by Jade Lee
“Jade Lee has the heart-stopping tension,
wonderful characters, and compelling voice to
sweep you away to another time and era.”
—Sabrina Jeffries, New York Times bestselling author
PRAISE FOR
Wedded in Sin
“Jade Lee’s Wedded in Sin is the charmingly seductive tale of a white, but rumpled, knight who will steal your heart as he puts his lady’s problems to rest.”
—Courtney Milan, New York Times bestselling author
PRAISE FOR
Wedded in Scandal
“Lee’s diverting historical suggests that while scandal may strip one of one’s title, breeding will out…Lady Helaine Talbott has enough spunk and pure sex appeal to turn the head of Robert Percy, Viscount Redhill…[Robert] recognizes class when he sees it; harder for him to accept is that a lady could have the wits or sense for business…Charming verbal fencing ensues [as] Helaine matches Robert clever retort for clever retort…[An] entertaining read.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Filled with both heated sensuality and emotional depth.…A beautiful, haunting tale of love overcoming the seemingly greatest of odds.”
—Night Owl Reviews
PRAISE FOR
Wicked Seduction
“Powerfully emotional…a heartbreaking and beautiful story. Don’t miss it!”
—Fresh Fiction
“Well-written, has compelling protagonists, and has a wonderful romance at its center—all reasons I really loved this book.”
—All About Romance
“Jade Lee has a gift for creating unusual plots with unique characters.”
—The Romance Reader
“Up to Ms. Lee’s implacable standards and then some.”
—Night Owl Reviews
PRAISE FOR
Wicked Surrender
“[A] darkly sensual, erotically complex historical romance.”
—Elizabeth Hoyt, New York Times bestselling author
“Lee’s beautifully nuanced characters and impeccably crafted historical setting are guaranteed to cast their own seductive spell over readers.”
—Chicago Tribune
“A ‘do NOT miss’ read.”
—Fresh Fiction
“One of the best historical romances I’ve read this year…will linger with readers long after they close the cover.”
—The Romance Reader
“An enjoyable character-driven story with style and class.”
—TwoLips Reviews
AND PRAISE FOR THE OTHER NOVELS OF
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR JADE LEE
“[A] refreshingly different, sexy Regency romance.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Lovely historical romance.”
—Publishers Weekly
“It’s unflinching and unabashed in historic social and cultural detail…Elegant complexity and beautifully rendered.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“Strangely hypnotic.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“An exotic and emotional historical romantic tale.”
—ParaNormal Romance
“I enjoyed the sensual and hot love scenes, and boy were they hot. WOW!”
—Night Owl Reviews
“Lee…[has] brought something new and intriguing to erotic romance. This is what places her in a class with the best.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A highly enjoyable read.”
—All About Romance
“Jade Lee provides a wonderful, refreshing tale.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Delightfully different.”
—Midwest Book Reviews
“An exhilarating, fast-paced tale from start to finish.”
—The Best Reviews
Berkley Sensation Titles by Jade Lee
WICKED SURRENDER
WICKED SEDUCTION
WEDDED IN SCANDAL
WEDDED IN SIN
Wedded in
Sin
JADE LEE
BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over
and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
WEDDED IN SIN
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / August 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Katherine Ann Grill.
Cover art by Judy York.
Cover design by George Long.
Interior text design by Kristin del Rosario.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or
electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of
copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-61064-0
BERKLEY SENSATION®
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is
stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the
author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 1
4
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 1
Samuel Morrison’s mind was racing, but that was not unusual. His mind was always racing. Even on this most beautiful morning as he strolled down Bond Street at the height of a shopping day. His thoughts wandered to Lady Pierson, who had just slipped a note to the flushed and very young Mr. Cooper. Then it hopped to Lord Simpleton, er, Simpson, who appeared to have left his home without his hat. Or a clean shirt. Ah, that was because he was coming from the brothel, Samuel realized, mainly from the unmistakable scent of smoke and perfume that trailed in the man’s wake. And from the man’s smile. Obviously, poor Lord Simpson was arrears in his funds, because he was walking down this side stretch of Bond Street rather than hailing a cab from Nightingale Street.
Samuel’s mind wandered on, noting everything from the style of one person’s clothing to the rubbish on the street. He did his best to ignore his thoughts. It was really the only way to survive without complete lunacy, but his mind kept chattering away, this time about the dark-haired boy with the bad cough who was trying to get up the nerve to pick someone’s pocket. About four yards away, a gypsy woman was watching closely, most likely as the boy’s instructor. Not mother and son, he realized, because of the different facial features. More likely from the same gypsy family, though, because of a certain twist of the head. An aunt, he guessed.
Following their gazes, Samuel realized their victim was likely to be Lord Histlewight, who had obviously just returned from Northampton because his shoes were new. The fine stitching of his footwear proclaimed them as Northampton made. Unlike Samuel’s own; his feet had lately begun to throb from his very cheap and poorly made shoes.
With a sudden veer, Samuel decided to turn left rather than suffer the moral choice of preventing a pickpocketing crime or keeping a silent witness. Normally he would have warned the child off, but the boy was thin and ill and would probably make better use of the coin than Histlewight ever would.
But a moment later, Samuel spun on his heel and turned back. His sense of justice prevented him from allowing any crime, even against an ass like Histlewight, to go unchecked. He made it to the street barely two feet ahead of the boy. Quick as he could, he grabbed the child’s arm and hauled him up. It was pitifully easy. The boy was stick thin and too frightened even to scream, so Samuel had ample time to speak harshly into his ear.
“No thieving today, my boy. There’s a butcher shop seven blocks that way.” He jerked his head in the right direction. “Talk smart and polite to Mr. Braun, and compliment his smoked bacon. He’s extraordinarily vain about his pork. The man’s looking for a new apprentice, as the last one ran off. No matter what your aunt says, thieving leads to the gallows or worse. Not every man is blind or stupid. Someone always sees.”
He held the child a moment longer. The boy was shaking in terror, but Samuel didn’t release him until he had caught the aunt’s eye a block away. The boy was too young to know better, but the older one would see that Samuel would not be crossed on this. It was a lie, of course. They could move their business two blocks over and he would not be there to prevent it. But perhaps it was an illusion that would hold. Perhaps the woman would make the right choice, apprentice the boy to the butcher, and turn from their life of thieving.
So he held the woman’s dark gaze and whispered a quiet prayer on the child’s behalf. And then he let the boy go. The kid dashed away on wobbly legs, catching up to his aunt before tugging the woman away down toward the butcher. Perhaps he had done a good deed, he thought, though he doubted the lesson would stick. Gypsies, as a rule, did not like to be tied to regular jobs or regular homes.
Meanwhile, his mind had tired of the gypsies and wandered off to notice other things. Mrs. Worthington had lost some weight. She had a new charge this season—two girls fresh from the nursery. One was pretty, the other canny. He gleaned that in an instant from their clothing, the way they moved, and the way the canny one kept her head down but her eyes always roving. Her gaze stopped on him and she flashed him a flirtatious smile, but he was already turning away down a side street to avoid having to chatter with the females. Meanwhile, he noticed that the meat pie cart had a weak spoke on its left side wheel. And perhaps he ought to check his own pocket to be sure it hadn’t been picked while he was about his good deed.
He shoved his hand into his pocket and was relieved to feel that his few meager coins were safe. He had enough to last him until quarter day, but not much beyond that. Perhaps he ought to avail himself of his own advice, he thought. Find a regular job, focus on a regular task as so many younger sons were forced to do. He didn’t truly need the money, except for right now. His investments would return handsomely in the next few years. But for the moment, a job would relieve his cash flow difficulties and, much more important, give him something to do.
Then the most extraordinary thing happened. His mind noticed one thing more before falling absolutely silent. It was a woman with a too thin build and above average looks. She was carrying a child and a satchel while being bodily evicted from a shoemaker’s shop. No one else noticed what he saw, though there were a dozen people watching the spectacle. She was arguing, the child was crying, and none of the constabulary appeared to care despite her large gestures and vehement protests. Only he saw that all her noise was for show, covering the fact that she had just tossed a small bag at a pile of rubbish.
It was a poorly tied bag with thin seams. As it landed, to wedge between the brick wall and leather scraps, the stitching burst and something distinctive tumbled out. Something that silenced the noise in his head and left his thoughts utterly speechless.
She’d just discarded Lord Winston’s left foot.
Penny Shoemaker was furious. And not the kind of fury that made tears burn in her eyes. This anger was like a living thing under her skin that drove her to madness. If someone had given her a knife right then, she would have easily sunk it hilt deep in the constable’s throat. A tiny part of her was horrified by that, but it was only a tiny part lost beneath the weight of anger fueled by humiliation.
She was being thrown out of her home. While she’d been quietly feeding Tommy a real breakfast of bread and eggs—their first in weeks—armed men had banged on her door. She’d picked up her nine-month-old brother and answered the door. She’d been told in round flat tones that she was no longer owner of their home. That everything they owned—from the tools in the shoe store on the first floor to the clothes in their home right above—had been sold to that bastard Cordwain, a small-time hack of a shoemaker.
Well, she’d told them flatly that they were mistaken. She’d never sold anything, hadn’t been paid a groat, and they could bloody well leave. Then she slammed the door in the constable’s face.
She knew it wouldn’t work. She recognized the face of Authority when it came in the guise of armed men and a constable’s badge. It didn’t matter that her eviction was wrong. That she hadn’t sold their home or that for the first time since her parents’ deaths, she’d found a way to support herself and her brother. It didn’t matter to those bastards outside. To them, she was a woman alone with a babe. Her parents had been murdered less than two months ago, and she was now vulnerable to every kind of horror that the uncaring world could throw at her.
“Bleeding curs,” she spat as she dashed for the workroom. There was only one thing of true value in her home and she would be damned if Cordwain got his hands on it. It was in a satchel because her father had been a slob. He had always planned to put everything on display or at least organize it in a closet, but that had never happened. And now Penny had cause to be thankful for his forgetfulness. She was able to grab the bag and her coin purse. Then she was back upstairs, Tommy crying in her arms as she stuffe
d clothing and the like into another bag.
But she was out of time. Their door burst open and the men tromped upstairs. Before she could do more than scream, rough hands wrapped around her waist. She kicked and screamed, but she had no purchase as she was lifted off the ground. The bastard was strong, his grip bruising, and his smell even worse. She knew without looking that the greasy head of hair belonged to Jobby, Cordwain’s nephew and all-around brute. He flipped her over his shoulder and carried her outside. How she kept hold of both Tommy and her bags, she didn’t know. Except that it was her life and her brother that she held and she’d be damned if she dropped either one.
Jobby banged her head three times on the way out of the house. She barely cared. She was more interested in protecting Tommy’s head than her own. Still, the pain made her head throb and gave birth to that living fury just beneath her skin. Once outside, the constable ordered Jobby to set her down. Normally she wouldn’t have heard it, but the man had a whistle that he blew right in Jobby’s face to get the idiot’s attention.
“There’s no cause for that!” the constable bellowed. And so Jobby put her down, copping a feel of her bottom as he did. She kicked him hard as she could right in the privates. Luck was with her. She connected. Not as hard as she would have liked, but enough that Jobby went down with a howl. Every man there winced in sympathy, and that gave her time to toss the satchel of important things to the side, where hopefully no one would notice. Then she started screeching like a madwoman by way of covering. If anyone had noticed what she’d dropped, hopefully they’d get distracted and forget.
She focused on the constable, as he was the authority here. His eyes had darkened as he watched Jobby writhing on the ground, but now he focused on her.
“There were no cause fer—”
“He had no cause to be doing what he was doing to me bum either,” she snapped, her language deteriorating as her fury grew stronger. “And you’ve no cause to throw me out of my home!”
