The Sweetest Revenge

by Dawn Halliday

  THE SWEETEST REVENGE

  Revenge is a dish best served cold, and a woman scorned can deliver the coldest dish

  of all. Even a headstrong alpha male like the Earl of Leothaid will have no choice but to succumb to these women’s wicked plans…

  Three Determined Women, One Fallen Man

  When the Earl of Leothaid took Isabelle Frasier’s innocence, the resulting scandal drove Isabelle to England in humiliating exile. Seven years later, she befriends Anna Newton and Susan, Lady DeLinn, two other women whom Leo has similarly debauched and abandoned.

  Isabelle joins with Anna and Susan to seek vengeance on the man who ruined them. But when her friends choose Isabelle as the instrument of their revenge, she faces an impossible choice: stand by Anna and Susan, or betray them by surrendering to her reawakening feelings for the wicked earl.

  When Leo lost the woman he loved, he sank into a life of depravity and vice. Now, nothing and no one can seep into his hard shell of a heart. But when three mystery women abduct him and shackle him in a dark cellar, Leo just might rediscover his humanity…and a love that may lift him back into the light.

  Warning: This book does not shirk away from the dark consequences of a dissolute rake’s behavior. It contains rough language and erotic situations. You’ve been warned.

  The Sweetest Revenge

  by

  Dawn Halliday

  The Sweetest Revenge

  Copyright 2012 Dawn Halliday

  Published 2012 Dawn Halliday

  Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Also by Dawn Halliday

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Earl of Leothaid stepped out into the cold. Bright light spilled from the club’s bow window to illuminate his way down the smooth marble steps. The wind had wiped the odors of coal smoke and sewage from the air and the night felt crisp and clean, but the residue of hard city smells simmered beneath.

  No matter how thoroughly wind or rain washed the stench of London away, it would never remind him of the fresh scents of the windswept heaths and heather of Scotland. Not that he had ever spent much time at the seat of his earldom in the Highlands. He was born in London and had been schooled here before attending Cambridge. He’d spent weeks in the Highlands here and there, but though his title was a Scottish one, he bore no hint of the accent.

  When he was nineteen years old, he’d spent a summer in Scotland and had never wanted to leave. Now, however, he returned only when absolutely necessary. There was nothing left for him there.

  As Leo strode onto the cobbles of St. James’s Street, his friends, Viscount Archer and Philip Sutherland, crowded him from behind, their rumbling laughter shattering the peace of the night, their presence grating on his nerves.

  As he paused to button his coat against the slicing wind, Sutherland and Archer drew up beside him.

  “I’ve called for my carriage.” With his narrow face and pale blond, shoulder-length hair, Archer looked ghostlike in the eerie night. He drew his coat tighter about him with long fingers. “We’ll ride together, of course.”

  Leo’s gaze moved from one man to the other. Sutherland’s sharp eyes glinted in the dim lamplight. Archer shifted from foot to foot. No doubt both men were primed for the orgiastic pleasures of late-night London. Why couldn’t Leo seem to muster the enthusiasm tonight? Ballet dancers, he reminded himself. Young and nubile. Fresh from Paris.

  The thought didn’t entice him. Not at all. Instead, a dull sense of melancholy had taken up residence in his chest.

  Yet, to deny Archer’s invitation would be to deny Leo’s reputation, which he had honed to precision since he’d come to live in London.

  Sutherland tapped his cane on a cobble. “Very good,” he said, the ever-present smile embedded firmly within his voice.

  Leo squashed his groan. What was wrong with him?

  He pressed his lips together grimly. He would join them, if only to sink himself into depravity and remind the world of exactly who and what he was. But not yet. For now, just for a few minutes, he had to be alone.

  “I’ll walk,” he announced.

  Sutherland cocked an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

  Leo nodded and pressed fingers to his temple. “My head is aching. Fresh air ought to do it some good.”

  It wasn’t exactly true, but he did feel rather muddled and somewhat dizzy. His stomach churned mildly.

  “Getting a little tired of it all, Leo?” Sutherland twirled his walking stick between his palms, and his lip curled with mischief. “Maybe it’s time to shackle yourself, old chap.”

  “I don’t think so,” Leo growled.

  The clomping of Archer’s team sounded loud in the gloom, and his ornate carriage, gleaming black and festooned with silver curlicues, came to a stop at the curb.

  Leo breathed a sigh of relief.

  Archer nodded at Leo and disappeared into the vehicle, but Sutherland lingered, piercing him with narrowed eyes. Clearly, his old friend doubted his excuse.

  Leo twisted his lips into a watery smile—he had no desire to engage in discourse about the origins of his melancholy, and he knew exactly what would appease his friend. “Wouldn’t want to miss our sport, Sutherland. Go on ahead. You choose the lady tonight.”

  “And if she does not suit?”

  “She will suit.” After all, they were all the same to him. “I say we double the wager. A hundred guineas?”

  Sutherland grinned. “Daresay you’ll regret that, Leo.”

  Leo shrugged. It hardly mattered. He’d rather pay a thousand pounds tonight than have Sutherland harass him about his frame of mind. “I will join you presently.”

  With a tiny shake of his head, Sutherland turned away and mounted the step into Archer’s carriage.

  Leo watched them round the corner of Piccadilly; then he turned the opposite direction and headed down St. James toward the p
ark. As a rare silence descended over the usually busy street, he paused to study the heavens. There was no moon tonight, nor any stars. Only the soft light of the streetlamps lit his way, lending a gloomy, otherworldly glow to the mist swirling about the edges of the buildings across the street.

  He missed her the most on nights like this. Autumn had been the first season he’d had to bear after she was gone.

  He moved on, stumbled over a displaced cobble, then righted himself, swaying. How much had he had to drink? One, two, perhaps three glasses of a brandy that had tasted inexplicably sour tonight. Perhaps more than three glasses? His mind was too muddled to remember. Certainly not enough to make him feel this sotted. He rubbed his eyes roughly, removed his top hat, and raked his fingers through his hair, giving his scalp a vigorous rub.

  He was dwelling too much on the past of late. He was still sober enough to realize that those events of long ago had sowed the seeds of his present melancholy. Seven years later. Seven years!

  He was a damned fool. It had all happened so long ago. Still, something about this blustery autumn night brought to the surface all those regrets he shut away every day so he could play the role he had chosen for himself.

  The clomping and rattling of another carriage sounded behind him. As it neared, the driver slowed the horses until they walked at Leo’s speed, a few steps behind.

  He scowled over his shoulder. Had Archer had him followed?

  The silhouette of dark-colored horses and the sleek, black carriage emerged from the fog. From its elegant lines and the flashes of polish on its finish, he determined it was a regal affair and not someone out to rob him. Nor was it Archer.

  Then why did they follow him?

  A blast of cold wind slapped him in the face as he turned back toward St. James’s Park. He crossed his arms over his chest and picked up his pace, striding through the mist created by his breath. Whoever they were, whatever they wanted, he was not in the mood. He’d lose them in the park, then proceed to Archer’s.

  Leo crossed the Mall and congratulated himself as the vehicle drew to a halt behind him. It could not follow him now. He swayed slightly but kept his direction resolutely in a forward motion as he left the carriage behind.

  Seven years had passed since she’d died. He had missed her for seven years, mourned her every day. She’d died in early autumn. He didn’t know if it was a blustery day like today, because he hadn’t been there. His life would have gone in an altogether different direction had she survived.

  A far better direction.

  But perhaps not. Perhaps, in the end, this life of debauchery suited him best. Other than at certain melancholy moments such as these, he liked his life.

  Truly he did.

  The soft, vaguely familiar tone of a female voice came from close behind, making him jump. “Lord Leothaid?”

  Had she come from the carriage? Leo stumbled to a halt, pinching his lips together in annoyance. Why wouldn’t people leave him alone?

  Heaving an exasperated sigh, he turned.

  Pain exploded in his face. He reeled backward, pinpricks of light bursting in his vision.

  “What the devil?” He clutched his nose. His fingers slid over hot, slick blood. Blinking rapidly, he made out the shadows of one gigantic figure and another more human-sized shape a few steps behind.

  Despite the dulling effects of drink, he’d experienced enough fights to clear his mind by force of will. He made a quick assessment of the enemy. Leo was by no means a diminutive man, but the giant stood at least half a foot taller and was broader through the shoulders. The slighter one must be the female who had called to him.

  He focused on the man. His assailant was bigger and stockier and certainly less muddled, but Leo had done his share of fighting, and whatever damage his imbibing had inflicted upon him tonight, it had not rendered him a coward.

  His waistcoat and tailcoat were too tight to give him a decent range of motion, but he doubted the giant intended to conduct this fight like a gentleman. There was no point in asking to be given time to remove his coat before proceeding with the fight. Instead, Leo gave a hoarse yell and attacked, balling his hand just before his punch met its target. Buttons popped and his formfitting tailcoat screeched in protest, ripping along the side seam.

  Leo’s fist met hard flesh, and the enormous man let out a strangled “Oomph!” and staggered backward. In his peripheral vision, Leo saw the lady’s gloved hand fly to her mouth.

  He tried to throw another punch, but his arm suddenly felt as heavy as solid iron. Forcing his frozen fingers into a fist, he lunged forward to deliver the blow, but the giant moved back, and Leo’s legs gave out.

  How strange. He was melting. He looked down, expecting to see his torso rising out of the dark puddle that his legs had become. But no, they were still there, and he was on his knees. Except his knees would not support him either. Slowly, ever so slowly, Leo pitched forward.

  He had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing Sutherland and Archer again tonight.

  His face smashed into the pavement, and everything went black.

  ***

  Isabelle Frasier paused at the threshold of Lady DeLinn’s breakfast room. Morning sunlight poured in through the open panes of the tall windows, giving the room a bright, airy feel. Steam rose from the plates resting on the sideboard just beneath the windows, and the smells of fresh ham and toast drifted over her.

  Beyond the autumn bouquet festooning the round table, Lady DeLinn stared at her coffee. Isabelle couldn’t see her face, only her dark, sleek, perfectly arranged coiffure. Opposite Lady DeLinn, her cousin, Miss Anna Tomkins, sat in rare silence with her back to Isabelle, tendrils of mahogany curls cascading down her nape. A near palpable tension thickened the air in the room.

  Perhaps her two friends weren’t as unflappable as Isabelle had originally believed.

  Of course, how could any logical person feel calm in their position? They had an earl tied up in the cellar, after all.

  Lord Leothaid.

  Her chest went tight at the thought of Leo so close, trussed and no doubt raging, but she pushed the feeling away. She took a deep breath, and Lady DeLinn raised her head. She cracked a tight smile and beckoned Isabelle inside. “Good morning, Isabelle. I am glad you are up early. I dismissed the servants, so pour yourself some chocolate and fetch something to eat.”

  “Thank you, milady.” Forcing her leaden feet to move into the room, Isabelle approached the plates filled with kidneys, ham, eggs, and toast, but her stomach lurched at the sight of all that food. She poured a cup of the lukewarm chocolate, trying to keep her hand from shaking. It would be awful to ruin Lady DeLinn’s bonny carpet.

  “Susan. I have told you time and again to call me Susan, and yet you still refuse.” Lady DeLinn’s words were sharp, but the smile in her voice softened them. “We are friends, are we not?”

  Clutching her chocolate in both hands, Isabelle turned to the table.

  Anna skewered a piece of ham on her fork, and her deep, mossy-green gaze met Isabelle’s. “I agree with Susie. We are all friends.”

  And if they ended locked up together in a rat-infested cell in Newgate Prison, they would certainly need that friendship to survive.

  Raising her fork in the air, Anna continued. “And if you call me ‘Miss Tomkins’ once more, I shall throw a fit. Trust me, Isabelle, you do not want to see one of my fits.”

  Isabelle forced her lips to twist into a smile. “Oh dear. In that case, I fear I’ve no choice but to comply.”

  It seemed neither smiles nor words could break through the tension. It lay thick and heavy, like pea soup, over the breakfast room.

  She set the cup gingerly on the table, pulled out one of the heavy chairs, and sank beside her hostess. “How is he?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Still sleeping,” Susan said, her tone equally low. She pressed a lace-fringed napkin to her mouth. Susan was slight and compact, with narrow features, sleek black hair, dark eyes, and pale, flawless skin. Though
she was the same age as Isabelle, Susan had already been married and widowed. Before her husband died, she had borne him a son, who was currently in their country house in Derbyshire with his grandparents.

  Isabelle always felt large and ungainly beside her hostess, a true bumpkin with her freckles and Scottish accent and generous curves. And compared to Susan’s and Anna’s cynical worldliness, Isabelle felt like a naïve innocent.

  For all she might be naïve, however, she certainly wasn’t an innocent. She hadn’t been since she and Lord Leothaid had been lovers. When he’d left her to attend Cambridge, the affair had been discovered and revealed by Leo’s brother. Shamed by her behavior, Isabelle’s father had disowned her and sent her away. She had been allowed to return to Scotland only after he died a few years ago. Her life since she’d known Leo had been simple and demure—she’d lived on the charity of her aunts and uncle for the past seven years.

  “I think your Pierre might have hit him too hard,” Anna said crisply to Susan. “Perhaps he will not wake.”

  Isabelle gulped. Lud, what if they had killed him?

  “Nonsense.” Susan gave the younger woman a sharp look. “It is only the effect of the drug. It will wear off in time.”

  “I hope you’re right—”

  “I am right, Anna. The doctor has already seen him and said he will be perfectly well. Nothing is broken.”

  “Doctor?” Isabelle breathed.

  Susan fixed her cool gaze on Isabelle. “Yes. He will be discreet. I have paid him handsomely.”

  Isabelle nodded faintly. It wasn’t her place to question any of this, and yet she couldn’t help it. Before last night, she’d never truly believed Susan and Anna would go through with it. How silly, really—they’d been set on their plan for revenge long before she’d met them.

  Yet the possible repercussions for all three of them were simply horrific. Susan said not to fret, that Lord Leothaid couldn’t identify them, and even if he did, he’d never go through the scandal of a prosecution and trial. Still, Isabelle worried.