.”

The smile again. “And I don’t.”
“You’re upset. What have I done?”
She sighed but turned away and strolled toward the bed, dropping her robe. She

removed her rail and climbed into the prepared bedding—naked and enticing, even

though she’d just said no.

“Come to bed.”
Rand hesitated, sensing a trap or a trick or womanly wiles at work, but his feet

moved without a command from him. His cock strained upward, as if he hadn’t had

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her not five hours ago. Even if he wanted to say no, his body refused any sensible

direction from his brain.

She sprawled on her back, one leg dangling over the edge of the bed, the other

drawn up. But her thighs were spread in welcome.

He approached the bed, stepping between her legs. His gaze flitted over her bare,

perfect body. A flat stomach, rounded hips and shapely thighs, along with firm, round

breasts and the most exquisite dusky nipples. Lifting her leg, she pressed her foot

against his stomach. He clutched the bony appendage and leaned to kiss the arch.

“You are so beautiful, Anne,” he said.
She raised her other foot and caressed the length of his cock. It jumped in response.

Breathing became a little more difficult when he was near her and nothing could stop

the blood pounding in his temple and groin when she was set upon enticing him. He

shifted her legs up and over his shoulder as he knelt on the bed with just enough room

to brace himself. He supported himself with one arm near her shoulder—the other, he

slid under her bottom, lifting her for penetration.

He looked his fill as the pearly pink valley between her legs opened and beckoned.

Canting his hips, he slid deep, lifting her again and lodging fully inside of her. The soft

moan from Anne matched the overwhelming sensual satisfaction building in his chest

and heating his body.

Her lovely brown eyes, somnolent and sensual, gazed at his arms. Her fingers

followed, tracing a warm, tingling path to his shoulder.

He used his shoulders and settled more firmly. He licked a path down the inside of

her leg, stopping at the back of her knee. With a gentle thrust, he pulsed in and out with

slow deliberation, watching the expression on Anne’s face change from patient

expectation to determined longing. “What do you want, Anne?”

“I want cool in the summer and heat in the winter,” she murmured, her neck arched

along with her spine as she met him on his downstroke. Her breasts heaved and jiggled.

With the palm of his hand, he covered the perfect flesh and then squeezed.

“Always what you can’t have.”
“Not always.”
She reached between her legs to stroke her swollen clitoris but he stopped her,

holding her wrist and pinning her arm to the bed.

“Not yet,” he said, not feeling any need to rush now that he was fully embedded in

her body, while she was pinned beneath him and at his mercy.

“Soon,” she crooned while she ground against his groin.
Never had he seen a woman so thoroughly enraptured with the idea of intercourse.

She gave herself over wholly, was never afraid of his most base requests, even smiling

indulgently at his request for another woman. She’d thrown him a surprise when she’d

come back with the need to have a fourth—male of course—as three was entirely unfair.

He’d tested her, she’d pushed back and the subject never came up again, primarily

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because he was fearful of whom she might choose and how much she might enjoy the

male banquet. Dangling such a temptation in front of Anne would have been a mistake.

She would have taken him up on the offer and who knows where that would have led.

He would still happily entertain the idea of a threesome, but hypocritical as he was,

watching another man fuck his wife chafed his ego and mocked his ability to protect

and satisfy.

Now the idea of her with another man seemed as foreign as Napoleon on the throne

of England. Anne was his to enjoy.

“I’m feeling very horny tonight,” he said. He surged into her, his hips slamming

between her legs.

“That’s good, because I’m feeling very needy. I will be vastly disappointed with

only one orgasm.”

“Then we’d better get started.” He set his palm against the plumpness of her mons

and ground against the hidden nub, exerting just the right pressure to ensure her

complete attention. She bit at her lower lip but watched and waited in earnest need.

When he turned his hand, he slid two fingers along the folds of her labia and stroked in

time with the very pleasant, very pleasurable thrusting.

She eased her eyes shut. Rand could see the pleasure written in her slight smile and

the rapid breathing in her chest. She squirmed against the pervasive buildup, wanting it

but wanting to wait.

“I want to be naked in Hyde Park,” she said.
“You do? During the fashionable hour? I think I might have an objection.”
“No. Some night in early summer. When the moon is full.”
“And I think I’ll be the one lying in the grass, will I not?”
She giggled. “Of course.”
“Yes, I can see that. The moon will be shining and your breasts will be aglow, like

golden sorcerer’s stones. I think I will insist that you scream when you peak. I would

hate to go all that way and find I was lacking.”

“I would never let that happen.”
Rand bent over her, kissing her for the first time since entering her. Open-mouthed,

his tongue deep in her mouth, he tasted the sweetness that was her. His fingers

continued the provocative rhythm between her legs while his thrusts increased in depth

and speed.

Had he not had other plans, he might have allowed his control to slip enough to

release at the same time.

With her, he never had to wonder if she had an orgasm. Delightfully responsive,

the muscles of her sheath started the rhythmic contractions that reminded him to

concentrate on something other than immediate release or he’d lose his erection along

with her devoted attention.

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He slid his fingers through her hair to the back of her neck and grasped firmly,

making her look up at him. He thrust deep. Her open mouth and her half-masted lids

expressed every pleasure she was feeling. Her body tightened beneath him. Arching off

the bed, she bucked her hips against him. Her legs—still draped over his shoulder—

tensed, clamping against his upper body. Sharp nails bit into the flesh at his shoulder.

He held deep until she moaned, throaty and sensual, and then relaxed in one great

heave.

“Oh Rand. That was so good.”
He withdrew. His cock ached for fulfillment.
He reached toward the nightstand and fumbled with the drawer, pulling out a

bottle of rose-scented oil they kept for sexual play. He slathered the oil over his cock,

enjoying the slippery feel of his fingers touching everything that he liked to have

touched.

He placed his hands at the back of her thighs and rocked her flexible body slightly

forward, lifting her and opening her for further penetration.

“Rand. I can’t.”
“Hush.”
He searched until his palms were full of her ass cheeks. Spreading the rounded

flesh, he speared forward until the tip of his cock met the tight sphincter of her ass. His

cock swelled and hardened as his anticipation built.

Beneath him, she squirmed, but her position was tight and compressed, his weight

holding her firmly to the mattress.

Pushing against the tight muscles, his already slickened cock felt the pinch of

contraction at the first push inward. He gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes at the

incredible rush of pleasure. Anne’s hands fell to her sides, sliding into the coverlet and

fisting bunches of silken sheets between her fingers.

She gulped air as if she’d been running through the rustic wilds.
Her petite bottom rested against his thighs. Anne moaned as, with one slow assault,

he entered fully. Her ass contracted. “Stay with me. Not yet.” He rubbed his hands over

her skin, down her legs, up her stomach, resting on her breasts.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m coming again.”
“Soon.”
He bent forward, cradling her lithe body in the hollow of his own. Slowly, he

lowered one of her legs until it draped over his thigh and then the other. She planted

her feet against the bed and proceeded to rock gently against the hard intrusion.

Below him, her body spasmed. Anne wasn’t like other women, she knew how to

find her own pleasure. Rand stared at her as she gave herself over to the ultimate

pleasure, no longer caring he was buried in her ass, only that she orgasm. Her fingers

slid across her stomach and between her legs. He used his hand to guide hers through

the swollen folds until she circled the round, sensitive nub, his thumb stroking

Wicked Temptation

alongside hers. With his middle finger, he slid into her body, filling and stimulating

every pleasure point between her legs.

She sucked in air and arched her back. He pushed deep. Contractions hit him hard

and he felt cum gathering inside his hard balls.

Just as Anne whimpered, he tensed and came, spilling deep inside her ass.
For several moments, he hung his head, waiting for the dizzying pleasure to

subside and his bones to re-form. His cock, already shrinking, slid from the tight

confines of her ass with one last push.

Anne lay sprawled on the bed, replete and quiet.
“Anne?”
She tapped the side of his thigh.
“Give me a minute,” he said. He planted his shaking legs on the ground and

returned to the basin, thoroughly washing his well-used manhood.

Anne curled onto her side. He slipped in beside her, one arm secure under her

pillow, the other around her waist and filled once again with one of those luscious

breasts. It was a great way to greet Morpheus.

“Rand?” she whispered. “You need to spend more time with the children. They

miss you.”

He stiffened at the scold, but now understood her earlier rebuff. “I did not marry

you to be my mother or the children’s mother. Go to sleep, Anne.”

He rolled away from her, truly angry for the first time in his marriage. The duke

and his wife were not domestic. They had servants for such things.

Anne was his. He did not intend to share her with the children. He’d enough of his

first wife’s abandonment because of her constant obsessing about motherhood.

“I understand why I’m not good enough to be their mother. I’m not going to take

them from you. They need to know you. That’s all.”

“There’s nothing I can do for them. The governess knows well how to tend to their

needs.” He glanced over his shoulder at Anne. Damned if he hadn’t hurt her again.

“And this has nothing to do with you or your past. You don’t seem the kind of woman

who takes notice of babes.”

She smiled and cuddled in behind him, her chin on his shoulder. Her breasts were a

scorching reminder why he had a hard time sharing her attention with anyone. “I was a

babe once. And I remember a father who loved me. And took time with me,” she said.

“And I didn’t. I turned out just fine.”
“You weren’t given a choice and you adapted. And you did turn out fine. Very

fine.” One of her hands, still under the covers, squeezed his ass. “But if there is an

opportunity for something better for Joseph—and Sarah and Daniel when it is their

time—I think your children will love you the more for it.”

Eliza Lloyd

Her hands traveled over his body, stoking and fondling, soothing some of his

agitation away. It surprised him that Anne was their advocate. As a child, he

remembered excruciatingly long days of loneliness until he went off to boarding school.

“I don’t think my grandfather spoke to me once until I was eighteen,” he said.
“Don’t do that to your children.”
He did not know what Anne wanted him to do with them. He also knew he did not

want to be his grandfather.

Wicked Temptation

Chapter Three

“Well, young man, are you ready?”
“Yes, Papa.” Joseph stood in the hallway emulating his father’s rigid stance. He

wore a small tailored suit and a perfect little cravat. Anne wanted to weep at Jojo’s

incandescent happiness to be with his father. Rand hadn’t said a word to her this

morning when he woke, and at breakfast, he acted as if nothing were amiss. He must

have come to some terms with what she had said, though, since he’d planned the

outing without input from her.

“And where are you handsome gentlemen off to?” She addressed Joseph, bending

in front of him and brushing a few specks of nothing from his jacket. She knew they

were going to Hyde Park. Carrie had mentioned it in passing as she braided Anne’s hair

into a simple coronet.

“Papa is taking me riding in the park.”
“Oh I wish I could go with you, Jojo.”
“You can’t. Papa said so.”
“He did, did he? Well then, we mustn’t disobey.” She brushed his hair back. Jojo

didn’t flinch at her small gesture of affection. She cared for the children a great deal—

more than anyone could guess.

“Mr. Barry, see that the horses are brought around,” Rand ordered.
Anne’s gaze shot to Rand, who stood smiling. “Horses?” she asked, with emphasis

on the plural nature of the beasts in question.

“Yes, my dear. I’ve been remiss. It is time the boy learns to ride.”
“Ride? He’s only four. I didn’t mean for him to do anything dangerous.” Leave it to

Rand to take her request to the limit of reckless manhood, as if the only form of bonding

with a person’s child involved derring-do rather than personal attention. “He’s too

young.”

“One is never too young to learn.” He smiled, bowed crisply and then took his hat

from the remaining footman. “Good day, Lady Pelham. Say goodbye to your

stepmother, Joseph.”

He, too, bowed in the most polite way, wrenching Anne’s heart again, though it did

not come close to making her feel good about their riding.

“Good morning to you, Lady Pelham.”
She bit back her remonstration but looked pleadingly at her husband. “Please be

careful,” she said as they departed.

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Rand looked back and winked, all confidence and devilment without a hint of

reproach. “It is what you wanted.”

He stepped toward the door. Joseph shot around him and bounded down the stairs.

Rand gripped her elbow and kissed her temple. She peered up at him and he gave her a

more thorough kiss on the lips. He opened his mouth to say something but shut it again

and then gave her the barest of smiles before departing.

From the open door at the top of the steps, she watched them ready the horses,

Rand telling Joseph this and that about cinches and stirrups and reins and saddles.

Rand then lifted Joseph onto a mount nearly as large as his own. The little boy looked

like a toy doll in the large saddle. Perhaps Rand could have one made that fit his son

better.

One of the footmen rode opposite, alleviating some of her worry, as he held a lead

rope while Joseph was given the leather reins.

She waved them off, praying Rand knew what he was doing.
He did.
He was right—she was being too mother-hennish. To both of them.

* * * * *

Anne gathered the morning’s cards and notes, intending to reply to her

correspondence while they were out. She planned to call on Clarissa Dunnaway later in

the morning and then shop on Bond Street with Maureen Elgin, also a countess but

widowed, and one who had nearly as humble of a beginning as she had.

Her sitting room renovations were complete, but the racket from her bedroom was

most distracting. Instead, she chose Rand’s library, near at hand and with everything

she needed, including his very large leather chair that smelled deliciously of him. She

squirmed in the seat, getting comfortable, and then breathed in the perfect scent of him.

Foolish, young girl sentiments like love had never beat in her breast as strongly as

they did with Randall. Was it a sign of her age that she had fallen so hopelessly for such

a charming, beautiful man? Rand had his rough edges and she didn’t care. He spoke

directly sometimes, but the fact that he was riding with his son today proved that he

did listen to her counsel, even when the topic was not really one on which she should

advise or had any real experience.

There, she thought, putting a flourish to the end of a note to Lady Ford.
So I love him. It need not make their lives any different. And she needn’t dwell on

how to tell him such a mawkish thing. It just wasn’t done.

And she absolutely would not worry about Joseph. If his father did not know how

to care for him, then certainly she did not. Still, thoughts of untold disasters flitted

through her mind as she wrote effusive acceptances and apologetic declines to the

invitations for upcoming entertainments.

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Near the bottom, the Earl of Redding’s letter was easy to spot, with its red horse-

head seal. She peeled back the molded emblem and unfolded a missive, wondering,

with some humor, what risqué suggestion the man had this time. She thought their

thrust and parry had a sense of bawdy flirtation and she had never minded such manly

attention as long as it didn’t cross the imaginary, and dangerously flexible, line of

propriety she and Rand had set for each other.

And Edward Chase was just the man to keep Rand slightly off balance.
The neatly penned words were in the middle of the page. She glanced toward the

bottom, but there was no signature. The lack of air felt crushing against her chest and

she took in a deep breath.

Her gaze crept back to the sinister wording.

Meet me at Westminster. Today at four.
I know you killed the Duke of Pelham.

Anne laughed, one of those nervous reactions to unexpected news. Or positively

ridiculous news. She placed her fingers against her lips, but they were shaking so badly

she shoved her hand under her thigh. The hand holding the letter trembled and the

words blurred.

The Duke of Pelham. Rand’s grandfather?
He had died two months after their marriage. Rand’s father, the previous heir, had

died when Rand was only seven years old.

Alford VanLandingham had died right here in this house.
In this very room.
She glanced toward the fireplace mantle.
Anne could hear the sound of her labored breathing. She clenched her eyes shut.

Her stomach lurched as the reminder of his death cracked open the memories of her

carefully guarded secret. The sound of his skull cracking against the hearth brought a

welling of dread to her stomach.

She crumpled the letter in one hand and held the threatening words firmly, afraid

to loosen her grip for a moment.

The Earl of Redding? Why? He had everything a man could want.
What did he know? Or what did he think he knew?
If it was about justice, she would be visiting with Bow Street not receiving

threatening missives or scheduling clandestine meetings. Redding was much too direct,

as she had come to know him.

It had to be some cruel joke.
Anne refolded the letter into a perfect square and then stuffed the paper into the

pocket of her day dress.

Eliza Lloyd

She had been with the duke when he had died, but no one knew that. No one. Not

even Rand. What had happened was not her fault.

* * * * *

A commotion in the hall shook her from her quiet and dread musing. Rand was

home.

She hurried to the foyer where, it seemed, she had just seen them off, though it had

been two hours ago.

Rand was carrying Joseph but lowered him to the floor where he stood, leaning

against his father’s leg. Joseph’s trousers were torn and there was a wicked red gash

along his forehead.

“My God, what happened?” Anne hurtled toward Joseph, trying to control a

sudden hysteria. She hated seeing her children hurt.

“Some damned fool let their dog loose, which then proceeded to attack every duck

within barking distance. There were enough flying feathers to stuff every pillow at

Carlton House. We happened along at precisely the wrong moment, and Jojo’s horse

spooked. But he took it like a little man, didn’t you?”

Jojo nodded. His face was pasty white. He bit at his lip and refused to look up.
Rand smiled as if all was right with the world. He had no clue that four-year-old

boys and four-year-old girls were much the same. They cried when they were hurt and

they wanted to be petted and coddled until they didn’t hurt anymore. She’d been the

oldest of five children. She’d seen how her parents had soothed the hurts of her siblings

and later, after her mother had died, she had often been the one who had to provide

tender comfort.

Jojo was doing his best to be the perfect little man in front of his father.
“Well, then, we best get you upstairs and into some proper clothing, and then you

can tell me all about it. Rand, dear, luncheon will be in an hour.”

Rand tousled his son’s hair before launching into a brisk walk toward the room she

had just vacated.

Anne took Joseph’s hand and he turned his face toward her, partially hidden

amongst her skirts.

When the library door had closed, she reached for Jojo and picked him up. Anne

started up the stairs toward the nursery, but changed her mind and carried him to their

room. His little body started to shudder and, as she stepped through the door, she

could hear soft crying.

With one hand, she dipped a cloth towel in the basin pitcher and wrung the excess

water free.

She didn’t say a word as she found a comfortable chair. Joseph squirmed and

buried his head in her chest and wailed. The wet of his tears had already soaked

through her gown.

Wicked Temptation

She brushed the cloth over his temple and then compressed it firmly against the

wound. The bleeding wasn’t bad, but the wound was viciously red and angry-looking.

“There now. You were such a brave boy to ride that big old horse. I am sure you

made your papa proud.”

She reached for the cuff of his trousers and turned the material upward, revealing a

similar abrasion on his knee that still bled. Cleaning the wound took no time, and when

she was done, Jojo had settled into sniffles that shook his body as he tried to control the

tears once again.

“I’ll bet your papa didn’t tell you about the time he rode his first horse.” She didn’t

think a small lie would hurt, especially if it would heal his spirit. “He was six years old

and the horse he rode, well, one could hardly call it a horse, more like a pony—not

nearly as big as the horse you rode.”

“What was the pony’s name?” he asked, brushing his sleeve against his runny nose.

He heaved a deep breath again, growing steadier.

“His name? Well, her name was Dolly. An ugly old brown Shetland pony and as

tame as a baby kitten. Your papa didn’t even get to hold the reins. His papa wouldn’t

let him ride by himself.

“And then just when your papa thought he knew what he was doing, the horse, I

mean pony, stopped, and off your papa went. Right on his bottom.”

“Did he cry?”
“Did he cry! I don’t think a boy in all of Hertfordshire has ever cried so much. I

think his papa might have even sent him to his room without supper.”

Anne applied additional tender ministrations, but didn’t offer salve or bandages.
He was still a boy, and in an hour would be as proud of his wounds as if he’d

fought Napoleon himself. When Jojo turned six or seven or eight, there would be time

enough to tell him to buck up, to be a man, but not now. Not when he was so young

and tender and in need of a parent’s love.

Overwhelming emotion washed over her again, as it had last night when she’d held

Sarah. She kissed the top of his head. “Are you all better now?”

He didn’t move. “Are you going to be my mama now?”
Tears filled Anne’s eyes. Her throat ached. “Oh Joseph, that would make me very

happy, if I were.”

Suddenly, he was off her lap and heading toward the door, his trousers leg still

rolled up to his knee. As he struggled with the knob, he looked back at her. “I have to

tell Papa that I can ride tomorrow.”

Alone in the room, Anne was thankful for the reprieve of Joseph’s calamity, but

now the sudden emptiness only added intense emotion to her already-frayed nerves.

She would have to confront the earl in his home or she would have to go to

Westminster and meet him. But she couldn’t go to the home of a single man, not

without a very good reason and an escort. That would only conjure other wildly

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ridiculous stories about her. Maybe that is what he wanted.

It seemed so sordid and dishonest. Why couldn’t he have questioned her outright?

She could have explained.

She pushed out of the chair and strode to the window. Damn, why did she have to

explain at all? Everyone believed it was an accident.

* * * * *

Anne had waited over an hour at the Westminster Abbey, partially hidden in the

Poets’ Corner in the south transept. Had anyone wanted to find her, they would have,

but Redding didn’t show up. She could pretend interest in only so many inscriptions.

Redding was easy to see—tall and conspicuous. He was noticeable. She hadn’t

missed him. Even though she held the note with Redding’s seal, she still could not

imagine why he would do such a thing. If he had…

What was his game? Anne rubbed at her temple, which throbbed from the emotional

upheaval of the day and now, the tedious, jolting return ride home in the carriage,

swaying enough to make her feel ill from the rocking motion.

She’d sent apologies around earlier to Clarissa Dunnaway and to the Countess of

Elgin. She did not want to face them tonight uttering half lies. Clarissa especially would

be curious.

Nor did she want to face Redding in a crowed ballroom. For her, polite indifference

only worked when she felt polite indifference. She hadn’t perfected the art of contained

emotion so common to other duchesses.

She could not hide her disdain, not after today.
Nor did she want to air the episode in front of Randall or a ballroom full of scandal-

loving gossips.

Would he understand her deception? He might have, had she wished to tell him of

her own accord, but to confess to Redding’s attempt to…attempt to coerce, to

blackmail… She didn’t know.

The carriage came to a sudden halt. Air rushed in as the door opened and the

footman assisted her, holding her hand as she descended.

She would tell Rand she was ill, that she could not attend tonight’s gathering at the

Langtons’.

Just when she’d reached all of her goals—she’d become a duchess with access to

enough money to float an armada—she was faced with the worst dilemma of her life.

But it was the surprising rewards she could not give up—a husband she

desperately loved, the children. Her life was perfect and now she was going to lose it

all. The trappings would remain. The outer importance of being a duchess would never

go away.

In her room, she tugged at her gloves, dropping them to the floor. She didn’t bother

Wicked Temptation

ringing for her maidservant. At the end of the bed, she sat and then fell backward, her

body feeling boneless and weak.

The large wooden posts at the end of the bed were barren of lace or curtain. She

stared at the poles until they became blurry, vague shapes as tears streamed from her

eyes and down the sides of her face.

She’d gone to Westminster with the hope of setting the matter to rest, not to find

herself in a more emotional, unsettled state. How was she going to tell Rand?

Carrie shook her awake sometime later.
“Do you want to dress for the Langtons’?”
“No, Carrie. Just unfasten me and leave me alone.” Anne struggled to sit up and

finally got to her feet, turning her back to Carrie so she could unfasten the multiple

bindings that kept her firmly supported in her clothing.

“Would you like a bath?”
“No, please. Just go.”
Carrie’s fingers touched her forehead. Anne turned away.
“Are you ill? Do you want me to fetch a doctor? Or the duke?”
“No.”
Carrie grasped the dress, holding it over one arm. Her brow furrowed in worry.
“I’ll have some tea sent up. That should help set you to rights.”
Still in her chemise, Anne stretched out on the bed again and toed off her shoes.

They landed with a dull thump. Carrie must have gone. She didn’t hear anything except

time as it was measured in the steady tick tock from the clock on the mantel.

She’d thought she had all the time in the world with Randall. The rest of her life.
Had she continued with the polite business arrangement that her marriage should

have been, she would have no qualms about telling Rand the details. Here’s what

happened, Rand, now be a good boy and fuck me senseless.

There was no denying she’d married him with a sense of purpose. Since the baron

had died, even as a child, she’d known how to get what she wanted.

Rand had been clear that he was marrying her for pleasure—his immediate

pleasure—for as long as he wanted her. She’d wholeheartedly agreed. Neither of them

was unhappy with the arrangement.

Only now she loved him. Now she would lose something. Everything.
The familiar rattle of the tea tray did nothing to disturb her.
“Anne?” Her husband’s voice sounded from the door. “Carrie says you are not

well.”

Faint footsteps withdrew as the servant accompanying him left the room and closed

the door behind him.

He sat on the bed beside her and brushed his fingers tips over her temple. “What is

it?”

Eliza Lloyd

“Is anyone ever truly happy? I thought I was happy. Those finite moments of joy

aren’t meant to last, are they? They’re meant to tease us into lassitude, so that when life

punches us, we really feel the blow.”

“You have all that you have ever wanted. How can you not be happy?”
“It’s an illusion. I am still that girl from Wales. It’s like I never left.”
“Did something happen while you were out? Did someone say something to you?”
Anne stared at his handsome face, so full of concern. He was still caressing her skin

and she placed her hand over the back of his. She turned and kissed the inside of his

palm, pressing her lips long and hard against the solidity of his hand.

“What if I’ve done something? Something of which I’m ashamed?”
“Anne, don’t do this. You were very clear with me when we married. I know about

those other men. It’s not that I don’t care, but I promised you it wouldn’t come between

us. And it hasn’t. Truly, I don’t think about it, so any guilt you feel now is very

misplaced. Come now. Stop this maudlin behavior. It isn’t like you.”

The words stuck in her throat. Her character and reputation would belie

sentimental words like I love you. They weren’t in her vocabulary and Rand would

never expect them, maybe he would never accept them. Maybe he was happy with their

purely libidinous, bodily relationship with no emotional attachment other than the

continual thrill of seeking mutual orgasm.

Maybe that was all she needed now.
Rolling to her back, she reached for him. His gaze flitted down and then met her

pointed and suggestive stare.

“Anne, we must ready ourselves for the Langtons’ ball.”
“I’m not going.”
The white chemise already lay suggestively high across her thighs. Rand placed his

hand underneath and slid it upward before reaching around and cupping her ass.

She responded with a similar gesture, starting at his knee, feeling the smooth

texture of doeskin and working her way toward the currently flaccid cock hidden

behind the fall of his trousers.

After a few strokes of her hand, Anne felt the familiar hard rise of his erection. With

a sleepy look, Rand closed his eyes and then moaned at the sensual delight.

When he opened his eyes, he swept her hand away and turned toward his boots,

pulling them off quickly. His shirt followed and then he stood for a moment before he

pushed his trousers down his muscled thighs and legs.

Anne smelled the scent of his horse, but more, she smelled her man.
Rand’s buttocks were hard rocks that flexed as he bent. When he turned back

toward the bed, his prominent erection jutted out so beautifully. He braced his hands

against the wooden top rail of the normally canopied bed. Every muscle bulged and

flowed from his broad shoulders past his kneecaps.

Wicked Temptation

A light smattering of hair started at his chest, tapering into a fine line and then

blossoming into a thatch of black curls around his cock.

Anne licked at her lips as his erection held her complete attention.
“Don’t make me wait,” Rand said.
She sat up, pulling her chemise to her waist and pulling him between her legs.

Cupping his ass, she lowered her head and kissed the tip of his erection before tonguing

him from tip to root and back again.

He filled her mouth and then some. She suckled while using her tongue to tease the

underside of his sensitive skin. She dug her fingernails into his ass.

She needed him. Every inch. There was no reason to deny her physical lust, her

craving, her obsession for him and his perfect form. She slid her hands over the hard

planes of his stomach, settling on his rounded pectorals.

Her newfound emotional enslavement made their play seem more important to her

than it probably was. Sex was just sex, until the act came with the deep, heart-

wrenching doubts associated with one-sided love.

As for Rand, each breath inward was followed by the harsh expulsion of rasping air

and gritty-sounding lust. When he was in her arms, he wasn’t thinking of anyone else.

Experience had taught her how to prolong a man’s complete attention while in coitus. If

a man’s home was his castle, then Anne’s fortress was within the walls of the bedroom.

Here she was ruler.
His arms came down from their grip on the bedframe. Cupping her face, he held

her still for a moment while he thrust slowly into her mouth—delicately, deeply—so he

didn’t miss any of the soft, warm pleasure.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, I’m going to come.” He arched.
Quick arousal was, at times, a precious gift. Lack of control with her confirmed his

need to have her. She cupped his testes, tightening under the strain of his imminent

ejaculation. One hand slipped between his legs. Slipping her middle finger upward,

between his cheeks, she pushed into his tight, puckered anus. He clenched at her

intrusion. She didn’t have to go far to press forward along the sensitive perineum.

She took his cock deep in her throat. With a final loud groan, he shoved farther, his

hips bucking while cum coated the back of her throat. She took him all—swallowing,

licking at her lips—as he jerked with each of his ejaculations.

The storm passed quickly. Rand sucked in a deep breath before opening his eyes.
He knelt between her legs, sliding his arms about her waist. His head lay at her

breast. Resting her cheek against the top of his head, she soothed her hands along his

bare back.

“You are by far the best lover I’ve ever had, Anne.”
“You can’t have known many then,” she said, knowing it was a falsehood. The

young VanLandingham, as a marquess and before his marriage, had sown a wide

swath. At the time, only those women with a hymen were safe from him, as he had no

Eliza Lloyd

respect for age, marital status or class. As he’d said, if they were willing, who was he to

say no?

“If you knew the half of it, you’d know what a compliment it was.”
Rand leaned back on his haunches, his stiff erection in momentary repose. Anne

stared, tilting her head as she watched the magical retreat.

“He’ll be back,” Rand promised. “In the meantime, spread your legs, madam. I

have something for you that I think you will enjoy.”

Anne flushed with want and a new wash of dampness seeped between her legs. She

fell back against the soft bedding, melting at the implication of his words.

His strong hands gripped her knees and spread her. Her clitoris already throbbed,

anxiously waiting and finely tuned to his obvious intent. Up her legs, his hands

searched, pushing the chemise farther up.

“Take that off,” he ordered.
She was near boneless. Somehow she clutched the edges and wiggled enough to

remove the garment completely. She met his searing gaze.

“How many orgasms would you like?” His devilish smile promised untold

delights, if she could remain conscious. He would have no mercy once he started his

assault—that she knew from experience. She was ready to sacrifice herself to la petite

mort, especially since she was in the capable hands, and mouth, of her husband.

“I’ll tell you when to stop.”
With supreme skill, acquired in all of those boudoirs and beds of his presumably

less-enchanting lovers, Rand stroked along the flushed and sensitive skin with his

fingers, working ever closer to the pulsing nub of her pleasure.

Nothing mattered as he circled and teased. Her world focused on the wicked

fingers stroking, deliberately arousing, but entirely too slow to suit her.

She lifted one leg to the bed, opening for him, giving him whatever he wanted to

take. Her back arched in spasms as she came ever closer to her release.

And his tongue. Doing delicious, teasing things in secret places.
“Do hurry,” she panted. “I think I deserve something for my patience.”
He chuckled, lowered his mouth to the soft, sensitive folds of her labia, suckled her

clitoris and brought her to a richly and well-deserved orgasm. She might have

screamed—she could barely catch her breath as her body pulsed with the aftereffects.

“More?” he asked, as if he were serving afternoon tea.
“Oh yes.” She relaxed in blissful surrender—replete, rosy, but always, always ready

for more.

Anne peered at Rand, now standing near the tea tray. He carried a pewter bowl

back to the bed and propped it next to her head before he lifted and then turned her so

she reclined fully on the bed, her back now propped against the numerous lush pillows

stacked at the head.

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Her thighs were still spread. She knew from Rand’s look and semirigid cock that

the sight of her had the desired effect on him.

“More, more, more,” he said. “You greedy little puss.”
He plucked a berry from the bowl and positioned it in her bellybutton before

leaning over and nibbling at the fruit and the ticklish skin along her hipbone. She

giggled.

He held up a second fruit, a strawberry, and glanced at her cunt. “Wider,” he

commanded.

Anne wanted whatever it was he was going to do. Her breath felt heavy as her

chest heaved. The achy muscles between her legs twitched. She spread her legs, lifting

her knees, opening her pink sheath for his inspection.

He slid his free hand down her leg, his finger stroked playfully as if he were just

looking around. “My, what a beautiful cunt you have.”

“Said the big bad wolf.”
“Fox.” He bit the leafy top from the strawberry and threw it toward the tea tray.

“The berries are fresh.” He took the largish berry and stuffed it, with an exaggerated

flourish, in her sheath. He stared at the novelty, a smile playing about his lips.

Anne’s eyes blurred for a moment. The intrusion wasn’t enough to provide another

release, but she was very aware of the possibilities. The light in his eye warned, and

promised, that she would enjoy the fresh berries as much as he would.

He brought her knees together slightly, satisfied as to her position. Then, grabbing a

pillow, he tucked it under her ass, displaying her like the centerpiece of a grand feast

for the gods.

Anne watched in fascination. Rand seemed completely absorbed in his task.
“One ought to have fresh fruits whenever possible, don’t you think?” He tucked

blueberries and then blackberries along the seams of her flesh, topping it all off with

another strawberry.

He slid his fingers through the dark curls covering her mons. With a slight frown,

he leaned forward and ate the first berry. “Did you know, in Arabia, the women

shave?”

“Shave?”
“Well, they remove all of the excess hair on their bodies. I’ve never seen it done.

Only heard about it.”

“Oh.”
He positioned himself between her legs, kissing the inside of her thighs and

working downward again. Rand nibbled at the berries and at her flesh.

“Oh,” she said again when he suckled on her clit.
“Such an unusual berry, that.” He did it again.
Anne was feeling languorous and loved. The smell of berries was thick in the air as

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Rand used tongue and teeth to retrieve them from the nooks of her body.

“Only one left,” he said. His tongue searched along the lubricated and sensitive

opening to her body. With his hands, he pushed her thighs wider, set his open mouth

over her and sucked the berry from her body. “I will never be able to look at cook’s

glazed berry dish again without thinking of you.”

“Haven’t you forgotten something?” she asked. She didn’t come all this way to be

left out in the cold. “I want my orgasm.”

“So you do.” Rand smiled before his face disappeared between her legs and

lavished her with his tongue and mouth until her body tightened, soared and then hung

in that immeasurably euphoric place of time and space, before crashing spasms

consumed her body again.

* * * * *

“When we return home this summer, I think we need to build that dam in the lower

valley. It would certainly reduce the flooding during the spring, and if we have another

drought, we could irrigate the fields below the dam.”

“Should you not be preparing for the Langtons’ ball?” Anne ran her fingers through

Randall’s dark hair. His head lay on her stomach.

He had two speeds after sex—sleepy, or alert and solving the world’s problems. In

this case, he plotted to increase farm production for his tenants at Bridgeton, his

primary estate.

“You sure you want to miss it?” he asked.
“Quite.” If the Earl of Redding were in attendance, she did not want to face him.
“Then there is no reason for me attend either,” he said.
“The Langtons have a very fine orchestra. And doesn’t Lady Langton have one of

the most extravagant buffets? I’ve heard you rave about the delicacies.” Anne had been

to a garden party a month ago with all the trappings of the aristocracy, ostensibly for

the marquess to show off the newest addition to his stable with stallions from Ireland.

Rand, provoked, had had to make an appearance. Fortunately, this was only one of four

balls the Langtons sponsored each Season. There would be another opportunity for

Anne to experience the celebrated cuisine of three continents.

“The berries will tide me over.”
Anne laughed. Rand, with his hair mussed and his chest bare, appeared boyishly

charming. Not at all like the aristocratic Duke of Pelham.

“It is much too early to sleep. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be gambling?”
“What have you planned for the evening?”
Such a pleasant interlude had temporarily erased the niggling worry that beat in

her chest. The sex was a temporary distraction. Without a doubt, she would be

contacted again. Only this time, she needed to be prepared with a response.

Wicked Temptation

Rand placed a finger against her jaw and turned her head. “Anne? Have I lost

you?”

“Yes. Oh no. No, I’m sorry. I was woolgathering. But as for what I will do, I intend

to pen a few letters. I’ve been remiss in writing my father.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Wales this summer?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said determinedly. “You are kind to ask though.”
“You will need to return at some point. You can’t hide forever.”
“Duchesses don’t hide.”
“Are you really unhappy with your life, Anne?” He glanced up at her and gripped

her fingers, holding them over his heart. “Is being a duchess not all that you expected?”

“A bit of melancholy. That is all. Who would not be happy married to one of the

richest peers in the kingdom?”

“You forgot handsome.”
“So I did, but I wouldn’t want you to become too vain. Besides, all those silly girls

at Lady Ford’s last night provided ample opportunity for my handsome peacock to

show off his feathers.”

“Peacock, is it? I thought you reserved that designation for dandies like Redding,

what with his reds and pinks and yellows. He nearly blinds the unsuspecting.”

“Redding is nothing compared to you. Nothing.” Anne’s heart started a rapid

tattoo. She pulled in a lungful of air, determined to slow the anxious beating.

“By the way, I did not have a pony named Polly.”
“I said Dolly.”
“It took me several questions to ascertain that Joseph’s stepmother—that would be

you—had blatantly lied to the lad.” He glanced at her again, only this time there was a

teasing sparkle in his eye.

Anne hesitated, while using her finger to curve over the shape of his ear. “He was

distraught.”

He kissed her palm and went back to stroking the length of her fingers. “Thank

you. I know the riding jaunt was a failure. I would not have known what to do had he

cried in front of me and the world. He did cry, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but not much. Once I told him how brave he was compared to his father, he

was right as rain. I’m sorry I painted you as such a sniveling little boy.”

“I probably was.”
“Never.”
He sighed, rolling to his back. Anne knew that the state of his children’s needs

rarely crossed his mind, not when there were hired servants to provide for their

education, feeding and care. “I don’t know what to do with the children. Maybe it’s

cowardly, but I had hoped the governess would tend them until they were old enough

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to tell me what they needed. I thought Victoria would take care of these things. After

she died, well…”

“I understand.”
“Last night, when I was upset…what I meant was that I don’t require you to spend

your time with the children. I know they can be a burden. And had I wanted a mother

for them, I wouldn’t have married—”

She put a finger to his lips. “Stop while you are ahead. Rand, they are part of you.

And for that reason alone, I would care for them.” She laughed lightly, thinking of their

hesitancy and their oblique glances, trying to ascertain if she was friend or foe.

“However, I’m proud to say that after several months, I am now occasionally

commanded to ‘hode dis’ and ‘play now’. Without a thought that they are ordering a

duchess around on her knees, I’ll have you know. Such unruly children you have.”

“Hmm, you’ve never minded when I order you to ‘hold this’.” He reached toward

his cock.

She laughed. “It’s all in the way you ask. And you might want to review your

holdings. I can see that Sarah is going to be a very expensive daughter to launch. She

has a diabolical sense about the value of jewelry, refusing to play with anything but

diamonds and rubies.”

“Then I’ll marry her off early, and she’ll be someone else’s financial worry.”
“We’ll see. Maybe she’d rather travel the world than be treated as someone else’s

burden.”

“I’ll break the neck of any man who dares to think so.”
She lowered her head and pressed a kiss to his lips, loving him just a bit more than

she had a moment ago.

“Jojo called you his mama,” he said, saving the best of the conversation for last.
Her eyes filled with tears and two dollops streamed down her cheeks before she

had a chance to control her reaction.

“I think you’ve won him over, madam.”

Wicked Temptation

Chapter Four

Nothing had happened since day of the Langtons’ ball.
What did Redding want?
And if it was about blackmail, why had he used his own seal? Why?
Blackmailers wouldn’t want the world to know they were so duplicitous, but what

else could it be?

As the dawn of a second day since Redding’s note arrived, a brilliant painting of

reds, oranges and yellows flared across the skyline and poured into the bedroom. Anne

was reminded of the sailor’s adage, and a biblical verse, if she remembered Papa’s

teachings correctly, red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.

She had silently fumed and worried since she’d received the missive. She had heard

nothing, only stewed in her own juices, marinating with anger, anxiety and murderous

intent. When she saw Redding next, she was going to hurt him somehow. With words,

certainly. Perhaps she would take one of Randall’s pistols and shoot the black-hearted

villain between the eyes, thus confirming for the earl, at the very last moment, that he

was right. She was a murderess.

Her ocean had gotten noticeably choppy, even to the point of green gills and rail

clutching. Exhausted to the point of delirium, she finally trod the stairs to the top floor,

peeked in on the children and then made her way back to her husband’s bed, finding a

warm and cozy spot curled up next to his back.

Rand moaned in his sleep and turned toward her warmth, his hand sliding along

her back and finding a hold on her buttock before pulling her firmly against his hard

morning erection. Anne wiggled away and scooted downward, her lips finding the hot

heat of his chest and kissing downward until she found the even hotter skin of his

manhood.

Was she completely at his mercy, that she could find such simple satisfaction and

peace in making him happy? Or was that what became of women who allowed their

feelings to overcome their logic?

She opened her lips and sucked in the sensitive cap of his erection. His body

stiffened underneath her assault. He arched into her mouth, moaning again as she took

his length to the back of her throat. With the fullness of her lips, she caressed upward,

suctioning against his skin, knowing where to stop and slide down again.

She slipped her hand between his legs and cradled his testes, waiting for an

indication that he would ejaculate.

Rand was humming in his sleep. He probably dreamt of naked opera singers.
Again Anne toyed with the tip of his cock, circling the ridged cap in long, slow

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swipes of her tongue. His hips bucked again, searching.

When he slid his hand into her hair and cupped the back of her head, guiding her

over his fullness, Anne knew he was awake and alert. She swallowed him again.

Rand groaned in conscious appreciation, mumbling a quiet yes as he urged her on.

His only contribution to the act was the gentle pressure at the back of her head that kept

her rhythm slow and steady.

Beneath her hand, his balls tightened. He snagged her hair with his fingers and

tried to pull her away but she resisted, feeling the strain against her skin. She closed her

mouth over him and took him deep.

He groaned loud and surged into her, each time the spurt of semen coating her

mouth. She swallowed, keeping him deep in her throat. Finally, he relaxed beneath her

and she allowed his waning erection to slip free.

“Anne,” he whispered as his hand fell away from her hair. She licked a final time

over the tip of his cock and then kissed his stomach, right below the perfect indention

on his belly. She rested her check on his stomach and caressed lovingly over the prickly

patch of hair and skin around the base of his manhood.

Could she clutch him to her breast and never let go? Could she make him love her?

No. He wasn’t a man to be bound by a woman’s emotions. His duty, yes. His name,

certainly. What was that thing that made a man commit body and soul to one woman?

Would she ever find it?

No. He was just a man. Either he would feel the same about her or he wouldn’t. She

would live with it either way, but in her heart, she would keep alive that precious fire of

passion and love.

Rand returned to his restful slumber while Anne stirred for the day, giving up on

sleep. Many a night, she had survived on only a few hours rest.

She had a standing request for a bath at nine, and Carrie busied herself in the next

room while the water ran.

“The Countess of Dunnaway is waiting,” she said as Anne walked into the alcove.
“Clarissa?” Anne asked as she swiped at her eyes and then reached to loosen her

hair. “At this hour?”

“She said she’d wait, Your Grace.”
“Did you offer her tea?” Anne asked. She tested the soothing, warm water and then

slipped the robe from her body before stepping into the tub.

“Again, she said she’d wait for you.”
Anne refused to rush through her bath, however, once thoroughly satisfied with

her ritual, she did allow her maid to dress her in a simple morning dress of green

muslin with embroidered roses along the hem and bodice. The complementary green

satin bow tied in the back and a pearl drop necklace was fastened around her throat to

complete the ensemble. Her hair was swept upward in a simple style that was both

elegant and cool.

Wicked Temptation

She hurried to meet her friend, whom she had kept waiting long enough.
“Anne? Where have you been?” Clarissa uttered as the door opened.
Anne entered the sitting room followed by two footmen carrying round, silver trays

that included the tea set and more cakes, fruit, cheeses, breads and custards than a

person needed prior to luncheon.

Clarissa embraced her. Anne accepted the affection, confident of Clarissa’s sincerity

but still a very, very long way from being entirely honest with her friend.

“Where have I been? Why, everywhere you are not, it seems.” Anne waved her

hand, indicating a comfortable chair reserved for special guests.

“You have not been out of this house for two days. I have it on the most trusted

authority. At the Langtons’, no one and I mean no one, but the Duke and Duchess of

Pelham were in absentia. Are you ill? You must be ill. Nothing else accounts for such a

shocking decision as to miss the Langtons’ ball.” Clarissa sat on the edge of her chair,

clearly expecting some outrageous revelation to explain this breach of decorum.

Anne leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “Well, that night, Rand and I

were in a particularly rigorous session of lovemaking, and neither of us had the energy

to move afterward. Barely able to move, in fact.” Anne smiled in fond remembrance.

They were, that much was true, but the motivations before and after had nothing to do

with the bedding.

“Oh tosh. Even I know you cannot spend every waking moment having intercourse

with the man.”

“We do but try,” Anne said, lifting the tea tray and starting to pour.
“Now tell me the truth. Why haven’t you been out?”
“Is it not enough to say I wished to stay home and then do so?”
“Dear Anne, it is your friend to whom you speak. You plan everything. Where to

be, what to wear, what to say—days before any event takes place. You probably knew

what you were going to say to me before you descended the staircase. You expect me to

believe that, at the last moment, you failed to attend because you were occupied with

your husband?”

“Fucking can be such a tedious business, but I do take that business seriously.”
Anne held out the cup of tea, which Clarissa accepted and then she, quite out of

character and with a shocking lack of aristocratic graces, leaned back in her chair to

study Anne. Very disconcerting.

“Such language,” she said, nibbling at a lemon biscuit.
Instead of saying more, Anne sipped at her tea.
Clarissa stared for a moment. “You’re pregnant.”
Anne choked and then coughed indelicately as the tea spewed from her open

mouth. She reached for a linen napkin, now speckled with dark splotches of said tea,

and wiped at her lips.

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“You are gravely mistaken. And were I in better humor, I might even laugh. Really,

you ought not say such ridiculous things to a woman my age.”

Clarissa’s brows shot up. “Your age? Hundreds of women have children at your

age. Thousands.”

“If they live in the country, their candles go out at six and they don’t know what sex

is about, then yes they probably do. Darling, sex for a woman of my status is for

pleasure not for procreation and early death.” Anne sipped at her tea, unwilling to

travel the road of regrets that had plagued her of late. She had promised never to live

her life looking back or tormented by misgivings. Why those niggling thoughts should

sneak up on her now, when she was already dodging impossible emotional setbacks,

she couldn’t say.

“I could name ten women within walking distance of this house who’ve birthed a

child after the age of forty.”

“They all live in Seven Dials, I’m sure.”
“You do say the most shocking things, Your Grace.” Clarissa picked over the tray

and found a biscuit, which she proceeded to dunk in her hot tea. “Your cook makes the

most mouthwatering shortbread.” She dunked the rest of the cookie and opened her

mouth. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten for a minute what my question was.” The cookie

disappeared.

“How is the earl? Still impossible after all these years?”
Clarissa leaned forward again to impart her own emotional news. “Truly, it has

been the most wonderful few months. And I have you to thank.”

“Me? What did I do?”
“Oh I don’t know. I think it is your casual assumption that you are due something

more than a short—”

“We are all due something more than a short cock,” Anne said.
“I was trying to say that we deserve something more than a furtive grope in the

dark.”

Anne lifted her cup to toast her friend. “Well said, Countess. And I shant ask for

details, but I assumed by the ridiculous smile on your face since you returned from

York that Michael’s cock has been doing more than relaxing in his trousers.”

“Much more,” Clarissa said with the siren smile that spoke of a well-pleasured

woman. Whatever the trouble, her friend had not allowed her relationship to dissolve

into one of those tedious marriages that had as little care as an overgrown garden.

Anne asked for all the details of the Langtons’ ball. Clarissa painted a dreamy

picture, which Anne attributed to her romantic and imaginative nature. Her friend

personified goodness and purity to the outside world.

Clarissa poured herself a second cup of tea, rather a clear testament to their

friendship, Anne thought.

“Now, I am done talking,” she declared.

Wicked Temptation

“I can have a footman show you to the door.”
“Do you realize that you are sometimes very nearly, but not quite, a rude woman?”
“A lovely compliment to be sure, since I practice every day to be very nearly rude.”
“How do you do that? Always attempting to deflect the issue at hand? Someday the

overconfident, haughty duchess you attempt to portray will not be enough to solve

your problems. I know better.”

Anne rubbed a hand over her temple and forehead. She wouldn’t need to tell

Clarissa everything, just enough to get an opinion. They were women—very different

women—but maybe she would understand.

Whom could she tell, if not Clarissa?
“You’ve heard the expression they use in the country, the one about chickens

coming home to roost?”

Clarissa nodded her head, neither looking hopeful for some dreaded admission nor

scornful that whatever she might learn would make Anne look worse than she already

was.

“Well, all of my chickens arrived on the same day.”
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“Have you ever done a selfish thing in your life, Clarissa?”
“Of course.”
Anne smiled. “It isn’t selfish to demand an orgasm a few times a week,” she said,

once again veering away from the topic.

“Why don’t you tell me about one chicken? I don’t have to know the name of each

of the hens.”

“Well, this particular chicken requires that I confront my past, and by doing so, may

cause another chicken to die. Oh not in the literal sense,” Anne assured. “But a chicken I

value. In fact, the most important chicken,” she finished. “It’s a rooster really,” she

added, laughing, though not feeling an ounce of humor inside. In fact, she felt no joy

whatsoever, only dread for what must be done.

“Anne, you already know what to do.”
“Be a chicken myself?” Anne felt that her friend did love her, however, Anne didn’t

know how to reciprocate. She had never been able to wield the same influence on

women as she had with men.

“Take the bull by the horns?”
“Enough with the farm analogies.”
Clarissa touched Anne’s arm. “Randall cares for you. Whatever it is, there are two

of you to carry the burden.”

Anne sighed, wishing it were as simple as that. “Tell me about the boys. Will you be

going back to York at Season’s end?”

“Oh you and Randall must come for a few weeks in the fall. Michael swears the

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clean air puts new vigor in a man.”

“Vigor Randall has, but the clean air does sound wonderful.”

* * * * *

All day, Randall puzzled over Anne and their relationship—not something he was

given to do on a regular basis. His wife was the epitome of dependability and

determination and had not given him a single reason to worry that she was nearing the

end of their accord.

Their mutual agreement was clear.
She had said, and he had agreed—they had agreed—that their parting would be

rational and logical when the time came. Severing the one flesh aspect of their marriage

would come when they had grown tired with each other. Bored. They had agreed to go

their ways with dignity and discretion.

They had agreed to an unemotional discourse.
So why the hell was he furious over the possibility?
Anne enjoyed, nay, demanded sex, without fail. He was happy to oblige. Anne was

singularly lacking in the silly animation, emotional tears and nagging wifeliness that he

had seen in other men’s wives and had experienced with Victoria.

Yet within the space of a week, maybe less, he had heard her gently nag about the

children and tear up over the most innocent of remarks. Imagine crying over the fact

Joseph had called her mother. Anne! His reliable Anne.

The coup de grace had come last night when she had declined his offer of sex. Really

declined. Not one of those denials that only required passionate persuasion. He didn’t

feel any better that she had sucked on his cock this morning.

A death knell sounded somewhere, he just hadn’t heard it in the state of shock he’d

experienced.

Whatever the wind of change had wrought, he wanted no part of it.
As his duchess, she was firmly entrenched. He was well aware that improving her

station had been her primary aspiration in life. There would be no divorce, only a polite

relationship that he knew in the end he could tolerate. For years, that was all he had

expected.

Damn, the change in her could mean only one thing—she was going to take a lover.

Hadn’t he nearly threatened her when they had discussed this inevitable awkwardness

prior to the marriage? The transition from monogamous marriage to serial lovers. He’d

wanted it to be quick and without emotion.

He had mistakenly believed that this day would still be several years away.
In the short term, it was intolerable. The idea of giving up Anne sent boiling blood

to every vein of his body. Even now, his cock throbbed. He had half a mind to go home

and do something about it. The other half of his mind was doing him no good as an

Wicked Temptation

erection usually made thinking a tad difficult.

Once she took a lover, he would be free to do the same. After Victoria’s death, the

idea of a fresh young mistress had held substantial appeal. He had also imagined a

seasoned widow eager to share the warmth and affection he could offer. He had not

actually imagined marriage so soon after Victoria’s death, nor had he imagined he

would tie himself for the rest of his life to a woman like Anne. He didn’t even think

about her age, though he knew she did.

It was her background. Her reputation. Her aggressiveness in her desire for sex, her

pragmatism, her calculating shrewdness, her bawdy humor, her intelligence. And yet

she personified womanliness.

This day may have been coming since the moment of their marriage vows, but she

was not going to take a lover until she told him to his face. They’d agreed.

Only one thing had mattered to him prior to their marriage and that was having no

one but her.

And he damned well wasn’t ready to give her up.

* * * * *

Anne penned the note, ending with a definitive flourish.
Your presence is requested at once.
A footman took her prepared note and delivered the message a few minutes after

Clarissa left. Anne would confront Redding. Another week or day or minute of anxiety

would not do. Knowing Redding, he would be over posthaste.

In fact, he had scrawled a response and had it back in her hands within fifteen

minutes. He’d arrived within the half hour—to the nines.

Anne reached into her pocket and felt the crumpled paper of the threatening note.

The feel of the paper and the rough bump of Redding’s seal made it all frighteningly

real. She couldn’t throw the note away, just as she couldn’t make the threat disappear.

“Your Grace, the Earl of Redding to see you.”
“Do show him in.”
Anne stood, smoothing her hands over her bodice and down her dress, refreshed

after a much-needed change of attire and a revitalizing toilette. The flattering crimson

gown and a large ruby cabochon necklace dangling from a gold chain would remind

him who she was—the Duchess of Pelham. Not some commoner with whom he might

trifle and intimidate.

Redding entered the room. Dashing, handsome, a man any woman would want

were she not already married to the man she loved. His dark orange waistcoat was

embroidered in a dazzling array of flowers. A topaz stickpin winked in his cravat.

He bowed, hat in hand. “Your Grace.”
“Redding,” she said. “Do be seated.”

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Redding made no moved to do so, only stood staring at her, obviously gazing at her

assets. “To what do I owe this great pleasure?”

“You know why you are here.”
“I do, but I thought I would much prefer to hear it from your lips rather than

presume.”

“I see.”
“The duke isn’t home I take it?”
“No, he had business.”
“Just as well. I would have preferred this assignation to occur someplace more

private, but as the exalted duchess wishes otherwise, I am yours to command.”

“What is it you want from me?”
“Am I to be granted all of my wishes then? Or just those that can be accomplished

within the hour?”

Anne glared. “I think we can resolve our differences in less than an hour.”
Redding threw his hat on a nearby settee, then stepped close to Anne, all the while

smiling—the Redding jaw prominent, the mouth wide with a dazzling row of white

teeth.

“I had hoped your missive meant that our differences were behind us?”
For all of his charm, Anne was confused by his glib manner. He’d all but accused

her of murder just a few days ago.

“Redding, what is it you want from me?”
“Firstly, I want you. I thought I had made that abundantly clear last month in

Hampstead. I knew a woman like you would never be satisfied for long in one man’s

bed.”

“You want me?” she asked, stunned.
“Anne, I have no hard feelings about what happened between you and my father.

Frankly, I was happy you broke it off, or I would have had to leave the country for fear

of the scandal I’d cause, lusting after my father’s wife. I wasn’t sure you felt the same

way until I got your note today.”

Anne knew her mouth hung open in shocked confusion. What the hell was he talking

about? “What about the note you sent me?”

Redding gripped her shoulders. Anne stared at him as if she’d just seen him for the

first time.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Anne watched in muted fascination as he tilted his head and inched ever closer to

her. His lips touched hers yet she did nothing. Why couldn’t she push him away?

Her arms felt leaden, her feet like blocks of stone.
He slid one arm around her waist and pulled her closer. His mouth opened over

hers in the softest possession and his tongue slid warmly into her mouth. Not once had

Wicked Temptation

she imagined how Edward’s kisses would feel.

Funny, she had never realized it until now. She had never kissed a man while

married to another.

She turned her face away. “Edward. Don’t.”
His erection bulged hard against her stomach. He gripped her wrist and moved her

hand to his groin. “This is what you do to me, Anne. I must have you.”

“And I must insist that you take your hands from my wife.”
They both turned at the sound of Randall’s voice. He stood at the door, his hand on

the knob, an expression so blank and yet so chillingly lethal, Anne thought he might be

prepared to kill one of them. Or both.

Edward had more presence of mind. He loosed her hand and stepped back very

slowly.

He also had the presence of mind to say nothing.
“Rand, it’s not what you think.”
“I would have guessed you’d think of something more clever, Anne. Did you have

something in your eye perhaps? Or was he smelling your new perfume?” He laughed

harshly. “Or maybe he was just in the neighborhood and thought he would stop by for

the privilege of a morning fuck with the duchess?”

“Stop, please. Edward, you should leave.” Lord, what had happened? She had been

prepared for a multitude of possibilities with Redding’s visit. Not one of the scenes

she’d played out involved seduction. Yet she’d stood as docile as a lamb led to the

slaughter while she’d allowed another man to kiss her. She ran her fingers across her

forehead and closed her eyes until Edward spoke.

“Will you be all right?” Edward asked, directing his inquiry to her, ignoring

Randall at his own peril. He obviously didn’t see the bloodlust churning in Rand’s gaze

nor the fists that were clenched into iron-hard weapons at his side.

Would she be all right? Why would Edward ask such a ridiculous question? What did

he care? He was prepared to make her life a living hell with his inquiry.

Then. Then he had the gall to face Randall, only a step away now.
“You have no right to harm her.”
Randall leaned toward Redding threateningly. “No right? I could bloody well beat

her within an inch of her life and you’d bloody well have nothing to say about it. I am

not the one trying to seduce another man’s wife, you bloody prick. Now get the hell out

of my house before I have you carried out.”

Redding squared off, braced for a fight. “I was invited, by your wife, who obviously

is unsatisfied in your bed or she wouldn’t be seeking entertainment with me. I will

leave at her behest, not yours.”

Anne flinched as she saw Rand erupt in raw fury. Her hands covered her mouth,

preventing a scream, as his arm swung in deadly aim, his fist connecting with the earl’s

jaw with a resounding thunk and an alarming crack. The earl kept his feet, dazed for a

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moment, but Randall was low on patience and absolutely devoid of mercy. A second

time and then a third solid connection before the earl went down, landing in a sprawl

on her Turkish carpet.

Redding, nearly the same build as Randall, wasn’t out cold, but turned to his side

and attempted to push to his feet.

“If you get to your feet again, I swear I will kill you where you stand.”
Redding stayed reclined on the floor, snatched a white handkerchief from inside his

jacket and dabbed at the bleeding cuts on his cheek and at his lip.

Anne, coming out of her daze, rushed to Randall. “Please don’t,” she urged, looking

into his face, her hands gripping his arms, as if she could prevent his forward

movement, or anything else for that matter. He still stared at Redding. Anne felt the

palpable tension in him as if he hoped Redding would further provoke him to violence.

“Leave, Edward. Now,” she said.
Anne cupped the side of Rand’s face, forcing his gaze to hers. When she saw the

fury, and something else, she regretted the decision to stand so close to him while he

exuded barely controlled rage. She had to make it right.

When the door shut behind Edward, Rand finally spoke.
“You invited him here?” His voice, normally deep and sure, cracked with emotion.
“Yes.”

Wicked Temptation

Chapter Five

Suppressed emotion shook every fiber of his being. The very hair on his skin

vibrated. Rand thought he might be only a step from murderous insanity. If Anne

removed her hand from his face, he would lose the single anchor he had at the moment.

Sexual passion had never caused such deep pain before.
But then, he’d never had such a passionate, sexual being for a wife before either.
If this was jealousy, and other men felt it, how did they let their wives parade about

town without a care to their marriage, to their children and their own self-respect? Or

was he the only fool that cared whether another man touched his wife?

Aside from beating Redding to a bloody pulp, Rand knew only one outlet that

would take the biting edge off his current frustration and fury.

Anne’s breasts heaved from her own reactions. At some point since entering the

room, an aching erection had sprouted between his legs. His thoughts churned rapidly,

moving from the immediate wish to kill Redding to the abrupt, burning desire to fuck

his wife.

Everyone knew Anne’s reputation with men, but now it was his reputation on the

line—he would not be known as a cuckold. And he wanted to remind her vividly what

she had in his bed.

His hand went to the side of her neck, his thumb under her chin, forcing her gaze to

his.

“You are not satisfied with me?”
“Don’t, Rand. Now is not the time to discuss this. Once you’ve calmed down—”
His mouth descended upon hers, biting at her lips, forcing his tongue into the hot,

inviting terrain of her mouth. He trailed his lips over her cheek and whispered in her

ear, “He will not have you, Anne. No man will.”

He swept her into his arms and carried her to a spot between the two settees.

Kneeling, he lowered her to the floor on her back. She twisted, attempting to free

herself. He braced one hand on her leg and used the other to ruck up the flounces of her

skirt.

She tried to push her skirts down and her knee came up hard, hitting him in the

side. He straddled her thighs and effectively stopped her squirming.

His hands searched at his trousers, loosening the buttons, freeing his rigid cock,

letting her know what she did to him.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” she said.
“Neither were you if you thought inviting the earl into my home was a good idea.”

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Her hands were still busy, attempting modesty. He laughed, plucked one then the

other of her dainty hands and secured them into one of his larger ones. He slipped a

finger between her legs. Abundant, damp moisture slicked his finger.

“Who’s this for? Me or him?”
Anne’s nostrils flared. Her eyelids lowered, but still she watched him. He lifted her

hands over her head. The bodice of her dress gaped and her breasts were visible, round

and firm. Using his knees, Rand spread her legs and lay over her, his cock slipping

naturally into the apex of her thighs, brushing along the velvety seam. His hips settled,

spreading her wide.

Still she said nothing.
Canting slightly, he nudged into her. Knowing her with the intimacy of a treasured

possession, he thrust, sliding in long and deep.

Air rushed from her lungs in a sweeping moan and the familiar sound of desire. He

freed her hands, but she didn’t move to embrace or caress him. He slipped his hand

inside her bodice and forced her breasts free of the restraint. Kneading, he lowered his

head and suckled, settling into the timeless rhythm of sexual succor.

Need overcame his senses. His thrusting turned into a forceful, pounding beat that

drove him to the point of madness. He trailed his lips up her neck to her ear. “God,

Anne. Do you know how much I need you?”

He possessed her with long, deep kisses, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, then

nibbling at her lips. He had everything he wanted—his cock buried inside the sweetest

cunt in Christendom, his hands full of firm, lush breasts and his mouth and tongue

sipping from a well of passion.

Only he didn’t have her heart.
The roiling release came in a hard rush, his cock buried deep, his body rigid and his

mind blissfully empty of anything but the rightful feeling of fulfillment and possession.

When he came to himself, he examined her, staring into the luminous unknown of

her gaze.

“You do not have to take what I have always been willing to give.”
The pompous, demanding duke’s sense of betrayal reared its ugly head again, after

being momentarily tamed. “That is the problem, madam. You are too willing to give for

the asking.”

Anne’s hand shot out at a blistering speed and connected with the side of his face,

the echo sounding in the room like a gunshot at dawn.

“Get off me,” she ordered.
Rand pushed to his knees but kept Anne firmly in place with her legs spread. She

again batted at her skirts, attempting some modesty, but not before he caught sight of

the delectable valley between her legs and the drizzle of cum leaking onto the carpet.

Finally, he stood. Rand held out his hand, palm up, and she reached for him. He

grasped her hand and with a smooth even pull, hoisted her to her feet and then up and

Wicked Temptation

over his shoulder, bending at the knees, capturing her completely.

Anne woofed when her diaphragm connected with his shoulder at the sudden stop.
He brushed at her skirts to cover her legs, then turned and strolled from the room.
“Put me down,” she ground out as he walked into the foyer. He ignored the two

footmen stationed near the doors and started up the stairs. She pushed at his back. His

hand connected to her bottom with a quick thwack that stopped the squirming.

All he heard was, “Oh. Ohhhhh. Put. Me. Down.”
Once inside their bedroom, he carried Anne to the bed and threw her in the middle.

She landed on her back and bottom, bouncing in a flounce of skirt, bedcovers and fluffy

mattress that held her pinned for a moment, struggling, while he untied his cravat.

“If you touch me again, it will not be with my consent.” Her hair had come loose

and spread in disarray around her face and over her shoulders.

“I assure you, Your Grace, the laws of England do not care if I have your consent.

But in order to ease your mind, I want you to know that not only will I have your

consent…” He grabbed one of her wrists, looping the cravat around the delicate joint

and fastening her securely to the bedpost.

“What are you doing?” She clawed at the knot. He wasn’t worried she would break

free.

She stopped her struggle and said sweetly, “Rand, please untie me.”
“As I was saying,” he left her on the bed and strolled toward his armoire, where he

proceeded to rifle through Winslow’s masterfully ironed selection of cravats and found

three suitably long specimens, “Yes, these should do the trick. As I was saying, I will

not only have your consent, I will have your blessing to fuck you any which way I

please, Your Grace.”

Rand reached for her ankle. Anne backed away, trying to wriggle from his grasp.

He tightened his grip. She bucked and kicked, trying to get loose, but with a few quick

turns and knots, he had a second binding in place. “Let me go!” she screamed.

He worked quickly, and in no time the final knot was secured. Anne was furious,

her gaze nearly shooting fire across the room. She jerked at the bindings on her ankles

and wrists. “Let. Me. Go.”

He stood, arms folded across his chest, looking down at the bane of his existence.
The joy of his life.
Rand didn’t care that he was in a dark humor. As a man, his reputation had been

impugned. As a husband, his trust betrayed.

Anne gritted her teeth, determined not to speak or respond to anything the barbaric

man said or did. She vowed to wilt away into nothing, she would refuse food or drink

or conversation or warmth.

And if she could refuse all that, the need to have sex with a maniac wouldn’t be

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hard to resist either.

She hated being tied, had had very bad experiences with another lover, but she

would not give Rand the satisfaction of hearing her say so. She was determined not to

cry out. Rand was with her, she wasn’t alone.

She tugged at the bonds. Her wrists chafed. Her crimson dress, so beautiful earlier,

was now wrinkled and uncomfortable. The stays were tight and there was no one to

release them.

For the moment, he ignored her. He walked to the other side of the room and

poured a large dose of whiskey into a crystal glass designed for brandy. Well, he must be

out of his mind if he could make such a glaring faux pas.

He ambled toward an overstuffed chair near the windows. He lowered his drink,

repositioned the chair to face her and removed his jacket, throwing it over a sculpted

statue of a naked woman, all before he sank into the comfort of the leather.

He stared at her while slowly nursing the drink.
“You can’t keep me here forever,” she said, trying to be logical.
“No, but I can keep you there until I kill Redding. Then I might let you go.”
“Rand! He did nothing wrong.”
“Forgive me. I seem to recall a passionate kiss followed by fondling another man’s

cock. My definition of wrong must differ substantially from yours. But maybe it was all

a hallucination because my wife, who has such a pristine reputation, would never fuck a

man not her husband.”

“I should have stopped him. It was a misunderstanding.”
“No, my dear wife. You should not have invited him to my home in the first place.”
“I had business to discuss with Redding.”
“Business? When we entered this marriage, you promised, as did I, to disclose the

nature of our sexual interests. I have been laboring away under the presumption that

you were entirely satisfied—entirely exhausted—and in no need of extracurricular

attentions.” He shoved up out of the chair and paced in the confines of the crowded

room. He glared at her from the end of the bed. “Are you dissatisfied?”

“No! A hundred times no, but you need to let me explain.”
Rand turned away. His steps led to a wooden chest where he kept dueling pistols,

rapiers, knives and assorted manly whatnots.

Anne gasped as he clutched and then examined a gleaming knife from amongst the

weapons.

“Randall. Darling.” She gave him her best smile. “Whatever you are thinking, it

can’t be a good idea.”

He laughed, touching his finger to the edge. “Oh it is a wonderful idea, considering

the alternatives.”

Again, Rand paced to the bed and stopped near her foot. He dropped the knife

Wicked Temptation

between her legs and reached for her shoe, slipping it from her foot. The second shoe

followed, landing on the floor with a light thud.

“Better?” he asked.
She wiggled her toes but refused to concur.
Gripping the knife again, he reached for the full skirts and with a quick slash,

ripped a long tear from waist to hem.

Anne stared, aghast at his behavior.
“Please do not say something tedious about how much this dress cost.” He slashed

again and again, until the formerly beautiful skirt was now a pile of rags between her

legs. “I would suggest you remain very still,” he added.

Anne held her breath as the knife came perilously close to her chin. Cool metal

touched her skin and slid between her breasts. A quick upturn of the sharp blade

ensued and Rand had the bodice of her dress, chemise and stays ripped and split in

two. With one finger, he separated the material, exposing her breasts.

He smiled, circling his finger over the tight nipple. “Do I have your consent to

touch this?”

“Go to hell.”
“Madam, I am already there.”
Rand used the blade swiftly after that, removing both sleeves and slashing through

the thicker material encompassing her waist. He dropped the knife to the bedstand and

proceeded to remove the remnants of cloth, going so far as to slide his hand under her

ass to lift her.

She was bare except for the black stockings tied above her knees.
“Go ahead. Look your fill. You’re never going to see me naked again.”
Rand laughed, his good humor seemingly restored.
“Then I’d better make the most of it.”
A knock had Rand turning to address the interruption. He flipped the coverlet over

her most private parts first, before strolling toward the door.

“What is it?” he asked, opening the door but a crack. She noticed he also had his

booted foot wedged at the lower edge to prevent a sudden intrusion.

“Your Grace, I thought perhaps Her Grace needed me,” Carrie said.
Anne would be rescued. Whatever nefarious plan Rand had with her would be

thwarted, and once he regained control of his senses, they could talk about this like

rational beings.

“Carrie, please come in. I need you immediately,” Anne said loud enough to be

heard in the kitchen.

Rand’s hand stayed her entrance. “Mrs. Black, Her Grace is indisposed and I am

tending to her.”

“But—”

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“Who pays your wages, Mrs. Black?”
“You do, Your Grace.”
“You despicable cad!” Anne yelled.
“And the wages for Mr. Black?”
“You.”
Anne could hear the fight leave Carrie’s voice. “You ungrateful bastard,” Anne

screamed.

“When was the last time you and Mr. Black—Elmer, isn’t’ it?—had a few days

alone? Or a seaside holiday?”

Carrie didn’t answer, sufficiently cowed by the duke’s deceitful machinations.
“Don’t leave me, Carrie.” Anne heard the sound of the continued negotiation.
“Three or four days perhaps? I hear Brighton is lovely this time of year.” The click,

click of coins was the only sound she could hear.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Oh Mrs. Black. Would you also inform the other servants they can have the next

three days off, with pay of course. Except Cook, and tell him I’ll be down shortly to

discuss today’s meals. Oh, and the governess. And her helper. Oh, and tell Mr. Barry

he’ll be needed as well. That should be all. Oh, and most specifically tell Winslow he is

to visit his mother for the next three days—”

“I hate you!” Anne butted in again, to no avail.
“And if I catch a glimpse of him, I will dismiss him without reference.”
“Are you sure, Your Grace? I mean—”
“Is a wife not the single most important possession that a man has?”
Anne rolled her eyes.
“The duchess will be well cared for, I assure you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
The cowardly woman! Abandoning her for the merest hint of coin. Carrie disappeared

behind the closed door without another word. Rand latched and locked the door before

turning back to her.

The lazy smiled on his face infuriated her.
“Don’t look so smug. This isn’t over,” Anne said.
“I’m so glad.”
Surely, the return of his good nature boded well for her?
“Rand, please, untie me. Let me dress, we can sit together like adults and discuss

the situation.”

“Sounds tedious. I’m having much more fun viewing your nakedness and trying to

imagine some seduction that will have you begging for intercourse in the next hour.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Have me. Fuck me senseless. You have my blessing.”

Wicked Temptation

“Do I? My goodness, that was easy. Oh, and I have a little confession to make.

When you talk like that, it does excite me, so much so that I could fuck us both

senseless.” He sat on the bed beside her, lifted back the covering and trailed a finger

along her thigh, caressing teasingly upward.

“Get it over with.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
Anne clenched her teeth and turned her face away.
“I think now I will have you begging. Yes, that’s it.” His finger circled her

bellybutton, then he lowered his mouth to the little indention and ran his tongue

around the rim. Anne had to hold back a giggle, but her body tightened nonetheless.

“Am I to starve, waiting your pleasure? Surely Cook has our luncheon ready.

Perhaps you should check?”

“Oh I don’t think you’ll starve for a few days.” He patted her thigh.
“You think I’m fat?”
“Ho! I have enough issues with you. Don’t think you are going to get me to say

something so reckless as you are fat. You would remind me of it until the day I die.”

He leaned toward her, one hand slid to her breast, his mouth so near she could feel

the heat of his breath. He kissed her.

“You are beauty beyond compare.”

For the first time in many months, Rand actually felt as if he had some control in

their relationship. A shame his wife had to be tied to the bed to achieve that peaceful

novelty. Then again, maybe not.

Everything about their companionship, courtship and marriage had involved

headlong and heedless indiscretions, starting with the broken engagement to the now-

dead Earl of Redding. Ultimately, nothing that he had regretted, but the months could

be summed up easily—they’d been like drunken sailors enjoying each other and life,

allowing the wind and tide to blow them where it would.

Now, with Anne staked out on the shore of his bed, maybe his seasickness would

abate. Maybe he would find his equilibrium.

He glanced at his wife, spread-eagled on the bed, and had to squash his ageless,

reckless and endless desire for her. For once, he would think with his head, not his heart

or body.

He rolled away from her, getting to his feet and working at the buttons of his

sleeves. He yanked the shirt over his head.

“What are you doing?”
“Undressing.”
“I can see that. Why are you undressing?”
“Because I’m a mite overdressed for the occasion.” He slipped the breeches over his

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buttocks and then sat on the bed. He lifted one leg and removed first one black boot and

then the other before he kicked off the tight leggings.

He positioned himself beside her on his side, his arm bent, her outstretched arm

fitting perfectly in the nook underneath while he cupped his head in his palm and

examined every perfect inch of her ivory skin. Not a blemish. The tiniest two lines near

her eyes. A gently sloping nose, which he had to touch. And those bow-shaped lips,

darker than pink, but not quite red. Plump. Soft. Womanly. He bent to kiss her. She

must have forgotten that she was angry because her lips softened under his and she

kissed him back.

He pulled a few inches away and they stared into each other’s eyes.
“How many lovers have you had?”
Her eyes widened. “You said it didn’t matter. You said you’d never ask.”
“And as I recall, you said we’d discuss it before you decided to take a lover that

would end our sexual relationship.”

“I haven’t taken a lover.”
“Why should I believe you?” With his finger, he circled her breast.
“If you can’t tell when a woman’s body responds to a man, then you aren’t the

lover I thought. Believe it if you want, but know this, I will take great pleasure in

informing you when I do bed another man,” she said with defiance.

Randall stared at her, trying to determine the truth. “All right. I believe you. But I

do want to know, Anne. I find it decidedly irritating to see a man ogle you, and I’m left

to wonder if he has, in fact, tasted the goods, rather than just wishing to do so.”

“Don’t make me say.”
“Would it be easier if I went first?”
“Lud! No! I don’t want to know, Rand. It would kill me.”
“Was Baron Alsept your first?”
“I have had myriad lovers. Twenty, at least!” she proclaimed.
“Not quite twenty, I’d wager. But certainly more than just the Duke of Pelham and

the Baron Alsept. Was he your first?” Randall was surprised, and pleased, at her false

bravado and underlying embarrassment regarding the topic. He wanted the truth, but

he wanted to understand her motivations and her feelings more. Plus, it distracted him

from the large burr named Redding irritating him.

“Yes,” she whispered.
“And you were faithful to him during your marriage?”
“Of course! I’d made my vow willingly.”
Rand was pleased again, thinking the truthful declaration was also an indication as

to how she would treat him, unless he released her from her vow at some point in the

far, far distant future. It was what they had agreed. However, the statement didn’t

explain the activities in his downstairs sitting room.

Wicked Temptation

“Who was next?” Rand entered dangerous territory. Whoever said knowledge was

power had a screw loose. With knowledge came guilt, anger, indecision and a bushel of

other immeasurable consequences.

Anne sighed, her body relaxing. “After Hugh died, while I was in mourning, I took

a lover—Viscount Clifton. I knew right away it was a mistake. He was abusive, easily

angered, jealous and voracious in his sexual needs. I stayed with him. For a time.”

“Why? A widow of independent means need not succumb to such a man.”
“Because—” She turned her head away again. No one would believe Anne

VanLandingham was afraid of anything, least of all, speaking her mind.

“Tell me, please.” His fingers continued caressing along the soft skin of her breasts,

not sexually, but in a smooth, soft stroke intended to comfort.

“Because for the first time, he made me feel what it was to be a woman.”
“You had an orgasm,” he stated, understanding better.
“The first time, I thought I was dying and then it was so wonderful. Clifton was

always kind afterward. I thought that made it acceptable. When I realized I should have

that feeling anyway and not just because of him, I broke it off. I came to London then.

Does that make sense?” she asked.

“Sadly, yes. You didn’t want to associate that feeling with one of abuse.”
“I think so. Still, I wanted that feeling.”
“So you arrived in London, fresh from the countryside, took the ton by storm, then

what?”

“No, not immediately. I thought to remarry. There were respectable gentlemen

interested in me. I did all that was necessary to find my place in society, though not as

elevated as one might imagine. Certainly, the highborn at Almack’s didn’t invite me

into their exalted circle.”

“And look at you now. You’ve overtrumped them all.”
Rand had learned more about his wife tonight than in perhaps the entire history of

his marriage with her.

However, the talk of other lovers had cast a decided net over Rand. She was

nowhere near the begging and he was very near the wanting and having. He slid his

hand back down her body and over her thigh until he came to his thickening cock. He

slyly wrapped his fingers around his erection and started a slow, tantalizing rhythm.

Nothing too crazed, just enough to heighten the building need.

Still positioned beside her, he lowered his head and kissed the side of her breast.

She didn’t notice, wrapped up in some troubling detail of her past. He opened his

mouth and suckled on her abundant breast and the tantalizing nipple that formed a

hard little point against his tongue.

When she noticed, she twisted away from him, her nipple popping from his mouth.
“No. Not until you untie me.”

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“I’m sorry. That’s not going to happen, not until I’m sufficiently convinced your

begging is heartfelt.”

“You fiend.”
He was making progress. Her insult didn’t have near the stinging emotion. He

continued to rub his cock, only he started rubbing his lengthy erection against her leg,

the sensitive tip brushing against the softness of her thigh.

“Cease your…your touching.”
“You won’t convince me you aren’t thinking lewd thoughts.”
“I won’t bother trying, since you are obviously deranged.”
She attempted to roll away, only exposing her very shapely ass, intensifying his

rapidly advancing cause. He stroked his cock with his fingers, just the way he liked it,

only now he had the added benefit of sliding the tip along the sweet little valley of her

ass. He brushed the hair away from her neck and set his lips to her skin. Musky

sweetness, all Anne, filled his nostrils.

“The first time I had an orgasm I was twelve.” Rand could remember it as though it

were yesterday and his balls set to aching as he imparted his story to Anne. “I had been

fishing by myself. I lay down in the grass and the sun beat down on me. I felt a bit

drowsy. I’d taken off almost all of my clothes. Sometimes I liked to swim if the fishing

wasn’t good. I must have fallen asleep because when I woke, I had the most incredible

erection lying there against my belly. You remember how amazed you were the first

time you saw my erection?” he teased, “well, that’s how I felt. Amazed. I picked it up,

wrapped my hand around and squeezed. I could barely catch my breath so I let go, but

the erection didn’t go away, it just lay there and ached and throbbed, demanding that I

do something. Then I thought about Becky Sadler. She was one of the milkmaids at

Bridgeton. I touched myself again. I thought about Becky’s long-fingered hands as she

worked at a cow’s udder. I started stroking like I’d seen her do.” He sucked air between

his teeth as his orgasm rose sharply against Anne’s backside. He snuggled in behind

her, with just enough room to stroke. “I thought heaven had come down on me. My

little penis let loose a torrent of cum. It seemed endless,” he whispered. “Kind of like

how I feel with you.” He stroked long and hard, pressing against her ass cheek at the

end, as semen gushed, paused and gushed again, spilling all over Anne’s beautiful

curves. He wouldn’t even mind that he’d have to clean up the mess. “A year later, she

met me down at the fishing hole. Her hands weren’t as good as I had imagined but her

mouth. What a mouth.”

“Is this Miss Sadler still at Bridgeton?”
“Oh yes.”
“Then I shall have to dismiss her.”

Wicked Temptation

Chapter Six

Rand whistled on his way out the door, leaving Anne free except for the original

knotted rope around her wrist. When she realized he was giving her partial freedom,

she hadn’t been so breathless with the thought of being alone and strapped down.

He’d set the washbasin and the chamber pot within reach, but she went to work on

the knot, determined to be free, and clothed, before he returned.

She was a duchess.
A duchess tied to her husband’s bed. A hysterical giggle welled up in her—part

nerves, part relief that he hadn’t actually hurt her or that he hadn’t used cruelty while

she was tied up. She would never have believed it of him, but angry men were an

unknown quantity. In truth, she had never seen him so furious as when he beat

Redding about the face.

Her left hand wasn’t as useful as her right. Her fingers wrested with the knot,

seemingly making progress only to find it bound even tighter. Finally, she gave up.

Damned man. Had her in knots in more ways than one.

She flopped on the bed, not caring that she was naked. One stocking had come

loose and puddled around her ankle. She must look like one of Madame Dupuis’

whores. She slipped it off. The tie on her other stocking came free with a single tug and

she removed it too.

Yanking her hand against the linen cravat, she resigned herself to completing her

toilette and waiting.

She glanced at the knife on the far bedstand, knowing it was just out of reach. If she

could just…

Anne rolled and twisted, aligning her body crossways on the bed. She threw the

pillows to the floor. Turning on her stomach, she inched toward her goal, her feet and

toes nearly touching the blade.

“Just a little more.” She wiggled her bum again. Her big toe brushed the handle.

She bit at her lips, trying to get her toes to work together to secure the blade.

“For a woman your age, you are very limber.” Rand stood in the doorway, clad in

his silky green robe, his bare chest visible. He carried a tray of food, which might have

interested her under different circumstances.

“Ugh! Go away.”
“What, and return to find a knife in my wife’s back?”
“I wasn’t going to hurt myself.”
He walked into the room and set the tray at the end of the bed, then returned to the

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door, closed and locked it. “Go on, I want to see if you can do it.”

“No, I have a cramp in my foot.” She curled inward, unwilling to give him a

glimpse of anything he might want to see.

“Do you? Would you like me to rub it?” The tray rattled a bit as he found a place on

the bed, sitting and pulling one leg up while his other foot was braced firmly against

the floor. His robe parted, revealing strong, bare legs with his cock and testicles nestled

obediently between.

“Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?” she asked.
“I recall something about begging, and you still seem rather defiant.”
“I will not beg.”
“More’s the pity. I suspect it is your duchess-like nature. Too toplofty to do

anything but command. Come. Set your pretty little ass next to me, and I might let you

feed me.”

Anne was hungry. She sat up, accommodating the singular snare, crossing her

ankles as she scooted closer to Randall. She pulled a sheet across her lap, not that he

wouldn’t be thinking about what was hidden beneath.

He cut a slice of bread, not fresh, probably from yesterday’s batch, but he slathered

it with churned butter and a bit of jam before offering it to her. He held it to her mouth,

but she used her hand and took it from him.

“So who else?” he asked.
She choked on her jam and bread. “Who else what?”
“Tell me about your other lovers.”
When she didn’t answer, he hazarded a guess. “Lord Carew?”
“Carew is a pervert.”
“How would you know that?” He turned a suspicious glance in her direction, one

brow raised.

“I have ears.”
“Oh, he has a sexual perversion for ears?”
Anne laughed before she controlled herself. “I’m not saying another word.”
“The talk at White’s—”
“I’m talked about at your club?”
“You were. Not now. Not since we married.”
“You mean not within your hearing. How embarrassing.” Anne reached for a

strawberry, hovering for a moment before she changed her mind and took an apricot

instead.

“Anne, you cannot imagine that a woman with your reputation is not discussed

with some fervor amongst the more adventurous men in town. Especially since you had

no one to protect you before.”

Wicked Temptation

“So what did they say?”
“Well, what I heard was that you had a stable of lovers, from every walk of life.

And that you were exquisite in bed. ‘Unparalleled’, I believe was the term they used.”

“Really? They said that about me?” She smiled, not necessarily because she was

being talked about, but that a woman her age would be talked about in the context of

sexual pleasure.

“I wouldn’t be too proud, if I were you.” He tweaked one of her nipples and she

squirmed away.

“I can’t help but find it interesting how such ridiculous rumors get started,

considering I know the truth, and applying stable of lovers to describe my past

experience is a bit exaggerated.”

He chewed on that before reaching for the teapot. “Lord Dunbar?”
“Charles or Thomas?”
“Either? Both?”
“Too cheap. Did you know that Thomas allows his wife only two new dresses per

season? I hope his wife knows a fine lawyer to keep her dowry intact. Is that the best

you can come up with? I think I’m insulted.”

“I could guess the rest of the evening. Why don’t you just put me out of my misery

and recite the list for me.”

“Alexander Preston,” she said. “And Daniel Ettiger.”
“Preston? He’s a nobody. An estate in Kent.”
“He’s a baron. He’s very kind. He would have married me, except he wanted

children.”

“Ettiger. The Frenchman? I wouldn’t have guessed him. He’s dead now, isn’t he?

He wasn’t even titled. I thought he was pretty high in the instep. Who else?”

“That’s it.” Anne had carefully guarded her secret. She supposed most puritans

thought three lovers in ten years to be scandalous.

“That’s it?” Rand’s eyebrows winged in suspicion. “Besides your two husbands,

you’ve had exactly three lovers?”

She nodded, eager for him to believe and glad it had been said after all. “I was with

Alexander for a number of years. Discreetly, of course.”

“No. You are not telling me the whole truth.”
“I wouldn’t lie.” No, she wouldn’t tell him about Ettiger’s interesting views on

intercourse. Initially, he had been amorous and adventurous but oddly perverted. Anne

refused to blush over the things he had done to her.

Her ribald reputation had blossomed when Ettiger and Baron Clifton encountered

one another at a ton function. Anne was surprised that Rand didn’t know of it. If he

had, surely he would ask more questions. Her two former lovers had tried to best each

other with their peccadilloes and sexual adventures starring the Widow Alsept. Drunk

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they may have been, but Anne’s reputation had been in tatters afterward.

She’d managed to make the best of their lies, refusing to be anyone’s mistress for a

time, and slowly the insistent chatter turned into speculation only. No one knew for

sure.

Ettiger had since died. Clifton was back in Wales and dear Alexander was too kind

to add tinder to the fire.

Alexander, who had been her last lover before Rand, had been the one to teach her

the value of self. Without him, she would not have grown to appreciate Randall

VanLandingham for what he was—aside from the obvious benefits of being his

duchess.

“That doesn’t explain Redding—either the current Redding or your former

betrothed.”

“I will not discuss the current Lord Redding until you untie me. And no, I did not

have intercourse with my betrothed. After all, we were only engaged a few weeks.”

Edward’s father, James, had openly suggested a sexual relationship. Anne was nearing

forty and had decided to marry and reach for the stars in doing so—the richest and

highest-ranking eligible noble she could land—Redding at the time. Truthfully, she had

not been that sexually attracted to him.

Meeting and marrying Rand had marked an epoch in her life.
“Fair enough.”
Rand caressed the skin of her inner thigh with his palm, stroking along the rounded

hips and the curve of her waist until he reached her breasts.

“Well, aren’t you going to untie me?”
“I’m in no hurry. Redding can wait.”
“You are maddening.”
“Finish up, Your Grace. I’ve a mind to see you begging.”
“I need to see the children.”
“You saw them this morning. I asked Ella.”
Anne nibbled on a few more morsels before she reclined, pulling the sheet

completely over her body.

Rand finished several dishes on the platter, licked his fingers when he was done

and then removed the tray from the bed. He stopped at the washstand and cleaned up,

splashing water over his face and hands.

Anne had never quite been able to believe her good fortune in landing him. When

he had approached her at Hyde Park, it had been with a hesitancy that belied his station

in life. She had sensed his innate goodness, and since their marriage, he had proved her

correct.

He was adventurous and humorous, bringing a joy to her life she had never

experienced.

Wicked Temptation

And he was stable. He had secrets, she was sure, but he wasn’t secretive. If she

asked a question, he answered.

While he lacked skill as a husband and father, having neither example growing up,

he tried to please. Even when he missed the mark, Anne could not help but love him

anyway.

If she were to catalog all of his many qualities, Anne knew she was the one who

lacked in comparison. There was no one better for her.

And for the first time, he was someone who entertained her both in and out of bed.
“Rand?”
He turned and smiled. Anne’s heart nearly melted and she forgot what she was

going to ask.

“What is it, my plump little partridge?”
“Ohhhh!” With her left hand, Anne reached for the candle votive on the bedstand

and threw it at him. He was laughing before the thick crystal crashed against the wall.

She missed by several feet.

* * * * *

After an afternoon nap entwined in each other’s arms, Rand lay awake and

watched his wife. Her mouth twitched, turning into brief little smiles followed by stern-

looking frowns that creased her brow.

He had never known such a beautiful woman.
Hair like simmering coals, vibrant dark red. Thick, coming to below her shoulders.

He slipped his fingers through the silky mass and brought it to his nose. He pressed his

nose closer and then kissed the top of her head.

He inched her free arm toward the bindings and secured her again while she slept

on. With a quick turn, he was on his knees and binding her ankles as well, wondering

why he had never tried this before. She was most delectable bound and displayed for

his pleasure.

He’d been wrong about wanting to know details of her past. Still, he was happy to

know it wasn’t as sordid as he’d been led to believe. Shamefully, it was the gossip and

innuendo that had caused him to seek her out. Needy and lonely after a year of

mourning, he’d wanted to lose himself in the lush body of a woman who would both

appreciate him yet have no expectations.

There was only one woman that came to mind. Not of his class certainly, but well-

enough known to cause curiosity and lust.

When he’d seen her at Hyde Park, she hadn’t been surprised that he had, with ill-

mannered graces, introduced himself.

“I know who you are,” she had said in response.
He’d explained exactly what he wanted. Dukes did that. She had seemed neither

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repulsed nor shocked, but listened intently. Her sparkling eyes were the biggest

challenge. Those eyes hadn’t said no. They’d said maybe. Perhaps. Would you be worth

the time and energy? Would you pleasure me?

“You’re two weeks too late, dear boy,” she had said. “I’m to be married, and as I

don’t believe you are prepared to offer the same, I’m going to have to decline,” she eyed

him on that last statement, “as regretful as that makes me. But since you have been so

complimentary, perhaps you would join my husband and me for tea some afternoon.

After we return from our honeymoon. I’m to marry James Chase, the Earl of Redding.

Perhaps you know him?”

And what had he said in response, ignoring the imminent betrothal? “I would make

you very happy.”

She’d tilted her head and gazed at his features. “Indeed, I think you might.”
He’d felt her to his bones. His very being.
He’d proposed a few days later, his mind and body having been in a constant state

of agony since their meeting. Once he’d delivered the marriage contract, they’d fucked

like fiends for the next week—in her carriage a few minutes after the proposal, in her

room on the floor before they’d even made it to the bed, and during the night, body-

numbing exertion that lasted into the morning, leaving them exhausted, sticky and

entirely without bodily secrets. They’d slept until dark that day.

And then started all over again.
The last week of his mourning had been the most incredible week of his life.

Somewhere in there, she had sent a note to Redding to end the engagement.

Rand peeled back the sheet that covered her breasts but not much else.
Before his lips touched her, his mind and body had progressed by leaps and

bounds, randy and ready for a night of exquisite fucking. Yes, she’d be begging,

because he was going to make her wait until her body wept.

Wept for him.
Or not. Whatever happened, they’d both be satisfied.
Licking over the relaxed, flattened nipple, he stared in wonder as the tip beaded up

hard. Her body and its responses excited him, even the small things. He lay beside her,

laving and sucking the single nipple, interested in this one point on her body. His hand

caressed over her stomach. Her skin was tight and smooth.

After a few light caresses and much sucking, Anne started the soft hum of response,

still in the peaceful repose of sleep. Perhaps she was in some erotic dreamland laden

with oversized cocks and naked men who waited on her hand and foot. Or maybe she

was in Hyde Park naked, with the grass tickling her skin.

If he timed his seduction right, she would be deep in the throes of need before she

realized she was tied again, subject to his pleasure and pace.

He thought the resulting anger would work to his benefit. Oh she would be saying

no, and damning him to hell in the process, but her body would be crying for release.

Wicked Temptation

She had described, as well as a person can describe, her sleep orgasms. She thought

she had wounded his feelings when she’d said they were as good without him as they

were with.

This surprised him, but it had also become a small mission to tip the scales in his

favor. She said she could only ever have one sleep orgasm, but with him, as many as he

could give her, as long as he lasted.

Rand loved challenges. And he had become adept at providing ample orgasms, for

comparative analysis.

Regretfully, he left the lush breast and kissed his way down her skin to the sensitive

area below her bellybutton. Anne squirmed as his tongue and lips and mouth did

enticing little things to every inch of her skin.

Her legs were relaxed and spread. The scent of arousal, of her body’s lubrication

collecting and preparing for penetration, had Rand spellbound for a moment. He could

slip inside her so easily, pump a few times and let his body fill hers. He could, but not

tonight.

The only fly in his ointment was the current Earl of Redding. What business could

Anne possibly have with the man? And why was he the only one she wouldn’t discuss?

Rand went to his knees, positioning himself between her legs, where she was most

vulnerable to hurt—and to pleasure. Anne had been hesitant the first time he had

hinted of his desire to kiss between her legs, shying like a new filly. Which seemed at

odds with her reputation and what she had earlier admitted to him. Perhaps knowing

what he did now, her hesitancy had more to do with unskilled techniques or the abuses

she’d endured with her first two lovers.

He pressed his lips to her thigh, demanding that his mind give up the path his

thoughts were traveling. Redding could wait.

Braced on his elbows, he used his fingers with deft skill to part the soft folds and

admire the inner workings that brought him such pleasure. She twitched. At his

shoulders, he felt the clutch of her legs as he troubled her dreams. Rand leaned forward

slowly, pressed the softest kiss against her clitoris and ran his tongue in slow circles

around the swelling bud.

With infinite patience, he slid his long finger into her pearly little cunt, stretching

and caressing. The little member started a slow thrusting that she should be able to feel,

but wouldn’t cause a meteoric release. Or wake her abruptly.

She drew a deep breath and let loose a sleepy, yearning sigh. Her hips started a

rhythmic undulation. His mouth settled on the throbbing nub and suckled until he felt

the first hint of contraction against his finger. He pushed deeper, pressing against the

soft wall, just where she’d tell him to touch, were she awake.

The humming noise coming from deep in her throat sounded more anxious. Her

neck arched and then her back. Rand recognized the perfect pitch of her coming

orgasm. Like a finely tuned piano. And the master’s fingers caressing the keys with just

the right touch and rhythm.

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She tensed and then relaxed into the bedding, emitting a final sigh of feminine

satisfaction.

Patiently, Rand waited, knowing that she was nearly awake. He saw the evidence

of it as she raised her hand, only to be hampered by the bindings.

She glanced around, confused for a moment, then tested the bindings at her other

arm.

“Ra-annd?” Her voice pitched higher. “Rand!” Her voice was more urgent.
“Yes, I’m here.” He gazed up at her from between her legs.
She lifted her head from the soft pillow and stared down the terrain of her body,

meeting his gaze. “That was you?”

“You were expecting pixies?”
When she said nothing else, even frowned a bit, Rand wasn’t sure if she was

fuming or contemplating further enchantments. He was an optimist.

He kissed her inner thigh. “You are irresistible, you know?”
“Randall, I need you to untie me.”
“Oh I don’t know. I’m finding the prospect of you at my complete and utter control

much to my liking.”

She caught his glance again. Her eyes were shimmery. “Rand, I am begging you to

untie me.”

Something about the way she said begging and something about her posture

caused him to reconsider his fun and games.

“What is it?” He lifted to his hands and knees and crawled over her before lying

beside her again. He rested his hand between her breasts, feeling the pleasant tension

pulling between them. Under his fingers, her heart raced wildly, the beats strong

against his palm. “Tell me, Anne.”

“I don’t like being tied. I thought, since I was with you, I could make myself like it.

But I don’t. Please untie me.”

He didn’t have to be asked again. He turned, reached for the knife on the bedstand,

and with four quick swipes had cut through the bindings at her ankles and feet, lastly,

removing each of the impediments that remained wrapped around her joints. Returning

the knife to its place, he faced Anne again.

Rand cupped the side of her face, gently forcing her to look at him. His thumb

caressed her lips. “You should have told me, Anne. I’m sorry.”

“I thought with you, I would be all right.”
“Someone hurt you. God, I’m so sorry.” He kissed her lips, her eyelids, her nose.

Her sweet, sweet mouth.

“I’m sorry I ruined your evening. I know you had some wicked plans.”
“Had? Madam, you are still naked in my bed and the sun has set. I think it won’t

take much preparation at all to devise a new set of wicked plans.”

Wicked Temptation

* * * * *

“Monsieur LeBlanc is swearing over our breakfast, but he assures me that in spite of

my décision sotte, the inconvenience will not hinder the masterpiece he has planned.”

“It is your own fault. I am sure he did not appreciate that you allowed his assistants

three days off. What were you thinking?”

Rand laced her up, his fingers deft and strong, making short work of the tedious

business of her morning dress. She held her hair up with one hand. As he breathed, she

felt the warm air touch the back of her neck.

“What was I thinking? I was thinking that I would be in bed with you for three days

and we were to live on love and nothing else.”

Anne laughed. Rand finished, then caressed her bottom as he stepped away.
“Too bad you don’t do hair,” she said.
“I must draw the line there. You would end up with a mess of hopeless tangles and

I would not appreciate the resulting bald wife if you had to shear it all off.”

“You don’t mind going to the park with us? Here, let me.” She beckoned as he

started to knot his cravat. He approached and Anne caught a whiff of the cologne he’d

used after shaving. The temptation to slide her arms about his neck and enjoy the

comfort of his embrace was tempting.

“As you pointed out, I have no servants. No one to make my life comfortable were I

to stay at home. I may have to abandon the household for my club.”

“The children would enjoy your presence. Please.”
“As long as I am not required to ogle and fawn over other people’s children, I will

make do. Of course, they can ogle and fawn over my children all they want.”

Anne finished the knot and returned to the dressing table, at an awkward angle and

in bad light since the move, suddenly feeling claustrophobic at the inconvenience they

had gone to in order to reconstruct her room. “Again, why is it we haven’t moved to

Grosvenor Square?”

“Because once we move—my life, your life—will no longer be our own. I fool

myself into thinking I am still the young, irrepressible marquess with no responsibility

except for the pleasurable duty of fucking my wife twice a day.”

“And escorting said wife to the park and entertaining your children.” She caught a

glimpse of his frown as he turned away. “Rand, they don’t bite.”

He hmpfed in disagreement. “I will never be the ideal father. I learned all I know

from my grandfather, and a less caring man has never existed.”

“This is not about what you need. It is what they need. Wouldn’t you have

preferred to have your father around?”

Rand turned away, reaching for his jacket. Anne finished brushing out her hair and

then twisted it in a thick knot at the nape of her neck. She missed Carrie. She hadn’t

always had a lady’s maid and could certainly do for herself, if she had to, but the

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privilege was one she had come to enjoy. With a final hairpin, she went to assist Rand.

“Winslow is going to scold you if you go out wrinkled.” She brushed her hands

over his shoulders.

“He’ll never know, since I don’t plan to tell him.”
She kissed Rand’s cheek. “I’m going to see that Ella has things in hand with the

children, but I’ll be down shortly.”

Anne hummed as she strolled along the hallway to the staircase. She could almost

forget about Redding and his threats. Her happiness seemed such a living thing when

she was with Rand. And he seemed content with her. For such a small gift, she was very

thankful.

When she entered the nursery, the happy cacophony of children’s voices greeted

her, but it was Joseph’s proper, “Good morning, Mama,” that made her heart ache with

love.

“Good morning, Master Joseph. Are you ready for our stroll in the park?”
He marched up to Anne. She bent from the waist to meet him face-to-face. “Mrs.

Wallsy says Papa is coming with us.”

“Indeed he is.”
“Mrs. Wallsy said we were to behave and not mess our clothes.”
“Why? Were you planning to misbehave?”
He giggled. “No, but if Papa goes, we won’t have fun.”
“He is rather stiff, isn’t he? I tell you what, if you promise me you’ll do what Mrs.

Wallsy says, I’ll make sure you and your papa have fun.”

Satisfied, Jojo returned to playing with the blocks on the floor with Sarah, who

seemed to enjoy throwing them rather than building anything, while Ella changed

another of Daniel’s soiled undergarments.

Anne made her way to the main floor and was greeted by Mr. Barry.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” he said.
“You are rather cheery this morning, Mr. Barry, considering His Grace has added to

your duties for the next few days.”

He smiled. “He promised coin, Your Grace. I don’t think it will be a hardship. Oh, a

letter was delivered for you this morning.” He picked up a folded note and handed it to

her.

Anne noticed the red horse-head seal affixed to the missive before it touched her

fingers.

She smiled and nodded before turning away from Mr. Barry. She slipped into the

drawing room, slightly dark on this side of the house. Once the door was closed, she

tore at the seal and spread the note open.

“I know what you did.”
She crumpled the note into a tiny ball and walked directly to the fireplace. She

Wicked Temptation

searched for the flint along the mantel. Her fingers knocked it to the floor and it

bounced underneath the settee.

Asking Mr. Barry for assistance was out of the question. Cook’s kitchen fire would

be burning strong. Dazed, Anne left the room, walked by the open door to the dining

room where she saw Rand reading the morning paper, and marched into the kitchen.

Cook stopped and glanced at her. “Your Grace?”
Anne ignored him and went to the fire. She threw the wadded note onto the hot

coals and it burst into flames, disintegrating in a matter of seconds.

She took a deep breath and pressed her hand to her stomach.
What was his game? She now wished Randall had beat him to a bloody pulp when he

was here the other day.

“Your Grace, may I get you something?” Monsieur LeBlanc asked, his French

accent pronounced.

“No. Thank you.”
“Very well,” he said, returning to the bread kneading that a helper would normally

do.

Anne stopped outside the kitchen door. She had hoped it was a cruel joke—that

nothing further would come of the implied threat.

Outwardly calm, her insides were quivering. Nausea burned in her stomach, only

made more disturbing by the alarming beat of her heart. She breathed deep and closed

her eyes, leaning her head against the wood-grained wall.

She heard Rand’s chair scrape against the floor so she hurried to the dining room.

Her smile was perfectly in place when she stepped though the doorway. She’d find a

way to deal with this without disappointing her husband. And hopefully, without him

ever finding out.

“Oh there you are,” he said before sitting back down, flipping the back of his jacket

away as he did so. “And the children are ready for this painful excursion?” he asked.

“Are you worried you won’t have any fun? Rest assured that Joseph has the same

concern.” She kept her gaze firmly fixed on his face.

“He’s a child. They always have fun.” Rand picked up the paper again and

returned to his meal. Anne rubbed at her temples a moment before Cook entered

carrying a tray for her. He placed three plates in front of her—more food than she

needed certainly—but her stomach didn’t seem interested in any of the delicious-

looking fare.

She hadn’t told anyone what had happened to the Duke of Pelham, Randall’s

grandfather. His aged body had given out, collapsed in a heap, his head bashed against

the fireplace as he crumpled after an explosive display of his temper.

Touching him afterward had been the hardest thing. Hatred for her had radiated

from every pore of his body, but she had to touch him to see if he was truly dead or if

she must call for help.

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When she confirmed he was dead, she had, in a panic, realized that her presence in

the room would cast suspicion on his death. The former duke had made no secret of his

open disdain for Anne.

She had slipped out and cowered in her room, imagining all of the possible ways

her life would be ruined over this. Namely, that Rand would set her aside, have their

marriage annulled or worse. Newgate wasn’t a particularly cozy place for convicted

murderesses.

In the interminable few weeks after his death, she had acquired a new appreciation

for what she had. Since then, she had not taken anything for granted. The new

emotional attachment to her husband was what made her past decision so diabolically

unfair now. She had so much more to lose.

Rand had been right. He hadn’t just made her happier, he’d made her life whole.

Not that she wasn’t a happy person to begin with, but she had found her own ways to

be content. He had brought her joy, even then, before she recognized she was in love

with him. She laughed at his witticisms and felt peace just being in the same room with

him.

She was under no delusions about why he’d wanted her. She entertained him in

ways that men liked to be entertained. When he’d proposed, he had already told her

why he wanted her. She appreciated that kind of forthrightness, and once she’d secured

his word as a gentleman, and a written contract for her peace of mind, she’d given him

what he had wanted and had made sure he’d wanted her more after the first week

together.

Anne had never had that kind of forthrightness—not when her security was at

stake.

She wasn’t going to lose him.
By eleven, they were all at the park, Mr. Barry somehow having managed to

prepare the open carriage. Rand insisted she sit beside him, though Jojo was cuddled in

between them, leaning toward his papa.

Ella held Daniel while Sarah sat on the edge of her seat sucking her thumb, until the

carriage shot forward and she cracked her head on the backseat. Anne lifted the crying

child to her lap and Sarah settled at once.

Determined pain stabbed at Anne’s heart. She would do whatever it took to keep

them together. This was her family now.

* * * * *

Rand attempted to be more than the stiff-upper-lipped English aristocrat. Watching

the children play did bring a certain pride knowing that his lineage would continue.

Joseph was remarkably likeable, imitating Rand at times in the way he stood or the way

he gave an order to his little sister. After much searching for just the right stone, Rand

showed him the proper way to throw—skipping it over the water. Sarah, to whom he

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could not relate, tended to look up at him, blinking her large eyes, holding fast to a

tattered blanket and sucking on her thumb. Grass also seemed of particular interest to

her.

At some point, Daniel was thrust into his embrace. Rand held the child at arm’s

length. The youngest also seemed enamored of his thumb. The stench was particularly

eye watering.

“Surely, no seed of mine could be so grossly offensive. And this attire,” he glanced

at the sagging, wet undergarments, “is unbecoming of a gentleman.”

Anne giggled, made her way across the grass and relieved him of the burden. She

turned away and allowed Mrs. Wallsy to proceed with the changing. Ella scurried off

toward the carriage to affect a cleansing remedy. Rand had a mind to dip him in the

Serpentine.

Three men on horseback descended upon his domestic tranquility. Rand was only

familiar with the lead rider, who dismounted and strode toward him.

Redding.
“Might I have a word, Your Grace?”
Rand noticed with considerable satisfaction the cut lip and the blue-green mottling

of the mending bruise.

“We have nothing to say.”
“Your Grace, would you excuse us?” Redding said directly to Anne. She opened her

mouth to speak, then pressed her lips together and turned away.

“Privately,” Redding said.
Rand noticed the other two men dismount. Both removed their hats, making their

bows to the duchess.

He took a few steps away. Redding followed.
“What is it, Redding? Unless you wish to apologize for your behavior, we really

have nothing to discuss. One word against my wife and I will see you at dawn.”

Redding clasped his hands behind his back. “That is exactly what I wish to do.”
“Pistols at dawn?”
“Lud, you are a trigger-happy arse. I came to offer my apologies. Not that you’ll

accept them. I was obviously in the wrong and wanted to apologize to you and Lady

Pelham. The fault was mine. The misunderstanding was mine.”

Rand puzzled over Redding’s words. Surprised, firstly. Secondly, wondering what

the hell Anne had said to encourage his visit to the house, and in such a way that

Redding thought it was an invitation to a cuckolding.

Over the earl’s shoulder, Rand glanced at Anne as she spoke with one of the

gentlemen, whom she touched on the sleeve of his arm. A bee distracted her and she

fanned it away with a flick of her hand.

He should be used to her affectionate, flirtatious nature. He wasn’t. The other man

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seemed interested in encouraging Jojo to throw a stick at the ducks.

“What exactly did my wife say?”
“Only that she wished to see me.”
“I am confounded, Lord Redding. That doesn’t seem to be an indictment against

my wife.”

“As I said, I misunderstood.”
Redding was being polite, contrite even, still it gnawed at Rand that he was missing

an integral piece of the puzzle. Redding had known Anne for many years, perhaps had

known her well leading up to and during the betrothal to the earl’s father. There would

have been many opportunities to approach Anne before now.

Rand laughed. “You poor bastard.”
Redding clamped his jaw together.
“You wanted her. Your father had her. Quite a dilemma. So she’s married to

another man and now you can pursue her.” It was all so clear now. Redding, at least,

had not dishonored his father, not that Rand had any respect for James Chase.

“I thought she was finally agreeing to my proposal,” Redding said with a curt

admission.

“Well, now that that is cleared up, perhaps you would do us all a great courtesy

and leave her alone? I don’t think I will be as forbearing, if there is a next time.”

“Your Grace.” Redding bowed and returned to his companions.
Rand followed. He had always liked Redding, who was eager for cards, horse

racing and myriad other manly pursuits Rand enjoyed. Perhaps it should come as no

surprise that they would both be so foolish over the same woman, only Rand had won

her. And he would not give her up willingly. However, it was hellish nuisance to beat

back the would-be contenders who thought marriage vows were to be trampled on

whenever the mood struck.

Was she the bee sipping from every flower? Or was she the flower, attracting every

bee to the scent of her blossom? She was all animation as she talked to the three

gentlemen, but stood a respectable distance from Redding. The queen bee, wary but still

preening for the drones.

At least he knew where the honey was. His mind flitted back to his near-empty

house, his very delectable honeybee of a wife and embedding his swollen stinger in her

flesh. He hadn’t grown tired of asserting his husbandly rights just yet.

Wicked Temptation

Chapter Seven

They had returned to their townhouse in the early afternoon. The knees of Joseph’s

trousers were muddied. Sarah’s nose was a bit pink. Daniel had only fussed when he

was hungry or dirty, otherwise crawling or running and falling in the grass, amused by

anything he could put in his mouth.

The house seemed tomblike without all the bustle of maids and footmen. Rand had

worked on accounts while Anne sat in the library with him and embroidered a

pillowcase before picking up a novel.

Whatever Redding had said seemed to have smoothed over the fragile situation.

Rand hadn’t said a word about it, while Redding had kept his distance with his gaze

shuttered.

The contents of the note were surely an attempt at blackmail. It had to be. Money

she had, and if the person threatening her would make his demands, this splinter in her

hide could be removed.

At the last minute, they had decided to attend the Foresters’ ball, since they had

been otherwise occupied for several nights. They were late in arriving as the carriage

once again required Mr. Barry’s full attention.

Once on their way, Anne remembered her conversation at the park.
“Rand, surely you can do something. You are a duke. The poor man has lost his

living at a small parish in Somerset.” While Redding had talked to Randall, Anne had

been stirred by the plight of the vicar without a parish, as a man with a more important

patron had usurped his place.

“Let Redding do something. The vicar is Redding’s cousin, after all.”
“You are right. It was just such a tale of woe, I couldn’t help but be moved.”
“I noticed there were no other dukes, or peers of any rank, at the park playing with

their children.”

“That’s because other dukes are too old and fat to get out of their carriages. As for

the other peers, they are depriving themselves of joy. You did enjoy the outing? I know

you did.” She pressed her hand to his sleeve, but also pressed her bosom to his arm,

displaying a wealth of her fleshy breasts. Rand didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, at least I have discovered why we ignore our children and then send them

off to boarding school.”

“Why is that?”
“It’s not good for a duke’s ego to watch his progeny eating grass, knowing they are

defenders of the dukedom. I don’t think the children even noticed I was there. The way

Joseph kept asking me ‘did you see, did you see?’ I’d think he thought I was blind as

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well as invisible.”

“He’s only four.”
“And a half.”
“The world still fascinates him. But the important thing was that you were there

and he will remember that you were there.”

“I think I shall take Jojo riding again tomorrow. I promised him, and I suppose I

ought to deliver, or thirty years from now he will accuse me of neglect.”

“Thirty years from now, Jojo is going to be saying ‘do you remember the day at the

park?’ not ‘did you see, did you see?’”

Rand hmpfed, but leaned back in the carriage, a satisfied smile on his face.
Lord and Lady Forester were lavish hosts. A red flowing rug led from the walkway

to the front door of their home. Several liveried footmen stood at the front of the home

assisting guests from the carriages and attempting to keep the clutch of vehicles from

jamming up the roadway.

The grand chandelier in the front foyer sparkled overhead with the lights of

hundreds of candles. After the Duke and Duchess of Pelham were announced, the

Foresters and two of their married daughters warmly greeted their arriving guests.

“Your Grace. Your Grace.” The Forester entourage all bowed and curtsied. Anne

nodded her head as Randall led her down the sweeping staircase into the crowded

ballroom. She hadn’t been a duchess that long. It was still hard to believe that peers all

over London were bowing and scraping to her.

No one turned with accusatory glares at their prolonged absence from ton events,

nor did anyone shout “murderess” as she passed by.

The Earl and Countess of Dunnaway were the first to engage them.
“Your Graces,” the earl said, while Clarissa grasped Anne’s hand and then kissed

both of her cheeks. Her friend swept her away, leaving their husbands to themselves.

Over her shoulder, Anne caught sight of Randall, his gaze hooded yet undeniably

staring at her bare back.

“Has your henhouse problem been resolved?” Clarissa whispered.
“Not yet,” Anne said. “But soon.”
“Oh good. We will gossip first and later you will tell me all about it. You must, you

absolutely must see Lady Addington’s new gown. A new French designer. You will be

green with envy, I promise.”

“Should I steal her away?”
“A him. A Monsieur Planchette, and as Lady Addington says, he and his hands are

divine.”

“I’m shocked, Lady Dunnaway. What would the earl say?”
“Look, but don’t touch.” Clarissa smiled broadly. Anne thought her friend hadn’t

ever looked so happy. “I fully intend to see his wares this coming week. Will you be

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joining me?”

“Oh if I must, arbiter of fashion that I am.”
“I suspect that if you order one of his gowns, the poor man will be in raptures.”
“And my own dear Madame Dumas will have palpitations if she hears of my

defection.” Anne wore one of her French dressmaker’s designs tonight. Anne had never

worn such a sumptuous dress that was both beautiful and arousing—to her. A low-cut

bodice with ribbing built into the style for support. The back of the dress was

scandalously low, yet easy to put on without the usual accoutrements of stays and

chemise. The red douppioni silk of her skirt swished against her thighs in an undulating

rhythm that had her anxious for their home and bed.

They circled half the ballroom, visiting with everyone, pointed questions asked of

Anne why they hadn’t been seen about town before she and Clarissa split up—Clarissa

called away by her husband to dance, Anne visiting with Maureen Elgin. Amazingly,

even after not attending one event for three days, the conversations hadn’t changed.

Louis Ederline skillfully found his way to her side and convinced her to dance. His

hand settled suspiciously low on her bare back as a waltz started. Ederline was an

unrepentant old lecher but basically harmless, and one could almost admire the man as

a patron of the arts. On one of the circuits about the room, she caught a glimpse of the

Earl of Redding, holding court with a bevy of single women. Hovering in the

background were the mothers and chaperones of said eligible ladies, unwilling to let

their daughters fall victim to the earl’s charms. Or deceptions.

He glanced up at her, catching her gaze, before Ederline waltzed her away.
She’d have to speak to Redding, but didn’t think tonight would be appropriate.

Randall would not necessarily be watching her, but he would be watching for Redding

to make the smallest error in judgment.

Once the dance was complete, Ederline escorted her to the refreshment room where

Anne selected a sweet punch that tasted suspiciously of warm rum. Ederline forced a

second glass on her, insisting the heat would cause her to faint if she didn’t drink up.

Anne looked for a polite escape and turned toward the arched doorway, looking for

a familiar face to whisk her to freedom.

The face she saw was maybe the last person on earth she expected.
Her heart leapt in happiness and tears came to her eyes.
“Louis, darling. You must excuse me. I see someone with whom I must speak.”

Anne pushed through the crowd, one hand on the silk of her skirt lifting it away so she

could maneuver.

The lean, muscular baron looked much the same as she had seen him last. Simple

elegance, understated tastes and she hoped, oh how she hoped, he was still the man she

had known. She placed her hand on his sleeve. “Alexander? Baron Preston?”

Alex turned toward the sound of his name. He clearly hadn’t been expecting her

either. His face registered a moment of shock and then a deep smile broke out of his

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face.

“Anne,” he said softly, nearly choking her with the sound of his affection. “My

God, Anne. Excuse me—Your Grace—you look…astounding.”

He clutched her hands and kissed the back of each in turn. Then he did something

nearly unheard of—he kissed her cheek. Anne inhaled the familiar scent and was

suddenly whisked to a time and place where she had meant something to someone. Not

just for her body. For herself.

They stared at each other for a moment and then laughed.
Anne had had great affection for the baron. Aside from Rand, he had been the

kindest man she had ever known. An earnest and devoted lover. A faithful friend.

In the end, they had known they could not marry. How Anne knew that she

couldn’t say. Aside from his necessity for children, she had known that they weren’t

meant to be together. No more than she could say why, after a week, she knew she had

to be with Randall VanLandingham.

“Is there a place we can talk? Privately?” he asked.
“Of course. It has been too long. I hadn’t heard you were in town.”
“Just this past month. For business. And pleasure,” he said as Anne led him toward

an adjacent hallway.

“The library is just through here,” she said, pointing ahead. “Have you been

introduced to my husband?” she asked.

“The duke?”
“Yes, that is the man to whom I am married.”
“I wasn’t sure what you had told him. Sometimes those things are best kept in the

past.”

“Oh he knows.” Seeing Alexander now gave Anne a sense of peace, having

revealed the truth of her past liaisons to Rand. Their chance meeting now seemed less

sordid than it might have if Rand were still in the dark, merely conjuring up dreaded

possibilities, as opposed to the actual truth.

The library was vacant but well lit, with single candle stems and three large

candelabra around the room. The shelves were loaded with leather-bound tomes from

floor to ceiling, and the two wooden desks were polished to a shine. A hint of beeswax

and cigar smoke lingered in the air.

There were three groupings of chairs and couches. Anne went to one of the plush

couches in the middle of the room while Baron Preston settled in the chair nearest to

her.

Anne touched his arm again. “Alex, it is so good to see you.”
“And you. You are radiant. I think that, at last, you have found some well-deserved

happiness.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I love him so. I would never have imagined feeling

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this…this deep emotional attachment to anyone. How does one describe this feeling of

both infantile helplessness and great power?” Anne didn’t know. She had never felt

love to this aching depth before.

“I have always thought that man, whoever he would be, would be most fortunate

to have you. And does he feel the same way?”

“You should not ask such questions. You aren’t one of my gossipy friends to poke

and prod until I confess all. This is a ton marriage, Alex. One takes what one can get.”

He clutched her fingers. “I have missed you terribly. Last winter seemed

particularly lonely.”

“I’m so sorry. You’ve not found someone else?”
“No, Anne. You were the sin of indulgence that infected my very blood.”
“It was for the best.”
“It was, but being a mortal man, it is sometimes hard to come to terms with what

the body wants and what the mind knows. And I shouldn’t say that I am without

prospects. That is why I am here in London. A particular young lady is considering my

suit. I think she and her family are agreeable.” He smiled shyly at the end. Anne

thought he was pleased at the prospect.

“Oh Alex, I am so happy for you.” She was, but there was that little ping of jealousy

stinging her heart, reminding her that Alexander Preston was a very, very good man

and deserving of an even better woman for a wife. Someone much more pure of heart

and innocent in the ways of men. “Do tell me about her. I want to know every detail. If I

find the slightest lack of character in the woman, I will move heaven and earth to stop

this marriage.”

“She is lovely, Anne. Helene Cosgrove, Viscount Cosgrove’s second daughter.”
“Pure as the driven snow.”
“Presumably. Hopefully,” he said.
Anne sat back on the couch upon hearing the name. Perhaps it was the two glasses

of alcoholic punch, but Anne felt wistful. Alex was a country baron, happy laboring

away with his tenants to build a life for them all. His children would sprout like weeds

from their loins. They would be loved. His wife cherished. “I know her. She will be

perfect for you. You’ve smote me to the quick choosing such a woman. In her

brightness, I am a mere shadow.”

“Never that, Anne. You and the duke will come to the wedding? I would be

honored.”

Anne felt a choking sensation in her chest. It was happiness for a friend. “No, I am

honored. When will this grand event take place?”

“In the fall. That is, if she says yes.”
“She will. She will.” Anne stood. Baron Preston stood quickly out of courtesy.

“Come, I must introduce you to Pelham.”

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* * * * *

Randall downed another glass of brandy before nodding at something Lord

Forester was saying about a recent race at Newmarket.

He tried to tell himself it wasn’t jealousy, only anger, that gnawed at him as Anne

led a stranger down the hallway. He wasn’t going after her. He wasn’t.

If she was interested in fucking every man walking, how would he stop her? He

had answered the bee and the flower question though. She was the flower. The perfect

bloom that everyone had to pluck, or fuck. The trophy for one’s mantel. The mountain

that had to be climbed. The lover one had to experience or die trying.

Damn, he couldn’t kill every man in town. Nor could he chain himself to her side to

prevent the inevitable. Or keep his cock permanently embedded in her cunt, much as

that prospect nearly had him smiling. Nor could he keep her tied to his bed—trying had

only led to his feeling like a brute.

Anne may have had only five lovers, if she was telling the truth. But she had led

dozens upon dozens of men down the path of ruin. Of wanting. Of misery.

Hell, look at Redding. Lusting after his father’s betrothed. Rand should have

apologized to him. I’m sorry, chap, but my wife has the sexual appetites of a man and

you were caught in her well-laid trap.

He waved at a passing footman and plucked a drink from the silver tray.
Anne chose that inopportune time to sweep through the hallway door, a gentleman

in tow. Her radiant smile tore at his heart. He gulped down the drink and set the glass

aside before he broke the fragile stem with his bare hand.

When he recognized the man, Rand’s vision went red. He didn’t move. All blushing

radiance, Anne smiled with artful deceit as she approached him.

“Your Grace,” she said. “I’d like to introduce Baron Preston. Alex, this is Randall

VanLandingham, Pelham, my husband.” She smiled at Alex, barely even glancing in

Rand’s direction. Both of her hands were securely wrapped around Preston’s arm. “I

wanted you to meet him.”

Rand glared at Anne. “What made you think I was interested in meeting one of

your former lovers?”

Anne’s smile disappeared and her cheeks turned red. She pressed her lips together,

preparing to give him a scold. One he was ready for her to deliver. He felt like a brawl.

With Preston, sure. With his wife, definitely.

“Perhaps this isn’t a good time,” the baron said.
“A good time?” Rand asked. “Yes, she is that.”
“Would you excuse us,” she said to Preston, forcing an apologetic smile, which

fueled Rand’s temper further. There was nothing to apologize for.

Preston nodded and murmured something about the late hour, slipping

unobtrusively into the crowd.

Wicked Temptation

Anne stood, proud and defiant. “Good night, Your Grace.” She whipped her skirts

away and turned her back on him.

“Where are you going?” He grabbed her arm.
She leaned close to him, enticing him with the low-cut bodice and the plentiful

breasts she had displayed for every man in the room. She whispered through clenched

teeth, “In case you haven’t noticed, we are in the middle of a ballroom and every person

in the room is listening to your remarkably impolite manners. Baron Preston did not

deserve to be cut, but you, sir, deserve to be flogged.”

She turned abruptly and headed toward the double doors.
Oh, she was not walking away from him.
He followed, doggedly attempting to catch up with her, though his feet seemed

unwilling to move faster than a snail’s pace. The crowd did part to allow the passage of

the duke and his duchess.

Finally, he grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. She said nothing, only glared at

him. “If you are still interested in fucking your baron, I won’t stop you. It’s obvious you

are still in love with the man.”

“Just because you could fuck any woman in London and have no feelings afterward

doesn’t mean I can do the same to every man. You, sir, are a cad.”

She turned away from him. Again. She marched up the ballroom stairs, nodding at

Lady Forester, who wore a look of concern that the duke and duchess were leaving

under a cloud of displeasure.

“Lady Forester, would you be so good as to have my carriage called?” The lady

moved away quickly, not wanting to be part of the ensuing imbroglio with a peer such

as Pelham, he was sure.

“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“You’re not leaving without me,” he ordered, not that the wench would obey him.
“I will be sure to send the carriage back, tempted as I am to make you walk home.”
Clarissa Dunnaway, the outwardly demure and ridiculously happy countess,

approached Anne, lending her reinforcement just at a time when he felt woefully

inadequate to handle his wayward wife.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, peering at Randall with undeserved suspicion. Why

was he the villain in this melodrama?

“Yes,” Anne said. “It’s been a long day.”
“I’ll call in the morning.”
“Please do.” Anne kissed the side of Clarissa’s cheek but didn’t bother with a by-

your-leave for him.

A footman handed her a shawl of red and gold that she swept over her shoulders,

covering the enticing area of her bare back that he had wanted to touch each time she

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turned away from him.

Lud, he was a fool. How long would he go on lusting after his wife?

John Garnette watched as the duke and duchess exited the ballroom. It was about

time someone other than himself recognized the duchess for the Babylonian whore that

she was. He’d overheard her conversation with Preston—one more man lured to

destruction by the strange woman.

How many men would be poisoned by her influence? How many men had died

because of their association with her?

Tonight, she even wore the attire of a harlot, subtle of heart, deceiving everyone but

him.

Rand followed her out the door, latching on to her elbow as they descended the

exterior marble staircase. Their carriage was waiting with the door held open by one of

the Foresters’ footmen.

Anne hoisted her skirts while the footman held her hand as she ascended. Rand put

his hands at her waist and lifted her, following on her heels, slamming the door shut

behind them.

Before she positioned her skirts, he put an arm around her waist and pulled her into

his lap. She was stiff as a board. “Unhand me.”

“No.” He slid his hand under her shawl, feeling the warmth of her skin causing

tingles to run up his arm and spread over his chest. “Go ahead. You want to scold.”

“I would not dignify your behavior with a scold.”
“So you’ll do something more vindictive like withhold sex until I’m sufficiently

chastened.”

“What is wrong with you? Is the Duke of Pelham mad at the world? The man who

has everything—”

“I don’t have everything.”
“Oh? Name one thing.”
Randall clamped his mouth shut, unwilling to say the damning words.
“I have never been more embarrassed.”
“Ah, here is the scold. Go ahead. Lay me low.”
“No one knew about me and Baron Preston. Only you. Now you will have started

up a whole new round of gossip just as people were starting to forget, starting to think I

might not be so wicked as Clifton and Ettiger claimed.”

Her bottom was pressed into his groin and she’d yet to notice his growing erection

or she would have scrambled from his lap. Damn her. She was not going to shift the

blame to him. She, who pranced about ballrooms practically naked, enticing men of all

stripes to pant after her. She was Salomé, Bathsheba, Cleopatra—all rolled into one

Wicked Temptation

wicked temptation.

He shifted his knee and Anne tipped backward with a gasp, grabbing at his arm for

support. He turned as well, sliding to his knees between her legs. He ruched up the

skirts. Anne didn’t fight him, but he could hear the difference in her breathing.

Fumbling at his trousers, he slipped the buttons and proceeded to free his cock, which

had grown hard wanting to tame his duchess.

He was happiest in this place, between her legs, where he understood her, where he

wasn’t troubled by the conflicting thoughts and emotions that seemed to confuse him at

all other times.

He gripped the root, canted his hips and brushed the tip of his cock through the

velvety, soft wetness of her cunt. At the contact, his cock swelled with wanting. “Your

body won’t say no, will it?” Nor would his. Breathless need pulsed inside him. He had

to have her now.

The bulbous tip of his cock slipped into her. Her sweet cunt contracted, pulling him

forcefully inward. He plunged hard and deep, gasping at the nearly intoxicating rush of

pleasure that swept him, from his cock into every nerve and pore of his body.

Anne moaned underneath him. His hands reached for the material of her gown that

barely covered her shoulders, sliding the silken mass downward. Her lush round

breasts came into view, glistening in the dim light streaming into the carriage.

He pushed in and out of her again before bending and covering her breast with his

mouth. He slid one of his hands down her leg and lifted it, bracing her foot against the

carriage seat.

The familiar rush of his orgasm built, too soon. He pulled away from her breast,

trying to control his reaction. “Shit.” He yanked his cock out, hoping the cool night air

would douse some of his hot-blooded need. His chest heaved as he tried to catch some

air. Bracing his hands against the soft squabs of the carriage seat, he hung his head and

closed his eyes.

Anne slid her fingers around his wet cock, starting a thorough stroke up and down

the length of his erection.

“Don’t. Not yet. You’re going too fast.”
“So? Isn’t that what you want? A quick, satisfying fuck? Don’t worry, I’ve already

had Baron Preston tonight, and he gave me several orgasms while we were in Lady

Forester’s library. Did you know she has a mural of Botticelli’s angels painted on the

ceiling?”

He shoved back into her and enjoyed the intensity of her reaction. When his cock

rammed into the top of her sheath, she gasped and then had the gall to laugh at him. He

jerked his hips, slamming into her again.

“He’s not as big as you are though,” she gasped. “That’s why I always have to come

back to you.”

Rand’s vision blurred as his balls lifted and tightened.

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“Redding is though, and he can go all night.” She slipped her fingers between their

bodies and gripped the root of his cock, sending blinding shock through his system,

stopping his ejaculation cold.

“You tempting bitch.”
“Who gets to have her orgasm first?”
Rand groaned, jerking his hips away and using his hands to spread her thighs. His

mouth descended on her cunt, the sharp scent of arousal driving him toward madness.

She wanted an orgasm and Rand knew her body well enough to know how—quickly

and thoroughly.

He drew the swollen clit into his mouth and lavished it with attention, both sucking

and swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh. He clasped her hips and pulled her

ass farther off the seat. His mouth kept a firm suction in place. His free hand slipped

between her legs, his long fingers sliding into the crevice of her ass. His cock ached,

standing hard and ready, for the moment her orgasm took hold.

His finger circled the tight puckered sphincter. Anne tensed under him, gasping for

breath. “Oh yes. Do it. Don’t stop.”

If he had any sort of willpower, he would have stopped in a heartbeat. Just to keep

her on the edge. Just to keep her wanting. But there was a point when he could not turn

back and he had passed it. Nothing short of force would stop him now.

Pushing his finger into her ass, Rand heard Anne’s gasping excitement. Her hips

undulated underneath him. He braced one hand against her stomach. She surged

upward, a low scream building in her.

Rand shoved his cock into her again and felt the white-hot sensation of her

contractions caressing the length of his cock, drawing him deep and milking the rush of

semen from his body. He jerked, his body under the complete spell of his temptress

wife.

The moment his cock shriveled and slipped from her body, the plaguing thoughts

returned. What was he going to do with his wife?

Wicked Temptation

Chapter Eight

Anne lay unsleeping on a cot in the children’s room. Rand was foxed and needed

sleep. She’d sent for Winslow, knowing the house needed to return to order. Again—

her presence and Rand’s reaction to her—disrupting what should have been an orderly

transition to his ducal duties. They had had months of reckless abandon, culminating in

last night’s juvenile display.

How must Alexander be feeling tonight? If it got back to the Cosgroves that

Alexander had been cut by the Duke of Pelham, perhaps they would think something

amiss with the baron’s character.

And the notes. Nothing untoward had happened this evening, but she couldn’t

help but feel her time was slipping away.

In the morning, Anne dressed quietly and ate breakfast with the children. Near

nine, they all walked to the park. Ella carried a bag of toys that included a sailboat,

some balls, a blanket and sundry other towels and clothes for accidents. Her helper,

Tina, came along since there were three children to keep an eye on.

Tina pushed the three-wheeled baby carriage that held Daniel, while Jojo marched

at his own pace, running ahead and falling behind with equal irritation. Sarah was

between Tina and Anne, her hands secure as she was lifted over puddles or dog messes.

It was the second day in a row without rain, and the sky was as blue as any day in

recent memory, the usual city smells of London seemingly diminished by the beauty of

the day.

Joseph came to a running stop in front of her and pointed back toward the park.

“Mama, why don’t I have a kite?”

“I don’t know. Are you old enough to take care of one?”
“Of course. Look. I wish I could fly that high.” They all stopped to stare in the

direction Joseph pointed. A colorful kite tail whipped around above the tree line.

“You will have to ask your father when you return home.”
“I will,” he said, then took off running again, his arms spread wide as if he were the

one flying.

Several families, mostly governesses and children, already occupied the park, and

they stopped to visit with those families with which Anne was familiar. The little ones

were fascinated by other little ones, especially the babies.

“Don’t poke, Sarah.”
Sarah grinned around her thumb but kept on sucking. She still wasn’t a big talker.
They found a warm spot near the water and spread their blankets. Daniel was lifted

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from the carriage and proceeded directly to the water, tottering along the rough patch

of grass with each step. Tina was put in charge of scampering after him in an attempt to

keep him from drowning.

Anne reclined on the blanket with an open parasol, protecting her skin from the

already overly warm rays. She opened the novel she had been reading. Her mind

wasn’t completely occupied by the written word. She found her thoughts drifting

toward last night’s debacle with Rand.

Maybe her reputation was too much to overcome. She hadn’t set out to make Rand

jealous. In fact, he had nothing to be jealous of. No man compared to him. Not

Redding’s sensual nature or Baron Preston’s goodness. Or any of the dozen other titled

gentlemen who might have been suitable for a proper business marriage.

She hoped when Rand woke that he would regret his treatment of Baron Preston.
She hoped he had a headache worthy of repentance.
Anne turned the page, not sure she had even absorbed the last paragraph. She

glanced around to see that everyone was close and that Joseph was pushing the sailboat

along the water’s edge with a long, thin stick. Sarah watched, holding one of her shoes

in her hand. With a determined toss, the leather shoe went flying into the water.

“Sarah!” Anne yelled. She scrambled up and hurried to the edge of the water where

the shoe still floated. She squatted and leaned forward, attempting to fish if from the

bracken depths.

Joseph came rushing up. “I shall get it, Mama.” He used his stick and gently pushed

the floating shoe toward the shore.

Anne clapped. “Oh bravo, Joseph.”
Jojo leaned over and snatched it from the water. “Papa will be very angry with

you.” He wagged his finger at Sarah, who reached for her shoe and laughed when

water sprayed over her pinafore.

“It’s cold,” she said.
“And dirty,” Anne said in agreement. “Run along, Joseph. You need to watch your

boat.” His eyes got round, realizing he’d forgotten his toy, and he ran to retrieve it.

“Papa won’t be mad,” Sarah said, in the longest conversation Anne had had with

her daughter.

“No, he won’t.” Papas in England did not notice when their children were dirty,

especially not when the papa was a duke. Ella Wallsy, however, came along and

scolded Sarah good as she directed the child back to the blanket and proceeded to clean

up the mess.

Anne sat on the bank wondering how her troubled existence seemed to hinge on

the whim of others. Had she reached too high? Had she dared to trespass upon the

hallowed grounds of the nobility, marrying into the wrong family, offending some

blue-blooded puritan? Had she made enemies?

She was not so sure of Rand’s devotion to her or to the marriage should she reveal

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the truth about his grandfather’s death. Would it make her seem grasping? Deceitful?

Untrustworthy?

Unlovable?
The urgency of their sexual relationship would fade with time. He had said her age

didn’t matter. Of course it didn’t. Not while he was unlacing her corset.

She hadn’t loved Rand when the old duke had died. Then it had only been about

protecting what was hers. And now she was even more desperate to protect her

unexpected treasures.

Anne reached for the original note, ever present, a reminder of why she had to

move forward with caution. She glanced over her shoulder and then opened the

tattered letter, spreading it over her knee. The perfect handwriting, graceful and

flowing, bore no hint of malice—only the words threatened her.

Why hadn’t Redding met her? Why had he acted so unknowing?
“Your Grace.” Anne glanced up at Ella, who had just freed Sarah to create more

chaos. “I thought you’d be wanting your book. You dropped it running after Sarah.”

Anne accepted it with one hand while sliding the note into the folds of her skirt

with the other. “Oh yes. Thank you very much.”

Ella went to her knees beside her. “It’s good you’re wanting to mother them.”
Anne opened the book, pretending interest, and slid the note inside. “They are

lovely children. They seem to miss their mother.”

“Oh I don’t know about that. Joseph might remember her vaguely. There isn’t

anyone around to remind him of his loss.”

“Children never forget their mother.”
“What they will never forget is love, Your Grace.” Ella pushed up, her knees

cracking with the effort.

Anne sat there, missing Rand, sorry that she hadn’t told the truth on the day it

happened, sorry she hadn’t said I love you the very moment the thought entered her

mind. Loving him should not cause such fear. Loving him should make her want to set

things right.

She had not been prepared for the confusion that came with one-sided love.
The morning sun turned warmer. Sarah and Daniel were both on the blanket

fighting off sleep.

“Where’s Joseph?” Anne asked, glancing toward the lake where he had been

playing.

“He was just there, by those trees, not a minute ago,” Ella answered, pointing

toward the grove.

Tina jumped up from her spot in the grass. “I’ll fetch him, Your Grace.”
“No. Let me. I need to stretch my legs anyhow. Perhaps we should be making our

way home shortly?”

Eliza Lloyd

“Yes, Your Grace,” Tina said, bobbing a quick curtsey as Anne turned toward the

bend in the Serpentine and the copse of trees beyond. Anne saw the flash of color

overhead as a kite dipped and soared higher. Joseph had probably followed the

mesmerizing tail, hoping for his own kite someday.

“Joseph,” Anne called. The kite was farther away than she thought. Boys. Always

curious and adventurous. She remembered her brother’s love for the outdoors,

especially anything with a dangerously sharp incline.

She needed to write home soon. Or maybe do as Rand suggested and actually visit.
Anne stopped in her tracks and took a step back from where she’d come. She’d left

her note inside her book. How could she be so careless?

She patted her hand over her chest. It would be okay. At the very worst, they would

pack the book into Daniel’s carriage with everything else. She felt a renewed sense of

urgency in finding Jojo and walked faster. If she hurried, she could get back and hide

the note away once again. Or better yet, destroy it, as she had destroyed the other one.

“Joseph!” she called again.
A man stepped from the trees carrying her son.
“There you are,” she cried. “Oh thank you, sir, for finding my son.” She glanced at

Joseph’s pale face and then at the man holding him. She smiled, but the movement felt

as stiff as death. “Mr. Garnette, what are you doing here?”

* * * * *

“Winslow? Is that you?” Rand buried his face in the fluffy pillow, trying to block

out the unidentifiable and extremely irritating noise. A hive of bees had been let loose in

his head.

“Indeed.”
Rand rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut and tossing back the covers. He was on

fire. “What are you doing here?”

“Your wife sent for me. She said she would not be the one cleaning up your slop in

the morning. I think those were her exact words, Your Grace. A bit of a headache, have

we?”

Rand kept his eyes closed, fearful of any sudden movement, though his hearing

seemed particularly sensitive and his stomach lurched as if he stood braced on the deck

of a schooner in thirty-foot swells.

“Winslow, I can hear your schoolmarmish scolding from here.”
“That’s just your guilty conscience. And the laborers in the next room.”
“Get me something to drink. And make them go away.”
“How did your wife put up with you for two days?”
“She loves me and you’re just on my payroll. Fetch the drink now.”
Anne. Lud, what had he said to Anne last night? The expression on her face when

Wicked Temptation

he’d cut Preston in front of a room full of gossipy old biddies—well, he did not want to

see that look again and his apology would involve that ruby and diamond bracelet he’d

intended to buy for her at Christmas.

Shit.
“Winslow!”
“Coming.”
“Where is my wife?”
“She, the governess and that silly helper of hers all went to the park this morning,

Your Grace.”

Rand half turned and accepted the brandy with barely a splash at the bottom of the

glass. He swallowed the contents and waggled the glass at Winslow, instructing him

with the pretentious movement to get him more.

“What time are they expected?”
“Not until lunch. A few more hours, sir.”
Good. He wasn’t ready to face Anne with his apology until he was better prepared,

not thoroughly foxed and groveling at her feet. The bracelet would be conveniently

wrapped and ready to present once the words of apology were spoken.

He ran a hand through his hair and rolled to a sitting position, his hands cradling

his head while his world steadied.

“Your bath is drawn, Your Grace.”
Rand nodded and tried to stand. Winslow checked him, bracing a hand against his

shoulder. “Perhaps you would like me to remove your boots and clothing before the

bath, sir.”

Glancing at his feet and legs, he saw that he was still fully dressed, except that his

jacket had been removed and lay tossed over the back of a chair. No wonder he felt as

though he’d been run over.

After the bath, Winslow had him turned out to perfection, though there was

nothing Winslow could do for the red-rimmed eyes and dull throbbing at the back of

Rand’s head. She would still be fuming when she returned from the park. He would

still be bad-tempered from his drunken binge. They would not be at their best, so he

would not be here when they returned for lunch. Tonight would be soon enough to

apologize, using all of his considerable skills against all of hers.

He actually smiled at the entertaining prospect.
He’d better get a matching set of earrings too.

* * * * *

Trouble had a way of nipping at one’s heels.
Baron Alexander Preston stood in the Bond Street jeweler’s shop, examining a case

of gold rings.

Eliza Lloyd

Randall did all of his business with Arvin Shales. His eye for fine jewelry was

masterful. Rand got quality merchandise, good terms, and though the prices were high,

they could usually be negotiated. Rand was greeted with a loud, “Your Grace, how may

I be of service?” along with toady deference, Shales totally ignoring his current

customer.

“I am in no hurry. Please continue.”
Baron Preston glanced at him and nodded but did not attempt conversation. The

jeweler continued his business with half the enthusiasm, already imagining the

purchase Rand would make.

Preston pushed the case away. “I believe there is nothing here that suits my tastes.”
Rand stepped in front of him. “Might I have a word?”
“If you intend to cut me in front of the jeweler, I believe your audience is singularly

uninterested in anything but coin.”

“I wished to apologize for my rude behavior last night.”
“You owe the apology to your wife, sir, not me. Good day.”
“The duchess thinks highly of you. I should not have embarrassed a friend of hers.”
“Again, if you think I have suffered because of last night’s imbroglio, think again.

Indeed, if all the backslapping at the club is an indication, I am something of a hero to

the wagering fools who are delighted at the prospect of knowing who Lady Anne’s

lovers might be. I understand it was a matter of much speculation until you had to

confirm it for everyone. It would be one thing if she were your paramour, but she is

your wife, sir.”

“As I said, apologies are due.”
“I am to be married in the fall. I will do Anne the courtesy of sending an invitation.

Please feel free to decline on her behalf.”

Preston left the shop, proving again that words can wound as well as any two-

edged sword.

The ruby and diamond bracelet winked and sparkled on the tray, but suddenly

seemed insignificant in relation to his responsibility to her and his depth of remorseful

feeling. He bought the bracelet, the necklace and the earrings, knowing it was only a

small token of what he really felt, not even bothering to negotiate on the price.

White’s club was as welcoming as it had always been. Rand normally played cards

at the club a couple of times a week. Today instead, he picked up the daily paper,

ordered a tray with tea and biscuits and put his mind to business pursuits, since that

seemed to be safe territory.

Sometime later, a ruckus at the front door caused Rand to look up.
“Your Grace, there is a Mr. Barry to see you. Rather urgently, I gather.”
Rand shoved out of the chair and hurried to the door. Mr. Barry paced, working his

hat in a circle. “Your Grace.”

Wicked Temptation

“What is it, Barry?”
“You are needed at home, sir. Her Grace and your son have gone missing.”
Rand gripped Mr. Barry’s arm and led him from the club. They loped down the

steps and stopped in front of the carriage. “What do you mean, gone missing?”

“Ella, Mrs. Wallsy, said your wife followed your son someplace in the park and

neither of them came back. Tina and Mrs. Wallsy searched, but they had the other

children, so they finally gave up and came home.”

“Well, they can’t have gone far. I’m sure there was a miscommunication about

when or where they were to meet. They are probably home by now.”

Rand jumped in the carriage while Mr. Barry tied Rand’s horse to the coach and

leapt into the coach after him, all the while reasoning out the possible scenarios for why

Anne and Joseph hadn’t returned home.

“How long have they been missing?”
“Three hours, Your Grace.”
“Three hours?”
“We couldn’t find you.”
Rand sat back in the carriage seat. She would be home. Joseph would be home. It

was all a misunderstanding. Surely.

He tugged at the tightness of his cravat and suffered in the sudden heat of the

carriage. With inexplicable certainty, Rand knew he was wrong.

“We will find them,” he said aloud. “We will find them.”
They reached Pelham House fifteen minutes later.

* * * * *

“Mr. Garnette, I’ll take my son now.” She held out her arms. Joseph struggled to

reach for her, but Garnette held both of Jojo’s wrists inside one of his larger, stronger

hands.

“Come with me and I won’t hurt him,” he said.
“Let him go,” she said, using the haughty duchess voice she’d been perfecting.
“Would you like to see another innocent hurt because of your actions?”
Anne hesitated, trying to think of a way to free Joseph and get them both to safety.

She could not tell if she was even breathing. Everything around her seemed weighted

and slow, as if she moved in a dense fog. “Joseph, did he hurt you?”

He shook his head. She watched his mouth and throat as he worked to say some

words to her, but fear had gripped him and nothing came out. “I’m here now. Your

mama is here.”

His round-eyed gaze didn’t leave hers. She smiled—it was all the assurance she

could give him.

Eliza Lloyd

Garnette turned away. She had no choice but to follow or risk the possibility of

losing Joseph. She glanced around, but there was no one to alert. They were heading

west into the forested area of the park along a rough path. She swept her skirts high,

trying to keep up. He had known she would follow to protect Joseph.

“It was you!” Of course, he was Redding’s cousin, the light of understanding so

obvious when one knew the truth. “What do you want from me?”

“Be still. I do not want to hear your fair speech and flattering lips.”
“Where are we going? Do you want money? I have money. And jewels. Whatever

you want. Just tell me. I’m sure the duke would give you any amount of money, if you

let the boy go, and I’ll go with you.”

“Money? One does not take money when one has a calling.”
“Please let me carry him. He’s afraid.” The trees, shrubs and underbrush weren’t

enough for her to hide, if she could get away. But maybe for Joseph, if she could create a

suitable diversion. “Please. I can’t run if I carry him.”

He stopped, so she took a few quick steps and lifted Joseph from Garnette’s arms.

Jojo clung to her, his legs about her waist and his arms tight about her neck. He was hot

and sweaty, a near dead weight. She didn’t know how long she could carry him. Surely

she would have enough time to plan something.

“Go ahead of me. Follow this path and don’t say a word.”
The noise of broken twigs and snagging material. The sound of their harsh

breathing. It seemed enough to conceal whispered words to Joseph.

“Jojo, listen to me. When I set you to the ground, I want you to run. Run as far as

you can and then hide.” After a few more steps, she caught her breath and whispered

additional instructions. “Do you understand me? You hide until Ella or your papa

comes to find you. No one else. You have to be brave. Very brave, just like when you

rode that horse. You run, no matter what Mr. Garnette says. Even if he says he’s going

to hurt me.” She couldn’t even give him a reassuring pat. Both of her arms were

wrapped under his bottom, trying to keep him in place. Already her arms burned from

carrying the weight.

“I need to know you understand,” she whispered. She felt and heard the single

word whispered against her neck.

“Yes.”
She wanted to think of Rand coming to rescue them, but he wouldn’t even know

they were gone until it was too late. It was up to her.

Up ahead, she saw a waiting carriage and the forest appeared to thin out, opening

onto a carriage path.

Anne stopped. “He’s too heavy. I can’t carry him anymore.” She let Jojo slide down

her body. Garnette stepped around her and she blocked his reach, throwing her body

against his.

“Run, Jojo. Run!”

Wicked Temptation

Garnette grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to throw her aside. She clung to

him as he tried to grab for Joseph. She pushed her leg between his and tripped him.

They fell in a tangled heap. He shoved her away, but she clawed at him until her arms

were wrapped around his legs, her skirts tearing under the onslaught of broken tree

branches and sharp brambles. It was enough to slow Garnette. She caught sight of

Joseph running as fast as a four-and-a-half-year-old boy could. He stayed on the path

and then disappeared around a turn.

Still she held, until Garnette had one leg free, dragging her along. He stopped and

swung a booted foot, catching her in the side. Pain such as she had never felt shot

through her belly and back. She could only think to hold on tighter, giving Jojo a few

more precious seconds to run and to find a safe hiding place.

Finally Garnette gave up the struggle and halted in the path. He reached for her,

one hand grabbing a handful of her hair, the other wrapping around her upper arm. He

forcefully lifted her to her feet. Anne was determined not to cry out. Joseph would be

fearful enough without hearing her terror. And as long as Garnette was occupied with

her, Joseph would be safe just a little longer. Maybe long enough for help to arrive.

Garnette shifted his hands, using one to twist one of her arms behind her back,

placing the other around her throat. “Do as I say.” He marched her forward.

She knew a moment of peace that Jojo would be that much farther away if Garnette

went to look for him.

Had he gotten safely away? Was he hidden or had he found help? Or would

Garnette find him if she screamed and Joseph faltered? A scream built inside her. She

whimpered, strangling back the urge to plead for mercy, to scream for help. The hand

at her throat tightened. Now that Jojo was free, she had to worry about herself.

“It wouldn’t take much to hurt you. Now be silent.”
“What do you want?” she dared ask. Her throat burned. The carriage was directly

ahead. The red horse head stood in relief on the side of the door, marking it as the Earl

of Redding’s. She glanced about for a footman or driver, but there was no one.

She was utterly alone.
Garnette stopped at the forest edge. She felt the tilt of his movement as he glanced

each direction before stepping onto the narrow driving path. He snatched at the

carriage door, flinging it open. He shoved and lifted, pushing her inside. She landed on

her knees, the air knocked from her lungs.

The carriage swayed as Garnette stepped inside and then slammed the door shut.

Anne glanced up at him. His eyes were open wide, he breathed fast and sweat dappled

his brow. He grabbed a cloth rag in one hand and the back of her head with his other.

He shoved the linen into her mouth. She shook her head, attempted to turn and fight,

but he yanked her head back, knocking her against the seat.

Her world spun. Another binding was wrapped around her, tightening against her

mouth and forcing the cloth deeper. Panic welled up, and then she felt the first of the

tears streaming down her face.

Eliza Lloyd

With a quick movement, he entwined a rope around her wrists, knocking her to her

side on the carriage floor. Her small, ineffectual resistance did no good—he only hurt

her worse. She tugged at the bindings behind her back.

When he grabbed her leg, she kicked. The blow landed right at his knee and he

stumbled, nearly crushing her as he went down. His hand landed on her breast and he

sucked in a breath of air as if he’d been burned. “Shameless harlot,” he muttered before

righting himself, gripping her legs firmly and binding them too.

Anne was too scared to struggle now. The bindings tore into her skin. She couldn’t

get enough air in her lungs.

He flipped open the boot under the carriage seat and lifted out a blanket. He

draped it over her, the musty smell adding to her fear, and then everything went dark.

She felt the blanket being wrapped around her body. Disorientation and dizziness filled

her mind. He’d lifted her and then dropped her unceremoniously into the boot of the

carriage.

The lid closed with a loud bang.
Anne couldn’t catch her breath. There was no sound. No life. Only the burning of

ropes. The stale, heavy air. And the oppressive weight of fear.

Wicked Temptation

Chapter Nine

Anne and Joseph weren’t at Pelham House when Rand returned from White’s. Ella

was prostrate in the nursery, sobbing uncontrollably. Tina minded the children, who

were fussy, as if they sensed everyone else’s dismal mood and deep fear. Most of the

servants had already returned to Pelham House. Each of them wore an expression of

shock and worry.

Finch, his man of affairs, had arrived earlier and had rallied the staff.
“We must search the park,” Rand said.
“Your Grace, I believe they were kidnapped for ransom. Searching the park would

only waste our time and cause undue gossip.”

“Do you think I give a damn about gossip? My wife and son are missing. The

servants need something to occupy their hands. We’ll leave in thirty minutes.” Rand

needed something to occupy his hands. He could not sit in the library and wait for bad

news. Better to face the truth now, no matter what that truth was.

His mind raced between thoughts of Joseph to that of Anne. Anne.
Were they scared and hurting? Alone? Or worse?
He stopped his thoughts cold. Anne was coming home to him. So was Joseph. No

other option could be borne.

“How much cash do we have in the safe?”
“Two thousand, give or take, Your Grace.”
“That’s not enough. Make arrangements with Ezra Silverstein. Interrupt his supper

if you must. Ten thousand pounds, at least.”

“But he’ll charge—”
“I don’t care. We are talking about my wife and son. Take care of it.”
“What about Bow Street?”
Involving Bow Street meant it was serious. But it was serious. He rubbed his fingers

over his forehead. “Yes. Right after you talk with Silverstein.”

As Finch left, Mr. Barry came in. “I’ve sent a note to Grosvenor Square, Your Grace.

I’ve asked them to send anyone they can spare. They’ll meet us at the park.”

“Good man. Talk to Ella. Find out exactly where they last saw the duchess.”
“I’ve already talked to Tina and Mrs. Wallsy. I know where it is.”
Rand nodded his head. Foreign emotions filled his chest. He’d been too young to

know the grief of losing his mother, his father had been around him very little, but this.

He’d felt affection for Victoria, but he did not know her. Losing Anne and Joseph would

kill him.

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100

At the park, everyone looked to him for instruction. Rand wasn’t sure what he said

to anyone, only that they had fanned out from the spot where Anne had last been seen,

searching for Joseph.

His throat was hoarse from calling out for them. One of Cook’s helpers walked next

to him on the right. A stable hand from Grosvenor Square was on his left. He didn’t

know their names, only that their faces bore the same expression of worry.

“Anne!”
The brambles reached to his thighs in places, piercing through the cloth of his

trousers and pricking his skin.

The voices echoed around him. He could see Mr. Barry poking at something with a

long stick. Had he found something? Rand stopped, but Barry moved on.

He returned his gaze to the ground in front of him. One step. Another step. The

crushing weight on his chest made breathing hard. Sweat trickled down his back.

“Your Grace!”
Rand glanced in the direction of the frantic voice. His heart pounded, each beat an

unfamiliar and painful ache. He pushed through the thick underbrush.

“Have you found something?”
Mr. Barry pointed to the ground.
Rand glanced at the trampled shrubs and sharp indentations in the peat-like

ground cover. The two grooved channels were about six feet long, as if someone had

been dragged. He squatted, and as he did, noticed a piece of material caught against a

sharp bramble thorn.

The fabric was silk with green and yellow embroidered flowers. “Where is Carrie

Black?”

“She’s here.”
“Find her.” One of the servants took off running. Rand stood again, glancing

around the area. His fingers caressed the material in his hand. He could see the

markings of a path going back into the forest from the direction they’d come. Farther

north, he could see the thin trail as it wound through the forest until there was a break

in the trees.

He glanced at those who had gathered in the small clearing. “One of you stay here.

Please. You two, follow this trail back toward the Serpentine. Look for any clue. Mr.

Barry, come with me.”

They walked along the path. Rand imagined Anne struggling against her captor.

But where was Joseph? And why struggle at this point? So near the clearing, where she

could have run along the narrow carriage path.

They walked on to the path, which was covered in leaves, loose gravel, dead peat

from last fall and the evident marks of passing carriage wheels.

“Whoever it was must have had a carriage waiting,” Mr. Barry said.

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101

“Someone must have seen it.” Rand hoped someone had seen it.
Barry touched his arm. Rand turned to see Mrs. Black hurrying toward them with

one hand holding a bunch of her skirts. “Your Grace?”

He opened his hand, displaying the swatch of material in his palm. Mrs. Black

gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh sweet saints above.”

“Does it belong to the duchess?” he asked. Rand braced himself for her answer.

Inside—in his heart or in his mind, he knew not which—he was painfully aware that it

belonged to his Anne.

“Yes, oh yes. She has a dress made from that material. Mrs. Wallsy would know for

sure. What does it mean? Has something happened to her?”

He touched her shoulder, as much to comfort her as to feel the steadying presence

of someone else who loved Anne.

It was a mistake. Mrs. Black wept at his touch. The sound of her grief stirred his

own tears.

“No, it can’t be,” she wailed. Mr. Barry did what Rand could not—he embraced her.

“What will we do without her? And Joseph?” She wailed all the louder at that thought.

Rand listened, hearing the very words that echoed in his own heart.
What would he do without them?
If Anne had been taken, so had Joseph. She would not allow him to be harmed. Not

while she breathed. Anne may have fooled the ton, but Rand had seen how much she’d

loved his children. She had been flip and indifferent about many things in life, but even

he had seen the subtle changes in the way she spoke and acted toward him.

Even he had seen how much she’d loved him.
He’d kept those emotions in a safe place—hidden, unspoken, unacknowledged—he

was more comfortable categorizing their relationship as one of lust, not love.

He glanced toward the west. The sun was beginning its precarious slide into dusk.
Since he’d married Anne, he had not spent one night out of her bed. Nor had his

children ever been separated by anything other than birth order.

“We must keeping looking,” he said, as much to himself as to Mr. Barry. “All night

if we have to.”

Barry nodded. Rand could see the doubt and worry in his servant’s expression.

Undoubtedly, it was much the same as his.

What could he do? He couldn’t give up. He couldn’t sleep until they were located.
“Those that are still searching need to know what we’ve found, Mr. Barry.”
Rand turned down the path once again, returning to the place where Anne had

struggled for freedom. Where could they have been taken?

One of the servants jogged up the trail. “Your Grace, we found footprints.”
Rand would have expected as much. Just as he knew it was Anne who had

struggled, he had known this was the path they had taken toward captivity. If only

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102

there were other clues to identify the abductor.

“Show me.”
From where he stood, the path disappeared around a slight turn and into the thick

forest, but as they walked, the outline of the trail remained obvious. They met up with

the other house servant and the three of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder examining

the spot.

“Here, Your Grace.”
In the middle of the path, a puddle had evaporated leaving a moist patch of mud.

Aside from a large booted print there were three small footprints.

“Those could be the prints of a small boy, aye?”
Upon closer examination, Rand noticed something else. “Yes, they are. But they are

also going in the wrong direction.” He set his large boot between the prints. Jojo’s stride

was not so long. But a boy running, afraid, trying to get away? Maybe.

How far could he have run? Would he hide or run for help?
“See if you can find more,” Rand ordered.
“We’ve been up and down the trail. Nothing so far.”
“Keep looking.” Faint hope sprang to life in his chest. What if Joseph had gotten

away?

“Joseph!” he hollered.
Two more servants came down the trail and, sensing their urgency, joined in the

frantic calls.

“Joseph! Jojo! Where are you?”
He pushed through the thicket again, weaving back and forth across the trail,

calling Joseph’s name and watching the ground for other hopeful signs of his escape.

He stepped over a rotted log, yelling again. “Jojo!”

“Papa?”
Rand stopped in his tracks, the faint sound of his son’s voice sending shivers across

his skin. He hadn’t imagined it. Rand raised his hand. “Halt!” he said and every pair of

legs within the sound of his voice froze in their tracks.

“Jojo,” he said again, trying not to sound so threatening and fearful.
“Papa. I’m here.”
The soft sound came from behind him. He turned and glanced along the ground,

looking for his son’s sweet face. There were no hidey-holes, no large bushes, only the

shrubbery and the rotted, blackened length of a fallen tree.

A hot coal burned in the middle of Rand’s chest.
He walked the length of the log. At the large end, he saw the tiny, mud-encrusted

leather boots of his son, and farther inside, his legs curled up toward his chest. Rand

couldn’t see his face.

Rand stood frozen for a moment, unable to control the emotion that shook him.

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103

“Joseph, I’m going to pull you out now.” He wiped at his eyes with the back of his

hand. Rand knelt, and then slowly touched his son’s leg, trying not to frighten him

further. Jojo grabbed two of his fingers and held tight. Rand slid one hand under his

bottom and lifted and pulled.

“Let me help,” Mr. Barry said, having arrived at some point.
“I’ve got him.”
Rand could see Jojo’s face now. Pale. Dirty. Wide-eyed. Dirt and twigs covered his

coat and bugs crawled in his hair. His gaze found Rand’s.

“He took Mama.”

* * * * *

Anne had gotten his son to safety. Rand held his son and let him cry. Then Rand

held him because Jojo was scared. He’d soiled himself while hiding. Embarrassed, he

cried again and said, “Mama told me to hide.”

“I know she did. And it doesn’t matter. You’re home and you’re safe.”
He carried his son to the ducal rooms, where Winslow had prepared a bath. Ella

had heard they were home and she followed with clothes and toys.

“Oh let me take care of him, Your Grace.”
“No. I’ll do it. Leave us alone, Mrs. Wallsy,” he said politely. Rand didn’t want

anyone touching his child. Fleeting images of his own empty childhood crept up on

him. Joseph had a father and he needed his father. Rand didn’t know much about being a

parent, other than how to sire the offspring, but for now, it was obvious that this was

his responsibility. And whatever Rand did or said in the next few days would shape

Joseph’s little, impressionable existence.

“You were very brave, you know.” Joseph sat in his lap with his head leaning

against Rand’s chest. He peeled off his son’s dirty jacket and dropped it to the floor. He

brushed away the smudges on Jojo’s cheek before working at the small buttons of his

shirt. Once it was discarded, the shoes and stockings followed.

Rand stood him to his feet, ready to peel off the boy’s trousers. He brushed his

fingers through Jojo’s hair. “I’m very proud of you. You were a brave little man and you

have nothing to be ashamed of.”

The trousers went around his ankles, followed by the dirty smallclothes. Rand used

a towel to clean him before lifting him into the warm, sudsy water. Jojo sat still, with the

water up to his neck. A few tears leaked from his eyes, but Rand chose to ignore them.

Soaping a cloth, he washed Jojo’s face and shoulders. As he worked on his arms and

legs, Rand casually started asking questions.

“Had you ever seen the man before?”
“No. He was mean.” His little body shook.
“Did he say what he wanted?”

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“No.”
“What did he look like?”
“Mean. Mad. He had a gold watch.” Jojo glanced up at him, his eyes still big with

fright. Rand could see his arms clamped around his knees as he shivered under the

water.

“Did he? Did he have a mustache or a beard?”
“I don’t remember. But Mama knew him.”
“She did? How do you know?”
“She called him— She called him Mr.—” He rolled his eyes upward, searching for a

name. “I don’t remember.”

A knock sounded at his door, and then Monsieur LeBlanc stepped in, carrying the

tray of food Rand had requested.

“Only ze very best food for Master Joseph.”
“Set it on the bed, please,” Rand directed.
Cook would spare no extravagance for the return of Pelham’s heir.
“Are you hungry, Master Joseph? I made some fresh shortbread cookies and I

warmed ze milk, just as you prefer.”

Jojo glanced from the cook to the tray on the bed.
“You can eat, if you’re hungry,” Rand said.
Joseph nodded. Rand waved a hand at the cook and he left the room quietly.
“Stand up then. I think you are turning into a prune anyway.” Rand grabbed a

towel and wrapped it around his son, lifting him from the tub and setting him in his

lap. He took a second towel and roughed it through his hair.

Rand tried to imagine what he would have wanted if he had been in his son’s place.

All he could think of was that he would want his parents. Either one of them. Someone

he could trust to keep him safe and to love him and not be angry with him.

His biggest worry was that this little boy would try to blame himself for what had

happened. Or worse, feel responsible if something happened to the woman he now

called Mama.

Mrs. Wallsy had brought in a set of nightclothes that Rand had seen Jojo wear on

many occasions. Familiarity would be good. He lowered the towel. Jojo raised his hands

and the soft, heavy cotton draped him to his knees.

Rand thought he’d made progress, but when he looked at Joseph again, the boy had

started crying. He brought his son to his lap and kissed the top of his head.

“What is it? You can tell me.”
“Mama said I was to run. As fast as I could. And I was supposed to hide. And she

said that no matter what he said or did, I was supposed to hide and not come out until

you found me.”

“And you did just what you were supposed to do.”

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Jojo hiccupped and tried to catch his breath. “But he kicked her. I saw him kick

her.”

Rand held his son closer. Since they’d located Joseph, he’d tried to imagine that

Anne, too, was safe. Somewhere. That if she was being held for ransom, they would not

hurt her before they got the money. He knew it was more important to take away Jojo’s

pain then to wallow in his own.

“Your mama is very, very smart. If she was kicked,” he felt near breathless just

saying it, “if she was kicked, then she allowed it to protect you. But I’m sure she wasn’t

really hurt. She probably did it to trick the bad man into letting you escape.” He did not

want to think about her being hurt.

“But what if she’s still there, by herself?”
“She’s not. We looked. She went someplace else in a carriage.”
“With horses?”
“Yes.”
Somehow that explanation made sense to Joseph, as both the tears and the

questions stopped.

“May I have a biscuit?”
“Of course.”
They sat on the bed. Joseph finished two cookies and his milk before he leaned back

on the sumptuous pillows adorning the bed.

“Can I sleep here, Papa?” He yawned. Already his eyes drifted shut. One of his

small hands searched for his. Rand squeezed one final assurance before his son found

peaceful oblivion.

Rand breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. The Bow Street Runner had been waiting

since they’d arrived home, and now it was time to talk to him. Rand did not want to

hear all the innuendo the runner would inevitably bring up during the questioning, but

he had no choice and no one else to turn to.

He pulled the satin cord and Ella stepped in the room a moment later. Still red-eyed

and emotional, she approached her charge.

“Stay with him while I’m gone,” he said.
“I am so sorry. I brought a few of her things—from the park.” She lowered a

parasol and a book to the nightstand before turning her attention to Joseph. She

caressed her aged hand through his hair.

“This wasn’t your fault. Be at ease. The duchess will be found.” Saying it with ducal

authority seemed to calm everyone. Rand didn’t feel such assurance. The naked truth

was he didn’t know, and no matter how many times he repeated the reassuring mantra,

he had plenty of doubts.

* * * * *

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Anne woke with a dry mouth. She attempted to roll but her hands and feet were

tightly bound. Her mouth was covered with a tight cloth. All night she had struggled,

only to become exhausted and fall into a troubled sleep, then repeat the cycle again

when she woke in a panic.

The sun peeked in through slits in the curtains.
Church bells tolled. Anne glanced toward the window before she examined her

situation.

Bindings at both wrists had chafed her skin raw. Well, she had caused the chafing,

trying to escape the ties. At some point, she had kicked off her shoes. At least her toes

had freedom of movement and she flexed them in defiant pleasure.

The room was spacious and, other than the rays of light, the corners were darkened.

The comfortable bed and rich-looking accessories belied the fact she was bound and

gagged. An inn would not have such fine accommodations. Had they traveled far

enough to be in a country home? She couldn’t tell while she had been inside the

darkened confines of the carriage boot. Where was she? Where was Garnette?

And Joseph? Rand had surely found him. Or someone else had. She envisioned his

rescue and reaffirmed that it had to be so with a quick prayer.

When she woke again, Garnette was standing over her, loosening the ties that

connected her to the bedpost. He said nothing, only jerked her to an upright position

and then hoisted her to her feet. The sharp ache in her side reminded her of yesterday’s

struggle and his vicious attack.

She didn’t look at his face. When he led her around a three-panel dressing screen,

she understood his purpose and didn’t question him. Privacy involved him turning his

back, but she didn’t care.

While rubbing at her stiff joints, she glanced around for a means to escape. She

tugged at the rope holding the gag in her mouth.

“Don’t do anything that will make me regret showing you kindness.”
Anne would have laughed had she believed she wouldn’t choke on the disgusting

sop of a rag in her mouth. Kindness? Refuting his word was out of the question. Nor

was asking for real mercy, like setting her free. If she could speak, perhaps she could

make him see reason. She had a way with men. Again, she felt hysterical laughter. If

Ettiger and Clifton were an indication, she attracted crazed lunatics. The only difference

being that she now recognized them.

“Do hurry, Lady Pelham.”
Anne finished up with a rustle of skirts and not a little embarrassment.
From behind the silk screen, she cast another glance around the spacious room,

noting two doors. One she assumed was to a hallway. The other, perhaps a connecting

room or small sitting area. The room was a puzzle. It was much too nice for most

people, let alone a lowly vicar without a parish.

Garnette gripped the ropes and jerked her along. “Sit.”

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Anne obeyed since he seemed docile while she remained compliant. She sat

perfectly still on the bed. Garnette walked to the window and stared broodingly

outward. She peeked at the door to her left.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”
Anne’s brows creased downward. She had never met the man before the chance

meeting at Hyde Park the other day while he rode with Redding.

She glanced at the small cherry escritoire. The rich polish and the brass knobs. The

Chinese silk screen. Where could she be and how far had she traveled? A poor vicar

could not afford such luxury, yet she was becoming certain they were still in London.

Redding.
Everything came back to Redding. The note, the carriage, his relationship with

Garnette.

Was she at Redding’s manor in Belgravia? Where else would a poor man secret a

kidnap victim? And who would look for her here?

Still, it gave her hope that she could facilitate her escape.
She shook her head slowly while trying to think of any situation that had involved

Garnette before last week. Other than his connection to Redding, she would swear she’d

never met the man.

“Beaumaris? Baron Alsept?” he asked.
Wales? Garnette’s connection was to Wales. It was so long ago. She shook her head,

but tried to make the connection.

“Alsept was my uncle. Did you not know? You spoke against me for my

appointment at Beaumaris. Everywhere I go, nothing but impure and strange women

follow. And, I think, you are the worst.”

Again, Anne shook her head in denial. Baron Alsept’s home was near Beaumaris,

far from the South of Wales where she’d grown up—at least far enough for her to start a

new life. She did not doubt Garnette had some grudge against her, but to kidnap her

and Joseph? Assault her? He was more than a little deranged. Strange women? Some

bell tolled in her mind.

He lashed her hands to the bed again, growing more agitated with every twist of

the rope. “Your wicked hand has been the demise of many good men. Who knows how

Alsept died. Then the old Earl of Redding. Pelham. Is the current duke next?”

Garnette started speaking to himself, quoting familiar Bible passages, calling for

protection from evil spirits and cursing the strange woman in his midst. The deluded

man had forgotten to take a few things into account. Namely, that men like him always

seemed willing to abuse the weak. But for every Garnette, or Ettiger or Clifton, she had

had good men like her father, and Alexander, and now Randall.

“Deceit and trickery. You tempt and tease until a man can no longer honor his vow.

The baron shouldn’t have listened to you. That strange girl was a temptress. I wasn’t to

blame.”

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He paced at the foot of the bed. “But you’ll be cleansed soon enough.”
A young curate. An accusation of rape. The baron had talked to her about him. Had

Alsept mentioned Garnette’s name or implied that a nephew was involved? No. Her

then-husband had only asked the question using generalities.

Baron Alsept’s sister’s family had lived in Kent. She’d never met the Garnettes.

He’d only asked her opinion from a woman’s perspective. She had advised her husband

to having nothing to do with him. And so the baron had listened and selected another

for the position near Beaumaris.

Yes, Garnette had been in their home, nearly fifteen years ago. His uncle had turned

him away.

And when talking with Garnette at the park, what had he said about losing his

current vicarage? An indiscretion.

If all she now suspected was true, she was in the hands of a madman who believed

right was on his side.

Garnette halted, rubbing his hand at the back of his neck. He strode toward the

bedstand beside her and opened the top drawer. He reached in and pulled out a knife.

The sharp blade gleamed and he stared with fascination, turning it in his hand.

Anne held her breath. He dropped the knife to the floor and turned on his heel,

walking toward one of the doors, wiping his hands against his trousers until one hand

gripped the door handle. He stepped inside. Screeching metal and running water told

her the room was a private bathing area, and only the wealthiest of homes had running

water on the second floor. It was confirmation she was at Redding’s home.

That meant the other door led to a hallway. And a hallway in Redding’s home

meant servants.

Struggling, she turned to her side. The knife tip was just visible as she peered over

the edge of the bed. Again, she fought against the bonds at her wrists. The pain was

immediate and sharp, her wrists were already rubbed raw.

Instead of struggling further, she closed her eyes against the burgeoning fear—that

of being tied, abducted, threatened with as-yet-undescribed harm. She’d been tied

before. She’d been raped by Clifton. Aside from death, she could bear whatever

Garnette had planned. As long as she was breathing, she had hope.

Her only goal was to remain compliant, discover an avenue of escape and live to

see her next sunrise.

At that precise summary, she calmed. Breathing through her nose seemed a bit

easier. Her gaze stayed fixed on the opposite door. The sound of running water ceased.

Garnette returned to the room and she fought against the surge of panic.

“I’m ready.”
He bent to retrieve the knife.
Without a word, he started hacking at the material of her dress. So it is to be rape, she

thought. She gritted her teeth as cool air touched her legs. She knew it would be quick,

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but no less violent or intrusive for that.

She turned her face away, staring at a painting on the far wall—that of several

farmworkers haying in a field.

Her breasts came free and he tugged and yanked at the material around her waist

until she was naked except her stockings. He set the knife aside and used his hands,

rolling the stockings slowly, his fingers caressing her skin.

Hot excitement etched every line of his face—from his flaring nostrils and harsh

breathing to the tinge of red staining his skin from neck to ears.

He worked the silk stockings past the rope at her ankles. She felt the movement on

the mattress as he sat beside her. She knew that he stared. Bracing for his vile touch, she

thought of Wales and the dirt of the coal mine as it covered her father after a hard day’s

work. How hard he had worked for his family. Papa had been honorable and caring. He

had loved his children. He had loved her. And she had been embarrassed to return

home after her reputation had been so thoroughly tainted.

She would not think of Rand. With him, the act was perfect and beautiful. She did

not want to associate one with the other.

She waited, but he didn’t touch her. She peeked at him and met his intense gaze.
“After you are cleansed, I can have you, but first, I need to know that you are

sorry.”

Debate wasn’t what he wanted. She couldn’t tell the odious vicar to go to hell, but if

being sorry would buy her time, then she was very, very sorry indeed. She nodded in

agreement.

“Good.”
He untied her again, leaving the ropes dangling from her wrists and ankles. “Come

with me.” He gripped her upper arm and forced her from the bed, walking beside her

as he led her to a small room. She tested her strength, making fists and feeling the

tingling numbness spread through her fingers.

A copper tub was nearly filled with water.
“Get in. Don’t be afraid.”
That statement, made in his logical-sounding ministerial voice, made her very

afraid. As they stepped through the door, she bolted, yanking free of Garnette’s grip.

The skin of her arm felt as if it had been torn to shreds.

She ran straight for the other door, reached for the knob and then felt the powerful

grip of Garnette’s masculine arms as he reached around her and lifted her from her feet.

She dangled in his arms, her upper body pinned, but she kicked both feet against his

legs and knees, to no avail.

He swung her around and marched toward the tub. Inside the room, he lifted her a

bit higher and then dropped her in the clear depths.

Cool water engulfed her. She gasped but the gag in her mouth and the bit of air she

was getting combined in a drowning sensation that had her wishing she were on the

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bed about to be violated. She thrashed, her arms braced against the side.

Garnette’s large hand clamped over the top of her head and he pushed her under

the water.

Anne’s eyes were wide, Garnette visible through the blurry water covering her. Her

lungs burned. She had to breathe or swallow. Her limbs were leaden. One of her hands

gripped his wrist, trying to pry him loose, but there was no strength.

She was going to die.
A sob filled her chest and she breathed in, water filling her mouth and nose.
She was going to die.
She hadn’t told Rand that she loved him.

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Chapter Ten

“Is Mama home yet?” Joseph asked, still lying in bed beside Rand. After discussing

Anne’s abduction with the runner, he had returned to his bedroom only to pace the

floor until the dawn sun reminded him that he had not rested. He’d lain beside Jojo,

finding peace in watching his son, his heir, sleep.

“No, not yet. But soon.”
Ella Wallsy had moved a chair close to the bed and slept in an uncomfortable

position, watching over her charge until exhaustion overcame her.

“Mrs. Wallsy snores.”
“I know.” Rand patted his son and then bent to kiss the tangled mess of hair on his

head. The runner’s suggestion was to wait, as if he had a choice. They could comb the

park again looking for her or he could accept the truth that she’d been kidnapped.

Perhaps the runner was right and there would be a ransom note or some demand

received today that would explain everything.

But to just have her disappear. Without a word. Never knowing whether he’d see

her again. Without telling her the things he felt. He thought of nothing but what his life

would be like without her. She had filled some void in his life. She had understood him.

Everyone eventually went on after a tragedy, and so would he, but some part of

him would always be missing.

“I love you, Joseph.”
“I love you too, Papa.”
Many men would have overlooked Anne because of her past. Rand had been

intrigued by her because of that past, but it didn’t make her less desirable to him then or

now. She was exactly what he needed.

After he had dressed and breakfasted with Joseph, a footman came to the door with

a note that Michael and Clarissa Dunnaway, the earl and countess, were in the Yellow

Room. Rand assumed they had heard the distressing news. In fact, he guessed the entire

ton was probably chewing over the on dit rather than their breakfast.

Winslow assisted with quick efficiency, dressing and grooming Rand before he

turned to leave the room.

“Papa?” Jojo’s eyes were wide and his skin pasty.
“Winslow is going to take you up to the nursery. Mrs. Wallsy and Tina and Daniel

and Sarah are all up there waiting for you. I’ll be along in a minute.”

“You promise?”
“My word as a VanLandingham.”

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It would have been easy to coddle him just then. But Jojo had to know he was safe

in his own home, if not the world at large.

When he entered the Yellow Room, the earl greeted him first. “We heard. Is there

anything we can do?”

“Anne would appreciate that you’ve come.”
Clarissa, an extraordinary beauty with the type of kindness Rand had rarely seen,

clutched both of his hands in hers. She had been one of Anne’s most faithful supporters

in spite of Anne’s past.

“Do not believe a word that is being said about Anne.”
“Anne is missing. That is all. I’ve no doubt the ton is slavering given the

exaggerated reputation of her past.”

“You’ve heard nothing from her?” Clarissa asked, squeezing with heartfelt fervor.
“Bow Street believes that this is a kidnapping for money. At this point, I have no

reason to believe otherwise.”

“And your son?” the earl asked.
“Is safe. We located him hiding in the park.” He waved a hand for them to be

seated. The countess appeared wan.

“My goodness. He is unhurt?”
“Scared mostly, but thankfully, unharmed.”
“But who would do such a thing?”
Rand shrugged. He’d asked himself that a hundred times since Mr. Barry had

located him at White’s.

“I hesitate to ask, but could it be someone from her past? Is there someone who

wishes her harm?” the countess asked.

How much did she know about his wife? Airing his personal family issues might be

distasteful on most days, but he had to take into account their friendship, and more

importantly, the desperation of the situation.

“She hasn’t mentioned anyone specifically.” If Clifton weren’t in Wales, he would

be the first person Rand would suspect.

“Had she or the children been threatened in any way?”
He stared hard at the Countess. “Why? Had Anne said something to you?”
“Only that she had been worried about something. I’m sorry she gave me no

details.”

Rand felt a moment of hope. “Are you sure? Did she not give you some small clue

that you might have forgotten?”

“No, I had hoped she had told you, trusting you as she does. It troubled her greatly.

And you know Anne, she is rarely bothered about anything. I can’t help but think this

isn’t random. Someone must have planned this.”

“Countess, you sound much like the Bow Street Runner I spoke with.” Rand knew

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it was out of concern.

“He’s right, Clarissa. Our presence is more of a nuisance than a help,” the earl said.
The countess turned to her husband, “But what if she received a note or letter or if

someone saw her talking to a stranger or endangering the children.”

“Then she would have told her husband.”
“Rest assured, Bow Street is doing all they can.” Again, that false assurance did

little to appease his growing anxiety. When a man became a duke, the weight was

solely on his shoulders, regardless of his personal feelings.

The time was nearing noon and Anne had been missing for nearly a day.
“If you need anything—” Clarissa suggested.
“All will be well.”
“She loves you. She would never leave you willingly.”
An arrow pierced through Rand’s heart at her words. There might have been a

fleeting moment of doubt, but yes, she did love him. Somewhere deep inside he had

known that, or sensed the truth of it. Had it happened for her the way it happened to

him? Backwards? Sneaking up when his expectations had been for a physical

relationship only? Burying itself deeply, growing, so that when the truth was known, it

would hurt as if his very heart were being ripped from his body?

After the earl and countess departed, Rand returned to his room, basking in the

presence of Anne that pervaded his surroundings. Finch had sent the workmen away,

unwilling to have them underfoot while they waited for news. It only added to the

sense of quiet doom that hung in the air.

He touched her things. A brush with thick dark strands caught in the bristle teeth.

Earrings that she had worn a few days ago. A glove missing its mate. He plucked it

from the wooden table and held it to his nose. What good was one glove without the

other?

On the nightstand, the parasol that Anne had left the house with yesterday. A book

she had been reading, neatly marked with a white piece of paper. He plucked the novel

from the stand and glanced at the title.

What if the countess was right? What if there was some clue from her past that

would tell him where she was? He could search the room. Her belongings were in this

room and she didn’t have so many things when they had married that he couldn’t look

through them all in a very short time.

He stood, setting the book on the nightstand as he turned away.
The book dropped to the floor and spilled open, a white note protruding between

the pages.

The red seal caught his attention.
He bent, plucked up the missive and flipped it over, seeing the Earl of Redding’s

seal on the back. The note was already opened, but he wouldn’t have cared if it were

personally addressed to the Prince of Wales and marked confidential. His wife’s

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business was his business.

The note had been crushed and then refolded. He peeled back the flaps and read

the words scribbled across the white paper. Weak legs compelled him to sit again.

Redding? The threat was obvious. Blackmail.
His grandfather had died after a seizure. Anne had nothing to do with it. He stuffed

the letter in his pocket.

Rand jumped to his feet. His temper soared. Redding wanted Anne. Wanted a

woman who was not his. Whom he had no right to.

He ordered his horse brought around and just as quickly he made his way to the

nursery. Joseph was at his side the moment he stepped through the nursery door.

“Papa!” Joseph said. He smiled up at Rand, relief shining in his eyes. Sarah glanced

in his direction with girlish disdain. Daniel sat on the floor and played with blocks. The

picture of domestic bliss would be complete once he retrieved Anne.

He squatted in front of Joseph. “I’m going to be gone for a bit. I need you to stay

here and protect Sarah and Daniel. Can you do that for me?”

Joseph glanced around the room and saw the reassuring presence of Mrs. Wallsy

and Tina, where they should be. He solemnly nodded.

“Good lad.” Rand smiled and touched Jojo’s face.
On the way out, he stopped in his bedchamber and opened the cabinet where he

kept his weapons. He primed one of the pistols and tucked it in the band of his trousers,

fully intending to unload the weapon if Redding so much as denied his involvement.

He might have galloped headlong to Belgravia. Instead, Rand kept the horse in

hand, while it seemed to sense the coming confrontation, lifting its legs in high prancing

steps trying to dash toward Rand’s destination.

There were times when being the duke opened doors. The staff at Redding’s manse

were very accommodating once Rand dropped his card on the silver salver. The

footman dashed off toward the library.

Rand had no patience. He’d come for his wife and he was not waiting another

moment to find her. No one stopped him as he followed the footman to his destination.

Redding stood behind the desk with Pelham’s card in hand as Rand entered the

spacious domain belonging to the earl. Dressed immaculately, the earl looked the

epitome of a London gentleman.

Redding bowed. “Your Grace. We only heard an hour go. What can we do?”
“Get out,” he said to the footman and closed the door behind him. He stared at the

earl. “Where is she?”

Redding frowned. “Who?”
“Where is my wife?”
Redding stepped from behind the desk. “I understand that you are upset.”
“Upset? You kidnap my wife, frighten my son and you dare stand there as if you

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are innocent?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Yesterday, you forcibly removed my wife from Hyde Park. Prior to that, you were

found in my house accosting her. And as if I need more evidence, you threatened her

with some sort of scandalous falsehood.” Rand reached into his jacket, removed the

pistol and pointed it at Redding’s villainous heart. “Now. Where is she?”

Redding slowly spread his hands wide, finally aware that Randall meant business.
“Pelham, pull the trigger if you must, but be aware that I do not know where your

wife is nor why you suspect my involvement.”

Randall held the gun steady, reached into his pocket again and then threw the note

on Redding’s desk. “Do you deny that is your seal?”

The earl glanced at the note with disdain, not even interested in its contents. “It is

obviously mine. What does it have to do with me?”

“Read it.”
Redding plucked up the note and opened it cautiously. His brows winged. He

pursed his mouth for a second and then said, “I did not write this.”

Rand cocked the gun, the sound deafening in the open room.
“Anyone in this house could have written that note. Anyone who had—”
The earl turned away. Rand wasn’t prepared to shoot the man in the back. “I’m not

going to ask again.”

Redding raised his hand. “I know how this looks, but there are other possibilities.”
“Such as?”
“Will you give me a minute?”
“You are not leaving this room, Redding. Not until you tell me what I want to

know.”

Redding moved with deliberate slowness around the desk and reached for a pen.

He scribbled a note and then tugged at the satin pull, calling for a servant. A liveried

footman came in, glanced from the earl to the pistol-carrying duke, but retained his

perfect manners. “My Lord?”

“Would you deliver this note to Mr. Garnette’s room? Tell him it is urgent.” He

faced Rand again with polite manners. “Have a seat, Pelham, before you put a shot

through my Gainsborough.”

* * * * *

Anne thought she would feel better once she died. Coughing made her chest hurt.

Her throat burned when she swallowed, but she could breathe. And through her

mouth. She sucked in the first deep lungful of air she’d had in almost a day. Licking her

dry lips felt near perfect bliss.

However, when Anne opened her eyes, she was in the same bed. The bindings were

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back in place and hurt worse. Wet, scratchy hemp tore into her already-chafed skin.

Anne didn’t bother jerking at the bindings or trying to free herself.

Garnette had nearly drowned her. Sickly darkness threatened to engulf her again as

she thought about the heavy wetness encompassing her and her final breath as fire tore

at her lungs.

His voice rose from somewhere in the room. To Anne, the urgent whispers sounded

like angered bugs.

She closed her eyes and this time tried to picture Rand as he had been. Laughing

with her, loving her. How could it seem as if he were the dream and Garnette her only

reality?

Garnette chanted the Lord’s name. Peeking at him, she saw he was naked and on

his knees, praying, calling out to a God who would not do such things to another

human. Her father had been a praying man, as most of the miners were—crawling into

the belly of the earth each day, relying on friend and divine intervention to bring them

safely out each night. That she understood and believed.

This was nothing more than lunacy enveloped in pretend creed. And to him, she

was the harlot, the strange woman, the one in the wrong.

When the utterances stopped, she watched as he stood, came to the side of the bed

and glanced down at her.

“You are clean now.”
Anne said nothing, but did not take her eyes from him. At least he only tried to

wash the strangeness from her, rather than beat it out.

“Would you like a drink?”
Anne nodded. She caught the leisurely gaze he swept over her body. His erection

indicated his intent. She had a little life left in her. If the monster freed her again, she

would try to escape again.

He went to a short sideboard that contained glasses and four decanters with liquor,

of which he poured a generous amount for her. At the bed again, he sat beside her. He

gently put his hand to the back of her head and tilted her upward, holding the glass to

her lips. His kindness now was all the more reason to assume he was insane.

She drank, not knowing when she would get more. The drink was only cider, but

she didn’t think she’d ever had better. She licked her lips.

Once the glass was on the nightstand, he stared dreamily at her. “May I call you

Anne?”

She nodded, unwilling to expend an ounce of her voice telling him no when he’d do

what he wanted whether or not she agreed. And he was calm. The vicar’s expression

was almost boyish in its earnestness. He was soft, unused to work, and had a receding

hairline, but he was definitely younger than she was.

“Anne, you are so beautiful.” He lifted his hand and slowly placed it on her breast.

“When I saw you the first time—”

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He sucked in his breath and closed his eyes in momentary ecstasy. His chest moved

rapidly and he dipped his free hand between his legs to cup his erection. “It’s not a sin

that I want you.”

A knock sounded at the door. Anne turned her head and started to call out, but

Garnette’s hand covered her mouth with hard brutality. Strong fingers bit into her skin.

His other hand grabbed the knife that rested on the bedstand and he pressed it to her

neck, the fine point digging into the underside of her chin.

“What is it?” he yelled.
“The earl would like to see you in the library, Mr. Garnette.”
“Now?”
“I gathered so. It seemed urgent. There is a note, Mr. Garnette.” The white missive

slid under the door.

“Tell him I’ll be down momentarily.”
Quick steps retreated down the hall. Garnette reached for the corner bed sheet,

ripped it from its moors and tore strips that he stuffed into her mouth. Another rope

appeared and went around her head again, her temporary freedom gone, but a willing

payment to get him from the room.

“This is all your fault,” he said as he yanked the rope one final time before hurrying

to the door and retrieving the note, which he read with a pacing glance. He went

straightaway to the armoire. The man who’d kidnapped her at Hyde Park returned. His

expression turned harsh. He swore under his breath.

Hurriedly he dressed, slipping into trousers, shirt and jacket with the efficiency of a

man who has lived without a valet. Polished boots were last. He stopped in front of a

cheval mirror, adjusting the simple white cloth at his neck. He grabbed a copy of

Fordyce’s Sermons as he left without a backward glance at her, and without bothering to

cover her with even a simple sheet.

* * * * *

Minutes ticked by on the long cased clock in the corner.
Rand had no choice but to wait on Redding, who sat in his chair looking both

disturbed and nervous, but completely ignoring the fact that Rand’s pistol was still

cocked and aimed at Redding’s heart.

When they heard the knock at the door, Rand jumped from his chair and backed

away from Redding, leveling the pistol once again at his nemesis. Redding used his

hand again to indicate calm. Rand felt no such compunction.

“Let me do the talking, Pelham.”
Rand was partially hidden by a large globe and potted palm, but he could see the

room clearly as a plainly dressed man entered the room.

“Cousin, I understand I am needed?”

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“Yes, John. Do come in.”
The man sat in the brocade chair that Rand had just vacated. “We are still riding

later on, I presume?”

Rand watched the interchange. Redding went right to the issue.
“Do you remember Lady Pelham? With whom you met at Hyde Park a few days

ago?”

John blinked and fidgeted in his chair. “Lady Pelham? The virago who caused you

and your father such misery? Who could forget?”

“She’s gone missing.”
John laughed. “Is it any wonder?”
Rand’s trigger finger itched.
“The Duke of Pelham believes there is a connection to my household, Mr. Garnette.

I am not so sure he isn’t right.”

“What do you mean?”
Rand heard the strain in his voice.
“This note was sent to Lady Pelham from my home, John. My home. In which you

are a guest.” He threw the well-read missive toward his cousin.

“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I want you to tell me, and Pelham,” again Redding waved his

hand, this time to indicate Rand’s presence, “that you had nothing to do with her

abduction.”

John looked over his shoulder. His gaze caught sight of the gun and went wide-

eyed. He jumped out of the chair and ran to the door, catching both Redding and

Pelham off guard.

“Follow him!” Redding ordered.
Rand needed no such instruction. This prick wasn’t getting away. He sprinted

toward the door, now wide open. With his hand, he caught himself on the doorjamb

and swung hard into the hallway. Garnette was already headed up the stairs. Rand

passed two footmen, both looking too stunned to offer assistance. Garnette went down

a hallway and up another flight of stairs before doubling back through a series of doors

and unoccupied rooms.

Rand caught sight of Redding at the far end of the hallway coming up the servant’s

stairs. He tried to remember the layout of the mansion, but he’d been in too many

homes of too many nobles to tell the difference.

Garnette disappeared behind a locked door. Rand shook the knob. “Garnette,

where is she?” he yelled.

He drew back a leg and kicked hard against the door.

* * * * *

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Anne gasped when Garnette tore into the room and slammed the door behind him.

He grabbed the knife at the nightstand and started sawing at her bonds.

Rand yelled on the other side of the door and tears flooded her eyes.
Garnette’s fingers twisted through her hair. He jerked her up and dragged her out

of the bed. She screamed Rand’s name but it sounded like nothing more than a garbled

moan through the restraining cloth.

She heard a loud crash against the door.
Garnette backed toward the water closet, pressing the knife into her throat.
Rand kicked at the door a second time and it flew open, crashing into the wall. Her

vision blurred as tears streaked down her face.

“Let her go,” he said, calm as death.
“Don’t you see what she does to men? Don’t you see how she affects those around

her? Look what she’s done to you. She is wicked.”

Rand took a few steps into the room. He held a gun at arm’s length pointed directly

at Garnette’s head.

“She is my wife. Let her go, Garnette, and you won’t get hurt.”
“No. You can’t have her.”
He pressed the knife blade harder against her skin. He looped his hand through her

hair again, dragging her backward. Rand did not even glance in her direction, keeping

Garnette firmly in his sight.

“Where do you think you’ll hide, that I won’t find you?”
“Redding will protect me.”
“Do you think he’s going to stop me?”
“Stay where you are.”
“Or what?”
“I’ll hurt her.”
“No, you won’t. You are going to let her go.”
The gunshot was loud. Anne looked down expecting to see blood. Rand screamed

her name as she felt the weight behind her. Garnette pulled her down as he went to the

floor.

“Anne!”

* * * * *

Rand reached the doorway. Redding, who stood at another door, had entered

behind Garnette from a connecting room. The gun he held still smoked.

“I thought I could help him,” he said before lowering his arm.
Rand knelt beside Anne and pried Garnette’s dead fingers from her hair. She was a

dead weight in his arms as he carried her back into the room and placed her on the bed,

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covering her naked body with a sheet. He turned her over, wiping at the blood covering

her back with the thick coverlet on the bed. There was no wound on her though.

Vicious bindings, some hanging from the bed and others still wrapped around her

wrists, hinted at her captivity. Rand knew how fearful she must have been. He worked

at the rope that kept her gagged, removing the impediment so she could breathe better.

Tight knots bound her wrists. Gently, he loosed each one, cursing as he saw the raw

wounds on each of her delicate limbs.

“Is she all right?” Redding asked.
“Yes, I think so. Can you send for her lady’s maid from Pelham House? And send

someone with medicinals?”

Redding left the room.
“Anne? Can you hear me?” He tapped the side of her face. He prayed that Garnette

had not violated her. Then he wondered if she would tell him if he had. Until recently,

theirs had not been a relationship that involved intimate details of their thinking and

feeling. He wanted that to change. He wanted to understand her. Feel her pains and

joys. To know her love.

He gritted his teeth against the emotion. Now was not the time for weakness.
Two servants rushed inside carrying towels and a robe, which they set on the end

of the bed. One of them handed him a tin of salve. The other went to the water closet

and gasped, turning again to rush out of the room. Redding had obviously forgotten to

mention the dead body.

Alone again, he bent to kiss her forehead.
When he pulled away, her eyes were open. “Rand? Jojo?” she asked in sudden

panic, grabbing at him.

Rand smiled while pushing the hair back from her face. “He’s fine. We found him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“This wasn’t your fault.”
He picked up the tin of salve, dipped his finger in and rubbed it over her wrists.

“Did he hurt you, Anne?”

“No.” More tears spilled.
“I’ll take you home as soon as Carrie arrives. Joseph will be relieved to see you.”

Rand felt tongue-tied and inadequate. He could blurt out his feelings, but she was in no

condition to hear what he had to say. She needed to be in her home, in her bed.

She entwined her fingers with his, closed her eyes and said nothing else.
When they arrived home, she insisted on seeing Joseph. Rand listened as she told

him how brave he was and how much she loved him. Then she spoke quietly to him

and he bobbed his head in agreement at whatever she said. And still more tears.

In the meantime, Finch had concocted an appropriate tale for the ton

gossipmongers. The duchess had, in a fit of temper, gone to stay with her friend the

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Countess Dunnaway. The servants, those who knew the truth, were rewarded for their

assistance and their confidence. Redding would have to concoct his own explanation for

how he’d shot his cousin in the back.

Bow Street came and went while Rand was left to face the night with Anne.
She probably wanted to be alone. He couldn’t bear the thought of being apart from

her. She probably wanted nothing to do with men. He could think of nothing but loving

her, healing her body with his. He didn’t have the words to tell her, but he could show

her, and what better night when she must doubt all the things she believed in—herself,

human goodness, love.

Anne was still in the bath as he walked into the room.
“Mrs. Black, you may go,” he ordered. Carrie looked to Anne for approval and she

nodded.

Rand had already told Winslow to stay away. He set a stool next to the tub and

worked at the cravat knotted at his throat, loosening it and discarding it on the floor.

“Are you well?” he asked as he worked at the studs on his sleeves and shirt. He left

the shirt open but pulled it from the inside of his trousers.

“The nap helped.”
Her watery gaze stared into his eyes. “Rand, I—”
He placed a finger over her lips and knelt beside the copper tub. With subtle

deliberation, he stroked her bottom lip and then slid his fingers down the wet silkiness

of her neck. His hand disappeared under the sudsy water and he cupped one of her

breasts. The nipple was hard to the touch. He brushed his thumb over it.

“I need you, Anne. Like I need air and water. When I thought I might never see you

again—”

Anne’s hand lay over his and she gently guided his hand downward. Between her

legs, he felt the smooth, warm flesh. She closed her eyes. He slipped his fingers through

the silken folds, inserting two into the welcoming sheath of her body.

“I only want to remember your touch,” she whispered.
Rand’s erection ached against the confines of his trousers. He wanted nothing more

than to slip into the hot depths of her delectable body. Instead, he leaned over her,

placing his lips against hers. Warm, sweet breath met him as she sighed.

He gazed at her expression. Surrender. Passion. Love.
Her hands emerged from the water and she grasped the sides of the tub. Gentle

undulations sent little ripples across the water as she rocked against his hand.

The red marks on her wrists fueled Rand’s rage at what had happened to her. She

had said little once they had returned home. He was torn between demanding she tell

him and willing that she forget every second spent in Garnette’s vile presence.

She arched. Her breasts came out of the water and Rand forgot all about his anger

as he lowered his mouth and suckled a pretty nipple. He slid his free arm behind her

back. When he took his hand from between her legs, she squinted at him. That hand

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went under her knees and he lifted her from the tub. The cascading water soaked his

shirt.

Anne wrapped one hand around his neck. Her tongue licked along his neck and

settled at his ear, where she nibbled. As they approached the bed, she whispered, “Love

me. Fuck me. Do whatever you must to make me forget.”

Lowering her gently to the bed, Rand fought back the insane desire to fuck her raw

as she pressed her heels against the mattress and spread her legs. He tore at the fall of

his trousers and reached for his hard, aching cock. Need pounded at his temples and his

stones. He gripped his shaft and squeezed, trying to dampen his urgent need to

ejaculate in or on her.

Anne rolled to her knees, her pert bottom up, offering him everything. “The

drawer, Rand. Fill me.”

“Oh fuck,” he said, reaching for the top drawer where she kept the hard,

handcrafted shafts she’d make him use when he’d reached his limit. He grabbed one

she was particularly fond of, with a curving shaft and a thick bulbous tip.

He stroked his hand along his erection. Already, the urgent need had his eyesight

dimming and his focus waning.

“Where, Anne? Where do you want me?” he asked. He leaned over her, allowing

his swollen manhood to stroke along the cleft of her buttocks.

“I don’t care,” she gasped.
Tonight, he wanted the sweet, soft depths of her womanhood. He wanted to feel the

hot contractions of her orgasm and watch her sweet little ass take in the large dildo. He

wanted to own her. He wanted to cover her in semen, eat from her pearl-slicked pussy,

lick every inch of her skin and then do it all over again.

Rand slid the shapely glass through the folds between her legs. Once it was wet

with her juices, he used his fingers to spread her ass. His cock strained toward her

sheath. He dipped, bending his knees, and his cock slid right to the sweet spot that he

would soon claim.

The dildo tip met with resistance, but Rand shoved into her just as his cock moved

with slow, deliberate ease into her sheath.

Anne groaned. Her back arched in greedy welcome. “Oh yes. All of it.” She

groaned again, setting Rand on fire. He eased farther into her. The slick dildo

disappeared as his gaze ate up every inch of the erotic image. The only thing better than

watching was doing and when he got both, Rand usually came in a hard explosive rush.

Tonight would be no different.

She pushed back against him, doing what he had been too slow to do. Rand felt the

pressure of the curving phallus, making his passage more intense.

He canted his hips and started a gentle rocking. Anne met his every stroke, her ass

bumping against his groin.

“Harder. I only want to feel.”

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Rand allowed only slight movement of the dildo, but he pistoned in and out of her

at a faster, headlong pace. His hips thrust and withdrew. His trousers had fallen past

his knees.

Anne’s body tightened. A familiar pose as her body curled toward orgasmic release.
He pushed deep as his orgasm started. He grabbed her hips and yanked her back

hard. The end of the dildo pressed against his stomach, which was keeping it in place.

He shoved farther, burying himself to the root of his cock.

The first contraction was sharp and long, wrapping around him, squeezing as his

semen fought to escape into the tight constrictor of her pussy. Anne screamed and he

poured himself into her—three deep thrusts and his cock emptied.

He tried to catch his breath. Small little spasms still brushed his erection, keeping

him hard and entirely sated.

“More,” she said. “More.”
“Anne.” What did he want to tell her? Did he want her to stop? Did he want to tell

her she would regret their heedless fucking in a time when sensitivity should have

played a much larger role?

He pulled from her body. She reached behind, holding the large glass cock inside

her body as she flattened on the bed, remaining on her stomach.

The sight of the sexual protrusion so clearly visible between her ass cheeks had

Rand sweating. He ripped off his shirt, reached for his boots and kicked off his trousers.

She rocked against the bed, her hips undulating, one hand underneath her body

providing her own stimulation.

“Wait for me.”
“You’re too slow.” He watched for a self-satisfying moment. His cock swelled

again. He stroked himself watching her pleasure.

Anne was by far the most sensual woman he had ever been with. Nothing shocked

her. Her sense of curiosity was a constant wonder to him. His suggestions met with

enthusiasm. He’d figured out that as long as she had pleasure, she was willing.

He’d often wondered what little tidbits she had dreamed up that he hadn’t thought

of yet.

Instead of missing out, he walked around the bed. Anne tilted her head enough to

see him, but more to the point, see the cock he was offering. Bracing his hand against

her bottom, he offered her a few smooth strokes before removing the phallus. She

moaned for it, but Rand had other things on his mind and slipped it from her body.

She rolled, forgetting her own pleasure for a moment. Reaching over her head, she

dug her fingers into the back of his thighs, urging him forward.

Looking down at her, he saw that she licked her lips in anticipation. He crawled

onto the bed, his knees spread around her shoulders, his cock dangling near her face.

Her fingers inched up his thighs and dug into his ass as she pulled him toward her.

That wicked tongue of hers lapped at the tip of his cock. Bracing himself, he used his

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arm and elbow to spread one of her legs and she hooked it over his back, exposing

every crevice for his pleasure. The other leg laced with the first. He lowered his mouth

and sought out the fragrant valley between her legs.

Anne sucked him into her mouth, sliding her hands over his ass while he opened

his mouth over her, licking and sucking at the pink, soft flesh of her womanhood.

She hummed as he stroked his tongue over her clitoris. The subtle vibrations of her

mouth worked their way up his cock.

Rand loved her with his mouth. Anne gasped and then arched under him. Her

mouth clamped over him again and Rand felt the swift cresting as he came a second

time. Anne drank him down before he attended to her needs, a second and third

orgasm causing her to gasp and scream and finally utter, “No more.”

Rand rolled to his back, panting. He would not give her up. Ever.

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Chapter Eleven

All afternoon, Anne had contemplated the events that had led to her discovery at

Redding’s mansion.

Rand must have found the note, but his mood was oddly indecipherable. He was

both solicitous and reserved. The book she had been reading was back in their room,

the note gone. Could she count it as a fortunate event or was Rand, even now,

considering the implications?

They lay naked beside each other, her head on his chest. Gentle caresses brushed

across her back where his fingertips touched her. He held a glass of brandy and slowly

sipped at it while they lay in silence. Neither of them seemed willing to break the mood

or discuss what had happened.

She turned her face and pressed her lips against his chest.
He had required her to submit to his ministrations as he put more salve on her

wrists and ankles. He cursed when he examined the bruise at her side a second time.

But he asked no questions.
“Rand, how did you find me?” As tempting as it was, Anne knew she could not

remain silent. Had she unburdened herself when the old duke had died, she would

have had nothing to feel guilty about and could have responded with a resounding hell,

no when the first note had arrived. And laughed at the second one.

Then perhaps not. Garnette’s kind of insanity could have been triggered by

anything—or nothing.

She heard Rand swallow the brandy and set the glass on the nightstand.
“The note. The one Garnette wrote to you. I take it you didn’t meet him at the

Abbey?”

“No. I went, thinking it was Redding, but no one showed up.”
“And had he, the jig would have been up. Are you going to make me ask why you

didn’t tell me? It would have been a simple matter to refute his accusation.”

“Things like that are never simple.”
“So you went.”
“I guess I wanted to speak with him. Discuss the matter.”
He tipped her chin up with his finger and stared into her eyes. “Anne, what was

there to discuss? If you thought it was Redding, he was fully aware, as was the entire

ton, of my grandfather’s death.”

She jerked her gaze from his and closed her eyes. Tears started again, as if she could

stop the constant dribble that had assailed her the past few hours.

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“Tell me,” he said. “Why?”
“Because I thought he knew something.”
“Like what?”
“Rand, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you that well at the time. I was there when your

grandfather died. I was in the room.”

His body tensed underneath her, but his voice remained calm. “What do you

mean?”

“I thought with my reputation and with our relationship being one lacking any sort

of affinity, you and others might think the worst.” She glanced up at his face. “You

know how people gossip.

“I thought I would be accused of some dastardly crime, if not publicly, then

certainly in the sitting rooms of your peers and across the card tables of your friends.”

Rand hmpfed in disgust, rolled away and sat up on his side of the bed. “So what

happened?” He stood, grabbed his glass and walked across the room. Anne admired

the sleek muscles of his back and the tight mounds of his ass, thankful that he was hers.

And still so terribly in love with him. Her heart ached from the welling emotion.

At the sideboard, he filled his glass again.
“He made accusations about me being a gold digger, a fraud, a whore and then—

then he tore into your character, which got my dander up more than anything he had

said about me.”

“Did you know I was never allowed to call him anything but Your Grace?” he asked,

staring into the amber liquid in his glass.

“Rand, please believe me. I never meant to cause harm. When he fell over, I was

shocked. Afraid. All I could think of was what if someone heard him yelling at me, they

would think the worst. Once I knew he was dead, I mean, I would have called for help

had he lived—oh I sound so pathetic.” Anne was prepared to tell him more. How she

had defended Rand. How she had explained to the old duke how she had grown up.

He spouted some drivel about hardship building character and that she obviously

hadn’t any.

“I believe you,” he said simply. “You do not have to explain.”
“But you need to know the truth.”
He laughed. “The truth? I knew the man. He was not kindly disposed to anyone

who did not have all the social graces of the aristocracy or proven lineage to the

Conqueror.”

“What he said—”
“Was nothing more than what he had said to my face a hundred times.” He

finished his drink and returned to the bed. He opened his hand and she slipped her

small fingers into his tender grip. “You see, Anne, I have my own questionable past to

contend with.” She patted the bed and he sat beside her.

She raised her brows. “He called you a bastard, and not in the literal sense.”

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“I’m surprised you haven’t heard.” He smiled and then slipped one hand behind

her neck and into her hair before leaning to kiss her. “I hardly know what to tell you

first. There was some question as to my paternity and I love you. Or I love you and I

hope you don’t mind being married to a bastard.”

“What?”
“I’m not sure I’m a VanLandingham.”
“No,” she said softly. “The other part.”
“Oh, that.”
He stared into her eyes for a long moment. Anne bit at her lips while the tears

returned. She blinked, hoping they would not spill in yet another undignified display.

“Sweet Anne,” he said. “Am I allowed to tell you once and for all time that I love

you?” He sighed, dragging on the weighty import of his words. “Those words are

simply too difficult to say when I am unsure of you. Yet I would not have said them

were I not sure. I want to start over. I want my first words to you to be about what is in

my heart. What I know will not disappear with time, or age, or beauty or scandal. Do

you believe me, Anne? Do you believe that what I feel here,” he put her hand over his

heart, “is real and that I have only felt it for you?”

She closed her eyes and the trail of tears seeped down her face. She nodded. “I

believe in you.” She pushed to her knees, wrapped her arms around his neck and slid

into his lap.

“So you won’t mind if I’m not really the duke?”
His arms around her, his love, their family—that was all that mattered.
“You are the duke,” she said with absolute assurance. “You look just like him.”
“My father? Yes, I know. At least, I look like him now. I actually think it was my

father’s way of getting back at him. Grandfather was a cold bastard, in the literal sense,

even to his closest family.”

“But your father had to know you would suffer.”
“No more than he did. I have no doubt my mother was having an affair, but it

seems my father’s seed was the victor. Something my grandfather never seemed to

accept. I think he treated my mother very much the way he tried to treat you, only she

thought to avenge herself, or so I gather from the gossip Finch and Winslow seem

willing to fill my ears with.”

“When did you realize?”
“Again, Finch and Winslow, marching me up the stairs to the portrait hall at

Bridgeton to point out the obvious when I was a difficult and troublesome lad of

seventeen. At some point, everyone but my grandfather allowed the nonsense to go by

the wayside. Oh how he hated my mother.”

“I would love you no matter whose son you are.”
“Would you now?”

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“Yes.”
“Even if it was the Earl of Redding?”
“Edward’s father?” Anne asked, her brows shooting high. She clamped her mouth

shut.

“Edward’s father,” he confirmed.
Anne burst into a peal of laughter, burying her face at his neck.
“So you asked me to marry you to get revenge on him? The man with whom your

mother cavorted?”

“What do you take me for?” he asked in mock seriousness. “I asked you to marry

me because I wanted to fuck myself senseless with the scandalous Widow Alsept.”

“Well, you have succeeded admirably, Your Grace.”
They laughed.
“So you have saved the day, avenged your honor and the captive maiden has fallen

madly in love with you. What more can you possibly accomplish this year?”

He rolled her onto her back, looking down at her. “What more indeed? I think we

shall have to make a list, starting with a summer trip to Wales.”

“No, Rand. My father would be embarrassed.”
“At your highfaluting ways?”
“He lives very simply. He would not know what to do with a duke.”
“Then we shall let Beaumaris Castle and he’ll have twenty rooms all to himself.”
“And my sisters?”
Rand nodded.
“But not my brother. He’ll insist on bringing his wife.”
“And that brood of heathens they call children.”
“Oh Rand.”
“Say it.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“That’s all well and good, but I’d rather you show me.”

* * * * *

Anne’s happiness knew no bounds. The summer weeks in Wales had passed with

unutterable happiness for her. Rand was still concerned because she cried at every

opportunity and reasoned that it was somehow related to Garnette and the kidnapping

so many months ago. Such simple pleasures as Rand’s love, the children she’d thought

would never be hers and the reunion with her family made her life seem complete.

Papa and her sisters had waved them on their way to Bridgeton four weeks ago,

while they all traveled back to the south of Wales.

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She had only been to Bridgeton once—for a month after they had been married.

Renewing those acquaintances, visiting with the tenants and neighbors, making a

loving home for all of them seemed like a task fit for someone more worthy than simple

Anne Porter. The servants gave her subtle hints and the head housekeeper took to her

like an old mother hen, clucking and pecking about this and that. Each of them had

their own way of acknowledging and approving of her as the duchess. Rand said it

didn’t matter that she was a phony. She’d cupped his balls and squeezed until he had

apologized.

As for Rand, he spent his days riding and hunting and fishing. Jojo was dressed to

accompany him each morning, often sitting on the bottom step of the wide marble

staircase waiting for his father to appear. Jojo was horrified when Anne suggested Sarah

and Daniel should accompany them on a fishing trip and was thoroughly pleased when

his papa said he was right, this trip was for the men. Rand let Jojo take credit for fish

that couldn’t possibly have been landed by a now-five-year-old boy.

Later, she was even more horrified when Rand suggested they go fishing together.
“I have no idea how! And I do not want to touch my food when it’s fresh and

thrashing out of water.”

“Trust me, I will show you all the tricks.”
“Oh I know all about it. Spittle and worms and animal innards and who knows

what else.”

“But I’m going to my favorite fishing hole,” he said.
Anne turned a sharp gaze, but he was busy writing on a blotter, totally ignoring her

questioning stare. Fishing hole? Well, she had to erase his previous memories of that

damned fishing hole. Anne had discreetly asked about Miss Becky Sadler and was

pleased to learn she had married and moved to a neighboring estate. “And when would

this sojourn occur?” Anne could be all generosity unless it involved Rand and any other

woman.

“This afternoon. After lunch.”
“I’ll be ready.”
She thought she detected a smile.
The snappy little gig, along with the singular gray horse pulling it, pranced on the

gravel driveway as Pelham escorted her down the stairs and then lifted her into the

carriage.

A footman carried a large wicker basket that was stowed in the back along with

Rand’s promised fishing gear, including a tin bucket, a net and a blanket. He whistled

down the drive. Anne held her parasol at an angle but mostly watched Rand as he

glanced about with boyish longing, ready to run along the stream barefoot, if only he

weren’t the present duke.

They eventually left the well-trod road and headed through a lush meadow with

waving grasses that reached past the wheels. Bugs whizzed by Anne’s face so she

Eliza Lloyd

130

angled the parasol to ward off those little creatures. She did not want to find them in

her hair tonight.

They turned again, this time following a creek that meandered southward. When

Rand stopped the buggy underneath a large hawthorn tree, he turned to her. “Well, this

is it.”

“The famous fishing hole.”
“Infamous,” he stated.
Anne looked around. The stream swept into a wide, rocky pool. Firs and spruces

lined the far bank. Their side had a very nice sloping hill that gracefully arched into the

water.

He jumped down and turned for her. She scooted toward him and he grasped her

waist and hoisted her down, bringing her flush against his body. He bent to press a

light kiss against her lips.

“Consider this your Hyde Park fantasy. Tonight, there will be a full moon. I

couldn’t oblige you on the early summer request. I hope late summer will do. I imagine

the water will be warmer though.”

“Really?” she asked, forgetting that she had mentioned her wish to be naked out of

doors. “No one will see us?”

“I will see you. And soon. The fish don’t bite in the afternoon, but I might.”
He pulled the blanket and the wicker basket from the carriage and sought a smooth

place to spread out. He snapped the blanket wide and it floated into a near perfect

square, only hung up in a few spots by particularly stubborn sprouts of grass.

He braced his hands against his hips. “I would have you naked now.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. I didn’t ignore my ducal duties to frolic in the grass with a married

prude. Now undress yourself, or I will help.”

Anne had prepared in her own way. She was entirely bare underneath her skirts

and she felt the familiar wetness of arousal, so easily stimulated by Rand’s merest

suggestion of foreplay.

He removed his jacket and dropped it to the blanket. His actions indicated that he

would be participating, except that he lowered himself to the blanket and then leaned

back on his hands, his legs stretched out in front of him as he watched.

Anne’s sense of modesty overcame her and she looked around, expecting the eyes

of the hills upon her.

“We are entirely alone, madam.”
She tugged at a ribbon in her hair. Breezy wisps flowed around her face and she

suddenly felt like a young girl preparing for her first lover. Rand’s expression grew soft

as his gaze swept over her body. Already, his burgeoning erection was visible beneath

his doeskin breeches.

Wicked Temptation

131

The strings tying up the front of her pink muslin day dress came loose with a few

pulls and tugs. She spread the bodice to reveal her naked breasts.

Rand smiled. “You came prepared.”
Carrie had fussed at her about not wearing her chemise and undergarments and

Anne had put a quick stop to that hash when she’d snapped, “You don’t think we are

really going fishing, do you?” Carrie had blushed and stammered and allowed the

duchess her way.

“I’m always prepared. You never know when there might be a fire to put out,” she

said.

“Well, Lady Pelham, then you might assist me. I’ve a fire burning right here.” He

cupped his erection and left his hand in place, rubbing over his genitals.

She pushed the sleeves down her arms. Her breasts had never seen the light of day,

and she smiled when the warmth of the sun touched and caressed them in the

afternoon heat. She arched into the sun, her breasts proud and protruding.

“Does it feel good?” he asked. His eyelids drooped in sleepy wonder.
“Wonderful.”
“Everything. All of it. Take it off. I want to see you naked in the light of day.”
Wiggling out of her skirts, she kicked off her shoes and stepped onto the blanket.

Glorious sun coated the front of her body.

Rand groaned and lay back, crossing his arms behind his head.
She lifted her hands in the air and closed her eyes. A soft breeze washed across her

body and her nipples hardened. Her hair brushed against her back and shoulders.

“Beautiful,” she heard Rand say, as if his words were the very wind caressing her.
She turned in slow circles. Dancing patterns flashed against the back of her eyelids.

Birds tweeted and bugs buzzed in song while the creek gurgled a merry tune in perfect

harmony with the beauty of the day.

“Anne, I need you now.”
She came to a stop, opened her eyes and took the few steps across the soft blanket.

On his back, Rand lay waiting. He had opened his breeches and held his stiff cock in

one tight fist. He held it up for her.

Lifting one foot, she stepped across him. His eyes opened wide, watching as she

went to one knee and then the other, straddling him, bracing her hands against his chest

as she settled. She pushed away his hand and took his cock in her own, caressing with

both hands in light playful strokes.

“How is your fantasy so far?” he asked.
“My fantasy ended a few minutes ago. The Duke of Pelham’s fantasy starts now,”

she said, causing him to smile.

“By all means.”

Eliza Lloyd

132

She repositioned her body, her legs open over his cock. She leaned forward, her

breasts caressed along the silk of his shirt. His hands cupped her and kneaded while she

sought out his beautiful mouth. The surroundings were tailor-made for long

languorous kisses and Anne lavished them on him, not only feeling the soft sighs as

they breathed in each other, but the quick jerks between her legs as Rand grew

progressively more aroused.

Finally she opened her mouth over his, cupped his face and slipped her tongue

inside. The kiss turned into something more. He turned aggressive, his hands shifted to

her ass as he crushed her to him and his mouth ravished her in hard, open-mouthed

kisses.

His hand searched between her legs and she felt him position his cock while urging

her to give him room. She tilted slightly. The tip of his cock slid along the sleek,

desperate folds until the blunt end found the deep recess of her body.

Taking him, she slid down hard, settling over him. He groaned into her mouth,

clutched her knees and started thrusting from his hips.

Anne gained control, using her legs to slide up and down the thick, satisfying

length. Rand’s hands fell to his side. “Yes,” he encouraged as she slid downward,

taking him all and squeezing as she lifted off, nearly losing him at the tip. He sucked in

air between his teeth.

“Faster, Anne.”
She, too, experienced the need for a quick, hard orgasm. Something glorious

befitting the perfectness of the day. Something shattering like a sunburst. Her thighs

burned as she rode him, his thickness rubbing the sleek and sensitive skin as she

swelled around him.

He did strange things to her. Just being with him excited her. He had only to look at

her and her body hummed an immediate response, welcoming him in a way she

couldn’t explain or deny.

The familiar tightness started low in her back. The nub between her legs ached.

Anne sank low, filled and full, when the first soaring pleasure started and swept over

her. She did scream—the piercing swell echoing in the clearing around them.

Rand’s hand grasped her hips and he surged into her as the tidal wave of spasms

broke over her, grasping and pulling at the erection inside her. Underneath her, Rand

moaned. The heat of his ejaculation warmed her much like the sun on her bare skin.

Anne closed her eyes, her face turned upward as the heated rays bathed her body.
With a quick turn, Rand rolled with her until she was on her back and he was over

her, looking down. Staring and smiling. Her hands clutched his hard, muscled arms.

“I think I will go fishing with you every day,” she said on a relaxed sigh.
“That can be arranged.”
Rand sat up and worked at his boots. Ann helped, reaching around and working at

the studs of his shirt. She peeled it back and allowed her hands to roam over the

Wicked Temptation

133

beautiful masculine skin, the wide shoulders. Encircling him, she slid her hands over

the solid pectorals and playfully pinched his nipple.

He only laughed, plucked her hand from his chest and kissed her palm. Finally, he

wiggled from his breeches and they stretched out on the blanket, both replete and

happy. Rand lay on his side while Anne’s head rested on his outstretched arm.

They talked of inconsequential things, hopeful dreams and the next time they

would be in Bridgeton.

His free hand stroked down her chest and over her belly.
With a sudden jerk, he removed his arm from behind her head, sat up and braced it

at his side as he looked down at her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Concern etched every line of his face. His palm still rested over her bellybutton.
“Why didn’t I tell you what?”
“You’re pregnant.”
Anne laughed and then laughed again. “I’m not. I would know and I’m not preg—”

She shook her head in denial. “I’m not pregnant.”

She gripped his wrist, attempting to remove his hand from her stomach. “Stop

imagining things. I would know.”

“Would you?” His gaze returned to her belly and he traced the slight mound.
“Cook has been feeding me too many apple tarts.”
“And I’ve been feeding you too much cock. You’re pregnant, Anne. I’ve been

married before and have three children. Do you think I don’t know a pregnant woman

when I see one?”

She sat up. Angry. “Stop it.” She opened her mouth to say something else but burst

into tears instead. “I’m not. I can’t be,” she wailed.

“And the most obvious clue,” he said, taking her into his arms to let her cry. He had

grown adept at this particular comfort, having offered it several times in the past few

weeks. She had said it was because of the joy of being with her family. “I should have

noticed before.” He counted on his fingers from the last time he remembered her

courses—after they’d left London. He had thought it odd, but mistakenly attributed her

missed courses to her age, something he would not voice to Anne, lest he put his life in

peril. “You must be about four and a half months, give or take a few days. I’ll send for

Doctor Hayes in the morning. Maybe we’ll stay at Bridgeton until after the baby is born.

That would get us to the end of January. A month or two to recuperate. Just in time for

spring planting.”

He slowed for a minute before he said his next words, “Anne, don’t worry. You’ll

be safe. I promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“It’s just that so many things could go wrong.”
“The other babies? You lost them early?”

Eliza Lloyd

134

She nodded.
“You are at least four and a half months, Anne. Any doctor will tell you that most

of the risk is past.”

“I’m not pregnant,” she said again.
“You are healthy and you will have the best care. All will be well. I’ve decreed it to

be so.”

He grinned like a fool—like the young, irrepressible fool she had married.

“Congratulations, Anne. You’re going to be a mother.”

She flopped back down on the blanket and covered her face with both hands. “Fine,

call Doctor Hayes. He’ll tell you I’m too old to have a child.”

He pried one hand away. “Why are you unhappy? Don’t you want my child?”
“Do men think impregnating a woman is a sign of their virility?”
“One of them. Seriously, do you not want to have the baby?”
“You don’t know that I’m pregnant.”
“You won’t admit that you’re pregnant. Why are you afraid?” Rand brushed away a

spider bent on marching toward Anne.

“What if something happens to you?”
“Anne, listen to me. You are a duchess. Your child will be the child of a duke.”
“None of that matters if I can’t provide. I know what happens when there is no

property, no proper provisions. I had nothing more than a small allowance from the

baron’s estates when his heir marched in.”

He snorted. “Provide? Do you think I haven’t taken measures to protect you? To see

that you are safe? How much more would I do for you and a child?”

“When Joseph grows up, he may feel differently about me. He’ll have a wife. I may

not have lived down the gossip.”

“So many excuses. Tell me you want our child.”
“Oh Rand. I will love any part of you including this child. I don’t want to fail it. I

don’t want it to grow up poor or hungry.”

“Do you trust me, Anne?”
“Oh yes, with my life.”
“Then trust me in this. I will see that you, and you alone, have everything you need

to live safely and comfortably long after I am gone. I will buy you a house, a mansion, a

castle—whatever and wherever you want to live. You are my life. Let me do this for

you.”

“I’m not pregnant,” she said petulantly. Lud, she was pregnant! Anne could not

wrap her mind around the idea. She sniffed again. All the emotion and changes in her

life were easily explained away. She’d tucked the possibility—improbability—into a far

recess of her mind the one time she had allowed herself to think about the scary

proposition.

Wicked Temptation

135

Rand laughed, the merry sound filling the glade. “I’m going to be a father. Again.”

Anne had turned away on her side, her back to him. With a quick motion born of years

of practice, he came in behind her, wrapping his arm over her hip, his finger slipping

between her legs.

“Now we must plan. I’m going to give you only one week to whelp before I come

knocking at your bedchamber.”

“You are a beast, you know that?”
“Because you spoil me. Now the water waits, my little jaded nymph, and I’m in the

mood for a naked swim.”

Anne giggled. “Oh I forgot something.”
“What?”
“I bought a set of Chinese jade statuettes from Louis Ederline. You’re going to love

them. One hundred poses in all.”

“Poses? As in sexual?”
Anne smiled, turning into his embrace. “Of course sexual. A new position every one

hundred days. Ederline drove a hard bargain. You’ll be getting the bill in a few weeks.”

“I love them already. Am I the luckiest man alive?”
”Did you ever doubt it?”
“I’ll let you know in one hundred days.”

About the Author

Eliza thinks romance writing is nearly as good as the real thing. Given her choice of

professions, she would have preferred to be a 19th-century archeologist, but she is

perfectly happy living in the 21st century and comfortably writing about such romantic

but inconceivably inconvenient times, instead.

She enjoys traveling, movies, everyone else’s novels and a good meal out with

friends on Saturday night. Her greatest flaw is that she believes there is such a thing as

true love. Don’t tell her otherwise, please.

Eliza welcomes comments from readers. You can find her email address on her

author bio page

www.ellorascave.com

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at

Comments@EllorasCave.com

Also by

Eliza Lloyd

Wicked Desires

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning

publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer ebooks or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC

on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you

breathless.

www.ellorascave.com

Document Outline

Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
“Well, young man, are you ready?”
Chapter Four
Nothing had happened since day of the Langtons’ ball.
What did Redding want?
Chapter Five
“Are you sure, Your Grace? I mean—”
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
“But he’ll charge—”
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
“What he said—”

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