A Taste of Seduction

by Bronwen Evans

  “Shall we?” He held out his arm for Evangeline. The blush on her cheeks deepened as they said their goodnights and made their way to his bedroom as husband and wife.

  There were no words to describe what that phrase meant to them both.

  —

  Several hours later, Evangeline rolled over in their marriage bed. She must have dozed off. To her surprise and disappointment the bed beside her was empty. She ran her hand over the sheet and it was cold. Hadley had been gone for a while.

  She sat up and looked round the dimly lit room. The only light was from the fire. A smile replaced her frown. Sitting near the fire was Hadley, naked. She loved his body, and she could look at it all day: strong, sleek, the definition of his muscles all shadowy in the light. She wanted to run her hands all over him. Her eyes finally reached his face, and what she saw there made her heart skip several beats.

  “What is it?”

  “You are so beautiful. I swear I will protect you this time.”

  Evangeline held his gaze in aching sweetness, longing to reassure him, but life did not hold any surety. Instead, she decided to take his mind to pleasanter pastimes.

  “What are you doing sitting way over there?” She seductively patted the bed next to her. He had made it almost all the way back to the bed before she noted the paper in his hand. She raised an eyebrow.

  “I was sketching you in your sleep. You are my sleeping beauty. The dream I never thought would come true. I want to put on canvas exactly how I feel about you because words are inadequate. I wonder how I deserve you after—”

  She rose to her knees and pressed her finger to his lips. “Don’t. You did not fail me. We were part of a madwoman’s plan, and we were younger and oblivious to the menace that snapped at our heels. How could either of us know the depths of evil she would plumb?” She pressed against his naked chest. Her breasts were still sensitive from their bout of lovemaking earlier, and her nipples hardened. “I’m more concerned at not being able to protect you. What happens if her men overpower you? What if she has lied and Arend is already dead, and she kills you too?”

  He cupped her cheek. “My love, it’s not your place to protect me.”

  “Of course it is. We protect those we love above all else. You taught me that. How can you expect me to not want to protect my family, especially as I lost you once before?” Suddenly she added, “I want to come with you. I want to be the maid in the carriage. Then I can have a weapon trained on Victoria every step of the way.”

  She wound her arms round his neck and kissed him, hoping to make him let her go with him.

  It only took one of his hands to peel her arms from his neck. “No. I can’t risk you. If she got in a position to harm you, she’d have me at her mercy. She knows how much you mean to me. Besides, if something does happen to me, Sealey will need you. You’ll need each other.”

  She shivered, and the reality of him leaving with a killer sunk in. She wrapped her arms round his waist. “Don’t go. Send one of the others. I can’t lose you a second time.”

  “Whom would you suggest I send? Christian, a man who almost died for his country, a father of a young baby and ward to a young girl? Or perhaps Sebastian, who is also a father after almost losing both Beatrice and his babe? Grayson, whose wife is with child? Or Maitland, who will never be able to have a child of his own, a son to hold? Having met Sealey, I finally know how that must kill him. To see Marisa hurting so…I can’t ask him to go; he might kill Victoria before we find Arend. Of course we could simply hang her and let Arend die. Choose which one to send instead of me, Evangeline, because I can’t.”

  She hung her head in shame. Hadley the protector was the man she married, and she loved that quality in him. Here she was making him feel guilty for leaving her when she knew if he had any choice he would choose to stay with her and Sealey.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m so happy right now, and I’m frightened that this is all too good to be true.”

  His finger lifted her chin so she had to look him in the eye. “I’m bloody well coming back to you. You and Sealey. I’ve only just met my son. What’s more, I’ll rescue Arend to boot. We will have the life Victoria stole from us. I won’t waste Augustus’s sacrifice.”

  The paper in his hand fluttered to the floor as his fingers wound in her hair and tipped her head back. He ran his lips over the soft skin of her neck, nibbling, sucking. He wanted to mark her for all to see, but refrained; instead he would let the ring on her finger do that.

  “Just wait here, safe, so I know where to find you. I will be back, I swear.”

  She sighed, her shoulders slumping in resignation. “Make love to me, please.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” he murmured as he pushed her down on the bed beneath him and slipped between her thighs.

  Epilogue

  Arend now understood what the word “black” truly meant. He could not see anything. Not his nose, fingers, legs—nothing. It was as if his eyes were blindfolded, yet he knew they were open. He felt himself blink.

  He didn’t need his eyesight to know where he was, though. The rock digging into his back, the dusty soot that made it difficult to breathe, and the distinctive smell all indicated he was underground. In a coal mine, to be precise.

  The back of his skull throbbed like hell. He managed to prop himself upright against the rock, but his head swam and nausea rolled in his stomach. His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow.

  Even if he could move, he didn’t know where he was or which way to crawl. In the complete blackness he could be moving deeper into the mine; worse still, he might fall down a shaft. Anyway, his legs didn’t seem to want to move at the moment.

  He had no one to blame for his predicament but himself. He’d let a woman’s beauty distract him, and he’d never even heard or seen his attacker coming.

  “Fool,” he whispered into the stale, dust-laden air.

  He had fallen for the charms of a woman once before, years ago in Africa. He’d stupidly let himself believe she had loved him, when all she’d been after was the location of his diamond mine. It had cost him his best friend’s life and his faith in human nature.

  It also made him wary of a woman whose beauty could turn a man’s head. A beauty that could make a man want to lay down his honor and life.

  Beautiful women were not to be trusted. Any woman who wanted him had to have an ulterior motive because…well, just because. Why else would she want him? Not for his pleasant disposition.

  He tried to laugh, but all he managed was a dry, scratchy croak.

  Bloody Isobel had turned his head to the point where the hunter had become the hunted. She’d played him like an expert, but then she’d learned from the best—her stepmother.

  All she’d had to do was bare her breasts, and he’d salivated over her like a dog in heat. The desire that had ravaged him at one glimpse of her pert, bountiful bosom had blinded him to his foe.

  He closed his eyes and cursed himself to hell.

  He was in hell.

  After a moment of self-pity he pulled himself together. He had no intention of visiting hell until he died, and he wasn’t dead yet.

  He had no idea how long he’d been lying in this coal mine, but from his thirst and hunger it would seem a couple of days at least.

  He hoped that his friends were at this moment looking for him.

  However, the past had taught him it was best to rely on no one but himself. With that in mind, he turned toward the wall and, feeling the way with his hands, slowly pulled himself up. To his surprise, he could stand upright. He was in a main shaft, then. He stood waiting for the dizziness to fade and in the silence he heard a sound that was, at this point, worth all his diamond mines combined—a trickle of water.

  For my dear friend, Tim Simpson, who is courageously fighting his personal villain, and I’m praying he kicks arse.

  Acknowledgments

  People appear genuinely interested when I say I’m a romance author. Usually the
y talk about what fun that must be, and it is! But it’s also hard work. Not just for me, but for everyone who helps a story see the light of day.

  I’m one of the fortunate writers who have a lot of support around me. My wonderful agent, Sarah Younger at the Nancy Yost Literary Agency, puts up with my nerves and doubts. I owe Gina Conkle a debt (probably quite a few drinks at the next RWA conference) for the introduction. My team at Penguin Random House, including Sue Grimshaw, Gina Wachtel, Ashleigh Heaton, Erika Seyfried, and of course my cover designer, Carrie Divine. I’m sure there are many others at PRH I should thank but I don’t know all your names.

  Then there is my writing support crew: Kimberly Rocha, Kendra DeLuga, Gracie O’Neil, Karen Browning, Angela Bissell, and Rachel Collins. You guys keep me sane. To my beta readers and fellow historical book lovers, who are happy to read and give me feedback, I am always so very grateful.

  Of course, I have to thank my family and friends for putting up with me when I’m stressed, either because I’m late with a book or because it’s not going well against my plotted-to-the-nth-degree plan. I must be hell to live with. I know you put up with me turning down many invitations because I have to write, yet you still keep inviting me along.

  Last, I have to thank the most important people in this process, the readers. I am always humbled and grateful that readers want to read my stories, and I hope they love them as much as I do. It’s nerve-racking waiting for feedback, but I learn from all of it, and I think it makes my next story stronger. Without readers I’d have no one to share my stories with, and then I would be sad.

  If you would like to keep up with all my releases, sales, and other news, join Bron’s Bookclub News. Anyone signing up receives a free ebook.

  BY BRONWEN EVANS

  The Disgraced Lords Series

  A Kiss of Lies

  A Promise of More

  A Touch of Passion

  A Whisper of Desire

  A Taste of Seduction

  A Night of Forever (coming soon)

  PHOTO: © MALCOLM BROW

  USA Today bestselling author BRONWEN EVANS grew up loving books. She writes both historical and contemporary sexy romances for the modern woman who likes intelligent, spirited heroines and compassionate alpha heroes. Evans is a three-time winner of the RomCon Readers’ Crown and has been nominated for an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award. She lives in Hawkes Bay, New Zealand, with her dogs Brandy and Duke.

  bronwenevans.com

  Facebook.com/bronwenevansauthor

  @bronwenevans_NZ

  Read on for an excerpt from the next book in Bronwen Evans’s Disgraced Lords series:

  A Night of Forever

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  LONDON, LADY BEAUMONT’S BALL

  She wished he didn’t affect her so. She couldn’t understand why he made her pulse leap, her body heat, and her lips slightly part, as if in anticipation of a smile, a word, a kiss…

  She disliked him intensely.

  Yet, ever since he’d escorted her home just over a month ago, after she’d been abducted and had endured a harrowing carriage ride with Marisa, the Duchess of Claymore, she could not get Arend Aubury, Baron Labourd, out of her head.

  Isobel watched him from across the room. He was dancing with Lady Evangeline, his dark head close to hers, his massive frame dominating her small one, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, drawing her close. Isobel’s insides crawled with envy. She longed to be in his arms.

  Why could she not find the insipid Lord Sheridan as enticing? Or the rather portly Lord Denning? Both men were what she called nice men. Safe men. Men who would give her a boring and uneventful life. She sighed. A life with the darkly handsome and dangerous-looking Baron Labourd would not be uneventful. It would be exciting, stimulating, passionate…

  More heat arrowed its way to her core.

  She tried to look away. This was her first season, and she’d set herself the goal of finding a suitable husband—“suitable” meaning any man who would marry her by the end of the season. She was desperate to escape the clutches of her stepmother, Victoria. Unfortunately, the word “marriage” did not seem to be part of Lord Labourd’s vocabulary.

  Right now Victoria was talking with Lord Rotham, yet she too was watching Lord Labourd as if she’d like to gobble him up. Given that Victoria was only a few years older than her, and now widowed, Isobel was not surprised at her interest in a man as exciting as Lord Labourd.

  Jealousy bit again.

  He was the most virile man in the room. Was it any wonder he’d captured the undivided attention of all the women who were present? No other man stood a chance.

  She wet her dry lips.

  Before arriving in London for her coming out, she’d never met a man like Lord Labourd. From the moment she saw him at her first ball she was captivated by his physical attributes. Unable to drag her eyes away, Isobel tracked him as he waltzed round the ballroom, as graceful as a large black panther.

  The image suited him. He looked almost leonine, except for his dark countenance. His hair was blacker than night, and his skin had an olive complexion, no doubt from his French heritage. He’d been born in France. As a young boy, his family escaped to England during the revolution.

  Isobel stood on the edge of the dance floor riveted, fascinated, her lustful thoughts swirling like the dancers. Her heart was beating far too rapidly, and she felt an unmistakable warmth pool between her thighs at the primal sight of him.

  “He’s the one man I’d consider letting ruin me. It would be so worth it.” Lady Cassandra’s comment was followed by a wicked giggle.

  Isobel felt her face flush with heat. “I don’t know whom you are talking about.”

  “Of course you do. You’ve been practically salivating over him all evening.”

  “I assure you I have not.”

  Cassandra pretended to be shocked. “Then how do you know whom I’m talking about?”

  Damn.

  Cassandra continued. “He’s most charmingly wicked, isn’t he? The scandal sheets are always full of his wild and reckless affairs.” She sighed. “He’s one of England’s most ineligible and unattainable catches. My mother would swoon dead away if he came to call, but oh, how I’d like one night in his arms.”

  He was indeed sinfully beautiful. That’s what made him so dangerous. One smile could make you forget yourself.

  “You and every woman in this room,” she muttered under her breath. She didn’t know why she said it, because she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but jealousy made women’s tongues reveal things they shouldn’t. “I spent a whole day in his company, unescorted.”

  Cassandra looked as if she’d faint on the spot. “Never!” she all but squealed. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh, you have to tell me more. What was he like? Was he a gentleman? Scrub that—of course he wasn’t. What did he say to you? What did you say to him? Goodness, I need to sit down. This is about the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to anyone I know.”

  Isobel immediately regretted her disclosure. If anyone overheard, she would be thoroughly ruined. But Cassandra was her best friend and would never betray her confidence. They had known each other since the age of thirteen, when she’d been sent to Mrs. Potter’s School for Young Ladies. It had been just after her mother died, and Cassandra had shown her nothing but comfort and kindness.

  As to her journey with Lord Labourd being exciting, it had in fact been excruciatingly embarrassing. He’d made it very obvious that he thought escorting her home was a total bore. On top of that, he’d interrogated her—that was the only word for it—as if the fact she’d been abducted was her fault.

  “My carriage had an accident and Lord Labourd saw me home.” The short version; she’d never talk about her abduction. “He was…an odious traveling companion. He was beautiful until he opened his mouth, and then he was simply obnoxious.”

  “Did he try to seduce you?”

  “Goodness, no.” Mu
ch to her disappointment.

  “Did he tell you anything private?”

  How did she tell her friend that he’d mostly ignored her completely? “That’s why I’ve never mentioned it before. He didn’t converse with me at all.”

  Cassandra looked deflated. “You were obviously too beautiful for him.”

  Had Cassandra lost her mind?

  Cassandra noted her look of disbelief. “If you’d been caught alone with him, he’d have to propose. Several nights ago I overheard him telling Lord Fullerton that the one requirement he had in a wife, when he was ready to take a wife, was that she had to be plain.”

  Isobel shook her head. “Are you sure he said that, or was it wishful thinking? His paramours are usually the most beautiful women in all England.”

  “Don’t be mean. I know I’m not a stunning beauty like you.”

  Isobel immediately put her hand on Cassandra’s. “I did not mean it like that. You’re just as lovely as I. But we cannot hold a candle to the ton beauties.”

  Cassandra’s smile returned. “Of course we could. I also thought his comment odd. I could not hear any more of the discussion, so we will never know why.”

  The one hope Isobel took from this conversation was that Lord Labourd admitted he wanted to marry. She could dream, couldn’t she? What would it be like married to a man as virile as he? She wasn’t sure being his wife would be that much fun, especially if she lost her heart to him. She was sure he would still keep his many mistresses. How did a man who had so many females vying for his attentions deny them?

  Finally the dance came to an end and she watched Lord Labourd lead Lady Evangeline from the dance floor. Disappointment surged through her. He was unlikely to dance again this evening.

  She inwardly scolded herself for drooling over a man who obviously found women nothing more than disposable pursuits. No more pining, she told herself. She would find a husband from within the group of men who appeared to enjoy a woman’s company, and not just in the boudoir.